An outcry as of grief and dismay is heard from the battlefield.

FIRST MONK.

I fear me that the King is beaten!

THE ABBOT.

Go upon the rampart and tell us what you see.

FIRST MONK.

[(having gone upon the rampart)] A man comes towards us in flight.

SECOND MONK.

What manner of man is he?

FIRST MONK.

A bloodstained man, all spent, his feet staggering and stumbling under him.

SECOND MONK.

Is he a man of the King's people?

FIRST MONK.

He is.

A soldier comes upon the green all spent.

THE SOLDIER.

The King is beaten!

THE MONKS.

My sorrow, my sorrow!

THE SOLDIER.

The King is beaten, I say to you! O ye of the books and the bells, small was your help to us in the hard battle! The King is beaten!

THE ABBOT.

Where is the King?

THE SOLDIER.

He is flying.

THE ABBOT.

Give us the description of the battle.

THE SOLDIER.

I cannot speak. Let a drink be given to me.

THE ABBOT.

Let a drink be given to this man.

The little boy who is called Giolla na Naomh gives him a drink of water.

THE ABBOT.

Speak to us now and give us the description of the battle.

THE SOLDIER.

Each man of us was a fighter of ten. The King was a fighter of a hundred. But what availed us our valour? We were beaten and we fled. Hundreds lie sole to sole on the lea.

THE MONKS.

My sorrow! My sorrow!

A din grows.

SECOND MONK.

Who comes?

FIRST MONK.

The King!

Riders and gillies come upon the green pell mell, the King in their midst. The King goes upon his knees before the Abbot, and throws his sword apon the ground.

THE KING.

Give me your curse, O man of God, and let me go to my death! I am beaten. My people are beaten. Ten battles have I fought against my foes, and every battle of them has been broken on me. It is I who have brought God's wrath upon this land. Ask your God not to wreak his

anger on my people henceforth, but to wreak it on me. Have pity on my people, O man of God!

THE ABBOT.

God will have pity on them.

THE KING.

God has forsaken me.

THE ABBOT.

You have forsaken God.

THE KING.

God has forsaken my people.

THE ABBOT.

He has not, neither will He. He will save this nation if it choose a righteous King.

THE KING.

Give it then a righteous King. Give it one of your monks or one of these little lads to be its King. The battle on your protection, O man of God!

THE ABBOT.

Not so, but on the protection of the sword of a righteous King. Speak to me, my children, and tell me who among you is the most righteous?

FIRST MONK.

I have sinned.

SECOND MONK.

And I.

THIRD MONK.

Father, we have all sinned.

THE ABBOT.

I, too, have sinned. All that are men have sinned. How soon we exchange the wisdom of children for the folly of men! O wise children, busy with your toys while we are busy with our sins! I see clearly now. I shall find a sinless

King among these little boys. Speak to me, boys, and tell me who is most innocent among you?

THE BOYS.

(with one voice)

Giolla na Naomh.

THE ABBOT.

The little lad that waits upon all! Ye are right. The last shall be first. Giolla na Naomh, will you be King over this nation?

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

I am too young, Father, I am too weak.

THE ABBOT.

Come hither to me, child. [(The child goes over to him.)] O fosterling that I have nourished, if I ask this thing of you, will you not do it?

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

I will be obedient to you, Father.

THE ABBOT.

Will you turn your face into the battle?

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

I will do the duty of a King.

THE ABBOT.

Little one, it may be that your death will come of it.

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

Welcome is death if it be appointed to me.

THE ABBOT.

Did I not say that the young seek death? They are spendthrift

of all that we hoard jealously; they pursue all that we shun. The terrible, beautiful voice has spoken to this child. O herald death, you shall be answered! I will not grudge you my fosterling.

THE KING.

Abbot, I will fight my own battles: no child shall die for me!

THE ABBOT.

You have given me your sword, and I give it to this child. God has spoken through the voice of His ancient herald, the terrible, beautiful voice that comes out of the heart of battles.

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

Let me do this little thing, King. I will guard your banner well. I will bring you back your sword after the battle. I am only your little gilly, who watches while the tired King sleeps. I will sleep to-night while you shall watch.

THE KING.

My pity, my three pities!

GIOLLA NA NAOMH.

We slept last night while you were marching through the dark country. Poor King, your marchings have been long. My march will be very short.

THE ABBOT.

Let this gentle asking prevail with you, King. I say to you that God has spoken.

THE KING.

I do not understand your God.

THE ABBOT.

Who understands Him? He demands not understanding, but obedience. This child is obedient, and because he is obedient, God will do mighty things through him. King, you must yield to this.

THE KING.

I yield, I yield! Woe is me that I did not fall in yonder onset!

THE ABBOT.

Let this child be stripped that the raiment of a King may be put about him. [(The child is stripped of his clothing.)] Let a royal vest be put next the skin of the child. [(a royal vest is put upon him.)] Let a royal tunic be put about him. [(a royal tunic is put about him above the vest, and sandals upon his feet.)] Let the royal mantle be put about him. [(The King takes off the royal mantle and it is put upon the child.)] Let a royal diadem be put upon his head. [(The King takes off the royal diadem and it is put upon the child's head.)] Let him be given the shield of the King. [(The shieldbearer holds up the shield.)] A blessing on this shield! May it be firm against foes!

THE HEROES.

A blessing on this shield!

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 466