She was not the least what I had looked for. I had pictured Edward’s noble dame, the daughter of the knightly house of Hainault, as pale and proud and dark—the fit wife to her warlike husband, and a meet mother to her son. But this one was lank and yellow, comely enough no doubt and tall, with a mighty proud light in her eyes when occasion served, and a right royal bearing, yet still somehow not quite that which I expected. What did it matter? Was it not the Queen, and was not that enough? Gods! What should it count what color was her hair, since my master found it good enough? And, in truth, but I had something to say would bring the red into those lackluster cheeks, or Philippa were unlike all other women. Therefore, with a shout of triumph that shocked the mild courtiers, brandishing my precious script above my head, I leaped forward, and, dashing up that open crimson road, ran straight to the footstool of the Royal lady, and there dropping on one knee:
“Hail! Royal mother,” I cried.
“Thanks!” she said sardonically, as soon as she regained her composure. “Thanks, gentle maid!”
“Madam,” I cried, “I come, a herald, charged with splendid news of conquest! But one day since, over in famous France, thy loyal English troops have won such a victory against mighty odds as lends a new luster even to the broad page of English valor. But one day since, in your noble General’s tent——”
But by this time all the throng of courtiers had found their tongues, and some certain quantity of those senses whereof my sudden entry had bereft them. While a few, who caught the meaning of my word, and, stopping not to argue, thought it was the news indeed of a victory that glittering Court had long hoped for, broke out into tumultuous cheering—waving scarf and handkerchief, and throwing wide the lattices, that the common folk without might share their noisy joy, those others who stood closer around, and saw my ragged habiliments, could not believe it.
“You a herald!” exclaimed one grizzled veteran in slashed black velvet over pearly satin. “You a messenger chosen for such an errand! Madam,” he cried, drawing out a long rapier from its velvet case, “it is some madman, some brain-sick soldier. I do implore your Grace to let me call the guards.”
“An assassin! an assassin!” cried another. “Run him through, Lord Fodringham! Give him no chance or parley!”
“’Tis past belief!” exclaimed a dainty fellow, all perfumed lace and golden chains. “Such glad tidings are not trusted to base country curs.”
“A fool!” “A rogue!” “A graceless villain!” they shouted. “Stab him! drag him from the presence! Fie upon the billmen to let such scullions in upon us!” And thick these pretty peers came clustering on me, the while their ladies screamed, and all was stormy tumult.
Up, then, I jumped to my feet, and hot and wrathful, shaking my clenched fist in the faces of those glittering lords, broke out: “By the bright light of day, Sirs, he who says I have a better here in this hall, lies—lies loud and flatly. Do you think, because I come clad like this, you may safely spend your shallow wit upon me? I tell you all, pretty silken spaniels that you are! you, Fodringham, with the gilded toothpick you miscall a sword! you there, Sir, who reek of musk and valor! and all you others, who keep so discreetly out of arm’s reach!—I tell you every one that, in court or camp, in tilt or tourney, I am your mate! Ah, Sirs, and this rusty country smock, blazoned by miry ways and hasty travel; this muddy tabard here, because ’tis upon a herald’s breast, is more honorable wear than any silken surtout that you boast of. Gods, gentlemen! if so there be that any one here in truth misdoubts it, let me entreat his patience; let me humbly crave the boon that he will hold his mettled valor in curb just so long as I may render that message which I surely have at this Royal footstool, and then, on horse or foot, with mace or sword, I will show him my credentials!” But none of that glittering throng had aught to say. Those bold, silken lordlings pushed back in a wide circle from where I stood, fierce and tall in my muddy rags, and fumbled their golden dagger-knobs, and studied with drooped heads the dainty silk rosettes upon their cork-heeled shoes.