The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 - Maurice Hewlett (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
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Hugh,' He Said--And His Teeth Chattered As If It Had Been Bitter
Cold--'Out With The Name Of My Beloved Son. So You Shall See What Joyful
Agreement There Is In My House.' The Bishop Read The Name Of Richard
Count Of Poictou, And The King Grunted His 'Traitor From The Womb,' As
He Had Often Done Before.
'Who Follows Richard?' He Asked.
'Oh, Our Lady, Is He Not Enough, Sire?' Said The Bishop In Fear. The Old
King Sat Bolt Upright And Steadied His Head On His Knees. 'Read,' He
Said Again.
'I Cannot Read!' Cried Hugh With A Groan. The King Said, 'You Are A
Fool. Give Me The Parchment.'
He Pored Over It, With Dim Eyes Almost Out Of His Keeping, Searching For
The Names At The Top. So He Found What He Had Dreaded--'John Count Of
Mortain.' Shaking Fearfully, He Began To Point At The Wall As If He Saw
The Man Before Him. 'Jesu! Count By Me, King By Me, And Judas By Me!
Now, God, Let Me Serve Thee As Thou Deservest. Thou Hast Taken Away All
My Sons. Now Then The Devil May Have My Soul, For Thou Shalt Never Have
It.' The Death-Rattle Was Heard In His Throat, And Hugh Sprang Forward
To Help Him: He Was Still Stiffly Upright, Still Looking (Though With
Filmy Eyes) At The Wall, Still Trying To Shape In Words His Wicked
Vaunts. No Words Came From Him; His Jaw Dropped Before His Strong Old
Body. They Brought Him The Sacrament; His Soul Rejected It--Too Clean
Food. Hugh And Others About Him, All In A Sweat, Got Him Down At Last.
They Anointed Him And Said A Few Prayers, For They Were In A Desperate
Hurry When It Came To The End. It Was Near Midnight When He Died, And At
That Hour, They Terribly Report, The Wind Sprang Up And Howled About The
Turrets Of Chinon, As If All Hell Was Out Hunting For That Which He Had
Promised Them. But, If The Truth Must Be Told, He Had Never Kept His
Promises, And There Is No Reason To Suppose That He Kept That One
Either. Milo Adds, So Died This Great, Puissant, And Terrible King,
Cursing His Children, Cursed In Them, As They In Him. All Power Was
Given Over To Him From His Birth, Save One Only, Power Over Himself. He
Was Indeed A Slave More Wretched Than Those Hinds, _Glebæ Ascriptitii_,
Whom At A Distance He Ruled In His Lands: He Was Slave Of His Baser
Parts. With God He Was Always At War, And With God's Elect. What Of
Blessed Thomas? Let Thomas Answer On The Last Day. I Deny Him None Of
His Properties; He Was Open-Handed, Open-Minded, As Bold As A Lion. But
His Vices Ate Him Up. Peace Be With The Man; He Was A Mighty King. He
Left A Wife In Prison, Two Sons In Arms Against Him, And Many Bastards.'
As Soon As He Was Dead His People Came About Like Flies And Despoiled
The Castle Of Chinon, The Bed Where He Lay (Smiling Grimly, As If Death
Had Made Him A Cynic), His Very Body Of The Rings On Its Fingers, The
Gold Circlet, The Christ Round His Neck. Such Flagrancy Was The Penalty
Of Death, Who Had Made Himself Too Cheap In Those Days; Nor Were There
Any Left With Him Who Might Have Said, Honour My Dead Father, Or Dead
Master. William The Marshal Had Gone To Rouen, Afraid Of Richard;
Geoffrey Was Half Way To Angers After Treasure; The Bishop Of Durham
(For Purposes) Had Hastened Off To Poictiers To Be The First To Hail The
New King. All That Remained Faithful In That Den Of Thieves Were A
Couple Of Poor Girls With Whom The Old Sinner Had Lately Had To Do.
Seeing He Was Left Naked On His Bed, One Of These--Nicolete Her Name
Was, From Harfleur--Touched The Other On The Shoulder--Kentish Mall They
Called Her--And Said, 'They Have Robbed Our Master Of So Much As A Shirt
To Be Buried In. What Shall We Do?'
Mall Said, 'If We Are Found With Him We Shall Be Hanged, Sure Enough.
Yet The Old Man Was Kind To Me.'
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 12 (How They Bayed The Old Lion) Pg 66
'And To Me He Was Kind,' Said Nicolete, 'God Wot.'
Then They Looked At Each Other. 'Well?' Said Nicolete. And Mall, 'What
You Do I Will Do.' So They Kissed Together, Knowing It Was A Gallows
Matter, And Went In To The Dead Body Of The King. They Washed It
Tenderly, And Anointed It, Composed The Hands And Shut Down The Horrible
Sightless Eyes, Then Put Upon It The Only Shirt They Could Find, Which
(Being A Boy's) Was A Very Short One. Afterwards Came The Chancellor,
Stephen Of Turon, Called Up In A Great Hurry From A Merry-Making, With
One Or Two Others, And Took Some Order In The Affair.
The Chancellor Knew Perfectly Well That King Henry Had Desired To Be
Buried In The Church Of The Nuns At Fontevrault. There Had Been An Old
Prophecy That He Should Lie Veiled Among The Veiled Women Which Had
Pleased Him Very Much, Though It Had Often Been His Way To Scoff At It.
But No One Dared Move Him Without The Order Of The New King, Whoever
That Might Happen To Be. Who Could Tell When Anjou Was Claiming A Crown?
Messengers Therefore Were Sent Out Hot-Foot To Count Richard At
Poictiers, And To Count John, Who Was Supposed To Be In Paris. He,
However, Was At Tours With The French King, And Got The News First.
It Caught Him In The Wind, So To Put It. Alain, A Canon Of Tours, Came
Before Him Kneeling, And Told Him. 'Lord Christ, Alain, What Shall We
Do?' Says He, As White As A Cheese-Cloth. They Fell Talking Of This Or
That, That Might Or Might Never Be Done, When In Burst King Philip,
Saint-Pol, Des Barres, And The Purple-Faced Duke Of Burgundy. King
Philip Ran Up To John And Clapped Him On The Back.
'King John! King John Of England!' Screamed The Young Man, Like A Witch
In The Air; Then Burgundy Began His Grumble Of Thunder.
'I Stand For You, By God. I Am For You, Man.' But Saint-Pol Knelt And
Touched His Knee.
'Sire, Do Me Right, And I Become Your Man!' So Said Des Barres Also.
Count John Looked About Him And Wrung His Hands.
'Heh, My Lords! Heh, Sirs! What Shall I Do Now?' He Was Liquid; Fear And
Desire Frittered His Heart To Water.
They Held A Great Debate, All Talking At Once, Except The Subject Of The
Bother. He Could Only Bite His Nails And Look Out Of The Window. To
Them, Then, Came Creeping Alois Of France, Deadly Pale, Habited In The
Grey Weeds Of A Nun. How She Got In, I Know Not; But They Parted This
Way And That Before Her, And So She Came Very Close To John In His
Chair, And Touched Him On The Shoulder. 'What Now, Traitor?' She Said
Hoarsely. 'Whom Next? The Sister Betrayed; The Father; And Now The
Brother And King?'
John Shook. 'No, No, Alois, No No!' He Said In A Whisper. 'Go To Bed. We
Think Not Of It.' But She Still Stood Looking At Him, With A Wry Smile
On That Face Of Hers, Pinched With Grief And Old Before Its Time.
Saint-Pol Stamped His Foot. 'Whom Shall We Trust In Anjou?' He Said To
Des Barres. Des Barres Shrugged. The Duke Of Burgundy Grumbled Something
About 'D----D Women,' And King Philip Ordered His Sister To Bed. They
Got Her Out Of The Room After A Painful Scene, And Fell To Wrangling
Again, Trying To Screw Some Resolution Into The White Prince Whom They
All Intended To Use As A Cat's-Paw. About Eight O'clock In The
Morning--They Still At It--Came A Shatter Of Hoofs In The Courtyard,
Which Made Count John Jump In His Skin. A Herald Was Announced.
Reeking He Stood, And Stood Covered, In The Presence Of So Much Majesty.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 12 (How They Bayed The Old Lion) Pg 67
'Speak, Sir,' Said King Philip; And 'Uncover Before France, You Dog,'
Said Young Saint-Pol. The Herald Kept His Cap Where It Was.
'I Speak From England To The English. This Is The Command Of My Master,
Richard King Of The English, Duke Of Normandy, Count Of Anjou. Bid Our
Brother, The Illustrious Count Of Mortain, Attend Us At Fontevrault With
All Speed For The Obsequies Of The King Our Father. And Those Who Owe
Him Obedience, Let Them Come Also.'
There Was Low Murmuring In The Chamber, Which Grew In Volume, Until At
Last Burgundy Thundered Out, 'England Is Here! Cut Down That Man.' But
The Herald Stood His Ground, And No One Drew A Sword. John Dismissed Him
With A Few Smooth Words; But He Could Not Get Rid Of His Friends So
Easily. Nor Could They Succeed With Him. If Montferrat Had Been There
They Might Have Screwed Him To The Pitch. Montferrat Had A Clear Course:
Any King Of England Who Would Help Him To The Throne Of Jerusalem Was
The King Of England He Would Serve. But Philip Would Not Commit Himself,
And Burgundy Waited On Philip. As For Saint-Pol, He Was Nothing But A
Sword Or Two And An Unquenchable Grudge. And Forbidding In The
Background Stood Alois, With Reproach In Her Sunken Eyes. The End Of It
Was That Count John, After A While, Rode Out Towards Fontevrault With
All The Pomp He Could Muster. Thither Also, It Is Clear, Went Madame
Alois.
'I Was With My Master,' Says Milo In His Book, 'When They Brought Him
The News. He Was Not Long Home From The South, Had Been Hawking In The
Meadows All Day, And Was Now In Great Fettle, Sitting Familiarly Among
His Intimates, Jehane On His Knee. Bertran De Born Was In There Singing
Some Free Song, And The Gentle Viscount Of Béziers, And Lady Elis Of
Montfort (Who Sat On A Cushion And Played With Dame Jehane's Hand), And
Gaston Of Béarn, And (I Think) Lady Tibors Of Vézelay. Then Came The
Usher Suddenly Into The Room With His Wand, And By The Door Fell Upon
One Knee, A Sort Of State Which Count Richard Had Always Disliked. It
Made Him Testy.
'"Well, Gaucelm, Well," He Said; "On Your Two Legs, My Man, If You Are
To Please Me."
'"Lord King--" Gaucelm Began, Then Stopped. My Lord Bayed At Him.
'"Oy Deus!" He Said In Our Tongue, Below His Breath; And Jehane Slid Off
His Knee And On To Her Own. So Fell Kneeling The
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