The Tragedy of Arthur: A Novel (56 page)

There is, in truth, no urgency abroad

But one must find a place to practice war,

And Cumbria did touch me when quoth he,

“Your father ne’er could subjugate the kern.”
¹

So we shall capriole
²
o’er Irish bogs,

And silence, for the now, rebellion’s plaints.

I say not “always”: I am taught at last,

Conceive no dream to peg
³
e’er-lasting peace,

But slay an Irishman or two and breathe,

Fight Germans, rest, kill Picts, then infidels.

A proper king am I and love my wars.

I taste my peace in thimbles, drams, and grains,

Not by the hogshead but the pennyworth,

And count him glutton who would ask for more.

How fares the queen?

She waits upon you, sire.

The joyless Guenhera is grief’s poor slave,

But smiles and dries her cheeks to know you come.

Anon. Is all afoot for our departure?

We stay but for the giddy
⁴
wind to choose.

Yet, too: there’s one would speak with you, my liege,

Rode hard from Yorkshire for your ear, he says.

He hath attended here for you these weeks,

And hath refused to publish his desire

To any but the king.

Bring him to us.

Exit Gloucester

My loving lovèd queen awaits her king

And I would pass my hours of peace with her,

Empillowed
⁵
on her breast before my ship,

Refresh all wearied ache within th’embrace,

For she and I have duties to perform,

Else we shall wake one morn and find us Picts.

A strong-limbed, comely youth, of noble face.

What art thou, boy, and wherefore needs our ear?

God save you. I am Philip, come from York.

And carry you remembrance from my mother,

Who from her dying bed sends tender love

To her one king and true.

Who is thy dam?

In York she sewed for the lord mayor’s wife.

A lady of the wardrobe, yes—that’s she?

Elizabeth was that good lady’s name.

Thy mother is Elizabeth? Of York?

But in her dying bed?

She is, my lord.

We sorrow at those words. What says she, child?

She bids me kneel and love you as my father.
⁶

Speak no word more of this deceit, queer
⁷
boy.

To love me as thou lovest thy own father?

To love you, father mine.

No more.

Is’t so?
⁸

In this alone do I claim more than kings,

For I have known our truth since I could speak.

She sang to me of you and of her love,

But said we must ne’er trouble you at court.

I am impatient for the swift and sure

Conclusion of this show of cozenage,
⁹

So skip us quickly to your humble foist.
¹⁰

Come, come, yield up your catalogue of boons.
¹¹

But nay, good lords, I hope of you no gift

More than your royal hands upon my head,

And you admit
¹²
my mother’s dying love

From her poor orphaned boy, then I’ll to York.

An if now orphaned, Philip, yet new-fathered,

Or better far, restored to father true:

I see in every sinew and thine eye

Thy testimony’s proof: thou art my print.
¹³

I know these lineaments
¹⁴
as if I peered

Into a glass of other years, which guards

In it past images long sith reflect.

Come to my arms, my Philip, prince and heir.

In court shalt thou adoptedly reside.

You course so speedily as this, my liege?

He came to London hoping for a coin,

And you’ll emboss his face on every one.

’Tis not so plain to me the evidence

You spy in this base sharker’s
¹⁵
reddening cheek.

Nor is there policy in circumstance

Determining the fate of kings and realms.

E’en it is true, are there not other such?

Perchance this one hath not the claim of age.

’Tis so, all so, but this one came to me

And this one has no parent now, but me.

I will not banish my own son by night

Nor nurse my lineage in stranger’s lands,

But bind him to my side, to shape him king.

Good Gloucester, call the queen to share our joy.

Uprouse her from her weeping bed and we

Will consolate her in her grieving mood.

For three small heirs she gains a prince today

And must rejoice God’s equability.
¹⁶

Your majesty, there is a haste in this

That ill beseems
¹⁷
the matter and its cost.

This moment’s consequence will echo long.

Thou ne’er hadst son, old Gloucester, as I do,

And in his eyes perceive our future strength.

Now prithee cease to quirk
¹⁸
this case of truth
¹⁹

But lead my gloomy
²⁰
queen to greet our son.

Exit Gloucester

Young Philip, dost thou love to fish and hunt?

And canst thou ride and thrust a keen-edged sword?

I have acquired skill in manly arts,

And by my father’s side, would prove my worth.

’Tis spoke like any prince, my noble boy.

With pride we’ll watch you stare into the sun
²¹

Then soar as Britain’s eagle, Prince of Wales.

If I do stumble or speak slow, my lord,

I am astonished that I orphaned woke,

But will fall to my bed a son and prince.

I too have supped on such perplexity.

I am today the queen and you the king,

Dear Guen, and here present to you an heir.

You compassed
²²
this rare feat as thund’ring Jove

Did pop Minerva from his splitting pate?
²³

Did not your skull protest at such invention?
²⁴

New prince, embrace for me your mother-queen.

And will his brother Mordred love him well?

More dread have I of April rain and wind

Than of that flea-bit tench,
²⁵
that ape, that patch,

The jordan-faced
²⁶
and stinking Pictish scroyle.
²⁷

That league was pashed
²⁸
in bits upon its terms.

Shall we send word to him of his mischance?

But wait for our return from Irish wars,

For he is one who poorly learns bad news.

What further need have you of queen, my lord?

Have I not failed what you have asked of me?

Hush, Guen! Thou must not speak such wretched stuff!

We have made whole our question, only queen,

Be jovial now and kiss our son and heir.

So as you bid, so shall I do. Come, Prince.

[
They embrace
]

What war will follow on from this fond kiss?

Such war as would have followed all the same,

Such war as clouds the sky or dews the grass.

Our people ne’er would tolerate the Pict

And he had ruled ’gainst endless mutiny.

No English will abide a stranger-king

But offer up commotion without end.

We sealed that pact in other, different days;

He sure cannot conceive that it would hold.

Go see, my lord, that all is readiness,—

And, Prince, when I return, we shall converse.—

Come, Guen, a night of peace is granted us

And savors it more nectared ’twixt two wars.

Exeunt
[
except Philip
]