"Well, Jack?" said I, not looking up.
"Would thou wert better flyer of falcons, Sissot!" saith he.
"Dear heart! what means that, trow?" quoth I.
"Then shouldst thou know," he made answer, "that to suffer a second
quarry to turn thee from thy first is oft-times to lose both."
"Verily, Jack, I conceive not thy meaning."
"Why, look on yon last piece. It begins with thee coming home from
vespers. Then it flieth to me, to the potter and his glasses, to the
knavery of his charges, and cometh back to the man whom thou didst meet
coming forth of the door--whom it hath no sooner touched, than it is off
again to the cold even; then comest thou into the Queen's lodging, and
down `grees' [degrees, that is, stairs] once more to the landlord's
bill. Do, prithee, keep to one heron till thou hast bagged him."
"_Ha, chetife_!" cried I. "Must I have firstly, secondly, thirdly, yea,
up to thirty-seventhly, like old Father Edison's homilies?"
"Better so," saith he, "than to course three hares together and catch
none."
"I'll catch mine hare yet, as thou shall see," saith I.
"Be it done. Gee up!" saith he. [Note 9].
Well, up came I into the Queen's antechamber, where were sat Dame
Elizabeth, and Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, and Dame Joan de Vaux, and little
Meliora. And right as I came in at the door, Dame Joan dropped her
sewing off her knee, and saith--
"Lack-a-day! I am aweary of living in this world!"
"Well, if so," saith Dame Elizabeth, peacefully waxing her thread, "you
had best look about for a better."
"Nay!" quoth she, "how to get there?"
"Ask my Lord of Winchester," saith Dame Isabel.
"I shall lack the knowledge ill ere I trouble him," she made answer.
"Is it he with the Queen this even?"
"There's none with the Queen!" quoth Dame Isabel, as sharp as if she
should have snapped her head off.
Dame Joan looked up in some astonishment.
"Dear heart!" said she, "I thought I heard voices in her chamber."
"There was one with her," answereth Meliora, "when I passed the door
some minutes gone."
"Maybe the visitor is gone," said I. "As I came in but now, I met one
coming forth."
"Who were it, marry?" quoth Dame Joan.
"It was none of the household," said I. "A tall, personable man,
wrapped in a great cloak, wherewith he hid his face; but whether it were
from me or from the November even, that will I not say."
"There hath been none such here," saith Dame Elizabeth.
"Not in this chamber," saith Meliora.
"Meliora Servelady!" Dame Isabel made answer, "who gave thee leave to
join converse with thy betters?" [Note 10].
The sub-damsel looked set down for a minute, but nought ever daunted her
for long. She was as pert a little maid as ever I knew, and but little
deserved her name of Meliora. (Ah me, is this another hare? Have
back.)
"There hath been none of any sort come to the Queen to-day," said Dame
Isabel, in so angered a tone that I began at once to marvel who had come
of whom she feared talk.
"Nay, but there so hath!" makes response Dame Joan: "have you forgot
Master Almoner that was with her this morrow nigh an hour touching his
accounts?--and Ralph Richepois with his lute after dinner?"
"Marry, and the Lady Gibine, Prioress of Oremont," addeth Dame
Elizabeth.
"And the two Beguines--" began Meliora; but she ended not, for Dame
Isabel boxed her ears.
"Ay, and Jack Bonard, that she sent with letters to the Queen of
France," saith Dame Joan.
"Yea, and Ivo le Breton came a-begging, yon poor old man that had served
her when a child," made answer Dame Elizabeth.
"And Ma--" Poor Meliora got no further, for Dame Isabel gave her a
buffet on the side of her head that nigh knocked her off the form. I
could not but think that some part of that buffet was owing to us three,
though Meliora had it all. But what so angered Dame Isabel, that might
I not know.
At that time came the summons to supper, so the matter ended. But as
supper was passing, Dame Joan de Vaux, by whom I sat, with Master
Almoner on mine other hand, saith to me--
"Pray you, Dame Cicely, have you any guess who it were that you met
coming forth?"
"I have, and I have not," said I. "There was that in his face which I
knew full well, yet cannot I bethink me of his name."
"It was not Master Madefray, trow?"
"In no wise: a higher man than he, and of fairer hair."
"Not a priest neither?"
"Nay, certes."
"Leave not to sup your soup, Dame Cicely, nor show no astonishment, I
pray, while I ask yet a question. Was it--Sir Roger the Mortimer of
Ludlow?"
For all Dame Joan's warnful words, I nigh dropped my spoon, and I never
knew how the rest of the soup tasted.
"Wala wa!" said I, under my breath, "but I do believe it was he."
"I saw him," saith she, quietly. "And take my word for it, friend--that
man cometh for no good."
"Marry!" cried I in some heat, "how dare he come nigh the Queen at all?
he, a banished man! Without, soothly, he came humbly to entreat her
intercession with the King for his pardon. But e'en then, he might far
more meetly have sent his petition by some other. Verily, I marvel she
would see him!"
"Do you so?" saith Dame Joan in that low quiet voice. "So do not I.
She will see him yet again, or I mistake much."
"_Ha, chetife_!" I made answer. "It is full well we be on our road
back to Paris, for there at least will he not dare to come."
"Not dare?"
"Surely not, for the King of France, which himself hath banished him,
should never suffer it."
Dame Joan helped herself to a roasted plover with a smile. When the
sewer was gone, quoth she--
"I think, Dame Cicely, you know full little whether of Sir Roger de
Mortimer or of the King of France. For the last, he is as easily
blinded a man as you may lightly see; and if our Queen his sister told
him black was white, he should but suppose that she saw better than he.
And for the other--is there aught in all this world, whether as to
bravery or as to wickedness, that Sir Roger de Mortimer would _not_
dare?"
"Dear heart!" cried I. "I made account we had done with men of that
order."
"You did?" Dame Joan's tone, and the somewhat dry smile which went with
it, said full plainly, "In no wise."
"Well, soothly we had enough and to spare!" quoth I. "There was my Lord
of Lancaster--God rest his soul!--and Sir Piers de Gavaston (if he were
as ill man as some said)."
"He was not a saint, I think," she said: "yet could I name far worser
men than he."
"And my sometime Lord of Warwick," said I, "was no saint likewise, or I
mistake."
"Therein," saith she, "have you the right."
"Well," pursued I, "all they be gone: and soothly, I had hoped there
were no more such left."
"Then should there be no original sin left," she made answer; "yea, and
Sathanas should be clean gone forth of this world."
The rest of the converse I mind not, but that last sentence tarried in
my mind for many a day, and hath oft-times come back to me touching
other matters.
We reached Loure on Saint Martin's Day [November 11th], and Paris the
next morrow. There found we the Bishops of Winchester and Exeter,
[Stratford and Stapleton], whom King Edward had sent over to join the
Queen's Council. Now I never loved overmuch neither of these Reverend
Fathers, though it were for very diverse causes. Of course, being
priests, they were holy men; but I misdoubt if either were perfect man
apart from his priesthood--my Lord of Winchester more in especial.
Against my Lord of Exeter have I but little to say; he was fumish
[irritable, captious] man, but no worse. But my Lord of Winchester did
I never trust, nor did I cease to marvel that man could. As to King
Edward, betray him to his enemies to-day, and he should put his life in
your hands again to-morrow: never saw I man like to him, that no
experience would learn mistrust. Queen Isabel trusted few: but of them
my said Lord of Winchester was one. I have noted at times that they
which be untrue themselves be little given to trust other. She trusted
none save them she had tried: and she had tried this Bishop, not once
nor twice. He never brake faith with her; but with King Edward he brake
it a score of times twice told, and with his son that is now King
belike. I wis not whether at this time the Queen was ready to put
affiance in him; I scarce think she was: for she shut both Bishops out
of her Council from the day she came to Paris. But not at this time,
nor for long after did I guess what it signified.
November was nigh run out, when one morrow Dame Joan de Vaux brought
word that the Queen, being a-cold, commanded her velvet mantle taken to
her cabinet: and I, as the dame in waiting then on duty, took the same
to her. I found her sat of a chair of carven wood, beside the brasier,
and two gentlemen of the other side of the hearth. Behind her chair
Dame Elizabeth waited, and I gave the mantle to her to cast over the
Queen's shoulders. The gentlemen stood with their backs to the light,
and I paid little note to them at first, save to see that one was a
priest: but as I went about to go forth, the one that was not a priest
turned his face, and I perceived to mine amaze that it was Sir Roger de
Mortimer. Soothly, it needed all my courtly self-command that I should
not cry out when I beheld him. Had I followed the prompting of mine own
heart, I should have cried, "Get thee gone, thou banished traitor!" He,
who had returned unlicenced from Scotland ere the war was over, in the
time of old King Edward of Westminster; that had borne arms against his
son, then King, under my Lord of Lancaster; that, having his life
spared, and being but sent to the Tower, had there plotted to seize
three of the chief fortresses of the Crown--namely, the said Tower, and
the Castles of Windsor and Wallingford,--and had thereupon been cast for
death, and only spared through the intercession of the Queen and the
Bishop of Hereford: yet, after all this, had he broken prison, bribing
one of his keepers and drugging the rest, and was now a banished felon,
in refuge over seas: _he_ to dare so much as to breathe the same air
with the wife of his Sovereign, with her that had been his advocate, and
that knew all his treacheries! Could any worser insult to the Queen
have been devised? But all at once, as I passed along the gallery,
another thought came in upon me. What of her? who, knowing all this and
more, yet gave leave for this man--not to kneel at her feet and cry her
mercy--that had been grace beyond any reasonable hope: but suffered him
to stand in her presence, to appear in her privy cabinet--nay, to act as
though he were a noble appointed of her Council! Had she forgot all the
past?
I travelled no further for that time. The time was to come when I
should perceive that forgetfulness was all too little to account for her
deeds.
That night, Dame Tiffany being appointed to the pallet, it so fell out
that Dame Elizabeth, Dame Joan, and I, lay in the antechamber. We had
but began to doff ourselves, and Dame Elizabeth was stood afore the
mirror, a-combing of her long hair--and rare long hair it was, and of a
fine colour (but I must not pursue the same, or Jack shall find in the
hair an hare)--when I said to her--
"Dame Elizabeth, pray you tell me, were you in waiting when Sir Roger de
Mortimer came to the Queen?"
"Ay," saith she, and combed away.
"And," said I, "with what excuse came he?"
"Excuse?" quoth she. "Marry, I heard none at all."
"None!" I cried, tarrying in the doffing of my subtunic. "Were you not
ill angered to behold such a traitor?"
"Dame Cicely," saith she, slowly pulling the loose hairs forth of the
comb, "if you would take pattern by me, and leave troubling yourself
touching your neighbours' doings, you should have fewer griefs to mourn
over."
Could the left sleeve of my subtunic, which I was then a-doffing, have
spoke unto me, I am secure he should have 'plained that he met with full
rough treatment at my hands.
"Good for you, Dame, an' you so can!" said I somewhat of a heat. "So
long as my neighbours do well, I desire not to mell [meddle] nor make in
their matters. But if they do ill--"
"Why, then do I desire it even less," saith she, "for I were more like
to get me into a muddle. Mine own troubles be enough for me, and full
too many."
"Dear heart! had you ever any?" quoth I.
"In very deed, I do ensure you," saith she, "for this comb hath one of
his teeth split, and he doth not only tangle mine hair, but giveth me
vile wrenches betimes, when I look not for them. And 'tis but a month
gone, at Betesi [Bethizy], that I paid half-a-crown for him. The rogue
cheated me, as my name is Bess. I could find in mine heart to give him
a talking."
"Only a talking?" saith Dame Joan, and laughed. "You be happy woman, in
good sooth, if your worsest trouble be a comb that hath his teeth
split."
"Do but try him!" quoth Dame Elizabeth, and snorked [twisted, contorted]
up her mouth, as the comb that instant moment came to a spot where her
hair was louked [fastened] together. "Bless the comb!" saith she, and I
guess she meant it but little. "Wala wa! Dame Joan, think you 'tis
matter for laughter?"
"More like than greeting," [weeping], she made answer.
"Verily," said I, "but I see much worser matter for tears than your
comb, Dame Elizabeth. Either the Queen is sore ill-usen of her brother,
that such ill companions should be allowed near her, or else--"
Well for me, my lace snapped at that moment, and I ended not the
sentence. When I was laid down beside Dame Joan, it came to me like a
flash of lightning--"Or else--what?" And at that minute Dame Joan
turned her on the pillows, and set her lips to mine ear.
"Dame Cicely," quoth she, "mine heart misdoubts me it is the `or else.'
Pray you, govern your tongue, and use your eyes in time to come. Trust
not her in the red bed too much, and her in the green-hung chamber not
at all."
The first was Dame Elizabeth, and the last Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, that
lay in a chamber hung with green, with Dame Tiffany. I was secure she
meant not the other, but to make certain I whispered the name, and she
saith, "She."
I reckoned it not ill counsel, for mine own thoughts assented thereto,
in especial as touched Dame Isabel.
After that day wherein Sir Roger de Mortimer was in the Queen's cabinet,
I trow I kept mine eyes open.
For a few days he came and went: but scarce more than a sennight had
passed ere I learned that he had come to dwell in Paris all out; and but
little more time was spent when one even, Dame Isabel de Lapyoun came
into our chamber as we were about to hie us abed, and saith she,
speaking to none in especial, but to all--
"Sir Roger de Mortimer is made of the Prince's following, and shall as
to-morrow take up his abode in the Queen's hostel."
"Dear heart!" saith Dame Elizabeth, making pause with one hand all wet,
and in the other the napkin whereon she went about to dry it. "Well, no
business of mine, trow."