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

Did Not Go. 'We Have Him, Eh, We Have Him!' Cheered

Saint-Pol, Rubbing His Hands Together.

 

But The Viscount, 'Be Not So Very Sure. He May Send Gaston Or Mercadet.

Or If The Fit Is On Him He May Come In Force. We Cannot Support That. I

Believe That You Have Played A Fool's Part, Saint-Pol.'

 

'I Am Playing A Gentleman's Part,' Replied The Other, 'To Entrap A

Villain.'

 

'Your Villain Is Six Foot Two Inches, And Hath Arms To Agree,' Said The

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Viscount, A Dry Man.

 

'We Will Lay Him By The Heels, Viscount; We Will Lop Those Long Arms,

Cold-Blooded, Desperate Tyrant. He Has Brought Two Lovely Ladies To

Misery. Now Let Him Know Misery.' Thus Saint-Pol, Feeling Very Sure Of

Himself.

 

 

The Queen Was At Cahors All This Time, Living In A Convent Of White

Nuns, Probably Happier Than She Had Ever Been In Her Life Before. Count

John Kept Her Informed Of All Richard's Offences; Saint-Pol, You May

Take My Word For It, Was So Exuberantly On Her Side That It Must Be

Almost An Offence In Her To Refuse Him. But She, In A Pure Mood Of

Abnegation, Would Hear Nothing Against King Richard. Even When She Was

Told, With Proof Positive, That He Was In Treaty With Rome, She Said Not

A Word To Her Friends. Secretly She Hugged Herself, Beginning (Like Most

Women) To Find Pleasure In Pain. 'Let Him Deny Me, Let Him Deny Me

Thrice, Even As Thou Wert Denied, Sweet Lord Jesus!' She Prayed To

Christ On The Wall. 'So Denied, Thou Didst Not Cease From Loving. I

Think The Woman In Thee Outcried The Man.' She Got A Piercing Bliss Out

Of Each New Knife Stuck In Her Little Jumping Heart. Once Or Twice She

Wrote To Alois Of France, Who Was At Fontevrault, In Her King's Country.

'Dear Lady,' She Wrote, 'They Seek To Enrage My Lord Against Me. If You

See Him, Tell Him That I Believe Nothing That I Hear Until I Receive The

Word From His Own Glorious Mouth.' Alois, Chilly In Her Cell, Took No

Steps To Get Speech With King Richard. 'Let Her Suffer: I Suffer,' She

Would Say. And Then, Curiously Jealous Lest More Pain Should Be

Berengère's Than Was Hers, A Daughter's Of France, She Made Haste To

Send Assuring Messages To Cahors. Still Berengère Sweetly Agonised.

Saint-Pol Sent Her Letters Full Of Love And Duty, Enthusiastic,

Breathing Full Arms Against Her Wrongs. But She Always Replied, 'Count

Of Saint-Pol, You Do Me Injury In Seeking To Redress Your Own. I Admit

Nothing Against My Lord The King. Many Hate Him, But I Love Him. My Will

Is To Be Meek. Meekness Would Become You Very Well Also.' Saint-Pol

Could Not Think So.

 

Lastly Came The Intelligence That King Richard In Person Was Moving

South With A Great Force To Win The Treasure Of Chaluz. The News Was

True. Not Only Did He Dwell With The Nervous Persistency Of The

Afflicted Upon The Wretched Gold Cæsar, But With Clearer Political

Vision Saw A Chance Of Subduing All Aquitaine. 'Any Stick Will Do, Even

Adhémar Of Limoges,' He Said, Not Suspecting Saint-Pol's Finger In The

Dish; And Told Mercadet To Summon The Knights, And The Knights Their

Array. Before He Set Out He Sent Two Messengers More--One To Rome, And

One Much Further East. Then He Began His Warlike Preparations With Great

Heart.

 

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Jehane, Called Gulzareen, The Golden Rose, Had Borne Three Children To

The Old Man Of Musse. She Was Suckling The Third, And Teaching Her

Eldest, The Young Fulke Of Anjou, His Creed, Or As Much Of It As She

Could Remember, When There Came Up A Herald From Tortosa Who Bore Upon

His Tabard The Three Leopards Of England. He Delivered A Sealed Letter

Thus Superscribed--

 

'La Très-Haulte Et Ma Très Chère Dame, Madame Jehane, Comtesse D'anjou,

De La Part Le Roy Richard. Hastez Tousjours.'

 

The Letter Was Brought To The Old Man As He Sat In His White Hail Among

His Mutes.

 

'Fulness Of Light,' Said The Vizier, After Prostrations, 'Here Is Come A

Letter From The Melek Richard, Sealed, For Her Highness The Golden

Rose.'

 

'Give It To Me, Vizier,' Said The Old Man, And Broke The Seal, And

Read--

 

'Madame, Most Dear Lady, In A Very Little While I Shall Be Free From My

Desperate Nets; And Then You Shall Be Freed From Yours. Keep A Great

Heart. After Five Years Of Endeavour At Last I Come Quickly.--Richard Of

Anjou.'

 

The Old Man Sat Stroking His Fine Beard For Some Time After He Had

Dismissed His Vizier. Looking Straight Before Him Down The Length Of His

Hail, No Sound Broke The Immense Quiet Under Which He Accomplished His

Meditations Of Life And Death. The Assassins Dreaming By The Walls

Breathed Freely Through Their Noses.

 

As A Small Voice Heard From Far Off In These Dreams Of Theirs, The Voice

Of One Calling From A Distant Height, Came His Words, 'Cogia Ibn Hassan

Ibn Alnouk, Come And Hearken.' A Slim Young Man Rose, Ran Forward And

Fell Upon His Face Before The Throne. Once More The Faint Far Cry Came

Floating, 'Bohadin Son Of Falmy Of Balsora, Come And Hearken'; And

Another White-Robed Youth Followed Cogia.

 

'My Sons,' Said The Old Man, 'The Word Is Upon You. Go To The West For

Forty Days. In The Country Of The Franks, In The South Parts Thereof,

But North Of The Great Mountains, You Shall Find The Melek Richard,

Admirable Man, Whom Allah Longs For. Strike, My Sons, But From Afar (For

Not Otherwise Shall Ye Dare Him), And Gain The Gates Of Paradise And The

Soft-Bosomed Women Of Your Dreams. Go Quickly, Prepare Yourselves.' The

Two Young Men Crawled To Kiss His Foot; Then They Went Out, And Silence

Folded The Hail Of Audience Once More Like A Wrapping.

 

Later In The Day A Slave-Girl Told Jehane That Her Master Was Waiting

For Her. The Baby Was Asleep In The Cradle Under A Muslin Veil; She

Kissed Fulke, A Fine Tall Boy, Six And A Half Years Old, And Followed

The Messenger.

 

The Old Man Embraced Her Very Affectionately, Kissed Her Forehead And

Raised Her From Her Knees. 'Come And Sit With Me, Beautiful And Pious

Wife, Mother Of My Sons,' Said He. 'I Have Many Things To Say To You.'

 

When They Were Close Together On The Cushions Of The Window, Sinan Put

His Arm Round Her Waist, And Said, 'For A Good And Happy Marriage, My

Gulzareen, It Is Well That The Woman Should Not Love Her Husband Too

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Much, But Rather Be Meek, Show Obedience To His Desires, And Alacrity,

And Give Courtesy. The Man Must Love Her, And Honour That In Her Which

Makes Her Worth, Her Beauty, To Wit, The Bounty Of Her Fruitfulness, And

Her Discretion. But For Her It Is Enough That She Suffer Herself To Be

Loved, And Give Him Her Duty In Return. The Love That Seeds In Her She

Shall Bestow Upon Her Children. That Is How Peace Of Mind Grows In The

World, And Happiness, For Without The First There Can Never Be The

Second. You, My Child, Have A Peaceful Mind: Is It Not So?'

 

'My Lord,' Jehane Replied, With No Sign Of The Old Discontent Upon Her

Red Mouth, 'I Am At Peace. For I Have Your Affection; You Tell Me That I

Deserve It. And I Give My Children Love.'

 

'And You Are Happy, Jehane?'

 

She Sighed, Ever So Lightly. 'I Should Be Happy, My Lord. But Sometimes,

Even Now, I Think Of King Richard, And Pray For Him.'

 

'I Believe That You Do,' Said The Old Man. 'And Because I Desire Your

Happiness In All Things, I Desire You To See Him Again.'

 

A Bright Blush Flooded Jehane, Whose Breath Also Became A Trouble. By A

Quick Movement She Drew Her Veil About Her, Lest He Should See Her

Unquiet Breast. So The Mother Of Proserpine Might Have Been Startled

Into New Maidenhood When, In Her Wanderings, Some Herd Had Claimed Her

In Love. Her Husband Watched Her Keenly, Not Unkindly. Jehane's Trouble

Increased; He Left Her Alone To Fight It. So At Last She Did; Then

Touched His Hand, Looking Deeply Into His Face. He, Loving Her Greatly,

Held Her Close.

 

'Well, Joy Of My Joy?'

 

'Lord,' She Said, Speaking Hurriedly And Low, 'Let Me Not See Him, Ask

It Not Of Me. It Is More Than I Dare. It Is More Than Would Be Right; I

Ask It For His Sake, Not For Mine. For He Has A Great Heart, The

Greatest Heart That Ever Man Had In The World; Also He Is Sudden To

Change, As I Know Very Well; And The Sight Of Me Denied Him Might Move

Him To A Desperate Act, As Once Before It Did.' She Lowered Her Head

Lest He Should See All She Had To Show. He Smiled Gravely, Stroking Her

Hand And Playing With It, Up And Down.

 

'No, Child, No,' He Said, 'It Will Do You No Harm Now. The Harm, I Take

It, Has Been Done: Soon It Will Be Ended. You Shall Hear From His Own

Lips That He Will Not Hurt You.'

 

Jehane Looked At Him In Wonder, Startled Out Of Confusion Of Face.

 

'Do You Know More Of Him Than I Do, Sire?' She Asked, With A Quick

Heart.

 

'I Believe That I Do,' Replied The Old Man; 'And Take My Word For It,

Dear Child, That I Wish Him No Ill. I Wish Him,' He Continued Very

Deliberately, 'Less Ill Than He Has Sought To Do Himself. I Wish Him

Most Heartily Well. And You, My Girl, Whom I Have Grown Wisely And

Tenderly To Love; You, My Golden Rose, Moon Of The Caliph, My Stem, My

Vine, My Holy Vase, My Garden Of Endless Delight--For You I Wish, Above

All Things, Rest After Labour, Refreshment And Peace. Well, I Believe

That I Shall Gain Them For You. Go, Therefore, Since I Bid You, And Take

With You Your Son Fulke, That His Father May See And Bless Him, And (If

He Think Fit) Provide For Him After The Custom Of His Own Country. And

When You Have Learned, As Learn You Will, From His