Dame Meregrett turned and passed back into the hut without faltering.
And when he had lighted the inefficient lamp which he found there, Sire
Edward wheeled upon her in half-humorous vexation. "Presently come
your brother and his tattling lords. To be discovered here with me at
night, alone, means infamy. If Philippe chance to fall into one of his
Capetian rages it means death."
"Nay, lord, it means far worse than death." And she laughed, though
not merrily.
And now, for the first time, Sire Edward regarded her with profound
consideration, as may we. To the fingertips this so-little lady showed
a descendant of the holy Lewis he had known and loved in old years.
Small and thinnish she was, with soft and profuse hair that, for all
its blackness, gleamed in the lamplight with stray ripples of
brilliancy, as you may see a spark shudder to extinction over burning
charcoal. The Valois nose she had, long and delicate in form, and
overhanging a short upper-lip; yet the lips were glorious in tint, and
her skin the very Hyperborean snow in tint. As for her eyes, say,
gigantic onyxes--or ebony highly polished and wet with May dew. They
were too big for her little face; and they made of her a tiny and
desirous wraith which nervously endured each incident of
life--invariably acquiescent, as a foreigner must necessarily be, to
the custom of the country. In fine, this Meregrett was strange and
brightly colored; and she seemed always thrilled with some subtle
mirth, like that of a Siren who notes how the sailor pauses at the
bulwark and laughs a little (knowing the outcome), and does not greatly
care. Yet now Dame Meregrett's countenance was rapt.
And Sire Edward moved one step toward this tiny lady and paused.
"Madame, I do not understand."
Dame Meregrett looked up into his face unflinchingly. "It means that I
love you, sire. I may speak without shame now, for presently you die.
Die bravely, sire! Die in such fashion as may hearten me to live."
The little Princess spoke the truth, for always since his coming to
Mezelais she had viewed the great conqueror as through an aweful haze
of forerunning rumor, twin to that golden vapor which enswathes a god
and transmutes whatever in corporeal man had been a defect into some
divine and hitherto unguessed-at excellence. I must tell you in this
place, since no other occasion offers, that even until the end of her
life it was so. For to her what in other persons would have seemed but
flagrant dulness showed, somehow, in Sire Edward, as the majestic
deliberation of one that knows his verdict to be decisive, and hence
appraises cautiously; and if sometimes his big, calm eyes betrayed no
apprehension of the jest at which her lips were laughing, and of which
her brain very cordially approved, always within the instant her heart
convinced her that a god is not lightly moved to mirth.
[Illustration: "SHE HAD VIEWED THE GREAT CONQUEROR" _Painting by Howard
Pyle_]
And now it was a god--_O deus certè!_--who had taken a woman's paltry
face between his hands, half roughly. "And the maid is a Capet!" Sire
Edward mused.
"Never has Blanch desired you any ill, beau sire. But it is the
Archduke of Austria that she loves, beau sire. And once you were dead,
she might marry him. One cannot blame her," Meregrett considered,
"since he wishes to marry her, and she, of course, wishes to make him
happy."
"And not herself, save in some secondary way!" the big King said. "In
part I comprehend, madame. And I, too, long for this same happiness,
impotently now, and much as a fevered man might long for water. And my
admiration for the Death whom I praised this morning is somewhat
abated. There was a Tenson once--Lord, Lord, how long ago! I learn
too late that truth may possibly have been upon the losing side--" He
took up Rigon's lute.
Sang Sire Edward:
"_Incuriously he smites the armored king
And tricks his wisest counsellor--_
ay, the song ran thus. Now listen, madame--listen, while for me Death
waits without, and for you ignominy."
Sang Sire Edward:
"_Anon
Will Death not bid us cease from pleasuring,
And change for idle laughter i' the sun
The grave's long silence and the peace thereof,--
Where we entrancèd. Death our Viviaine
Implacable, may never more regain
The unforgotten passion, and the pain
And grief and ecstasy of life and love?_
"_Yea, presently, as quiet as the king
Sleeps now that laid the walls of Ilion,
We, too, will sleep, and overhead the spring
Laugh, and young lovers laugh--as we have done--
And kiss--as we, that take no heed thereof,
But slumber very soundly, and disdain
The world-wide heralding of winter's wane
And swift sweet ripple of the April rain
Running about the world to waken love._
"_We shall have done with Love, and Death be king
And turn our nimble bodies carrion,
Our red lips dusty;--yet our live lips cling
Spite of that age-long severance and are one
Spite of the grave and the vain grief thereof
We mean to baffle, if in Death's domain
Old memories may enter, and we twain
May dream a little, and rehearse again
In that unending sleep our present love._
"_Speed forth to her in sorry unison,
My rhymes: and say Death mocks us, and is slain
Lightly by Love, that lightly thinks thereon;
And that were love at my disposal lain--
All mine to take!--and Death had said, 'Refrain,
Lest I demand the bitter cost thereof,'
I know that even as the weather-vane
Follows the wind so would I follow Love._"
Sire Edward put aside the lute. "Thus ends the Song of Service," he
said, "which was made not by the King of England but by Edward
Plantagenet--hot-blooded and desirous man!--in honor of the one woman
who within more years than I care to think of has attempted to serve
but Edward Plantagenet."
"I do not comprehend," she said. And, indeed, she dared not.
But now he held both tiny hands in his. "At best, your poet is an
egotist. I must die presently. Meantime I crave largesse, madame! ay,
a great largesse, so that in his unending sleep your poet may rehearse
our present love." And even in Rigon's dim light he found her kindling
eyes not niggardly.
So that more lately Sire Edward strode to the window and raised big
hands toward the spear-points of the aloof stars. "Master of us all!"
he cried; "O Father of us all! the Hammer of the Scots am I! the
Scourge of France, the conqueror of Llewellyn and of Leicester, and the
flail of the accursed race that slew Thine only Son! the King of
England am I who have made of England an imperial nation and have given
to Thy Englishmen new laws! And to-night I crave my hire. Never, O my
Father, have I had of any person aught save reverence or hatred! never
in my life has any person loved me! And I am old, my Father--I am old,
and presently I die. As I have served Thee--as Jacob wrestled with
Thee at the ford of Jabbok--at the place of Peniel--" Against the
tremulous blue and silver of the forest she saw in terror how horribly
the big man was shaken. "My hire! my hire!" he hoarsely said. "Forty
long years, my Father! And now I will not let Thee go except Thou hear
me."
And presently he turned, stark and black in the rearward splendor of
the moon. "_As a prince hast thou power with God,_" he calmly said,
"_and thou hast prevailed_. For the King of kings was never obdurate,
m'amye.
"Child! O brave, brave child!" he said to her a little later, "I was
never afraid to die, and yet to-night I would that I might live a
trifle longer than in common reason I may ever hope to live!" And
their lips met.
Neither stirred when Philippe the Handsome came into the room. At his
heels were seven lords, armed cap-à-pie, but the entrance of eight
cockchafers had meant as much to these transfigured two.
The French King was an odd man, no more sane, perhaps, than might
reasonably be expected of a Valois. Subtly smiling, he came forward
through the twilight, with soft, long strides, and made no outcry at
recognition of his sister. "Take the woman away; Victor," he said,
disinterestedly, to de Montespan. Afterward he sat down beside the
table and remained silent for a while, intently regarding Sire Edward
and the tiny woman who clung to Sire Edward's arm; and always in the
flickering gloom of the hut Philippe smiled as an artist might do who
gazes on the perfected work and knows it to be adroit.
"You prefer to remain, my sister?" he presently said. "Hé bien! it
happens that to-night I am in a mood for granting almost any favor. A
little later and I will attend to you." The fleet disorder of his
visage had lapsed again into the meditative smile which was that of
Lucifer watching a toasted soul. "And so it ends," he said.
"Conqueror of Scotland, Scourge of France! O unconquerable king! and
will the worms of Ermenoueïl, then, pause to-morrow to consider through
what a glorious turmoil their dinner came to them?"
"You design murder, fair cousin?" Sire Edward said.
The French King shrugged. "I design that within this moment my lords
shall slay you while I sit here and do not move a finger. Is it not
good to be a king, my cousin, and to sit quite still, and to see your
bitterest enemy hacked and slain--and all the while to sit quite still,
quite unruffled, as a king should always be? Eh, eh! I never lived
until to-night!"
"Now, by Heaven," said Sire Edward, "I am your kinsman and your guest,
I am unarmed--"
And Philippe bowed his head. "Undoubtedly," he assented, "the deed is
a foul one. But I desire Gascony very earnestly, and so long as you
live you will never permit me to retain Gascony. Hence it is quite
necessary, you conceive, that I murder you. What!" he presently said,
"will you not beg for mercy? I had so hoped," the French King added,
somewhat wistfully, "that you might be afraid to die, O huge and
righteous man! and would entreat me to spare you. To spurn the weeping
conqueror of Llewellyn, say ... But these sins which damn one's soul
are in actual performance very tedious affairs; and I begin to grow
aweary of the game. Hé bien! now kill this man for me, messieurs."
The English King strode forward. "O shallow trickster!" Sire Edward
thundered. "_Am I not afraid?_ You baby, would you ensnare a lion
with a flimsy rat-trap? Not so; for it is the nature of a rat-trap,
fair cousin, to ensnare not the beast which imperiously desires and
takes in daylight, but the tinier and the filthier beast that covets
and under darkness pilfers--as you and your seven skulkers!" The man
was rather terrible; not a Frenchman within the hut but had drawn back
a little.
"Listen!" Sire Edward said, and came yet farther toward the King of
France and shook at him one forefinger; "when you were in your cradle I
was leading armies. When you were yet unbreeched I was lord of half
Europe. For thirty years I have driven kings before me as Fierabras
did. Am I, then, a person to be hoodwinked by the first big-bosomed
huzzy that elects to waggle her fat shoulders and to grant an
assignation in a forest expressively designed for stabbings? You baby,
is the Hammer of the Scots the man to trust a Capet? Ill-mannered
infant," the King said, with bitter laughter, "it is now necessary that
I summon my attendants and remove you to a nursery which I have
prepared in England." He set the horn to his lips and blew three
blasts.
There came many armed warriors into the hut, bearing ropes. Here was
the entire retinue of the Earl of Aquitaine; and, cursing, Sire
Philippe sprang upon the English King, and with a dagger smote at the
impassive big man's heart. The blade broke against the mail armor
under the tunic. "Have I not told you," Sire Edward wearily said,
"that one may never trust a Capet? Now, messieurs, bind these carrion
and convey them whither I have directed you. Nay, but, Roger--" He
conversed apart with his lieutenant, and what Sire Edward commanded was
done. The French King and seven lords of France went from that hut
trussed like chickens.
And now Sire Edward turned toward Meregrett and chafed his big hands
gleefully. "At every tree-bole a tethered horse awaits us; and a ship
awaits our party at Fécamp. To-morrow we sleep in England--and, Mort
de Dieu! do you not think, madame, that within the Tower your brother
and I may more quickly come to some agreement over Guienne?"
She had shrunk from him. "Then the trap was yours? It was you that
lured my brother to this infamy!"
"I am vile!" was the man's thought. And, "In effect, I planned it many
months ago at Ipswich yonder," Sire Edward gayly said. "Faith of a
gentleman! your brother has cheated me of Guienne, and was I to waste
an eternity in begging him to restore it? Nay, for I have a many spies
in France, and have for some two years known your brother and your
sister to the bottom. Granted that I came hither incognito, to
forecast your kinfolk's immediate endeavors was none too difficult; and
I wanted Guienne--and, in consequence, the person of your brother.
Mort de ma vie! Shall not the seasoned hunter adapt his snare
aforetime to the qualities of his prey, and take the elephant through
his curiosity, as the snake through his notorious treachery?" Now the
King of England blustered.
But the little Princess wrung her hands. "I am this night most
hideously shamed. Beau sire, I came hither to aid a brave man
infamously trapped, and instead I find an alert spider, snug in his
cunning web, and patiently waiting until the gnats of France fly near
enough. Eh, the greater fool was I to waste my labor on the shrewd and
evil thing which has no more need of me than I of it! And now let me
go hence, sire, and unmolested, for the sake of chivalry. Could I have
come to you but as to the brave man I had dreamed of, I had come
through the murkiest lane of hell; as the more artful knave, as the
more judicious trickster"--and here she thrust him from her--"I spit
upon you. Now let me go hence."
He took her in his brawny arms. "Fit mate for me," he said. "Little
vixen, had you done otherwise I had devoted you to the devil."
Anon, still grasping her, and victoriously lifting Dame Meregrett, so
that her feet swung quite clear of the floor, Sire Edward said: "Look
you, in my time I have played against Fate for considerable stakes--for
fortresses, and towns, and strong citadels, and for kingdoms even. And
it was only to-night I perceived that the one stake worth playing for
is love. It were easy enough to get you for my wife; but I want more
than that.... Pschutt! I know well enough how women have these
notions: and carefully I weighed the issue--Meregrett and Guienne to
boot? or Meregrett and Meregrett's love to boot?--and thus the final
destination of my captives was but the courtyard of Mezelais, in order
I might come to you with hands--well! not intolerably soiled."
"Oh, now I love you!" she cried, a-thrill with disappointment. "Yet
you have done wrong, for Guienne is a king's ransom."
He smiled whimsically, and presently one arm swept beneath her knees,
so that presently he held her as one dandles a baby; and presently his
stiff and yellow beard caressed her burning cheek. Masterfully he
said: "Then let it serve as such and ransom for a king his glad and
common manhood. Ah, m'amye, I am both very wise and abominably
selfish. And in either capacity it appears expedient that I leave
France without any unwholesome delay. More lately--hé, already I have
within my pocket the Pope's dispensation permitting me to marry the
sister of the King of France, so that I dare to hope."
Very shyly Dame Meregrett lifted her little mouth toward his hot and
bearded lips. "Patience," she said, "is a virtue; and daring is a
virtue; and hope, too, is a virtue: and otherwise, beau sire, I would
not live."
And in consequence, after a deal of political tergiversation (Nicolas
concludes), in the year of grace 1299, on the day of our Lady's
nativity, and in the twenty-seventh year of King Edward's reign, came
to the British realm, and landed at Dover, not Dame Blanch, as would
have been in consonance with seasoned expectation, but Dame Meregrett,
the other daughter of King Philippe the Bold; and upon the following
day proceeded to Canterbury, whither on the next Thursday after came
Edward, King of England, into the Church of the Trinity at Canterbury,
and therein espoused the aforesaid Dame Meregrett.