"And afore thou wear thy fingers to the bone with thy much scribing,"
saith he, with that manner of smile of his eyes which Jack hath, "call
thou Father Philip to write at thy mouth, good wife."
"Nay, verily!" quoth I. "I would be loth to call off Father Philip from
his godly meditations, though I cast no doubt he were both fairer scribe
and better chronicler than I."
To speak sooth, it was Father Philip learned me to write, and the master
should be better than the scholar. I marvel more that have leisure
learn not to write. Jack cannot, nor my mother, and this it was that
made my said mother desirous to have me taught, for she said, had she
wist the same, she could have kept a rare chronicle when she dwelt at
the Court, and sith my life was like to be there also, she would fain
have me able to do so. I prayed Father Philip to learn my discreet
Alice, for I could trust her not to make an ill use thereof; but I
feared to trust my giddy little Vivien with such edged tools as Jack
saith pen and ink be. And in very sooth it were a dread thing if any
amongst us should be entrapped into intelligence with the King's
enemies, or such treasonable matter; and of this are wise men ever
afeared, when their wives or daughters learn to write. For me, I were
little feared of such matter as that: and should rather have feared (for
such as Vivien) the secret scribing of love-letters to unworthy persons.
Howbeit, Jack is wiser than I, and he saith it were dangerous to put
such power into the hands of most men and women.
Lo! here again am I falling into the Annals of Cicely. Have back, Dame
Cicely, an' it like you. Methinks I had best win back: yet how shall I
get out of the said Annals, and forward on my journey, when the very
next thing that standeth to be writ is mine own marriage?
It was on the morrow of the Epiphany, 1320, that I was wedded to my Jack
in the Chapel of York Castle. I have not set down the inwards of my
love-tale, nor shall I, for good cause; for then should I not only fall
into the Annals of Cicely, but should belike never make end thereof.
Howbeit, this will I say,--that when King Edward bestowed me on my Jack,
I rather count he had his eyes about him, and likewise that there had
been a few little passages that might have justified him in so doing:
for Jack was of the household, and we had sat the one by the other at
table more than once or twice, and had not always held our tongues when
so were. So we were no strangers, forsooth, but pretty well to the
contrary: and verily, I fell on my feet that morrow. I am not so sure
of Jack. And soothly, it were well I should leave other folks to blow
my trumpet, if any care to waste his breath at that business.
I was appointed damsel of the chamber on my marriage, and at after that
saw I far more of the Queen than aforetime. Now and again it was my
turn to lie in that pallet in her chamber. Eh, but I loved not that
work! I used to feel all out [altogether] terrified when those great
dark eyes flashed their shining flashes, and there were not so many
nights in the seven that they did not. She was as easy to put out as to
shut one's eyes, but to bring in again--eh, that was weary work!
I am not like to forget that July even when, in the Palace of
Westminster, my Lord of Exeter came to the Queen, bearing the Great
Seal. It was a full warm eve, and the Queen was late abed. Joan de
Vilers was that night tire-woman, and I was in waiting. I mind that
when one scratched on the door, we thought it Master Oliver, and instead
of going to see myself, I but bade one of the sub-damsels in a whisper.
But no sooner said she,--"Dame, if it shall serve you, here is my Lord
of Exeter and Sir Robert de Ayleston,"--than there was a full great
commotion. The Queen rose up with her hair yet unbound, and bade them
be suffered to enter: and when my Lord of Exeter came in, she--and after
her all we of her following--set her on her knees afore him to pray his
blessing. This my Lord gave, but something hastily, as though his
thoughts were elsewhere. Then said he--
"Dame, the King sends you the Great Seal, to be kept of you until such
time as he shall ask it again."
And he motioned forward Sir Robert de Ayleston, that held in his arms
the great bag of white leather, wherein was the Great Seal of gold.
Saw I ever in all my life face change as hers changed then! To judge
from her look, she might have been entering the gates of Heaven. (A
sorry Heaven, thought I, that gold and white leather could make betwixt
them.) Her eyes glowed, and flashed, and danced, all at once: and she
sat her down in a chair of state, and received the Seal in her own
hands, and saith she--
"Bear with you my duty to the King my lord, and tell him that I will
keep his great charge in safety."
So her words ran. But her eyes said--and eyes be apt to speak truer
than voices--"This day am I proudest of all the women in England, and I
let not go this Seal so long as I can keep it!"
Then she called Dame Elizabeth, which received the Seal upon the knee,
and the Queen bade her commit it to the great cypress coffer wherein her
royal robes were kept.
Not long after that, the Queen took her chamber at the Tower afore the
Lady Joan was born; and the Great Seal was then returned to the King's
Wardrobe. Master Thomas de Cherleton was then Comptroller of the
Wardrobe: but he was not over careful of his office, and left much in
the hands of his clerks; and as at that time Jack was clerk in charge,
he was truly Keeper of the Great Seal so long as the Queen abode in the
Tower. He told me he would be rare thankful when the charge was over,
for he might not sleep o' nights for thinking on the same. I do think
folks in high place, that be set in great charge, should do their own
work, and not leave it to them beneath, so that Master Comptroller hath
all the credit when things go well, and poor John Clerk payeth all the
wyte if things go wrong. But, dear heart! if man set forth to amend all
the crooked ways of this world, when shall he ever have done? Maybe if
I set a-work to amend me, Cicely, it shall be my best deed, and more
than I am like to have done in any hurry.
Now come I to the Queen's journey to France in 1324, and my tale shall
thereupon grow more particular. The King sent her over to remonstrate
with the King of France her brother for his theft of Guienne--for it was
no less; and to conclude a treaty with him to restore the same. It was
in May she left England and just before that something had happened
wherein I have always thought she had an hand. In the August of the
year before, Sir Roger de Mortimer brake prison from the Tower, and made
good his escape to Normandy; where, after tarrying a small season with
his mother's kinsmen, the Seigneurs de Fienles, he shifted his refuge to
Paris, where he was out of the King's jurisdiction. Now in regard of
that matter it did seem to me that King Edward was full childish and
unwise. Had his father been on the throne, no such thing had ever
happed: he wist how to deal with traitors. But now, with so slack an
hand did the King rule, that not only Sir Roger gat free of the Tower by
bribing one of his keepers and drugging the rest, but twenty good days
at the least were lost while he stale down to the coast and so won away.
There was indeed a hue and cry, but it wrought nothing, and even that
was not for a week. There was more diligence used to seize his lands
than to seize him. And at the end of all, just afore the Queen's
journey, if my Lady Mortimer his wife, that had gone down to Southampton
thinking to join him, was not taken and had to Skipton Castle, and the
young damsels, her children, that were with her, sent to separate
convents! I have ever believed that was the Queen's doing. It was she
that loved not the Lady Mortimer should go to France: it should have
interfered with her game. But what weakness and folly was it that the
King should hearken her! Well--
"Soft you, now!"
"O Jack, how thou didst start me! I very nigh let my pen fall."
"Then shouldst thou have inked thy tunic, Sissot; and it were pity, so
good Cologne sindon as it is. But whither goest thou with thy
goose-quill a-flying, good wife? Who was Sir Roger de Mortimer? and
what like was he?"
"Who was he, Jack?" quoth I, feeling somewhat took aback. "Why, he
was--he was Sir Roger de Mortimer."
"How like a woman!" saith Jack, setting his hands in the pockets of his
singlet.
"Now, Jack!" said I. "And what was he like, saidst thou? Why, he was
as like a traitor, and a wastrel, and every thing that was bad, as ever
I saw man in all my life."
"Horns, belike--and cloven feet--and a long tail?" quoth Jack. "I'll
give it up, Sissot. Thou wert best write thy chronicle thine own way.
But it goeth about to be rarely like a woman."
"Why, how should it not, when a woman is she that writeth it?" said I,
laughing. But Jack had turned away, with that comical twist of his
mouth which shows him secretly diverted.
Verily, I know not who to say Sir Roger was, only that he was Lord of
Wigmore and Ludlow, and son of the Lady Margaret that was born a
Fienles, and husband of the Lady Joan that was born a Geneville; and the
proudest caitiff and worst man that ever was, as shall be shown ere I
lay down my pen. He was man that caused the loss of himself and of
other far his betters, and that should have been the loss of England
herself but for God's mercy. The friend of Sathanas and of all evil,
the foe of God and of all good--this, and no less, it seemeth me, was
Sir Roger de Mortimer of Wigmore. God pardon him as He may [if such a
thing be possible]!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. A very sweet, luscious wine. Verjuice was the most acid type
of vinegar.
Note 2. Quiet, calm, patient. In Lowland Scotch, to _thole_ is still
to endure; and _thole-mood_ must mean calm endurance.