farther end of the room gazed at them with curiosity.
One of the blessings of our lot is to be ignorant of our end. And these four great barons were right to seize any opportunity to be amused; for one of them would be dead within two years; and another had but seven years to wait, almost to the day, to be dragged to execution in his turn at the horse's tai l through the streets of a town.
Laughing together had made them feel more friendly towards each other, Mortimer suddenly had the feeling that he had been admit ted to Valois' inner circle of power, and felt a little more at ease. He glanced sympathetically at Monseigneur Charles' face; it was a broad, high-coloured face, the face of a man who ate too much and whom the duties of his position deprived of the opportunity of taking enough exercise. Mortimer had not see n Valois since various meetings long ago: once in England during the celebrations for Queen Isabella's marriage, and a second time, in 1313, when he had accompanied the English sovereigns to Paris to p ay their first homage. And all this, which seemed but yesterday, was already in the distant past. Monseigneur of Valois, who had been a young man then, had since become this massive and imposing;' personage; and Mortimer himself had lived, on the best expectation of life, half his allotted span, if God willed that he should not be killed in battle, drowned at sea or die by the axe of Edward's executioner. To have reached the age of thirty-seven was already a long span, of life, particularly when you were surrounded by so many jealousies and enemies, when you had risked your life in tournaments and in war, and spent eighteen months in the dungeons of the Tower. Clearly, he must not waste his time, nor neglect opportunities for adventure. The idea of a crusade was beginning to interest' Roger Mortimer after all.
` And when will your ships sail, Monseigneur?' he asked.
`In eighteen months' time, I think,' replied Valois. `I shall send a third embassy to Avignon to make a definite arrangement about the subsidies, the Bulls of Indulgences, and the order of battle.'
`It will be a splendid expedition, Monseigneur of Mortimer, in which the people one sees about at Courts, who talk so much and so valiantly of war, will be able to show what they can do outside the tournament ground,' said Philippe of Valois, who had so far not uttered a word and now blushed a little.
Charles of Valois' eldest son was already imagining the swelling sails of galleys, landings on distant shores, the banners, the knights, the shock of the heavy French cavalry charging the infidel, the Crescent trampled beneath the horses' hooves, Saracen girls captured in the secret depths of palaces and beautiful naked slaves in chains. And nothing was going to prevent Philippe of Valois from slaking his desires on those buxom wenches. His wide nostrils were already distending. For Jeanne the Lame would remain in France. He loved his wife, of course, but could not help trembling in her presence, for her jealousy burst out into furious scenes whenever he so much as looked at another woman's breast. Oh, this sister of Marguerite of Burgundy had a far from easy character! And, indeed, it can so happen' that one may love one's wife and yet be impelled by the forces of nature to desire other women. It would need a crusade at least for tall Philippe to dare to deceive his lame wife.
Mortimer sat up a little straighter and pulled at his black tunic. He wanted to turn the conversation to his own affairs, which had nothing to do with the crusade,
`Monseigneur,' he said to Charles of Valois, `you can count on me to march in your ranks, but I have come also to ask of you... '
The word was said. The ex-Justiciar of Ireland had uttered that word without which no petitioner can hope to receive anything and without which no powerful man accords his su pport. To ask, to seek, to pray. But there was no need for him to say anything more.
`I know, I know,' replied
One of the blessings of our lot is to be ignorant of our end. And these four great barons were right to seize any opportunity to be amused; for one of them would be dead within two years; and another had but seven years to wait, almost to the day, to be dragged to execution in his turn at the horse's tai l through the streets of a town.
Laughing together had made them feel more friendly towards each other, Mortimer suddenly had the feeling that he had been admit ted to Valois' inner circle of power, and felt a little more at ease. He glanced sympathetically at Monseigneur Charles' face; it was a broad, high-coloured face, the face of a man who ate too much and whom the duties of his position deprived of the opportunity of taking enough exercise. Mortimer had not see n Valois since various meetings long ago: once in England during the celebrations for Queen Isabella's marriage, and a second time, in 1313, when he had accompanied the English sovereigns to Paris to p ay their first homage. And all this, which seemed but yesterday, was already in the distant past. Monseigneur of Valois, who had been a young man then, had since become this massive and imposing;' personage; and Mortimer himself had lived, on the best expectation of life, half his allotted span, if God willed that he should not be killed in battle, drowned at sea or die by the axe of Edward's executioner. To have reached the age of thirty-seven was already a long span, of life, particularly when you were surrounded by so many jealousies and enemies, when you had risked your life in tournaments and in war, and spent eighteen months in the dungeons of the Tower. Clearly, he must not waste his time, nor neglect opportunities for adventure. The idea of a crusade was beginning to interest' Roger Mortimer after all.
` And when will your ships sail, Monseigneur?' he asked.
`In eighteen months' time, I think,' replied Valois. `I shall send a third embassy to Avignon to make a definite arrangement about the subsidies, the Bulls of Indulgences, and the order of battle.'
`It will be a splendid expedition, Monseigneur of Mortimer, in which the people one sees about at Courts, who talk so much and so valiantly of war, will be able to show what they can do outside the tournament ground,' said Philippe of Valois, who had so far not uttered a word and now blushed a little.
Charles of Valois' eldest son was already imagining the swelling sails of galleys, landings on distant shores, the banners, the knights, the shock of the heavy French cavalry charging the infidel, the Crescent trampled beneath the horses' hooves, Saracen girls captured in the secret depths of palaces and beautiful naked slaves in chains. And nothing was going to prevent Philippe of Valois from slaking his desires on those buxom wenches. His wide nostrils were already distending. For Jeanne the Lame would remain in France. He loved his wife, of course, but could not help trembling in her presence, for her jealousy burst out into furious scenes whenever he so much as looked at another woman's breast. Oh, this sister of Marguerite of Burgundy had a far from easy character! And, indeed, it can so happen' that one may love one's wife and yet be impelled by the forces of nature to desire other women. It would need a crusade at least for tall Philippe to dare to deceive his lame wife.
Mortimer sat up a little straighter and pulled at his black tunic. He wanted to turn the conversation to his own affairs, which had nothing to do with the crusade,
`Monseigneur,' he said to Charles of Valois, `you can count on me to march in your ranks, but I have come also to ask of you... '
The word was said. The ex-Justiciar of Ireland had uttered that word without which no petitioner can hope to receive anything and without which no powerful man accords his su pport. To ask, to seek, to pray. But there was no need for him to say anything more.
`I know, I know,' replied
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