University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A Corridor in the Palace at Kingston.
Odo, Harcather, Ruold.
Odo.
Earl Athulf come! I'll with you to the King.

Harcather.
You'll find your monasteries emptied out
Under your nose, my Lord, at Sheen and Sion
Ere it be long; and why you arm not now
It passes me to guess.

Odo.
The Abbot, Sir,
The Abbot listens to no mortal voice
Except his mother's; and old Cynethryth
Is fearful of divisions; for in her youth
The splitting of the realm within itself
Was wont to sound a summons to the Dane.
And fetch him o'er the seas.

Harcather.
An old wife's tale.

Odo.
I'll bring you to the King, and testify
That what you charge on Athulf and his house
Is worthy of all credit.

Harcather.
Ruold, mark,
I will thee not to loiter thus at court.
Get thee again to Chester, son. Farewell.

[Exeunt Odo and Harcather.
Ruold.
Father, farewell! and then farewell the court!
To stay should but divide me from my friends
By worse than distance; for my father's hand
Is raised against them. Wherefore, fare you well,
Good Athulf and Elgiva. Peace be with you.

[Exit.
Enter Leolf and Athulf.
Leolf.
Fair shines the hour and friendly to my spirit,
That brings thee back. Welcome once more to Kingston!
I would have said to court; but, by my faith!
Far liefer would I to a cottage bid thee,
Than such a court as this.

Athulf.
Court, cot, or camp,
Hutch, hovel, let it be, or blasted heath,
In shine or storm, well met! What ails the court?

Leolf.
Its old disorder, cynics say, made up
Of ills, tho' diverse, not dissociate:
Ambition's fever, envy's jaundiced eye,
Detraction that exulcerates, aguish fear,
Suspicion's wasting pale insomnolence,
With hatred's canker.

Athulf.
To which add, no doubt,
Monks for physicians.

Leolf.
There you touch a theme
For large and leisurely discourse. To-night
I will but say, the boldest of bold hearts
Is hither come in season.

Athulf.
Say you so?
Come cowl and crosier! With a cap of steel
And battle-axe in hand, we will not fly.
But softly for a season! In what current
Runs the blood-royal? Are we where we were?

Leolf.
O'er the Queen Mother's mean and meagre soul
Hath monkery triumphed; taking for allies
Her past misdeeds and ever-present fears.
Upon the Princess too I see it steal,
And stain her pleasant purity of spirit.

Athulf.
But still the King is staunch?

Leolf.
Young, young and warm;
Prompt in defiance, too precipitate;
For we must have him crowned ere it be safe
To cross them. But the passion which in youth
Drives fast downhill, means that the impulse gained
Should speed us up the hill that's opposite.
How found you the mid-counties?

Athulf.
Oh! monk-ridden;
Raving of Dunstan.

Leolf.
'Tis a raving time:
Mad monks, mad peasants; Dunstan is not sane,
And madness that doth least declare itself
Endangers most and ever most infects
The unsound many. See where stands that man,
And where this people: then compute the peril
To one and all. When force and cunning meet
Upon the confine of one cloudy mind,
When ignorance and knowledge halve the mass,
When night and day stand at an equinox,
Then storms are rife. Yet once the King were crowned,
We could face Dunstan; which he knows too well,
And still by one thin pretext or another
Defers the coronation, and his will
The Primate follows.

Athulf.
Upon Edwin's head
Before the crown must come the stout steel cap;
Is it not so?

Leolf.
I see no other end;
And therefore, Athulf, in a happy hour
Com'st thou to Kingston. With our trustiest friends
We'll counsel take to-morrow. All is ripe.
You're strong in Wessex, and can thither send
To hold your strength in readiness. Meanwhile
Breathe not a word of menace; for at court
The monks have eyes to see and ears to hear,
Themselves nor seen nor heard.

Athulf.
Monks and stone walls,
Since both of you have ears, I'll teach my tongue
To say, “God save the King!” so whisperingly
That only God shall hear.—A truce to Kings,
To monks, to madmen; Leolf, at my heart
There's something that sits closer. Guess you what?
Or must I speak? How thrive you with my sister?

Leolf.
Indifferently. In sooth I hardly know.
We'll talk of that—but by your leave, hereafter.
Seek we the Chancellor now, and let your mind
Put off its soldierly habiliments,
And on its garb of policy, to meet
The wise old man.

Athulf.
Off, idle hauberk, off!
Off, clattering sword! off, greave and gauntlet!—There!
Behold me politic. Old Clarenbald,
A serious politician comes to council.