"Natheless, "t is a maid hath a kindly heart," said G.o.diyeva. "Did me and my sisters a good turn I "ll not forget."
"Wilt speak with her, mistress? I "ll bring her," quoth Sir John.
But the Queen stayed him with a frown and "Let be!" and when she had looked beyond Calote she saw the sober gentleman that stood not far off, and to him she beckoned, smiling:--
"A ballad, Master Gower,--nay, leave excuse; thy French is not of Paris,--"t is a fault forgiven long since and thrice o"er;--abate!"
So this sober gentleman that was Master Gower sat him down lowly at the feet of Joanna the Fair, and having thrust his finger in his gold collar, as it choked him, anon he began:--
"Au mois de Mars, u tant y ad nuance Puiss resembler les douls mais que j"endure:"
"Saint Denys!" cried the Queen, "if we must endure the winds and woes of March in verite, yet may we escape them in song. Shall not the poet defy the calendar?"
"Yea, madame, shall he," a.s.sented Master Gower, very humble, "an his lady will. He "ll sing of May."
"Ay, do!" said the Queen.
Calote looked on Master Chaucer and caught his eyes a-twinkle; but immediately he had bent his head to stare on the ground; and John Gower was begun anew:--
"Pour comparer ce jolif temps de Maii, Jeo le dirrai semblable a Paradis; Cars lors chantont et Merle et Papegai, Les champs sont vert, les herbes sont floris, Lors est nature dame du paiis; Dont Venus poignt l"amant au tiel a.s.sai, Q"encontre amour n"est qui poet dire Nai."
The King stood by the door, with finger on lip to still the chamberlain, but now he came into the hall betwixt Robert de Vere and Etienne Fitzwarine, and he hung upon Etienne"s arm:--
"Mes amis, I crave pardon of my discourtesy," he said, laughing; "but what would you? Robert Hales did threat me he "d have this my new cote hardie in p.a.w.n to the Lombards for to pay England"s debt, but if I would not give ear to this folly of the poll-tax. And if treasury "s empty, "t is Robert Hales must know, he keeps the key. Natheless, Simon Sudbury hath took pity on me, and I "m scaped with the coat on my back."
This cote hardie was of velvet, white, thick encrusted with jewels,--pearls and blue stones. Richard"s hosen were azure, and his shoes cloth-of-silver with Paul"s windows carven on them, the toes of them turned upward and clasped to golden chains that hung from his knees, for the more ease in walking. He greeted his mother and bent above her hand, then sat him down in his chair beside hers on the dais, and Robert de Vere unchained his shoes.
"Etienne," said the King. Stretching forth one leg and the other to de Vere, he spoke behind his hand to Stephen, who presently, but with a sour visage, strode down the hall to the place where Long Will stood, and Calote sheltered behind his skirts.
"Thou must to the dais; "t is the King"s pleasure," said Stephen.
"Nay, not I," she pleaded, "not in this company. "T is my father shall tell a tale to the King."
"Sweet, we may not gainsay the King in this matter," Stephen made answer, sad. "Have no fear; shall none harm come to thee."
So she went with him and kneeled down before the King, and Richard, when he had lifted her up, said:--
"Look ye, mes doux amis, this damsel, when that my grandfather Edward lay dead, was first in England to do me homage." He bent his head as he were musing, and then: "She told me I should be a great King." His mouth and eyes smiled whimsical; anon, looking to the door of the Council Chamber whence he was come, he flung forth his arm: "Yonder "s the King!" he said. "Hath as many heads as old dragon, and every head gnaweth other.--Natheless,"--and now he set his chin defiant,--"natheless, I have not signed Richard"s name to this remedy of the poll-tax." Then, swift, defiance melted, and his lips curled to a rueful smile,--"Not yet."
"Alack, for the cote hardie!" murmured de Vere; but Richard turned on him:--
"Have it, thou!" he cried. "I am anoint; what though I rule England body-naked,--I "m a king." He made as to do off the coat, but when the Queen said: "Sire, my Lord of Oxford can wait; "s not a-cold," he laughed and b.u.t.toned it again.
"Tell them who "s a-cold," he said to Calote. "Tell them, as thou hast told me that day long since,--as Etienne hath told me this seven month he "s come home. Last night in my dream I heard a bell tolling, out of the midst of jollite; and one said that King Richard had betrayed his people and was dead."
"Richard, sire, sweet son!" the Queen protested. "How dost thou abash this fair company with thy mournful speech. Is "t for this cause we are met together, to prate of pauvrete? We be bounteous almsgivers, all. Here am I foiled of the ending of good Master Gower"s ballad,--and Dan Chaucer bretful of new tales."
"I pray you pardon, madame, I had forgot," Richard said soberly, and sat him down again at her side. "This business of the tax hath fretted me. "T is weary waiting, to sit by the while counsellors wrangle. But if they knew that that I know!"--He clenched his right hand, then shook himself with an impatient sigh: "Where is thy father, maiden,--he that writ the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman,--is he here? Let him come hither, Etienne."
"Nay, Richard, "t is a mournful Vision," the Queen began; "Master Chaucer will tell us a merrier tale. Let us have done with sad thoughts."
"Madame, though I may not rule England but by the will of my Council, I pray you give me leave to be so far a king that I may choose mine own minstrels and mine own thoughts. Give you good day, friend; so, thou art Long Will,--well named."
Langland was come by now to the dais and kneeled down; but presently he arose and stood a little way off in the midst of the hall, where was a s.p.a.ce cleared. And all the court eyed him curiously; for many knew him, having seen him in London streets. So he began to tell the fable of the rats that would have belled the cat.
Calote went pale, then red. Stephen bit his lip. Up and down the hall men stirred with covert smiles and drooping eyes that glanced secretly at the King. There were not a-many folk in England, n.o.ble or peasant, but they had heard this fable. Nevertheless, now was the first time ever a minstrel had made bold to tell it at court. Richard"s eyes laughed; he sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin in his hand, looking out upon his courtiers. Of these, Dan Chaucer only stared open on the singer, and he with a frown betwixt his brows, as he were knocking at memory"s door.
"For a cat of a court came when him liked,"
said Will Langland,--
"And overleapt them lightly and caught them at his will, And played with them perilously and pushed them about."
As it had been the Gospel at Ma.s.s, very solemn he said it and all that came after: as how these rats took counsel together to rid them of the cat, and in the end was found none so bold to hang the bell about the cat"s neck.--And of all that company none laughed, excepting it were Dan Chaucer, and he silently, that his belly shook, and not at the tale neither, but to see this threadbare clerk making a mock of England afore the King"s face. For all they knew well the cat was to mean old Edward; and for the kitten, he also was known.
Said Will:--
""Where the cat is but a kitten the court is very miserable;"
Witness of holy writ who so can read _Ue terre ubi puer est rex: Salamon_."
"Natheless, Sir Poet," Richard said soft, "when the kitten is grown to be a cat, haply he "ll mend his ways."
"Sire, a cat is a cat," quoth Will.
The King flushed and tapped his foot on the floor, but when his mother would have risen up in anger, he stayed her with:--
"Patience, Madame; Dan Chaucer shall have his turn." And to Will he said: "So, friend, what though thou tweak my tail, I "ll not use my claws," and held out his hand, the which Will Langland kissed and returned to his place by the wall, with a smile, very sad, a-shining out of his eyes.
"Sire," said Chaucer, "I "ve a fable; "t is not yet told in this company, nor writ neither."
Thereupon he began to speak concerning a poor widow that had a barnyard and a c.o.c.k,--
"His comb was redder than the fine coral, And battled as it were a castle wall."
Anon, Master Chaucer was this very Chaunteclere, a-strut in barnyard.
And immediately that uneasy silence that held the court was lifted, and all men tiptoed to see,--and had well-nigh drowned the voice of Chaunteclere in their laughter. Then was the poet suddenly transformed unto Dame Pertelote, the hen,--
"... discreet, and debonnaire, And companable,"--
that hearkened the dream of her lord and counselled him to eat elderberry and ivy and other such herbs for to cure his digestion.--And the Queen and her ladies might not stint the tears that rolled adown their faces for joy of this tale.
But when Sir Chaunteclere was cozened to sing for Dan Russel the fox,--
"And on a Friday fell all this mischance,"--
then leaned those courtiers one upon another with groaning and gasping of mirth to see how Master Chaucer--
"... stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close, And gan to crowe loude for the nonce."