In Convent Walls: The Story of the DespensersHolt, Emily Sarah
History
In Convent Walls: The Story of the Despensers
Holt, Emily Sarah
Great Britain -- History -- Edward II, 1307-1327 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
In hall, during dinner. I cast eyes from time to time on the Queen, and
I could not but think Dame Tiffany spake sooth. She looked fair
haggard, as though some bitter care were eating out her heart. I never
loved her, as I said at the first: but that morn I felt sorry for her.
Sorry for _her_! Ah, I soon knew what sore cause there was to be sorry
to the very soul for some one else!
It was while we were sat at supper that Donald came. I saw him enter
from the high table where I sat, and I knew in an instant that he
brought some fearsome tidings. I lost him in the crowd at the further
end, and then Mereworth, one of the varlets of the King's chamber, came
all in haste up the hall, with a face that had evil news thereon writ:
and Sir John de Ros, that was then Seneschal, saw him, and guessing, as
I think, the manner of word he brought, stepped down from the dais to
meet him. Then, in an other minute, I saw Donald brought up to the King
and to the Queen.
I watched them both. As Donald's news was told, the young King's face
grew ashen pale, and he cried full dolefully "_Dieu eit mercie_!" The
news troubled him sore and sure enough. But the Queen's eyes, that a
moment before had been full of terror and untholemodness [impatience],
shot out one flash of triumphant gladness: and the next minute she had
hidden her face in her sudary, and was greeting as though her heart had
broke. I marvelled what tidings they could be, that were tene [grief]
to the King, and blisfulhed [happiness] to the Queen. Sir John de
Gaytenby, the King's confessor, was sat next to me at the table, and to
him I said--
"Father, can you guess what manner of news Donald de Athole shall have
brought?"
"Ay, daughter," he made answer. "Would I were in doubt!"
"You think--?" I asked him, and left him to fill up.
"I think," he saith in a low voice somewhat sorrowful of tone, "that God
hath delivered from all labour and sorrow one of His servants that trust
in Him."
"Why, that were nought to lament o'er!" I was about to say; but I
stayed me when half through. "Father, you mean there is man dead?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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