The Tragedy of Arthur: A Novel (46 page)

I did not know what joy awaited me

When dawn did break this morn, when I alone

Had never tasted of the feast of war.

Whilst other men did seem to shy and fright,

Full general in my greetings,
¹
I did leap

To gratulate
²
each happy Saxon, Scot,

Or Pict I had good fortune there to meet.

I find no better way to sport than this.

The day is mine!

And all our thanks to God.

But for the morrow, I’ll no wagers take.

Refuse to rest your pounds upon my arm?
³

Were all of England York and all its sons

Were Arthur, Pluto’s wealth
⁴
to any odds

I’d play and off to slumber vict’ry-ripe.
⁵

But ’twixt pacific York and Pictish throne

Awaits no mead
⁶
but cragged, ungentle path.

And proud the Saxons are to want a fleet,

So each and every foe will ask our care.
⁷

And so we shall design.

Enter Somerset, Norfolk, Cumbria, Kent, Derby

Good morrow, brothers!

Great King, O rampant lion emperor!

My stomach wants for yet more bloody broil.
⁸

Let fly! I’ll draw the culv’rin
⁹
with my teeth.

But majesty, ’twas you that ’mazed us all!

As evening dyed each Yorkish stone, I flagged:

My foot did slide through pools of Scottish gore

And on my back I lit. Two Saxon blades

Down toward me came, and I prepared my end.

But by my halidom
¹⁰
St. George careered
¹¹

With Pictish blood across his bristled cheek,

His limbs still freshly sprung as bent green yew,
¹²

He slashed through danger, holp
¹³
me to my feet,

Then circled round and fought at every side.

My lord, bend I this ancient knee with love.

Now foes do run, King, whither turn our might?

My nephew, King of Brittany in France,

I writ, and Constantine,
^14
,
15
young Cornish earl,

His father placed in Cornwall’s seat by mine.

I bid them come take part at Lincoln’s feast

And there to warm themselves and troops withal

By th’embers
¹⁶
of this factious
¹⁷
mutiny

And on its remnants dance a stamp royal.
¹⁸

What word there, boy?

God save your majesty.

He seems inclined t’affect thy will a time.

The foe, affrayed, unranked, beset with pox,

Goes south and drops its numbers as it flies.

Your people worry
¹⁹
them, bemock their heart.

A child did toss some several stones at them,

Which quaking Picts did in agastment
²⁰
flee,

As though shot out by ranked artillery.

We’ll not await Petit Bretagne’s
²¹
force,

But haste to Lincoln, where we’ll cut this tale.

Though half and half again the Yorkish brawl

We’ll see in Lincoln’s fields, an we not speed,

E’en that we grant to boys with slings and rocks.
²²

My lords, two hours to bid adieu to York.

Exeunt nobility
[
except Gloucester
]

My duke, yet stately matters here in town

Demand of me considerance a time.
²³

You would delay our march, my king?

Nay, nay.

Our arms must haste, though even to a pin.

I’ll set good men to follow at your hest.
²⁴

’Tis of no need, though lovingly designed.

My lord, my wit is blunted by the day.

Your mind it is to stay in York alone?

It is.

Shall I attend?

There is no call.

If I do waver at your word, it is—

But I should say, your new-dyed
²⁵
royalty—

I would so soon expose—but, stay, my king—

I beg indulgence if my love o’erflows

The bounds of mannered courtier’s smoothing tongue,

But this can no way be—the boy thou wert

With holy unction
²⁶
is reborn a king.

I thank with all my love thy wise advice.

My joy it is my wit can serve your need.

’Tis well, ’tis well. It is my need that you

Command and lead our hunt to Lincoln now.

My words have then consumed but their own tails?

Go, lead our furious arms for us. Take care

That you advance no swifter than the rear.

The hindmost rank
²⁷
is every army’s heel.
²⁸

The body, lacking head, will range
²⁹
about

If king they saw in battle now’s dislodged.

It is too hard upon your first assay.
³⁰

Your nobles still mistrust and countermand

Each other’s words, bend not to my impose.
³¹

Thick-sinew’d
³²
Cumbria and saucy
³³
Norfolk

Will bow to king but never seneschal.

Arthur, you are no single man, but king.

You must in every act revolve upon
³⁴

The country’s cares and gracious God’s intent

For this the flock of which you wield the crook.

You show that I am truant
³⁵
in command.

Your warming sun-bright words have dried a path

Which I perceive at last through muddy cares.

My lord, I am in all humility

Made glad and do admire this sovereign lord

Pursuing wiser course when ’tis revealed.

To quell the noble plaints and cheer the men,

The colors of the king will ride on you,

My armor and close helm, my flag and shield.

You will not speak, but gesture royally,

Short-tongued
³⁶
for military stratagems

Outrav’ling
³⁷
in your bloodied silent mind.

And I will gallop up anon,
³⁸
to ride

With you afore the Humber’s far behind.

What gear so notable
³⁹
can stay
⁴⁰
a king?

This pulls dishonor down on both our heads.

Smooth not thy tongue, but smooth thy brow its cares.

Though kingdom’s needs concern my every thought,

A king is licensed still to be a man.

Of this, I fear, my lord, you are mistook.

’Tis of no moment, none by cock and pie.
⁴¹

You’ll make a country ride on sun-gold day,

To glad these moody lords who want but some

Brief show of royal confidence, which you

From me reflect on steel and painted skin.
⁴²

And when, at Lincoln’s gate, the arrows sing,

To me they’ll sing, in my own proper coat.

Yet list me still, my boy, my wayward boy.

No longer, Duke of Gloucester, but thy king.

If chartered are thy words to gainsay kings,
⁴³

Still king it is that grants these liberties.

Or, soft, thy boy, but king as well, good Duke.

Now come and do as I command of thee.

Exeunt