The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 by Maurice Hewlett (best books to read all time TXT) 📖
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
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'Dear Sire,'--His Voice Was Level And Cool--'Let Me Say My Whole Mind
Before The Marquess Recovers His. The Count Of Saint-Pol, For Beastly
Reasons, Spoke In My Hearing Either True Things Or False Things
Concerning Madame Alois. If They Were True I Was Ready To Die; If They
Were False I Hope He Was. Believing Them False, I Had Punished One Man
For Them Before; But He Had Them From Saint-Pol. Therefore I Called
Saint-Pol A Liar, And Other Proper Things. This Gave Him Occasion To
Save His Credit At The Risk Of His Back. He Broke The One And I The
Other. Now I Will Hear The Marquess.'
The Marquess Tugged At His Sword. 'And I, Count Of Poictou--'; But King
Philip Held Out His Sceptre, He Too Very Much A King.
'And We, Count Of Poictou,' He Said, 'Command You By Your Loyalty To
Tell Us What Saint-Pol Dared Say Of Our Sister Dame Alois.' Although His
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 39Thin Boy's Voice Quavered, He Seemed The More Royal For The Human
Weakness. Richard Was Greatly Moved, Thawed In A Moment.
'God Forgive Me, Philip, But I Cannot Tell Thee--' Pity Broke Up His
Tones.
The Young King Almost Whimpered: 'Oh, Richard, What Is This?' But
Richard Turned Away His Face. It Was Now The Chance Of The Great
Italian.
'Now Listen, King Philip,' He Said, Grim And Square, 'And Listen You,
Count Of Poictou, Whose Account Is To Be Quieted Presently. Of This
Business I Happen To Know Something. If It Serve Not Your Honour I
Cannot Help It. It Serves My Murdered Cousin's Honour--Therefore
Listen.'
Richard's Head Was Up. 'Peace, Hound,' He Said, And The Marquess Snarled
Like An Old Dog; But Philip, With A Quivering Lip, Put Out His Hand Till
It Touched Richard's Shoulder. 'I Must Hear It, Richard,' He Said.
Richard Put His Arm Round The Lad's Neck: So The Marquess Told His
Story. At The End Of It Richard Dared Look Down Into Philip's Marred
Eyes. Then He Kissed His Forehead, And 'Oh, Philip,' Says He, 'Let Him
Who Is Hardy Enough To Tell This Tale Believe It, And Let Us Who Hear It
Do As We Must. But Now You Understand Why I Made An End Of Saint-Pol,
And Why, By Heaven And Earth, I Will Make An End Of This Brass Pot.' He
Turned Upon Montferrat With His Teeth Bare. 'Conrad, Conrad, Conrad!' He
Cried Terribly, 'Mark Your Goings About This Slippery World; For If When
I Get You Alone I Do Not Send You Quick Into Hell, May I Go Down Myself
Beyond Redemption Of The Church!'
'That You Will Surely Do, My Lord,' Says The Marquess Of Montferrat,
Greatly Disturbed.
'If I Get You There Also I Shall Be Reasonably Entertained For A Short
Time,' Richard Answered, Already Cooled And Ashamed Of His Heat. Then
King Philip Dismissed The Marquess, And As Soon As He Was Rid Of Him
Jumped Into Richard's Arms, And Cried His Heart Away.
Richard, Who Was Fond Of The Youth, Comforted Him As Well As He Was
Able, But On One Point Was A Rock. He Would Not Hear The Word 'Marriage'
Until He Had Seen The Lady. 'Oh, Richard, Marry Her Quick, Marry Her
Quick! So We Can Face The World,' The Young King Had Blubbered, Thinking
That Course The Simplest Answer To The Affront Upon His House. It Did
Not Seem So Simple To The Count, Or (Rather) It Seemed Too Simple By
Half. In His Private Mind He Knew Perfectly Well That He Could Not Marry
Madame Alois. So, For That Matter, Did King Philip By This Time. 'I
Must See Alois, Philip, I Must See Her Alone,' Was All Richard Had To
Say; And Really It Could Not Be Gainsaid.
He Went To Her After Proper Warning, And Saw The Truth The Moment He Had
View Of Her. Then Also He Knew That He Had Really Seen It Before. That
White, Furtive, Creeping Girl, From Whose Loose Hair Peered Out A Pair
Of Haunted Eyes; That Drooped Thing Backing Against The Wall, Feeling
For It, Flat Against It, With Open Shocked Mouth, Astare But Seeing
Nothing: The Whole Truth Flared Before Him Monstrously Naked. He Loathed
The Sight Of Her, But Had To Speak Her Smoothly.
'Princess--' He Said, And Came Forward To Touch Her Hand; But She
Slipped Away From Him, Crouching To The Wall. The Torment Of Breath In
Her Bosom Was Bad To See.
'Touch Me Not, Count Of Poictou;' She Whispered The Words, And Then
Moaned, 'O God, What Will Become Of Me?'
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 40'Madame,' Said Richard, Rather Dry, 'God May Answer Your Question, Since
He Knows All Things, But Certainly I Cannot, Unless You First Tell Me
What Has Hitherto Become Of You.'
She Steadied Herself By The Wall, Her Palms Flat Upon It, And Leaned Her
Body Forward Like One Who Searches In A Dark Place. Then, Shaking Her
Head, She Let It Fall To Her Breast. 'Is There Any Sorrow Like My
Sorrow?' Says She To Herself, As Though He Had Not Been There.
Richard Grew Stern. 'So Asked In His Agony The Son Of High God,' He
Reproved Her. 'If You Dare Ask Him That In His Own Words Your Sorrow
Must Be Deep.'
She Said, 'It Is Most Deep.'
'But His,' Said Richard, 'Was Bitter Shame.' She Said, 'And Mine Is
Bitter.'
'But His Was Undeserved.' He Spoke Scorn; So Then She Lifted Up Her
Head, And With Eyes Most Piteous Searched His Face. 'But Mine, Richard,'
She Said, 'But Mine Is Deserved.'
'The Hearing Is Pertinent,' Said Richard. 'As A Son And Man Affianced It
Touches Me Pretty Close.'
Out Of The Hot And Desperate Struggle For Breath, Sounds Came From Her,
But No Words. But She Ran Forward Blindly, And Kneeling, Caught Him By
The Knees; He Could Not But Find Pity In His Heart For The Witless Poor
Wretch, Who Seemed To Be Fighting, Not With Regret Nor For Need Of His
Pity, But With Some Maggot In The Brain Which Drove Her Deeper Into The
Fiery Centre Of The Storm. Richard Did What He Could. A Religious Man
Himself, He Pointed Her To The Christ On The Wall; But She Waved It Out
Of Sight, Shook Her Wild Hair Back, And Clung To Him Still, Asking Some
Unguessed Mercy With Her Eyes And Sobbing Breath. 'God Help This
Tormented Soul, For I Cannot,' He Prayed; And Said Aloud, 'I Will Call
Your Women; Let Me Go.' So He Tried To Undo Her Hands, But She Clenched
Her Teeth Together And Held On With Frenzy, Whining, Grunting, Like Some
Pounded Animal. Dumbly They Strove Together For A Little Panting Space
Of Time.
'Ah, But You Shall Let Me Go,' He Said Then, Much Distressed, And
Forcibly Unknotted Her Mad Hands. She Fell Back Upon Her Heels, And
Looked Up At Him. Such Hopeless, Grinning Misery He Had Never Seen On A
Face Before. He Was Certain Now That She Was Out Of Her Wits.
Yet Once Again She Brushed Her Hands Over Her Face, As He Had Seen Her
Do Before, Like One Who Sweeps Gossamers Away On Autumn Mornings; And
Though She Was All In A Shiver And Shake With The Fever She Had, She
Found Her Voice At Last. 'Ah, Thanks! Ah, My Thanks, O Christ My
Saviour!' She Sighed. 'O Sweet Saviour Christ, Now I Will Tell Him All
The Truth.'
If He Had Listened To Her Then It Had Been Well For Him. But He Did Not.
The Struggle Had Fretted Him Likewise; If She Was Mad He Was Maddened.
He Got Angry Where He Should Have Been Most Patient. 'The Truth, By
Heaven!' He Snapped. 'Ah, If I Have Not Had Enough Of This Truth!' And
So He Left Her Shuddering. As He Went Down The Long Corridor He Heard
Shriek After Shriek, And Then The Scurrying Of Many Feet. Turning, He
Saw Carried Lights, Women Running. The Sounds Were Muffled, They Had Her
Safe. Richard Went To His House Over The River, And Slept For Ten Hours.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 7 (Of The Crackling Of Thorns Under Pots) Pg 41Just As No Two Pots Will Boil Alike, So With Men; They Seethe In Trouble
With A Difference. With One The Grief Is Taken Inly: This Was Richard's
Kind. The French King Was Feverish, The Marquess Explosive, John Of
England All Eyes And Alarms. So Richard's Remedy For Trouble Was Action,
Philip's Counsel, The Marquess's A Glut Of Hatred, And John's Plotting.
The Consequence Is, That In The Present Vexed State Of Things Richard
Threw Off His Discontent With His Bedclothes, And At Once Took The Lead
Of The Others, Because It Could Be Done At Once. He Declared Open War
Against The King His Father, Despatching Heralds With The Cartel The
Same Day; He Gave King Philip To Understand That The French Power Might
Be For Him Or Against Him As Seemed Fitting, But That No Power In Heaven
Or On Earth Would Engage Him To Marry Dame Alois. King Philip, Still
Clinging To His Friend, Made A Treaty Of Alliance With Him Against Henry
Of England. That Done, Sealed And Delivered, Richard Sent For His
Brother John. 'Brother,' He Said, 'I Have Declared War Against My
Father, And Philip Is To Be Of Our Party. In His Name And My Own I Am To
Tell You That One Of Two Things You Must Do. You May Stay In Our Lands
Or Leave Them; But If You Stay You Must Sign Our Treaty Of Alliance.'
Too Definite For John, All This: He Asked For Time, And Richard Gave Him
Till Nightfall. At Dusk He Sent For Him Again. John Chose To Stay In
Paris. Then Richard Thought He Would Go Home To Poictou. The Moment His
Back Was Turned Began Various Closetings Of The Magnates Left Behind,
With Which I Mean To Fatigue The Reader As Little As Possible.
One Such Chamber-Business I Must Record. To Paris In The Black February
Weather Came Pelting The Young Count Eustace, Now By His Brother's Death
Count Of Saint-Pol. Misfortune, They Say, Makes Of One A Man Or A Saint.
Of Eustace Saint-Pol It Had
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