The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 by Maurice Hewlett (best books to read all time TXT) 📖

Meant That; All Her Soul Came Sobbing To Her Lips

As She Prayed Him. He Could Not Deny Her That Prayer. If She Would Not

Mount His Throne, She Should Not--He Was King. But That Other Bidding:

Touch Me Not, She Said. He Looked At Her Sleeping; Her Bosom Filled And

Lifted His Hand. God Have No Mercy On Him If He Denied Her That Either.

'So Take Thou, God, My Heart's Desire, If I Give Her Not Hers.' Then He

Stooped And Kissed Her Forehead; She Opened Her Eyes And Smiled Feebly,

Half Awake.

 

He Was Not A Man, I Say It Again, At The Mercy Of Women's Lure. Milo Was

Right; He Was Tristram, Not Galahad Nor Lancelot; A Man Of Cold

Appetite, A Man Whose Head Was Master, Touched Rarely, And Then Stirred

Only To Certain Deeps. So Far As He Could Love Woman Born He Loved

Jehane, Saw Her Exceedingly Lovely, Loved Her Proud Remote Spirit, Her

Nobility, Her Sobriety. He Saw Her Bodily Perfections Too, How Splendid

A Person, How Sumptuous In Hue And Light. Admiring, Taking Glory In

These, Yet He Required The Sting Of Another Man's Hand Upon Her To Seize

Her For Himself. For Purposes Of Policy, For Ends Which Seemed To Him

Good, He Could Have Lived With Jehane As A Brother With A Sister: One

Thing Provided, Let No Other Man Touch.

 

Now This Policy Was Imperative, This End God Said Was Good. Jehane

Implored With Tears, Christ Called From The Cross; So King Richard Fell

Upon His Knees And Kissed The Girl's Forehead. When He Left Her That

Morning He Sought Out Milo And Confessed His Sins. Shriven He Arose, To

Do What Remained In The West Before He Could Be Crowned In Rouen, And

Crowned In Westminster.

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 81

I Wish To Be Done With Bertran De Born, That Lagging Fox; But The Dogs

Of My Art Must Make A Backward Cast If They Are To Kill Him In The Open.

I Beg The Reader, Then, To Remember That When Richard Left Him

Half-Throttled In His Own House, And When He Had Recovered Wind Enough

To Stir His Gall, He Made Preparations For A Long Journey To The South.

In That Scandal Concerning Alois Of France He Believed He Had Stuff

Which Might Wreck Count Richard More Disastrously Than Count Richard

Could Wreck Him. He Hoped To Raise The South, And Thither He Went, His

Own Dung-Fly, Buzzing Over The Offal He Had Blown; And The First Point

He Headed For Was Pampluna Across The Pyrenees. It Is Folly To Dig Into

The Mind Of A Man Diseased By Malice; Better Treat Such Like Sour

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 82

Ground, Burn With Lime (Or Let God Burn) And Abide The Event In Faith.

If Of All Men In The World Bertran Hated Richard Of Anjou, It Was Not

Because Richard Had Misused Him, But Because He Had Used Him Too

Lightly. Richard, Offended With Bertran, Gave Him A Flick On The Ear And

Sent Him To The Devil With His Japes. He Did No More Because He Valued

Him No More. He Thought Him A Perverse Rascal, Glorious Poet,

Ill-Conditioned Vassal, Untimely Parasite Of His Father's Realm. He

Knew He Had Caused Endless Mischief, But He Could Not Hate Such A Cork

On A Waterspray. Now, It Fretted Bertran To White Heat That He Should Be

Despised By A Great Man. It Seemed That At Last He Could Do Him

Considerable Harm. He Could Embroil Him With Two Kings, France And

England, And Induce A Third To Harass Him From The South. So He Crossed

The Mountains And Went Into Navarre.

 

Over Those Stony Ridges And Bare Fields Don Sancho Was King, The Seventh

Of His Name; And He Kept His State In The City Of Pampluna. Reputed The

Wisest Prince Of His Day, It Is Certain That He Had Need To Be So, Such

Neighbours As He Had. West Of Him Was Santiago, South Of Him Castile.

These Two Urgent Kings, Edging (As It Were) On The Same Bench With Him,

Made His Seat A Shifty Comfort. No Sooner Had He Warmed Himself A Place

Than He Was Hoist To A Cold One. In Front Of Him, Over Against The Sun,

He Saw Philip Of France Pinched To The Same Degree Between England And

Burgundy, Eager To Stretch His Extremities Since He Could Not Broaden

His Sides. Don Sancho Had No Call To Love France; But He Feared England

Greatly--The Horrible Old Brindled Lion, And Richard, Offspring Of The

Lion And The Pard, Richard The Leopard, Who Made More Songs And Fought

More Quarrels Out Than Any Christian Prince. Here Were Quodlibets For

Don Sancho's Logic. In Appearance He Was A Pale Vexed Man, With Anxious

Eyes And A Thin Beard, At Which (In His Troubles) He Plucked As Often As

He Could Afford The Hairs. Next To His Bleached Lands He Loved Minstrels

And Physicians. Averrhoes Was Often At His Court; So Were Guillem Of

Cabestaing And Peire Vidal. He Knew And Went So Far As To Love Bertran

De Born. Perhaps He Was Not Too Good A Christian, Certainly He Was A

Very Hungry One; And Kings, With The Rest Of The World, Are To Be Judged

By Their Necessities, Not Their Professions. So Much Will Suffice, I

Hope, Concerning Don Sancho The Wise.

 

In Those Days Which Saw Count Richard's Back Turned On Autafort, And

Saint-Pol's Broken At Tours, Bertran De Born Came To Pampluna, Asking To

Be Received By The King Of Navarre. Don Sancho Was Glad To See Him.

 

'Now, Bertran,' Says He, 'You Shall Give Me News Of Poets And The Food

Of Poets. All The Talk Here Is Of Bad Debts.'

 

'Oy, Sire,' Says Bertran, 'What Can I Tell You? The Land Is In Flames,

The Women Have Streaked Faces, Far And Wide Travels The Torch Of War.'

 

'I Am Sorry To Hear It,' Says King Sancho, 'And Trust That You Have Not

Brought One Of Those Torches With You.'

 

Bertran Shook His Head; Interruptions Worried Him, For He Lived

Maddeningly, Like A Man That Has A Drumming In His Ear.

 

'Sire,' He Said, 'There Is A New Strife Between The Count Of Poictou,

"Yea-And-Nay," And The French King On This Account: The Count Repudiates

Madame Alois.'

 

'Now, Why Does He Do That, Bertran?' Cried King Sancho, Opening His Eyes

Wide.

 

'Sire, It Is Because He Pretends That His Father, The Old King, Has Done

Him Dishonour. Says The Count, Madame Alois Might Be My Stepmother,

Never My Wife.'

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 83

'Deus!' Said The King. 'Bertran, Is This The Truth?'

 

That Was A Question For Which Bertran Was Fully Prepared. He Always Had

It Put, And Always Gave The Same Answer. 'As I Am A Christian, Sire,' He

Said, 'The Gospel Is No Truer.'

 

To Which King Sancho Replied, 'I Do Most Devoutly Believe In The Holy

Gospel, Whatever Any Arabian May Say To The Contrary. But Is It For

This, Pray, That You Propose To Light Candles Of War In Navarre?'

 

'Ah,' Said Bertran, With His Hand Scratching In His Vest, 'I Light No

Candles, My Lord; But I Counsel You To Light Them.'

 

'Phew!' Said King Sancho, And Stuck His Arms Out; 'On Whose Account,

Bertran, On Whose Account?'

 

Bertran Replied Savagely, 'On Account Of Dame Alois Slandered, Of Her

Brother France Deceived In His Hope, Of The English King Strangely

Accused, Of His Son John (A Hopeful Prince, Benjamin Of A Second

Israel), And Of Queen Eleanor Of England, Of Whose Kindred Your Grace

Is.'

 

'Deus! Oy, Deus!' Cried King Sancho, Pale With Amazement, 'And Are All

These Thrones In Arms, Lighting Candles Against Count Richard?'

 

'It Is So Indeed, Sire,' Says Bertran; And King Sancho Frowned, With

This Comment--'There Seems Little Chivalry Here, Take It As You Will.'

Next He Inquired, Where Was The Count Of Poictou?

 

Bertran Was Ready. 'He Rages His Lands, Sire, Like A Leopard Caged. Now

And Again He Raids The Marches, Harries France Or Anjou, And

Withdraws.'

 

'And The King His Father, Bertran, Where Is He? Far Off, I Hope.'

 

'He,' Said Bertran, 'Is In Normandy With A Host, Seeking The Head Of His

Son Richard On A Charger.'

 

'The Great Man That He Is!' Cried Don Sancho. Bertran Could Not Contain

Himself.

 

'Great Or Not, He Is To Pay His Debts! The Old Rascal Stag Is Rotten

With Fever.'

 

I Suppose Don Sancho Was Not Called Wise For Nothing. At Any Rate He Sat

For A While Considering The Man Before Him. Then He Asked, Where Was

King Philip?

 

'Sire,' Replied Bertran, 'He Is In His City Of Paris, Comforting Dame

Alois, And Assembling His Estates For Count Richard's Flank.'

 

'And Prince John?'

 

'Oh, Sire, He Has Friends. He Waits. Watch For Him Presently.'

 

King Sancho Frowned His Forehead Into Furrows, And Allowed Himself A

Hair Or Two Of His Beard. 'We Will Think Of It, Bertran,' He Said

Presently. 'Yes, We Will Think Of It, After Our Own Fashion. God Rest

You, Bertran, Pray Go Refresh Yourself.' So He Dismissed Him.

 

When He Was Alone He Went On Frowning, And Between Whiles Tapped His

Teeth With His Beard-Comb. He Knew That Bertran Had Not Come Lying For

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 15 (Last Tenzon_ Of Bertran De Born) Pg 84

Nothing To Pampluna; He Must Find Out On Whose Account He Was Lying, And

Upon What Rock Of Truth (If Any At All)