The Fool (Bailey)/Chapter 12

HE castle of Bridgenorth stood on a cliff above Severn. When they came there, the King and Izan, bound still, and he still gagged, were flung into a cell beneath the gate tower and in the dark he heard her whisper to him and ask that he would forgive her, and he dragged himself to her feet and lay touching her. But not long were they left so. When Roger Mortimer heard of their coming he made much of the captain of the Flemings, Baldwin of Ghent, promising him great things still to be won, and set a fresh watch on his towers and sent out a party on the Shrewsbury road to bring in the Queen. Then to his great chamber in the northern tower he went and called for wine and his prisoners.

They could but stumble and shuffle, so closely were they bound, and Roger laughed as he heard them coming. When they stood before him, dirty and torn and helpless, he fed his eyes on them and drank a cup of wine and "By the bones of the Conqueror, now you look what you are, Henry, a slave king of slaves," he said, and he laughed again. "And you, wench, fit mire for him to wallow in, how like you your lover now?" But Izan would not answer and the King could not and this disappointed him. "Prick the cat with your dagger, Osbert and let us hear her sweet voice. Tell us your love story, sweet." So one of the men-at-arms put his dagger point into her bosom, but she neither flinched nor cried, and he plucked it away in a hurry.

"My lord, she would fall on it!"

"Nay, nay, not so easy a death, dear heart. Nor so soon. Pluck the cloth out of his foul mouth there. I would hear his royal speech."

Free of the gag the King looked round the room. There were four men-at-arms guarding him, and he laughed. "Give you good night," said he. Izan stole one glance at him and shrank away behind him and leaned by the window, her bound hands at the wound in her breast. "God's blood, the Angevin shows sport," Roger cried and drank again.

"To a merry meeting in hell! Drink it down, Roger. We shall all be there soon enough."

"You are something nearer than I, Henry."

"Yes, faith. By an hour. To-day for me, to-morrow for you, Roger. How many be here will see the sun o' Sunday?"

"Care not you for that. You have"

"God's body, not I. It will be a merry onfall in Bridgenorth. But that is your share. I shall lie warm with the devil."

"By my father's soul, the fool threatens!" Roger laughed loud.

"Who, I? Good Roger, where are your wits? I am sped. So are we all. Never a King was done to death but a thousand died for his killing. The wolf hath the sheep and the hounds are upon the wolf."

"Angevin!" Roger cried, for at last he saw his men's faces. "Your craft serves you not now. Out, fellows, out. Leave me alone with them."

"The brave Roger!" the King laughed. "Alone with a bound man and a woman bound. Oh gallant knight."

"Aye fool it to the last, Henry. There is nothing left you but your tongue. Now hear you me. Not at my will only you lie bound, but for the lady your Queen. She shall have her way with you ere you go to your grave. She comes to me this night and she shall judge you and your there and the fame of it shall go through all Christenty [sic] how you played her false with a wench from the byre and were taken with her. We will give you to shame and you shall be all men's jest in your death. And"

Izan was by the window and as he spoke she reeled as though she would faint and lay there upon the sill. Once she turned and looked at the King. Then she flung herself forward and was gone.

Roger ran to the window. She lay a little huddled heap on the rock a hundred feet below and lay still.

But the King did not look. The King bent his head and spoke softly in Latin: "Into thy hands, oh Lord. Christ Jesus receive her soul and St. Mary the Mother comfort her."

There was no blood in Roger's face. "The wench is dead," he said, and he stared at the King.

"Nay, good Roger, she lives," the King smiled and went on talking Latin: "Oh God Almighty, forgive not this man's sin, but give him according to his deeds and let thine angels persecute him for ever."

"What say you?" Roger stammered.

"Now nay, good Roger, it is you to say. You are the speaker, are not you? Say on. Now a new tale is to make, for the old tale has gone awry."

"I hold you still."

"Yea, oh wise man. You hold your King bound. And none but your King. What tale is now to tell?"

"By the bones of the Conqueror it were well told if you lay there with her. That would glad your Queen's heart, Henry."

The King laughed. "She tarries, good Roger, she tarries. Women are wayward. What if she comes not? Look and see. What if she hath mocked our Roger?"

"God's blood, you shall not mock me," Roger cried and drew his sword and rushed at him. The King flung up his bound arms to meet the blow. He turned it, not without blood, but as it fell it seared through the cords and the straining arms sprang apart. Then the King fell upon him within the long sword's sweep and cast his arms about him and bore him back into the window embrasure and flung his weight upon him and bent him backward across the sill, and fear took hold of him and he shouted shrill in his fear. But now the King's body held his body and the King's broad hands were at his throat, and his head went backward and out and his strength passed and he moaned and the King thrust him down and leaned out, watching him roll in the air.

Into the room breathless broke Baldwin of Ghent crying, "My lord, my lord."

The King turned smiling and sat himself down and began to tear the sleeves of his shirt to bind his arms.

"In the fiend's name, where is my lord Roger?"

"Well spoken, friend," the King laughed. "Look and see." So Baldwin ran to the window, "See where he is gone. And see who comes." And Baldwin rumbled to himself in Flemish.

"Is this your work, my master?" he turned, threatening, his hand on his sword.

The King sprang up. "God's body, fellow, that well you know. It is his work who lies there. The fool who must needs be villain too. But these be my men who come upon you."

And while he spoke there ran in a man spattered with mud and horse's foam. "My lord—Baldwin —Baldwin, it is the King's banner they bear. I have seen it and de Lucy's and there is another company afar."

"There is your answer, rogues."

"You we hold still," Baldwin growled.

"At cost of your lives."

"You must be our ransom, my lord. This is the end of it," the Fleming shrugged.

"No ransom I. Out dog, and open your gates. Or soon or late you hang."

The Fleming looked again at the power that was closing upon the castle, looked long and fled.

So when the trumpets sounded the gates were already open and Baldwin of Ghent was gone. To the room in the tower Becket came and found the King on his knees.

When he made an end of his prayer he started up and "Thomas my friend," he took the man and kissed him. "Swift and sure are you."

"My most dear lord. I thank God this night. But it is not I that saved you, it is Bran the fool. He saw you taken. He brought me news."

"Aye, aye, true brother Bran," the King laughed.

"But how has it chanced, my lord?"

"Look from the window."

"That thing was Roger," the Chancellor said coldly. "But another lies there, my lord."

"By my folly and to my shame she lies dead. This was a saint, Thomas, and like a saint I will honour her, who knew not how to honour her in life. I am a desolate man. Hear the tale, friend," and he told it.

Becket crossed himself. "St. Mary crown her," he said. "She was holy." And then he turned away, and plucked at his chin.

"What is in your mind, man?"

Becket's face set like stone, but his eyes glittered. "My lord, I have no will to speak. But just it is and right you know all. This is true that the knave Roger said. The Queen was to ride here to meet him this night. We stayed her already in the saddle and hardly stayed her."

"God's body, that viper made the plot!"

"I say not that, my lord. Judge you."

"False she is and was ever false. Her lean hands are wet with Izan's blood. And I—I," he gnawed at his fingers.

"The King is just," Becket said. "Let justice be done." "Doubt me not," the King started up. "To horse, to horse!"

So in Bridgenorth to hold the castle de Lucy was left and the King stormed back to Shrewsbury.

You see him again in that room among his books, Becket standing before him, grave and austere. Bran at his feet fondling him. "My brother, my brother, there are wounds on you."

"The fox snaps when you break him. It is nothing. Where is my true Queen, Bran?"

"Nay, brother, I know not. The best of all is you are safe. Oh give God thanks and be kind."

"Fool, fool," the King put a hand on the big head. "You would cry heaven in hell. Bid her come, my lord."

"Oh Henry, my brother, speak peace, peace. There is no right in vengeance. You have made children, the woman and you. The past is dead. You are still to live and peace wins all."

"My fool," the King said gently. "Aye, the past is dead. Speak no more."

"Oh my brother, my brother," Bran groaned.

The Queen swept in and stood silent.

"You give me no welcome, madame?"

"I give you no welcome," she said. "Your fool was there to welcome you."

"You ask no pardon?"

And she laughed.

"You have chosen. Be it so. I have no more honour for you and I will not live with you. But free I may not trust you. You are held in ward, madame."

"I am your Queen," she cried.

"You are" he stopped a moment. "My prisoner. Go."

"I claim my children, Henry."

He looked at her heavily. "Yes. My children are yours."

She laughed again and swept out.

The King lay back with his head fallen on his breast. "Let me alone, good friends, let me alone." Bran kissed his hand and Bran's tears were wet on it. As they went out he fell on his knees and they heard him pray.

On the dark stair Bran reeled and Becket stayed him: "Why, man, courage. He hath dealt with her wisely and well."

"Yea, a hard man are you," Bran said.

"This is not I. But this is just, this is merciful. For the King is more than all."

"Na, na, na, God's peace is more than all," Bran cried. "Oh wise man Thomas, what peace shall he see in all his days?"