University of Virginia Library

ACT III

SCENE I

A rude, half-ruined chamber of a dismantled castle in the North. In the light of torches the Saxon chiefs are supping and revelling. The two chief seats at the head of the table are vacant. The men have all the appearance of recent conflict, stained and dented armour and wounds showing upon them here and there. On the rising of the curtain, Harold and Gurth enter, followed by certain soldiers carrying spades and other digging implements. One carries a huge shield and another a huge sword.
Harold.
Friends, let these men have drink. They are athirst
From burying of a giant. Deep he lies,
Hardrada now: yet in our victory,
Hard won upon the plain of Stamford Bridge,
Forget we not the gallant dead we fought.
The giant now hath that seven feet of earth
I promised him.
[Laughter around the board.
See here his shield and sword!
These mighty trophies will adorn the feast!
And, friends, if I should fall, I look to have
At least a reverend burying. Where I fall,
If without tears and ceremonial rite,
A kindly laying in the earth at least.
[A silence follows Harold's words.
But not to-night of burial or tears
We think. I toast the field of Stamford Bridge!

[All rise to drink, and when they sit, a chief, cup in hand, begins to sing an old Saxon war-ballad. The song at its end is interrupted by the entry of a mud-besplashed messenger.
Messenger.
Where is our King? Whence Harold?

[He is beckoned by Harold.
Har.
Wherefrom, man?

Messenger.
O King! I am the last of many posts
Furiously hither running from the South.
William, the Norman Duke, already stands
Upon our Southern beach; and with him comes
A host so vast, no eye can see the end.

[A deep silence follows on this; then, after a pause, a shout of derisive laughter.
A Chief.
Another come for burial!

Another.
Let him find
A Southern grave, as he a Northern! Drink!

Another.
We ever were a hospitable folk,
And entertain the strangers North and South!

Another
(raising cup).
Confusion to the Norman and his priests!

Another.
More wine! And let the Norman stretch his legs
About our coast awhile.

Another.
He'll know it better
When we have done with him.

Another.
Drink on, drink on!

Gurth
(rising gravely).
Thus I have set my cup down for to-night.
[Murmurs.
Break we the feast up! Let us drink no more.
[Further murmurs.
I tell you that the giant we have slain
Here on the Northern moor had not the half
Of dangers in him that this Norman hath.
That shield was buckler of a brave, rough man
Like to ourselves. In battle was his joy;
War was his frolic both by land and sea.
Far other he that comes upon us now;
With deep dissimulation and with art
He hath prepared him; and behind him brought
The bristling chivalry of many lands,
Who are embarked as in a holy war
Against a perjurer;
[Loud and angry shouts.
count this man not light!
What is our course? How best to fight him?

A Chief.
Have at his throat!

Another.
We'll have no priestcraft here!

Gurth.
Have at his throat, the very way he wants.

Two or Three.
Then let him have it; we are blooded now!

Gurth.
Patience! I would advise we concentrate
On London all the armies that we may,
Not rushing down on him, but biding still.
So let him plunder, devastate and burn.
With plunder and with spoil disordered thus
His host breaks out of hand; distracted then
Each by himself will snatch and fight his friend.
Divisions, rivalries will eat them up!
Then sudden on a lawless mob we fall,
We, bound together, for our native earth.
Remember, war is not mere shock of arms,
Freedom alone outnumbers armies vast.
Here let us bide alert, but not o'er-rash
Until—

[A second messenger rushes in.
Messenger.
O King! I am sped out of the South!
The Norman ravages and slays and burns;
Thy land is smouldering fast and homestead flamed!
'Tis panic everywhere, thy people fly.
The foe spares not the mother nor the babe;
He strikes and massacres, he spills and hews!
Is there no help? To thee we cry aloud!

Har.
(rising angrily).
And I will answer.
[Acclamation and cries of “Harold.”
Who will follow me?
[Shouts of “I, I!”
I will not see these things done in the land!
Shall I sit here, or, as thou sayest, bide,
While all these cries are ringing in my ear?
This heart shall answer to the Norman brain!
I, I am burned, I stifle with the smoke
Of flaming homes. My blood even now is spilled.
I am unfathered, I am childless left;
For how can sword the meanest peasant pierce,
But me it pierces; any home be fired,
But I am homeless and in ashes stand?
Oh, now a thousand far-off wounds I feel,
And thousands of strange tears are on my cheek!
Of all afflicted I am most afflicted,
Who bear a people's burden on my back;
And I am bowed with all the Saxon woe.
I take upon me, England, thy travail.
I would be gone straightway; this wine is bitter
And it hath got by now a look of blood!
[Others who have been drinking set down their wine-cups.
I'll tarry not! Who then steps South with me?
[All rise, cheering.
Each moment we delay some babe is slain,
Each instant that we pause a home is fired!
Doth any flinch? Then I see blood on him!
And thou that urgest policy, if we
Out of the North upon the Norman swoop,
We swoop like eagles from a carcass red!
Here are we blooded! Forward on the trail!
Now sure upon the wind the Norman scent!
We come on him aflush with victory!
With axes from this carnage yet undried!
And from the dead upon the living rush!
Who bideth here?

Thanes.
None, none!

Har.
Who cometh South?

Thanes.
All! All!

Har.
Each man make ready for the South!

[Thanes disperse with eager words.
Gurth
(putting his arm about Harold).
Harold, I love thee; but thou art not wise.

SCENE II

The downs of Sussex at midnight. Harold's army marching South. On rising of the curtain is heard the sound of old battle-songs from troops already passed, dying away in distance. Down stage is a group of poor peasants, male and female. Their appearance is ragged and forlorn. They are saying farewell to various countrymen who are joining Harold's army, armed but with scythes and bill-hooks. The Standard-bearer now enters, with sound of bugles, bearing aloft the jewelled standard of “The Fighting Man.” Then Harold enters, his battle-axe slung behind him, some of his most trusted Thanes following. As he advances the peasants run towards him, crying, “Harold! Harold!” and clasping his knees.
An Old Man.
O King, deliver us! Our home is burned,
We are driven forth and starve on the hillside.
And the rain soaks us, and the dews of night!
I am too old to endure it, and my sons
Are gone from me into thy battle, King!

[He clasps him about the knees.
A Woman.
Harold, I cry for vengeance! They have taken
My children from their mother; young girls both,
To be the lustful sport of foreign lords.
Give me my children back; in thee I trust!

Another Aged Man.
O King! Would I were young again! To strike
The Norman robbers down; but I am bowed
With years and I can give no aid but a cry.
King, let me not go down unto the grave
Till I have seen their blood upon our hills!
To thee we look!

[The group of peasants come round him with cries.
Peasants.
Vengeance, O vengeance!

Har.
(pausing).
My people, as there is a God in heaven!
I swear to you I will swift vengeance take!
I'll drive these robbers into the hungering sea;
No trumpet can so stir me as your cry!
Your curses shall give edge unto this axe!
Farewell a little: I'll return in blood!

[They kiss his hands with cries of “Harold, our king!” “Harold, our hope!” and disperse.
[Harold starts forward, when he is stayed by his mother Elfrida, who appears out of the darkness; two women and soldiers attending her are visible lower down. The Thanes about Harold, at a sign from him, go onward.
Elfrida.
Harold, thou most beloved of all my sons!
Kiss me, thy mother, ere thou goest on!
[Harold kisses her on the brow.
Be not o'er-rash! Expose thee not o'er-much!
Oh, much is due to England, yet to me,
Who bore thee, something; in the battle-rage,
When all the blood is up and blows come thick,
Remember still women that wait behind,
For Edith is come with me.
[Harold starts.
Thee the rush,
The onset and the clamour will uphold,
And most that thou art fighting for this land;
But nothing shall uphold us but to hope,
Expecting helplessly, with vain, vain hands.
And, child, take heed of that left side, where thou
Had'st injury when a boy, those years ago.
What can I say or do now?

Har.
Nothing, mother.
I would not seem unkind or soldier-rough,
But thou must let me pass on to the battle.
Thou hast the guard I sent thee?

Elf.
Yes, they wait us
On the edge of yonder down; these few are here.

Har.
Hast thou enough? So few have I to spare
Against the oncoming Norman.

Elf.
We are safe.
What but will be our safety in thy peril!

Har.
Mother, farewell! Unman me not! And she?

Elf.
Edith will come to thee, if thou didst wish it,
Else she will come not.

Har.
Call her then and quickly!

[He again kisses Elfrida. She makes a sign to Edith, who is waiting in the background and now comes to Harold, Elfrida retiring.
Edith.
Harold, almost I feared to come to thee
In such an hour, lest having hold of thee
I could not let thee go.
[They embrace passionately.
Ah, I have kissed thee,
I'll trouble not my soldier with a word.
I have not brought thee tears, no, but a smile,
And from this smile into the battle go.
Remember in the war-press that I smiled.

Har.
If any fear I have, it is to lose thee.
'Tis not the Norman weighs upon my heart;
And when the fight begins I'll see the end.
But, ah, how difficult this moment is!
[A trumpet calls.
Hark, I am called!

Edith.
And still you see I smile.

[Harold, with a last look on Edith again, presses on. She remains looking after him with a smile; then bursts into a storm of weeping till Elfrida, comforting her, leads her away.

SCENE III

A road over the downs leading to Senlac Hill. Midnight. Harold with certain chief Thanes marching. From the mouth of a woody cave on left Githa emerges, arresting Harold's progress.
Githa.
Harold of England! Whither goest thou?

Har.
(to his Thanes).
Go all ye onward and await me. Here
With the witch-woman I would speak alone.
[Exeunt Thanes.
Githa, thou wise witch-woman, see, I march
To Senlac, there to fight the Norman. Thou
Readest the boding night and thou art skilled
In simples and the mingling of dim herbs,
And by dark ways at knowledge hast arrived,
Withheld from simple folk. Unfold to me,
How shall I fare in this great clash of arms?
[Githa remains silent.
Speak, woman! Lest I have a doubt of thee.
[She is silent.
Thou answerest not—ah, what takes hold of thee?
Thy hair flies wild and foam is on thy lips;
Taller thou seemst! What God or demon now
Possesses thee?

Githa
(appearing to be shaken by some invisible power).
Spare me, Alcandra dark!
Relax thy fury! Lest this body bear
No more thy dreadful visitation! Ah,
The power hath come upon me: I am calm.
(In solemn tone:)
Harold!

Har.
Say on! Thou hast, it seems, for me
Some superhuman news.

Githa.
She speaks; not I.

Har.
Who?

Githa.
She but uses these my mortal lips.
But what I do but stammer hath been willed
By stars in Council ere this earth began.

Har.
Deliver it.

Githa.
Harold, on Senlac Hill
Thy host is overthrown, and reeleth back.
[Harold starts; then listens, leaning on his battle-axe.
Beware that arrow! To thy brain it flies;
Thou goest without cry unto the ground.

Har.
Is it death, woman, is it death?

Githa.
A death decreed,
Thy single life defers the Eternal will.
Lo! It is fated that the Norman blood
With Saxon shall be mingled happily,
Toward the shaping of the mighty world.
And from this wine of blood, to-morrow spilled,
Shall spring a fortunate vintage from the Earth.
A mighty brew from battle shall be made,
For from that mingling shall an Empire rise
Vaster than any by the sun beheld.
Thy life alone this mighty marriage mars
Of nations, and the destined fusion foils.
For whilst thou livest England to thee were true.
Thou standest now in the straight path of Fate,
And but thy dying can make clear her way.
For with the years, and the kind touch of Time,
Norman and Saxon shall together come,
Together stand up in the clash of arms,
On many a foreign plain and alien hill,
And in one host shall battle and o'erthrow.
Then shall a navy sweep the strangest seas,
And ultimate ocean; and the dreadful deep
Shall be the mirror of her mighty masts.
A greater England shall arise and queen
The vast and wandering waters of the world.
And she shall lay her arm about the East,
And the huge Orient with a remnant hold,
Tribes in full stare of Phœbus and aspects
Into a dimness kissed by splendid suns;
Millions of turbaned brows and thrones of gold,
And shores of spice and pearl and emerald.
Not here alone shall England triumph, she
A mighty river shall ascend by night,
And with the dawn a new dominion grasp,
Cradle of heroes, radiant, snowy-clear.
Never shall sun upon that Empire set.
Harold, behold thy necessary doom;
World-destiny, no less, demands thy death;
And so shall one man for the people die.

[She falls as exhausted on the ground.
Har.
Though this thing be, I'll fight in fury still.