Or till the Pope be Christ’s.
Enter ALDWYTH.
ALDWYTH (to EDITH).
Away from him!
EDITH.
I will. . . . I have not spoken to the king
One word; and one I must. Farewell! [Going.
HAROLD.
Not yet.
Stay.
EDITH.
To what use?
HAROLD.
The king commands thee, woman!
(To ALDWYTH.)
Have thy two brethren sent their forces in?
ALDWYTH.
Nay, I fear not.
HAROLD.
Then there’s no force in thee!
Thou didst possess thyself of Edward’s ear
To part me from the woman that I loved!
Thou didst arouse the fierce Northumbrians!
Thou hast been false to England and to me! —
As . . . in some sort . . . I have been false to thee.
Leave me. No more — Pardon on both sides — Go!
ALDWYTH.
Alas, my lord, I loved thee.
HAROLD (bitterly).
With a love
Passing thy love for Griffyth! wherefore now
Obey my first and last commandment. Go!
ALDWYTH.
O Harold! husband! Shall we meet again?
HAROLD.
After the battle — after the battle. Go.
ALDWYTH.
I go. (Aside.) That I could stab her standing there!
[Exit Aldwyth.
EDITH.
Alas, my lord, she loved thee.
HAROLD.
Never! never!
EDITH.
I saw it in her eyes!
HAROLD.
I see it in thine.
And not on thee — nor England — fall God’s doom!
EDITH.
On thee? on me. And thou art England! Alfred
Was England. Ethelred was nothing. England
Is but her king, and thou art Harold!
HAROLD.
Edith,
The sign in heaven — the sudden blast at sea —
My fatal oath — the dead Saints — the dark dreams —
The Pope’s Anathema — the Holy Rood
That bow’d to me at Waltham — Edith, if
I, the last English King of England —
EDITH.
No,
First of a line that coming from the people,
And chosen by the people —
HAROLD.
And fighting for
And dying for the people —
EDITH.
Living! living!
HAROLD.
Yea so, good cheer! thou art Harold, I am Edith!
Look not thus wan!
EDITH.
What matters how I look?
Have we not broken Wales and Norseland? slain,
Whose life was all one battle, incarnate war,
Their giant-king, a mightier man-in-arms
Than William.
HAROLD.
Ay, my girl, no tricks in him —
No bastard he! when all was lost, he yell’d,
And bit his shield, and dash’d it on the ground,
And swaying his two-handed sword about him,
Two deaths at every swing, ran in upon us
And died so, and I loved him as I hate
This liar who made me liar. If Hate can kill,
And Loathing wield a Saxon battle-axe —
EDITH.
Waste not thy might before the battle!
HAROLD.
No,
And thou must hence. Stigand will see thee safe,
And so — Farewell. [He is going, but turns back.
The ring thou darest not wear.
I have had it fashion’d, see, to meet my hand.
[HAROLD shows the ring which is on his finger.
Farewell! [He is going, but turns back again.
I am dead as Death this day to ought of earth’s
Save William’s death or mine.
EDITH.
Thy death! — to-day!
Is it not thy birthday?
HAROLD.
Ay, that happy day!
A birthday welcome! happy days and many!
One — this! [They embrace.
Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battle
And front the doom of God.
NORMAN CRIES (heard in the distance).
Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
Enter GURTH.
GURTH.
The Norman moves!
HAROLD.
Harold and Holy Cross!
[Exeunt Harold and Gurth.
Enter STIGAND.
STIGAND.
Our Church in arms — the lamb the lion — not
Spear into pruning-hook — the counter way —
Cowl, helm; and crozier, battle-axe. Abbot Alfwig,
Leofric, and all the monks of Peterboro’
Strike for the king; but I, old wretch, old Stigand,
With hands too limp to brandish iron — and yet
I have a power — would Harold ask me for it —
I have a power.
EDITH.
What power, holy father?
STIGAND.
Power now from Harold to command thee hence
And see thee safe from Senlac.
EDITH.
I remain!
STIGAND.
Yea, so will I, daughter, until I find
Which way the battle balance. I can see it
From where we stand: and, live or die, I would
I were among them!
CANONS from Waltham (singing without).
Salva patriam
Sancte Pater,
Salva Fili,
Salva Spiritus,
Salva patriam,
Sancta Mater.1
EDITH.
Are those the blessed angels quiring, father?
STIGAND.
No, daughter, but the canons out of Waltham,
The king’s foundation, that have follow’d him.
EDITH.
O God of battles, make their wall of shields
Firm as thy cliffs, strengthen their palisades!
What is that whirring sound?
STIGAND.
The Norman arrow!
EDITH.
Look out upon the battle — is he safe?
STIGAND.
The king of England stands between his banners.
He glitters on the crowning of the hill.
God save King Harold!
EDITH.
— chosen by his people
And fighting for his people!
STIGAND.
There is one
Come as Goliath came of yore — he flings
His brand in air and catches it again,
He is chanting some old warsong.
EDITH.
And no David
To meet him?
STIGAND.
Ay, there springs a Saxon on him,
Falls — and another falls.
EDITH.
Have mercy on us!
STIGAND.
Lo! our good Gurth hath smitten him to the death.
EDITH.
So perish all the enemies of Harold!
CANONS (singing).
Hostis in Angliam
Ruit prædator,
Illorum, Domine,
Scutum scindatur!
Hostis per Angliae
Plagas bacchatur;
Casa crematur,
Pastor fugatur
Grex trucidatur —
STIGAND.
Illos trucida, Domine.
EDITH.
Ay, good father.
CANONS (singing).
Illorum scelera
Pœna sequatur!
ENGLISH CRIES.
Harold and Holy Cross! Out! out!
STIGAND.
Our j
avelins
Answer their arrows. All the Norman foot
Are storming up the hill. The range of knights
Sit, each a statue on his horse, and wait.
ENGLISH CRIES.
Harold and God Almighty!
NORMAN CRIES.
Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
CANONS (singing).
Eques cum pedite
Præpediatur!
Illorum in lacrymas
Cruor fundatur!
Pereant, pereant,
Anglia precatur.
STIGAND.
Look, daughter, look.
EDITH.
Nay, father, look for me!
STIGAND.
Our axes lighten with a single flash
About the summit of the hill, and heads
And arms are sliver’d off and splinter’d by
Their lightning — and they fly — the Norman flies.
EDITH.
Stigand, O father, have we won the day?
STIGAND.
No, daughter, no — they fall behind the horse —
Their horse are thronging to the barricades;
I see the gonfanon of Holy Peter
Floating above their helmets — ha! he is down!
EDITH.
He down! Who down?
STIGAND.
The Norman Count is down.
EDITH.
So perish all the enemies of England!
STIGAND.
No, no, he hath risen again — he bares his face —
Shouts something — he points onward — all their horse
Swallow the hill locust-like, swarming up.
EDITH.
O God of battles, make his battle-axe keen
As thine own sharp-dividing justice, heavy
As thine own bolts that fall on crimeful heads
Charged with the weight of heaven wherefrom they fall!
CANONS (singing).
Jacta tonitrua
Deus bellator!
Surgas e tenebris,
Sis vindicator!
Fulmina, fulmina
Deus vastator!
EDITH.
O God of battles, they are three to one,
Make thou one man as three to roll them down!
CANONS (singing).
Equus cum equite
Dejiciatur!
Acies, Acies
Prona sternatur!
Illorum lanceas
Frange Creator!
STIGAND.
Yea, yea, for how their lances snap and shiver
Against the shifting blaze of Harold’s axe!
War-woodman of old Woden, how he fells
The mortal copse of faces! There! And there!
The horse and horseman cannot meet the shield,
The blow that brains the horseman cleaves the horse,
The horse and horseman roll along the hill,
They fly once more, they fly, the Norman flies!
Equus cum equite
Præcipitatur.
EDITH.
O God, the God of truth hath heard my cry.
Follow them, follow them, drive them to the sea!
Illorum scelera
Pœna sequatur!
STIGAND.
Truth! no; a lie; a trick, a Norman trick!
They turn on the pursuer, horse against foot,
They murder all that follow.
EDITH.
Have mercy on us!
STIGAND.
Hot-headed fools — to burst the wall of shields!
They have broken the commandment of the king!
EDITH.
His oath was broken — O holy Norman Saints,
Ye that are now of heaven, and see beyond
Your Norman shrines, pardon it, pardon it,
That he forsware himself for all he loved,
Me, me and all! Look out upon the battle!
STIGAND.
They thunder again upon the barricades.
My sight is eagle, but the strife so thick —
This is the hottest of it: hold, ash! hold, willow!
ENGLISH CRIES.
Out, out!
NORMAN CRIES.
Ha Rou!
STIGAND.
Ha! Gurth hath leapt upon him
And slain him: he hath fallen.
EDITH.
And I am heard.
Glory to God in the Highest! fallen, fallen!
STIGAND.
No, no, his horse — he mounts another — wields
His war-club, dashes it on Gurth, and Gurth,
Our noble Gurth, is down!
EDITH.
Have mercy on us!
STIGAND.
And Leofwin is down!
EDITH.
Have mercy on us!
O Thou that knowest, let not my strong prayer
Be weaken’d in thy sight, because I love
The husband of another!
NORMAN CRIES.
Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
EDITH.
I do not hear our English war-cry.
STIGAND.
No.
EDITH.
Look out upon the battle — is he safe?
STIGAND.
He stands between the banners with the dead
So piled about him he can hardly move.
EDITH (takes up the war-cry).
Out! out!
NORMAN CRIES.
Ha Rou!
EDITH (cries out).
Harold and Holy Cross!
NORMAN CRIES.
Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
EDITH.
What is that whirring sound?
STIGAND.
The Norman sends his arrows up to Heaven,
They fall on those within the palisade!
EDITH.
Look out upon the hill — is Harold there?
STIGAND.
Sanguelac — Sanguelac — the arrow — the arrow! — away!
Scene II
Field of the Dead. Night.
ALDWYTH and EDITH.
ALDWYTH.
O Edith, art thou here? O Harold, Harold —
Our Harold — we shall never see him more.
EDITH.
For there was more than sister in my kiss,
And so the saints were wroth. I cannot love them,
For they are Norman saints — and yet I should —
They are so much holier than their harlot’s son
With whom they play’d their game against the king!
ALDWYTH.
The king is slain, the kingdom over-thrown!
EDITH.
No matter!
ALDWYTH.
How no matter, Harold slain? —
I cannot find his body. O help me thou!
O Edith, if I ever wrought against thee,
Forgive me thou, and help me here!
EDITH.
No matter!
ALDWYTH.
Not help me, nor forgive me?
EDITH.
So thou saidest.
ALDWYTH.
I say it now, forgive me!
EDITH.
Cross me not!
I am seeking one who wedded me in secret.
Whisper! God’s angels only know it. Ha!
What art thou doing here among the dead?
They are stripping the dead bodies naked yonder,
And thou art come to rob them of their rings!
ALDWYTH.
O Edith, Edith, I have lost both crown
And husband.
EDITH.
So have I.
ALDWYTH.
I tell thee, girl,
I am seeking my dead Harold.
EDITH.
And I mine!
The Holy Father strangled him with a hair
Of Peter, and his brother Tostig helpt;
The wicked sister clapt her hands and laugh’d;
Then all the dead fell on him.
ALDWYTH.
&
nbsp; Edith, Edith —
EDITH.
What was he like, this husband? like to thee?
Call not for help from me. I knew him not.
He lies not here: not close beside the standard.
Here fell the truest, manliest hearts of England.
Go further hence and find him.
ALDWYTH.
She is crazed!
EDITH.
That doth not matter either. Lower the light.
He must be here.
Enter two CANONS, OSGOD and ATHELRIC, with torches. They turn over the dead bodies and examine them as they pass.
OSGOD.
I think that this is Thurkill.
ATHELRIC.
More likely Godric.
OSGOD.
I am sure this body
Is Alfwig, the king’s uncle.
ATHELRIC.
So it is!
No, no — brave Gurth, one gash from brow to knee!
OSGOD.
And here is Leofwin.
EDITH.
And here is He!
ALDWYTH.
Harold? Oh no — nay, if it were — my God,
They have so maim’d and murder’d all his face
There is no man can swear to him.
EDITH.
But one woman!
Look you, we never mean to part again.
I have found him, I am happy.
Was there not someone ask’d me for forgiveness?
I yield it freely, being the true wife
Of this dead King, who never bore revenge.
Enter COUNT WILLIAM and WILLIAM MALET.
WILLIAM.
Who be these women? And what body is this?
EDITH.
Harold, thy better!
WILLIAM.
Ay, and what art thou?
EDITH.
His wife!
MALET.
Not true, my girl, here is the Queen!
[Pointing out ALDWYTH.
WILLIAM (to ALDWYTH).
Wast thou his Queen?
ALDWYTH.
I was the Queen of Wales.
WILLIAM.
Why then of England. Madam, fear us not.
(To MALET.) Knowest thou this other?
MALET.
When I visited England,
Some held she was his wife in secret — some —
Well — some believed she was his paramour.
EDITH.
Norman, thou liest! liars all of you,
Your Saints and all! I am his wife! and she —
For look, our marriage ring!
[She draws it off the finger of HAROLD.
I lost it somehow —
I lost it, playing with it when I was wild.
That bred the doubt! but I am wiser now . . .
I am too wise. . . . Will none among you all
Bear me true witness — only for this once —
That I have found it here again? [She puts it on.
And thou,
Thy wife am I for ever and evermore.
[Falls on the body and dies.
WILLIAM.
Death! — and enough of death for this one day,
The day of St. Calixtus, and the day,
My day when I was born.
MALET.
And this dead king’s
Who, king or not, hath kinglike fought and fallen,
His birthday, too. It seems but yestereven
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 155