The Tragedy of Arthur: A Novel (50 page)

The Saxon treachery told to the swine,

He put to death all ransom-waiting men.

Say rather “ransom-waiting Saxon men”

As Saxony forswore itself, not we.

But this in truth I cannot say, my lord.

He gave command for every ransomed man

And in unholy anger he did slay

One man himself.

’Twere better thou held tongue.

Nay, nay, speak on, go on.

To honor rank

He offered Calvan sword and liberty

If he could singly
⁷
vanquish him.

No more.

Enragèd passion seized King Arthur’s limbs.

No more, I say! No more, no more, no more!

He smote your brother down and raught
⁸
his locks

And by those hairs he drew his head hard back.

On Arthur’s face there shone a demon’s hate.

He sends to you the head and broken sword

Within this bag and bids me tell—

No more!

[
Mordred
]
kills messenger

I curse thee, villain prince, and all thy seed!
⁹

How, nephew? Now thy site’s
¹⁰
thine own, no word?

Thy heart that spoke bravado now is cold.

So whither appetite for chronicle?

Thou wouldst come o’er me with my right rebuke.
¹¹

Then hear what manly speech I have for thee

And bastard pup who wet his casual thirst

With purest blood.
¹²

He opens bag

O Calvan, brother, prince! O murdered boy!

But soft. These words do close your father’s throat.

This rattle sure is death’s unjointed
¹³
talk.

Nay, sire! Can Arthur, malt-horse,
¹⁴
paper king

Still reign while breath itself rebels your will?

But softly, King, my father’s only son

Doth beg you not to yield t’imperious death.

I cannot lose my father now.
¹⁵

You would yet speak? I bend to you my ear.

[
He leans close to Loth
]

Again, again. I swear it, father, aye.

All shall be done to your precise command.—

[
To servants
] You, bear him to his chapel, there to shrive

His soul and read the verses due to him.

[
Exeunt except Mordred and Conranus
]

Such chatt’ring! How the dying king did buzz!

But sure the company imbibed each word?

We heard from him no sound: thy table’s
¹⁶
clean.

He urged me on to lose no days in tears,

But clad in gimmaled
¹⁷
mail and glimm’ring crown,

Receive thy oath of fealty now and more:

Assigned me Scotland’s heir and with thy death

Unite two kingdoms as God’s certain will.

And when our strength’s restored, fill Arthur’s tomb.

All this the wheezing king did set in charge?

All this and more, perchance.

Loquacity
¹⁸

In dying men is rare, though not unknown.

And of my death spoke he as urgently?

A natural death, years hence. But his is nigh,

So let us lend a comfort at his side.

Exeunt

Mon duc de Gloosestayre,
¹
my king à vous

Envoys his royal love and hail Arthur.
²

We thank you and your great King Childebert

Who hath to France brought peace and gentle ways.

But your Arthur has in small years defeat

The Saxons cross the German Ocean’s
³
waves.

Rebels
⁴
who fought do now cry up to God,

“We are subdued! Who take our side? Hélas!”

Arthur will now make for his kingdom laws

And art and prosperous virtues, you say.

But still revolters
⁵
come as always do,

And also more of savages who no

Do love Lord Jesu but false cloven gods.

I am much sad in heart to make these words

But King Arthur has not alone the means,

The arms and treasure, he require for all

He wish. He must have loving friends beside.

My lord, we are quite perfectly agreed.

And France can be to such this loving friend!

My king would now make friendship’s girdle
⁶
fast

About the waist of him and of Arthur,

Together joined will both be more of men.

Also, the king has maked a daughter-child

To give and place her on your king as queen,

So make Arthur the heir to Childebert!

I bring this portrait covered
⁷
of the lady,

Arthur may look on it and fall in love.

And here, she writing letters to your king,

He gives letters

In which she make expressures most sincere.

Which he will read with all attentive speed.

Good sir, I will return to you anon,

But beg you sit awhile in the hall.

Merci, bon duc. I think we make good match.

Were’t ours alone to make, I know we would.

Exit Ambassador

Were all good counsel heeded by our lords

All kingdoms of the world would prosper well.—

Your Majesty, I beg, again, a word.

O, Gloucester! Now doth Cupid lurk in shade?

No more of Florentine grand duchesses,

Venetian doge’s
⁸
girls and Spain’s infanta.

My lord, I would have no more cavilling,
⁹

But ask a respite from this marriage chat,

A week, a day, to feast our victories,

And then thou mayst molest me with this prate.
¹⁰

You were thrice blest at Lincoln, York, and Bath.

My king, a marriage now will fasten peace.

Your hopes for Britain’s weal
¹¹
demand great sums.

The king of France would have you be his heir!

How seemeth she to thee, the French
princesse
?

There’s but the envoy’s word and painted cloth,

Still covered o’er ’til you consent to look.

But sure she is not loathsome.

Mend my soul!
¹²

With praise as this, one need not fear of scorn.

Her disposition she reveals in this.

Gives letter

I want it not. You know I speak no French.

Nor Spanish nor Italian, King. I know.

With exercise your tongue can learn the trick.

You need but muster out the words “I wed.”

If they do love me so, they could learn English.

Are there no foreign princesses who can?

My king, I beg of you, a list’ning mood.

A happy kingdom wants a steady hand

To steer through white-topped billows, storms, and fear,

When curdled sea with oily fingers threats

To fist the groaning crew from greasy deck.

Less peroration,
¹³
Gloucester. Hit the mark.

The royal sceptre must be straightly held

And not with ev’ry wind rock left and right.