_The Story of the Heritage_
In the year of grace 1399 (Nicolas begins) dwelt in a hut near CaerDathyl in Arvon, as he had dwelt for some five years, a gaunt hermit,notoriously consecrate, whom neighboring Welshmen revered as theBlessed Evrawc. There had been a time when people called him EdwardMaudelain, but this period he dared not often remember.
For though in macerations of the flesh, in fasting, and in hour-longprayers he spent his days, this holy man was much troubled by devils.He got little rest because of them. Sometimes would come into his hutBelphegor in the likeness of a butler, and whisper, "Sire, had youbeen King, as was your right, you had drunk to-day not water but thewines of Spain and Hungary." Or Asmodeus saying, "Sire, had you beenKing, as was your right, you had lain now not upon the bare earth buton cushions of silk."
One day in early spring, they say, the spirit called Orvendile sentthe likeness of a fair woman with yellow hair and large blue eyes. Shewore a massive crown which seemed too heavy for her frailness tosustain. Soft tranquil eyes had lifted from her book. "You are mycousin now, messire," this phantom had appeared to say.
That was the worst, and Maudelain began to fear he was a little madbecause even this he had resisted with many aves.
There came also to his hut, through a sullen snowstorm, upon theafternoon of All Soul's day, a horseman in a long cloak of black. Hetethered his black horse and he came noiselessly through the doorwayof the hut, and upon his breast and shoulders the snow was white asthe bleached bones of those women that died in Merlin's youth.
"Greetings in God's name, Messire Edward Maudelain," the strangersaid.
Since the new-comer spoke intrepidly of holy things a cheerierMaudelain knew that this at least was no demon. "Greetings!" heanswered. "But I am Evrawc. You name a man long dead."
"But it is from a certain Bohemian woman I come. What matter, then, ifthe dead receive me?" And thus speaking, the stranger dropped hiscloak.
He was clad, as you now saw, in flame-colored satin, which shimmeredwith each movement like a high flame. He had the appearance of a tall,lean youngster, with crisp, curling, very dark red hair. He nowregarded Maudelain. He displayed peculiarly wide-set brown eyes; andtheir gaze was tender, and the tears somehow had come to Maudelain'seyes because of his great love for this tall stranger. "Eh, from thedead to the dead I travel, as ever," said the new-comer, "with amessage and a token. My message runs, _Time is, O fellow satrap!_ andmy token is this."
In this packet, wrapped with white parchment and tied with a goldencord, was only a lock of hair. It lay like a little yellow serpent inMaudelain's palm. "And yet five years ago," he mused, "this hair wasturned to dust. God keep us all!" Then he saw the tall lean emissarypuffed out like a candle-flame; and upon the floor he saw the huddledcloak waver and spread like ink, and he saw the white parchment slowlydwindle, as snow melts under the open sun. But in his hand remainedthe lock of yellow hair.
"O my only friend," said Maudelain, "I may not comprehend, but I knowthat by no unhallowed art have you won back to me." Hair by hair hescattered upon the floor that which he held. "_Time is!_ and I havenot need of any token to spur my memory." He prized up a corner of thehearthstone, took out a small leather bag, and that day purchased ahorse and a sword.
At dawn the Blessed Evrawc rode eastward in secular apparel. Two weekslater he came to Sunninghill; and it happened that the same morningthe Earl of Salisbury, who had excellent reason to consider ...
_Follows a lacuna of fourteen pages. Maudelain's successful impostureof his half-brother, Richard the Second, so strangely favored by theirphysical resemblance, and the subsequent fiasco at Circencester, arenow, however, tolerably well known to students of history._
_In one way or another, Maudelain contrived to take the place of hisnow dethroned brother, and therewith also the punishment designed forRichard. It would seem evident, from the Argument of the story inhand, that Nicolas de Caen attributes a large part of this mysteriousbusiness to the co-operancy of Isabel of Valois, King Richard's elevenyear old wife. And (should one have a taste for the deductive) theforegoing name of Orvendile, when compared with "THE STORY OF THESCABBARD," would certainly hint that Owain Glyndwyr had a finger inthe affair._
_It is impossible to divine by what method, according to Nicolas, thisEdward Maudelain was substituted for his younger brother. Nicolas, ifyou are to believe his "EPILOGUE," had the best of reasons for knowingthat the prisoner locked up in Pontefract Castle in the February of1400, after Harry of Derby had seized the crown of England, was notRichard Plantagenet: as is attested, also, by the remaining fragmentof this same_ "STORY OF THE HERITAGE."
... and eight men-at-arms followed him.
Quickly Maudelain rose from the table, pushing his tall chair aside,and as he did this, one of the soldiers closed the door securely."Nay, eat your fill, Sire Richard," said Piers Exton, "since you willnot ever eat again."
"Is it so?" the trapped man answered quietly. "Then indeed you come ina good hour." Once only he smote upon his breast. "_Mea culpa!_ OEternal Father, do Thou shrive me very quickly of all those sins Ihave committed, both in thought and deed, for now the time is veryshort."
And Exton spat upon the dusty floor. "Foh, they had told me I wouldfind a king here. I discover only a cat that whines."
"Then 'ware his claws!" As a viper leaps Maudelain sprang upon thenearest fellow and wrested away his halberd. "Then 'ware his claws, mymen! For I come of an accursed race. And now let some of you lamentthat hour wherein the devil's son begot an heir for England! For ofice and of lust and of hell-fire are all we sprung; old records attestit; and fickle and cold and ravenous and without fear are all our raceuntil the end. Hah, until the end! O God of Gods!" this Maudelaincried, with a great voice, "wilt Thou dare bid a man die patiently,having aforetime filled his veins with such a venom? For I lack thegrace to die as all Thy saints have died, without one carnal blowstruck in my own defence. I lack the grace, my Father, for even at thelast the devil's blood You gave me is not quelled. I dare atone forthat old sin done by my father in the flesh, but yet I must atone asbefits the race of Oriander!"
Then it was he and not they who pressed to the attack. Their meetingwas a bloody business, for in that dark and crowded room Maudelainraged among his nine antagonists like an angered lion among wolves.
They struck at random and cursed shrilly, for they were nowhalf-afraid of this prey they had entrapped; so that presently he wasall hacked and bleeding, though as yet he had no mortal wound. Four ofthese men he had killed by this time, and Piers Exton also lay at hisfeet.
Then the other four drew back a little. "Are ye tired so soon?" saidMaudelain, and he laughed terribly. "What, even you! Why, look ye, mybold veterans, I never killed before to-day, and I am not breathed asyet."
Thus he boasted, exultant in his strength. But the other men saw thatbehind him Piers Exton had crawled into the chair from which (theythought) King Richard had just risen, and they saw Exton standingerect in this chair, with both arms raised. They saw this Exton strikethe King with his pole-axe, from behind, once only, and they knew nomore was needed.
"By God!" said one of them in the ensuing stillness, and it was he whobled the most, "that was a felon's blow."
But the dying man who lay before them made as though to smile. "Icharge you all to witness," he faintly said, "how willingly I renderto Caesar's daughter that which was ever hers."
Then Exton fretted, as if with a little trace of shame: "Who wouldhave thought the rascal had remembered that first wife of his so long?Caesar's daughter, saith he! and dares in extremis to pervert HolyScripture like any Wycliffite! Well, he is as dead as that firstCaesar now, and our gracious King, I think, will sleep the better forit. And yet--God only knows! for they are an odd race, even as hesaid--these men that have old Manuel's blood in them."
THE END OF THE SEVENTH NOVEL