The Life and Death of Richard Yea-and-Nay | Page 5

rushed his hills and broken his
heart; and one, kicking his yoke-fellows, squealing, playing the jade,
has broken his back; and one, poor Richard, does collar-work and gets
whip; and one, young Master John, eases his neck and is cajoled with,
"So then, so then, boy!" Then comes pretty Jehane to the ear of the
collar-horse, whispering, "Good Richard, get thee to stall, but not here.
Stable thee snug with the King of France his sister." 'Hey!' laughed
Richard, 'what a word for a chosen bride!' He pinched her cheek and
looked gaily at her, triumphant in his own eloquence. He was most
dangerous when that devil was awake, so she dared not look at him
back. Eagerly and low she replied.

'Yes, Richard, yes, yes, my king! The king must have the king's sister,
and Jehane go back to the byre. Eagles do not mate with buzzards.'
Hereupon he snatched her up altogether and hid her face in his breast.
'Never, never, never!' he swore to the rafters. 'As God lives and reigns,
so live thou and so reign, queen of me, my Picardy rose.'
She tried no more that night, fearing that his love so keen-edged might
make his will ride rough. The watch-fires at Louviers trembled and
streamed up in the north. There was no need for candles in the Dark
Tower.
They rose up early to a fair dawn. The cloud-wrack was blown off,
leaving the sky a lake of burnt yellow, pure, sweet, and cool. Thus the
world entered upon the summer of Saint Luke, to a new-risen sun, to
thin mists stealing off the moor, to wet flowers hearted anew, to blue
air, and hope left for those who would go gleaning. While Eustace
Saint-Pol was snoring abed and the Abbot Milo at his Sursum Corda,
Richard had Jehane by the hand. 'Come forth, my love; we have the
broad day before us and an empty kingdom to roam in. Come, my red
rose, let me set you among the flowers.' What could she do but harbour
up her thoughts?
He took her afield, where flowers made the earth still a singing-place,
and gathered of these to deck her bosom and hair. Of the harebells he
made knots, the ground-colour of her eyes; but autumn loves the yellow,
so she was stuck with gold like a princess. She sat enthroned by his
command, this young girl in a high place, with downcast eyes and a
face all fire-colour, while he worshipped her to his fancy. I believe he
had no after-thought; but she saw the dun smoke of the fires at
Louviers, and knew they would make the night shudder again. Yet her
sweetness, patience, staid courtesy, humility, never failed her; out of
the deep wells of her soul she drew them forth in a stream. Richard
adored. 'Queen Jehane, Queen Jehane!' he cried out, with his arms
straightly round her--'Was ever man in the world blest so high since
God said, "Behold thy mother"? And so art thou mother to me, O bride.
Bride and queen as thou shalt be.'

This was great invention. She put her hand upon his head. 'My Richard,
my Richard Yea-and-Nay,' she said, as if pitying his wild heart. The
nickname jarred.
'Never call me that,' he told her. 'Leave that to Bertran de Born, a fool's
word to the fool who made it.'
'If I could, if I could!' thought Jehane, and sighed. There were tears in
her eyes, also, as she remembered what generosity in him must be
frozen up, and what glory of her own. But she did not falter in what she
had to do, while he, too exalted to be pitied, began to sing a Southern
song--
Al' entrada del tems clair, eya!
When their hair commingled in their love, when they were close
together, there was little distinguishing between them; he was more her
pair than Eustace her blood-brother, in stature and shape, in hue and
tincture of gold. Jehane you know, but not Richard. Of him, son of a
king, heir of a king, if you wish some bodily sign, I will say shortly that
he was a very tall young man, high-coloured and calm in the face,
straight-nosed, blue-eyed, spare of flesh, lithe, swift in movement. He
was at once bold and sleek, eager and cold as ice--an odd combination,
but not more odd than the blend of Norman dog and Angevin cat which
had made him so. Furtive he was not, yet seeming to crouch for a
spring; not savage, yet primed for savagery; not cruel, yet quick on the
affront, and on the watch for it. He was neither a rogue nor a madman;
and yet he was as cunning as the one and as heedless as the other, if