University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Castle Hall. Tumult heard from without.
The Ladies Margaret and Bertha.
BERTHA.
The gallery casement looks beyond them now—
Not on, but over them.

MARGARET.
Their cries sound nearer.

Enter Sir Humfrey of Uske.
SIR HUMFREY.
We lose the barriers to them.

MARGARET.
Beaten back?

BERTHA.
Lost ground so soon?

SIR HUMFREY.
Keep from the lattice, ladies!
Call down the Countess—we shall need good eyes
To follow where the cross-bow shot have sped.
Some must go home, no doubt, 'twixt rib and rib.

BERTHA.
The barriers lost?

SIR HUMFREY.
We cannot hold them wisely,
So yield them freely. There our loins are bare:
We scarce count one to five.

MARGARET.
Then come within.

SIR HUMFREY.
There will be work for ladies by and by:
Have napkins ready.

MARGARET.
Why not keep inside?

BERTHA.
Counsel my brother so—why not, Sir Humfrey?
I do abhor this shaking of the head!
Come in, and shut the gates.

SIR HUMFREY.
My lord would laugh
Whoe'er might counsel him:—indeed he would,
Yea, though the wisest of our captains willed it,
The lady Bertha stamped her little foot;
Seeing that the vantage ground lies out of doors;
The space being not too wide for those who keep it,
Where twenty knights, at most, may fight in front,
He would bide there. Meanwhile, have wine at hand:
Such heavy work breeds thirst.

MARGARET.
Hast seen the earl?
I pray keep near to him, Sir Humfrey Uske!
Sir Reginald Saint Vallery has promised,
And good Sir Giles. Trust me, I will be grateful:
He is too hot.

BERTHA.
Nay, let him keep behind.
Fitzwalter will not have him for a nurse.
Three gossips are too many. Stand aloof—
Or if he stumble, set him on his legs.
Till then fair play, and afterwards, Sir Humfrey—

SIR HUMFREY.
I would have ten such sisters, if I might;
And one such wife.

BERTHA.
A wife? as which of us?

SIR HUMFREY.
The bravest, surely: which is best and fairest,
The good and fair may better judge than I.
Whate'er betide the Earl, I cannot aid him.
My present charge is in the barbican;
Or else I had not tarried here so long.

(Enter Soldier.)
SOLDIER.
Saint Vallery will be lost! The lord of Builth
Has left to some behind his picking up,
And leaped a rood this side of him.

(Exit Sir Humfrey.)
MARGARET.
Come back;
Grant me one moment with thee, friend.

SOLDIER.
Not now—
My lady must not hold me!—we give way,
So mixed and tangled with the men of Builth,
That Geoffrey may come first.

MARGARET.
Where is the Earl?

SOLDIER.
Even farther from the gate, than some he fights with.
He has Sir Philip de Breos in front of him;
So will not budge one inch—but hinders us—
While he bides there, we cannot lift the bridge,
Nor loose a bolt. Builth stands 'twixt him and us:
No man may face this devil who means to live!

(Cries.)
MARGARET.
Hark! Builth and Brecon!

SOLDIER.
That is Geoffrey's cry!

MARGARET.
Where is it? in the court yard?

SOLDIER.
Here he is—
They all come in together! we are beat
By over-fighting.

[Exit.
MARGARET.
Where were best to hide in?

BERTHA.
I will not hide me any where.

(Enter Barnabas.)
BARNABAS.
I will.
Being lowly-minded anywhere may serve—
The chimney—dust-hole—or the scullery-sink.
This third-part Earl eats up the other two;
So now for peace again. The lord of Builth
May take his earldom from Beelzebub!
I have known many skilled in braining helms,
But none like him.

BERTHA.
Those shouts seem farther off.
Hast seen the Earl?

BARNABAS.
Which of them?

BERTHA.
Hereford.

Enter Countess and Seneschal.
SENESCHAL.
We can bring later news of him—he speeds
As we would pray.

COUNTESS.
Fitzwalter's wife a coward?

BARNABAS.
Ay, and his sister too.

BERTHA.
Who shouted “Builth!
Brecon and Builth?”

MARGARET.
We did believe all lost.

SENESCHAL.
Faith, all was almost lost—we thought as you.
I would have bought a sheep-cot east of Wye
With two or three such earldoms. Geoffrey Builth
Had gained the bridge and second fortilege:
His cry was in the court—awhile he stood
This side the archway!

BERTHA.
Where was Hereford?

SENESCHAL.
At buffets with de Breos. We might have shut
Both factions out of doors, and turned the key,
But could not choose between them.

BERTHA.
Geoffrey Builth!
Did he give ground?

COUNTESS.
Ay, step by step he did.
He reeled, and backed away again. Canst tell
Who smote so furiously on Geoffrey's helm?
First stopped, then turned him? Whosoe'er he be,
He saved the House.

SENESCHAL.
I could not see his badge.

COUNTESS.
His place was ever foremost, or alone:
And still he cried, “Builth—Craven—Runaway!”

SENESCHAL.
He lied, indeed—but Heaven forgive him that.
The lord of Builth has found no match to-day
So near as he.

COUNTESS.
Send some one after him:
Seek him and bring him hither. Sir Philip de Breos!

(Enter Fitzwalter with de Breos.)
FITZWALTER.
This second time he comes against his will:
No wooer by deputy, nor covenant-maker.
He will give ransom measured by his worth,
So gold both handsful. I can rate him best,
Who paid for him with such a deal to do.

DE BREOS.
We lose a busy hour while others work.
The lord of Builth and Brecon brings my ransom:—
He is not far behind us.

SENESCHAL.
He came first;
But could not keep his holding here.

FITZWALTER.
Who says it?
Came first?—is it true?—was Geoffrey here indeed?
I did hear some such rumour 'midst the din—
Who turned him out again?

SENESCHAL.
His footing failed him.
Stunned by so loud a hammering on his ears,
He lost his breath, and staggered forth down hill,
Du Chastel after him.

FITZWALTER.
Good riddance then!
He leaves the bearer of his brains to us,
And is where he began an hour ago,
The farther side the barriers. Boy, bring wine:
The while we live together, we are friends:
I pledge Sir Philp de Breos.

COUNTESS.
Such brains as his,
With only such a hand to wait upon them,
Were short equivalents for what we lose!

FITZWALTER.
What do we lose? how so?

COUNTESS.
Saint Vallery.

FITZWALTER.
Good bye, Sir Reginald Saint Vallery!
I was about to say, with all my heart!
As being the better soldier perhaps, he thrust
Ten times to day 'twixt me and Geoffrey Builth.

MARGARET.
I could forgive him worse despite than that.
No matter which weighs heaviest, buy him back,
For Bertha's sake, whose knight he is.

FITZWALTER.
With what?

MARGARET.
Sir Philip de Breos. The exchange of foes for friends
Is profit every way.

BERTHA.
Let Builth keep both.
Such potent feeders will make short the siege.

FITZWALTER.
I fain would show them both how much I love them.
Sir Philip, go back—and send me home Saint Vallery.
The largest bowl, boy—bear it with de Breos—
Shall Geoffrey say he fought the worse through thirst?
Tell him to drive his followers farther back,
And that he may expect me.
[Exit Sir Philip de Breos with Page.
Now this glove—
The gage he left with us?—last night I saw it—
It was upon my helmet yesterday.
Go, find the armourer, Jaques, and look about.
Walk hither, Seneschal.

[Exit with Seneschal. Enter Ralph, leading in Mahel whose visor is closed.]
RALPH.
Wouldst slip the couples?
Nay, let the ladies look upon and praise thee.
In with thee, Gog Magog, and show thyself.
Prithee, abate this bashfulness! It tasked
My wood-craft to surprise so shy a stag!
Wouldst herd amongst thy fellows out of sight?
Dodge and trot off again?

COUNTESS.
He had no fellows
The last time that I saw him, Pantler Ralph;
Nor fellow nor follower—but went straight and singly.
The only deer were we.

RALPH.
What name dost bear?
Marry—his visor scarce may hide his blushes;
I should not marvel were the iron red hot.
Up with it, simple one. The beaver laced?
Thou canst not raise it?

MARGARET.
Peace! a trumpet—hark!

(Trumpet.)
COUNTESS.
Then Geoffrey sends his challenge to the gate.
I scarce may spare the leisure now for thanks—
But whom dost serve?

MAHEL.
My lady, if she please—
A houseless frankling since my father's death,
So poor withal, I have lacked bread of late,
Yet faithful nevertheless.

COUNTESS.
I trust and take thee.
Some that began my soldiers now wear spurs.

RALPH.
Down with thee, Gideon.

MAHEL,
kneeling.
I am all too base
For honor, lady. On a head like mine
If fallen, it could not settle. I would ask
A better-sorted boon instead of it.

COUNTESS.
What is it?—speak quick!

MAHEL.
Fair thoughts in time to come.
Since honest service seems not always such,
Till I transgress of malice let me hold
A large forgiveness, cleansing all offence;
That so my duty may begin anew
Both free and pure.

COUNTESS.
Well prayed! I promise it.
Come with me, Ralph.

[Exit.
MARGARET.
My mother spake the first:
I must not share these services to come:
The past are mine, as well, for recompense.
Fain would I crave the present hour between!
One hour which wastes its moments while I speak
Might purchase for thee honor, which would last
As long as life, or longer—house and lands,
With what thou wilt to boot. Darest do again
That which thou hast done freely once to-day?
Darest face this Lord of Builth a second time?
May Heaven forgive me, coward and thief!—I stole
His gauntlet from the helm of Hereford—
And now would hire the risk of cheaper blood!
But darest thou do it freely?

MAHEL.
I have dared
A worse thing than his face.

MARGARET.
What was it?

MAHEL.
Shame!
All things are light and easy after that!
Give me Builth's gage.

MARGARET.
Run to the barriers with it—
Be thou before Fitzwalter there! Yet stay,
If thou hast wife and children—God forgive me!
'Bide here, and let it lie!

BERTHA.
He may forgive;
Fitzwalter never will.

MAHEL.
Is pride as great
As mercy—which is infinite? If so
I dare not ask this proud man's sister aught—
Yet would I have her prayers.

BERTHA.
I need them all—
All are by much too little for my need.
What wouldst thou have that I may give beside?

MAHEL.
A knight would ask what such as I must not.
And yet it seems ill-suited where it is;
Ill-sized, ill-placed; so loose, it twice has fallen—
The ring I see.

BERTHA.
The ring?—fallen twice, didst say?
I knew not that I dropped or picked it up.
Wouldst have the ring? A knight might not have asked it:
Thou being no knight—because no knight, shalt have it.
The swine-herd has its fellow-ring—I gave
The swine-herd that, and this I give to thee.

(Exeunt.)

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).
Here they come—
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.
On either part, small odds!

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.

SIR SIMON.
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.

DE BREOS.
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?

SIR ANDREW.
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.

SCENE III.

Castle Hall.
Fitzwalter, Countess, Margaret, Bertha, Sir Paul, and Attendants.
MARGARET.
The bed were easier.

FITZWALTER.
I will tarry here:
Bed-time is not come yet: by then, perchance,
Our beds may change their tenants.

BERTHA.
Let me slack
The mail-plates from about thy neck.

FITZWALTER.
Be gone!
I pray the best I can against impatience.
Such wounds will do no harm to aught beside—
Skin-scars and chaps which scarce yield blood enough
For health hereafter: but with you to help,
Their smarting vexes me. I will bide here.
Sir Paul, a bachelor, is so far blessed,
His wife has never seen him down and beaten.

SIR PAUL.
She might have seen me slip.

FITZWALTER.
Ay many a time;
And beaten too, as mine has done to-day.
Thou wouldst have laid the fault upon thy legs,
The best of all thy servants. Geoffrey Builth
Was more to blame than mine. Slips, verily!—
Who rescued me? (enter Soldier)
What news, Bartholomew?
And whence? speak quick!

SOLDIER.
The river gate, my lord—
Sir Michael Brace is down. I come for aid:
These cross-bow pellets rain so thick amongst us,
We scarce may look between the battlements;
And now du Chastel brings his ladders up.

COUNTESS.
Sir Michael Brace?

SOLDIER.
The while he turned to speak,
A bolt sped betwixt the shoulders.

FITZWALTER.
Run, Sir Paul,
Take every man ye meet with by the way.

SIR PAUL.
Best void the Barbican?

FITZWALTER.
Are all come in?
Then hoist the bridge.

(Enter soldiers, bearing the Seneschal.)
SENESCHAL.
Lay me down here awhile

COUNTESS.
His mail is rivetted—what, help!

SENESCHAL.
Drink! drink!
No matter for the mail—come nearer me—
I would not waste the little breath I have,
Nor carry hence a lie as toll for hell.
Mahel is Earl of Brecon—Witness this!
I saw the marriage—Baldwin keeps the pacts—
A year, or more, before his birth it was.
Give me some wine—drink! drink!

COUNTESS.
Already too much.
Ye mark, his wits are gone.

SENESCHAL.
When I upheld
Those shameful frauds they left me. Send for Ralph—
Search Baldwin for the vouchers.

FITZWALTER.
Hear him out.

SENESCHAL.
The Earl of Brecon—Mahel—witness for me.

(dies.)
FITZWALTER.
Heaven's peace and mercy be with thee!

MARGARET.
Alas!
A fearful death!

FITZWALTER.
It matters little now,
Except for truth's sake, whose the earldom is.
If lies and fraud have lent it me a month,
They were not mine—nor shall I profit by them.
Geoffrey of Builth is here to arbitrate.

COUNTESS.
I care not—better he the Earl than Mahel.
Let might and valour take their sovereignty.
The earldom was not founded by the base,
Nor for the base.

BERTHA.
That dying man spake truth!

COUNTESS.
Ay, like a dying man he did—he dared not
The while he lived. I speak it when I please.
Truth, mistress! Canst thou tell me what it is?
The craven-hearted hind they called my son
Was basely born by nature. Who regards
The time he came—whether too soon or not?
It must have been too soon, whene'er it was.
He heard his mother's honor hooted at—
His own and sister's bastardy! He stood
A patient witness in his father's hall
The while Builth called me harlot! He an Earl
Who did not dare to lift the gauntlet up?
That milk-faced page, my son? A gospeller!
If cowardice be base, he is a bastard!—
Who shame their parents must be born too soon.
Truth! Well then, truth is henceforth on my side:
Even now thou canst discern scarce half of it.
Didst hear that thirsty stammerer talk of pacts?
Of marriage vouchers? Baldwin's testimony?
They are, and have been, ready when I pleased.
While Mahel's bones are bleaching on the hills,
And Milo's head is hidden in Hereford—
I can maintain my honor here at Brecon—
Ay, here and everywhere.

(Enter Soldier.)
FITZWALTER.
What news dost bring?

SOLDIER.
Builth was upon his knee when I came in.

FITZWALTER.
His knee—to whom?

SOLDIER.
The same that freed my lord,
Has filled his place, since then, with better luck.

FITZWALTER.
Not man to man?

SOLDIER.
He seems the stouter one.

FITZWALTER.
Who is he?

SOLDIER.
He that cleared the gate of Builth—
So saved us once before to-day. He gives
The same both grace and breathing time.
Enter SIR GILES.
Stand back!
The Earl of Hereford is Earl of Brecon—
He has no more competitors. The last
Wants nothing this side heaven but room to lie in.
Even that is begged for him. Sir Philip de Breos,
Sir Humfrey Uske, Sir Reginald, Sir Hugh—
The best on both sides, join their hands ungloved,
And all are friends again. Here comes the conqueror
Sore wounded, as it seems, and in a swoon:—
But twice to-day he saved us all.

Enter Barnabas and Soldiers, bearing Mahel, followed by Father Stephen.
COUNTESS.
He is
Best soldier here on either side. Our knights
Are rescued by our grooms!

BARNABAS.
Off with his helm!
He shall not die so soon, whoe'er he is.
The bowl there, lady.

COUNTESS.
Stand thou back, Sir Knave.

BARNABAS.
I stood in front of those who rescued him.

SIR GILES.
He did so, truly. Let him loose the casque.

BARNABAS.
Nay, let the Countess loose it.

COUNTESS.
So I will.
'Tis honor for the noblest here. Give room—
Lift his head higher.

BARNABAS.
The water, Lady Bertha!
Have water ready when his face is bare:
Bring it, and hold it nearer to him, lady.
(Bertha brings a vessel of water.)
A ring upon his finger! What bodes this?
Is he a knight—or how?

(The helmet is removed.)
BERTHA.
Mahel!

COUNTESS.
My son!

BARNABAS.
Ay, lover, brother, son, but dead withal!
Cry runaway and craven in his ear:—
I did that loved him so. Wake, hollow-heart!
Out with the bastard from his father's gate!
Off, vagabond! He will not heed or hear me!

STEPHEN.
The fugitive has fled beyond disgrace!
Loud tongues have spent their outcries! He came back
To look upon the cruel once again,
And die at home.

BARNABAS.
Thrust out the vagabond!