Old songs, old legends and ancient words
They weave in the web as they pasture their herds
On the barren slopes of a mountain height
In the dusk of the lonely night.
Prayers and memories and wordless dreams,
Changeful shadows and lancet gleams,—
The Eden Tree in its folding wall
Knows them and guards them all.
To Moussoul market the rug they brought
With all its treasure of woven thought,
And thus over half a world of sea
Came the Wishing Rug to me.
XVII
THE HERBALIST’S BREW
HOW TOMASO, THE PHYSICIAN OF PADUA, FOUND A CURE FOR A WEARY SOUL
There was thunder in the air, one summer day in King’s Barton. Dame Lavender, putting her drying herbs under cover, wondered anxiously what Mary was doing. The moods of the royal lady in the castle depended very much on the weather, and both of late had been uncertain. Strong-willed, hot-tempered, ambitious and adventurous, this Queen had no traits that were suited to a quiet existence in the country. Yet she would have been about as safe a person to have at large as a wild-cat among harriers. Whoever had the worst of it, the fight would be sensational.
When made prisoner she was on the way to the court of France, in which her rebellious sons could always find aid. Aquitaine was all but in open revolt against the Norman interloper—it was only through her that Henry had held that province at all. Scotland was ready for trouble at any time; Ireland was in tumult; the Welsh were in a permanent state of revolt. But Norman though he was, the King had won his way among his English subjects. They never forgot that he was only half Norman after all. His Saxon blood, cold and stubborn, steadied his Norman daring, and he could be alternately bold and crafty.
Eleanor of Aquitaine was more an exile in her husband’s own country than she would have been in France or Italy. His people might rebel against their King themselves, but they did not sympathize with her for doing it. They were as unfeeling as their gray, calm skies.
Instead of weeping and bemoaning herself she made life difficult for her household. Oddly enough the two English girls got on with her better than the rest. Mary’s even, sunny temper was never ruffled, and Barbara’s North-country disposition had an iron common-sense at the core. The gentle-born damsels of the court were too yielding.