Chivalry by James Branch Cabell

  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 a letter to Neville's secretary,which informed John Copeland that he had done what was not agreeable inpurloining her prisoner without leave. Let him sans delay deliver theKing to her 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 his whereaboutsneither 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 perhaps without its comical side. Two greatrealms had met in battle, and the king of one of them had vanished likea soap-bubble. Philippa was in a rage--you could see that both by herdemeanor and by the indignant letters she dictated; true, they couldnot be delivered, since they were all addressed to John Copeland.Meanwhile, Scotland was in despair, whereas the English barons were ina frenzy, because, however willing you may be, you cannot well betrayyour liege-lord to an unlocatable enemy. The circumstances wereunique, and they remained unchanged for three feverish weeks.

  We will now return to affairs in France, where on the day of theNativity, as night gathered about Calais, John Copeland came unheraldedto the quarters of King Edward, then besieging that city. MasterCopeland entreated audience, and got it readily enough, since there wasno man alive whom Sire Edward more cordially desired to lay his fingersupon.

  A page brought Master Copeland to the King, a stupendous person, blondand incredibly big. With him were a careful Italian, that Almerigo diPavia who afterward betrayed Sire Edward, and a lean soldier whomMaster Copeland recognized as John Chandos. These three were drawingup an account of the recent victory at Cregi, to be forwarded to allmayors and sheriffs in England, with a cogent postscript as to theKing's incidental and immediate need of money.

  Now King Edward sat leaning far back in his chair, a hand on eitherhip, and his eyes narrowing as he regarded Master Copeland. Had theBrabanter flinched, the King would probably have hanged him within thenext ten minutes; finding his gaze unwavering, the King was pleased.Here was a novelty; most people blinked quite genuinely under thescrutiny of those fierce big eyes, which were blue and cold and of anastounding lustre, gemlike as the March sea.

  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 your conveniencesafely locked in Bamborough Castle. Meanwhile, I entreat you, sire, donot take it amiss if I did not surrender King David to the orders of mylady Queen, for I hold my lands of you, and not of her, and my oath isto 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," he began, "it is necessary you first understand I bear a letterfrom Madame Philippa--"

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

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

  Read John Copeland:

  "My DEAR LORD,--_I 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 each night chafe your feet with a rag of woollenstuff. And, my dear lord, if it like you for to know of my fare, JohnCopeland will acquaint you concerning the Bruce his capture, and thesyrup he brings for our son Lord Edward's cough, and the greatmalice-workers in these shires which would have so despitefully wroughtto you, and of the manner of taking it after each meal. I am latelyinformed that Madame Catherine is now at Stirling with Robert Stewartand has lost all her good looks through a fever. God is invariablygracious to His servants. Farewell, my dear lord, and may the HolyTrinity keep you from your adversaries and ever send me comfortabletidings of you. Written at York, in the Castle, on Saint Gregory's daylast 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, with a sob, strode toward a window. "Catherine!" hesaid. He remained motionless what time Master Copeland went on withoutany manifest emotion. When he had ended, King Edward said, "And whereis Madame de Salisbury now?"

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

  "Now by the splendor of God--!" King Edward began, very terrible in hiswrath. He saw that John Copeland held a dagger to his breast, andshrugged. "Well, my man, you perceive I am defenceless. Thereforemake an end, you dog."

  "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 greatest monarchour 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 years agoMadame Philippa first beheld you and loved you, an outcast, an exiled,empty-pocketed prince. Twenty years ago the love of Madame Philippa,great Count William's daughter, got for you the armament wherewithEngland was regained. Twenty years ago but for Madame Philippa you haddied naked in some ditch."

  "Go on," the King said presently.

  "And afterward you took a fancy to reign in France. You learned thenthat we Brabanters are a frugal people: Madame Philippa was wealthywhen she married you, and twenty years had but quadrupled her 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 all Scotland as a gift, and inreturn demands nothing--God ha' mercy on us!--save that you nightlychafe your feet with a bit of woollen. You hear of it--and ask,'_Where is Madame de Salisbury?_' Here beyond doubt is the cock ofAEsop's fable," snarled John Copeland, "who unearthed a gem andgrumbled that his diamond was not a grain of corn."

  "You will be hanged ere dawn," the King replied, and yet by this onehand had screened his face. "Meanwhile spit out your venom."

  "I say to you, then," John Copeland continued, "that to-da
y you aremaster of Europe. That but for this woman whom for twenty years youhave neglected you would to-day be mouldering in some pauper's grave.Eh, without question, you most magnanimously loved that shrew ofSalisbury! because you fancied the color of her eyes, Sire Edward, andadmired the angle between her nose and her forehead. Minstrels unbornwill sing of this great love of yours. Meantime I say to you"--now theman's rage was monstrous--"I say to you, go home to your too-tediouswife, the source of all your glory! sit at her feet! and let her teachyou what love is!" He flung away the dagger. "There you have thetruth. Now summon your attendants, my tres beau sire, and have mehanged."

  The King gave 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 made manifest as His main heritage toHis children."

  King Edward sat in meditation for a long while. "I consider my wife'sclerk," he drily said, "to discourse of love in somewhat too much thetone of a lover." And a flush was his reward.

  But when this Copeland spoke he was as one transfigured. His voice wasgrave and very tender.

  "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 pre-eminence. She does not love me, andshe never will. She would condemn me to be hewed in fragments soonerthan permit her husband's little 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 inverted pen.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 had a visiononce: The devil sat upon a cathedral spire and white doves flew abouthim. Monks came and told him to begone. 'Do not the spires show you,O son of darkness,' they clamored, 'that the place is holy?' And Satan(in my vision) said these spires were capable of variousinterpretations. I speak of symbols, John. Yet I also have loved, inmy own fashion--and, it would seem, I win the same reward as you."

  He said more lately: "And so she is at Stirling now? with RobertStewart?" He laughed, not overpleasantly. "Eh, yes, it needed a boldperson to bring all your tidings! But you Brabanters are a verythorough-going people."

  The King rose and flung back his big head as a lion might. "John, theloyal service you have done us and our esteem for your valor are sogreat that they may well serve you as an excuse. May shame fall onthose who bear you any ill-will! You will now return home, and takeyour prisoner, the King of Scotland, and deliver him to my wife, to dowith as she may elect. You will convey to her my entreaty--not myorders, John--that she come to me here at Calais. As remuneration forthis evening's insolence, I assign lands as near your house as you canchoose them to the 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. "Nay," 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 shall strive to prove not altogether unworthy ofmy fortune. Go, then, John Copeland--go, my squire, and bring me backmy Queen."

  Presently he heard John Copeland singing without. And through thatinstant was youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and all the scentsand shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on that ancient night whena tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in her haste to bring himkingship. Now at last he understood the heart of Philippa.

  "Let me live!" the King prayed; "O Eternal Father, let me live a littlewhile that I may make atonement!" And meantime John Copeland sangwithout and the Brabanter's heart was 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 murmured 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

  VI

  The Story of the Satraps

  "_Je suis voix au desert criant Que chascun soyt rectifiant La voye de Sauveur; non suis, Et accomplir je ne le puis._"

  THE SIXTH NOVEL.--ANNE OF BOHEMIA HAS ONE ONLY FRIEND, AND BY HIM PLAYS THE FRIEND'S PART; AND ACHIEVES IN DOING SO THEIR COMMON ANGUISH, AS WELL AS THE CONFUSION OF STATECRAFT AND THE POULTICING OF A GREAT DISEASE.

  The Story of the Satraps

  In the year of grace 1381 (Nicolas begins) was Dame Anne magnificentlyfetched from remote Bohemia, and at Westminster married to SireRichard, the second monarch of that name to reign in England. TheQueen had presently noted a certain priest who went forbiddingly abouther court, where he was accorded a provisional courtesy, and moreforbiddingly into many hovels, where day by day a pitiful wreckage ofhumanity both blessed and hoodwinked him, as he morosely knew, andadored him, as he never knew at all.

  Queen Anne made inquiries. This young cleric was amanuensis to theDuke of Gloucester, she was informed, and notoriously a by-blow of theDuke's brother, the dead Lionel of Clarence. She sent for this EdwardMaudelain. When he came her first perception was, "How wonderful hislikeness to the King!" while the thought's commentary ran,unacknowledged, "Ay, as an eagle resembles a falcon!" For here, to theobservant eye, was a more zealous person, already passion-wasted, andineffably a more dictatorial and stiff-necked being than the lazy andamiable King; also, this Maudelain's face and nose were somewhat toolong and high; and the priest was, in a word, the less comely of thepair by a very little, and by an infinity the more kinglike.

  "You are my cousin now, messire," she told him, and innocently offeredto his lips her own.

  He never moved; but their glances crossed, and for that instant she sawthe face of a man who has just stepped into a quicksand. She trembled,without knowing why. Then he spoke, composedly, and of trivial matters.

  Thus began the Queen's acquaintance with Edward Maudelain. She was bythis time the loneliest woman in the island. Her husband granted her abright and fresh perfection of form and color, but desiderated anyappetizing tang, and lamented, in his phrase, a certain kinship to theimpeccable loveliness of some female saint in a jaunty tapestry; brightas ice in sunshine, just so her beauty chilled you, he complained: andmoreover, this daughter of the Caesars had been fetched into England,chiefly, to breed him children, and this she had never done.Undoubtedly he had made a bad bargain--he was too easy-going, peoplepresumed upon it. His barons snatched their cue and esteemed Dame Anneto be negligible; whereas the clergy, finding that she obstinately readthe Scriptures in the vulgar tongue, under the irrelevant plea of notcomprehending Latin, denounced her from their pulpits as a heretic andas the evil woman prophesied by Ezekiel.

  It was the nature of this desolate child to crave affection, as anecessity almost, and pitifully she tried to purchase it throughalmsgiving. In the attempt she could have found no coadjutor moreready than Edward Maudelain. Giving was with these downright two asort of obsession, though always he gave in a half scorn but halfconcealed; and presently they could have marshalled an army ofadherents, all in rags, who would cheerfully have been hacked to piecesfor either of the twain, and have praised God at the final gasp for theprivilege.
It was perhaps the tragedy of the man's life that he neversuspected this.

  Now in and about the Queen's unfrequented rooms the lonely woman andthe priest met daily to discuss now this or that comminuted point oftheology, or now (to cite a single instance) Gammer Tudway's obstinatesciatica. Considerate persons found something of the pathetic in theirpreoccupation by these trifles while, so clamantly, the dissensionbetween the young King and his uncles gathered to a head: the air wasthick with portents; and was this, then, an appropriate time, thejudicious demanded of high Heaven, for the Queen of fearful England toconcern herself about a peasant's toothache?

  Long afterward was Edward Maudelain to remember this brief and tranquilperiod of his life, and to wonder over the man that he had been throughthis short while. Embittered and suspicious she had found him, notedfor the carping tongue he lacked both power and inclination to bridle;and she had, against his nature, made Maudelain see that every personis at bottom lovable, and all vices but the stains of a travellermidway in a dusty journey; and had led the priest no longer to do goodfor his soul's health, but simply for his fellow's benefit.