The Life and Death of Richard Yea-and-Nay | Page 8

moments. She was very
young, and seemed lost.'
'Come, come,' he said, 'you have shown yourself a brave girl these two
days. It is not every maid can sacrifice herself for a Count of Poictou,
the eldest son of a king. Come, come, let us have no more of this.' He

hoped, no doubt, to brace her by a roughness which was far from his
nature; and it is possible that he succeeded in heading off a mutiny of
the nerves. She was not violent under her despair, but went on crying
very miserably, saying, 'Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?'
'God knoweth,' says the abbot, 'this was a bad case; but I had a good
thought for it.' He began to speak of Richard, of what he had done and
what would live to do. 'They say that the strain of the fiend is in that
race, my dear,' he told her. 'They say that Geoffrey Grey-Gown had
intercourse with a demon. And certain it is that in Richard, as in all his
brothers, that stinging grain lives in the blood. For testimony look at
their cognisance of leopards, and advise yourself, whether any house in
Christendom ever took that device but had known familiarly the devil
in some shape? And look again at the deeds of these princes. What
turned the young king to riot and death, and Geoffrey to rapine and
death? What else will turn John Sansterre to treachery and death, or our
tall Richard to violence and death? Nothing else, nothing else. But
before he dies you shall see him glorious--'
'He is glorious already,' said Jehane, wiping her eyes.
'Keep him so, then,' said the abbot testily, who did not love to have his
periods truncated.
'If I go back to Saint-Pol,' said Jehane, 'I shall fall in with Gilles de
Gurdun, who has sworn to have me.'
'Well,' replied the abbot, 'why should he not? Does he receive the
assurance of your brother the Count?'
Jehane shook her head. 'No, no. My brother wished me to be my lord
Richard's. But Gilles needs no assurance. He will buy my marriage
from the King of France. He is very sufficient.'
'Hath he substance? Hath he lands? Is he noble, then, Jehane?'
'He hath knighthood, a Church fief--oh, enough!'

'God forgive me if I did amiss,' writes the abbot here; 'but seeing her in
a melting mood, dewy, soft, and adorable, I kissed that beautiful person,
and she left the Chapel of Saint Remy somewhat comforted.'
Not only so, but the same day she left the Dark Tower with her brother
Count Eustace, and rode towards Gisors and Saint-Pol-la-Marche.
Nothing she could do could be shamefully done, because of her silence,
and the high head upon which she carried it; yet the Count of Saint-Pol,
when he heard her story, sitting bulky in his chair (like a stalled red
bull), did his best to put shame upon her, that so he might cover his
own bitterness. It was Eustace, a generous ardent youth in those days,
who saved her from most of Eudo's wrath by drawing it upon himself.
The Count of Saint-Pol swore a great oath.
'By the teeth of God, Jehane,' he roared, 'I see how it is. He hath made
thee a piece of ruin, and now runs wasting elsewhere.'
'You shall never say that of my sister, my lord,' cries Eustace, very red
in the face, 'nor yet of the greatest knight in the world.'
'Why, you egg,' says the Count, 'what have you to do in this? Tell me
the rights of it before you put me in the wrong. Is my house to be the
sport of Anjou? Is that long son of pirates and the devil to batten on our
pastures, tread underfoot, bruise and blacken, rout as he will, break
hedge and away? By my father's soul, Eustace, I shall see her righted.'
He turned to the still girl. 'You tell me that you sent him away? Where
did you send him? Where did he go?'
'He went to the King of England at Louviers, and to the camp,' said
Jehane. 'The King sent for him. I sent him not.'
'Who is there beside the King of England?'
'Madame Alois of France is there.'
The Count of Saint-Pol put his tongue in his cheek.

'Oho!' he said, 'Oho! That is how it stands? So she is to be cuckoo,
hey?' He sat square and intent for a moment or two, working his mouth
like a man who chews a straw. Then he slapped his big hand on his
knee, and rose up. 'If I cannot spike this wheel of vice, trust me never.
By my soul, a plot indeed. Oh, horrible, horrible thief!' He turned
gnashing upon