The Tragedy of Arthur: A Novel (42 page)

You’d move our bound by modest ell
²⁹
or inch

When Britain all, this island whole entire—

All England, Wales, this Pictland, and your Scots—

By one crown all is ringed, and that crown mine.

Your father’s.

Aye, my father’s, aye, if he

But stretch his gripping hand toward Arthur’s scalp.

This wind of rhetoric racks not the heir.
³⁰

No lawful heir did sprout from Uter’s seed.

By lust made frantic, stole that vicious king

Into the absent Earl of Cornwall’s bed,

And there did scratch with steel
³¹
th’resisting itch.
³²

The lady swelled with this false Prince of Wales

And Uter then grew bold to slay the earl,

Conspired to kill, like David of the Jews,
³³

In this alone resembling royalty.

That he did condescend to count the countess

Queen doth shade
³⁴
this Arthur no more king

Than dressing meat blown
³⁵
full with clouds of flies

Give th’relish to’t fit for royal feast.

Thus Uter was o’erthrown by Saxon arms

For God would straight again the fracted
³⁶
line:

He grants each king his line, each line its king.

If Arthur reigns, we violate God’s law.

Wouldst thou condemn each Scot and Pict to hell?

Dead Uter’s sister Anne, your queen, my dam,

Does give to you, O Father, from the grave,

This lawful seat and pleads you make your claim.

But soft! Dead Uter was your uncle twice.

My Queen of Scotland mourns a brother’s death.

Too cruel to her your threats to snatch his crown

And rain down death upon her brother’s boy.

What speaks my aunt in this?
³⁷
Whence voice has

she?

Or you, enfeoffèd
³⁸
uncle, vassal liege

To Loth my father. Scots are sworn to Picts:

Conranus king is king by king of Pictland,

Though he wait silent by with Pictish grace.—

[
To Loth
] My father, stand and bellow that your voice

Ungently shout down London’s stolen walls

Until soft Arthur cap his beaten ears,

And yield to God and you his purse-picked crown.

[
Low mumbles
] An if our call’s not heard?

Speak out, speak out.

I hear but coughing.

If our call’s not heard?

Then let them hear the sounds of righteous war

’Til English ears do note your martial voice.

Too forward
³⁹
is this talk of making war.

Then if you would forslow ’til lusty strength

Returns again in you, our guile will serve:

Send embassage to England with our cause,

And privy
⁴⁰
order to the Saxon camp:

Clandestinely we’ll spur them to our use

And prompt them to press south without delay,

Then we, false-troubled
⁴¹
of the English need,

May have occasion t’offer them our aid

If they but
⁴²
plant the crown where God would have’t.

When you, new British king, from London rules,

Then we and our new English vassalage
⁴³

As one expel the Saxon from our shores.

My brother-king, dare scorn my peace-soft heart,

Or say old men do always fly from toil.

But I did fight beside you at Iona.

My smoking
⁴⁴
blade did cleave Norwegian skulls.

Take heed of word from lover
⁴⁵
such as this:

Hot war, so fleetingly combusted up,

Doth hardly
⁴⁶
snuff itself back down again.

And look! Our arms have built for us high walls!

Sit circummured
⁴⁷
behind the winding Tweed,

Our uplands
⁴⁸
scoff at foemen’s bow and ax.

Say, Loth, what matter is that lack-brain prince

Who weens
⁴⁹
to term himself all Britain’s king?

What peace has man e’er joyed but paid in blood?

What dream wouldst thou my father dream abed,

Whilst puppy
⁵⁰
Arthur, king of laystalls,
⁵¹
hopes

To trim aside two-thirds my promised birth?

No more. I have no appetite to war.

Send embassy and vouch that Arthur’s king.

But not of Britain.

England then, your will.

I will discharge it to your terms precise.

Duke Mordred, heir, be satisfied.

I am.

Full correspondence to my lord’s desires

Is satisfaction to your loving son.

Embrace me then your uncle-king of Scotland.

With fullest heart.

It glads me.

[
They embrace
]
Loth swoons

Physic,
⁵²
wine!

A cup, a drench
⁵³
of wine! [
To Loth
] How do you, sir?
—

[
To servant
] You! See him to his chamber, I’ll anon.

Exeunt
[
but Mordred and Calvan
]

Dear Calvan, brother, bearer of my trust.

Two embassies will we dispatch. First, you.

How frame
⁵⁴
my tongue?

To words of amity.

Ride to the Saxon force at York. Their chief,

Flame-bearded Colgerne, takes your embassy.

In York he swills and vows and kicks his dogs,

And burns up offal to his red-eyed gods—

The carrion fumes offending Christian sense
⁵⁵
—

And seizes not his vantage. Whet him on.

In Mordred’s name give gold that he from York

Drive out to waste all ’round with Saxon blade.

But, brother, still our hands must clasp in darkness.

Teach Colgerne that our love blooms best in shade.

Such toadstool
⁵⁶
love I’ll passioning derive.
⁵⁷

Exit Calvan

What messenger is there?

My lord.

Thy name?

’Tis Alexander, Duke. I come from Wick.

Great Alexander boasts a comely face.

Thou hast an air of gentle-seeming manners.

It please your grace, my mother taught me well.

Then come. We must needs teach thee new to speak

In terms of harsh defiance and contempt.

Exeunt

How? Are you then protector of the realm?

With patience, lords, but for a single day.

The morrow when, at your hand, Caerleon,

Prince Arthur is in London’s abbey blest,

He will from flexure
²
rise your perfect
³
king,

And will no more require protector’s aid.

Today I rate
⁴
the puissance
⁵
of our arms,

For after morrow hie we back to war.

Prince Arthur wants the numbers, man and beast,

To make account of all your mighty ranks.

How stand your noble lance and common pike?

But soft, Lord Gloucester waits upon our haste,

Foresees
⁶
we will obey with no complaint.

Yet English barons joy long-customed rights

And freely choose ere kneel to any king,

Though he be Uter’s son or no.