CHAPTER XVI.
'Tis not her sense, for sure in that There's nothing more than common; And all her wit is only chat, Like any other woman. SONG.
The high-born Berengaria, daughter of Sanchez, King of Navarre, andthe Queen-Consort of the heroic Richard, was accounted one of the mostbeautiful women of the period. Her form was slight, though exquisitelymoulded. She was graced with a complexion not common in her country, aprofusion of fair hair, and features so extremely juvenile as to makeher look several years younger than she really was, though in realityshe was not above one-and-twenty. Perhaps it was under the consciousnessof this extremely juvenile appearance that she affected, or at leastpractised, a little childish petulance and wilfulness of manner, notunbefitting, she might suppose, a youthful bride, whose rank and agegave her a right to have her fantasies indulged and attended to. She wasby nature perfectly good-humoured, and if her due share of admirationand homage (in her opinion a very large one) was duly resigned to her,no one could possess better temper or a more friendly disposition; butthen, like all despots, the more power that was voluntarily yielded toher, the more she desired to extend her sway. Sometimes, even when allher ambition was gratified, she chose to be a little out of health, anda little out of spirits; and physicians had to toil their wits to inventnames for imaginary maladies, while her ladies racked their imaginationfor new games, new head-gear, and new court-scandal, to pass away thoseunpleasant hours, during which their own situation was scarce to begreatly envied. Their most frequent resource for diverting this maladywas some trick or piece of mischief practised upon each other; andthe good Queen, in the buoyancy of her reviving spirits, was, to speaktruth, rather too indifferent whether the frolics thus practised wereentirely befitting her own dignity, or whether the pain which thosesuffered upon whom they were inflicted was not beyond the proportion ofpleasure which she herself derived from them. She was confident in herhusband's favour, in her high rank, and in her supposed power to makegood whatever such pranks might cost others. In a word, she gambolledwith the freedom of a young lioness, who is unconscious of the weight ofher own paws when laid on those whom she sports with.
The Queen Berengaria loved her husband passionately, but she feared theloftiness and roughness of his character; and as she felt herself notto be his match in intellect, was not much pleased to see that he wouldoften talk with Edith Plantagenet in preference to herself,simply because he found more amusement in her conversation, a morecomprehensive understanding, and a more noble cast of thoughts andsentiments, than his beautiful consort exhibited. Berengaria didnot hate Edith on this account, far less meditate her any harm; for,allowing for some selfishness, her character was, on the whole, innocentand generous. But the ladies of her train, sharpsighted in such matters,had for some time discovered that a poignant jest at the expense ofthe Lady Edith was a specific for relieving her Grace of England's lowspirits, and the discovery saved their imagination much toil.
There was something ungenerous in this, because the Lady Edith wasunderstood to be an orphan; and though she was called Plantagenet, andthe fair Maid of Anjou, and admitted by Richard to certain privilegesonly granted to the royal family, and held her place in the circleaccordingly, yet few knew, and none acquainted with the Court of Englandventured to ask, in what exact degree of relationship she stood toCoeur de Lion. She had come with Eleanor, the celebrated Queen Mother ofEngland, and joined Richard at Messina, as one of the ladies destinedto attend on Berengaria, whose nuptials then approached. Richard treatedhis kinswoman with much respectful observance, and the Queen made herher most constant attendant, and, even in despite of the petty jealousywhich we have observed, treated her, generally, with suitable respect.
The ladies of the household had, for a long time, no further advantageover Edith than might be afforded by an opportunity of censuring a lessartfully disposed head attire or an unbecoming robe; for the lady wasjudged to be inferior in these mysteries. The silent devotion of theScottish knight did not, indeed, pass unnoticed; his liveries, hiscognizances, his feats of arms, his mottoes and devices, were nearlywatched, and occasionally made the subject of a passing jest. But thencame the pilgrimage of the Queen and her ladies to Engaddi, a journeywhich the Queen had undertaken under a vow for the recovery of herhusband's health, and which she had been encouraged to carry into effectby the Archbishop of Tyre for a political purpose. It was then, and inthe chapel at that holy place, connected from above with a Carmelitenunnery, from beneath with the cell of the anchorite, that one of theQueen's attendants remarked that secret sign of intelligence which Edithhad made to her lover, and failed not instantly to communicate it toher Majesty. The Queen returned from her pilgrimage enriched with thisadmirable recipe against dullness or ennui; and her train was atthe same time augmented by a present of two wretched dwarfs from thedethroned Queen of Jerusalem, as deformed and as crazy (the excellenceof that unhappy species) as any Queen could have desired. One ofBerengaria's idle amusements had been to try the effect of the suddenappearance of such ghastly and fantastic forms on the nerves of theKnight when left alone in the chapel; but the jest had been lost by thecomposure of the Scot and the interference of the anchorite. She had nowtried another, of which the consequences promised to be more serious.
The ladies again met after Sir Kenneth had retired from the tent, andthe Queen, at first little moved by Edith's angry expostulations, onlyreplied to her by upbraiding her prudery, and by indulging her witat the expense of the garb, nation, and, above all the poverty of theKnight of the Leopard, in which she displayed a good deal of playfulmalice, mingled with some humour, until Edith was compelled to carry heranxiety to her separate apartment. But when, in the morning, a femalewhom Edith had entrusted to make inquiry brought word that the Standardwas missing, and its champion vanished, she burst into the Queen'sapartment, and implored her to rise and proceed to the King's tentwithout delay, and use her powerful mediation to prevent the evilconsequences of her jest.
The Queen, frightened in her turn, cast, as is usual, the blame of herown folly on those around her, and endeavoured to comfort Edith's grief,and appease her displeasure, by a thousand inconsistent arguments. Shewas sure no harm had chanced--the knight was sleeping, she fancied,after his night-watch. What though, for fear of the King's displeasure,he had deserted with the Standard--it was but a piece of silk, and hebut a needy adventurer; or if he was put under warding for a time,she would soon get the King to pardon him--it was but waiting to letRichard's mood pass away.
Thus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together allsorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of persuading bothEdith and herself that no harm could come of a frolic which in her heartshe now bitterly repented. But while Edith in vain strove to interceptthis torrent of idle talk, she caught the eye of one of the ladies whoentered the Queen's apartment. There was death in her look of affrightand horror, and Edith, at the first glance of her countenance, had sunkat once on the earth, had not strong necessity and her own elevation ofcharacter enabled her to maintain at least external composure.
"Madam," she said to the Queen, "lose not another word in speaking, butsave life--if, indeed," she added, her voice choking as she said it,"life may yet be saved."
"It may, it may," answered the Lady Calista. "I have just heard that hehas been brought before the King. It is not yet over--but," sheadded, bursting into a vehement flood of weeping, in which personalapprehensions had some share, "it will soon, unless some course betaken."
"I will vow a golden candlestick to the Holy Sepulchre, a shrine ofsilver to our Lady of Engaddi, a pall, worth one hundred byzants, toSaint Thomas of Orthez," said the Queen in extremity.
"Up, up, madam!" said Edith; "call on the saints if you list, but beyour own best saint."
"Indeed, madam," said the terrified attendant, "the Lady Edith speakstruth. Up, madam, and let us to King Richard's tent and beg the poorgentleman's life."
"I will go--I will go instantly," said the Queen, ri
sing and tremblingexcessively; while her women, in as great confusion as herself, wereunable to render her those duties which were indispensable to her levee.Calm, composed, only pale as death, Edith ministered to the Queenwith her own hand, and alone supplied the deficiencies of her numerousattendants.
"How you wait, wenches!" said the Queen, not able even then to forgetfrivolous distinctions. "Suffer ye the Lady Edith to do the duties ofyour attendance? Seest thou, Edith, they can do nothing; I shall neverbe attired in time. We will send for the Archbishop of Tyre, and employhim as a mediator."
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Edith. "Go yourself madam; you have done theevil, do you confer the remedy."
"I will go--I will go," said the Queen; "but if Richard be in his mood,I dare not speak to him--he will kill me!"
"Yet go, gracious madam," said the Lady Calista, who best knew hermistress's temper; "not a lion, in his fury, could look upon such a faceand form, and retain so much as an angry thought, far less a love-trueknight like the royal Richard, to whom your slightest word would be acommand."
"Dost thou think so, Calista?" said the Queen. "Ah, thou little knowestyet I will go. But see you here, what means this? You have bedizenedme in green, a colour he detests. Lo you! let me have a blue robe,and--search for the ruby carcanet, which was part of the King ofCyprus's ransom; it is either in the steel casket, or somewhere else."
"This, and a man's life at stake!" said Edith indignantly; "it passeshuman patience. Remain at your ease, madam; I will go to King Richard. Iam a party interested. I will know if the honour of a poor maiden ofhis blood is to be so far tampered with that her name shall be abused totrain a brave gentleman from his duty, bring him within the compass ofdeath and infamy, and make, at the same time, the glory of England alaughing-stock to the whole Christian army."
At this unexpected burst of passion, Berengaria listened with an almoststupefied look of fear and wonder. But as Edith was about to leave thetent, she exclaimed, though faintly, "Stop her, stop her!"
"You must indeed stop, noble Lady Edith," said Calista, taking her armgently; "and you, royal madam, I am sure, will go, and withoutfurther dallying. If the Lady Edith goes alone to the King, he will bedreadfully incensed, nor will it be one life that will stay his fury."
"I will go--I will go," said the Queen, yielding to necessity; and Edithreluctantly halted to wait her movements.
They were now as speedy as she could have desired. The Queen hastilywrapped herself in a large loose mantle, which covered all inaccuraciesof the toilet. In this guise, attended by Edith and her women, andpreceded and followed by a few officers and men-at-arms, she hastened tothe tent of her lionlike husband.