“He learned you not, I reckon, that woman includeth man,” saith Sir John, somewhat after the same manner.
“Ah, woe worth the day!” Sir Simon fetched an heavy sigh. “Well, God forgive us all!”
“Amen!” Sir John made answer.
I think few men were in the realm that did not believe the King’s death was murder. But nought was done to discover the murderers, neither to bring them to justice. It was not until after the Mortimer was out of the way that any such thing was done. When so it was, mandate was issued for the arrest of Sir Thomas de Gournay, Constable of Bristol Castle, and William de Ocle, that had been keepers of the King at Berkeley Castle. What came of Ocle know I not; but Sir Thomas fled beyond seas to the King’s dominions of Spain (Note 3), and was afterwards taken. But he came not to trial, for he died on the way: and there were that said he knew too much to be permitted to make defence. (Note 4.)
The next thing that happed, coming under mine eyes, was the young King’s betrothal and marriage. The Lady Philippa of Hainault, that was our young Queen, came over to England late in that same year, to wit, the first of King Edward, and was married the eve of the Conversion of Saint Paul, the year of our Lord 1327, after the computation of the Church of England (Note 5). Very praisable (lovely) and fulbright (beautiful) was the said lady, being sanguine of complexion, of a full fair face, and fair hair, having grey (grey) cyen and rosen colour of her cheeks. She was the same age as the King, to wit, fifteen years. They were wed in York Minster.
“Where hast reached to, Sissot?” saith Jack, that was sat by the fire, as I was a-bending the tail of my Y in York.
“Right to the King’s wedding,” said I.
“How many more skins o’ parchment shall I bring thee for to set forth the gowns?”
“Dear heart!” cried I, “must I do that for all that were there?”
“Prithee use thy discretion. I wist not a woman could write a chronicle without telling of every gown that came in her way.”