FENTON. Truth, we did not cover it again, being somewhat pressed
for time.
(_The five laugh, half hysterically._)
HUGH TALBOT (_sitting by fire_). And you never thought, maybe, that
in that keg there was powder enough to blow the bridge of Cashala
to hell?
JOHN TALBOT. It seemed a matter of small moment, sir.
HUGH TALBOT. Small moment! Powder enough, put case ye set it
there, at the stairhead--d'ye follow me?--powder enough to make
an end of Cashala Bridge for all time--aye, and of all within the
Gatehouse. You never thought on that, eh?
JOHN TALBOT. We had so much to think on, sir.
HUGH TALBOT. I did suspect as much. So I came hither to recall
the powder to your minds.
DRISCOLL. We thought--(BUTLER _motions him to be silent._) We
thought maybe you would not be coming at all, sir. Maybe you
would be dead.
HUGH TALBOT. Well? What an if I had been dead? You had your
orders. You did not dream of giving up the Bridge of Cashala--eh,
Myles Butler?
BUTLER (_after a moment_). No, sir.
HUGH TALBOT. Nor you, Dick Fenton?
FENTON. Sir, I--No!
HUGH TALBOT (_smoking throughout_). Good lads! The wise heads were
saying I was a stark fool to set you here at Cashala. But I said:
I can be trusting the young riders that are learning their
lessons in war from me. I'll be safe putting my honor into their
hands. And I was right, wasn't I, Phelimy Driscoll?
DRISCOLL. Give us the chance, sir, and we'll be holding Cashala,
even against the devil himself!
FENTON. Aye, well said!
HUGH TALBOT. Sure,'tis a passing good substitute for the devil
sits yonder in Cromwell's tent.
NEWCOMBE (_with a shudder_). Cromwell!
HUGH TALBOT. Aye, he was slaying your brother at Drogheda, Kit,
and a fine, gallant lad your brother was. And I'm thinking you're
like him, Kit. Else I shouldn't be trusting you here at Cashala.
NEWCOMBE. I--I--Will they let us keep our swords?
HUGH TALBOT. Well, it's with yourselves it lies, whether you'll
keep them or not.
FENTON. He means--we mean--on what terms, sir, do we surrender?
HUGH TALBOT. Surrender? Terms?
JOHN TALBOT. We thought, sir, from your coming under their white
flag--perhaps you had made terms for us.
HUGH TALBOT. How could I make terms?
NEWCOMBE. Captain!
(_At a look from_ HUGH TALBOT _he becomes silent, fighting for
self-control._)
HUGH TALBOT. How could I make terms that you would hear to?
Cashala Bridge is the gate of Connaught.
JOHN TALBOT. Yes.
HUGH TALBOT. Give Cromwell Cashala Bridge, and he'll be on the
heels of our women and our little ones. At what price would ye be
selling their safety?