THE CHAPTER CALLED CLYTEMNESTRA
At Acre, by the time September was set, the sun had put all the air to
the sword, so that the city lay stifled, stinking in its own vice; and
the nights were worse than the days. Then was the great harvest of the
flies, when men died so quickly that there was no time to bury them. So
also mothers saw their children flag or felt their force grow thin: one
or another swooned suddenly and woke no more; or a woman found a dead
child at the breast, or a child whimpered to find his mother so cold. At
this time, while Jehane lay panting in bed, awake hour by hour and
fretting over what she should do when the fountains of her milk should
be dry, and this little Fulke, royal glutton, crave without getting of
her--she heard the women set there to fan her talking to each other in
drowsy murmurs, believing that she slept. By now she knew their speech.
Said one between the slow passes of the fans, 'Giafar ibn Mulk hath come
into the city secretly.' And the other, 'Then we have a thief the more.'
'Peace,' said the first, 'thou grudger. He is one of my lovers, and
telleth me whatsoever I seek to know. He is come in from Lebanon; so
much, and more, I know already.'
'What ill report doth he bring of his master?' asked the second, a lazy
girl, whose name was Misra, as the first was called Fanoum.
Fanoum answered, 'Very ill report of the Melek'--that was King Richard's
name here--'but it is according to the desires of the Marquess.'
'Ohè!' said Misra, 'we must tell this sleeper. She is moon of the
Melek.'
'Thou art a fool to think me a fool,' said Fanoum. 'Why, then, shall I
be one to turn the horn of a mad cow, to pierce my own thigh? Let the
Franks kill each other, what have we but gain? They are dogs alike.'
Misra said, 'Hearken thou, O Fanoum, the Melek is no dog. Nay, he is
more than a man. He is the yellow-haired King of the West, riding a
white horse, who was foretold by various prophets, that he should come
up against the Sultan. That I know.'
'Then he will have more than a man's death,' said Fanoum. 'The Marquess
goeth with Giafar to Lebanon, to see the Old Man of Musse, whom he
serveth. The Melek must die, for of all men living or dead the Marquess
hateth him.'
'Oh, King of Kings!' said Misra, with a little sob, 'and thou wilt stand
by, thou sorrowful, while the Marquess kills the Melek!'
Fanoum answered, 'Certainly I will; for any of our lord's people can
kill the Marquess; but it needeth the guile of the Old Man to kill the
Melek. Let the wolf slay the lion while he sleepeth: anon cometh the
shepherd and slayeth the gorged wolf. That is good sense.'
'Well,' said Misra, 'it may be so. But I am sorry for his favourite
here. There are no daughters of Au so goodly as this one. The Melek is
a wise lover of women.'
'Let be for that,' replied Fanoum comfortably; 'the Old Man of Musse is
a wiser. He will come and have her, and we do well enough in Lebanon.'
They would have said more, had Jehane needed any more. But it seemed to
her that she knew enough. There was danger brewing for King Richard,
whom she, faithless wretch, had let go without her. As she thought of
the leper, of her promise to the Queen-Mother, of Richard towering but
to fall, her heart grew cold in her bosom, then filled with fire and
throbbed as if to burst. It is extraordinary, however, how soon she saw
her way clear, and on how small a knowledge. Who this Old Man might be,
who lived on Lebanon and was most wise in the matter of women, she could
have no guess; but she was quite sure of him, was certain that he was
wise. She knew something of the Marquess, her cousin. Any ally of his
must be a murdermonger. A wise lover of women, the Old Man of Musse, who
dwelt on Lebanon! Wiser than Richard! And she more goodly than the
daughters of Au! Who were the daughters of Ali? Beautiful women? What
did it matter if she excelled them? God knew these things; but Jehane
knew that she must go to market with the Old Man of Musse. So much she
calmly revolved in her mind as she lay her length, with shut eyes, in
her bed.
With the first cranny of light she had herself dressed by her sulky,
sleepy women, and went abroad. There were very few to see her, none to
dare her any harm, so well as she was known. Two eunuchs at a wicked
door spat as she passed; she saw the feet of a murdered man sticking out
of a drain, the scurry of a little troop of rats. Mostly, the dogs of
the city had it to themselves. No women were about, but here and there a
guarded light betrayed sin still awake, and here and there a bell,
calling the faithful to church, sounded a homely note of peace. The
morning was desperately close, without a waft of air. She found the
Abbot Milo at his lodging, in the act of setting off to mass at the
church of Saint Martha. The sight of her wild face stopped him.
'No time to lose, my child,' he said, when he had heard her. 'We must go
to the Queen: it is due to her. Saviour of mankind!' he cried with
flacking arms, 'for what wast Thou content to lay down Thy life!' They
hurried out together just as the sun broke upon the tiles of the domed
churches, and Acre began to creep out of bed.
The Queen was not yet risen, but sent them word that she would receive
the abbot, 'but on no account Madame de Saint-Pol.' Jehane pushed off
the insult just as she pushed her hot hair from her face. She had no
thoughts to spare for herself. The abbot went into the Queen's house.
Berengère looked very drowned, he thought, in her great bed. One saw a
sharp white oval floating in the black clouds which were her hair. She
looked younger than any bride could be, childish, a child ill of a
fever, wilful, querulous, miserable. All the time she listened to what
Milo had to say her lips twitched, and her fingers plucked gold threads
out of the cherubim on the coverlet.
'Kill the King of England? Kill my lord' Montferrat? Eh, they cannot
kill him! Oh, oh, oh!'--she moaned shudderingly--'I would that they
could! Then perhaps I should sleep o' nights.' Her strained eyes pierced
him for an answer. What answer could he give?
'My news is authentic, Madame. I came at once, as my duty was, to your
Grace, as to the proper person--' Here she sat right up in her bed,
wide-eyed, all alight.
'Yes, yes, I am the proper person. I will do it, if no other can. Virgin
Mary!'--she stretched her arms out, like one crucified--'Look at me. Am
I worthy of this?' If she addressed the Virgin Mary her invitation was
pointedly to the abbot, a less proper spectator. He did look, however,
and pitied her deeply; at her lips dry with hatred, which should have
been freshly kissed, at her drawn cheeks, into her amazed young heart:
eh, God, he knew her loveworthy once, and now most pitiful. He had
nothing to say; she went on breathless, gathering speed.
'He has spurned me whom he chose. He has left me on my wedding day. I
have never seen him alone--do you heed me? never, never once. Ah, now,
he has chosen for his minion: let her save him if she can. What have I
to do with him? I am the daughter of a king; and what is he to me, who
treats me so? If I am not to be mother of England, I am still daughter
of Navarre. Let him die, let them kill him: what else can serve me now?'
She fell back, and lay staring up at him. In every word she said there
was sickening justice: what could Milo do? In his private mind he
confirmed a suspicion--being still loyal to his King--that one and the
same thing may be at one and the same time all black and all white. He
did his best to put this strange case.
'Madame,' he said, 'I cannot excuse our lord the King, nor will I; but I
can defend that noble lady whose only faults are her beauty and strong
heart.' Mentioning Jehane's beauty, he saw the Queen look quickly at
him, her first intelligent look. 'Yes, Madame, her beauty, and the love
she has been taught to give our lord. The King married her,
uncanonically, it is true; but who was she to hold up church law before
his face? Well, then she, by her own pure act, caused herself to be put
away by the King, abjuring thus his kingly seat. Hey, but it is so, that
by her own prayers, her proper pleading, her proper tears, she worked
against her proper honour, and against the child in her womb. What more
could she do? What more could any wife, any mother, than that? Ah, say
that you hate her without stint, would you have her die? Why, no! for
what pain can be worse than to live as she lives? My lady, she prevailed
against the King; but she could not prevail against her own holy nature
working upon the King's great heart. No! When the King found out that
she was to be mother of his child, he loved her so well that, though he
must respect her prayers, he must needs respect her person also. The
King thought within himself, "I have promised Madame de Saint-Pol that
I will never strive with her in love; and I will not. Now must I promise
Almighty God that, in her life, I will not strive so at all." Alas,
Madame, and alas! Here the King was too strong for the girl; here her
own nobility rose up against her. Pity her, not blame her; and for the
King--I dare to say it--find pity as well as blame. All those who love
his high heart, his crowned head, find pity for him in theirs. For many
there are who do better, having no occasion to do as ill; but there can
be none who mean better, for none have such great motions.'
Milo might have spared his breath. The Queen had heard one phrase of all
his speech, and during the rest had pondered that. When he had done, she
said, 'Fetch me in this lady. I would speak with her.'
'Breast shall touch breast here,' said Milo to himself, full of hope,
'and mouth meet mouth. Courage, old heart.'
When the tall girl was brought in Queen Berengère did not look at her,
nor make any response to her deep reverence; but bade her fetch a mirror
from the table. In this she looked at herself steadily for some time,
smoothing and coiling back her hair, arranging her neck-covering so as
to show something of her bosom, and so on. She sent Jehane for boxes of
unguent, her colour-boxes, brush for the eyebrows, powder for the face.
Finally she had brought to her a little crown of diamonds, and set it in
her hair. After patting her head and turning it about and about, she put
the glass down and made a long survey of Jehane.
'They do well,' she said, 'who call you sulky: you have a sulky mouth.
I allow your shape; but there are reasons for that. You are very tall;
you have a long throat. Green eyes are my detestation--fie, turn them
from me. Your hair is wonderful, and your skin. I suppose women of the
North are so commonly. Come nearer.' Jehane obeying, the Queen touched
her neck, then her cheek. 'Show me your teeth,' she said. 'They are
strong and good, but much larger than mine. Your hands are big, and so
are your ears; you do well to cover them. Let me see your foot.' She
peeped over the edge of the bed; Jehane put her foot out. 'It is not so
large as I expected,' said the Queen, 'but much larger than mine.' Then
she sighed and threw herself back. 'You are certainly a very tall girl.
And twenty-three years old? I am not twenty yet, and have had fifty
lovers. The Abbot of Poictiers said you were beautiful. Do you think
yourself so?'
'It is not my part to think of it, Madame,' said Jehane, holding herself
rather stiffly.
'You mean that you know it too well,' said Berengère. 'I suppose it is
true. You have a fine colour and a fine person--but that is a woman's.
Now look at me carefully, and say how you find me. Put your hand here,
and here, and here. Touch my hair; look well at my eyes. My hair reaches
to my knees when I stand up, to the floor when I sit down. I am a king's
daughter. Do you not think me beautiful?'
'Yes, Madame. Oh, Madame--!' Jehane, trembling before her visions, could
hardly stand still; but the Queen (who had no visions now the mirror was
put by) went plaining on.
'When I was in my father's court his poets called me Frozen Heart,
because I was cold in loving. Messire Bertran de Born loved me, and so
did my cousin the Count of Provence, and the Count of Orange, and
Raimbaut, and Gaucelm, and Ebles of Ventadorn. Now I have found one
colder than ever I was, and I am burning. Are you a great lover of the
King?'
At this question, put so quietly, Jehane grew grave. It took her above
her sense of dangers, being in itself a dignity. 'I love the King so
well, Queen Berengère,' she said, 'that I think I shall make him hate me
in time.'
'Folly,' snapped the Queen, 'or guile. You would spur him. Is it true
what the Abbot Milo told me?'
'I know not what he has told you,' said Jehane; 'but it is true that I
have not dared let the King love me, and now dare least of all.'
The Queen clenched her hands and teeth. 'You devil,' she said, 'how I
hate you. You reject what I long for, and he loathes me for your sake.
You a creature of nought, and I a king's daughter.'
From the nostrils of Jehane the breath came fluttering and quick; in her
splendid bosom stirred a storm that, if she had chosen to let it loose,
could have shrivelled this little prickly leaf: but she replied nothing
to the Queen's hatred. Instead, with eyes fixed in vacancy, and one hand
upon her neck, she spoke her own purpose and lifted the talk to high
matters.
'I touch not again your King and mine, O Queen. But I go to save him.'
'Woman,' said Berengère, 'do you dare tell me this? Are my miseries
nothing to you? Have you not worked woe enough?'
Jehane suddenly threw her hair back, fell upon her knees, lifted her
chin. 'Madame, Madame, Madame! I must save him if I die. I implore your
pardon--I must go!'
'Why, what can you do against Montferrat?' The Queen shivered a little:
Jehane looked fixedly at her, solemn as a dying nun.
'You say that I am handsome,' she said, then stopped. Then in a very low
voice--'Well, I will do what I can.' She hung her golden head.
The Queen, after a moment of shock, laughed cruelly. 'I suppose I could
not wish you anything worse than that. I hate you above all people in
the world, mother of a bastard. Oh, it will be enough punishment. Go,
you hot snake; leave me.'
Jehane rose to her feet, bowed her head and went out. Next moment the
Queen must have whipped out of bed, for she caught her before she could
shut the door, and clung to her neck, sobbing desperately. 'O God,
Jehane, save Richard! Have mercy on me, I am most wretched.' Now the
other seemed to be queen.
'My girl,' said Jehane, 'I will do what I promised.' She kissed the
scorching forehead, and went away with Milo to find Giafar ibn Mulk.
To get at him it was necessary to put the girl Fanoum to the question.
This was done. Giafar ibn Mulk, enticed into the house, proved to be a
young man of prudence and resource. He could not, he said, conduct them
to his master, because he had been told to conduct the Marquess; but an
equally sure guide could be found, and there were no objections to his
delaying his own illustrious convoy for a week or more. Further than
that he could not go, nor did the near prospect of death, which the
abbot exhibited to him, prove any inducement to the alteration of his
mind. 'Death?' he said, when the implements of that were before him. 'If
I am to die, I am to die: not twice it happens to a man. But I recommend
to these priests the expediency of first finding El Safy.' As this was
to be their guide up Lebanon, those priests agreed. El Safy also agreed,
when they had him. A galley was got ready for sea; the provisional Grand
Master of the Temple wrote a commendatory letter to his 'beloved friend
in the one God, Sinan, Lord of the Assassins, _Vetus de Monte_'; and
then, in two days' time, Milo the abbot, Jehane with her little Fulke, a
few women, and El Safy (their master in the affair), left Acre for
Tortosa, whence they must climb on mule-back to Lebanon.