Long Will Part 24

"Natheless, my heart doth not so a.s.sure me, sweet lord," made answer Stephen, very sad. "Belike I 'm froward, but I do believe thou lovest me dear, and for that cause 't will go hard with thee or thou grant this boon."

Richard wrinkled his brow. "What a riddle is here?" quoth he. "I 'll love thee, and yet prove a churl to thy desire?"

Stephen looked steadily beyond him for a moment before he began:--

"Is it fitting, _beau sire_, that one so young and fair and helpless as Calote should go alone through this realm on perilous and haply hopeless business?"

"Do not many so?" asked Richard uneasily.

"They are but seldom young, my lord, nor never so fair. They go to a shrine to do penance for sins; they are old in the world's ways."

There was a pause, then Richard broke forth hotly:--

"If 't is not good that she go forth on this emprise, if 't is not true that the common folk is strong enough to put down the n.o.bles, wherefore didst not thou prevent me when I gave consent? Thou art older than I. Is this thy loyaute, to let thy King play the fool?"

"Oh, my lord!" said Stephen, and hung his head; but not for shame of himself. Presently he looked up into the eyes of the sulky boy and spoke on: "I do not know if the people be strong enough and wise enough to do this thing. I do not know the people. I have lived among courtiers since I was a little lad and my father died. But if they do fail, my lord, the world will but wag as it did afore. Thine is not the blame; thou art too young to bear blame for 't; 't is the people that will be blamed."

Richard flushed slowly, and looked away.

"But I will not be laughed at neither," he said, with quivering lip.

"I wish I had not given her my hunting-horn."

"Trust me, sire," said Stephen, "if the people do ever rise up in England against the oppression of the n.o.bles, 't will be no laughing matter,--even though in the end it fail. And mayhap Calote knoweth that she speaketh,--mayhap 't will win."

"I 'll not tell any one I gave her leave to use the King's name,"

half-whispered Richard, shamefaced and scarlet; "nor must thou."

"Of surety, no; 't would spoil all, to tell," Stephen a.s.sented, but he was so filled with his own thoughts and how he should ask the boon he had to ask, that he failed to see how the King was ashamed.

Richard gave a quick sigh of relief. "Nay,--we 'll not tell," he repeated. "'T would not be wise for Calote's sake to tell." Yet his cheeks did not cool.

"Oh, my lord, and my King, this that I would ask of thee is likewise for Calote's sake," Stephen cried. "Thou dost know well, Calote is my love and my lady. I have tried, but I cannot love no other damosel.

And now she is going out to strange peril alone. My soul crieth shame to me, sire; shame, for that I stay behind a-living easefully. Is this knightly demeanour? Is this to be a defender of ladies?"

Richard's hand closed tight upon Stephen's collar, as if he felt him slipping away and would keep him.

"My liege," the squire pleaded, "my lord, let me go follow my love!"

The King sat up very straight on the bed; there was fright in his eyes. It seemed almost he could not understand that he heard.

"And leave me?" he said at last, in amaze.

Stephen made no answer, and, after astonishment, anger came into Richard's face.

"A peasant maid!" he cried. "How am I scorned!" And then, "I hate thee!--I hate, hate, hate thee!"

He pushed the squire from him. He tore his linen s.h.i.+rt open at the throat and sprang to the floor.

"Hear me!" Stephen begged.

"Nay; I 've heard enough!" screamed Richard, his teeth chattering 'twixt wrath and cold. "Go, an thou wilt! Go now; now! I 'll take Robert de Vere to my love. I 'll make him thrice an earl and give him my jewelled buckle. He 'll not leave me so cruel."

"In pity, sire," protested Stephen; "the night is cold; thou 'lt take an ague standing on the stone floor."

"And if I do, what 's that to thee? Thou dost not love me!" shouted the King, his voice breaking in a sob. "Nay, do not touch me! I 'll not to bed,--I 'll not to bed! I 'll stand all night and s.h.i.+ver. Let be!--Ah, woe, harrow!"

He beat at Stephen with both hands, wildly, when the squire would have wrapped a mantle round him.

"My lord, thy gentlemen will hear."

"I hope they may!" cried Richard, hoa.r.s.e with screaming. "Mayhap I 'll die of the cold, and then they 'll behead thee for a traitor, and quarter thee, and hang thee up over London Bridge,--and I 'll laugh."

Thereupon he did, noisily, with tears.

Stephen looked on him for a s.p.a.ce in silence and then went out at the door and left him alone.

When he came again, bringing wine, spiced and honeyed, in a cup, Richard's mood had changed. He lay on the bed, weeping.

"Here 's good clarre will warm thee, sire,--drink!" coaxed Stephen gently.

"No!" said the King, strangling in his sobs, "No!--take away!" and struck the cup out of Stephen's hand so that the wine flew all about.

Then on a sudden he was in the squire's arms, s.h.i.+vering, clinging, crying:--

"Etienne, Etienne, methought thou didst love me!"

"And do I not so, my lord?"

"Then stay with me. I am the King. What 's a peasant maid?"

"What 's knighthood, my lord, what 's honour?"

"Is no knighthood in following after a peasant," sobbed Richard.

"Such-like maids be for pleasure of the n.o.blesse. Robert de Vere told me."

"I do never pattern my demeanour after his Lords.h.i.+p of Oxford," said Stephen coldly.

"When I was a little lad, they sang me tales of how all the world did love to do the bidding of the King," said Richard; "but it is not true. O me, it is not true! I hate Calote!"

"Yet 't is she that puts body and soul in peril to do thee service."

"I 'd liefer she stayed at home, and wedded thee peaceable."

"G.o.d wot, so would I!" Stephen exclaimed. "But she will not."

"I 'll bid her stay," cried Richard; "and I 'm the King."

"The King is a truthteller, my lord; he may not give his word and take it again. The King is pattern to his people and servant likewise; doth not the Vision say this?"

"I 'm sick of the Vision," whined Richard, and clung more close to his squire. "Thou 'lt not go! Say thou 'lt not go! How alone shall I be, and unloved, if thou go. Etienne, I want thee to stay with me."