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 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 19

When The Count Of Saint-Pol Came To Paris He Found The Going Very

Delicate. For It Is A Delicate Matter To Confer In A King's Capital,

With A King's Allies, How Best To Throw Obstacles In That King's Way. As

A Matter Of Fact He Found That He Could Do Little Or Nothing In The

Business. King Philip Was In Great Feather Concerning His Sister's

Arrival; The Heralds Were Preparing To Go Out To Meet Her. Nicholas D'eu

And The Baron Of Quercy Were To Accompany Them; King Philip Thought

Saint-Pol The Very Man To Make A Third, But This Did Not Suit The Count

At All. He Sought Out His Kinsman The Marquess Of Montferrat, A Heavy

Italian, Who Gave Him Very Little Comfort. All He Could Suggest Was That

His 'Good Cousin' Would Do Better To Help Him To The Certain Throne Of

Jerusalem. 'What Do You Want With More Than One King In A Family?' Asked

The Marquess. Saint-Pol Grew Rather Dry As He Assured Him That One King

Would Suffice, And That Anjou Was Nearer Than Jerusalem. He Went On To

Hint At Various Strange Speculations Rife Concerning The History Of

Madame Alois. 'If You Want Garbage, Eudo,' Said Montferrat To This,

'Come Not To Me. But I Know A Rat Who Might Be Of Service.'

 

'The Name Of Your Rat, Marquess! It Is All I Ask.'

 

'Bertran De Born: Who Else?' Said Montferrat. Now, Bertran De Born Was

The Thorn In The Flesh Of Anjou, A Rankling Addition To Their State Whom

They Were Never Without. Saint-Pol Knew His Value Very Well, And Decided

To Go Down To See The Man In His Own Country. So He Would Have Gone, No

Doubt, Had Not His Sovereign Judged Otherwise. Saint-Pol Received

Commands To Accompany The Heralds To Louviers, So Had To Content Himself

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 20

With A Messenger To The Trobador And A Letter Which Announced The

Extreme Happiness Of The Great Count Of Poictou. This, He Knew, Would

Draw The Poison-Bag.

 

The Frenchmen Arrived At Louviers None Too Soon. As Well Mix Fire And

Ice As Poictevin With Norman Or Angevin With Angevin. The Princes

Stalked About With Claws Out Of Velvet, The Nobles Bickered Fiercely,

And The Men-At-Arms Did After Their Kind. There Was Open Fighting.

Gaston Of Béarn Picked A Quarrel With John Botetort, And They Fought It

Out With Daggers In The Fosse. Then Count Richard Took One Of His

Brother's Goshawks And Would Not Give It Up. Over The Long Body Of That

Bird Half A Score Noblemen Engaged With Swords; The Count Of Poictou

Himself Accounted For Six, And Ended By Pommelling His Brother Into A

Red Jelly. There Was A Week Or More Of This, During Which The Old King

Hunted Like A Madman All Day And Revelled In Gloomy Vices All Night.

Richard Saw Little Of Him And Little Of The Lady Of France. She, A Pale

Shade, Flitted Dismally Out When Evoked By The King, Dismally In Again

At A Nod From Him. Whenever She Did Appear Prince John Hovered About,

Looking Tormented; Afterwards The Pock-Marked Cluniac Might Be Heard

Lecturing Her On Theology And The Soul's Business In Passionless

Monologue. It Was Very Far From Gay. As For Her, Richard Believed Her

Melancholy Mad; He Himself Grew Fretful, Irritable, Most Quarrelsome.

Thus It Was That He First Plundered And Then Punched His Brother.

 

After That Prince John Disappeared For A Little To Nurse His Sores, And

Richard Got Within Fair Speaking Distance Of Madame Alois. In Fact, She

Sent For Him Late One Night When The King, As He Knew, Was Away,

Munching The Ashes Of Charred Pleasure In Some Stews Or Other. He Obeyed

The Summons With A Half-Shrug.

 

They Received Him With Consternation. The Distracted Lady Was In A

Chair, Hugging Herself; The Cluniac Stood By, A Mortified Emblem; A

Scared Woman Or Two Fled Behind The Throne. Madame Alois, When She Saw

Who The Visitor Was, Began To Shake.

 

'Oh, Oh!' She Said In A Whisper, 'Have You Come To Murder Me, My Lord?'

 

'Why, Madame,' Richard Made Haste To Say, 'I Would Serve You Any Other

Way But That, And Supposed I Had The Right. But I Came Because You Sent

For Me.'

 

She Passed Her Hand Once Or Twice Over Her Face, As If To Brush Cobwebs

Away; One Of The Women Made A Piteous Appeal Of The Eyes To Richard, Who

Took No Notice Of It; The Monk Said Something To Himself In A Low Voice,

Then To The Count, 'Madame Is Overwrought, My Lord.'

 

'Yes, You Rascal,' Thought Richard; 'Your Work.' Aloud He Said, 'I Hope

Her Grace Will Give You Leave To Retire, Sir.' Madame Hereupon Waved Her

People Away, And Went On Waving Long After They Had Gone. Thus She Was

Alone With Her Future Lord. There Was The Wreck Of Fine Beauty About Her

Drawn Race, Beauty Of The Black-And-White, Sheeted Sort; But She Looked

As If She Walked With Ghosts. Richard Was Very Gentle With Her. He Drew

Near, Saying, 'I Grieve To See You Thus, Madame'; But She Stopped Him

With A Question--

 

'They Seek To Have You Marry Me?'

 

He Smiled: 'Our Masters Desire It, Madame.'

 

'Are You Very Sure Of That?'

 

'I Am Here,' He Explained, 'Because I Am So Sure.'

 

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 21

'And You Desire--'

 

'I, Madame,' He Said Quickly And Shortly, 'Desire Two Things--The Good

Of My Country And Your Good. If I Desire Anything Else, God Knows It Is

To Keep My Promise.'

 

'What Is Your Promise?'

 

'Madame,' Said Richard, 'I Bear The Cross On My Shoulder, As You See.'

 

'Why,' She Said, Fearfully Regarding It, 'That Is God's Work!'

 

She Began To Walk About The Room Quickly, And To Talk To Herself. He

Could Not Catch Properly What She Said. Religion Came Into It, And A

Question Of Time. 'Now It Should Be Done, Now It Should Be Done!' And

Then, 'Hear, O Thou Shepherd Of Israel!' And Then With A Wild Look Into

Richard's Face--'That Was A Strange Thing To Do To A Lady. They Can

Never Lay That To Me!' Afterwards She Began To Wring Her Hands, With A

Cry Of 'Fie, Poison, Poison, Poison!' Looking At Richard All The Time.

 

'This Poor Lady,' He Told Himself, 'Is Possessed By A Devil, Therefore

No Wife For Me, Who Have Devil Enough And To Spare.'

 

'What Ails You, Madame?' He Asked Her. 'Tell Me Your Grief, And Upon My

Life I Will Amend It If I Can.'

 

'You Cannot,' She Said. 'Nothing Can Mend It.'

 

'Then, With Leave'--He Went To The Curtains--'I Will Call Your Grace's

People. Our Discussions Can Be Later; There Is Time Enough.'

 

She Would Have Stopped Him Had She Dared, Or Had The Force; But

Literally She Was Spent. There Was Just Time To Get The Women In Before

She Tumbled. Richard, In His Perplexity, Determined To Wrangle Out The

Matter With The King On The Morrow, Cost What It Might. So He Did; And

To His High Surprise The King Reasoned Instead Of Railing. Madame Alois,

He Said, Was Weakly, Un-Wholesome Indeed. In His Opinion She Wanted,

What All Young Women Want, A Husband. She Was Too Much Given To The

Cloister, She Had Visions, She Was Feared To Use The Discipline, She Ate

Nothing, Was More Often On Her Knees Than On Her Feet. 'All This, My

Son,' Said King Henry, 'You Shall Correct At Your Discretion. Humours,

Vapours, Qualms, Fantasies--Pouf! You Can Blow Them Away With A Kiss.

Have You Tried It? No? Too Cold? Nay, But You Should.' And So On, And So

On. That Day, None Too Soon, The French Ambassadors Arrived, And

Richard Saw The Count Of Saint-Pol Among Them.

 

He Had Never Liked The Count Of Saint-Pol; Or Perhaps It Would Be Truer

To Say That He Disliked Him More Than Ordinary. But He Belonged To, Had

Even A Tinge Of, Jehane; Some Of Her Secret Fragrance Hung About Him, He

Walked In Some Ray Of Her Glory. It Seemed To Richard, Bothered, Sick,

Fretted, A Little Disconcerted As He Was Now, That The Count Of

Saint-Pol Had An Air Which None Other Of This People Had. He Greeted Him

Therefore With More Than Usual Affability, Very Much To Saint-Pol's

Concern. Richard Observed This, And Suddenly Remembered That He Was

Doing The Man What The Man Must Certainly Believe To Be A Cruel Wrong.

'_Mort De Dieu!_ What Am I About?' His Heart Cried. 'I Ought To Be

Ashamed To Look This Fellow In The Face, And Here I Am Making A Brother

Of Him.'

 

'Saint-Pol,' He Said Immediately, 'I Should Like To Speak With You. I

Owe You That.'

 

'Your Grace's Servant,' Said Eudo, With A Stiff Reverence, 'When And

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 22

Where You Will.'

 

'Follow Me,' Said Richard, 'As Soon As You Have Done With All This

Foppery.'

 

In About An Hour's Time He Was Obeyed. After His Fashion He Took A

Straight Plunge.

 

'Saint-Pol,' He Said, 'I Think You Know Where My Heart Is, Whether Here

Or Elsewhere. I Desire You To Understand That In This Case I Am Acting

Against My Own Will And Judgment.'

 

The Frankness Of This Lordly Creature Was Unmistakable, Even To

Saint-Pol.

 

'Hey, Sire--,' He Began Spluttering, Honesty In Arms With Rage. Richard

Took Him Up.

 

'If You Doubt That, As You Have My Leave To Do, I Am Ready To Convince

You. I Will Ride With You Wherever You Choose, And Place Myself At Your

Discretion. Subject To This, Mind You, That The Award Is Final. Once

More I Will Do It. Will You Abide By That? Will You Come With Me?'

 

Saint-Pol Cursed His Fate. Here He Was, Tied To The French Girl.

 

'My Lord,' He Said, 'I Cannot Obey You. My Duty Is To Take Madame To

Paris. That Is My