And who was like to think, till he did see, what an adder the King nursed in his bosom? Most men counted her a fair white dove, all innocent and childlike: that did I not. I did see far enough, for all the mist, to see she was no child in that fashion; yet children love mischief well enough betimes; and I counted her, if not white, but grey--not the loathly black fiend that she was at the last seen to be.

I saw many a thing I loved not, many a thing I would not have done in her place, many a thing that I but half conceived, and feared to be ill deed--but there ended my seeing. I thought she was caught within the meshes of a net, and I was sorry she kept not thereout. But I never guessed that the net was spread by her own hands.

My mother, Dame Alice de Lethegreve, I think, saw clearer than I did: but it was by reason she loved more,--loved him who became the sacrifice, not the miserable sinner for whose hate and wickedness he was sacrificed.

So soon as King Edward knew of the Queen's landing, which was by Michaelmas Eve at latest, he put forth a proclamation to all his lieges, wherein he bade them resist the foreign horde about to be poured upon England. Only three persons were to be received with welcome and honour: which was, the Queen herself, Edward her son (his father, in his just ire, named him not his son, neither as Earl of Chester), and the King's brother, the Lord Edmund of Kent. I always was sorry for my Lord of Kent; he was so full hoodwinked by the Queen, and never so much as guessed for one moment, that he acted a disloyal part. He was a n.o.ble gentleman, a kindly and a generous; not, maybe, the wisest man in the realm, and something too p.r.o.ne to rush after all that had the look of a n.o.ble deed, ere he gave himself time enough to consider the same. But if the world held no worser men at heart than he, it were marvellous better world than now.

One other thing did King Edward, which showed how much he had learned: he offered a great price of one thousand pounds [about 18,000 pounds, according to modern value], for the head of the Mortimer: and no sooner did the Queen hear thereof, than she offered double--namely, two thousand pounds--for the head of Sir Hugh Le Despenser--a man whose little finger was better worth two thousand than the Mortimer's head was worth one. Two days later, the King fortified the Tower, and appointed the Lord John of Eltham governor thereof; but he being only a child of ten years, the true governor was the Lady Alianora La Despenser, who was left in charge of the King's said son. And two days afore Saint Francis [October 2nd] he left the Tower, and set forth toward Wallingford, leaving the Bishop of Exeter to keep the City: truly a thankless business, for never could any man yet keep the citizens of London. Nor could he: for a fortnight was not over ere they rose in insurrection against the King's deputies, invested the Tower, wrenched the keys from the Constable, John de Weston, to whom the Lady Alianora had confided them, brought her out with the young Lord, and carried them to the Wardrobe--not without honour--and then returning, they seized on the Bishop, with two of his squires, and strake off their heads at the Standard in Chepe. And this will I say for the said Bishop, though he were not alway pleasant to deal withal, for he was very furnish--yet was he honest man, and loved his master, ay, and held to him in days when it was little profit so to do. And seeing how few honest men there be, that will hold on to the right when their profit lieth to the left, that is much to say.

With the King went Sir Hugh Le Despenser--I mean the younger, that was create Earl of Gloucester by reason of his marriage; for the Lady Alianora his wife was eldest of the three sisters that were coheirs of that earldom. And thereanent--well-a-day! how different folks do from that I should do in their place! I can never tell wherefore, when man doth ill, the penalty thereof should be made to run over on his innocent sons. Because Sir Hugh forfeited the earldom, wherefore pa.s.sed it not to his son, that was loyal man and true, and one of the King's best councillors all his life? On the contrary part, it was bestowed on Sir Hugh de Audley, that wedded the Lady Margaret (widow of Sir Piers de Gavaston), that stood next of the three coheirs. And it seemeth me scarce just that Sir Hugh de Audley, that had risen up against King Edward of old time, and been prisoned therefor, and was at best but a pardoned rebel, should be singled out for one of the finest earldoms in England, and not Sir Hugh Le Despenser, whose it was of right, and to whose charge--save the holding of the Castle of Caerphilly against Queen Isabel, which was in very loyalty to his true lord King Edward--no fault at all could be laid. I would I had but the world to set right! Then should there be justice done, and every wrong righted, and all crooked ways put straight, and every man and woman made happy. Dear heart, what fair and good world were this, when I had made an end of--

Did man laugh behind me?

"Jack! Soothly, I thought it must be thou. What moveth thy laughter?"

"Dame Cicely de Chaucombe," saith he, essaying to look sober--which he managed but ill. "The Annals of Cicely, likewise; and the imaginings of Cicely in especial."

"Well, what now mispayeth [displeases] thee?" quoth I.

"There was once man," saith Jack, "thought as thou dost. And seeing that the hollyhocks in his garden were taller than the daisies, he bade his gardener with a scythe cut short the hollyhocks, that all the flowers should be but of one height."

"Well, what happed?" said I.

"Why, next day were there no hollyhocks. And then the hollyhock stems and the daisies both laid 'plaint of the gardener."

"Both?" said I.

"Both. They alway do."

"But what 'plaint had the daisies to offer?"

"Why, that they had not been pulled up to the height of the hollyhocks, be sure."

"But how could they so?"

"Miscontent hath no 'can' in his hornbook. Not what thou canst, but what he would, is his measure of justice."

"But justice is justice," said I--"not what any man would, but what is fair and even."

"Veriliest. But what is fair and even? If thou stand on Will's haw [hillock], the oak on thy right hand is the largest tree; if thou stand on d.i.c.k's, it shall be the beech on thy left. And thine ell-wand reacheth not. How then to measure?"

"But I would be on neither side," said I, "but right in the midst: so should I see even."

"Right in the midst, good wife, is where G.o.d standeth; and few men win there. There be few matters whereof man can see both to the top and to the bottom. Mostly, if man see the one end, then he seeth not the other. And that which man seeth not, how shall he measure? Without thou lay out to follow the judge which said that he would clearly man should leave to harry him with both sides of a matter. So long as he heard but the plaintiff, he could tell full well where the right lay; but after came the defendant, and put him all out, that he wist not on which side to give judgment. Maybe Judge Sissot should sit on the bench alongside of him."

"Now, Jack," said I, "thou laughest at me."

"Good discipline for thee, sweetheart," saith he, "and of lesser severity than faulting thee. But supposing the world lay in thine hands to set right, and even that thou hadst the power thereto, how long time dost think thy work should abide?"

"_Ha, chetife_!" cried I. "I ne'er bethought me of that."

"The world was set right once," quoth Jack, "by means of cold water, and well washed clean therein. But it tarried not long, as thou wist. Sin was not washed away; and Satan was not drowned in the Flood: and very soon thereafter were they both a-work again. Only one stream can wash the world to last, and that floweth right from the rood on Calvary."

"Yet there is enough," said I, "to wash the whole world."

"Verily. But how, if the world will not come and wash? 'He that will'--_qui vult_--'let him take water of life freely.' But he that is not athirst for the holy water, shall not have it forced down his throat against his will."

"How shall man come by the thirst, Jack, if he hath it not? For if the gift shall be given only to him that thirsteth for it, it seemeth me the thirst must needs be born ere we shall come for the water."

"Nay, sweetheart, we all desire happiness and wealth and honour; the mistake is that we be so ready to slake our thirst at the pools of muddy water which abound on every hand, rather than go to the fount of living water. We grasp at riches and honours and pleasures of this life: lo, here the blame, in that we are all athirst for the muddy pool, and have no desire for the holy water--for the gold of the royal mint stamped with the King's image, for the crown of everlasting life, for the bliss which shall endure unto all ages. We cry soothly for these things; but it is aswhasay, Give me happiness, but let it end early; give me seeming gold, but let it be only tinsel; give me a crown, but be it one that will fade away. Like a babe that will grip at a piece of tin whereon the sun shineth, and take no note of a golden ingot that lieth by in shadow."

"But who doth such things, Jack?"

"Thou and I, Sissot, unless Christ anoint our eyes that we see in sooth."

"Jack!" cried I, all suddenly, "as I have full many times told thee, thou art better man than many a monk."

"Now scornest thou at me," saith he. "How can I be perfect, that am wedded man? [Note 2.] Thou wist well enough that perfect men be only found among the contemplative, not among them that dwell in the world.

Yet soothly, I reckon man may dwell in the world and love Christ, or he may dwell in cloister and be none of His."

Well, I know not how that may be; but this do I know, that never was there any Jack even to my Jack; and I am sore afraid that if I ever win into Heaven, I shall never be able to see Jack, for he shall be ten thousand mile nearer the Throne than I Cicely am ever like to be.

Note 1. At this time it was high treason for any subject to march with banners displayed, unless he acted as the King's representative by his distinct commission.

Note 2. The best men then living looked on the life of idle contemplation as the highest type of Christian life, to which no married man could attain.

PART ONE, CHAPTER 4.

THE GLAMOUR OF THE QUEEN.

"Hast thou beheld thyself, and couldst thou stain So rare perfection? Even for love of thee I do profoundly hate thee."

Lady Elizabeth Carew.

So I was got into the Annals of Cicely, was I? Well then, have back.

Dear heart! but what a way have I to go back ere I can find where I was in my story!

Well the King left the Tower for Wallingford, and with him Sir Hugh Le Despenser, and Hugh his young son, Archdeacon Baldok, Edward de Bohun the King's nephew, and divers of his following. I know not whether he had with him also his daughters, the young Ladies Alianora and Joan, or if they were brought to him later. By Saint Denis' Eve [October 7th] he had reached Wallingford.

The Queen was in march to London: but hearing that the King had left, she altered her course, and went to Oxford. There tarried we one day, and went to our duties in the Church of Saint Martin [Note 1], where an homily was preachen by my Lord of Hereford [Note 2]. And a strange homily it was, wherein Eva our mother stood for the Queen, and I suppose Adam for the King, and Sir Hugh Le Despenser (save the mark!) was the serpent. I stood it out, but I will not say I goxide [gaped] not. The next day went the Queen on toward Gloucester, pursuing the King, which had been there about ten days afore her. She put forth from Wallingford, on her way between Oxford and Gloucester, a letter wherein she earnestly prayed the King to return, and promised that he should receive the government with all honour if he would conform him to his people. I had been used to hear of the people obeying the King, as in duty bound to him whom G.o.d had set over them; and this talk of the King obeying the people was marvellous strange to mine ears. Howbeit, it was talk only; for what was really meant was that he should conform himself to his wife. And considering how much wives be bidden of G.o.d to obey their lords, that surely was as ill as the other. Which the King saw belike, for instead of coming nearer he went further away, right over the Severn, and strengthened himself, first in the strong Castle of Chepstow, and after in the Castle of Caerphilly. For us, we went on, though not so quick as he, to Gloucester, and thence to Bristol, where Sir Hugh de Despenser the father was governor, and where the citizens, on the Queen's coming, opened the gates to her, and Sir Hugh on perceiving it retired into the Castle. But she summoned the Castle also to surrender, which was done speedily of the officers, and Sir Hugh delivered into her hands. Moreover, the two little ladies, the King's daughters, whom he had sent from Gloucester on his retreat across the Severn, were brought to her [Note 3], and she welcomed them motherly, or at least seemed to do so. Wala wa! I have no list to set down what followed, and will run by the same as short as shall serve truth.

The morrow of Saint Crispin, namely, the 26th day of October, the Queen and her son, now Duke of Aquitaine--whom man whilome called Earl of Chester--came into the great hall of Bristol Castle, and sat in state: I Cicely being behind the Queen's chair, and Jack in waiting on my Lord the Duke. Which done, they called council of the prelates and n.o.bles of the realm, being the Archbishop of Dublin and five bishops; the King's two brothers, my Lords of Norfolk and Kent; my Lord of Lancaster their cousin; and all the n.o.bles then present in Bristol town: thus they gathered, the Duke on the right hand of the throne and the Queen on the left, the throne all empty. Then a marvellous strange thing happened: for the Queen rose up and spake, in open Council, to the prelates and n.o.bles of England. When she first arose (as afterwards I heard say) were there some murmurs that a woman should so speak; and divers up and down the hall rowned [whispered] one the other in the ear that it had been more seemly had she kept to her distaff. But when she ended, so great was the witchery of her fair face, and the gramary [magic] of her silver voice, that scarce man was in the hall but was ready to live and die with her. _Ha, chetife_! how she witched the world! yet never did she witch me.

How can it be, I marvel at times, that men--and women too--will suffer themselves to be thus led astray, and yet follow on, oft knowing whither they go, after some one man or woman, that casteth over them a manner of gramary? There be some that can witch whom they will, that G.o.d keepeth not. And 'tis not alway a fair face that witcheth; I have known full unbright [plain, ugly] folks that have this charm with them. And I note moreover, that many times he that wields it doth use it for evil, and not for good. I dare not say no good man ever hath the same; for securely I know not all folks in this world: yet of them I do know, I cannot call to mind a verily good man or woman that hath seemed me to possess this power over his fellows. I have known some metely good folk that had a touch thereof; but of such as I mean, that do indeed wield it in power, and draw all manner of men to them, and after them, nearhand whether they choose or no--of such I cannot call to mind one that was true follower of our Lord. Therefore it seems me an evil power, and one that may come of Satan, sith it mostly is used in his service. And I pray G.o.d neither of my daughters may ever show the same, for at best it must be full of peril of pride to him that possesseth it. Indeed, had it so been, I think they should have shown it afore now.