The Story of the Choices
In the year of grace 1327 (thus Nicolas begins) you could have found inall England no couple more ardent in affection or in despair moreaffluent than Rosamund Eastney and Sir Gregory Darrell. She was LordBerners' only daughter, a brown beauty, of extensive repute, thanks to aretinue of lovers who were practitioners of the Gay Science, and who hadscattered broadcast innumerable Canzons in her honor; and Lord Bernerswas a man to accept the world as he found it.
"Dompnedex!" the Earl was wont to say; "in sincerity I am fond ofGregory Darrell, and if he chooses to make love to my daughter that isnone of my affair. The eyes and the brain preserve a proverbial warfare,which is the source of all amenity, for without lady-service there wouldbe no songs and tourneys, no measure and no good breeding; and a mandelinquent in domnei is no more to be valued than an ear of cornwithout the grain. No, I am so profoundly an admirer of Love that I cannever willingly behold him slain, of a surfeit, by Matrimony; besides,this rapscallion Gregory could not to advantage exchange purses withLazarus in the parable; and, moreover, Rosamund is to marry the Earl ofSarum a little after All Saints' day."
"Sarum!" people echoed. "Why, the old goat has had four wives already!"
And the Earl would spread his hands. "These redundancies are permissibleto one of the wealthiest persons in England," he was used to submit.
Thus it fell out that Sir Gregory came and went at his own discretion asconcerned Lord Berners' fief of Ordish, all through those choppy timesof warfare between Sire Edward and Queen Ysabeau. Lord Berners, for one,vexed himself not inordinately over the outcome, since he protested theKing's armament to consist of fools and the Queen's of rascals; and hadwith entire serenity declined to back either Dick or the devil.
But at last the Queen got resistless aid from Count William of Hainault(in a way to be told about hereafter), and the King was captured by herforces, and was imprisoned in Berkeley Castle. There they held thesecond Edward to reign in England, who was the unworthy son of DameEllinor and of that first squinting King Edward about whom I have toldyou in the two tales preceding this tale. It was in the September ofthis year, a little before Michaelmas, that they brought Sir GregoryDarrell to be judged by the Queen; notoriously the knight had been herhusband's adherent. "Death!" croaked Adam Orleton, who sat to the righthand, and, "Young de Spencer's death!" amended the Earl of March, withwild laughter; but Ysabeau leaned back in her great chair--a handsomewoman, stoutening now from gluttony and from too much wine,--andregarded her prisoner with lazy amiability.
"And what was your errand in Figgis Wood?" she demanded--"or are youmad, then, Gregory Darrell, that you dare ride past my gates alone?"
He curtly said, "I rode for Ordish."
Followed silence. "Roger," the Queen ordered, "give me the paper which Iwould not sign."
The Earl of March had drawn an audible breath. The Bishop of Londonsomewhat wrinkled his shaggy brows, like a person in shrewd andepicurean amusement, while the Queen subscribed the parchment, with agreat scrawling flourish.
"Take, in the devil's name, the hire of your dexterities," said Ysabeau.She pushed this document with her wet pen-point toward March. "So! getit over with, that necessary business with my husband at Berkeley. Anddo the rest of you withdraw, saving only my prisoner."
Followed another silence. Queen Ysabeau lolled in her carven chair,considering the comely gentleman who stood before her, fettered, at thepoint of shameful death. There was in the room a little dog which hadcome to the Queen, and now licked the palm of her left hand, and thesoft lapping of its tongue was the only sound you heard. "So at peril ofyour life you rode for Ordish, then, messire?"
The tense man had flushed. "You have harried us of the King's party outof England,--and in reason I might not leave England without seeing thedesire of my heart."
"My friend," said Ysabeau, as if half in sorrow, "I would have pardonedanything save that." She rose. Her face was dark and hot. "By God andall His saints! you shall indeed leave England to-morrow and the worldalso! but not without a final glimpse of this same Rosamund. Yet listen:I, too, must ride with you to Ordish--as your sister, say--Gregory, didI not hang, last April, the husband of your sister? Yes, Ralph deBelomys, a thin man with eager eyes, the Earl of Farrington he was. Ashis widow I will ride with you to Ordish, upon condition you disclose tonone at Ordish, saving only, if you will, this quite immaculateRosamund, any hint of our merry carnival. And to-morrow (you will swearaccording to the nicest obligations of honor) you must ride back with meto encounter--that which I may devise. For I dare to trust your nakedword in this, and, moreover, I shall take with me a sufficiency ofretainers to leave you no choice."
Darrell knelt before her. "I can do no homage to Queen Ysabeau; yet theprodigal hands of her who knows that I must die to-morrow and cunninglycontrives, for old time's sake, to hearten me with a sight of Rosamund,I cannot but kiss." This much he did. "And I swear in all things to obeyyour will."
"O comely fool!" the Queen said, not ungently, "I contrive, it may be,but to demonstrate that many tyrants of antiquity were only bunglers.And, besides, I must have other thoughts than those which I have knowntoo long: I must this night take holiday from thinking them, lest I gomad."
Thus did the Queen arrange her holiday.
"Either I mean to torture you to-morrow," Dame Ysabeau said, presently,to Darrell, as these two rode side by side, "or else I mean to free you.In sober verity I do not know. I am in a holiday humor, and it is as thewhim may take me. But do you indeed love this Rosamund Eastney? And ofcourse she worships you?"
"It is my belief, madame, that when I see her I tremble visibly, and myweakness is such that a child has more intelligence than I,--and towardsuch misery any lady must in common reason be a little compassionate."
Her hands had twitched so that the astonished palfrey reared. "I designtorture," the Queen said; "ah, I perfect exquisite torture, for you haveproven recreant, you have forgotten the maid Ysabeau,--Le Desir duCuer, was it not, my Gregory, that you were wont to call her, asnowadays this Rosamund is the desire of your heart. You lackinventiveness."
His palms clutched at heaven. "That Ysabeau is dead! and all true joy isdestroyed, and the world lies under a blight from which God has avertedan unfriendly face in displeasure! yet of all wretched persons existentI am he who endures the most grievous anguish, for daily I partake oflife without any relish, and I would in truth deem him austerely kindwho slew me now that the maiden Ysabeau is dead."
She shrugged wearily. "I scent the raw stuff of a Planh," the Queenobserved; "_benedicite!_ it was ever your way, my friend, to love awoman chiefly for the verses she inspired." And she began to sing, asthey rode through Baverstock Thicket.
Sang Ysabeau:
"Man's love hath many prompters, But a woman's love hath none; And he may woo a nimble wit Or hair that shames the sun, Whilst she must pick of all one man And ever brood thereon-- And for no reason, And not rightly,--
"Save that the plan was foreordained (More old than Chalcedon, Or any tower of Tarshish Or of gleaming Babylon), That she must love unwillingly And love till life be done,--. He for a season, And more lightly."
So to Ordish in that twilight came the Countess of Farrington, with aretinue of twenty men-at-arms, and her brother Sir Gregory Darrell. LordBerners received the party with boisterous hospitality.
"Age has not blinded Father to the fact that your sister is a veryhandsome woman," was Rosamund Eastney's comment. The period appears tohave been after supper, and the girl sat with Gregory Darrell in not themost brilliant corner of the main hall.
The wretched man leaned forward, bit his nether-lip, and then with atumbling rush of speech told of the sorry masquerade. "The she-devildesigns some horrible and obscure mischief, she plans I know not what."
"Yet I--" said Rosamund. The girl had risen, and she continued with anodd inconsequence: "You have told me you were Pembroke's squire whenlong ago he sailed for France to fetch this woman into England--"
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"--Which you never heard!" Lord Berners shouted at this point. "Jasper,a lute!" And then he halloaed, "Gregory, Madame de Farrington demandsthat racy song you made against Queen Ysabeau during your last visit."Thus did the Queen begin her holiday.
It was a handsome couple which came forward, with hand quitting handtardily, and with blinking eyes yet rapt: these two were not overpleasedat being disturbed, and the man was troubled, as in reason he well mightbe, by the task assigned him.
"Is it, indeed, your will, my sister," he said, "that I shouldsing--this song?"
"It is my will," the Countess said.
And the knight flung back his comely head and laughed. "A truth, oncespoken, may not be disowned in any company. It is not, look you, of myown choice that I sing, my sister. Yet if Queen Ysabeau herself were tobid me sing this song, I could not refuse, for, Christ aid me! the songis true."
Sang Sir Gregory:
"Dame Ysabeau, la prophecie Que li sage dit ne ment mie, Que la royne sut ceus grever Qui tantost laquais sot aymer--"[4]
and so on. It was a lengthy ditty, and in its wording not oversqueamish;the Queen's career in England was detailed without any stuttering, andyou would have found the catalogue unhandsome. Yet Sir Gregory deliveredit with an incisive gusto, desperately countersigning his own deathwarrant. Her treacheries, her adulteries and her assassinations wererendered in glowing terms whose vigor seemed, even now, to please theircontriver. Yet the minstrel added a new peroration.
Sang Sir Gregory:
"Ma voix mocque, mon cuer gemit-- Peu pense a ce que la voix dit, Car me membre du temps jadis Et d'ung garson, d'amour surpris, Et d'une fille--et la vois si-- Et grandement suis esbahi."
And when Darrell had ended, the Countess of Farrington, withoutspeaking, swept her left hand toward her cheek and by pure chance caughtbetween thumb and forefinger the autumn-numbed fly that had annoyed her.She drew the little dagger from her girdle and meditatively cut thebuzzing thing in two. She cast the fragments from her, and resting thedagger's point upon the arm of her chair, one forefinger upon the summitof the hilt, considerately twirled the brilliant weapon.
"This song does not err upon the side of clemency," she said at last,"nor by ordinary does Queen Ysabeau."
"That she-wolf!" said Lord Berners, comfortably. "Hoo, Madame Gertrude!since the Prophet Moses wrung healing waters from a rock there has beenno such miracle recorded."
"We read, Messire de Berners, that when the she-wolf once acknowledges amaster she will follow him as faithfully as any dog. My brother, I donot question your sincerity, yet everybody knows you sing with the voiceof an unhonored courtier. Suppose Queen Ysabeau had heard your song allthrough as I have heard it, and then had said--for she is not as the runof women--'Messire, I had thought until this that there was no thoroughman in England save tall Roger Mortimer. I find him tawdry now, and--Iremember. Come you, then, and rule the England that you love as you maylove no woman, and rule me, messire, since I find even in yourcruelty--For we are no pygmies, you and I! Yonder is squabbling Europeand all the ancient gold of Africa, ready for our taking! and past thatlies Asia, too, and its painted houses hung with bells, and cloud-wraptTartary, where we two may yet erect our equal thrones, upon which toreceive the tributary emperors! For we are no pygmies, you and I." Shepaused. She shrugged. "Suppose Queen Ysabeau, who is not as the run ofwomen, had said this much, my brother?"
Darrell was more pallid (as the phrase is) than a sheet, and the lutehad dropped unheeded, and his hands were clenched.
"I would answer, my sister, that as she has found in England but oneman, I have found in England but one woman--the rose of all the world."His eyes were turned at this toward Rosamund Eastney. "And yet," the manstammered, "because I, too, remember--"
"Hah, in God's name! I am answered," the Countess said. She rose, indignity almost a queen. "We have ridden far to-day, and to-morrow wemust travel a deal farther--eh, my brother? I am going to bed, Messirede Berners."
So the men and women parted. Madame de Farrington kissed her brother atleaving him, as was natural; and under her caress his stalwart personshuddered, but not in repugnance; and the Queen went away singinghushedly.
Sang Ysabeau:
"Were the All-Mother wise, life (shaped anotherwise) Would be all high and true; Could I be otherwise I had been otherwise Simply because of you, ... With whom I have naught to do, And who are no longer you!
"Life with its pay to be bade us essay to be What we became,--I believe Were there a way to be what it was play to be I would not greatly grieve ... Hearts are not worn on the sleeve. Let us neither laugh nor grieve!"
Ysabeau would have slept that night within the chamber of RosamundEastney had either slept. As concerns the older I say nothing. The girl,though soon aware of frequent rustlings near at hand, lay quiet,half-forgetful of the poisonous woman yonder. The girl was now fulfilledwith a great blaze of exultation: to-morrow Gregory must die, and thenperhaps she might find time for tears; meanwhile, before her eyes, theman had flung away a kingdom and life itself for love of her, and theleast nook of her heart ached to be a shade more worthy of thesacrifice.
After it might have been an hour of this excruciate ecstasy the Countesscame to Rosamund's bed. "Ay," the woman began, "it is indisputable thathis hair is like spun gold and that his eyes resemble sun-drenchedwaters in June. It is certain that when this Gregory laughs God is morehappy. Girl, I was familiar with the routine of your meditations beforeyou were born."
Rosamund said, quite simply: "You have known him always. I envy thecircumstance, Madame Gertrude--you alone of all women in the world Ienvy, since you, his sister, being so much older, must have known himalways."
"I know him to the core, my girl," the Countess answered. For a whileshe sat silent, one bare foot jogging restlessly. "Yet I am two yearshis junior--Did you hear nothing, Rosamund?" "No, Madame Gertrude, Iheard nothing."
"Strange!" the Countess said; "let us have lights, since I can no longerendure this overpopulous twilight." She kindled, with twitching fingers,three lamps. "It is as yet dark yonder, where the shadows quiver veryoddly, as though they would rise from the floor--do they not, mygirl?--and protest vain things. But, Rosamund, it has been done; in themoment of death men's souls have travelled farther and have beenvisible; it has been done, I tell you. And he would stand before me,with pleading eyes, and would reproach me in a voice too faint to reachmy ears--but I would see him--and his groping hands would clutch at myhands as though a dropped veil had touched me, and with the contact Iwould go mad!"
"Madame Gertrude!" the girl stammered, in communicated terror.
"Poor innocent fool!" the woman said, "I am Ysabeau of France." And whenRosamund made as though to rise, in alarm, Queen Ysabeau caught her bythe shoulder. "Bear witness when he comes that I never hated him. Yetfor my quiet it was necessary that it suffer so cruelly, the scented,pampered body, and no mark be left upon it! Eia! even now he suffers!No, I have lied. I hate the man, and in such fashion as you willcomprehend when you are Sarum's wife."
"Madame and Queen!" the girl said, "you will not murder me!" "I amtempted!" the Queen answered. "O little slip of girlhood, I am tempted,for it is not reasonable you should possess everything that I have lost.Innocence you have, and youth, and untroubled eyes, and quiet dreams,and the fond graveness of a child, and Gregory Darrell's love--" NowYsabeau sat down upon the bed and caught up the girl's face between twofevered hands. "Rosamund, this Darrell perceives within the moment, as Ido, that the love he bears for you is but what he remembers of the lovehe bore a certain maid long dead. Eh, you might have been her sister,Rosamund, for you are very like her. And she, poor wench--why, I couldsee her now, I think, were my eyes not blurred, somehow, almost asthough Queen Ysabeau might weep! But she was handsomer than you, sinceyour complexion is not overclear, praise God!"
Woman against woman they were. "He has told me of his intercourse withyou," the girl said, and this was a lie flatfooted. "Nay, kill me if youwill,
madame, since you are the stronger, yet, with my dying breath, Iprotest that Gregory has loved no woman truly in all his life exceptme."
The Queen laughed bitterly. "Do I not know men? He told you nothing. Andto-night he hesitated, and to-morrow, at the lifting of my finger, hewill supplicate. Since boyhood Gregory Darrell has loved me, O white,palsied innocence! and he is mine at a whistle. And in that time tocome he will desert you, Rosamund--bidding farewell with a pleasingCanzon,--and they will give you to the gross Earl of Sarum, as they gaveme to the painted man who was of late our King! and in that time to comeyou will know your body to be your husband's makeshift when he lacksleisure to seek out other recreation! and in that time to come you willlong for death, and presently your heart will be a flame within you, myRosamund, an insatiable flame! and you will hate your God because Hemade you, and hate Satan because in some desperate hour he tricked you,and hate all men because, poor fools, they scurry to obey your whims!and chiefly you will hate yourself because you are so pitiable! anddevastation only will you love in that strange time which is to come. Itis adjacent, my Rosamund."
The girl kept silence. She sat erect in the tumbled bed, her handsclasping her knees, and she appeared to deliberate what Dame Ysabeau hadsaid. Plentiful brown hair fell about this Rosamund's face, which waswhite and shrewd. "A part of what you say, madame, I understand. I knowthat Gregory Darrell loves me, yet I have long ago acknowledged he lovesme as one pets a child, or, let us say, a spaniel which reveres andamuses one. I lack his wit, you comprehend, and so he never speaks to meall that he thinks. Yet a part of it he tells me, and he loves me, andwith this I am content. Assuredly, if they give me to Sarum I shall hateSarum even more than I detest him now. And then, I think, Heaven helpme! that I would not greatly grieve--Oh, you are all evil!" Rosamundsaid; "and you thrust into my mind thoughts which I may not understand!"
"You will comprehend them," the Queen said, "when you know yourself achattel, bought and paid for."
The Queen laughed. She rose, and her hands strained toward heaven. "Youare omnipotent, yet have You let me become that into which I amtransmuted," she said, very low.
She began to speak as though a statue spoke through lips that seemedmotionless. "Men have long urged me, Rosamund, to a deed which by onestroke would make me mistress of these islands. To-day I looked onGregory Darrell, and knew that I was wise in love--and I had but tocrush a lewd soft worm to come to him. Eh, and I was tempted--!"
The girl said: "Let us grant that Gregory loves you very greatly, and mejust when his leisure serves. You may offer him a cushioned infamy, acolorful and brief delirium, and afterward demolishment of soul andbody; I offer him contentment and a level life, made up of small events,it may be, and lacking both in abysses and in skyey heights. Yet is lovea flame wherein the lover's soul must be purified; it is a flame whichassays high queens just as it does their servants: and thus, madame, tojudge between us I dare summon you." "Child, child!" the Queen said,tenderly, and with a smile, "you are brave; and in your fashion you arewise; yet you will never comprehend. But once I was in heart and souland body all that you are to-day; and now I am Queen Ysabeau--Did you intruth hear nothing, Rosamund?"
"Why, nothing save the wind."
"Strange!" said the Queen; "since all the while that I have talked withyou I have been seriously annoyed by shrieks and imprecations! But I,too, grow cowardly, it may be--Nay, I know," she said, and in a resonantvoice, "that by this I am mistress of broad England, until my son--myown son, born of my body, and in glad anguish, Rosamund--knows me forwhat I am. For I have heard--Coward! O beautiful sleek coward!" theQueen said; "I would have died without lamentation and I was but yourplaything!"
"Madame Ysabeau--!" the girl answered vaguely, for she was puzzled andwas almost frightened by the other's strange talk.
"To bed!" said Ysabeau; "and put out the lights lest he come presently.Or perhaps he fears me now too much to come to-night. Yet the nightapproaches, none the less, when I must lift some arras and find himthere, chalk-white, with painted cheeks, and rigid, and smiling veryterribly, or look into some mirror and behold there not myself buthim,--and in that instant I shall die. Meantime I rule, until my sonattains his manhood. Eh, Rosamund, my only son was once so tiny, and sohelpless, and his little crimson mouth groped toward me, helplessly, andsave in Bethlehem, I thought, there was never any child more fair--But Imust forget all that, for even now he plots. Hey, God orders mattersvery shrewdly, my Rosamund."
Timidly the girl touched Ysabeau's shoulder. "In part, I understand,madame and Queen."
"You understand nothing," said Ysabeau; "how should you understand whosebreasts are yet so tiny? So let us put out the light! though I dreaddarkness, Rosamund--For they say that hell is poorly lighted--and theysay--" Then Queen Ysabeau shrugged. Pensively she blew out each lamp.
"We know this Gregory Darrell," the Queen said in the darkness, "ah, tothe marrow we know him, however steadfastly we blink, and we know thepresent turmoil of his soul; and in common-sense what chance have you ofvictory?"
"None in common-sense, madame, and yet you go too fast. For man is abeing of mingled nature, we are told by those in holy orders, and hislife here is one unending warfare between that which is divine in himand that which is bestial, while impartial Heaven attends as arbiter ofthe tourney. Always a man's judgment misleads him and his facultiesallure him to a truce, however brief, with iniquity. His senses raise amist about his goings, and there is not an endowment of the man but inthe end plays traitor to his interest, as of God's wisdom God intends;so that when the man is overthrown, the Eternal Father may, in reason,be neither vexed nor grieved if only the man takes heart to rise again.And when, betrayed and impotent, the man elects to fight out theallotted battle, defiant of common-sense and of the counsellors whichGod Himself accorded, I think that the Saints hold festival in heaven."
"A very pretty sermon," said the Queen. "Yet I do not think that ourGregory could very long endure a wife given over to such high-mindedtalking. He prefers to hear himself do the fine talking."
Followed a silence, vexed only on the purposeless September winds; but Ibelieve that neither of these two slept with profundity.
About dawn one of the Queen's attendants roused Sir Gregory Darrell andconducted him into the hedged garden of Ordish, where Ysabeau walked intranquil converse with Lord Berners. The old man was in high good-humor.
"My lad," said he, and clapped Sir Gregory upon the shoulder, "you have,I do protest, the very phoenix of sisters. I was never happier." And hewent away chuckling.
The Queen said in a toneless voice, "We ride for Blackfriars now."
Darrell responded, "I am content, and ask but leave to speak, briefly,with Dame Rosamund before I die."
Then the woman came more near to him. "I am not used to beg, but withinthis hour you encounter death, and I have loved no man in all my lifesaving only you, Sir Gregory Darrell. Nor have you loved any person asyou loved me once in France. Oh, to-day, I may speak freely, for withyou the doings of that boy and girl are matters overpast. Yet were itotherwise--eh, weigh the matter carefully! for I am mistress of Englandnow, and England would I give you, and such love as that slim, whiteinnocence has never dreamed of would I give you, Gregory Darrell--No,no! ah, Mother of God, not you!" The Queen clapped one hand upon hislips.
"Listen," she quickly said; "I spoke to tempt you. But you saw, and yousaw clearly, that it was the sickly whim of a wanton, and you neverdreamed of yielding, for you love this Rosamund Eastney, and you know meto be vile. Then have a care of me! The strange woman am I, of whom weread that her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers ofdeath. Hoh, many strong men have been slain by me, and in the gray timeto come will many others be slain by me, it may be; but never you amongthem, my Gregory, who are more wary, and more merciful, and who knowthat I have need to lay aside at least one comfortable thought againsteternity."
"I concede you to have been unwise--" he hoarsely began.
About them fell the dying lea
ves, of many glorious colors, but the airof this new day seemed raw and chill.
Then Rosamund came through the opening in the hedge. "Now, choose," shesaid; "the woman offers life and high place and wealth, and it may be, agreater love than I am capable of giving you. I offer a dishonorabledeath within the moment."
And again, with that peculiar and imperious gesture, the man flung backhis head, and he laughed. Said Gregory Darrell:
"I am I! and I will so to live that I may face without shame not onlyGod, but also my own scrutiny." He wheeled upon the Queen and spokehenceforward very leisurely. "I love you; all my life long I have lovedyou, Ysabeau, and even now I love you: and you, too, dear Rosamund, Ilove, though with a difference. And every fibre of my being lusts forthe power that you would give me, Ysabeau, and for the good which Iwould do with it in the England which I or blustering Roger Mortimermust rule; as every fibre of my being lusts for the man that I would becould I choose death without debate. And I think also of the man thatyou would make of me, my Rosamund.
"The man! And what is this man, this Gregory Darrell, that his welfareshould be considered?--an ape who chatters to himself of kinship withthe archangels while filthily he digs for groundnuts! This much I know,at bottom.
"Yet more clearly do I perceive that this same man, like all hisfellows, is a maimed god who walks the world dependent upon many wiseand evil counsellors. He must measure, to a hair's-breadth, everycontent of the world by means of a bloodied sponge, tucked somewhere inhis skull, a sponge which is ungeared by the first cup of wine andruined by the touch of his own finger. He must appraise all that hejudges with no better instruments than two bits of colored jelly, with abungling makeshift so maladroit that the nearest horologer's apprenticecould have devised a more accurate device. In fine, each man is underpenalty condemned to compute eternity with false weights, to estimateinfinity with a yard-stick: and he very often does it, and chooses hisown death without debate. For though, 'If then I do that which I wouldnot I consent unto the law,' saith even an Apostle; yet a braver Pagananswers him, 'Perceive at last that thou hast in thee something betterand more divine than the things which cause the various effects and, asit were, pull thee by the strings.'
"There lies the choice which every man must face,--whether rationally,as his reason goes, to accept his own limitations and make the best ofhis allotted prison-yard? or stupendously to play the fool and sweareven to himself (while his own judgment shrieks and proves a flatdenial), that he is at will omnipotent? You have chosen long ago, mypoor proud Ysabeau; and I choose now, and differently: for poltroon thatI am! being now in a cold drench of terror, I steadfastly protest I amnot very much afraid, and I choose death without any more debate."
It was toward Rosamund that the Queen looked, and smiled a littlepitifully. "Should Queen Ysabeau be angry or vexed or very cruel now, myRosamund? for at bottom she is glad."
And the Queen said also: "I give you back your plighted word. I ridehomeward to my husks, but you remain. Or rather, the Countess ofFarrington departs for the convent of Ambresbury, disconsolate in herwidowhood and desirous to have done with worldly affairs. It is mostnatural she should relinquish to her beloved and only brother all herdower-lands--or so at least Messire de Berners acknowledges. Here, then,is the grant, my Gregory, that conveys to you those lands of Ralph deBelomys which last year I confiscated. And this tedious Messire deBerners is willing now--he is eager to have you for a son-in-law."
About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the airof this new day seemed raw and chill, while, very calmly, Dame Ysabeautook Sir Gregory's hand and laid it upon the hand of Rosamund Eastney."Our paladin is, in the outcome, a mortal man, and therefore I do notaltogether envy you. Yet he has his moments, and you are capable. Serve,then, not only his desires but mine also, dear Rosamund."
There was a silence. The girl spoke as though it was a sacrament. "Iwill, madame and Queen."
Thus did the Queen end her holiday.
A little later the Countess of Farrington rode from Ordish with all hertrain save one; and riding from that place, where love was, she sangvery softly.
Sang Ysabeau:
"As with her dupes dealt Circe Life deals with hers, for she Reshapes them without mercy, And shapes them swinishly, To wallow swinishly, And for eternity;
"Though, harder than the witch was, Life, changing not the whole, Transmutes the body, which was Proud garment of the soul, And briefly drugs the soul, Whose ruin is her goal;
"And means by this thereafter A subtler mirth to get, And mock with bitterer laughter Her helpless dupes' regret, Their swinish dull regret For what they half forget."
And within the hour came Hubert Frayne to Ordish, on a foam-speckedhorse, as he rode to announce to the King's men the King's barbaricmurder overnight, at Berkeley Castle, by Queen Ysabeau's order.
"Ride southward," said Lord Berners, and panted as they buckled on hisdisused armor; "but harkee, Frayne! if you pass the Countess ofFarrington's company, speak no syllable of your news, since it is notconvenient that a lady so thoroughly and so praise-worthily--Lord, Lord,how I have fattened!--so intent on holy things, in fine, should have hermeditations disturbed by any such unsettling tidings. Hey, son-in-law?"
Sir Gregory Darrell laughed, very bitterly. "He that is without blemishamong you--" he said. Then they armed completely, and went forth tobattle against the murderous harlot.
THE END OF THE FOURTH NOVEL
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: For this perplexing matter the curious may consult PaulVerville's _Notice sur la vie de Nicolas de Caen, p. 93 et seq_. Theindebtedness to Antoine Riczi is, of course, conceded by Nicolas in his"EPILOGUE."]
[Footnote 2: She was the daughter of King Ferdinand of Leon and Castile,whose conversion to sainthood the inquisitive may find recordedelsewhere.]
[Footnote 3: Not without indulgence in anachronism. But Nicolas, be itrepeated, was no Gradgrindian.]
[Footnote 4: Nicolas gives this ballad in full, but, for obviousreasons, his translator would prefer to do otherwise.]