Long Will Part 13

"Ah, coeur de joie!" he cried, slipping down and running to embrace Stephen. "What a lifetime hast thou been, Etienne, mon cheri. See, I have sent them all away, the others, they were consumed with envy. I said I would hold a private audience."

Still holding by Stephen's arm he turned him to Calote and, looking in her face, was seized with a shyness: wherefore he ceased his prattle and pressed yet more close to his squire. Then, because the hand of the waiting-woman was heavy on her shoulder, Calote made her curtsey.

"I have seen thee," quoth Richard. "The day of Parliament I saw thee;"

and Calote smiled. "I have read thy father's book,--not all,--there be dull bits; but some I like. Come hither to the window and I 'll show it thee."

Here one came with a message to Dame Marguerite, and she, glancing irresolute at the maid, at last shrugged her shoulders, and muttering, "'T is but a beggar wench," went out at the door; but in a moment she came again, and admonis.h.i.+ng Stephen, bade him see to it that he played no pranks while she was gone. He, bowing, held the tapestry aside for her.

"Etienne, Etienne!" called Richard. "Bring yet another cus.h.i.+on! The maid shall sit beside me in the window where is light, and the sun falls on her hair."

"I--I may not sit," stammered Calote.

"Yea, sweet; if the Prince Richard desire it," Stephen a.s.sured her.

And lifting her in his arms, he set her on the cus.h.i.+on by the side of the Prince. The colour came into her face at his touch, and he too was rosy. He busied himself with drawing her narrow gown about her ankles.

"Mine Etienne saith thou art his bien-aimee," quoth Richard, and laid a little jewelled hand upon hers that was bare and roughened at the fingertips.

She was silent. The squire leaned against the wall at Richard's side:--

"Yea, my lord," said he.

"Did I not love Etienne," the child continued, "and 't would grieve him, I 'd take thee for mine own. Thou art most wonderful fair."

"O Prince!" cried Calote, "there be a many maids as fair as I, and fairer; but they go bent neath heavy burdens; they eat seldom; the winter cometh and they are as a flower that is blighted. These are thy people. Are not all we thine own, we English?"

"The book saith somewhat of this," mused the boy. He took up the parchment and turned the pages.

And Calote said:--

"'The most needy are our neighbours, and we take good heed: --As prisoners in pits and poor folk in cots,-- Burdened with children and chief lords' rent, What they spare from their spinning they spend it in house hire, Both in milk and in meal to make a mess o' porridge, To satisfy therewith the children that cry out for food.'"

"Yea, 't is here!" said Richard, pointing with his finger. "Read on!"

"I do not read, my lord," she answered. "I have no need to read, I know my father's Vision:

'Also themselves suffer much hunger, And woe in winter-time with waking of nights, To rise 'twixt the bed and the wall and rock the cradle: Both to card and to comb, to patch and to wash, To tub and to reel, rushes to peel; That pity 't is to read or to show in rhyme The woe of these women that dwell in cots.'"

"Natheless," said Richard, "I have heard mine uncle, the Duke, say that the people do not feel these hards.h.i.+ps, for that they know naught else."

"Think you I feel, O my lord?" Calote answered him. "Yet I am of these people. 'T is to-day the first day ever I sat on a cus.h.i.+on."

The boy stared.

"But thou shalt hereafter," he said. "Etienne will clothe thee in silk, and feed thee dainties. I will give thee a girdle with a blue stone in it."

"Nay, not so!" she cried. "How can I take mine ease if the people suffer? Oh, sweet child, wilt thou walk in silk, and the half of thy kingdom go naked? 'T is for thee they suffer. The white bread thou dost eat, the people harvested. They gathered it into thy barns. And yet thou wilt let them go hungry."

"No, surely I will not when I am King," he answered with trouble in his voice.

"Hearken!" said Calote; and mindful only that he was a little child who must be made to pity and to love, she took his two hands in her own and so compelled his eyes to hers. "Didst mark, that day thou wentest to the Abbey, how the people cheered thee, and blessed thee, and smiled on thee?"

"Yea," answered Richard.

"And didst mark how they that were nighest the great Duke in that throng were silent, or else they muttered?"

"Yea."

"He hath beggared the people, this man. 'T was he gave leave to that thief Richard Lyons and the Lord Latimer to buy away all victual they might lay hand to. And then, what think you, did they give this to the poor? Nay! But they set it forth at such price that no poor man could buy. In the midst of plenty there was famine. 'T is several years gone now, yet I mind me how I sat in our lane and chewed the stems of the rank gra.s.s. Our neighbour had a little babe,--and she could not give it suck. So it died. Was no flesh o' the bones at all, only skin."

Richard's eyes were fixed upon her face with horror. His little hands were cold.

"I hate mine uncle, John of Gaunt," he said.

"Sweet Prince, waste no time hating. Christ the King, He hated no man, but He was Leech of Love. Learn thou of Him!"

"But I will not love mine uncle," cried the child.

"Love the people! Love us poor! If Christ is King, and He our brother, art not thou likewise little brother to every man in England? Hearken to Holy Church in the Vision:--

'Wherefore is love leader of the lord's folk of heaven,'

"And this saith Reason, that counselleth the King:--

'If it were so That I were King with crown to keep a realm, Should never wrong in this world that I might know of, Be unpunished in my power, for peril of my soul.'

"Give the common folk new law! Last Trinite a year, there came to us a countryman had run from his place for that he starved on the wage that the law allowed. Yet that same day of Parliament his master found him out, in open street, and haled him away. Oh, is 't not shame in a Christian kingdom that men be sold with the soil like maggots? Set the people free when thou art King! Set the people free!"

"I have heard my father say, before he died," said Richard, "that no man is free, not the king even, for the n.o.bles do bind his hands. I hate the great n.o.bles! They come and look on me and chuck me under chin,--and anon they whisper in corners. They shall not bind my hands!"

"My father saith the common folk is three times more than the n.o.bles,"

said Calote eagerly. "If thou art friend to the poor, they will serve thee. They will bind the n.o.bles and learn them to love. Oh, hearken to Piers! The Vision of Truth is with him. Take the poor man to thy friend!"

Richard leaped down from the window; his cheeks were red, his eyes were very bright.

"I will swear an oath!" he cried. "Etienne, give me thy sword!"

Now was the tapestry by the door thrust aside and a little page came in, out of breath. Calote sat on the cus.h.i.+on, Etienne leaned against the wall. Richard had the sword midway of the blade in his two hands, and the cross-hilt upheld before him.

"Oh--oh!" gasped the little page. "The old King is dead!"

Richard lowered the sword. The colour went out of his cheeks.

"Etienne," he said, "Etienne,--am I--King?--What makes the room turn round?"

Then the squire, coming out of his amaze, ran and knelt on one knee, and set his King on the other.

"Imbecile!" he cried to the page, "bring His Majesty a cup of water!"