“Dame,” said I, “the Lord King bade me to serve you with all honour and reverence. And he said, for my Lord of March—”
“Fare forth!” (go on) she cried, though I scarce knew that I paused.
“He answered, that no worser should befall him than he had caused to better men than he.”
“Mary, Mother!”
I thought I had scarce ever heard wofuller wail than she made then. She sank down in the bed, clutching the coverlet with her hands, and casting it over her, as she buried her face in the pillows. I went nigh, and drew the coverlet full setely (properly, neatly) over her.
“Let be!” she saith in a smothered voice. “It is all over. Life must fare forth, and life is of no more worth. My bird is flown from the cage, and none can win him back. Is there so much as one of the saints will speak for me? As I have wrought, so hast Thou paid me, God!”
Not an other word spake she all the livelong day. Never day seemed longer than that weary eve of Saint Ursula (October 20th). That morrow were taken in the town the two sons of my Lord of March, Sir Edmund and Sir Geoffrey, beside divers of his friends—Sir Oliver Byngham, Sir Simon de Bereford, and Sir John Deveroil the chief. All were sent that same day under guard to London, with the Mortimer himself.
No voice compassionated him. Nay, “my Lord of March” was no more, but in every man’s mouth “the Mortimer” as of old time. Some that had seemed his greatest losengers (flatterers) now spake of him with the most disdain, while they that, while they allowed him not (did not approve of him), had yet never abused ne reviled him, were the least wrathful against him. I heard that when he was told of all, my Lord of Lancaster flung up his cap for joy.
Some things afterward said were not true. It was false slander to say, as did some, that the Mortimer was taken in the Queen’s own chamber. He was arrest in the Bishop of Lincoln’s chamber (which had his lodging next the Queen), and in conference with the said Bishop. They took not that priest of Baal; I had shed no tears had they so done. Sir Hugh de Turpington and Sir John Monmouth, creatures of the Mortimer, were slain; Sir John Neville, on the other side, was wounded.
Fourteen charges were set forth against the Mortimer. The murder of King Edward was one; the death of my Lord of Kent an other. One thing was not set down, but every man knew how to read betwixt the lines, when the indictment writ that other articles there were against him, which in respect of the King’s honour were not to be drawn up in writing. Wala wa! there was honour concerned therein beside his own: but he was very tender of her. His way was hard to walk and beset with snares, and he walked it with cleaner feet than most men should. Never heard I from his lips word unreverent toward her; and if other lips spake the same to his knowing, they forthank (regretted) it.