In Convent Walls Page 6

  PART ONE, CHAPTER 6.

  NEMESIS.

  "The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small."

  Longfellow.

  After this, the Queen kept the King well in hand. To speak sooth, Ishould say the old Queen, or Queen Isabel, for now had we a young Queen.But verily, all this time Queen Philippa was treated as of smallaccount; and she, that was alway sweet and gent, dwelt full peaceably,content with her babe, our young Prince of Wales, that was born atWoodstock, at Easter of the King's fourth year [Note 1], and the oldQueen Isabel ruled all. She seemed fearful of letting the King out ofher sight. When he journeyed to the North in August, she went withal,and came back with him to Nottingham in October. It was she that writto my Lord of Hereford that he should not fail to be at the Colloquy[note 2] to be held in that town the fifteenth of October. With her wasever my Lord of March, that was as her shadow: my Lady of March, thatmight have required to have her share of him with some reason, beingleft lone with her childre in Ludlow Castle. It was the 13th of Octoberthat we came to Nottingham. My Lord of Hereford, that was Lord HighConstable, was at that time too sick to execute his office (or thoughthe was); maybe he desired to keep him well out of a thing he foresaw:howbeit, he writ his excuse to the King, praying that his brother SirEdward de Bohun might be allowed his deputy. To this the King assented:but my Lord of March, that I guess mistrusted more Sir Edward than hisbrother (the one having two eyes in his head, and the other as good asnone), counselled the Queen to take into her own hand the keys of theCastle. Which she did, having them every night brought to her by SirWilliam Eland, then Constable thereof, and she laid them under her ownpillow while the morning.

  The part of my tale to follow I tell as it was told to me, in so far asmatters fell not under mine eye.

  The King, the old Queen, the Earl of March, and the Bishop of Lincoln,were lodged in the Castle with their following: and Sir Edward de Bohun,doing office for his brother, appointed my Lord of Lancaster to have hislodging there likewise. Whereat my glorious Lord of March was greatlyangered, that he should presume to appoint a lodging for any of thenobles so near the person of Queen Isabel. (He offered not to go forthhimself.) Sir Edward smiled something grimly, and appointed my Lord ofLancaster his lodging a mile forth of the town, where my Lord ofHereford also was.

  That night was dancing in the hall; and a little surprised was I thatSir William de Montacute [Note 3] should make choice of me as hispartner. He was one of the bravest knights in all the King'sfollowing--a young man, with all his wits about him, and lately wed tothe Lady Katherine de Grandison, a full fair lady of much skill [Note 4]and exceeding good repute. It was the pavon [Note 5] we danced, and notmany steps were taken when Sir William saith--

  "Dame Cicely, I have somewhat to say to you, under your good leave."

  "Say on, Sir William," quoth I.

  "Say I well, Dame, in supposing you true of heart to the old King, asDame Alice de Lethegreve's daughter should be?"

  "You do so, in good sooth," I made answer.

  "So I reckoned," quoth he. "Verily, an' I had doubted it, I had held mypeace. But now to business:--Dame, will you help me?"

  I could not choose but laugh to hear him talk of business.

  "That is well," saith he. "Laugh, I pray you; then shall man think wedo but discourse of light matter. But what say you to my question?"

  "Why, I will help you with a very good will," said I, "if you go about agood matter, and if I am able, and if mine husband forbid me not."

  "Any more ifs?" quoth he--that I reckon wished to make me to laugh, thewhich I did.

  "Not at this present," made I answer.

  "Then hearken me," saith he. "Can you do a deed in the dark, unwittingof the cause--knowing only that it is for the King's honour and truegood, and that they which ask it be true men?"

  I meditated a moment. Then said I,--"Ay; I can so."

  "Will you pass your word," saith he, "to the endeavouring yourself tokeep eye on the Queen and my Lord of March this even betwixt four andfive o' the clock? Will you look from time to time on Sir John deMolynes, and if you hear either of them speak any thing as though theyshould go speak with the King, will you rub your left eye when Sir Johnshall look on you? But be you ware you do it not elsewise."

  "What, not though it itch?" said I, yet laughing.

  "Not though it itch to drive you distraught."

  "Well!" said I, "'tis but for a hour. But what means it, I pray you?"

  "It means," saith he, "that if the King's good is to be sought, and hishonour to be saved, you be she that must help to do it."

  Then all suddenly it came on me, like to a levenand [lightning] flash,what it was that Sir William and his fellows went about to do. I lookedfull into his eyes. And if ever I saw truth, honour, and valour writ inman's eyes, I read them there.

  "I see what you purpose," said I.

  "You be marvellous woman an' you do," answered he.

  "Judge you. You have chosen that hour to speak with the King, and toendeavour the opening of his eyes. For Queen Isabel or my Lord of Marchto enter should spoil your game. Sir John de Molynes is he that shallgive you notice if such be like to befall, and I am to signify the sameto him."

  Right at that minute I had to take a volt [jump], and turn to the rightround Sir John Neville. When I returned back to my partner, saith he,so that Sir John could hear--

  "Dame Cicely, you vault marvellous well!"

  "That was not so ill as might have been, I reckon," quoth I.

  "Truly, nay," he made answer: "it was right well done."

  I knew he meant to signify that I had guessed soothly.

  "Will you try it yet again?" saith he.

  "That will I," I said: and I saw we were at one thereon.

  "Good," saith he. "I reckoned, if any failed me at this pinch, itshould not be Dame Alice's daughter."

  That eve stood I upon tenterhooks. As the saints would have it, theQueen was a-broidering a certain work whereon Dame Elizabeth wroughtwith her: and for once in my life I thanked the said hallows [saints]for Dame Elizabeth's laziness.

  "Dame Cicely," quoth she, "an' you be not sore pressed for time, prayyou, thread me a two-three needles. I wis not how it befalleth, butthread a neeld can I never."

  I could have told her well that _how_, for whenso she threadeth a neeldshe maketh no bones of the eye, but thrusteth forward the thread anywhither it shall go, on the chance that it shall hit, which by times itdoth: I should not marvel an' she essayed to thread the point. Howbeit,her ill husbandry was right then mine encheson [Note 6].

  "Look you," said I, "I can bring my work to that end of the chamber;then shall I be at hand to thread your neeld as it shall be voided."

  "Verily, you be gent therein," saith she.

  The which I fear I was little. Howbeit, there sat I, a-threading DameElizabeth her neeld, now with red silk and now with black, as shelacked, and under all having care that I rubbed not my left eye, thewhich I felt strong desire to frote [rub]. I marvel how it was, for thehour over, I had no list to touch it all the even.

  My task turned out light enough, for my Lord of March was playing oftables [backgammon] with Sir Edward de Bohun, and never left his seatfor all the hour: and the Queen wrought peacefully on her goldenvulture, and moved no more than he. When I saw it was five o' the clock[Note 7], I cast an eye on Sir John de Molynes, which threw a look tothe clock, and then winked an eye on me; and I saw he took it we hadfinished our duty.

  The next morrow, which was Saint Luke's even [October 17th], came asurprise for all men. It was found that the Constable of the Castle,with Sir William de Montacute, Sir Edward de Bohun, Sir John de Molynes,the Lord Ufford, the Lord Stafford, the Lord Clinton, and Sir JohnNeville, had ridden away from the town the night afore, taking no maninto their counsel. None could tell wherefore their departure, nor whatthey purposed. I knew only that the King was aware thereof, thoughsoothly he counterfeited surprise as well as any man.
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  "What can they signify?" saith Sir Edmund de Mortimer, the eldest son ofmy Lord of March--a much better man than his father, though not nigh socrafty.

  "Hold thy peace for a fool as thou art!" saith his father roughly."They are afraid of me, I cast no doubt at all. And they do well. Icould sweep them away as lightly as so many flies, and none should missthem!"

  He ended with a mocking laugh. Verily, pride such as this was fullready for a fall.

  We knew afterward what had passed in that hour the day afore. The Kinghad been hard to insense [cause to understand: still a Northernprovincialism] at the first. So great was his faith in his mother thathe ne could ne would believe any evil of her. As to the Mortimer, hewas ready enough, for even now was he a-chafing under the yoke.

  "Be he what he may--the very foul fiend himself an' you will," had hesaid to his Lords: "but she, mine own mother, my beloved--Oh, not she,not she!"

  Then--for themselves were lost an' they proved not their case--they werefain to bring forth their proofs. Sir William de Montacute told my Jackit was all pitiful to see how our poor young King's heart fought fullgallantly against the light as it brake on his understanding. Poor lad!for he was but a lad; and it troubled him sore. But they knew they mustcarry the matter through.

  "Oh, have away your testimonies!" he cried more than once. "Spare her--and spare me! Mother, my mother, mine own dear Lady! how is thispossible?"

  At the last he knew all: knew who had set England in flame, who had doneSir Hugh Le Despenser and his son to death, who had been his ownfather's murderer. The scales were off his eyes; and had he list to doit, he could never set them on again. They said he covered his face,and wept like the child he nearhand was. Then he lifted his head, thetears over, and in his eyes was the light of a settled purpose, and inhis lips a stern avisement. No latsummes [backwardness, reluctance] wasin him when once fully set.

  "Take the Mortimer," quoth he, firm enough.

  "Sir," quoth Sir William de Montacute, "we, not being lodged in theCastle, shall never be able to seize him without help of the Constable."

  "Now, surely," saith the King, "I love you well: wherefore go to theConstable in my name, and bid him aid you in taking of the Mortimer, onperil of life and limb."

  "Sir, then God grant us speed!" saith Sir William.

  So to the Constable they went, and brake the matter, only at firstbidding him in the King's name (having his ring for a token) to aid themin a certain enterprise which concerned the King's honour and safety.The Constable sware so to do, and then saith Sir William--

  "Now, surely, dear friend, it behoved us to win your assent, in order toseize on the Mortimer, sith you are Keeper of the Castle, and have thekeys at your disposal."

  Then the Constable, having first lift his brows and made grimace of hismouth, fell in therewith, and quoth he--

  "Sirs, if it be thus, you shall wit that the gates of the Castle belocked with the locks that Queen Isabel sent hither, and at night shehath all the keys thereof, and layeth them under the pillow of her bedwhile morning: and so I may not help you into the Castle at the gates byany means. But I know an hole that stretcheth out of the ward underearth into the Castle, beginning on the west side [still calledMortimer's Hole], which neither the Queen nor her following nor Mortimerhimself, nor none of his company, know anything of; and through thispassage I will lead you till you come into the Castle without espial ofenemies."

  Thereupon went they forth that even, as though to flee away from thetown, none being privy thereto save the King. And Saint Luke's Daypassed over quiet enough. The Queen went to mass in the Church of theWhite Friars, and offered at the high altar five shillings, hercustomary offering on the great feasts and chief saints' days. Allpeaceful sped the day; the Queen gat her abed, and the keys beingbrought of the Constable's deputy, I (that was that night in waiting)presented them unto her, which she received in her own hands and laidunder the pillow of her bed. Then went we, her dames and damsels, forthunto our own chambers in the upper storey of the Castle: and I, set atthe casement, had unlatched the same and thrown it open (being nigh aswarm as summer), and was hearkening to the soft flow of the waters ofthe Leene, which on that side do nearhand wash the Castle wall. I wasbut then thinking how peaceful were all things, and what sore pity itwere that man should bring in wrong, and bitterness, and anguish, onthat which God had made so beautiful--when all suddenly my fair peacechanged to fierce tumult and the clang of armed men--the tramp ofmail-clad feet and the hoarse crying of roaring voices. I was as thoughI held my breath: for I could well guess what this portended. Thenabove all the routing and bruit [shouting and noise], came the voice ofQueen Isabel, clear and shrill.

  "Now, fair Sirs, I pray you that you do no harm unto his body, for he isa worthy knight, our well-beloved friend, and our dear cousin."

  "They have him, then!" quoth I, scarce witting that I spake aloud, norwho heard me.

  "`Have him!'" saith Dame Joan de Vaux beside me: "whom have they?"

  Then, suddenly, a word or twain in the King's voice came up to where westood; on which hearing, an anguished cry rang out from Queen Isabel.

  "Fair Son, fair Son! have pity on the sweet Mortimer!" [Note 8.]

  Wala wa! that time was past. And she had shown no pity.

  I never loved her, as in mine opening words I writ: yet in that dreadmoment I could not find in mine heart to leave her all alone in heragony. I have ever found that he which brings his sorrows on his ownhead doth not suffer less thereby, but more. And let her be what shewould, she was a woman, and in sorrow, not to say mine own liege Lady:and signing to Dame Joan to follow me, down degrees ran I with allhaste, and not staying to scratch on the door [Note 9], into the chamberto the Queen.

  We found her sitting up in her bed, her hands held forth, and a look ofagony and horror on her face.

  "Cicely, is it thou?" she shrieked. "Joan! Whence come ye? Saw yeaught? What do they to him? who be the miscreants? Is my son there?Have they won him over--the coward neddirs [serpents] that they be!Speak I who be they?--and what will they do? Ah, Mary Mother, what willthey do with him?"

  Her voice choked, and I spake.

  "Dame, the King is there, and divers with him."

  "What do they?" she wailed like a woman in her last agony.

  "There hath been sharp assault, Dame," said I, "and I fear some slain;for as I ran in hither, I saw that which seemed me the body of a deadman at the head of degrees."

  "Who?" She nearhand screamed.

  "Dame," I said, "I think it was Sir Hugh de Turpington."

  "But what do they with _him_?" she moaned again, an accent of anguish onthat last word.

  I save no answer. What could I have given?

  Dame Joan de Vaux saith, "Dame, the King is there, and God will be withthe King. We may well be ensured that no wrong shall be done to themthat have done no wrong. This is not the contekes [quarrel] of a rabblerout; it is the justice of the Crown upon his enemies."

  "His enemies?--whose? Mine enemies are dead and gone. All of them--all! I left not one. Who be these? who be they, I say? Cicely, answerme!"

  Afore I could speak word, I was called by another voice. I was fainenough of the reprieve. Leaving Dame Joan with the Queen, I ran forthinto the Queen's closet, where stood the King.

  What change had come over him in those few hours! No longer a bashfullad that was nearhand afraid to speak for himself ere he were bidden.This was a young man [he was now close on eighteen years of age] thatstood afore me, a youthful warrior, a budding Achilles, that would standto no man's bidding, but would do his will. King of England was thisman. I louted low before my master.

  He spake in a voice wherein was both cold constrainedness, andbitterness, and stern determination--yet under them all something else--I think it was the sorely bruised yet living soul of that deepunutterable tenderness which had been ever his for the mother of hislove, but could be the same never more. Man is oft cold and bitter andstern, when an h
our before he hath dug a grave in his own heart, andhath therein laid all his hopes and his affections. And they that lookon from afar behold the sheet of ice, but they see not the grave beneathit. They only see him cold and silent: and they reckon he cares fornought, and feels nothing.

  "Dame Cicely, you have been with the Queen?"

  "Sir, I have so."

  "Take heed she hath all things at her pleasure, of such as lie in yourpower. Let my physician be sent for if need arise, as well as her own;and if she would see any holy father, let him be fetched incontinent[immediately]. See to it, I charge you, that she be served with allhonour and reverence, as you would have our favour."

  He turned as if to depart. Then all suddenly the ice went out of hisvoice, and the tears came in.

  "How hath she taken it?" saith he.

  "Sir," said I, "full hardly as yet, and is sore troubled touching myLord of March, fearing some ill shall be done him. Moreover, my Ladybiddeth me tell her who these be. Is it your pleasure that I answer thesame?"

  "Ay, answer her," saith he sorrowfully, "for it shall do no mischiefnow. As for my Lord of March, no worser fate awaits him than he hathgiven better men."

  He strade forth after that kingly fashion which was so new in him, andyet sat so seemly upon him, and I went back to the Queen's chamber.

  "Cicely, is that my son?" she cried.

  "In good sooth, Dame," said I.

  "What said he to thee?"

  I told her the King had bidden me answer all her desire; that if sherequired physician she should be tended of his chirurgeon beside herown, and she should speak with any priest she would. I had thought itshould apay [gratify] her to know the same; but my words had thecontrariwise effect, for she looked more frightened than afore.

  "Nought more said he?"

  "Dame," said I, "the Lord King bade me to serve you with all honour andreverence. And he said, for my Lord of March--"

  "Fare forth!" [go on] she cried, though I scarce knew that I paused.

  "He answered, that no worser should befall him than he had caused tobetter men than he."

  "Mary, Mother!"

  I thought I had scarce ever heard wofuller wail than she made then. Shesank down in the bed, clutching the coverlet with her hands, and castingit over her, as she buried her face in the pillows. I went nigh, anddrew the coverlet full setely [properly, neatly] over her.

  "Let be!" she saith in a smothered voice. "It is all over. Life mustfare forth, and life is of no more worth. My bird is flown from thecage, and none can win him back. Is there so much as one of the saintswill speak for me? As I have wrought, so hast Thou paid me, God!"

  Not an other word spake she all the livelong day. Never day seemedlonger than that weary eve of Saint Ursula [October 20th]. That morrowwere taken in the town the two sons of my Lord of March, Sir Edmund andSir Geoffrey, beside divers of his friends--Sir Oliver Byngham, SirSimon de Bereford, and Sir John Deveroil the chief. All were sent thatsame day under guard to London, with the Mortimer himself.

  No voice compassionated him. Nay, "my Lord of March" was no more, butin every man's mouth "the Mortimer" as of old time. Some that hadseemed his greatest losengers [flatterers] now spake of him with themost disdain, while they that, while they allowed him not [did notapprove of him], had yet never abused ne reviled him, were the leastwrathful against him. I heard that when he was told of all, my Lord ofLancaster flung up his cap for joy.

  Some things afterward said were not true. It was false slander to say,as did some, that the Mortimer was taken in the Queen's own chamber. Hewas arrest in the Bishop of Lincoln's chamber (which had his lodgingnext the Queen), and in conference with the said Bishop. They took notthat priest of Baal; I had shed no tears had they so done. Sir Hugh deTurpington and Sir John Monmouth, creatures of the Mortimer, were slain;Sir John Neville, on the other side, was wounded.

  Fourteen charges were set forth against the Mortimer. The murder ofKing Edward was one; the death of my Lord of Kent an other. One thingwas not set down, but every man knew how to read betwixt the lines, whenthe indictment writ that other articles there were against him, which inrespect of the King's honour were not to be drawn up in writing. Walawa! there was honour concerned therein beside his own: but he was verytender of her. His way was hard to walk and beset with snares, and hewalked it with cleaner feet than most men should. Never heard I fromhis lips word unreverent toward her; and if other lips spake the same tohis knowing, they forthank [regretted] it.

  That same day the King departed from Nottingham for Leicester, on hisway to London. He left behind him the Lord Wake de Lydel, in whosecharge he placed Queen Isabel, commanding that she should be taken toBerkhamsted Castle as soon as might be. I know not certainly if hespake with her afore he set forth, but I think rather nay than yea.

  October was not out when we reached Berkhamsted. The Queen's firstanguish was over, and she scarce spake; but I could see she hearkenedwell if aught was said in her hearing.

  The King sent command to seize all lands and goods of the Mortimer intohis hands; but the Lady of March he bade to be treated with all respectand kindliness, and that never a jewel nor a thread of her having shouldbe taken. Indeed, I heard never man nor woman speak of her but tenderlyand pitifully. She was good woman, and had borne more than many. Forthe Lady Margaret her mother-in-law, so much will I not say; for she wasa firebrand that (as saith Solomon) scattered arrows and death: but theLady Joan was full gent and reverend, and demerited better husband thanthe Fates gave her. Nay, that may I not say, sith no such thing is asFate, but only God, that knoweth to bring good out of evil, and hathcomforted the Lady Joan in Paradise these four years gone.

  But scarce three weeks we tarried at Berkhamsted, and then the Lord Wakebore to the Queen tidings that it was the King's pleasure she shouldremove to Windsor. My time of duty was then run out all but a two-threedays; and the Queen my mistress was pleased to say I might serve me ofthose for mine own ease, so that I should go home in the stead ofjourneying with her to Windsor. At that time my little maid Vivien wasnot in o'er good health, and it paid me well to be with her. So fromthis point mine own remembrances have an end, and I serve me, for therest, of the memory of Dame Joan de Vaux, mine old and dear-worthyfriend, and of them that abode with Queen Isabel till she died. Forwhen her household was 'minished and again stablished on a new footing,it liked the King of his grace to give leave to such as should desirethe same to depart to their own homes, and such as would were at libertyto remain--one except, to wit, Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, to whom he gaveconge with no choice. I was of them that chose to depart. Forsooth, Ihad seen enough and to spare of Court life (the which I never did muchlove), and I desired no better than to spend the rest of my life athome, with my Jack and my little maids, and my dear mother, so long asGod should grant me.

  My brother Robert (of whom, if I spake not much, it was from no lack ofloving-kindness), on the contrary part, chose to remain. He hath everloved a busy life.

  I found my Vivien full sick, and a weariful and ugsome time had I withher ere she recovered of her malady. Soothly, I discovered thatdiachylum emplasture was tenpence the pound, and tamarinds fivepence;and grew well weary of ringing the changes upon rosin and frankincense,litharge and turpentine, oil of violets and flowers of beans, _GratiaDei_, camomile, and mallows. At long last, I thank God, she amended;but it were a while ere mine ears were open to public matter, and notfull filled of the moaning of my poor little maid. So now, to have backto my story, as the end thereof was told me by Dame Joan de Vaux.

  Queen Isabel came to Windsor about Saint Edmund the King [November20th]; and nine days thereafter, on the eve of Saint Andrew [November29th], was the Mortimer hanged at Tyburn. He was cast [sentenced] ascommoner, not as noble, and was dragged at horse's tail for a leagueoutside the city of London to the Elms. But the penalties that commonlycame after were not exacted, seeing his body was not quartered, nor hishead set up on bridge ne gate. His body was sent to the Friar
s Minors'Church at Coventry, whence one year thereafter, it was at the King'scommand delivered to the Lady Joan his widow and Sir Edmund his son,that they might bury him in the Abbey of Wigmore with his fathers. Hismother, the Lady Margaret, overlived him but four years; but the LadyJoan his wife died four years gone, the very day and month that he wastaken prisoner, to wit, the nineteenth day of October, 1356, nigh twoyears afore Queen Isabel.

  The eve of Saint Andrew, as I writ, was the Mortimer hanged, withoutdefence by him made (he had allowed none to Sir Hugh Le Despenser and myLord of Kent): and four days hung his body in irons on the gibbet, asSir Hugh's the father had done. Verily, as he had done, so did God apayhim, which is just Judge over all the earth.

  And the very next day, Saint Andrew, came His dread judgment upon oneother--upon her that had wrought evil and not good, and that hadbetrayed her own lord to his cruel death. All suddenly, without oneinstant's warning, came the bolt out of Heaven upon Isabel of France.While the body of the Mortimer hung upon the gibbet at the Elms ofTyburn, God stripped that sinful woman of the light of reason which shehad used so ill, and she fell into a full awesome frenzy, so dread thatshe was fain to be strapped down, and her cries and shrieks werenearhand enough to drive all wood that heard her. While the body hungthere lasted this fearsome frenzy. But the hour it was taken down, camechange over her. She sank that same hour into the piteous thing she wasfor long afterward, right as a little child, well apaid with toys andshows, a few glass beads serving her as well as costly jewels, and ayard of tinsel or fringe bright coloured a precious treasure. The Kingwas sore troubled; but what could he do? At the first the physicianscounselled that she should change the air often; and first to OdihamCastle was she taken, and thence to Hertford, and after to Rising. Butnothing was to make difference to her any more for many a year,--onlythat by now and then, for a two-three hours, she hath come to her wit,and then is she full gent and sad, desiring ever the grace of our Lordfor her ill deeds, and divers times saying that as she hath done, sohath God requited her. I have heard say that as time passed on, thesetimes of coming to her wit were something oftener and tarried longer,until at last, a year afore she died, she came to her full wit, and soabode to the end.

  The King, that dealt full well with her, and had as much care of herhonour as of his own (and it was whispered that our holy Father the Popewrit unto him that he should so do), did at the first appoint her tokeep her estate in two of her own castles, to wit, Hertford and Rising:and set forth a new household for her, appointing Sir John de Molynesher Seneschal, and Dame Joan de Vaux her chief dame in waiting. Seldomhath she come to Town, but when there, she tarried in the Palace of myLord of Winchester at Southwark, on the river side, and was once inpresence when the King delivered the great Seal to Sir Robert Parving.Then she was in her wit for a short time. But commonly, at the King'scommand, she hath tarried in those two her castles,--to wit, Hertfordand Rising--passing from one to the other according to the counsel ofher physicians. The King hath many times visited her (though never theQueen, which he ever left at Norwich when he journeyed to Rising), andso, at times, have divers of his children. Ten years afore her death,the King's adversary of France, Philippe de Valois, that now calleth himKing thereof, moved the King that Queen Isabel should come to Eu totreat with his wife concerning peace: and so careful is the King, andhath ever been, of his mother's honour, that he would not answer himwith the true reason contrary thereto, but treated with him on thatfooting, and only at the last moment made excuse to appoint otherenvoys. Poor soul! she had no wit thereto. I never saw her after Ileft her service saving once, which was when she was at Shene, onCantate Sunday [April 29th], an eleven years ere her death, at supper inthe even, where were also the King, the Queen of Scots [her youngerdaughter], and the Earl of March [grandson of the first Earl]; andsoothly, for all the ill she wrought, mine heart was woe for the cagedtigress with the beautiful eyes, that was wont to roam the forest wildsat her pleasure, and now could only pace to and fro, up and down hercage, and toy with the straws upon the floor thereof. It was pitiful tosee her essaying, like a babe, as she sat at the board, to cause a waferto stand on end, and when she had so done, to clap her hands and laughwith childish glee, and call her son and daughter to look. Very gentwas the King unto her, that looked at her bidding, and lauded her skilland patience, as he should have done to his own little maid that was butthree years old. Ah me, it was piteous sight! the grand, queenlycreature that had fallen so low! Verily, as she had done, so Godrequited her.

  She died at Hertford Castle, two days afore Saint Bartholomew nextthereafter [August 22nd, 1358. See Note in Appendix]. I heard that inher last hours, her wit being returned to her as good as ever it hadbeen, she had her shriven clean, and spake full meek [humble] andexcellent words of penitence for all her sins, and desired to be buriedin the Church of the Friars Minors in London town, and the heart of herdead lord to be laid upon her breast. They have met now in the presenceabove, and he would forgive her there. _Lalme de qui Dieux eit mercie_!Amen.

  Here have ending the Annals of Cicely.

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  Note 1. The chroniclers (and after them the follow-my-leader school ofmodern historians) are unanimous in their assertion that the BlackPrince was born on June 15th. If this be so, it is, to say the least, alittle singular that the expenses of the Queen's churching were defrayedon the 24th and 28th of April previous (Issue Roll, Easter, 4 Edward theThird). On the 3rd, 5th, and 13th of April, the King dates his mandatesfrom Woodstock; on the 24th of March he was at Reading. This looks verymuch as if the Prince's birth had taken place about the beginning ofApril. The 8th of that month was Easter Day.

  Note 2. Modern writers make no difference between a Colloquy and aParliament. The Rolls always distinguish them, treating; the Colloquyas a lesser and more informal gathering.

  Note 3. Second son of the elder Sir William de Montacute and Elizabethde Montfort. He appears as a boy in the first chapter of the companionvolume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_.

  Note 4. Discretion, wisdom.

  Note 5. The pavon was a slow, stately dance, but it also included highleaps.

  Note 6. Occasion, opportunity. Needles, at this time, were greattreasures; a woman who possessed three or four thought herself wealthyindeed.

  Note 7. Striking clocks were not invented until about 1368.

  Note 8. Had the Queen spoken in English, she would certainly have said_sweet_, not _gentle_, which last is an incorrect translation of_gentil_. This latter speech, though better known, is scarcely so wellauthenticated as the previous one.

  Note 9. Royal etiquette prescribed a scratch on the door, like that ofa pet animal; the knock was too rough and plebeian an appeal foradmission.