The Tragedy of Arthur: A Novel (43 page)

Or no?

To be black Uter’s son makes not an heir.

By such a stamp
⁷
ten thousand British kings

Do dance a-maypole, yoke the ox to coulter,
⁸

Or skink
⁹
the wine at table for my thirst,

Though none so like their sire as Arthur be,

Who with his mawks on beef and ling
¹⁰
doth dine,

Who’d ’change all England for St. George’s field.
¹¹

He’s born on George’s day, so ’tis like home.
^12
,
13

Ignoble, rude and slanderous babble, lords

Ill suits the love that’s due your sovereign prince.

Come morrow, Gloucester, what names you the king?

The king will have me England’s seneschal.

You’ll hold the keys to all the postern gates
¹⁴

Until the midnight king doth steal the guard.

These hare-brained comments will find quittance, Dukes.

But who makes doubt of Arthur’s godly right?

These arms embraced King Uter as he died,

A man twice me, twice thee, twice any lord.

Beneath the walls of York he cried to me,

“Prince Arthur now will be your lawful king.”

O, tender-feeling Cumbria, ’tis well,

But you have not seen Arthur sith his youth

When that boy sprouted no more manly beard

Than trims a raspberry
¹⁵
in August heat.

And sith his beard has grown, you’ll find no man

Hath seen the prince’s thumbs.
¹⁶

So long as that?
¹⁷

Renowned like to a serpent or a tailor’s.
¹⁸

What ancient barons’ rights are these t’abuse?

These ten and seven summers hath the prince

In Gloucestershire reclined, whence rumor tells

That Arthur’s luxury-amazed,
¹⁹
but king

Of milking maids, and each new queen he leads

By kecksie flourish
²⁰
to a clover bed.

No continence
²¹
hath he and none dare bar

The boy from exercising his mad lusts.

The father’s passions storm within the son!

Will abbey words becalm the prince’s rage,

The ire descried
²²
by those who should speak love,

That Arthur soars to fury when but touched,

Doth strike a man of noble birth for spite,

And spends his words of love upon a cook?

Thus tales lead beasts, and heads too willing follow
²³

The boy is stern for war. Come tilt with him.

First pass he’ll lay you on your plated back

Like to a flea within a walnut-shell.

He’ll lift great sword and drop it on your pate
²⁴

With edge or flat or fig-ball pommel: choose.
²⁵

In York will he course fast as rolling floods,

As swift as you in thought may cross the globe.

Like to his father then he longs for war?

The father’s war did steal the father’s life.

The father’s son would match the father’s feat

And on his feet march all of us to death,

So son might set, like father, in the north.
²⁶

Forever war, forever war, and on.

Yet Saxons find war-stubbled York a prize

And would content themselves in its embrace.

This land’s o’er-marched, o’er-bled, o’er-wearied o’war,

Yet still Prince Arthur comes to wield a sword!

What danger cowards so the southern Kent

While Cumbria is gripped from north and east?

I am not wished to hear thy slanders, cur!

Nor Saxons wished to peace by Kent’s desires!

Enough vain heat! My lords of England, peace!
²⁷

What word hast thou, sirrah?
²⁸

No king is here.

He comes anon. Again: what word? Make haste.

My master bids me say: “No king is here.”

What master, fool?

Which is the lord protector?

Thou clog’st
²⁹
him, stamm’ring chough.
³⁰

He greets you thus:

“Vice-regent for unrightful, sneaking prince.”

What master lays such words upon thy tongue?

Grant leave, ye English nobles, I my words

May unconstrained display, as charged by Loth,

Great Pictish king, and Mordred, Duke of Rothesay.

Thou tarried long for license, messenger,

By now is absolution pertinent.
³¹

Yet doubt
³²
no moody welcome here. Proceed.

Then thus speaks Loth, the king of Picts.

And Mordred.

Yes, too, and Mordred, Duke of Rothesay, too.

’Tis thus they speak, in fewness and in truth.

So plainly warned do I now hope for neither.

Come, tell, what would thy dwarfish duke
³³
proclaim?

That Arthur was by boist’rous violence
³⁴

And out of holy wedded state begot.

King Uter stole a womb from Cornwall’s bed,

There planted criminal
³⁵
seed, and slew the earl,

Ennobled false pretender, spawned no heir.

By any Christian law, adultery

Creates a bastard with no right to throne,

And crime ’gainst God it is to lift a sword

To pillar
³⁶
so triobular
³⁷
a claim.

Nor Uter nor his brother left no issue.
³⁸

Their elder sister, Anne, was wife to Loth,

Who rules all Pictland, Scots, and Irish lands,

Who’s now, by Anne’s bond, English king and Welsh.

King Loth and Mordred bid you, English lords

And bishops, rouse up London, ope its abbey

Wherein pay homage due to Loth, your king,

According as the Britons’ custom is.

’Tis all?

With this complete and with your love,

He bids the Welsh and English chivalry

Unite with all his lands and western isles,

Together dash the Saxon from his realm.

Art breathless yet?

He asks no more than this?

Our lives, our wealth, vouchsafe his endless line,

And vail
³⁹
our pride to serve him as his bondmen?
⁴⁰

The duke hath taught me more should you dispute

The logic of my principal dispatch,

Although the latter words I fear to voice.

How feculent
⁴¹
thy northern vapors stink!

Would Mercury’s low wings be fixed above

And beating blow away these winds thou pip’st!
⁴²

Didst thou us beg pre-pardon
⁴³
and free tongue

To lick our ears with gleeks
⁴⁴
so sour and hot?

Come, take my true reply to your King Loth.

He strikes
[
Alexander
]

Unrighteous knight, this violence
⁴⁵
done cold

’Gainst embassy’s anathema to God.