Chapter 5

_Enter_ LOCRINE _and_ DEBON.

LOCRINE.

Thou knowest not what she knows or dreams of? why Her face is dark and wan, her lip and eye Restless and red as fever? Hast thou kept Faith?

DEBON.

Has my master found my faith a lie Once all these years through? have I strayed or slept Once, when he bade me watch? what proof has leapt At last to light against me?

LOCRINE.

Surely, none. Weep not.

DEBON.

My lord’s grey vassal hath not wept Once, even since darkness covered from the sun The woman’s face—the sole sweet wifelike one— Whose memory holds his heart yet fast: but now Tears, were old age not poor in tears, might run Free as the words that bid his stricken brow Burn and bow down to hear them.

LOCRINE.

Hast not thou Held counsel—played the talebearer whose tales Bear plague abroad and poison, knowing not how— Not with my wife nor brother?

DEBON.

Nought avails Falsehood: and truth it is, the king of Wales So plied me, sir, with force of craft and threat—

LOCRINE.

That thou, whose faith swerves never, flags nor fails Nor falters, being as stars are loyal, yet Wast found as those that fall from heaven, forget Their station, shoot and shudder down to death Deep as the pit of hell? What snares were set To take thy soul—what mist of treasonous breath Made blind in thee the sense that quickeneth In true men’s inward eyesight, when they know And know not how they know the word it saith, The warning word that whispers loud or low— I ask not: be it enough these things are so. Thou hast played me false.

DEBON.

Nay, now this long time since We have seen the queen’s face wan with wrath and woe— Have seen her lip writhe and her eyelid wince To take men’s homage—proof that might convince Of grief inexpiable and insatiate shame Her spirit in all men’s judgment.

LOCRINE.

But the prince— My brother, whom thou knowest by proof, not fame, A coward whose heart is all a flickering flame That fain would burn and dares not—whence had he The poison that he gave her? Speak: this came By chance—mishap—most haplessly for thee Who hadst my heart in thine, and madest of me No more than might for folly’s sake or fear’s Be bared for even such eyes as his to see? Old friend that wast, I would not see thy tears. God comfort thy dishonour!

DEBON.

All these years Have I not served thee?

LOCRINE.

Yea. So cheer thee now.

DEBON.

Cheered be the traitor, whom the true man cheers? Nay, smite me: God can be not such as thou, And will not damn me with forgiveness. How Hast thou such heart, to comfort such as me? God’s thunder were less fearful than the brow That frowns not on thy friend found false to thee. Thy friend—thou said’st—thy friend. Strange friends are we. Nay, slay me then—nay, slay me rather.

LOCRINE.

Friend, Take comfort. God’s wide-reaching will shall be Here as of old accomplished, though it blend All good with ill that none may mar or mend. Thy works and mine are ripples on the sea. Take heart, I say: we know not yet their end.

[_Exeunt_.