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

Your Lands, Your Company! Good Men All, A Fair Company, By The Rood

Of Grace! Tell Me Now, Richard, Have You Raimon Of Toulouse In That

Company? Have You Béziers?'

 

'No, Sire,' Said Richard, Looking Serenely Down At The Working Face.

 

'Nor Ever Will Have,' Snarled The King. 'Have You The Knight Of Béarn?'

 

'I Have, Sire.'

 

'Ill Company, Richard. It Is A White-Faced, Lying Beast, With A Most

Goatish Beard. Have You Your Singing Monk?'

 

'I Have, Sire.'

 

'Shameful Company. Have You Adhémar Of Limoges?'

 

'Yes, Sire.'

 

'Silly Company. Leave Him With His Women. Have You Your Abbot Milo?'

 

'Yes.'

 

'Sick Company.' His Head Sank Into His Breast; He Found Himself Suddenly

Tired, Even Of Reviling, And Had To Sit Down Again. Richard Felt A Tide

Of Pity; Looking Down At The Huddled Old Man, He Held Out His Hand.

 

'Let Us Not Quarrel, Father,' He Said; But That Brought Up The King's

Head, Like A Call To Arms.

 

'A Last Question, Richard. Have You Dared Bring Here Bertran De Born?'

He Was On His Feet Again For The Reply, And The Two Men Faced Each

Other. Everybody Knew How Serious The Question Was. It Sobered The

Count, But Drove The Pity Out Of Him.

 

'Dare Is Not A Word For Anjou, Sire,' He Replied, Picking His Phrases;

'But Bertran Is Not With Me.' Before The Old Man Could Break Again Into

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Savagery He Went On To His Main Purpose. 'Sire, Short Speeches Are Best.

You Seek To Draw My Ill-Humours, But You Shall Not Draw Them. As Son And

Servant Of Your Grace I Came In, And So Will Go Out. As A Son I Have

Knelt To The King My Father, As Servant I Am Ready To Obey Him. Let That

Marriage, Designed In The Cradle By The French King And You, Go On. I

Will Do My Part If Madame Alois Will Do Hers.'

 

Richard Folded His Arms; The King Sat Down Again. A Queer Exchange Of

Glances Had Passed Between His Father And Brother At The Mention Of That

Lady's Name. Richard, Who Saw It, Got The Feeling Of Some Secret Between

Them, The Feeling Of Being In A Trap; But He Said Nothing. The King

Began His Old Harping.

 

'Attend To Me Now, Richard,' He Said, With Much Work Of The Eyebrows;

'If That Ill-Gotten Beast Bertran Had Been Of Your Meinie Our Last Words

Had Been Said. Beast! He Is A Toothed Snake, That Crawled Into My Boy's

Bed And Bit Passion Into Him. Lord Jesus, If Ever Again I Meet Bertran,

Help Thou Me To Redden His Face! But As It Is, I Am Content. Rest You

Here With Me, If So Rough A Lodging May Content Your Nobility. As For

Madame Alois, She Shall Be Sent For; But I Think I Will Not Meet Your

Bevy Of Joglars From The South. I Have A Proud Stomach O' These Days; I

Doubt Pastry From Languedoc Would Turn Me Sour; And Liking Monks Little

Enough As It Is, Your Throstle-Cock Of Montauban Might Cause Me To

Blaspheme. See Them Entertained, Drago; Or Better, Let Them Entertain

Each Other--With Singing Games, Holy God! Go You, Bohun'--And He

Turned--'Fetch In Madame Alois.' Bohun Went Through A Curtain Behind

Him, And The King Sat In Thought, Biting His Thumbs.

 

Madame Alois Of France Came Out Of The Inner Tent, A Slinking, Thin

Girl, With The White And Tragic Face Of The Fool In A Comedy Set In

Black Hair. Richard Thought She Was Mad By The Way She Stared About Her

From One Man To Another; But He Went Down On His Knee In A Moment.

Prince John Turned Stiff, The Old King Bent His Brows To Watch Richard.

The Lady, Who Was Dressed In Black, And Looked To Be Half Fainting,

Shrank In An Odd Way Towards The Wall, As If To Avoid A Whip. 'Too Long

In England, Poor Soul,' Richard Thought; 'But Why Did She Come From The

King's Tent?'

 

It Was Not A Cheerful Meeting, Nor Did The King Show Any Desire To Make

It Better. When By Roundabout And Furtive Ways Madame Alois At Last

Stood Drooping By His Chair, He Began To Talk To Her In English, A

Language Unknown To Richard, Though Familiar Enough, He Saw, To His

Father And Brother. 'It Seems To Be His Grace's Desire To Make Me

Ridiculous,' He Went On To Say To Himself: 'What A Dead-Level Of Grim

Words! In English, It Appears, You Do Not Talk. You Stab With The

Tongue.' In Truth, There Was No Conversation. The King Or The Prince

Spoke, And Madame Alois Moistened Her Lips; She Looked Nowhere But At

The Old Tyrant, Not At His Eyes, But Above Them, At His Forehead, And

With A Trepitant Gaze, Like A Watched Hare's. 'The King Has Her In

Thrall, Soul And Body,' Richard Considered. Then His Knee Began To Ache,

And He Released It. 'Fair Sire,' He Began In His Own Tongue. Madame

Alois Gave A Start, And 'Ha, Richard,' Says The King, 'Art Thou Still

There, Man?'

 

'Where Else, My Lord?' Asked The Son. The Father Looked At Alois.

 

'Deign To Recognise In This Baron, Madame,' He Said, 'My Son The Count

Of Poictou. Let Him Salute, Madame, That Which He Has Sought From So

Far, And With Such Humility, Pardieu; Your White Hand, Alois.' The

Strange Girl Quivered, Then Put Her Hand Out. Richard, Kissing It, Found

It Horribly Cold.

 

'Lady,' He Said, 'I Pray We May Be Better Acquainted; But I Must Tell

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You That I Have No English. Let Me Hope That In This Good Land You May

Recover Your French.' He Got No Answer From The Lady, But, By Heaven, He

Made His Father Angry.

 

'We Hope, Richard, That You Will Teach Madame Better Things Than That,'

Sniffed The Old Man, Nosing About For Battle.

 

'I Pray That I May Teach Her No Worse, My Lord,' Replied The Other. 'You

Will Perhaps Allow That For A Daughter Of France The Tongue May Have Its

Uses.'

 

'As English, Count, For The Son Of England!' Cried His Father; 'Or For

His Wife, By The Mass, If He Is Fit To Have One.'

 

'Of That, Sire, We Must Talk At Your Grace's Leisure,' Said Richard

Slowly. 'Jesus!' He Asked Himself, 'Will He Put Me To A Block Of Ice?

What Is The Matter With This Woman?' The King Put An End To His

Questions By Dismissing Madame Alois, Breaking Up The Assembly, And

Himself Retiring. He Was Dreadfully Fatigued, Quite White And

Breathless. Richard Saw Him Follow The Lady Through The Inner Curtain,

And Again Was Uncomfortably Suspicious. But When His Brother John Made

To Slip In Also He Thought There Must Be An End Of It. He Tapped The

Young Man On The Shoulder.

 

'Brother, A Word With You,' Says He; And John Came Twittering Back. The

Two Were Alone In The Tent.

 

This John--Sansterre, Landlos, Lackland, So They Variously Called

Him--Was A Timid Copy Of His Brother, A Wry-Necked Reedy Richard With A

Sniff. Not So Tall, Yet More Spare, With Blue Eyes More Pallid Than His

Brother's, And Protruding Where Richard's Were Inset, The Difference Lay

More In Degree Than Kind. Richard Was Of Heroic Build, But A Well-Knit,

Well-Shaped Hero; In John The Arms Were Too Long, The Head Too Small,

The Brow Too Narrow. Richard's Eyes Were Perhaps Too Wide Apart; No

Doubt John's Were Too Near Together. Richard Twitched His Fingers When

He Was Moved, John Bit His Cheek. Richard Stooped From The Neck, John

From The Shoulders. When Richard Threw Up His Head You Saw The Lion;

John At Bay Reminded You Of A Wolf In A Corner. John Snarled At Such

Times, Richard Breathed Through His Nose. John Showed His Teeth When He

Was Crossed, Richard When He Was Merry. So Many Thousand Points Of

Unlikeness Might Be Named, All Small: The Lord Knows Here Are Enough.

The Angevin Cat-And-Dog Nature Was Fairly Divided Between These Two.

Richard Had The Sufficiency Of The Cat, John The Dependence Of A Dog;

John Had The Cat's Secretiveness, Richard The Dog's Dash. At Heart John

Was A Thief.

 

He Feared And Hated His Brother; So When Richard Said, 'Brother, A Word

With You,' John Tried To Disguise Apprehension In Disgust. The Result

Was A Very Sick Smile.

 

'Willingly, Dear Brother, And The More So--' He Began; But Richard Cut

Him Short.

 

'What Under The Light Of The Sky Is The Matter With That Lady?' He Asked

Him.

 

John Had Been Preparing For That. He Raised His Eyebrows And Splayed Out

Both His Hands. 'Can You Ask? Eh, Our Lord! Emotion--A Stranger In A

Strange Land--An Access Of The Shudders--Who Knows Women? So Long From

France-Dreadful Of Her Brother--Dreadful Of You--So Many Things! A Silly

Mind--Ah, My Brother!'

 

Richard Checked Him Testily. 'Put A Point, Put A Point, You Drown Me In

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Phrases; Your Explanations Explain Nothing. One More Word. What In The

Devil's Name Is She Doing In There?' He Had A Short Way. John Began To

Stammer.

 

'A Second Father--A Tender Guardian--'

 

'Pish!' Said Count Richard, And Turned To Leave The Pavilion. Prince

John Slipped Through The Curtains, And At That Moment Richard Heard A

Little Fretful Cry Within, Not The Cry Of Mortal Lady. 'What Under

Heaven Have They Got In There, This Family?' He Asked Himself.

Shrugging, He Went Out Into The Fresh Air.

 

The Abbot Notes That His Lord And Master Came Running Into His Quarters,

'And Tumbled Upon Me, Like A Lover Who Finds His Mistress After Many

Days. "Milo, Milo, Milo," He Began To Cry, Three Times Over, As If The

Name Helped Him, "Thou Wilt Live To See A Puddock Upon The Throne Of

England!" Thus He Strangely Said.'