The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [161]
PLAYER QUEEN
Too true, to speak more properly, too true.
MORDRED
La! Truth belongs in preachers’ sermon texts;
It ne’er yet paid a player’s wage, nor will.
Enter Queen Guenhera, Philip, and attendants
But how? Are you more players yet or true?
GUENHERA
A gathering of kings o’erwhelms the court,
But only gulls cannot distinguish blood
From players’ paints.11
MORDRED
Great queen, I am unarmed.
Your beauty cuts—
GUENHERA
You carry yet a sword.
MORDRED
Your majesty?
GUENHERA
You said you are unarmed.
MORDRED
I meant to speak as poets do, O Queen,
Of beauty, love, and your most perfect self.
All Britain swells with pride and hies to tell
The world how Guenhera, in loveliness,
Is queen above all history’s fairest names:
Nor Helen, Venus, nor Europa, none
May claim but meanest of similitude.
GUENHERA
We thank you, King of Picts, for these your words
And ask of you what matter draws you south?
MORDRED
To fix between us the validity
That comprehends our nations’ league: that I
Am now your son, and you my loving dam,
And more, that should cruel war scythe Arthur down,
I will, made king, maintain you on your throne,
And take from “mother-queen” a needless word.12
PHILIP
Thou seemest to misconster13 Arthur’s will,
And place thyself, unasked, in other’s seat.
Now who art thou that steals into our court
Demanding audience of my mother fair,
And crooning14 words of love and legacy?
MORDRED
But who is this stands by in diadem?
PHILIP
’Tis Philip, Prince of Wales, no less than son
First-born to Arthur, heir to Britain’s throne.
MORDRED
Another player and obscene to God?
Is no one here who speaks God’s holy truth?
GUENHERA
The comedy would have our exits now,
Each by our rightful doors, O King of Picts.
MORDRED
Unkind, madame, and unadvisèd pert.15
I came to offer you my loyalty
Until such time as God will have me king.
For God doth wish for my continuance:16
He speaks in omens, acts, and lineage,
His will is seen in your own barren womb,
The which when planted with my hallowed seed,
And not corrupted by the bastard’s touch,
Will fruitfully bear forth a race of kings.
Yet kindness is not here with kindness met.
Instead, I find this painted treachery.
Your king, among his crimes, is now forsworn,
For he hath given that was never his.17
Perforce my message alters now, my queen,
And you will be my guest without delay,
And with false prince reside in Pictland’s cold.
My men await: we leave at once. Make haste.
GUENHERA
Or no? You draw?
MORDRED
We will conduct you now.
Nor orphan boy of Wales nor kersey king18
Is like19 to slow our swift velocity.
GUENHERA
With such celerity as altered thee
From stamm’ring suitor to a damnèd churl.
Was it but yesterday thou wert sweet child?
MORDRED
Most cruelly you misjudge me, Guenhera.
Budge on, and you will learn in Pictish court
How true and honest kings do fearsome reign.
Exeunt
[ACT V,] SCENE II
[Location: Aboard an English ship]
Enter Denton, Sumner, and Bell. Thunder
SUMNER
The welkin1 splits with shattering blue-gold fire,
lashing our skin with cold-forged nails, hammered
hard off heaven’s anvils.
DENTON
It rains.
SUMNER
Aye, it rains.
DENTON
Aye, would you left it there. Better rain than we
should see clear night and therein witness the comets,
blots, and disordered heavens. The book of God is
open for any who have eyes. Dark fires, fallen stars,
and bright midnights tell mischief.
BELL
Beshrew the sky. I would fain have some ground, e’en
the most saggish2 wet. I have sailed enough until I
die. This ship seems fast to be my tomb. From out
out Southampton, round Cornish tail to Ireland, but
do we walk on Irish sands? No sooner anchors drop
than off the ocean floor rebound and we sail
through Orkney ice thence round again to
Yorkshire. Like Sisyphus, for all of time, we’ll sail.3
Is there no end? We sail and fight and sail again to
fight. I have no more stomach to fill of this.
DENTON
Be satisfied we did not fight. The Irishman will offer
friendship, then turn and