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

Saint-Pol; And For A Pulse Or Two The

Young Man Saw His Death Bright In The King's Eyes. That The Angry Man

Commanded Himself Is, I Think, To His Credit. As It Was, He Did What He

Had Certainly Never Done Before: He Tried To Reason With The Duke Of

Burgundy.

 

'Duke Of Burgundy,' He Said, Leaning Over His Chair And Talking Low,

'You Are No Frenchman, And The More Of A Man On That Account. You And I

Have Had Our Differences. I Have Blamed You, And You Me. But I Have

Never Found You A Laggard When There Was Work For The Sword Or Adventure

For The Heart. Now, Of All Adventures In The World The Highest In Which

A Man May Engage Is Here. Across Those Hills Lies The City Of God, Of

Which (I Suppose) No Soul Among Us Might, Unhelped, Dare Hope The Sight,

Much Less The Touch, Least Of All The Redemption. I Tell You, Duke Of

Burgundy, There Is That Within Me (Not My Own) Which Will Lead You

Thither With Profit, Glory And Honour. Will You Trust Me? So Far As I

Have Gone Along With You I Have Done Reasonably Well. Did I Scatter The

Heathen At Arsûf? No Thanks To You, Burgundy, But I Did. Did I Hold A

Safe Course To Joppa? Have I Then Brought You So Near, And Myself So

Near, For Nothing At All? If I Have Been A Fool In My Day, I Am Not A

Fool Now. I Speak What I Know. With This Host I Can Save The City.

Without The Best Of It, I Can Do Nothing. What Do You Say, My Lord? Will

You Let Beauvais Take His Frenchmen To Dishonour, And You And Your

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Burgundians Play For Honour With Me? The Prize Is Great, The Reward

Sure, Here Or In Heaven. What Do You Say, Duke Of Burgundy?'

 

His Voice Shook By Now, And All The Bystanders Watched Without Breath

The Heavy, Brooding, Mottled Man Over Against Him. He, Faithful To His

Nature, Looked At The Bishop Of Beauvais. But Beauvais Was Looking At

His Ring.

 

'What Do You Say, My Lord?' Again Asked King Richard.

 

The Duke Of Burgundy Was Troubled: He Blinked, Looking At Saint-Pol. But

Saint-Pol Was Looking At The Tent-Roof.

 

'Be Pleased To Look At Me,' Said Richard; And The Man Did Look, Working

Under His Wrongs.

 

'By God, Richard,' Said The Duke Of Burgundy, 'You Owe Me Forty Pound!'

 

King Richard Laughed Till He Was Helpless.

 

'It May Be, It May Well Be,' He Gasped Between The Throes Of His Mirth.

'O Lump Of Clay! O Wonderful Half-Man! O Most Expressive River-Horse!

You Shall Be Paid And Sent About Your Business. Archbishop, Be Pleased

To Pay This Man His Bill. I Will Content You, Burgundy, With Money; But

I Will Be Damned Before I Take You To Jerusalem. My Lords,' He Said,

Altering Voice And Look In A Moment, 'I Will Conduct You To The Ships.

Since I Am Not Strong Enough For Jerusalem I Will Go To Ascalon. But

You! By The Living God, You Shall Go Back To France.' He Dismissed Them

All, And Next Day Broke Up His Camp.

 

But Before That, Very Early In The Morning, After A Night Spent With His

Head In His Hands, He Rode Out With Gaston And Des Barres To A Hill

Which They Call Montjoy, Because From There The Pilgrims, Tending South,

See First Among The Folded Hills Jerusalem Itself Lie Like A Dove In A

Nest. The Moon Was Low And Cold, The Sun Not Up; But The Heavens And

Earth Were Full Of Shadowless Light; Every Hill-Top, Every Black Rock

Upon It Stood Sharply Cut Out, As With A Knife. King Richard Rode

Silently, His Face Covered In A Great Hood; Neither Man With Him Dared

Speak, But Kept The Distance Due. So They Skirted Hill After Hill, Wound

In And Out Of The Deep Valleys, Until At Last Gaston Pricked Forward And

Touched His Master On The Arm. Richard Started, Not Turned.

 

'Montjoy, Dear Master,' Said Gaston.

 

There Before Them, As Out Of A Cup, Rose A Dark Conical Hill With

Streamers Of White Light Behind And, As Might Be, Leaping From It. 'The

Light Shines On Jerusalem,' Said Gaston: Richard, Looking Up At The

Glory, Uncovered His Head. Sharp Against The Light Stood A Single Man On

Montjoy, Who Faced The Full Sun. They Who Saw Him There Were Still Deep

In Shade.

 

'Gaston And Des Barres,' Said King Richard, When They Had Reached The

Foot Of The Wet Hill, 'Stay You Here. Let Me Go On Alone.'

 

Gaston Demurred. 'The Hill Is Manned, Sire. Beware An Ambush. You Have

Enemies Close By.' He Hinted At Saint-Pol.

 

'I Have Only One Enemy That I Fear, Gaston,' Said The King; 'And He

Rides My Horse. Do As I Tell You.'

 

They Obeyed; So He Went Under Their Anxious Eyes. Slowly He Toiled Up

The Bridle-Path Which The Feet Of Many Pilgrims Had Worn Into The Turf;

Slowly They Saw Him Dip From The Head Downwards Into The Splendour Of

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The Dawn. But When Horse And Man Were Bathed Full In Light, Those Two

Below Touched Each Other And Held Hands; For They Saw Him Hoist His

Great Shield From His Shoulder And Hold It Before His Face. So As He

Stayed, Screening Himself From What He Sought But Dared Not Touch, The

Solitary Watcher Turned, And Came Near Him, And Spoke.

 

'Why Does The Great King Cover His Face?' Said Gilles De Gurdun; 'And

Why Does He, Of His Own Will, Keep The Light Of God From Him? Is He At

The Edge Of His Dominion? Hath He Touched The Limit Of His Power? Then I

Am Stronger Than My Duke; For I See The Towers Shine In The Sun; I See

The Mount Of Olives, Calvary Also, And The Holy Temple Of God. I See The

Church Of The Sepulchre, The Battlements And Great Gates Of The City.

Look, My Lord King. See That Which You Desire, That You May Take It.

Fulke Of Anjou Was King Of Jerusalem; And Shall Not Richard Be A King?

What Is Lacking? What Is Amiss? For Kings May Desire That Which They

See, And Take That Which They Desire, Though Other Men Go Cursing And

Naked.'

 

Said King Richard From Behind His Shield, 'Is That You, Gurdun, My

Enemy?'

 

'I Am That Man,' Said Gilles, 'And Bolder Than You Are, Since I Can Look

Unoffended Upon The Place Where Our Lord God Suffered As A Man.

Suffering, It Seems, Maketh Me Sib With God.'

 

'I Will Never Look Upon The City, Though I Have Risked All For The Sake

Of It,' Said Richard; 'For Now I Know That It Was No Design Of God's To

Allow Me To Take It, Although It Was Certainly His Desire That I Should

Come Into This Country. Perhaps He Thought Me Other Than Now I Am. I

Will Not Look. For If I Look Upon It I Shall Lead My Men Up Against It;

And Then They Will Be Cut Off And Destroyed, Since We Are Too Few. I

Will Never See What I Cannot Save.'

 

Said Gilles Between His Teeth, 'You Robber, You Have Seen My Wife, And

Cannot Save Her Now' Richard Laughed Softly.

 

'God Bless Her,' He Said, 'She Is My True Wife, And Will Be Saved Sure

Enough. Yet I Will Tell You This, Gurdun. If She Was Not Mine She Should

Be Yours; And What Is More, She May Be So Yet.'

 

'You Speak Idly,' Said Gurdun, 'Of Things Which No Man Knows.'

 

'Ah,' Said The King, 'But I Do Know Them. Leave Me: I Wish To Pray.'

 

Gilles Moved Off, And Sat Himself On The Edge Of The Hill Looking

Towards Jerusalem. If Richard Prayed, It Was With The Heart, For His

Lips Never Opened. But I Believe That His Heart, In This Hour Of Clear

Defeat, Was Turned To Stone. He Took His Joys With Riot, His Triumphs

Calmly; His Griefs He Shut In A Trap. Such A Nature As His, I Suppose,

Respects No Persons. Whether God Beat Him, Or His Enemy, He Would Take

It The Same Way. All That Gilles Heard Him Say Aloud Was This: 'What I

Have Done I Have Done: Deliver Us From Evil.' He Bade No Farewell To His

Hope, He Asked No Greeting For His Altered Way. When He Had Turned His

Back Upon The Sacred Places He Lowered His Shield; And Then Rode Down

The Hill Into The Cold Shadow Of The Valley.

 

If He Was Changed, Or If His Soul, Naked Of Hope, Was Stricken Bleak, So

Was The Road He Had To Go. That Day He Broke Up His Camp And Fared For

Ascalon And The Sea. Stormy Weather Set In, The Rains Overtook Him; He

Was Quagged, Blighted With Fever, Lost His Way, His Men, His Men's

Love. Camp-Sickness Came And Spread Like A Fungus. Men, Rotten Through

To The Brain, Died Shrieking, And As They Shrieked They Cursed His Name.

One, A Poictevin Named Rolf, Whom He Knew Well, Turned Away His

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Blackened Face When Richard Came To Visit Him.

 

'Ah, Rolf,' Said The King, 'Dost Thou Turn Away From Me, Man?'

 

'I Do That, By Our Lord,' Said Rolf, 'Since By These Deeds Of Thine My

Wife And Children Will Starve, Or She Become A Whore.'

 

'As God Lives,' Said Richard, 'I Will See To It.'

 

'I Do Not Think He Can Be Living Any More,' Said Rolf, 'If He Lets Thee

Live, King Richard.' Richard Went Away. The Time Dragged, The Rain Fell

Pitilessly, Without End. He Found Rivers In Floods, Fords Roaring

Torrents, All Ways Choked. At Every Turn The Duke Of Burgundy And

Saint-Pol Worked Against Him.

 

Also He Found Ascalon In Ruins, But Grimly Set About Rebuilding It. This

Took Him All The Winter, Because The French (Judging, Perhaps, That They

Had Done Their Affair) Took To The Ships And Sailed Back To Acre. There

They Heard, What Came More