 | The Earl of Brecon |  |
SCENE II.
The Barriers.Geoffrey Lord of Builth, Sir Philip de Breos, Sir Hugh, Sir Simon, &c., with Sir Reginald Saint Vallery, Page, and Soldiers.
GEOFFREY.
Ay, Lord Fitzwalter and his sister too—
I win them both with Brecon. Largess, boy.
[Gives money to the Page.
Take the bowl home again, Sir Reginald:
It will be readier when I call within.
Fitzwalter is our cellarist: go tell him
That we will recompense his love and service.
Hold up the head and march!
[Exit Saint Vallery with Page.
DE BREOS.
Saint Vallery's helm
Sits heavy and awry.
GEOFFREY.
Droops dexterward—
The side I canted it. Ere, that huge hind
Had ceased to swing his iron flail about it,
He made mine chime so emptily, I feared
The brains were out. By all the many oaths
King Gryffeth swears with when his heart is vexed,
He shall account to me.
DE BREOS.
Which shall, fair cousin?
Gryffeth does nothing, and the hind too much.
This king of six is missing.
(Trumpet sounds).
77
Fitzwalter's trumpet.
GEOFFREY.
Void the ground! give room!
And mark me, sirs—the castle is our own—
As surely so as if the roast were carved,
And we at table supping in the hall.
Without Fitzwalter 'tis an empty shell;
And he bides here. If any come between
To botch this work of mine a second time
By drawing help on either side—ye hear me?
Sir Philip, strike him dead!
[Enter Fitzwalter, Saint Vallery, Sir Giles, &c.
Fair cousin, a match:—
Whichever is the Earl, he will need friends;
So let us keep our servants for to-morrow,
And work to day ourselves.
FITZWALTER.
'Tis ordered so.
Stand back, Sir Giles; I prithee keep away.
GEOFFREY.
The longest liver is the Earl of Brecon?
FITZWALTER.
I cannot wager with another's wealth:
My wife must be the Countess.
GEOFFREY.
So she shall,
With all my heart, if mine. I take her too.
Now for the widow!
(They fight.)
DE BREOS.
Off, Sir Reginald!
Keep the lists clear behind there!
SIR HUGH.
Higher! strike higher!
Give room enough!
SIR GILES.
Then drive those muttons hence.
DE BREOS.
Fought bravely both sides, and well matched!
SIR GILES.
Stand wide!
SIR REGINALD.
Philip de Breos is nearer now than we are.
78
SIR HUGH.
That makes the difference!
SIR REGINALD.
Ah! his foot slips! Fitzwalter!
GEOFFREY.
Yield thee, cousin.
Let the sword loose, and then away to Builth.
I haste within as comforter—let go!
[Enter Mahel, who beats back Geoffrey; both sides come up; Fitzwalter is rescued, and his knights retire with him.
MAHEL.
Take breath, my Lord of Builth.
GEOFFREY.
Away from him!
Philip, stand back, and clear the ground again.
No matter for the Earl of Hereford—
Our brand-mark is upon him—I shall find him!
Fitzwalter will not fight again to-day.
He bides as safely ours within, as here.
Let the stag hide awhile. This witch's wolf,
Who sped the better through my loss of breath,
Comes in good time, the next. By holy Jude,
He called me craven too, and runaway!
I would redeem him at the gallows foot!
With half I have would buy him from the rope,
Rather than quit or miss him!
MAHEL.
Prithee peace!
I cannot give thee breath against thy will,
Or such a will to waste it. We shall hear
Of some mischance again.
GEOFFREY.
There has been yet
So much of exercise as does me good—
It breathes and warms me. Look about thee, cuckold!
Fight bravely, buffalo!—it is with him
Who never turned aside from what stood next,
Be it knight or knave. Art ready, leaden-fist?
(They fight.)
DE BREOS.
Give space enough, Sir Hugh—he looked for death—
Let him not miss it.
79
Hew him to the fork!
Ah! short!—then where the halter should have been!
DE BREOS.
By sun and moon, he bears him masterly!
Fair play behind there!—fie, Sir Simon Hay!
His luck is one to twelve—so room enough.
SIR ANDREW.
Down with him, Builth and Brecon! bravely struck!
Fore Heaven! he is a master of his craft!
DE BREOS.
Ah! keep upon thy legs, good cousin of Builth!
Farewell to knighthood if our grooms fight thus!
Down! Builth is down! forbear a space.
[Geoffrey is struck on one knee.
MAHEL.
We fight
In honor, Lord of Builth—so breathe awhile—
I give what I would take.
GEOFFREY.
Wilt rest, or how?
MAHEL.
Ay, while Sir Philip keeps the ground so justly.
I fain would rest this sevennight. Why not part
With breath enough to serve us home again?
GEOFFREY.
I rather would die here, than live and leave thee.
Both never will go home again, or hence.
A grave is digged behind for one of us—
Which first draws back, drops in. My bed is made—
I sleep in yonder castle all night long,
Or in the church a hundred years and odd.
'Tis Brecon now or nothing.
(Mahel throws down the gauntlet.)
MAHEL.
Let the gage
Lie there till one or other pick it up—
Or both lie there beside it.
(fight)
SIR ANDREW.
That rings well!
He bleeds, and freely—that has touched the quick!
SIR HUGH.
Look up a little longer, Geoffrey Builth!
His well runs dry.
80
The sting that pricked him so,
Has made him mad. O mercy! hold! yet hold!
It is too late! forbear again! O cousin!
(Geoffrey falls; his party attack Mahel.)
Fie! this is butchery! let him go, Sir Hugh!
What! ten to one—and he past help! get from him!
Enter Barnabas, followed by Saint Vallery, Sir Giles, Sir Humfrey, &c.
BARNABAS.
Help! rescue! Newmark! Brecon! bastard! craven!
Afraid to follow me, Sir Humphrey Uske?
O shame, Saint Vallery!
SIR HUMFREY.
Hold, and hear me speak!
A moment's truce, Sir Philip.
DE BREOS.
Aid me, then—
I fight for peace with both sides—stand apart!
Can any tell us what the quarrel is?
(Mahel is rescued.)
O shame to soldiership!
SIR HUGH.
He has his hire.
Now let him go, Sir Simon Hay. Art hurt?
What! wounded too?
DE BREOS.
Take Geoffrey's casque away.
See if he breathe.
SIR ANDREW.
The mischief is below.
SIR HUGH.
Why here are deaths enough for two or three!
DE BREOS.
Then heaven be gracious to him! Geoffrey's cry,
Erewhile so loud, is changed from “Builth and Brecon,”
To “help and mercy”—where we cannot hear it:
Who claims the Earldom now from Hereford?
Lie still, brave heart! for almost twenty years
The strongest and the noblest strove to reach thee:
Vile hands have found the way to thee at last:
This grieves me more than all the rest! Who next?
Builth falls to me, by heirship—whose is Brecon?
I look no higher than Builth. What do we fight for?
81
Let Lord Fitzwalter plead against the king:
Right rests with one of them.
DE BREOS.
Go some of you—
Our claims are narrower now by forty miles—
Instead of all the land twixt Tawe and Wye,
A grave within the chantry of Saint John—
Tell Lord Fitzwalter so. With this he quits us.
There is no more on either side.
SIR GILES.
Come all—
I will be surety for ample welcome.
DE BREOS.
There needs no pledge for such as he. Sir Hugh,
Proclaim a truce, and call the archers off.
[Exeunt.
| The Earl of Brecon | |