The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 - Maurice Hewlett (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 16 (Conversation In England Of Jehane The Fair) Pg 93

Anointed King Of The English, Unearthly Pure, With Eyes Like Stars,

Robed In Dull Red, Crowned Herself With Silver. All Those About Her,

Marking The Respect Which The Old Queen Paid Her, Scarce Dared Lift

Their Eyes To Her Face. The Tall King, Stripped To The Shirt, Was

Anointed, Then Robed, Then Crowned; Afterwards Sat With Orb And Sceptre

To Receive Homage. Jehane Came In Her Turn To Kneel Before Him. But Her

Work Had Been Done. That Icy Stream In The Blood, Which Is Cause And

Proof At Once Of The Kingly Isolation, Was Doubly In Richard, First Of

That Name. He Beheld Her Kneeling At His Knee, Knew Her And Knew Her

Not. She With Her Cold Lips Kissed His Cold Hand. That Day Had Love, By

Her Own Desire, Been Frozen; And That Which Was To Awaken It Was Itself

Numb In Sleep.

 

On The Third Of September They Crowned Him King, And Found That He Was

To Be King Indeed. On The Same Day The Citizens Of London Killed All The

Jews They Could Find; And Richard Banished His Brother John From His

Dominions In England And France For Three Years And Three Days.

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I Suppose That The Present Relations Of King Richard And The Countess Of

Poictou (As She Chose To Call Herself Now) Were As Singular As Could

Subsist Between A Strong Man And Beautiful Woman, Both In Love. I Am Not

To Extenuate Or Explain, But Say Once For All To The Curious That She

Was Never Again To Him (Nor Had Been Since That Day At Fontevrault) What

A Sister Might Not Have Been. Yet, With All That, It Was Evident To The

World At Large That He Was A Lover, And She Mistress Of His Mind. Not

Only Implicitly So, As Witnessed Their Long Intercourse Of The Eyes,

Their Quick Glances, Stealthy Watching Of Each Other, The Little Tender

Acts (As The Giving Or Receiving Of A Flower), The Brooding Silences,

The Praying At The Same Time Or Place; But Explicitly He Pronounced

Himself Her Knight. All His Songs Were Of Her; He Wrote To Her Many

Times A Day, And She Answered His Letters By Her Page, And Kept The

Latest Of Them Always Within Her Vest, Over Against Her Heart. She

Allowed Herself More Scope Than He, Trusting Herself Further: It Is

Known That She Treasured Discarded Things Of His, And Went So Far As To

Wear (She, The Fair-Girdled!) A Studded Belt Of His Made To Fit Her. She

Was Never Without This Rude Monument Of Her Former Grace. But This Was

The Sum-Total Of Their Bodily Intercourse, Apart From Speech. Of Their

Spiritual Ecstasies I Have No Warrant To Speak, Though I Believe These

Were Very Innocent. She Would Not Dare, Nor He Care, To Indulge In So

Laxative A Joy.

 

He Conversed With Her Freely Upon All Affairs Of Moment; There Was No

Constraint On Either Side. He Was Even Merry In Her Company, And

Astonishingly Frank. Singular Man! The Navarrese Marriage Was A Common

Subject Of Their Talk; She Spoke Of It With Serious Mockery And He With

Mock Seriousness. From Richard It Was, 'Countess Jehane, When The

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Chalk-Faced Spaniard Reigns You Must Mend Your Manners.' And She Might

Say, 'Beau Sire, Madame Berengère Will Never Like Your Songs Unless You

Sing Of Her.' All This Served The Girl's Private Ends. Gradually And

Gradually She Led Him To See That Thing As Fixed. She Did It, As It

Were, On Tiptoe, For She Knew What A Shyer He Was; But Luckily For Her

Schemes, The Queen-Mother Trusted Her To The Bottom, Said Nothing And

Allowed Nothing To Be Said.

 

Meantime The Affairs Of The Crusade Conspired With Jehane To Drive

Richard Once More To Church. If He Got Little Money In England, Where

Abbeys Were Rich In Corn But Poor In Pelf, And The Barons Had Been So

Prompt To Rob Each Other That They Could Not Be Robbed By The King,--He

Got Less In Gaul, Eaten Up By War For A Hundred Years. You Cannot Bleed

A Stuck Pig, As King Richard Found. England Was Empty Of Money. He Got

Men Enough; From One Motive Or Another Every English Knight Was Willing

To Rifle The East. He Had Ships Enough. But Of What Use Ships And Men

If There Was No Food For Them Nor Money To Buy It? He Tried To Borrow,

He Tried To Beg, He Tried What In A Less Glorious Cause A Plain Man

Would Call Stealing. King Richard Came Not Of A Squeamish Race, And

Would Have Sold Anything To Any Buyer, Pawned His Crown Or Taken Another

Man's To Get The Worth Of A Company's Pay Out Of It. Fines, Escheats,

Reliefs, Forfeitures, Wardships, Marriages--He Heaped Exaction On

Exaction, With Mighty Little Result. When His Mind Was Set He Was

Inexorable, Insatiable, Without Scruple. What He Got Only Sharpened His

Appetite For More. King Tancred Of Sicily Owed The Dowry Of Richard's

Sister Joan. He Swore He Would Wring That Out Of Him To The Last Doit.

He Offered The City Of London To The Highest Bidder, And Lamented The

Slaughter Of The Jews When The Tenders Were Few. Here Was A Position To

Be In! His Englishmen Lay Rotting In Southampton Town, His Ships In

Southampton Water. His Normans And Poictevins Were Over-Ripe; He As Dry

As An Unpinched Pear. He Saw, To His Infinite Vexation, His Honour Again

In Pawn, And No Means Of Redeeming It. Jehane, With Tears In Her Voice,

Plied The Navarrese Marriage With More Passion Than She Would Ever Have

Allowed Herself To Urge Her Own. Richard Said He Would Think Of It. 'Now

I Have Him Half-Way,' Jehane Told The Queen-Mother. He Was Driven The

Other Half By His Banished Brother John.

 

Prince John, Bundled Out Of The Country Within A Week Of The Coronation,

Went To Paris And A Pocketful Of Mischief In Which To Put His Hand.

King Philip, Who Should Have Been Preparing For The East, Was Listening

To Counsels Much More To His Liking. Conrad Of Montferrat Was There,

With Large White Fingers Explaining On The Table, And A Large White Face

Set As Lightly As A Mouse-Trap. His Italian Mind, With That Strange

Capacity For Subserving Business With Passion, Had A Task Of Election

Here. The Marquess Knew That Richard Would Sooner Help The Devil Than

Him To Jerusalem; Not Only On This Account, But On Every Conceivable

Account Did He Hate Richard. If He Could Embroil The Two Leaders Of The

Crusade, There Was His Affair: Philip Would Need Him. In Paris Also Was

Saint-Pol, Fizzling With Mischief, And Behind Him, Where-Ever He Went,

Stalked Gilles De Gurdun, Murder In His Heart. The Massive Norman Was A

Fine Foil To The Count: They Were The Two Poles Of Hatred. The Duke Of

Burgundy Was Not There, But Conrad Knew That He Could Be Counted.

Richard Owed Him (So He Said) Forty Pounds; Besides, Richard Had Called

Him A Sponge--And It Was True. There, Lastly, Was Des Barres, That Fine

Frenchman, Ready To Hate Anybody Who Was Not French, And Most Ready To

Hate Richard, Who Had Broken Up The Gisors Wedding And Put,

Single-Handed, All The Guests To Shame. Now, This Was A Company After

Prince John's Own Heart. Standing Next To The English Throne, He Was An

Excellent Footstool; He Felt The Delicate Position, He Was Flattered At

Every Turn. The Marquess Found Him Most Useful, Not Only Because He Was

On Better Terms With Philip Than Himself Could Hope To Be, But Because

He Understood Him Better. John Knew That There Were Two Tender Spots In

That Moody King, And He Knew Which Was The Tenderer, Pardieu! So

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Conrad's Gross Finger, Guided By John's, Probed The Raw Of Philip's

Self-Esteem, And Found A Rankling Wound, Very Proud Flesh. Oh,

Intolerable Affront To The House Of Capet, That A Tall Angevin Robber

Should Take Up And Throw Away A Daughter Of France, And Then Whistle You

To A War In The East! Prince John, You Perceive, Knew Where To Rub In

The Salt.

 

The Storm Broke When King Richard Was Again At Chinon. King Philip Sent

Messengers--William Des Barres, The Bishop Of Beauvais, And Stephen Of

Meaux--About The Homage Due To Him For Normandy And All The French

Fiefs. So Far Well; King Richard Was Very Urbane, As Bland As Such An

Incisive Dealer Could Be. He Would Do Homage For Normandy, Anjou, And

The Rest On Such And Such A Day. 'But,' He Added Quietly, 'I Attach The

Condition That It Be Done At Vézelay, When I Am There With My Army For

The East, And He With His Army.'

 

The Ambassadors Demurred, Talking Among Themselves: Richard Sat On

Immovable, His Hands On His Knees. Presently The Bishop Of Beauvais,

Better Soldier Than Priest, Stood Out From His Fellows And Made This

Remarkable Speech:--

 

'Beau Sire, Our Lord The August King Takes It Very Ill That You Have So

Long Delayed The Marriage Agreed Upon Solemnly Between Your Grace And

Madame Alois His Sister. Therefore--' Milo (Who Was Present) Says That

He Saw His Master Narrow His Eyes So Much That He Seemed To Have None At

All, But 'Sockets And Blank Balls In Them, Like Statues.' The Bishop Of

Beauvais, Apparently, Did Not Observe It. 'Therefore,' He Went On,

Orotund, 'Our Lord The King Desires That The Marriage May Be Celebrated

Before He Sets Out For Acre And The Blessed Work In Those Parts. Other

Matters There Are For Settlement, Such As The Title Of The Most

Illustrious Marquess Of Montferrat To The Holy Throne, In