When I come to think about it, I doubt if there ever were a saint in our family. Of course we are one of the oldest families in Poitou, and indeed I might say, in France; for Count Hugues I. lived about nine hundred years after our Lord, and that is nearly as far back as Charlemagne. And Monseigneur has no one above him but our gracious Lord the Count of Poitou, who is in his turn a vassal of our suzerain, the King of England, and he pays homage to the King of France.
I never did like that, and I don't now. I cannot see why our King should pay homage to the King of France for his dominions on this side of the sea.[#] The French say there were Kings in France before there ever were in England. Well, that may be so: but I am sure it was not long before, and our King is every bit as good as the King of France. When Raoul wants to tease me, he says I am a Frenchwoman. And I won't be called a Frenchwoman. I am not a subject of King Louis. I am a Poitevine, and a subject of the Lord Henry, King of England and Count of Poitou, to begin with: and under him, of his son the Lord Richard,[#] who is now our young Count; and beneath him again, of Monseigneur, my own father, who has as much power in his own territory as the King himself.
[#] This homage, exacted by the Kings of France, was always a sore subject with the Kings of England, who took every opportunity of evading that personal payment of it which it was the anxiety of the French monarchs to secure.
[#] Cœur-de-Lion.
It is true, Monseigneur's territory is not very large. But Father Eudes told us one day, when he was giving us our Latin lessons, that the great Emperor of Rome, Monseigneur Julius Cæsar, who was such a wonderful man and a great magician, used to say that he would rather be the first in a village than the second in imperial Rome itself. And that is just what I feel. I would rather be the Damoiselle Elaine, daughter of Monseigneur the Count of Lusignan, than I would be the niece or cousin of the Queen of France. I do like to be at the top of everything. And I would rather be at the top of a little thing than at the bottom of a big one.
Marguerite smiles and shakes her head when I say so to her. She says it is pleasanter down at the bottom. It makes me laugh to hear her. It is natural enough that she should think so, as she is only a villein, and of course she is at the bottom. And it is very well if she likes it. I could never bear it. But then I am noble, and it could not be expected that I should do so.
Though we never had a saint in our House, yet, as every one knows, we sprang from a supernatural source. The root of the House of Lusignan was the Fairy Mélusine, who was the loveliest creature imaginable, but half woman and half serpent. I do not know when she lived, but it must have been ages ago; and she built the Castle of Lusignan by enchantment. Sometimes, on a still summer evening, any one who is out alone will catch a glimpse of her, bathing in the fountain which stands in the pleasance.[#] I would not cross the pleasance after dark on a summer evening—no, not to be made a queen. I should be frightened to death of seeing the Lady Mélusine. For when any one of our line is about to die, she is sure to appear, so I should think I was going to die if I saw her. She comes, too, when any great calamity is threatening France. Perhaps I should not be quite sure to die, but I would rather not risk it. I never did see her, the saints be thanked; and Marguerite says she never did. I think she cannot have appeared for a long time. About forty years ago, before the death of the Lady Poncette, Countess of Angoulême, who was a daughter of our House, Arlette, the mother of our varlet Robert, thought she saw the Lady Mélusine; but it was nearly dark, and there were trees between them, and Arlette is near-sighted, so it was not possible to be sure. But she says her mother-in-law's niece's grand-aunt really did see her, and no mistake at all about it. She was bathing in the fountain, and she splashed her long tail about till the maiden almost lost her wits from the fright. And the very next year, Count Hugues the Good was murdered by the Duke of Guienne's people. Which shows plainly that there are such things as ghosts.
[#] Pleasure-grounds.
The night before Guy went away—can it be two evenings since,—only two?—we crept into the long gallery, as we two always do when we want a quiet talk, and sat down in that window from which you get the lovely view of the church spire through the trees, across the river. That is always our favourite window. Guy was trying to comfort me, and I am rather afraid I was crying. And he said, drawing me up to him, and kissing me,—
"Now, my little Elaine, there have been tears enough for once. I am not going to forget thee, any more than thou meanest to forget me. When I have fought the Saracens, and taken Saladin captive, and brought him in chains to Jerusalem, and the King has made me a Count, and given me a beautiful lady for my wife, and everybody is talking about me,"—of course I knew that was only Guy's fun; he did not really expect all that,—"then," he went on, "I will send home for Amaury and my little pet, and you shall come to me in the Holy Land. Monseigneur promised me that, thou knowest. He said it would be an excellent thing for thee; because thou wouldst not only have all thy sins forgiven at the Holy Sepulchre, but very likely I should have the chance of getting a good husband for thee. And I have talked well to Amaury about taking care of thee on the journey; and Marguerite must attend thee. So look forward to that, Lynette, and dry those red eyes."