I sometimes think that it may be--perhaps--a want of meekness and
patience."
I stared at her in astonishment.
"Well, thank the saints, I am in no want of patience!" said Lady Isabel.
"And if any one knew all I have to try it"----
I turned and looked at her, if possible, in astonishment still greater.
Really, how very, very little, people do know themselves! If there be a
patient creature in this world, it is Eschine: and if there be an
impatient one, it is Lady Isabel.
I wonder whether I know myself? I do not think I should have set myself
down as proud of my intellect. But we Lusignans always have had
brains--except Amaury; he has stepped out of the ranks. And I don't like
people to disagree with me, and contradict me, nor to behave as if they
thought I had no sense. That is true enough. I suppose I must be
proud.
And yet, it cannot be wrong to know that one has brains. What is pride?
Where does the knowledge end, and the sin begin? Oh dear! how is one
ever to know?
If two and two would only make four in every thing! Or is it that one
makes mistakes one's self in the adding-up?
Lady Judith asked me this morning if I was vexed with her yesterday, for
what she said of me.
"Oh no!" I answered at once. "But I did not know that I was proud of my
intellect. I think I knew that I was proud of my rank."
"Thou art right there, my child," she said. "Yet I fear the pride of
intellect is more likely to harm thee, just because thou art less
conscious of it."
"Holy Mother," said I, "do you think my sister Eschine the best of us?"
"We human creatures, Helena, are poor judges of each other. But if thou
wouldst know--so far as I am able to judge--I think the two holiest
persons in all this Palace are Eschine and thine old Margarita."
"Better than Lady Sybil!" I cried.
"I do not undervalue Sybil. She is good and true; and I believe she
does earnestly desire to serve God. But it seems to me that the most
Christ-like spirit I know is not Sybil, but Eschine."
I must think about it, and study Eschine. I certainly made a sad
mistake when I thought there was nothing in her. But the holiest person
in the house! That seems very strange to me. I believe, now, that what
I took for absence of feeling is a mixture of great humility and
profound self-control. But the queerest thing is, that I think she
really loves Amaury. And how any creature can love Amaury is a puzzle
to me. For no being with an atom of brains can look up to him: and how
can you love one whom you cannot respect? Besides which, he evidently
despises Eschine--I believe he does all women--and he scolds and snubs
her from morning to night for everything she does or does not do. Such
treatment as that would wear my love in holes--If it were possible for
me ever to feel any for such an animal as Amaury. If I were Eschine, I
should be anxious to get as far away from him as I could, and should be
delighted when he relieved me of his company. Yet I do think Eschine
really misses him, and will be honestly glad when he comes back, It is
very unaccountable.
Our anxieties are all turned to rejoicing at once. Guy and Amaury
returned last night, having concluded a six months' truce with Saladin:
and Eschine had the pleasure--I am sure she felt it a very great
one--when Amaury entered her chamber, of placing in his arms the boy for
whom he had so fervently longed, who was born three days before they
came back. Little Hugues--Amaury says that must be his name--seems as
fine a child as Heloise, and as likely to live. Amaury was about as
pleased as it is in his nature to be; but he always seems to have his
eyes fixed on the wormwood of life rather than the honey.
"Thou hast shown some sense at last!" he said; and Eschine received this
very doubtful commendation as if it had been the most delightful
compliment. Then Amaury turned round, and snapped at me, because I could
not help laughing at his absurdity.
I asked Marguerite this evening what she thought was her chief fault.
"Ha!--the good God knows," she said. "It is very difficult to tell
which of one's faults is the worst."
"But what dost thou think?" said I.
"Well," she answered, "I think that my chief fault is--with all
deference--the same as that of my Damoiselle: and that is pride. Only
that we are proud of different things."
"And of what art thou proud, Margot?" asked I laughingly, but rather
struck to find that she had hit on the same failing (in me) as Lady
Judith.
"Ha! My Damoiselle may well ask. And I cannot tell her. What is or
has an old villein woman, ignorant and foolish, to provoke pride? I only
know it is there. It does not fasten on one thing more than another,
but there it is. And pride is a very subtle sin, if it please my
Damoiselle. If I had nothing in the world to be proud of but that I was
the ugliest woman in it, I believe I could be proud of that."
I laughed. "Well, and wherein lies my pride, Margot?" said I, wishful
to see whether she altogether agreed with Lady Judith.
"Can I see into the inmost heart of my Damoiselle? It is like a shut-up
coffer, this human heart. I can only look on the outside, I. But on the
outside, I see two things. My Damoiselle is noble, and she is clever.
And she knows both."
"Which is the worse, Margot?"
"Ha! Both are bad enough, to make pride. But this I think: that even a
king can never fancy himself so noble as the good God; yet a good many
of us think ourselves quite as wise."
"O Margot!--who could think that?"
"Does my Damoiselle herself never think that she could arrange matters
better than the good God is ordering them? What is that, but to say in
our hearts, 'I am the wiser'?"
It is very queer, how Lady Judith and Marguerite always do think alike.
"Margot, who wouldst thou say was the holiest woman in this house?"
The answer was unhesitating.
"I do not know; I can only guess. But if my Damoiselle wishes me to
guess--the noble Lady Judith, and Dame Eschine."
How very odd!
"When I asked thee once before, Margot, thou didst not mention Eschine
at all."
"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. I did not know enough of her then. And
she is not one to know in a minute. Some are like an open book, quickly
read: and others are like a book in a strange tongue, of which one knows
but little, and they have to be spelt out; and some, again, are like a
locked book, which you cannot read at all without the key. Dame
Eschine, if my Damoiselle pleases, is the book in the strange tongue;
but the book is very good, and quite worth the trouble to learn it."
"Where didst thou find such a comparison, Margot? Thou canst not read."
"I? Ha!--no. But I can see others do it."
"And what kind of book am I, Margot?"
"Ha!--my Damoiselle is wide, wide open."
"And the Lady Sybil?" asked I, feeling much amused.
"Usually, open; but she can turn the key if she will."
I was rather surprised. "And Count Guy?"
"Quite as wide open as my Damoiselle."
"Then where dost thou find thy locked book, Margot?"
I was still more astonished at the answer.
"If my Damoiselle pleases,--the Lady Isabel."
"O Margot! I think she is quite easy to read."
"I am mistaken," said Marguerite with quiet persistence, "if my
Damoiselle has yet read one page of that volume."
"Now I should have called the Regent a locked book," said I.
"Hardly, if my Damoiselle pleases. There is a loose leaf which peeps
out."
"Well, that romance is not a pleasant one," said I.
"Pleasant? Ha!--no. But it is long, and one cannot see the end of the
story before one comes to it."
At last, a letter has come from the Regent.
It is quite different to what I expected. He approves of all that Guy
has done, and more,--he actually thanks him for acting so promptly.
(Are we misjudging the man?) The King is in good health, and the Regent
thinks he will very shortly do well to return to the Holy City, as soon
as the autumn rains are well over. The Lady Countess, he says, is
suffering greatly, and he fears the damp weather increases her malady.
He speaks quite feelingly about it, as though he really loved her.
Early this morning was born dear Lady Sybil's second baby--still, like
Agnes, a little frail thing; and still a daughter. But Guy seems just
as pleased with his child as if it were a healthy boy. He is so
different from Amaury!
Both Guy and Lady Sybil wish the infant to bear my name. So this
evening the Patriarch is to christen her Helena,--thus placing her under
the safe protection of the blessed Saint Helena, mother of the Lord
Constantine the Emperor, and also of the holy Queen of Adiabene, who
bestowed such toil and money on the holy shrines.
As if to show that joys, as well as misfortunes, do not come single,
this afternoon arrived a courier with letters from Lusignan,--one from
Monseigneur to Guy, another from Raoul for Amaury, and one from Alix for
me. All are well, thank the saints!--and Alix has now three children,
of whom two are boys. Raoul is about to make a grand match, with one of
the richest heiresses in Normandy,--the Lady Alix, Countess of Eu.
Little Valence, Guillot's elder child, has been betrothed to the young
Seigneur de Parthenay. I am rather surprised that Guillot did not look
higher, especially after Guy's marriage and Raoul's.
Guy asked me to-day when I meant to be married.
"Oh, please, Guy, don't talk about it!" said I. "I would so much rather
not."
"Dost thou mean to be a nun, then?" asked he. I think he hardly expected
it.
"Well," said I, "if I must, I must. But I want to know why I could not
go on living quietly without either?"
"Ah, one of the original notions of the Damoiselle de Lusignan," said
he. "Because, my eccentric Elaine, nobody ever does."
"But why does nobody?" said I. "And why should not I begin it? Every
thing must begin some time, and with somebody."
But Guy seemed so much amused that I did not pursue the topic.
"Please thyself," said he, when he had finished laughing. "But why dost
thou prefer single life?"
"For various reasons," said I. "For one, I like to have my own way."
"Well, now, women are queer folks!" said Guy. "Oh my most rational
sister, wilt thou not have to obey thine abbess? And how much better
will that be than obeying thine husband?"
"It will be better in two respects," I answered. "In the first place, an
abbess is a woman, and would therefore be more reasonable than a man;
and in"----
"Oh dear! I did not understand that!" said Guy. "I am rather ignorant
and stupid."
"Thou art," said I. "And in the second, I should try, as soon as
possible, to be an abbess myself."
"My best wishes attend thy speedy promotion, most holy Mother!" said
Guy, bowing low, but laughing. "I perceive I was very stupid. But thou
seest, I really did not know that women were such extremely reasonable
beings. I fancied that, just now and then, they were slightly
unreasonable."
"Now, Guy, give over!" said I. "But can I not wait a while? Must I
decide at once?"
"Of course not, if that be thy wish," said Guy. "But thou art past the
usual age for profession."
"Then I shall be all the more likely to receive promotion quickly," I
replied.
"Fairest of nuns, here is my sword!" said Guy, kneeling and offering me
the hilt. "I surrender myself, a vanquished prisoner, to thy superior
wisdom."
So the matter passed off in a good laugh.
Now that the truce is concluded, all is peaceful and happy. It is so
nice, after the tumult, and suspense, and anxiety, to have nothing to
think of but what robe one shall wear to this feast, and how one shall
arrange one's jewels for that dance. I wish it would last for ever!--if
only one did not get tired even of pleasant things, when they have gone
on for a while. If one could get hold of some pleasure of which one
never got tired!
I want to introduce our national dance of Poitou, the minuet. I have
taught it to Lady Isabel, and two or three of the damsels in waiting:
and Perette and Bertrade will help. Lady Isabel admires it very much;
she says it is a grand, stately dance, and fit for a princess.
It seems very odd to me, that the ladies of this country look upon it as
beneath them to superintend the cooking, and leave it all to their
servants. How strange it would be if we did that in Poitou! They order
what is to be done, but they never put their own hands to the work. I
know what Alix would look like, if I told her.
The first banquet was to have been on Monday, but it is an unlucky day,
as the moon will be in opposition to Mars; so it had to be deferred. We
heard yesterday that the Countess of Edessa actually gave a banquet last
week on a vigil, and what should she do but invite just enough to make
thirteen! I suppose she never thought about either. She is the most
thoughtless woman I ever saw. Messire de Montluc was one of the guests,
and when he perceived the calamity, he feigned to bleed at the nose, and
asked leave to retire. I suppose he did not wish to run the risk of
dying within a year and a day. How can people be so careless? Why, it
is almost as bad as murder.
*CHAPTER XII.*
_*WILL SHE GIVE HIM UP?*_
_Elmina_.--We can bear all things!
_Gonsalez_.--Can ye bear disgrace?
_Ximena_.--We were not born for this.
--FELICIA HEMANS.
I suppose it is only about thirty hours, yet it looks as if it might be
as many weeks, since I sat in the bower with Lady Judith, broidering a
mantle of cramoisie for Lady Sybil. We were talking of different
things, carrying on no special train of conversation. Lady Sybil had
been with us; but, a few minutes before, Guy had called her into the
hall, to assist in receiving a messenger just arrived with letters from
the Regent. Something which Lady Judith said amused me, and I was
making a playful reply, when all at once there broke on us, from the
hall, such a bitter, wailing cry, as instantly told us that something
terrible must have happened. The mantle was dropped upon the rushes,
and Lady Judith and I were both in the hall in an instant.
The messenger, a young knight, stood at the further side of the dais,
where were Guy and Lady Sybil. She had apparently fainted, or was very
near it, and he was holding her in his arms, and endeavouring to whisper
comfort.
"Oh, what is the matter?" broke from me, as my eyes sought first Guy and
then the messenger.
Guy did not answer. I am not sure that he heard me. It was the young
knight who replied.
"Damoiselle, if it please your Nobility, our young Lord Beaudouin the
King has been commanded to the Lord."
I never wished I was not noble until that minute. Had I been a villein,
he would have told me without considering the pleasure of my Nobility,
and I should have been out of suspense one second sooner.
Lady Judith's one thought seemed to be for the poor mother, who was
utterly overcome by the sudden news of her first-born's death. She
actually opened the casement with her own hands, though there were
plenty of damsels and squires in the hall, whom she might have called to
do it. One she sent for water, and sprinkled a few drops on Lady
Sybil's face, entreating her to drink some wine which a squire brought
in haste. She appeared to swallow with difficulty, but it seemed to
revive her, and her voice came back.
"Oh, my boy, my boy!" she cried piteously. "And I was not there! It was
not in my arms he died. My first-born, my darling! I was not there."
Ay, that seemed the climax of her misery--she was not there! I was
very, very sorry, both for her and for the child. But another thought
soon darted into my brain, and it was too hard for me to solve. Who was
the King of Jerusalem now? When I thought it meet, I whispered the
question to Guy. He made me no answer in words, but his quick downward
glance at the golden head still bowed upon his arm told me what he
thought. And all at once the full significance of that death flashed
upon me. Lady Sybil was the Queen of the World, and might have to do
battle for her glorious heritage.
There was no doubt concerning the right. Only two remained of the House
of Anjou: and there could be no question as to whether the elder or
younger sister should succeed. Lady Sybil's right had been originally
set aside: and now it had come back to her.
In an instant I saw, as by a flash of lightning, that the idea had
occurred to others; for the squire had offered the wine upon the knee.
But the Regent! Would he acquiesce meekly in a change which would drive
him back to his original insignificance, and restore Guy to his place of
supreme honour? Lady Sybil is no child, but a woman of full age. There
might (in a man's eyes) be an excuse in putting her aside for her son,
but there could be none for her sister or her daughter.
It was not for some hours that I saw the Regent's letter; not till Lady
Sybil's bitter wailing had died down to peace, and we were able to turn
our eyes from the past to the future. Then Guy showed it me. I was
astonished at the quiet matter-of-fact way in which Count Raymond
recognised Lady Sybil's right, and deferred to Guy as the person to
decide upon every thing. I asked Lady Judith, this morning, what she
thought it meant. Was this man better than we had supposed? Had we
been unjust to him?
"I cannot tell yet, Helena," she said; "but I think we shall know now
very soon. It either bodes great good to Sybil,--or else most serious
mischief."
"He says no word about his Lady Countess," I suggested.
"No," said Lady Judith. "I should have liked it better if he had done."
"Then what can we do?" I asked.
"Wait and pray," responded she.
"Wait!" Oh dear me!--it is always waiting. I detest it. Why can't
things happen in a lump and get done with themselves?
Count Raymond--for I must give over calling him the Regent,--(and dear
me! I must learn to call Lady Sybil the Queen as soon as she is
crowned,--however shall I do it?)--Count Raymond says, in the end of his
letter, that he will reach the Holy City, if it please the saints, about
ten days hence, with the coffin of the young Lord King, that he may be
laid with his fathers in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. So, I
suppose, for these ten days we shall know nothing. I would scratch them
out of the calendar, if I had pumice-stone of the right quality.
And yet--it comes over me, though I do hate to think it!--suppose these
ten days should be the last days of peace which we are to know!
"Holy Mother, how _can_ you wait to know things?" I asked Lady Judith.
"How canst thou?" said she with a little laugh.
"Why, I must!" said I. "But as to doing it patiently!"----
"It is easier to wait patiently than impatiently, my child."
"O holy Mother!" cried I.
"It is," she gently persisted. "But that patience, Helena, is only to
be had from God."
"But can you help longing to know?" said I.
"Rebelliously and feverishly thirsting to know, I can. But it is only
in God's strength that I can do it. Certainly I cannot help feeling
that I shall be relieved when His time is come. I should be more or
less than woman, if I could."
"But how," said I, "do you keep yourself patient?"
"_He_ keeps me patient, Helena. I cannot keep myself. He knows: He is
at the helm: He will guide me to the haven where I would be. Ah, my
child, thou hast yet to learn what that meaneth,--'When He giveth
quietness, who shall then condemn?'"
Indeed I have. And I do not know how to begin.
We have been very busy, after all, during the terrible interval, and it
hardly seems ten days since the news came. All the mourning robes were
to be made of sackcloth--bah! how rough and coarse it is!--one need be a
villein to stand it!--and the hoods of cloth of Cyprus. I never
remember being in mourning before Amaury's poor little baby was born and
died in one day, and I did hope then that I should never need it again.
It is so abominable to wear such stuff--and how it smells!--and to have
to lay aside one's gloves, just like a bourgeoise! Count Raymond is
expected to-night.
I did not properly guess what a dreadful scene it would be, when the
coffin was borne into the hall by four knights, and laid down on the
dais, and the lid opened, and the embalmed body of the fair child
brought to view, clad in the cowl of the holy brethren of Saint
Benedict, which was put on him just before he died. The holy
Patriarch--I suppose he is holy, being a patriarch--held the holy
censer, which he swung to and fro by the head of the coffin; and a royal
chaplain at his side bore the benitier, from which each of us, coming
forward, took the asperge, and sprinkled the still face with holy water.
It was Lady Sybil's turn last, of course. But she, the poor mother,
broke down utterly, and dropped the asperge, and if Guy had not sprung
forward and caught her, I think she would have fainted and fallen on the
coffin of her child. Oh, it was terrible!
Later in the evening, there was a family council, at which Count Raymond
suggested--and Guy said it was an excellent idea--that Lady Sybil should
convene a council of all the nobles, when her title should be solemnly
recognised, and no room be left for any dissension about it in future.
The council, therefore, will meet on Midsummer Day next, and at the same
time it will be decided what to do after the truce with Saladin has
expired.
I tapped at Lady Judith's door as I went up to bed.
"Well, holy Mother," said I, when I was inside, and the door shut, "what
think you now of the Count of Tripoli?"
"What thinkest thou, Helena?" answered she.
"Truly, I hardly know what to think," I said. "He speaks fair."
"Ay," she said; "he speaks fair."
I thought I detected the slightest possible emphasis on the verb.
"I think you mean something, holy Mother," said I bluntly.
"Helena, when the Lord Count was proposing the convention of the
council, and all that was to follow, and Count Guy assented, and said he
thought it a good idea,--didst thou happen to look at Count Raymond's
face?"
"No, holy Mother, I did not."
"I did. And at the instant when Count Guy assented to his proposal, I
caught one triumphant flash in his eyes. From that hour I was certain
he meant mischief."
My heart fell,--fell.
"What sort of mischief?" I asked fearfully.
"The Lord knoweth," quietly said she; "and the Lord reigneth, Helena.
'Wonderful are the ragings of the sea: wonderful in the heights is the
Lord.'"
And that seems to comfort her. I wish it would comfort me.
The Council is holding its sitting: and so serious are its deliberations
considered, that only one woman beside Lady Sybil herself is permitted
to attend it. Of course it was not meet she should be without any lady
or damsel. But she chose Lady Judith, with a pretty little apology to
me, lest I should fancy myself slighted.
"Lady Judith is old and very wise," she said. "I should like her to
hear the deliberations of the nobles, that I may have, if need be, the
benefit of her counsel afterwards."
I suppose it is the swearing of allegiance that takes such a long time.
They have been four hours already.
Sir God, have mercy upon me! I never dreamed of the anguish that was in
store for me. I do not know how to bear it. O fair Father, Jesu
Christ, by the memory of Thine own cross and passion, help me, if it be
only to live through it!
I wondered why, when the Council broke up, Lady Sybil shut herself up
and refused to admit any one, and Guy was nowhere to be found. I felt a
vague sort of uneasiness, but no more, till a soft hand was laid upon my
shoulder, and I looked up in Lady Judith's face.
And then, in an instant, the vague uneasiness changed to acute terror.
Her look was one of such deep, overwhelming compassion, that I knew at
once she had that to tell me which she justly feared might break my
heart.
"What--?" I gasped.
"Come here with me," she said; and she took me into her own cell, and
barred the door. "Helena, dear child, there is something to tell thee
which thou wilt find very bitter, and thy brother and Sybil think best
that I should tell it."
"Go on, if you please, holy Mother. Any thing but suspense!"
"The Council of nobles," she said, "are agreed to admit Sybil's right,
and to pay their homage to her as Queen, if she on her part will accept
one condition dictated by them. But if she refuse the condition, they
refuse the allegiance; and will raise against her the banner of Isabel,
who was called into the Council, and declared herself ready to accept
it."
"And--the condition?"
"That she shall divorce Count Guy, and wed with one of themselves."
It seemed to me as though my head went round, but my heart stood still.
And then a cry broke from me, which was a mixture of fear, and
indignation, and disdain, and cruel, cruel anguish.