"She is no sheep who goes walking with the wolf."
Russian Proverb.
And now, were I inditing a very chronicle, should I dip my quill next in
the red ink, and write in full great letters--"Here beginneth the reign
of King Edward of Windsor, the Third after the Conquest."
But, to scribe soothliness, I cannot do so. For not for four years
thereafter did he in verity begin to reign. And what I should write, if
I writ truth, should be--"Here beginneth the reign of King Roger de
Mortimer, the First in England."
Now, here cometh an other matter I have noted. When man setteth him up
to do that whereto he was not born, and hath not used himself, he is
secure to do the same with never so much more din and outrage
[extravagance] than he to whom it cometh of nature. If man be but a
bedel [herald, crier] he shall rowt [Shout] like a lion the first day;
and a prince's charetter [charioteer] shall be a full braver [finer,
more showy] man than the prince his master. Sir Roger made a deal more
bruit than ever the King himself; that during all these four years was
meek and debonair [humble and gentle], as though he abode his time. He
wrought what he would (which was mostly ill), and bare him like those of
whom the Psalmist speaketh, that said, "Our lips are of us, who is our
lord?" [Psalm 9 4, Rolle's translation.] He held up but a finger, and
first the King, and all else after, followed along his path. Truly, I
fault not the King; poor lad, he was in evil case, and might well enough
have found hard to know the way he should go. But I do fault them that
might have oped his eyes, and instead thereof, as being smoother way,
chose to run after King Mortimer with his livery on their backs.
"How many of them knew the man, thinkest?" saith Jack, that had come in
while I writ the last piece.
"Jack!" cried I. "What, to see him do that he did, more in especial
when his pride was bolned [swollen, pulled up] by being create Earl of
March--when he had larger following than the King himself, having nine
score knights at his feet; when he arose from the King's table ere the
King stirred, as though he were lord and master of all; when he suffered
the King to rise on his coming into the presence, all meekly and
courteously, yet himself, when the King entered, kept his seat as he
micht afore a servitor; when he walked even with the King, and sometimes
afore him; when he was wont to put him down, and mock at him, and make
him a laughing-stock. I have heard him myself say to the King--`Hold
thy peace, lad!' and the King took it as sweetly as if he had been
swearing of allegiance."
"I have eyes in mine head, my fair warrior, and ears belike. I saw so
much as thou--maybe a little more, since I was something oftener in my
Lord's company than thou."
"But thou sawest what he was?" said I.
"So did I; and sorry am I to have demerited the wrath of Dame Cicely de
Chaucombe, for that I oped not the King my master's even."
"Nay, Jack! I never meant thee. I have somewhat more reverence for
mine husband than so."
"Then art thou a very pearl amongst women. Most dames' husbands find
not much reverence stray their way--at least from that quarter. I
misdoubt if Vivien's husband ever picks up more than should lightly slip
into his pocket."
"Sir James Le Bretun is not so wise as thou," said I. "But what I
meant, Jack, was such as my Lord of Lancaster and my Lord of Kent, and
my Lord of Hereford--why did never such as these tell the King sooth
touching the Mortimer?"
"As for my Lord of Hereford," saith Jack, "I reckon he was too busied
feeling of his pulse and counting his emplastures, and telling his
apothecary which side of his head ached worser since the last draught of
camomile and mallows. Sir Edmund de Mauley was wont to say he had a
grove of aspens at Pleshy for to make his own populion [Note 1], and
that he brake his fast o' dragons' blood and dyachylon emplasture.
Touching that will I not say; but I reckon he thought oftener on his
tamarind drink than on the public welfare. He might, perchance, have
bestirred him to speak to the King had he heard that he had a freckle of
his nose, for to avise him to put white ointment thereon; but scarce, I
reckon, for so small a matter as the good government of the realm."
"Now, Jack!" said I, a-laughing.
"My Lord of Kent," went he forth, "was he that, if he thought he had
hurt the feelings of a caterpillar, should have risen from his warm bed
the sharpest night in winter to go and pray his pardon of his bare
knees. God assoil him, loving and gentle soul! He was all unfit for
this rough world. And the dust that Sir Roger cast up at his
horse-heels was in my Lord of Kent's eyes as thick as any man's. He
could not have warned the King, for himself lacked the warning."
"Then my Lord of Lancaster--why not he?"
"He did."
"Ay, at long last, when two years had run: wherefore not long ere that?
The dust, trow, was not in his eyes."
"Good wife, no man's eyes are blinder than his which casts the dust into
his own. My Lord of Lancaster had run too long with the hounds to be
able all suddenly to turn him around and flee with the hare."
"Soothly, I know he met the Queen on her landing, and likewise had the
old King in his ward: but--"
"I reckon, Sissot, there were wheels within wheels. We need not judge
my Lord of Lancaster. He did his duty at last. And mind thou, between
him and his duty to King Edward the father, stood his brother's
scaffold."
"Which never man deserved richer."
"Not a doubt thereof: but man may scarce expect his brother to behold
it."
"Then," said I, "my Lord Zouche of Mortimer--but soothly he was cousin
to the traitor. Jack, I never could conceive how it came about that he
ever wedded the Lady Alianora. One of the enemies of her own husband,
and she herself set prisoner in his kinsman's keeping, and to wed her
gaoler's cousin, all against the King's pleasure and without his
licence--canst solve the puzzle?"
"I can tell thee why he wed her, as easy as say `twice two be four.'
She was co-heir of the earldom of Gloucester, and his sword was nearhand
his fortune."
"Then wherefore wed she him?"
"Kittle [ticklish, delicate] ground, Sissot, for man to take on him to
account for the doings of woman. I might win a clap to mine ears, as
like as not."
"Now, Jack, thou wist well I never demean me so unbuxomly. Tell me thy
thought."
"Then I think," saith he, "that the Lady Alianora La Despenser was woman
of that manner that fetch their souls from the vine. They must have
somewhat to lean on. If an oak or a cedar be nigh, good: but if no, why
then, a bramble will serve their turn. The one thing that they cannot
do is to stand alone. There be not only women of this fashion; there be
like men, but too many. God help them, poor weak souls! The woman that
could twine round the Lord Zouche the tendrils torn from Sir Hugh Le
Despenser must have been among the very weakest of women."
"It is sore hard," said I, "to keep one from despising such weakness."
"It is full hard, soothly. I know but one way--to keep very near to Him
that never spurned the weakest that prayed His help, and that tholed
weakness amidst other meeknesses [humiliations], by reason that it
behoved Him to resemble His brethren in all things. And some of His
brethren are very weak. Sissot, when our daughters were babes, I was
wont to think thou lovedst better Alice than Vivien, and I am nearhand
secure that it was by reason she was the weaker of the twain, and pave
thee the more thought."
"Surely," said I; "that alway holdeth good with a mother, that the barne
which most needeth care is the dearest."
Jack's answer, I knew, came from Holy Writ.
"`As by him whom his mother blandisheth, thus will I comfort you.'"
The Sunday after the Conversion of Saint Paul [February 1st, 1327] was
the young King crowned in Westminster Abbey before the high altar, by
Walter [Reynolds] Archbishop of Canterbury, that had been of old a great
friend of King Edward the father, and was carried away like the rest by
the glamour of the Queen. But his eyes were opened afore most other,
and he died of a broken heart for the evil and unkindness which himself
had holpen, the day of Saint Edmund of Pontigny [November 16th] next
thereafter. Also present were nine bishops, the King's uncles, and many
nobles: yea, and Queen Isabel likewise, that caused us to array her in
great doole [mourning], and held her sudary at her eyes nearhand all the
office [Service] through. And it was no craft, for she could weep when
it listed her--some women have that power--and her sudary was full wet
when she returned from the Abbey. And the young King, that was but then
full fourteen years of age, took oath as his father and all the kings
had done afore him, that he would confirm to the people of England the
laws and the customs to them granted by the ancient Kings of England his
predecessors, the rights and offerings of God, and particularly the
laws, customs, and liberties granted to the clergy and people by the
glorious King, Saint Edward, his predecessor. He sware belike to keep
unto God and holy Church, unto the clergy and the people, entire peace
and concord to his power; to do equal and true justice in all his
judgments, and discretion in mercy and truth; to keep the laws and
righteous customs which the commons of his realm should have elected
[_Auera estu_ are the rather singular words used], and to defend and
enforce them, to the honour of God and to his power. [Note 2.]
Six sennights we tarried at Westminster: but, lack-a-day! what a time
had we at after! All suddenly the Queen gave order to depart thence.
She controlled all things, and the King her son was but a puppet in her
hands. How did we trapes up and down all the realm!
To Canterbury the first round, a-pilgrimage to Saint Thomas; then right
up as far as York, where we tarried a matter of five weeks. Then to
Durham, which we had scarce reached ere we were aflight again, this time
to Auckland, and a bit into that end of Yorkshire; back again to Durham,
then away to York, and ten days later whisked off to Nottingham; there a
fortnight, off again to Lincoln. I guess well now, what I wist not
then, the meaning of all this. It was to let the young King from taking
thought touching his father, and all that had happed of late. While he
was cheerful and delectable [full of enjoyment], she let him be; but no
sooner saw she his face the least downfell [cast down] than she plucked
him away, and put turn to his thoughts by sending him some other
whither. It paid [Note 3] for a time.
It was while we were at Lincoln, where we tarried from the morrow of
Holy Cross to Michaelmas Eve [September 15th to 28th], that Donald the
Scots messager came from the southern parts with tidings. For some
time--divers weeks, certes--afore that, had the Queen been marvellous
unrestful and hard to serve. That which liked her yesterday was all out
this morrow, and each matter man named for her plesance was worser than
that had gone afore. I was nearhand driven out of senses that very
morrow, so sharp [irritable] was she touching her array. Not a gown in
her wardrobe would serve the turn; and when at last she chose which she
would don, then were her hoods all awry; and then would she have no
hood, but only a wimple of fair cloth of linen. Then, gramercy! such
pains had we to find her a fillet: this was too deep, and that too
narrow, and this set with amethysts should ill fit with her gown of
rose-colour, and that wrought of lily-flowers should catch in her hair.
I wished me at the further end of the realm from Lincoln, ay, a dozen
times twice told.
At long last we gat her filleted; and then came the mantle. First, Dame
Elizabeth brought one of black cloth of Stamford, lined with fox fur:
no, that served not. Then brought Dame Joan de Vaux the fair mantle of
cloth of velvet, grey, that I ever reckoned the fairest in the Queen's
wardrobe, guarded with black budge, and wrought in embroidery of
rose-colour and silver: she waved it away as though the very sight
'noyed [disgusted] her. Then fetched Isabel de la Helde the ray mantle,
with corded ground, of blue, red, and green; and the Queen chid her as
though she had committed one of the seven deadly sins. At the last, in
uttermost wanhope [despair], ran I and brought the ugsomest of all, the
corded olive green with border of grey; and forsooth, that would she
have. Well-a-day, but I was fain when we had her at last arrayed!
When the Queen had left the chamber, Dame Elizabeth cast her on the
nearest bench, and panted like a coursed hare.
"Deary, deary me!" crieth she: "I would I were abed."
"Abed!" crieth Isabel de la Helde. "Abed at five o'clock of a morrow!"
"Ay, or rather, I would I had never gat out. Gramercy, but how
fractious is the Queen! I counted we ne'er should have her donned."
"She never spoke to me so sharp in her life," saith Isabel.
"I tell you, I am fair dog-weary!" quoth Dame Elizabeth.
"Whatever hath took the Queen?" saith Joan de Vilers.
"Foolish childre, all of you!" saith old Dame Tiffany, looking on us
with a smile. "When man is fractious like to this, with every man and
every matter, either he suffereth pain, or else he hath some hidden
anguish or fear that hath nought to do with the matter in hand. 'Tis
not with you that my Lady is wrathful. There is something harrying her
at heart. And she hath not told me."
In hall, during dinner. I cast eyes from time to time on the Queen, and
I could not but think Dame Tiffany spake sooth. She looked fair
haggard, as though some bitter care were eating out her heart. I never
loved her, as I said at the first: but that morn I felt sorry for her.
Sorry for _her_! Ah, I soon knew what sore cause there was to be sorry
to the very soul for some one else!
It was while we were sat at supper that Donald came. I saw him enter
from the high table where I sat, and I knew in an instant that he
brought some fearsome tidings. I lost him in the crowd at the further
end, and then Mereworth, one of the varlets of the King's chamber, came
all in haste up the hall, with a face that had evil news thereon writ:
and Sir John de Ros, that was then Seneschal, saw him, and guessing, as
I think, the manner of word he brought, stepped down from the dais to
meet him. Then, in an other minute, I saw Donald brought up to the King
and to the Queen.
I watched them both. As Donald's news was told, the young King's face
grew ashen pale, and he cried full dolefully "_Dieu eit mercie_!" The
news troubled him sore and sure enough. But the Queen's eyes, that a
moment before had been full of terror and untholemodness [impatience],
shot out one flash of triumphant gladness: and the next minute she had
hidden her face in her sudary, and was greeting as though her heart had
broke. I marvelled what tidings they could be, that were tene [grief]
to the King, and blisfulhed [happiness] to the Queen. Sir John de
Gaytenby, the King's confessor, was sat next to me at the table, and to
him I said--
"Father, can you guess what manner of news Donald de Athole shall have
brought?"
"Ay, daughter," he made answer. "Would I were in doubt!"
"You think--?" I asked him, and left him to fill up.
"I think," he saith in a low voice somewhat sorrowful of tone, "that God
hath delivered from all labour and sorrow one of His servants that trust
in Him."
"Why, that were nought to lament o'er!" I was about to say; but I
stayed me when half through. "Father, you mean there is man dead?"
"We call it death," saith Sir John de Gaytenby--"we of this nether
world, that be ever in sickness and weariness, in tene and in
temptation. Know we what they call it which have forded the Rubicon,
and stand safe on the pavement of the Golden City? `_Multo magis
melius_,' saith the Apostle [Philippians One verse 23]: `much more
better' to dissolve and to be with Christ. And the colder be the waters
man hath to ford, the gladder and welcomer shall be the light of the
Golden City. They were chill, I cast no doubt: and all the chiller for
the hand that chilled them. With how sharp thorns and briers God hath
to drive some of His sheep! But once in the Fold, there shall be time
to forget them all. `When thou passest through the waters, I will be
with thee' [Isaiah 43 verse 2]--that is enough now. We can stay us upon
that promise till we come through. And then there shall be no more need
for Him to be with us in tribulation, since we shall reign with Him for
ever and ever."
Old Sir Simon de Driby came up behind us as the Confessor ended.
"Have you guessed, Sir John, our dread news?--and you, Dame Cicely?"
"I have guessed, and I think rightly," answered Sir John. "For Dame
Cicely I cannot say."