“It is sore hard,” said I, “to keep one from despising such weakness.”
“It is full hard, soothly. I know but one way—to keep very near to Him that never spurned the weakest that prayed His help, and that tholed weakness amidst other meeknesses (humiliations), by reason that it behoved Him to resemble His brethren in all things. And some of His brethren are very weak. Sissot, when our daughters were babes, I was wont to think thou lovedst better Alice than Vivien, and I am nearhand secure that it was by reason she was the weaker of the twain, and pave thee the more thought.”
“Surely,” said I; “that alway holdeth good with a mother, that the barne which most needeth care is the dearest.”
Jack’s answer, I knew, came from Holy Writ.
“‘As by him whom his mother blandisheth, thus will I comfort you.’”
The Sunday after the Conversion of Saint Paul (February 1st, 1327) was the young King crowned in Westminster Abbey before the high altar, by Walter (Reynolds) Archbishop of Canterbury, that had been of old a great friend of King Edward the father, and was carried away like the rest by the glamour of the Queen. But his eyes were opened afore most other, and he died of a broken heart for the evil and unkindness which himself had holpen, the day of Saint Edmund of Pontigny (November 16th) next thereafter. Also present were nine bishops, the King’s uncles, and many nobles: yea, and Queen Isabel likewise, that caused us to array her in great doole (mourning), and held her sudary at her eyes nearhand all the office (Service) through. And it was no craft, for she could weep when it listed her—some women have that power—and her sudary was full wet when she returned from the Abbey. And the young King, that was but then full fourteen years of age, took oath as his father and all the kings had done afore him, that he would confirm to the people of England the laws and the customs to them granted by the ancient Kings of England his predecessors, the rights and offerings of God, and particularly the laws, customs, and liberties granted to the clergy and people by the glorious King, Saint Edward, his predecessor. He sware belike to keep unto God and holy Church, unto the clergy and the people, entire peace and concord to his power; to do equal and true justice in all his judgments, and discretion in mercy and truth; to keep the laws and righteous customs which the commons of his realm should have elected (Auera estu are the rather singular words used), and to defend and enforce them, to the honour of God and to his power. (Note 2.)
Six sennights we tarried at Westminster: but, lack-a-day! what a time had we at after! All suddenly the Queen gave order to depart thence. She controlled all things, and the King her son was but a puppet in her hands. How did we trapes up and down all the realm!
To Canterbury the first round, a-pilgrimage to Saint Thomas; then right up as far as York, where we tarried a matter of five weeks. Then to Durham, which we had scarce reached ere we were aflight again, this time to Auckland, and a bit into that end of Yorkshire; back again to Durham, then away to York, and ten days later whisked off to Nottingham; there a fortnight, off again to Lincoln. I guess well now, what I wist not then, the meaning of all this. It was to let the young King from taking thought touching his father, and all that had happed of late. While he was cheerful and delectable (full of enjoyment), she let him be; but no sooner saw she his face the least downfell (cast down) than she plucked him away, and put turn to his thoughts by sending him some other whither. It paid (Note 3) for a time.
It was while we were at Lincoln, where we tarried from the morrow of Holy Cross to Michaelmas Eve (September 15th to 28th), that Donald the Scots messager came from the southern parts with tidings. For some time—divers weeks, certes—afore that, had the Queen been marvellous unrestful and hard to serve. That which liked her yesterday was all out this morrow, and each matter man named for her plesance was worser than that had gone afore. I was nearhand driven out of senses that very morrow, so sharp (irritable) was she touching her array. Not a gown in her wardrobe would serve the turn; and when at last she chose which she would don, then were her hoods all awry; and then would she have no hood, but only a wimple of fair cloth of linen. Then, gramercy! such pains had we to find her a fillet: this was too deep, and that too narrow, and this set with amethysts should ill fit with her gown of rose-colour, and that wrought of lily-flowers should catch in her hair.
I wished me at the further end of the realm from Lincoln, ay, a dozen times twice told.