Locrine: A Tragedy Part 8

CAMBER.

Ay--for them thy love is bright like spring, And colder toward me than the wintering sun.

What am I less--what less am I than others, That thus thy tongue discrowns my name of king, Dethrones my t.i.tle, disanoints my state, And p.r.i.c.ks me down but petty prince?

DEBON.

My lord -

CAMBER.

Ay? must my name among their names stand scored Who keep my brother's door or guard his gate?

A lordling--princeling--one that stands to wait - That lights him back to bed or serves at board.

Old man, if yet thy foundering brain record Aught--if thou know that once my sire was great, Then must thou know he left no less to me, His youngest, than to those my brethren born, Kings.h.i.+p.

DEBON.

I know it. Your servant, sire, am I, Who lived so long your sire's.

CAMBER.

And how had he Endured thy silence or sustained thy scorn?

Why must I know not what thou knowest of?

DEBON.

Why?

Hast thou not heard, king, that a true man's trust Is king for him of life and death? Locrine Hath sealed with trust my lips--nay, prince, not mine - His are they now.

CAMBER.

Thou art wise as he, and just, And secret. G.o.d requite thee! yea, he must, For man shall never. If my sword here s.h.i.+ne Sunward--G.o.d guard that reverend head of thine!

DEBON.

My blood should make thy sword the sooner rust, And rot thy fame for ever. Strike.

CAMBER.

Thou knowest I will not. Am I Scythian born, or Greek, That I should take thy bloodshed on my hand?

DEBON.

Nay--if thou seest me soul to soul, and showest Mercy -

CAMBER.

Thou think'st I would have slain thee? Speak.

DEBON.

Nay, then I will, for love of all this land: Lest, if suspicion bring forth strife, and fear Hatred, its face be withered with a curse; Lest the eyeless doubt of unseen ill be worse Than very truth of evil. Thou shalt hear Such truth as falling in a base man's ear Should bring forth evil indeed in hearts perverse; But forth of thine shall truth, once known, disperse Doubt: and dispersed, the cloud shall leave thee clear In judgment--nor, being young, more merciless, I think, than I toward hearts that erred and yearned, Struck through with love and blind with fire of life Enkindled. When the sharp and stormy stress Of Scythian ravin round our borders burned Eastward, and he that faced it first in strife, King Albanact, thy brother, fought and fell, Locrine our lord, and lordliest born of you, - Thy chief, my prince, and mine--against them drew With all the force our southern strengths might tell, And by the strong mid water's seaward swell That sunders half our Britain met and slew The prince whose blood baptized its fame anew And left no record of the name to dwell Whereby men called it ere it wore his name, Humber; and wide on wing the carnage went Along the drenched red fields that felt the tramp At once of fliers and slayers with feet like flame: But the king halted, seeing a royal tent Reared, with its ensign crowning all the camp, And entered--where no Scythian spoil he found, But one fair face, the Scythian's sometime prey, A lady's whom their s.h.i.+ps had borne away By force of warlike hand from German ground, A bride and queen by violent power fast bound To the errant helmsman of their fierce array.

And her, left lordless by that ended fray, Our lord beholding loved, and hailed, and crowned Queen.

CAMBER.

Queen! and what perchance of Guendolen?

Slept she forsooth forgotten?

DEBON.

Nay, my lord Knows that albeit their hands were precontract By Brute your father dying, no man of men May fasten hearts with hands in one accord.

The love our master knew not that he lacked Fulfilled him even as heaven by dawn is filled With fire and light that burns and blinds and leads All men to wise or witless works or deeds, Beholding, ere indeed he wist or willed, Eyes that sent flame through veins that age had chilled.

CAMBER.

Thine--with that grey goat's fleece on chin, sir? Needs Must she be fair: thou, wrapt in age's weeds, Whose blood, if time have touched it not and stilled, The sun's own fire must once have kindled,--thou Sing praise of soft-lipped women? doth not shame Sting thee, to sound this minstrel's note, and gild A girl's proud face with praises, though her brow Were bright as dawn's? And had her grace no name For men to wors.h.i.+p by? Her name?

DEBON.

Estrild.

CAMBER.

My brother is a prince of paramours - Eyes coloured like the springtide sea, and hair Bright as with fire of sundawn--face as fair As mine is swart and worn with haggard hours, Though less in years than his--such hap was ours When chance drew forth for us the lots that were Hid close in time's clenched hand: and now I swear, Though his be goodlier than the stars or flowers, I would not change this head of mine, or crown Scarce worth a smile of his--thy lord Locrine's - For that fair head and crown imperial; nay, Not were I cast by force of fortune down Lower than the lowest lean serf that prowls and pines And loathes for fear all hours of night and day.

DEBON.

What says my lord? how means he?

CAMBER.

Vex not thou Thine old h.o.a.r head with care to learn of me This. Great is time, and what he wills to be Is here or ever proof may bring it: now, Now is the future present. If thy vow Constrain thee not, yet would I know of thee One thing: this l.u.s.trous love-bird, where is she?

What nest is hers on what green flowering bough Deep in what wild sweet woodland?

DEBON.

Good my lord, Have I not sinned already--flawed my faith, To lend such ear even to such royal suit?

CAMBER.

Yea, by my kingdom hast thou--by my sword, Yea. Now speak on.

DEBON.

Yet hope--or honour--saith I did not ill to trust the blood of Brute Within thee. Not prince Hector's sovereign soul, The light of all thy lineage, more abhorred Treason than all his days did Brute my lord.

My trust shall rest not in thee less than whole.

CAMBER.