Under One Sceptre, or Mortimer's Mission: The Story of the Lord of the MarchesHolt, Emily Sarah
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Under One Sceptre, or Mortimer's Mission: The Story of the Lord of the Marches
Holt, Emily Sarah
Historical fiction; Mortimer, Roger de, Earl of March, 1328-1360 -- Fiction
Earl Roger found his Countess in the same room in which he had left her
when he went to Fleshy. Hypocras and spices, which constituted the
"void," a light meal corresponding to afternoon tea, were being served
round as he entered. Roger made his way to the side of Alianora,
declined the hypocras—a light, sweet wine—and sat down by her while she
sipped it.
"You are early, my Lord," said the Countess, whose eyes were occupied in
watching an interchange of frothy banter between a knight and a lady at
a little distance.
"I had need, my Lady. Will it meet with your wishes to follow me to
Ireland, whether urgent cause removeth me, and without delay?"
"Ireland! What part of Ireland?"
"Kilkenny, at the first; afterward, maybe, to Trim."
"And what moveth your Lordship to go among those savages, who should
scantly wit if you ware red velvet or blue damask?"
"Those savages are my kinsfolk, under your Ladyship’s leave. Moreover,
savages commonly have better sight than civil[#] men."
[#] Civilised.
"Verily, your Lordship hath some sweet kinsfolk to wake your pride!"
said the Countess with a light laugh.
"Therein is your Ladyship not deceived," was the dry answer. "I leave
behind me some most sweet ones. Well, what saith your Ladyship to my
point?"
"What, _I_ go to Ireland? Gramercy, your Lordship is pleasant! Aye,
when I have cause to wear up mine old gowns and ugsome[#] head-gear,
then will I think of following you in that direction. But till it so
happen, under your leave, I would as lief ’bide on Paul’s Wharf or at
Ludlow."
[#] Ugly.
"As your Ladyship will."
"When go you? Soon, is it?—this next week?"
"I set forth as four o’clock to-morrow morning."
"And you looked for me to go withal? Verily, what unwitty[#] fantasies
have these men! Why, one might scarce fold a borel[#] cloth in the
time. What moveth you to be thus foot-hot,[#] forsooth?"
[#] Silly.
[#] A very common, coarse material.
[#] In hot haste.
"There is cause, Dame," said the Earl gravely.
"Then I bid your Lordship good even," said the Countess, laughing, "for
elsewise shall you ne’er have space to put on your hood. I wish you a
joyous meeting with those your dear kinsfolk, and that they may not eat
you ere I behold you again!"
She held out her hand, and he touched his lips to it.
"May God bless my Lady!" he said very gravely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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