PAGE 8
The Housewife
by
A page brought Master Copeland to the King, a stupendous person, blond and incredibly big. With him were a careful Italian, that Almerigo di Pavia who afterward betrayed Sire Edward, and a lean soldier whom Master Copeland recognized as John Chandos. These three were drawing up an account of the recent victory at Cregi, to be forwarded to all mayors and sheriffs in England, with a cogent postscript as to the King’s incidental and immediate need of money.
Now King Edward sat leaning far back in his chair, a hand on either hip, and his eyes narrowing as he regarded Master Copeland. Had the Brabanter flinched, the King would probably have hanged him within the next ten minutes; finding his gaze unwavering, the King was pleased. Here was a novelty; most people blinked quite genuinely under the scrutiny of those fierce big eyes, which were blue and cold and of an astounding lustre, gemlike as the March sea.
The King rose with a jerk and took John Copeland’s hand. “Ha!” he grunted, “I welcome the squire who by his valor has captured the King of Scots. And now, my man, what have you done with Davie?”
John Copeland answered: “Highness, you may find him at your convenience safely locked in Bamborough Castle. Meanwhile, I entreat you, sire, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender King David to the orders of my lady Queen, for I hold my lands of you, and not of her, and my oath is to you, and not to her, unless indeed by choice.”
“John,” the King sternly replied, “the loyal service you have done us is considerable, whereas your excuse for kidnapping Davie is a farce. Hey, Almerigo, do you and Chandos avoid the chamber! I have something in private with this fellow.” When they had gone, the King sat down and composedly said, “Now tell me the truth, John Copeland.”
“Sire,” he began, “it is necessary you first understand I bear a letter from Madame Philippa–“
“Then read it,” said the King. “Heart of God! have I an eternity to waste on you Brabanters!”
John Copeland read aloud, while the King trifled with a pen, half negligent, and in part attendant.
Read John Copeland:
“My DEAR LORD,–I recommend me to your lordship with soul and body and all my poor might, and with all this I thank you, as my dear lord, dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords I protest to me, and thank you, my dear lord, with all this as I say before. Your comfortable letter came to me on Saint Gregory’s day, and I was never so glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough in Ponthieu by the grace of God for to keep you from your enemies. Among them I estimate Madame Catherine de Salisbury, who would have betrayed you to the Scot. And, dear lord, if it be pleasing to your high lordship that as soon as ye may that I might hear of your gracious speed, which may God Almighty continue and increase, I shall be glad, and also if ye do each night chafe your feet with a rag of woollen stuff. And, my dear lord, if it like you for to know of my fare, John Copeland will acquaint you concerning the Bruce his capture, and the syrup he brings for our son Lord Edward’s cough, and the great malice-workers in these shires which would have so despitefully wrought to you, and of the manner of taking it after each meal. I am lately informed that Madame Catherine is now at Stirling with Robert Stewart and has lost all her good looks through a fever. God is invariably gracious to His servants. Farewell, my dear lord, and may the Holy Trinity keep you from your adversaries and ever send me comfortable tidings of you. Written at York, in the Castle, on Saint Gregory’s day last past, by your own poor.