The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 88

_Bion._ We are the Prophet's.

_Ard._ O, Heaven, hear not this! And Oswald's knights?

_Vig._ Sleep in Avesta's dungeons.

_Bion._ Banissat, Avesta's golden prince, speak you the doom Of Bertrand----

_Ard._ Doom? O----

_Ber._ Do not waste the breath A kiss may save. A thousand times, your lips!

_Ard._ [_To Biondel_] Let him not die!

_Vig._ You'll pray soon that he may!

Speak, n.o.ble prince.

_Ban._ I, lord of conquered Suli, Condemn the son of Oswald unto death By crucifixion. Be his body nailed Upon the cross now raised on Kidmir peak, That Oswald may behold his groaning son, And every Christian dog look up and see How dies the Prophet's enemy.

[_To Ramunin_] Away!

p.r.i.c.k him with delicate tortures that yet leave Him heart to heave his agony. Hear you!

If he live not three days upon the cross Yourself shall hang beside him.

_Ram._ I've a hand Has had some practice, sir.

_Ban._ We know it, fellow, And therefore we employ you.

_Ram._ I put the nails In young Deobus, he who hung five days 'Twixt heaven and earth, and to the fifth eve groaned As he would pull his heart up. I've a medal Struck by the city for it.

_Ban._ I will match it, If you match me the service.

_Ram._ That I'll do.

These English have strong hearts--will suck at pain As life were in her dugs.

[_Exit Ramunin, guards, and Bertrand. Priest and guests follow. The maidens huddle at door, right_]

_Bion._ Sister, you stare Too hardly on this grief. It is a woe That Heaven smiles on, and the cure now waits In Banissat's fair mercy. You shall be His royal wife, and Suli's princess still.

_Vig._ Speak to the prince.

_Ban._ Nay, let her hear my vow.

O, star of Kidmir, dear and beautiful, I'll set thee in a bosom that shall be A tender heaven round thee. Beat to earth Is murmurous suspicion, and again You s.h.i.+ne unto the world, swept free of taint By n.o.ble marriage with most careful rites----

_Ard._ I doubt, I doubt! One part, one point, one rite, Broken in act, left gaping and divided, One half performed, one half left all undone, Leaves me dishonored still. She is not widowed Who was not wife----

_Vig._ All's done! What more canst wish?

_Ard._ To lay my forehead on my husband's feet, Which by the ancient custom of our house Is maidhood's closing act, as 'tis the first Of wifehood true. This thou wilt grant----

_Vig._ You're bound By rites enough!

_Bion._ Canst stand uncertain on So slight a matter?

_Ard._ Slight? Ah, you know naught Of woman! Teach him, prince, that not a nick, Or turn, or shade of custom would she spare From this most holy ceremony. Wanting but The smallest portion that gives leave to say The measure lacks, she all her life will grieve, Shed secret tears, and wear a blanchen face When none knows why.

_Bion._ You shall not move us. Peace!

_Vig._ A brawling fancy!

_Ard._ Avesta's prince, thou who Shalt be my lord, if any lord of earth Be mine again, wouldst have my love, or hate?

_Ban._ Thy love, fair Ardia.

_Ard._ Then I pray you, sir, Move thy forbearance yet one farther step And pluck this boon for me. 'Tis near thy hand, And O, how small a thing for you to give, But as the sun of all my days to me!

Without it I may die----

_Ban._ Speak not of death. So sweet I'll shelter thee, Death's self must bloom If he creep near thy bower.

_Ard._ May I, my lord, Keep honored place by thee when memory mocks That place and honor? Grant me this, but this, And here I swear if any act of man May move a widowed heart, mine shall grow warm To thee!

_Ban._ Do you speak truth?

_Ard._ Believe me, sir, So dear a thing is this for which I sue, That he who gives it must grow dear thereby; And if he lift to him my prostrate life, This gentle moment shall immortal be And sweeten every hour we pa.s.s together.

Remembering this, my captive breast shall be His free dominion, and my lips on his, If they know warmth, shall take it from this cause, This first dear tenderness.

_Ban._ We'll please you, mistress.

Bring in the man again.

[_Exit a guard_]

_Vig._ I beg you, prince----

_Ban._ By Allah, she shall have her beggar wish, For no more reason than she wishes it!

_Vig._ It is her sickish humor, sir, to look On him again. All this wild pother means No more than that.

_Ban._ No more? We'll please her then For our good peace to come.

_Bion._ A princely kindness.

[_They talk together. Ardia crosses to altar_]

_Ard._ Now one more miracle! G.o.d live in me, And Christ direct my hand!

_Bion._ What do you say, My sister?

_Ard._ But a word to mine own heart.

_Ban._ Nay, mine now, is it not?