CHAPTER XII
Y-Robed in Russet
"Is naught to do," said Calote. "My life is like an empty house."
And if her father admonished her that she fill it, she answered him:"I am too poor. My richesse is spent."
So the summer waned, and Richard's red vengeance began to pale. Thepeople and the King alike sickened of blood. Here and there a man waspardoned. Those two aldermen that bade the peasants come into Londonby the Bridge and Ald Gate in June were let go free.
"If thou canst come at the King, he will surely set free StephenFitzwarine," urged Will. "'Steadfast' is never Richard's watchword,natheless he doth not willingly harm his friends. He 'll do themkindness in secret, if he may not openly."
"How may I endure to live out the length of my days to my life's end?"sighed Calote. "Is naught to do."
Nevertheless, about this time she began to be seen about the gates ofthe Palace at Westminster, and craved leave to enter; but the guardsmade mock of her and drove her away. As oft as thrice in the week theydid this, but she came again.
One day, 't was October's end and presently Parliament would be mettogether at Westminster, Calote stood on London Bridge, on thedrawbridge, and saw a barge come down Thames. And when the barge wasrowed beneath the drawbridge, Calote looked down, and the King sattherein with madame his mother, and certain lords and ladies of thecourt. One of these was Godiyeva.
The folk on the bridge peered over, and there was muttering, for thepeople no longer loved the King.
"Goeth to Tower for a night and a day to discover what prisoners beharboured therein and to consider their case," said one, and spat inthe water.
Calote turned about and ran back to London, and so on to the Towergate. An hour she waited, and then came forth Stephen's gaoler.
"Nay, I will bear no more messages to prisoners," said that man veryrough, when she had caught his arm. "The King 's within. There 'll bea lopping of heads, and mine own wags very loose o' my neck."
"To no prisoner, good brother," pleaded Calote, "but to a fair lady;Godiyeva 's her name, madame's waiting-woman."
The gaoler grunted, and stood uncertain.
"Do but say this,--there 's a jongleuse craveth speech of her, ajongleuse that served her once."
He grunted yet more loud and went within.
After a little while he came again and a page with him, who led Caloteacross the outer and inner ward to the keep, and so by narrow ways andsteep stairs to a turret chamber where sat the Lady Godiyeva.
"Lady," said Calote, "hast thou forgot one night in Yorkshire, at thymanor-house?"
"Mine old father is dead," Godiyeva answered, "and Eleyne, my sister,is lady o' the manor,--but I have not forgot."
"Lady,--Madame Godiyeva, I would come at King Richard. Have a boon tocrave, a token to deliver."
Godiyeva bent her eyes, thoughtful, stern, upon the maid: "A token todeliver?" quoth she. "In Yorkshire thou didst wear a dagger, I saw 't,that night."
"Dost fear I 'll kill the King?" Calote smiled, very sad. "Nay,--here's the dagger; keep it!"
"'T is Master Fitzwarine's crest," said Godiyeva.
"Ay, lady, he 's my love!--Lies low in dungeon. Here 's my boon."
"This is a strange matter," mused Godiyeva, "for that EtienneFitzwarine is esquire and very parfait gentleman, in all the court wasnone so true of his word, and so courteous to ladies. But this is acommon wench, a jongleuse.--Natheless, I heard him how he said, 'Thisdamosel is promised to be my wedded wife.'--Come, I 'll pay my debt!"
Behind the arras of a little door they stood and listened. There wasno sound. Then Godiyeva put her eye to the edge of the arras.
"He is alone," she said. "Go in!"
Richard stood in a window. He held a little picture in his hand, andlooked on it smiling. Calote, barefoot, stepped noiseless over thefloor. Godiyeva, behind the arras, coughed.
"Coeur de joie!" cried Richard, staring. But when he saw who it wasthat knelt, gold-haired, before him, he went white and covered hiseyes.
"I would forget!" he said, "I would forget! 'T is overpast!--Shall aking never think on joyful things? Ah, give me leave to tune mythoughts to love! These six months past I 've hearkened to hatred. Wasnever king so meek. But now there 's a marriage toward. Wilt thou haveme think on murders,--and I take a wife in January?"
"Nay,--not on murders, sire,--on pardon and peace."
His moody face cleared slow,--"Is 't an omen?" he questioned, and,stretching forth his hand with the picture, "See! here 's the ladyshall be Queen of England one day,--and queens are merciful. There 'sa tale of my grandmother, Philippa, how she saved the burgesses ofCalais,--and they were six. Here 's but only one, and he was mychildhood's friend.--She hath a wondrous pleading eye,--my lady.--'Tis an omen." He went to a table and wrote somewhat on a parchment;then clapped his hands, and to the page that entered, said:--
"Bear this hastily to the warden of the Tower."
"Gramerci! Sire!" whispered Calote, and bowed her head on her knees sothat her long hair lay on the ground at the King's feet as 't were apool of sunshine.
"I ever meant to set him free--when the noblesse had forgot," saidRichard huskily. "He must depart in secret, for a little while. Andnow may I forget murder and turn me to merriment. The Rising 'spricked flat. I will never remember it more."
"And dost thou willingly forget that day the people blessed thee forthy gifts of freedom and grace, sire? Dost thou willingly forget thatday thou wast bravest man in England,--and king?"
"Hush!--Hush!" he cried. "Kings may not hearken to truth,--'t is sureconfusion."
"Here 's the horn, sire, wherewith I gathered the folk intofellowship." Calote untied the bag that hung from her neck.
"O thou mischief-maker!" said Richard to his hunting-horn. "Thoubetrayer unto foolishness! Thou shalt be sold to buy my weddinggarment."
But now was the arras pushed aside, and Stephen came in, and hisgaoler that grinned very joyous.
Calote heard. And then she had arisen to her feet, and turned her backupon the King. And Stephen kissed her hair, and her two hands thatrested on his shoulders; but her face was hid.
"O my love, my lady!" said Stephen. And presently, "'T is a wondrousfair world!"
She lifted her face to speak, but he was waiting for her lips.
The gaoler made a happy clucking noise.
Richard laughed merrily. "Coeur de joie!" quoth he, "but I 'll kissalso!" and he kissed the little picture.
"'T behooves us give thanks to the King," whispered Calote. Her facewas hid anew, and she spake to her love's heart that leaped againsthis courtepy.
Then they two turned them, hand in hand, and the King cried out,"A-a-ah!--How art thou pale!--Etienne!"
Stephen bent his knee: "Sire," he said, "wa-was nothing hid fromthee;--thou knewest all th-things ever I did in that Rising. I wastrue to King Richard."
"This is thy sword, Etienne," quoth the King. "These many months ithath hung at my side. Take it again!"
Stephen looked on the sword, sombre, slow. "My forefathers, they weremen of might," he said. "There were three died in the Holy Land doingbattle with the Paynim. The Scots slew my grandfather in fair fight.My father fell in France, in the last Edward's quarrel. Next afterEngland, the King, and my lady, I have loved my sword."
He stretched forth his hands and took it. "Oh, thou bright blade, whathosts of infidels and dastard French, what enemies to Truth andRichard, methought I 'd slay! And thou hast drunk the blood of one manonly, a dead man, that gave his life for England's sake and thepeople. Thou wert maiden, and they dishonoured thee."
And Stephen had snapped his sword in twain across his knee.
"This is the sword that hewed Wat Tyler's head off his body," he said."I have done with swords. Thy Majeste hath noblesse a plenty to servethee; 't was proven in June, when Wat Tyler fell. I might not countthe sword-thrusts at that time. But of common folk, peasants andlabourers, there is a dearth in Eng
land. And wherefore this is so,none knoweth better than thou, sire."
Richard stirred, restless: "'T is the old Etienne, was never afearedto find fault with his king," said he, and would have made a jest ofthis matter, but laughter came not at his bidding.
"Thou hast need of loyal labourers, sire. So will I serve thee. IfSaint Francis set his hands to labour, so may Stephen Fitzwarine, andwithouten shame."
"By the Rood!" cried Richard. "Thou art lord of a manor;--born intothis condition. These things be beyond man to change. They areappointed of High God."
"Natheless, God helping me, these things shall be changed, sire.Presently, o' my manor, mayst thou see a-many free labourers tillingeach man his own field. And Stephen Fitzwarine shall be one."
"Thou 'rt mad!" screamed the King. "Dungeon hath darkened thy wits."
"So methought, sire," said the gaoler, "but hath more wits thanmost,--hath not turned a hair."
"Now, by Saint Thomas of Canterbury!" Richard shouted, "I--I--nay,--I've signed thy pardon,--I 'll keep faith,--this once."
Then his humour changed and he began to laugh very loud:--
"Go free! Turn peasant an thou wilt! But as concerning thy land, KingRichard is God's anointed, shall look to his stewardship. I will keepcustom for Christ's sake. Wherefore is thy manor confiscate, and thevilleins that dwell thereon, to the King."--He set his lips in a grimsmile: "Who saith Richard is not a good provisor, against his weddingday?"
The gaoler pushed Stephen and Calote out of the room and down thestair:--
"Best begone," quoth he, "hath been known to change his mind," and heshut them out by a postern.
They went and sat on the side of Saint Catherine's Hill that looked onThames. A long while they sat there, holding each other's hand,smiling each into other's eyes, saying little. But Stephen said:--
"Thou 'rt mine!"
And Calote said:--
"Methought this love was not for me!"
Her feet were bare, her kirtle frayed, and all their worldly goods wasa penny the gaoler had thrust in Stephen's hand. Stephen laughed, andtossed the penny and caught it on the back of his hand. Then Calotelaughed also, and said she, shaking her head and smiling:--
"'T is not true that failure lieth in wait all along life's way?" anda question grew in her eyes, and the smile faded.
He kissed her gray eyes where the shadows hovered:--
"What 's to fail?" quoth he.
"So saith my father," she made answer. "Yet meseems I must ever seethe Archbishop's head above London Bridge,--and next day Wat's. Wasnot this failure?"
"Sweet heart," said Stephen, "I have been in prison a many months, andconcerning eternite I have learned a little. W-Wat Tyler failed to beKing of England. But thou and I, and those others, we did not arise upto make W-Wat Tyler king. Dost believe there liveth to-day a villeinin England ho-ho-holdeth 't is righteous a man shall be bond-servantto another against his own will? Thou mayst scourge a man tosilence,--but he 'll think his thought;--yea, and wh-whisper it to 'schildren.--We did not fail."
Then Stephen took his love's face betwixt his hands, and kissed herbrow and eyes and lips:--
"I had a dream that I should dress thee in silk, pearl-broidered, anda veil of silver. But now am I a landless man; must labour with my twohands for daily bread. Natheless, am I tied to no man's manor,--maysell my labour where I will. D-dost sigh for the dream, sweet heart,and to be called Madame? Be advised in time,--a man 's ofttimesendurable if his infirmity 's shrouded in good Flemish broadcloth, butif he be naked as a needle, then must he be a man indeed--to pass."
"Now, prythee, how is 't honour to a maid if her lord lift her up tohis estate?" said Calote. "But if he condescend and clothe him in hercoat-armour, then is she honoured in verite."
"In Yorkshire, mayhap I 'll find shepherding with Diggon. Wilt gothither?" Stephen asked her.
And when she had answered him Yea, he laughed soft, and sang:--
"Then I 'll put off my silken coat, And all my garments gay. Lend me thy ragged russet gown, For that 's my best array. Ohe! For that's my best array."
EPILOGUE
"Love is leche of lyf."
_The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ B. PASSUS I.
Long Will Page 40
