Chivalry: Dizain des Reines

  _The Story of the Housewife_

  In the year of grace 1326, upon Walburga's Eve, some three hours aftersunset (thus Nicolas begins), had you visited a certain garden on theoutskirts of Valenciennes, you might there have stumbled upon a big,handsome boy, prone on the turf, where by turns he groaned and ventedhimself in sullen curses. His profanity had its palliation. Heir toEngland though he was, you must know that this boy's father in theflesh had hounded him from England, as more recently had the lad'suncle Charles the Handsome driven him from France. Now had this boyand his mother (the same Queen Ysabeau about whom I have told you inthe preceding tale) come as suppliants to the court of that stalwartnobleman Sire William (Count of Hainault, Holland, and Zealand, andLord of Friesland), where their arrival had evoked the suggestion thatthey depart at their earliest convenience. To-morrow, then, thesefootsore royalties, the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales,would be thrust out-of-doors to resume the weary beggarship, to knockagain upon the obdurate gates of this unsympathizing king or that deafemperor.

  Accordingly the boy aspersed his destiny. At hand a nightingalecarolled as though an exiled prince were the blithest spectacle themoon knew.

  There came through the garden a tall girl, running, stumbling in herhaste. "Hail, King of England!" she said.

  "Do not mock me, Philippa!" the boy half-sobbed. Sulkily he rose tohis feet.

  "No mockery here, my fair sweet friend. No, I have told my father allwhich happened yesterday. I pleaded for you. He questioned me veryclosely. And when I had ended, he stroked his beard, and presentlystruck one hand upon the table. 'Out of the mouth of babes!' he said.Then he said: 'My dear, I believe for certain that this lady and herson have been driven from their kingdom wrongfully. If it be for thegood of God to comfort the afflicted, how much more is it commendableto help and succor one who is the daughter of a king, descended fromroyal lineage, and to whose blood we ourselves are related!' Andaccordingly he and your mother have their heads together yonder,planning an invasion of England, no less, and the dethronement of yourwicked father, my Edward. And accordingly--hail, King of England!" Thegirl clapped her hands gleefully. The nightingale sang.

  But the boy kept momentary silence. Not even in youth were the men ofhis race handicapped by excessively tender hearts; yesterday in theshrubbery the boy had kissed this daughter of Count William, in partbecause she was a healthy and handsome person, and partly becausegreat benefit might come of an alliance with her father. Well! thePrince had found chance-taking not unfortunate. With the episode asfoundation, Count William had already builded up the future queenshipof England. The strong Count could do--and, as it seemed, was now intrain to do--indomitable deeds to serve his son-in-law; and now thebeggar of five minutes since foresaw himself, with this girl's love asladder, mounting to the high habitations of the King of England, theLord of Ireland, and the Duke of Aquitaine. Thus they would heraldhim.

  So he embraced the girl. "Hail, Queen of England!" said the Prince;and then, "If I forget--" His voice broke awkwardly. "My dear, if everI forget--!" Their lips met now. The nightingale discoursed as if on awager.

  Presently was mingled with the bird's descant another kind of singing.Beyond the yew-hedge as these two stood silent, breast to breast,passed young Jehan Kuypelant, one of the pages, fitting to theaccompaniment of a lute his paraphrase of the song which Archilochusof Sicyon very anciently made in honor of Venus Melaenis, the tenderVenus of the Dark.

  At a gap in the hedge the young Brabanter paused. His singing ended,gulped. These two, who stood heart hammering against heart, saw for aninstant Jehan Kuypelant's lean face silvered by the moonlight, hismouth a tiny abyss. Followed the beat of lessening footfalls, whilethe nightingale improvised an envoi.

  But earlier Jehan Kuypelant also had sung, as though in rivalry withthe bird.

  Sang Jehan Kuypelant:

  "Hearken and heed, Melaenis! For all that the litany ceased When Time had pilfered the victim, And flouted thy pale-lipped priest, And set astir in the temple Where burned the fires of thy shrine The owls and wolves of the desert-- Yet hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!

  "For I have followed, nor faltered-- Adrift in a land of dreams Where laughter and pity and terror Commingle as confluent streams, I have seen and adored the Sidonian, Implacable, fair and divine-- And bending low, have implored thee To hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!"

  It is time, however, that we quit this subject and speak of othermatters. Just twenty years later, on one August day in the year ofgrace 1346, Master John Copeland--as men now called Jehan Kuypelant,now secretary to the Queen of England,--brought his mistress theunhandsome tidings that David Bruce had invaded her realm with fortythousand Scots to back him. The Brabanter found plump Queen Philippawith the kingdom's arbitress--Dame Catherine de Salisbury, whom KingEdward, third of that name to reign in Britain, and now warring inFrance, very notoriously adored and obeyed.

  This king, indeed, had been despatched into France chiefly, theynarrate, to release the Countess' husband, William de Montacute, fromthe French prison of the Chatelet. You may appraise her dominion bythis fact: chaste and shrewd, she had denied all to King Edward, andin consequence he could deny her nothing; so she sent him to fetchback her husband, whom she almost loved. That armament had sailed fromSouthampton on Saint George's day.

  These two women, then, shared the Brabanter's execrable news. AlreadyNorthumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham were the broken meats of KingDavid.

  The Countess presently exclaimed: "Let them weep for this that must!My place is not here."

  Philippa said, half hopefully, "Do you forsake Sire Edward,Catherine?"

  "Madame and Queen," the Countess answered, "in this world every manmust scratch his own back. My lord has entrusted to me his castle ofWark, his fiefs in Northumberland. These, I hear, are being laidwaste. Were there a thousand men-at-arms left in England I would sayfight. As it is, our men are yonder in France and the island isdefenceless. Accordingly I ride for the north to make what terms I maywith the King of Scots."

  Now you might have seen the Queen's eye brighten. "Undoubtedly," saidshe, "in her lord's absence it is the wife's part to defend hisbelongings. And my lord's fief is England. I bid you God-speed,Catherine." And when the Countess was gone, Philippa turned, her roundface somewhat dazed and flushed. "She betrays him! she compounds withthe Scot! Mother of Christ, let me not fail!"

  "A ship must be despatched to bid Sire Edward return," said thesecretary. "Otherwise all England is lost."

  "Not so, John Copeland! We must let Sire Edward complete hisoverrunning of France, if such be the Trinity's will. You knowperfectly well that he has always had a fancy to conquer France; andif I bade him return now he would be vexed."

  "The disappointment of the King," John Copeland considered, "is asmaller evil than allowing all of us to be butchered."

  "Not to me, John Copeland," the Queen said.

  Now came many lords into the chamber, seeking Madame Philippa. "Wemust make peace with the Scottish rascal!--England is lost!--A shipmust be sent entreating succor of Sire Edward!" So they shouted.

  "Messieurs," said Queen Philippa, "who commands here? Am I, then, somewoman of the town?"

  Ensued a sudden silence. John Copeland, standing by the seawardwindow, had picked up a lute and was fingering the instrumenthalf-idly. Now the Marquess of Hastings stepped from the throng."Pardon, Highness. But the occasion is urgent."

  "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented, deep inmeditation.

  John Copeland flung back his head and without prelude began to carollustily.

  Sang John Copeland:

  "There are taller lads than Atys, And many are wiser than he,-- How should I heed them?--whose fate is Ever to serve and to be Ever the lover of Atys, And die that Atys may dine, Live if he need me--Then heed me, And speed me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Aty
s, At last, at last, be mine!

  "Fair is the form unbeholden, And golden the glory of thee Whose voice is the voice of a vision Whose face is the foam of the sea, And the fall of whose feet is the flutter Of breezes in birches and pine, When thou drawest near me, to hear me, And cheer me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!"

  I must tell you that the Queen shivered, as if with extreme cold. Shegazed toward John Copeland wonderingly. The secretary was fretting athis lutestrings, with his head downcast. Then in a while the Queenturned to Hastings.

  "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented. "Thereforeit is my will that to-morrow one and all your men be mustered atBlackheath. We will take the field without delay against the King ofScots."

  The riot began anew. "Madness!" they shouted; "lunar madness! We cando nothing until our King returns with our army!"

  "In his absence," the Queen said, "I command here."

  "You are not Regent," the Marquess answered. Then he cried, "This isthe Regent's affair!"

  "Let the Regent be fetched," Dame Philippa said, very quietly. Theybrought in her son, Messire Lionel, now a boy of eight years, and, inthe King's absence, Regent of England.

  Both the Queen and the Marquess held papers. "Highness," Lord Hastingsbegan, "for reasons of state which I lack time to explain, thisdocument requires your signature. It is an order that a ship bedespatched to ask the King's return. Your Highness may remember thepony you admired yesterday?" The Marquess smiled ingratiatingly. "Justhere, your Highness--a crossmark."

  "The dappled one?" said the Regent; "and all for making a littlemark?" The boy jumped for the pen.

  "Lionel," said the Queen, "you are Regent of England, but you are alsomy son. If you sign that paper you will beyond doubt get the pony, butyou will not, I think, care to ride him. You will not care to sit downat all, Lionel."

  The Regent considered. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said in theultimate, "but I do not like ponies any more. Do I sign here, Mother?"

  Philippa handed the Marquess a subscribed order to muster the Englishforces at Blackheath; then another, closing the English ports. "Mylords," the Queen said, "this boy is the King's vicar. In defying him,you defy the King. Yes, Lionel, you have fairly earned a pot of jamfor supper."

  Then Hastings went away without speaking. That night assembled at hislodgings, by appointment, Viscount Heringaud, Adam Frere, the Marquessof Orme, Lord Stourton, the Earls of Neville and Gage, and Sir ThomasRokeby. These seven found a long table there littered with pens andparchment; to the rear of it, with a lackey behind him, sat theMarquess of Hastings, meditative over a cup of Bordeaux.

  Presently Hastings said: "My friends, in creating our womankind theMaker of us all was beyond doubt actuated by laudable and cogentreasons; so that I can merely lament my inability to fathom thesereasons. I shall obey the Queen faithfully, since if I did otherwiseSire Edward would have my head off within a day of his return. Inconsequence, I do not consider it convenient to oppose his vicar.To-morrow I shall assemble the tatters of troops which remain to us,and to-morrow we march northward to inevitable defeat. To-night I amsending a courier into Northumberland. He is an obliging person, andwould convey--to cite an instance--eight letters quite as blithely asone."

  Each man glanced furtively about. England was in a panic by this, andknew itself to lie before the Bruce defenceless. The all-powerfulCountess of Salisbury had compounded with King David; now Hastings,too, their generalissimo, compounded. What the devil! loyalty was asonorous word, and so was patriotism, but, after all, one had estatesin the north.

  The seven wrote in silence. I must tell you that when they had ended,Hastings gathered the letters into a heap, and without glancing at thesuperscriptures, handed all these letters to the attendant lackey."For the courier," he said.

  The fellow left the apartment. Presently you heard a departing clatterof hoofs, and Hastings rose. He was a gaunt, terrible old man,gray-bearded, and having high eyebrows that twitched and jerked.

  "We have saved our precious skins," said he. "Hey, you fidgeters, youferments of sour offal! I commend your common-sense, messieurs, and Irequest you to withdraw. Even a damned rogue such as I has need of acleaner atmosphere in order to breathe comfortably." The seven wentaway without further speech.

  They narrate that next day the troops marched for Durham, where theQueen took up her quarters. The Bruce had pillaged and burned his wayto a place called Beaurepair, within three miles of the city. He sentword to the Queen that if her men were willing to come forth from thetown he would abide and give them battle.

  She replied that she accepted his offer, and that the barons wouldgladly risk their lives for the realm of their lord the King. TheBruce grinned and kept silence, since he had in his pocket lettersfrom most of them protesting they would do nothing of the sort.

  Here is comedy. On one side you have a horde of half-naked savages, ashrewd master holding them in leash till the moment be auspicious; onthe other, a housewife at the head of a tiny force lieutenanted byperjurers, by men already purchased. God knows what dreams she had ofmiraculous victories, while her barons trafficked in secret with theBruce. It is recorded that, on the Saturday before Michaelmas, whenthe opposing armies marshalled in the Bishop's Park, at Auckland, nota captain on either side believed the day to be pregnant with battle.There would be a decent counterfeit of resistance; afterward thelittle English army would vanish pell-mell, and the Bruce would bemaster of the island. The farce was prearranged, the actors thereinwere letter-perfect.

  That morning at daybreak John Copeland came to the Queen's tent, andinformed her quite explicitly how matters stood. He had been drinkingovernight with Adam Frere and the Earl of Gage, and after the thirdbottle had found them candid. "Madame and Queen, we are betrayed. TheMarquess of Hastings, our commander, is inexplicably smitten with afever. He will not fight to-day. Not one of your lords will fightto-day." Master Copeland laid bare such part of the scheme asyesterday's conviviality had made familiar. "Therefore I counselretreat. Let the King be summoned out of France."

  Queen Philippa shook her head, as she cut up squares of toast anddipped them in milk for the Regent's breakfast. "Sire Edward would bevexed. He has always wanted to conquer France. I shall visit theMarquess as soon as Lionel is fed,--do you know, John Copeland, I amanxious about Lionel; he is irritable and coughed five times duringthe night,--and then I will attend to this affair."

  She found the Marquess in bed, groaning, the coverlet pulled up to hischin. "Pardon, Highness," said Lord Hastings, "but I am an ill man. Icannot rise from this couch."

  "I do not question the gravity of your disorder," the Queen retorted,"since it is well known that the same illness brought about the deathof Iscariot. Nevertheless, I bid you get up and lead our troopsagainst the Scot."

  Now the hand of the Marquess veiled his countenance. "I am an illman," he muttered, doggedly. "I cannot rise from this couch."

  There was a silence.

  "My lord," the Queen presently began, "without is an armyprepared--yes, and quite able--to defend our England. The onerequirement of this army is a leader. Afford them that, my lord--ah, Iknow that our peers are sold to the Bruce, yet our yeomen at least arehonest. Give them, then, a leader, and they cannot but conquer, sinceGod also is honest and incorruptible. Pardieu! a woman might leadthese men, and lead them to victory!"

  Hastings answered: "I am ill. I cannot rise from this couch."

  "There is no man left in England," said the Queen, "since Sire Edwardwent into France. Praise God, I am his wife!" She went away withoutflurry.

  Through the tent-flap Hastings beheld all that which followed. TheEnglish force was marshalled in four divisions, each commanded by abishop and a baron. You could see the men fidgeting, puzzled by thedelay; as a wind goes about a corn-field, vague rumors were goingabout those wavering spears. Toward them rode Philippa, upon a whitepalfrey, alone and perfectly tranquil. Her eight lieutenants were nowgathered abou
t her in voluble protestation, and she heard them out.Afterward she spoke, without any particular violence, as one mightorder a strange cur from his room. Then the Queen rode on, as thoughthese eight declaiming persons had ceased to be of interest. Shereined up before her standard-bearer, and took the standard in herhand. She began again to speak, and immediately the army was in anuproar; the barons were clustering behind her, in stealthy groups oftwo or three whisperers each; all were in the greatest amazement andknew not what to do; but the army was shouting the Queen's name.

  "Now is England shamed," said Hastings, "since a woman alone dares toencounter the Scot. She will lead them into battle--and by God! thereis no braver person under heaven than yonder Dutch Frau! Friend David,I perceive that your venture is lost, for those men would follow herto storm hell if she desired it."

  He meditated, and shrugged. "And so would I," said Hastings.

  A little afterward a gaunt and haggard old man, bareheaded and veryhastily dressed, reined his horse by the Queen's side. "Madame andQueen," said Hastings, "I rejoice that my recent illness is departed.I shall, by God's grace, on this day drive the Bruce from England."

  Philippa was not given to verbiage. Doubtless she had her emotions,but none was visible upon the honest face. She rested one plump handupon the big-veined hand of Hastings. That was all. "I welcome backthe gallant gentleman of yesterday. I was about to lead your army, myfriend, since there was no one else to do it, but I was hideouslyafraid. At bottom every woman is a coward."

  "You were afraid to do it," said the Marquess, "but you were going todo it, because there was no one else to do it! Ho, madame! had I anarmy of such cowards I would drive the Scot not past the Border butbeyond the Orkneys."

  The Queen then said, "But you are unarmed."

  "Highness," he replied, "it is surely apparent that I, who have playedthe traitor to two monarchs within the same day, cannot with eitherdecency or comfort survive that day." He turned upon the lords andbishops twittering about his horse's tail. "You merchandise, get backto your stations, and if there was ever an honest woman in any of yourfamilies, the which I doubt, contrive to get yourselves killed thisday, as I mean to do, in the cause of the honestest and bravest womanour time has known." Immediately the English forces marched towardMerrington.

  Philippa returned to her pavilion and inquired for John Copeland. Shewas informed that he had ridden off, armed, in company with five ofher immediate retainers. She considered this strange, but made nocomment.

  You picture her, perhaps, as spending the morning in prayer, inbeatings upon her breast, and in lamentations. Philippa did nothing ofthe sort. She considered her cause to be so clamantly just that toexpatiate to the Holy Father upon its merits would be an impertinence;it was not conceivable that He would fail her; and in any event, shehad in hand a deal of sewing which required immediate attention.Accordingly she settled down to her needlework, while the Regent ofEngland leaned his head against her knee, and his mother told him thatageless tale of Lord Huon, who in a wood near Babylon encountered theKing of Faery, and subsequently bereaved an atrocious Emir of hisbeard and daughter. All this the industrious woman narrated in a lowand pleasant voice, while the wide-eyed Regent attended and at theproper intervals gulped his cough-mixture.

  You must know that about noon Master John Copeland came into the tent."We have conquered," he said. "Now, by the Face!"--thus, scoffingly,he used her husband's favorite oath,--"now, by the Face! there wasnever a victory more complete! The Scottish army is fled, it is asutterly dispersed from man's seeing as are the sands which dried theletters King Ahasuerus gave the admirable Esther!"

  "I rejoice," the Queen said, looking up from her sewing, "that we haveconquered, though in nature I expected nothing else--Oh, horrible!"She sprang to her feet with a cry of anguish. Here in little you havethe entire woman; the victory of her armament was to her a thing ofcourse, since her cause was just, whereas the loss of two front teethby John Copeland was a calamity.

  He drew her toward the tent-flap, which he opened. Without was amounted knight, in full panoply, his arms bound behind him, surroundedby the Queen's five retainers. "In the rout I took him," said JohnCopeland; "though, as my mouth witnesses, I did not find this DavidBruce a tractable prisoner."

  "Is that, then, the King of Scots?" Philippa demanded, as she mixedsalt and water for a mouthwash. "Sire Edward should be pleased, Ithink. Will he not love me a little now, John Copeland?"

  John Copeland lifted both plump hands toward his lips. "He could notchoose," John Copeland said; "madame, he could no more choose but loveyou than I could choose."

  Philippa sighed. Afterward she bade John Copeland rinse his gums andthen take his prisoner to Hastings. He told her the Marquess was dead,slain by the Knight of Liddesdale. "That is a pity," the Queen said.She reflected a while, reached her decision. "There is left alive inEngland but one man to whom I dare entrust the keeping of the King ofScots. My barons are sold to him; if I retain Messire David by me, oneor another lord will engineer his escape within the week, and SireEdward will be vexed. Yet listen, John--" She unfolded her plan.

  "I have long known," he said, when she had done, "that in all theworld there was no lady more lovable. Twenty years I have loved you,my Queen, and yet it is only to-day I perceive that in all the worldthere is no lady more wise than you."

  Philippa touched his cheek, maternally. "Foolish boy! You tell me theKing of Scots has an arrow-wound in his nose? I think a bread poulticewould be best." She told him how to make this poultice, and gave otherinstructions. Then John Copeland left the tent and presently rode awaywith his company.

  Philippa saw that the Regent had his dinner, and afterward mounted herwhite palfrey and set out for the battle-field. There the Earl ofNeville, as second in command, received her with great courtesy. Godhad shown to her Majesty's servants most singular favor: despite thecalculations of reasonable men,--to which, she might remember, he hadthat morning taken the liberty to assent,--some fifteen thousand Scotswere slain. True, her gallant general was no longer extant, thoughthis was scarcely astounding when one considered the fact that he hadvoluntarily entered the melee quite unarmed. A touch of age, perhaps;Hastings was always an eccentric man: in any event, as epilogue, thisNeville congratulated the Queen that--by blind luck, he was forced toconcede,--her worthy secretary had made a prisoner of the ScottishKing. Doubtless, Master Copeland was an estimable scribe, and yet--Ah,yes, Lord Neville quite followed her Majesty--beyond doubt, thewardage of a king was an honor not lightly to be conferred. Oh, yes,he understood; her Majesty desired that the office should be givensome person of rank. And pardie! her Majesty was in the right. Eh?said the Earl of Neville.

  Intently gazing into the man's shallow eyes, Philippa assented. MasterCopeland had acted unwarrantably in riding off with his captive. Lethim be sought at once. She dictated to Neville's secretary a letter,which informed John Copeland that he had done what was not agreeablein purloining her prisoner. Let him without delay deliver the King toher good friend the Earl of Neville.

  To Neville this was satisfactory, since he intended that once in hispossession David Bruce should escape forthwith. The letter, I repeat,suited this smirking gentleman in its tiniest syllable, and the singledifficulty was to convey it to John Copeland, for as to hiswhereabouts neither Neville nor any one else had the least notion.

  This was immaterial, however, for they narrate that next day a lettersigned with John Copeland's name was found pinned to the front ofNeville's tent. I cite a passage therefrom: "I will not give up myroyal prisoner to a woman or a child, but only to my own lord, SireEdward, for to him I have sworn allegiance, and not to any woman. Yetyou may tell the Queen she may depend on my taking excellent care ofKing David. I have poulticed his nose, as she directed."

  Here was a nonplus, not without its comical side. Two great realms hadmet in battle, and the king of one of them had vanished like asoap-bubble. Philippa was in a rage,--you could see that both by herdemeanor and by the indignant letters she dictate
d; true, none ofthese letters could be delivered, since they were all addressed toJohn Copeland. Meanwhile, Scotland was in despair, whereas the traitorEnglish barons were in a frenzy, because they did not know what hadbecome of their fatal letters to the Bruce, or of him either. Thecircumstances were unique, and they remained unchanged for threefeverish weeks.

  We will now return to affairs in France, where on the day of theNativity, as night gathered about Calais, John Copeland cameunheralded to the quarters of King Edward, then besieging that city.Master Copeland entreated audience, and got it readily enough, sincethere was no man alive whom Sire Edward more cordially desired to layhis fingers upon.

  A page brought Master Copeland to the King, that stupendous, blond andincredibly big person. With Sire Edward were that careful Italian,Almerigo di Pavia, who afterward betrayed Sire Edward, and a leansoldier whom Master Copeland recognized as John Chandos. These threewere drawing up an account of the recent victory at Creci, to beforwarded to all mayors and sheriffs in England, with a cogentpostscript as to the King's incidental and immediate need of money.

  Now King Edward sat leaning far back in his chair, a hand on eitherhip, and with his eyes narrowing as he regarded Master Copeland. Hadthe Brabanter flinched, the King would probably have hanged him withinthe next ten minutes; finding his gaze unwavering, the King waspleased. Here was a novelty; most people blinked quite honestly underthe scrutiny of those fierce big eyes, which were blue and cold and ofan astounding lustre. The lid of the left eye drooped a little: thiswas Count Manuel's legacy, they whispered.

  The King rose with a jerk and took John Copeland's hand. "Ha!" hegrunted, "I welcome the squire who by his valor has captured the Kingof Scots. And now, my man, what have you done with Davie?"

  John Copeland answered: "Highness, you may find him at yourconvenience safely locked in Bamborough Castle. Meanwhile, I entreatyou, sire, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender King David tothe orders of my lady Queen, for I hold my lands of you, and not ofher, and my oath is to you, and not to her, unless indeed by choice."

  "John," the King sternly replied, "the loyal service you have done usis considerable, whereas your excuse for kidnapping Davie is a farce.Hey, Almerigo, do you and Chandos avoid the chamber! I have somethingin private with this fellow." When they had gone, the King sat downand composedly said, "Now tell me the truth, John Copeland."

  "Sire," Copeland began, "it is necessary you first understand I bear aletter from Madame Philippa--"

  "Then read it," said the King. "Heart of God! have I an eternity towaste on you slow-dealing Brabanters!"

  John Copeland read aloud, while the King trifled with a pen, halfnegligent, and in part attendant.

  Read John Copeland:

  "My DEAR LORD,--_recommend me to your lordship with soul and body andall my poor might, and with all this I thank you, as my dear lord,dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords I protest to me, andthank you, my dear lord, with all this as I say before. Yourcomfortable letter came to me on Saint Gregory's day, and I was neverso glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough inPonthieu by the grace of God for to keep you from your enemies. Amongthem I estimate Madame Catherine de Salisbury, who would have betrayedyou to the Scot. And, dear lord, if it be pleasing to your highlordship that as soon as ye may that I might hear of your graciousspeed, which may God Almighty continue and increase, I shall be glad,and also if ye do continue each night to chafe your feet with a rag ofwoollen stuff, as your physician directed. And, my dear lord, if itlike you for to know of my fare, John Copeland will acquaint youconcerning the Bruce his capture, and the syrup he brings for our sonLord Edward's cough, and the great malice-workers in these shireswhich would have so despitefully wrought to you, and of the manner oftaking it after each meal. I am lately informed that Madame Catherineis now at Stirling with Robert Stewart and has lost all her good looksthrough a fever. God is invariably gracious to His servants. Farewell,my dear lord, and may the Holy Trinity keep you from your adversariesand ever send me comfortable tidings of you. Written at York, in theCastle, on Saint Gregory's day last past, by your own poor_

  "PHILIPPA.

  _"To my true lord."_

  "H'm!" said the King; "and now give me the entire story."

  John Copeland obeyed. I must tell you that early in the narrative KingEdward arose and strode toward a window. "Catherine!" he said. Heremained motionless while Master Copeland went on without any manifestemotion. When he had ended, King Edward said, "And where is Madame deSalisbury now?"

  At this the Brabanter went mad. As a leopard springs he leaped uponthe King, and grasping him by each shoulder, shook that monarch as onepunishing a child.

  "Now by the splendor of God--!" King Edward began, very terrible inhis wrath. He saw that John Copeland held a dagger to his breast, andhe shrugged. "Well, my man, you perceive I am defenceless."

  "First you will hear me out," John Copeland said.

  "It would appear," the King retorted, "that I have little choice."

  At this time John Copeland began: "Sire, you are the mightiest monarchyour race has known. England is yours, France is yours, conqueredScotland lies prostrate at your feet. To-day there is no other man inall the world who possesses a tithe of your glory; yet twenty yearsago Madame Philippa first beheld you and loved you, an outcast, anexiled, empty-pocketed prince. Twenty years ago the love of MadamePhilippa, great Count William's daughter, got for you the armamentwith which England was regained. Twenty years ago but for MadamePhilippa you had died naked in some ditch."

  "Go on," the King said presently.

  "Afterward you took a fancy to reign in France. You learned then thatwe Brabanters are a frugal people: Madame Philippa was wealthy whenshe married you, and twenty years had quadrupled her private fortune.She gave you every penny of it that you might fit out this expedition;now her very crown is in pawn at Ghent. In fine, the love of MadamePhilippa gave you France as lightly as one might bestow a toy upon achild who whined for it."

  The King fiercely said, "Go on."

  "Eh, sire, I intend to. You left England undefended that you mightposture a little in the eyes of Europe. And meanwhile a womanpreserves England, a woman gives you Scotland as a gift, and in returnasks nothing--God have mercy on us!--save that you nightly chafe yourfeet with a bit of woollen. You hear of it--and inquire, '_Where isMadame de Salisbury?_' Here beyond doubt is the cock of Aesop'sfable," snarled John Copeland, "who unearthed a gem and grumbled thathis diamond was not a grain of corn."

  "You shall be hanged at dawn," the King replied. "Meanwhile spit outyour venom."

  "I say to you, then," John Copeland continued, "that to-day you aremaster of Europe. I say to you that, but for this woman whom fortwenty years you have neglected, you would to-day be mouldering in somepauper's grave. Eh, without question, you most magnanimously lovedthat shrew of Salisbury! because you fancied the color of her eyes,Sire Edward, and admired the angle between her nose and her forehead.Minstrels unborn will sing of this great love of yours. Meantime I sayto you"--now the man's rage was monstrous--"I say to you, go home toyour too-tedious wife, the source of all your glory! sit at her feet!and let her teach you what love is!" He flung away the dagger. "Thereyou have the truth. Now summon your attendants, my tres beau sire, andhave me hanged."

  The King made no movement. "You have been bold--" he said at last.

  "But you have been far bolder, sire. For twenty years you have daredto flout that love which is God's noblest heritage to His children."

  King Edward sat in meditation for a long while. The squinting of hisleft eye was now very noticeable. "I consider my wife's clerk," hedrily said, "to discourse of love in somewhat too much the tone of alover." And a flush was his reward.

  But when this Copeland spoke he was like one transfigured. His voicewas grave and very tender, and he said:

  "As the fish have their life in the waters, so I have and always shallhave mine in love. Love made me choose and dare to emulate a lady,long ago, through whom
I live contented, without expecting any othergood. Her purity is so inestimable that I cannot say whether I derivemore pride or sorrow from its preeminence. She does not love me, andshe will never love me. She would condemn me to be hewed in fragmentssooner than permit her husband's finger to be injured. Yet shesurpasses all others so utterly that I would rather hunger in herpresence than enjoy from another all which a lover can devise."

  Sire Edward stroked the table through this while, with an invertedpen. He cleared his throat. He said, half-fretfully:

  "Now, by the Face! it is not given every man to love precisely in thistroubadourish fashion. Even the most generous person cannot render tolove any more than that person happens to possess. I have read in anold tale how the devil sat upon a cathedral spire and white doves flewabout him. Monks came and told him to begone. 'Do not the spires showyou, O son of darkness' they clamored, 'that the place is holy?' AndSatan (in this old tale) replied that these spires were capable ofvarious interpretations. I speak of symbols, John. Yet I also haveloved, in my own fashion,--and, it would seem, I win the same rewardas you."

  The King said more lately: "And so she is at Stirling now? hobnob withmy armed enemies, and cajoling that red lecher Robert Stewart?" Helaughed, not overpleasantly. "Eh, yes, it needed a bold person tobring all your tidings! But you Brabanters are a very thorough-goingpeople."

  The King rose and flung back his high head. "John, the loyal serviceyou have done us and our esteem for your valor are so great that theymay well serve you as an excuse. May shame fall on those who bear youany ill-will! You will now return home, and take your prisoner, theKing of Scotland, and deliver him to my wife, to do with as she mayelect. You will convey to her my entreaty--not my orders, John,--thatshe come to me here at Calais. As remuneration for this evening'sinsolence, I assign lands as near your house as you can choose them tothe value of L500 a year for you and for your heirs."

  You must know that John Copeland fell upon his knees before KingEdward. "Sire--" he stammered.

  But the King raised him. "No, no," he said, "you are the better man.Were there any equity in fate, John Copeland, your lady had loved you,not me. As it is, I must strive to prove not altogether unworthy of myfortune. But I make no large promises," he added, squinting horribly,"because the most generous person cannot render to love any more thanthat person happens to possess. So be off with you, JohnCopeland,--go, my squire, and bring me back my Queen!"

  Presently he heard John Copeland singing without. And through thatinstant, they say, his youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and allthe scents and shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on thatancient night when a tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in herhaste to bring him kingship. "She waddles now," he thought forlornly."Still, I am blessed." But Copeland sang, and the Brabanter's heartwas big with joy.

  Sang John Copeland:

  "Long I besought thee, nor vainly, Daughter of Water and Air-- Charis! Idalia! Hortensis! Hast thou not heard the prayer, When the blood stood still with loving, And the blood in me leapt like wine, And I cried on thy name, Melaenis?-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!

  "Falsely they tell of thy dying, Thou that art older than Death, And never the Hoerselberg hid thee, Whatever the slanderer saith, For the stars are as heralds forerunning, When laughter and love combine At twilight, in thy light, Melaenis-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!"

  THE END OF THE FIFTH NOVEL