Presently he heard John Copeland singing without.  And through that instant, they say, his youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and all the scents and shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on that ancient night when a tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in her haste to bring him kingship.  “She waddles now,” he thought forlornly.  “Still, I am blessed.”  But Copeland sang, and the Brabanter’s heart was big with joy.

Sang John Copeland: 

  “Long I besought thee, nor vainly,
  Daughter of Water and Air—­
  Charis!  Idalia!  Hortensis! 
  Hast thou not heard the prayer,
  When the blood stood still with loving,
  And the blood in me leapt like wine,
  And I cried on thy name, Melaenis?—­
  That heard me, (the glory is thine!)
  And let the heart of Atys,
  At last, at last, be mine!

  “Falsely they tell of thy dying,
  Thou that art older than Death,
  And never the Hoerselberg hid thee,
  Whatever the slanderer saith,
  For the stars are as heralds forerunning,
  When laughter and love combine
  At twilight, in thy light, Melaenis—­
  That heard me, (the glory is thine!)
  And let the heart of Atys,
  At last, at last, be mine!”

THE END OF THE FIFTH NOVEL

VI

THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS

  “Je suis voix au desert criant
  Que chascun soyt rectifiant
  La voye de Sauveur; non suis,
  Et accomplir je ne le puis.”

THE SIXTH NOVEL.—­ANNE OF BOHEMIA HAS ONE SOLE FRIEND, AND BY HIM PLAYS THE FRIEND’S PART; AND IN DOING SO ACHIEVES THEIR COMMON ANGUISH, AS WELL AS THE CONFUSION OF STATECRAFT AND THE POULTICING OF A GREAT DISEASE.

The Story of the Satraps

In the year of grace 1381 (Nicolas begins) was Dame Anne magnificently fetched from remote Bohemia, and at Westminster married to Sire Richard, the second monarch of that name to reign in England.  This king, I must tell you, had succeeded while he was yet an infant, to the throne of his grandfather, the third King Edward, about whom I have told you in the story preceding this.

Queen Anne had presently noted a certain priest who went forbiddingly about her court, where he was accorded a provisional courtesy, and who went also into many hovels, where pitiable wrecks of humankind received his alms and ministrations.

Queen Anne made inquiries.  This young cleric was amanuensis to the Duke of Gloucester, she learned, and was notoriously a by-blow of the Duke’s brother, dead Lionel of Clarence.  She sent for this Edward Maudelain.  When he came her first perception was, “How wonderful is his likeness to the King!” while the thought’s commentary ran, unacknowledged, “Yes, as an eagle resembles a falcon!” For here, to the observant eye, was a more zealous person, already passion-wasted, and a far more dictatorial and stiff-necked person than the lazy and amiable King; also, this Maudelain’s face and nose were somewhat too long and high:  the priest was, in a word, the less comely of the pair by a very little, and to an immeasurable extent the more kinglike.