The Life and Death of Richard Yea-and-Nay | Page 9

his brother. 'Now, Eustace, what do you say to your
greatest knight in the world? And what now of your sister, hey? Little
fool, do you not catch the measure of it now? Two honey years of
Jehane Saint-Pol, gossamer pledges of mouth and mouth, of stealing
fingers, kiss and clasp; but for the French King's daughter--pish! the
thing of naught they have made her--the sacrament of marriage, the
treaty, the dowry-fee. Oh, heaven and earth, Eustace, answer me if you
can.'
All three were moved in their several ways: the Count red and blinking,
Eustace red and trembling, Jehane white as a cloth, trembling also, but
very silent. The word was with the younger man.
'I know nothing of all this, upon my word, my lord,' he said, confused.
'I love Count Richard, I love my sister. There may have been that
which, had I loved but one, I had condemned in the other. I know not,
but'--he saw Jehane's marble face, and lifted his hand up--'by my hope,
I will never believe it. In love they came together, my lord; in love,
says Jehane, they have parted. I have heard little of Madame Alois, but
my thought is, that kings and the sons of kings may marry kings'
daughters, yet not in the way of love.'
The Count fumed. 'You are a fool, I see, and therefore not to my
purpose. I must talk with men. Stay you here, Eustace, and watch over
her till I return. Let none get at her, on your dear life. There are those
who--sniffing rogues, climbers, boilers of their pots--keep them out,
Eustace, keep them out. As for you'--he turned hectoring to the proud
girl--'As for you, mistress, keep the house. You are not in the market,
you are spoilt goods. You shall go where you should be. I am still lord
of these lands; there shall be no rebellion here. Keep the house, I say. I
return ere many days.' He stamped out of the hall; they heard him next
rating the grooms at the gate.

Saint-Pol was a great house, a noble house, no doubt of it. Its counts
drew no limits in the way of pedigree, but built themselves a fair
temple in that kind, with the Twelfth Apostle himself for head of the
corner. So far as estate went, seeing their country was fruitful, compact,
snugly bounded between France and Normandy (owing fealty to the
first), they might have been sovereign counts, like the house of Blois,
like that of Aquitaine, like that even of Anjou, which, from nothing,
had risen to be so high. More: by marriage, by robbery on that great
plan where it ceases to be robbery and is called warfare, by treaty and
nice use of the balances, there was no reason why kingship should not
have been theirs, or in their blood. Kingship, even now, was not far off.
They called the Marquess of Montferrat cousin, and he (it was
understood) intended to be throned at Jerusalem. The Emperor himself
might call, and once (being in liquor) did call Count Eudo of Saint-Pol
'cousin'; for the fact was so. You must understand that in the Gaul of
that day things were in this ticklish state, that a man (as they say) was
worth the scope of his sword: reiver yesterday, warrior to-morrow;
yesterday wearing a hemp collar, to-day a count's belt, and to-morrow,
may be, a king's crown. You climbed in various ways, by the field, by
the board, by the bed. A handsome daughter was nearly worth a stout
son. Count Eudo reckoned himself stout enough, and reckoned Eustace
was so; but the beauty of Jehane, that stately maid who might uphold a
cornice, that still wonder of ivory and gold, was an emblement which
he, the tenant, meant to profit by; and so for an hour (two years by the
clock) he saw his profit fair. The infatuation of the girl for this man or
that man was nothing; but the infatuation of the great Count of Poictou
for her set Eudo's heart ablaze. God willing, Saint Maclou assisting, he
might live to call Jehane 'My Lady Queen.' He shut his ears to report;
there were those who called Richard a rake, and others who called him
'Yea-and-Nay'; that was Bertran de Born's name for him, and all Paris
knew it. He shut his eyes to Richard's galling unconcern with himself
and his dignity. Dignity of Saint-Pol! He would wait for his dignity. He
shut his mind to Jehane's blown fame, to the threatenings of his
dreadful Norman neighbour, Henry the old king, who had had an
archbishop pole-axed like a steer; he dared the anger of his suzerain, in
whose hands lay Jehane's marriage; a heady gambler, he staked the
fortunes