The Fool (Bailey)/Chapter 22

ROTHER Siward," said Bran, "do you know who taught men to work? It was my lord the devil. "How, fool?" saith Sir Siward, crossing himself like a good Christian. "Why, thus, knight. The devil he tempted Adam and Adam he fell and was cursed therefore and his curse was that in the sweat of his brow he should eat his bread, him and his seed after him. And God have mercy, they do sweat, your men here. I am a-weary to see them. I will go watch the trees grow."

Furnaces glowed and hammers clanged in finery and chafery, men toiled to and fro with baskets of charcoal, baskets of brown ore. "God is my life, you have thriven, Siward," the King turned to the ironmaster, "you have grown, and still you are mighty busy."

"So it is, my lord. I cannot tell why."

"Because you are an honest fellow and shrewd," the King clapped him on the shoulder.

Simon was still pensive. "My iron is good iron. But men want more and yet more this year and cannot have enough."

Bran was away beside the stream that fed the hammer pond and he plucked yellow iris and twisted it into a wreath for the black hair of the girl who sat beside him. "Fie, you look at me as if you were a thousand years old and a thousand years wise," he complained. "And so I am," her lips smiled but not her eyes, "but to you always a child, Bran."

"Na, na," he passed his hands about her shape, as though he were moulding her, yet never touched her, "that is not and I would not will it, I. Child of my heart you were, maid of my heart you are. But the woman is in your eyes now."

"Time enough, oh, time enough," she said, and laughed. Bran took a silver brooch from his scrip and fastened the two black braids of her hair together on her bosom. "See, it is a lion to guard you till you render yourself."

She cried out in a pretty pleasure, she fingered the silver lion and started up, drawing her blue gown about her to look at herself, a little creature, finely made. "He shall guard me; till my lord Bran bids me yield."

"Nenny, nenny, not poor Bran," he cried. "What is not done of yourself is ill done."

"Alas, my lord, one does not choose, one is chosen. It is the doom of maids."

Then he kissed her and went after his King.

Over the hills they rode and through corn to the dank meadows of the Wey valley and so to the rolling grey heath.

The King was silent, riding ahead of his knights alone with Bran and coming out of his thoughts once and again in many a mile. The day was waning, and a cloud bank across the western sky and the heath grew darker, and far away the rise and fall of it loomed dim. Bran sniffed at the air like a dog and rose in his saddle and looked all about. The King became aware of him: "What is in your head, man?"

"This place is full of life, brother."

"This heath?" The King stared and laughed. "Why, man, we could see man or beast a mile off and I see none."

"Sooth, sooth. What I feel I cannot see, here are a-many where none should be, and Henry, my brother, it likes not me."

"The heath is bare as my hand and empty," the King decided. "You are a dreamer, Bran"; and he went back to his thoughts.

In a while they came into the forest and to the castle at Windsor. When they had supped and in the King's chamber Bran lay at his feet, the King opened his mind. "He thrives, Master Siward. He has made himself mighty."

"A wise man he is and kindly. Yet he thrives. He hath lands and gold and children to his desire. And still is kindly."

"He has children to come after him. I had a wife when I was young, Bran."

"Yea, yea, and your children are her children, brother," Bran looked up.

"I have need of them now. God is my life, what am I? I grow old. This realm has need of them, this realm that I have made."

"You have held their mother in ward long years."

"She has had the honour of a Queen. I have done her no wrong who wronged me, unless I wronged her to take her to wife. By holy rood and holy thorn, I have been a just man all my days."

"And she—she has bred her sons there where she lay under guard."

"God's body, should I take the boys from their mother? You call me a hard man, brother Bran. I spared her that."

"Has she thanked you, brother?"

"Yes, faith, time and again she has thanked me for it. Nay, man, she is a woman though she loves me not. She is a Queen in her heart and her lads are bred to be kings. And bold lads they are and noble and manhood comes on them now. It is time, God knows. I grow old and men think I grow weak. The barons lift their heads here and beyond the sea, and everywhere I cannot be. Do you know what I have in mind, old Bran? I will leave Henry here to be King in England for me, while I take the young ones over sea and school Normandy and Aquitaine."

"God send you a good deliverance," said Bran.

"From what, fool?"

"Nay, brother, I know not, I. But you go to your trial."

"So it is, faith," the King laughed, "but so it must be. They will have to take it when it falls from my hands. Let them work the sheep while the old dog is here to save the flock if they run wild. A man must learn his trade at his trade."

Thereafter he took counsel in his fashion with the justiciar and the men he trusted, telling them what he had resolved and answering what they had against it, and he made ready to seek his Queen in the castle where she was guarded. None withstood him. He had ruled long and with a heavy hand upon whosoever was against his will. There was talk that his day was done. Some of his barons were weary of peace and wished the old days back that they might be without a master and thrive on civil war. It was plain that he would need what strength he could find, and each day he let go by without owning and establishing his heirs was a temptation to his enemies.

And yet: "What, old Bran," the justiciar said, "so we be to serve two masters, you and I."

Bran rolled heavy eyes at him: "Out of the smoke into the smother, poor Bran is old, poor Bran is a-cold, when his heart is broke will you buy him another?"

The King went his way and sought out his Queen after many a year. She waited him in her own chamber. She rose at his coming and stood. She was no younger than he, but a stately woman, tall and still, in a robe of mourning. "I would bid you welcome, my lord, if this were my house," she said.

"If I had been welcome, I had not been so long away. The past is as it is, Eleanor. But your honour is mine. And for your honour and mine I am come."

"You speak your prisoner fair, my lord. I remember fair words of old. And again you would take what is mine."

"I would give to those who are mine and yours. And you have not answered. Come, will you speak me fair?" "You can give to my children no more than is theirs of right. Shall I thank you for that, my lord?"

"God's body, what are thanks between man and wife?" the King cried.

"Am I your wife? I had forgotten."

"Have you forgotten the children you bore?" He stared at her, the bulky restless man, swaying, plucking his belt, fretting at her still calm. "God's my life, there is no fruit of bitterness. Call friends or have done. It is time the lads stood to their places. Do you give good will to it, aye or no?"

"You are in haste, my lord. That was your way ever. You have taught me to wait."

"A realm's need will not wait. Henry to hold England while I go oversea. Aquitaine for Richard and Brittany for Geoffrey, and I will find some fief for little John. Are you content?"

"Henry is to be called King."

"Henry shall be King with me while I live and King after me."

She smiled. "Long live the King," she said. "I thank you. Be it so."

"And I—I am left alone."

"We are all alone in the end of the day."

"You have chosen it. I do not choose. I will go oversea and go with Richard, and go among my own people, or I will have none of it."

The King bit his hands and after a while, "Well, have it so," he said, "I will not deny you. I will appoint you a place."

"You are gracious, my lord," she said, and bent and offered him her cheek.

So he bore back his sons with him to Westminster, and the new order was declared and the King owned his son Henry King of England with him, equal in honour and power, and to the young King men did homage. He was a comely lad and gracious, and he made no enemies. There were those who gave thanks that he was the first born and not Richard, a young giant with no respect nor favour for any man.

"How say you, old friend?" the King talked to his justiciar. "Can you work for your new King?"

"A new master is apt to want new men, my lord. But I serve him with good will."

"You serve me, Richard de Luci," the King said gravely, and gave his hand.

"Always, my lord," the justiciar held it, looking in his eyes.

"Say your mind."

"It is in my mind that Henry Fitz Henry is something light to ride this wild horse which is our England."

"You say well. Therefore I leave you to ride with him. You are not light, my friend."

"Nenny, nenny," Bran said. "But if two men ride a horse one must ride behind, brother."

"And from behind a man may guide, brother Bran."

And then the young King came upon them, and the King talked policy and the young man took his schooling happily.… "So I leave you, my son. God watch between us. Here is one with you that knows my mind," he laid his hand on the justiciar's shoulder. "And you will find none wiser."

"I shall know how to honour him." The lad bowed and smiled.

"There stands my brother, like himself, 'twixt a wise man and a fool!" It was Richard's loud, jolly voice. He clapped his father on the shoulder. "Come, sir, will you ride? They wait for us. And brother Henry is hungry to be King!"

"Ride on with your train, boy. I follow," the King waved him away.

"The King is dead. Long live the King!" Richard cried and swaggered out.

"Care for my fool, Henry," the King said, and Bran started up with a cry. "There is none has loved me better in all my days than brother Bran."

"I would not have you say that, my lord. But my fool he shall be for your sake, nay and for his own. I love a gentle fool, and gentle he is, your Bran," and he held out his hand debonair for Bran to kiss.

But afterwards when the King was going, Bran ran after him and plucked at him and drew him aside. "What is this, brother?" he said, and the tears ran down his face. "I have never lost you since first I found you till now. And now you cast me off without word said."

"I could not bring my heart to it till the last. Oh, Bran, old Bran, we have been long together."

"Yea, yea, and for ever," Bran sobbed.

"But I must have with the boy one who knows my heart for him and one who knows his heart for me. You keep my heart in England. I have done well, be sure I have done well."

"Oh, Henry, my brother, it shall be well done," Bran said, and clung to him and let him go.