In Convent Walls Part 5

"Nay, but there so hath!" makes response Dame Joan: "have you forgot Master Almoner that was with her this morrow nigh an hour touching his accounts?--and Ralph Richepois with his lute after dinner?"

"Marry, and the Lady Gibine, Prioress of Oremont," addeth Dame Elizabeth.

"And the two Beguines--" began Meliora; but she ended not, for Dame Isabel boxed her ears.

"Ay, and Jack Bonard, that she sent with letters to the Queen of France," saith Dame Joan.

"Yea, and Ivo le Breton came a-begging, yon poor old man that had served her when a child," made answer Dame Elizabeth.

"And Ma--" Poor Meliora got no further, for Dame Isabel gave her a buffet on the side of her head that nigh knocked her off the form. I could not but think that some part of that buffet was owing to us three, though Meliora had it all. But what so angered Dame Isabel, that might I not know.

At that time came the summons to supper, so the matter ended. But as supper was pa.s.sing, Dame Joan de Vaux, by whom I sat, with Master Almoner on mine other hand, saith to me--

"Pray you, Dame Cicely, have you any guess who it were that you met coming forth?"

"I have, and I have not," said I. "There was that in his face which I knew full well, yet cannot I bethink me of his name."

"It was not Master Madefray, trow?"

"In no wise: a higher man than he, and of fairer hair."

"Not a priest neither?"

"Nay, certes."

"Leave not to sup your soup, Dame Cicely, nor show no astonishment, I pray, while I ask yet a question. Was it--Sir Roger the Mortimer of Ludlow?"

For all Dame Joan's warnful words, I nigh dropped my spoon, and I never knew how the rest of the soup tasted.

"Wala wa!" said I, under my breath, "but I do believe it was he."

"I saw him," saith she, quietly. "And take my word for it, friend--that man cometh for no good."

"Marry!" cried I in some heat, "how dare he come nigh the Queen at all?

he, a banished man! Without, soothly, he came humbly to entreat her intercession with the King for his pardon. But e'en then, he might far more meetly have sent his pet.i.tion by some other. Verily, I marvel she would see him!"

"Do you so?" saith Dame Joan in that low quiet voice. "So do not I.

She will see him yet again, or I mistake much."

"_Ha, chetife_!" I made answer. "It is full well we be on our road back to Paris, for there at least will he not dare to come."

"Not dare?"

"Surely not, for the King of France, which himself hath banished him, should never suffer it."

Dame Joan helped herself to a roasted plover with a smile. When the sewer was gone, quoth she--

"I think, Dame Cicely, you know full little whether of Sir Roger de Mortimer or of the King of France. For the last, he is as easily blinded a man as you may lightly see; and if our Queen his sister told him black was white, he should but suppose that she saw better than he.

And for the other--is there aught in all this world, whether as to bravery or as to wickedness, that Sir Roger de Mortimer would _not_ dare?"

"Dear heart!" cried I. "I made account we had done with men of that order."

"You did?" Dame Joan's tone, and the somewhat dry smile which went with it, said full plainly, "In no wise."

"Well, soothly we had enough and to spare!" quoth I. "There was my Lord of Lancaster--G.o.d rest his soul!--and Sir Piers de Gavaston (if he were as ill man as some said)."

"He was not a saint, I think," she said: "yet could I name far worser men than he."

"And my sometime Lord of Warwick," said I, "was no saint likewise, or I mistake."

"Therein," saith she, "have you the right."

"Well," pursued I, "all they be gone: and soothly, I had hoped there were no more such left."

"Then should there be no original sin left," she made answer; "yea, and Sathanas should be clean gone forth of this world."

The rest of the converse I mind not, but that last sentence tarried in my mind for many a day, and hath oft-times come back to me touching other matters.

We reached Loure on Saint Martin's Day [November 11th], and Paris the next morrow. There found we the Bishops of Winchester and Exeter, [Stratford and Stapleton], whom King Edward had sent over to join the Queen's Council. Now I never loved overmuch neither of these Reverend Fathers, though it were for very diverse causes. Of course, being priests, they were holy men; but I mis...o...b.. if either were perfect man apart from his priesthood--my Lord of Winchester more in especial.

Against my Lord of Exeter have I but little to say; he was fumish [irritable, captious] man, but no worse. But my Lord of Winchester did I never trust, nor did I cease to marvel that man could. As to King Edward, betray him to his enemies to-day, and he should put his life in your hands again to-morrow: never saw I man like to him, that no experience would learn mistrust. Queen Isabel trusted few: but of them my said Lord of Winchester was one. I have noted at times that they which be untrue themselves be little given to trust other. She trusted none save them she had tried: and she had tried this Bishop, not once nor twice. He never brake faith with her; but with King Edward he brake it a score of times twice told, and with his son that is now King belike. I wis not whether at this time the Queen was ready to put affiance in him; I scarce think she was: for she shut both Bishops out of her Council from the day she came to Paris. But not at this time, nor for long after did I guess what it signified.

November was nigh run out, when one morrow Dame Joan de Vaux brought word that the Queen, being a-cold, commanded her velvet mantle taken to her cabinet: and I, as the dame in waiting then on duty, took the same to her. I found her sat of a chair of carven wood, beside the brasier, and two gentlemen of the other side of the hearth. Behind her chair Dame Elizabeth waited, and I gave the mantle to her to cast over the Queen's shoulders. The gentlemen stood with their backs to the light, and I paid little note to them at first, save to see that one was a priest: but as I went about to go forth, the one that was not a priest turned his face, and I perceived to mine amaze that it was Sir Roger de Mortimer. Soothly, it needed all my courtly self-command that I should not cry out when I beheld him. Had I followed the prompting of mine own heart, I should have cried, "Get thee gone, thou banished traitor!" He, who had returned unlicenced from Scotland ere the war was over, in the time of old King Edward of Westminster; that had borne arms against his son, then King, under my Lord of Lancaster; that, having his life spared, and being but sent to the Tower, had there plotted to seize three of the chief fortresses of the Crown--namely, the said Tower, and the Castles of Windsor and Wallingford,--and had thereupon been cast for death, and only spared through the intercession of the Queen and the Bishop of Hereford: yet, after all this, had he broken prison, bribing one of his keepers and drugging the rest, and was now a banished felon, in refuge over seas: _he_ to dare so much as to breathe the same air with the wife of his Sovereign, with her that had been his advocate, and that knew all his treacheries! Could any worser insult to the Queen have been devised? But all at once, as I pa.s.sed along the gallery, another thought came in upon me. What of her? who, knowing all this and more, yet gave leave for this man--not to kneel at her feet and cry her mercy--that had been grace beyond any reasonable hope: but suffered him to stand in her presence, to appear in her privy cabinet--nay, to act as though he were a n.o.ble appointed of her Council! Had she forgot all the past?

I travelled no further for that time. The time was to come when I should perceive that forgetfulness was all too little to account for her deeds.

That night, Dame Tiffany being appointed to the pallet, it so fell out that Dame Elizabeth, Dame Joan, and I, lay in the antechamber. We had but began to doff ourselves, and Dame Elizabeth was stood afore the mirror, a-combing of her long hair--and rare long hair it was, and of a fine colour (but I must not pursue the same, or Jack shall find in the hair an hare)--when I said to her--

"Dame Elizabeth, pray you tell me, were you in waiting when Sir Roger de Mortimer came to the Queen?"

"Ay," saith she, and combed away.

"And," said I, "with what excuse came he?"

"Excuse?" quoth she. "Marry, I heard none at all."

"None!" I cried, tarrying in the doffing of my subtunic. "Were you not ill angered to behold such a traitor?"

"Dame Cicely," saith she, slowly pulling the loose hairs forth of the comb, "if you would take pattern by me, and leave troubling yourself touching your neighbours' doings, you should have fewer griefs to mourn over."

Could the left sleeve of my subtunic, which I was then a-doffing, have spoke unto me, I am secure he should have 'plained that he met with full rough treatment at my hands.

"Good for you, Dame, an' you so can!" said I somewhat of a heat. "So long as my neighbours do well, I desire not to mell [meddle] nor make in their matters. But if they do ill--"

"Why, then do I desire it even less," saith she, "for I were more like to get me into a muddle. Mine own troubles be enough for me, and full too many."

"Dear heart! had you ever any?" quoth I.

"In very deed, I do ensure you," saith she, "for this comb hath one of his teeth split, and he doth not only tangle mine hair, but giveth me vile wrenches betimes, when I look not for them. And 'tis but a month gone, at Betesi [Bethizy], that I paid half-a-crown for him. The rogue cheated me, as my name is Bess. I could find in mine heart to give him a talking."