“Then, pray you, go not and die, Dame!”
“I am immortal till God bids me die,” she made answer. “But why should man die because he loveth Jesu Christ better than he was wont?”
“Oh, folks always do when they get marvellous good.”
“It were ill for the world an’ they so did,” saith my Lady. “That is bad enough to lack good folks.”
“It is bad enough to lack you,” saith Dame Hilda.
My Lady gave a little laugh, and so the converse ended.
The next thing that I can remember, after that, was the visit of our father. He only came that once, and tarried scarce ten days; but he took Nym and Geoffrey back with him. I heard Dame Hilda whisper somewhat to Tamzine, as though he had desired to have also one or two of the elder damsels, and that my Lady had so earnestly begged and prayed to the contrary that for once he gave way to her. It was not often, I think, that he did that. It was four years good ere we saw either of our brothers again—not till all was over—and then Geoff told us a sorry tale indeed of all that had happed.
It was at the time when our father paid us this visit that my marriage and that of Beatrice were covenanted. King Edward of Caernarvon had contracted my lord that now is to the Lady Alianora La Despenser, daughter of my sometime Lord of Gloucester (Hugh Le Despenser the Younger), who was put to death at Hereford by Queen Isabel. But she—I mean the Queen—who hated him and all his, sent the Lady Alianora to Sempringham, with command to veil her instantly, and gave the marriage of my Lord to my Lord Prince, the King that now is (Edward the Third). So my father, being then at top of the tree, begged the marriage for one of his daughters, and it was settled that should be me. I liked it well enough, to feel myself the most important person in the pageant, and to be beautifully donned, and all that; and as I was not to leave home for some years to come, it was but a show, and cost me nothing. I dare say it cost somebody a pretty penny. Beatrice was higher mated, with my Lord of Norfolk’s son, who was the King’s cousin, but he died a lad, poor soul! so her grandeur came to nought, and she wedded at last a much lesser noble.
Thus dwelt we maids with our mother in the Castle of Ludlow, seeing nought of the fine doings that were at Court, save just for the time of our marriages, which were at Wynchecombe on the day of Saint Lazarus, that is the morrow of O Sapientia (Note 4). The King was present himself, and the young Lady Philippa, who the next month became our Queen, and his sisters the Ladies Alianora and Joan, and more Earls and Countesses than I can count, all donned their finest. Well-a-day, but there must have been many a yard of velvet in that chapel, and an whole army of beasts ermines must have laid their lives down to purfile (trim with fur) the same! I was donned myself of blue velvet guarded of miniver, and wore all my Lady’s jewels on mine head and corsage; and marry, but I queened it! Who but I for that morrow, in very sooth!
Ay, and somebody else (Queen Isabelle, the young King’s mother) was there, whom I have not named. Somebody robed in snow-white velvet, with close hood and wimple, so that all that showed of her face was from the eyebrows to the lips,—all pure, unstained mourning white. Little I knew of the horrible stains on that black heart beneath! And I thought her so sweet, so fair! Come, I have spoken too plainly to add a name.