"The girl was Willebald's.A poor slip of vulgar stock with the spirit of a house cat.I would have married her well, for she was handsome after a fashion, but she thwarted me and chose to wed a lout of a huckster in the Bredestreet.She shall have her portion from Willebald's gold, but none from me.But Philip is true child of mine, and sprung on both sides of high race.Nay, I name no names, and before men he is of my husband's getting.
But to you at the end of my days I speak the truth.That son of wrath has rare blood in him.Philip..."The old face had grown kind.She was looking through the monk to some happy country of vision.Her thoughts were retracing the roads of time, and after the way of age she spoke them aloud.imperiously she had forgotten her company.
"So long ago," came the tender voice."It is years since they told me he was dead among the heathen, fighting by the Lord Baldwin's side.But I can see him as if it were yesterday, when he rode into these streets in spring with April blooms at his saddle-bow.They called him Phadbus in jest, for his face was like the sun....Willebald, good dull man, was never jealous, and was glad that his wife should be seen in brave company.Ah, the afternoons at the baths when we sported like sea-nymphs and sang merry ballads! And the proud days of Carnival where men and women consorted freely and without guile like the blessed in Paradise! Such a tide for lovers!...Did I not lead the dance with him at the Burgrave's festival, the twain of us braver than morning? Sat I not with him in the garden of St.Vaast, his head in my lap, while he sang me virelays of the south? What was Willebald to me or his lean grey wife to him? He made me his queen, me the burgher wife, at the jousting at Courtrai, when the horses squealed like pigs in the mellay and I wept in fear for him.Ah, the lost sweet days! Philip, my darling, you make a brave gentleman, but you will not equal him who loved your mother."The Cluniac was a man of the world whom no confidences could scandalise.
But he had business of his own to speak of that night, and he thought it wise to break into this mood of reminiscence.
"The young lord, Philip, your son, madam? You have great plans for him?
What does he at the moment?"
The softness went out of the voice and the woman's gaze came back to the chamber."That I know not.Travelling the ways of the world and plucking roadside fruits, for he is no home-bred and womanish stripling.Wearing his lusty youth on the maids, I fear.Nay, I forget.He is about to wed the girl of Avesnes and is already choosing his bridal train.It seems he loves her.He writes me she has a skin of snow and eyes of vair.I have not seen her.A green girl, doubtless with a white face and cat's eyes.But she is of Avesnes, and that blood comes pure from Clovis, and there is none prouder in Hainault.He will husband her well, but she will be a clever woman if she tethers to her side a man of my bearing.He will be for the high road and the battle-front.""A puissant and peaceable knight, I have heard tell," said the Cluniac.
"Puissant beyond doubt, and peaceable when his will is served.He will play boldly for great things and will win them.Ah, monk! What knows a childless religious of a mother's certainty? 'Twas not for nothing that I found Willebald and changed the cobbles of King's Lynn for this fat country.It is gold that brings power, and the stiffest royal neck must bend to him who has the deep coffers.It is gold and his high hand that will set my Philip by the side of kings.Lord Jesus, what a fortune I have made for him! There is coined money at the goldsmiths' and in my cellars, and the ships at the ports, and a hundred busy looms, and lands in Hainault and Artois, and fair houses in Bruges and Ghent.Boats on the Rhine and many pack trains between Antwerp and Venice are his, and a wealth of preciousness lies in his name with the Italian merchants.Likewise there is this dwelling of mine, with plenishing which few kings could buy.My sands sink in the glass, but as Ilie a-bed I hear the bustle of wains and horses in the streets, and the talk of shipfolk, and the clatter of my serving men beneath, and I know that daily, hourly, more riches flow hither to furnish my son's kingdom."The monk's eyes sparkled at this vision of wealth, and he remembered his errand.
"A most noble heritage.But if the Sire God in His inscrutable providence should call your son to His holy side, what provision have you made for so mighty a fortune? Does your daughter then share?"The face on the pillows became suddenly wicked and very old.The eyes were lit with hate.
"Not a bezant of which I have the bequeathing.She has something from Willebald, and her dull husband makes a livelihood.'Twill suffice for the female brats, of whom she has brought three into the world to cumber it....
By the Gospels, she will lie on the bed she has made.I did not scheme and toil to make gold for such leaden souls.""But if your most worthy son should die ere he has begot children, have you made no disposition?" The monk's voice was pointed with anxiety, for was not certainty on this point the object of his journey? The woman perceived it and laughed maliciously.
"I have made dispositions.Such a chapel will be builded in the New Kirk as Rome cannot equal.Likewise there will be benefactions for the poor and a great endowment for the monks at St.Sauveur.If my seed is not to continue on earth I will make favour in Paradise.""And we of Cluny, madam?" The voice trembled in spite of its training.
