 | The Earl of Brecon |  |
13
SCENE IV.
Hall of the Castle, hung with black escutcheons and banners. The guests rising as at the conclusion of a banquet. Geoffrey Lord of Builth, Sir Philip de Breos, Sir Andrew Fitzhaman, Sir Simon de la Hay, Sir Hugh, &c., advance from the cross-table at the upper end to meet Mahel Earl of Brecon; Fitzwalter Earl of Hereford; the Countess Mother of Brecon; her daughter Margaret, Countess of Hereford; and Bertha Fitzwalter; followed from the end opposite by Sir Michael Brace, the Seneschal, Sir Reginald Saint Vallery, Sir Humfrey of Uske, Sir Giles, Sir Paul, and other knights.MAHEL.
Thanks both to friends and servants for their love.
Our cousin, the lord of Builth, Sir Philip de Breos,
Sir Andrew, Simon, Hew, have hosts at Brecon:
Their beds are with the prior of St. John.
Others have far to ride before they sleep,
And twilight shews the earliest of the stars.
While d'Eyle prepares to summon all again,
Fill me a cup of wine, Sir Michael Brace,
That I may drink to each a happier meeting,
And health till then.
(Trumpets sound.)
SECOND HERALD.
Stand bare awhile!
FIRST HERALD.
O yes!
SECOND HERALD.
Those caps off, yonder—peace!
FIRST HERALD.
O yes, O yes!
All barons, knights, knight-bachelors, esquires,
Frank-tenants, yeomen, villeins—all men else
Who hold their land by seizin, service, wardship,
In capite, free-soccage, gavel-kind,
Church-tenure, burgage-tenure, villeinage,
Are hereby cited to do homage for them,
Make oath of fealty, discharge their fines,
Or else plead ousterlmain, and sue by livery,
On St. John Baptist's Martyrdom, at noon.
(Trumpets and acclamation.)
(Geoffrey Builth, who had remained covered, advances.)
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O yes, O yes! cried lustily for heaven!
And therefore largess to the pursuivants.
(Throws them his purse.)
We thank our friends and lieges every one—
Both knights and knaves—with all our heart we thank them.
First, these our kinsmen by the father's side,
My lord of Hereford, and gentle Mahel,
Sir Humfrey Uske, Sir Giles, Saint Vallery;
Then each in his degree.
SIR HUGH.
I will not wait
For Saint John Baptist's Martyrdom at noon
To swear my fealty; but on the knee
Do homage now.— (He kneels to Geoffrey.)
SIR ANDREW.
I thought to be the first
Who prayed long life for Geoffrey, lord of Builth,
As Earl of Brecon too.— (He kneels to Geoffrey.)
FITZWALTER.
Stand up, Sir Hugh!
What ill-conceited trasheries are these?
A single clown, yea even a sober one,
Were out of grace and welcome here to-day.
Three drunken jack-a-lents, at any time,
Could only mock each other. Wise Sir Andrew
Plays merry-Andrew at a burial;
And stout Sir Hugh a jester's supple-back!
GEOFFREY.
Our cousin of Hereford is cursed and crooked,
Through nothing worse than emptiness. Good sooth,
He would not eat nor drink with us! We three
Thrive better for our meat.
FITZWALTER.
A fool at noon
Is seldom much the wiser after supper—
And this buffoonery began betimes.
SIR HUGH.
Is all such service foolery, my lord?
FITZWALTER.
I am but slow at riddles, good Sir Hugh.
GEOFFREY.
Then let us help thy wits, which twice to-day
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My servants wish me joy as master here,
Lord, both of Builth and Brecon—so I am—
And will be so with leave of Hereford,
Or else without it. Such I rode to church—
The heir, and lawfully the next of kin
To Bernard Newmark, buried there. As such
I sat at table in the seat he left me—
His successor, his substitute, his nephew,
His younger brother Roger Newmark's son.
The Lord of Builth is Earl of Brecon too.
Needst more illumination yet, fair coz?
Or will this serve?
FITZWALTER.
Nay, truly, this will not.
At Hereford we count men's sons and daughters
As nearer kin than nephews.
GEOFFREY.
Do ye so?
At Hereford I grant it may be thus.
Ye men of Hereford dwell farther east—
Wisdom must pass you ere it get to Builth:
We catch, at best, your leavings. Hereford!
I' faith ye judge aright! Sons should stand first.
Yet stop! not all—what sort of sons? There be
Diversities among them. Some men say
That pilchards are the unlawful sons of herrings—
A kind of mules—but then subordinately—
Without inheritance. Why, look you, sirs,
I Builth have sons and daughters—Geoffrey Builth,
As yet a bachelor, has many such.
What then? My mother's nephew—here he is—
May sometime push his little kinsfolk out—
My blood, my bone, my flesh, my boys and girls—
Himself being next as heir. Indeed he may—
This Philip de Breos here.
FITZWALTER.
What of that?
GEOFFREY.
Why so?
Because their mothers missed the way to church—
Forgot the priest—were ill at making bargains.
By law, they should have had a clerk at hand
To give men nine months notice of their coming.
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Mine uncle Bernard seemed a careful man,
But here his memory failed him.
COUNTESS.
Lead him hence!
Go, scourge him homewards! When the sot comes next,
Let him be seated at the bench outside;
And keep him fasting till we send for him.
GEOFFREY.
Special hard usage in a man's own house!
The wine I drank to-day was mine before—
Drawn from my flasks and barrels. Fasting too!
Scourged homeward—sayest thou?—why, I am at home.
Where be these beadels, mistress What's-thy-name?
I would deal tenderly with every one—
For uncle Bernard's sake, I would do so—
But scourges on the back of Geoffrey Builth!
Ah! ah! fair leman mine!
DE BREOS.
Have patience, sirs.
Builth claims the Earldom here as lawful heir.
If Mahel and his sister Margaret
Were born with wedlock's blessings overhead,
The proofs are patent—three-and-twenty years
Have left some records on the spot, no doubt:
Ye have not far to look for them.
GEOFFREY.
Give room—
If this Welsh princess Nest were Newmark's wife,
Where be the vouchers, records, contracts, pacts,
The priests, the witnesses, the bridegroom's fellows,
The bride's companions? Who was at the feast?
Who kindled bonfires on the hills? Who danced?
Who swept the marriage-chamber from mishap?
Ye live among your people—bring them forth.
Marriage makes such a coil when coupling great ones,
I never could go nearer than the feast.
When these were born to him, Earl Bernard's pate
Was grey with more than forty years—and he
No maiden runaway at any time.
What need of whisperings then, and traversings,
And kissing-corners to a man like him?
His brother, my dead father, thought as I—
So do these knights.
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I tread on no man's heels;
But ask for guidance to a sure belief
From written chronicles or living lips.
Let Mahel bring his proofs.
SIR ANDREW.
I say so too.
GEOFFREY.
By holy Jude, I say the same myself!
With all my heart I do subscribe to this.
Will any honest man wish more or less?
Speak out at once, boy, like thy father's child—
So far no matter for the priest—wilt bide
By wise men's judgment, both sides pleading issue?
Or shall we bear our difference to the king?
Lastly, as best and shortest of the three,
Wilt call Heaven's saints to arbitrate between us,
The while we look each other in the face?
Wilt do me right on horseback or on foot?
There lies my gage!
(Throws down his gauntlet.)
MAHEL.
I will await the first,
The wise men's inquest, and rest there. To-morrow
So strange a challenge will make mirth for all;
But now the soberer half is most perplexed.
COUNTESS.
Will it do so? Make mirth to-morrow, will it,
That Geoffrey Builth has warned thee out of doors,—
Seized thine inheritance at one day's notice—
And called thy mother harlot? Mirth, good sooth!
A gracious provocation to the merry!
Thyself and sister judged for bastardy—
And this sot's glove before thy face! Why, here
He has a proof worth ten times all the rest;
Earl Bernard's son a coward! I do begin
To think thee what he calls thee—both sides bastard—
A beggar's changeling stolen from some ditch—
Neither his son nor mine. Stoop, thou slave!
Pick up the braggart's gauntlet!
[Shouts from the spectators.
Mahel! fie!
He dares not! look, he leaves it!
COUNTESS.
Thrust Builth out!
Who sides with me for Brecon?
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Prithee, stand back!
We shall have blood enough if this game speed.
One burial will beget a hundred more.
My lord of Hereford, give help!
FITZWALTER.
Stand off!
We that are sober should forbear—away!
Let both sides keep their benches. Now, De Breos,
What say'st thou?
DE BREOS.
That we cannot end to-night,
With kicks and cuffs, a question such as this.
Prithee have patience, Geoffrey, while I speak.
Mahel by right has made the choice we gave him.
Take up thy glove, fair cousin.
(Gives him the gauntlet.)
If we must fight,
Let us have Heaven and day light over-head,
The grass to stand upon, and next our hearts
Iron mail as sound as they. Knighthood will blush,
If they who sat like brethren, side by side,
The earlier portion of so great a feast,
Should pelt their wine cups at each other's pates,
And end the high solemnity with knives!
Geoffrey, sit down! My lord of Hereford,
Let us debate of this with cooler brains,
And meet again to-morrow.
FITZWALTER.
Well, Sir Philip—
I care not when we meet, or how. To-morrow?
If ever Geoffrey's knighthood blush again,
It will to-morrow, Sir Philip de Breos.
DE BREOS.
We meet
In honor and unarmed?
FITZWALTER.
Ay, either way.
DE BREOS.
Let us come habited as now we are.
The Earl of Hereford, Sir Michael Brace,
Sir Giles, Sir Humphrey Uske, Sir Reginald,
Will pledge their knightly faith against surprise?
We shall have right of passage in and out?
I dare trust all or either.
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Tarry, Fitzwalter!
This challenge of the Earldom, needs it blushes?
Who else need blush beside thy mother-in-law?
DE BREOS.
Peace—come away! My lord of Hereford
Has promised us, and so have these. Good night!
[Exeunt.
| The Earl of Brecon | |