_A green before the monastery. The voices of monks are heard chanting.
Through the chanting breaks the sound of a trumpet. A little boy runs
out from the monastery and stands on the green looking in the
direction whence the trumpet has spoken._
THE BOY. Conall, Diarmaid, Giolla na Naomh!
_The voices of other boys answer him._
FIRST BOY. There is a host marching from the North.
SECOND BOY. Where is it?
FIRST BOY. See it beneath you in the glen.
THIRD BOY. It is the King’s host.
FOURTH BOY. The King is going to battle.
_The trumpet speaks again, nearer. The boys go upon the rampart of the
monastery. The murmur of a marching host is heard._
FIRST BOY. I see the horses and the riders.
SECOND BOY. I see the swords and the spears.
FOURTH BOY. I see the standards and the banners.
THIRD BOY. I see the King’s banner.
FOURTH BOY. I see the King!
FIRST BOY. Which of them is the King?
FOURTH BOY. The tall comely man on the black horse.
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Let us salute the King.
THE BOYS (_with the voice of one_). Take victory in battle and slaying,
O King!
_The voices of warriors are heard acclaiming the King as the host
marches past with din of weapons and music of trumpet and pipes.
Silence succeeds._
FIRST BOY. I would like to be a King.
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Why?
FIRST BOY. The King has gold and silver.
SECOND BOY. He has noble jewels in his jewel-house.
THIRD BOY. He has slender steeds and gallant hounds.
FOURTH BOY. He has a keen-edged, gold-hilted sword and a mighty-shafted,
blue-headed spear and a glorious red-emblazoned shield. I saw him once
in my father’s house.
FIRST BOY. What was he like?
FOURTH BOY. He was tall and noble. He was strong and broad-shouldered.
He had long fair hair. He had a comely proud face. He had two piercing
grey eyes. A white vest of satin next his skin. A very beautiful red
tunic, with a white hood, upon his body. A royal mantle of purple about
him. Seven colours upon him, between vest and tunic and hood and mantle.
A silver brooch upon his breast. A kingly diadem upon his head, and the
colour of gold upon it. Two great wings rising above his head, as white
as the two wings of a sea-gull and as broad as the two wings of an
eagle. He was a gallant man.
SECOND BOY. And what was the look of his face?
THIRD BOY. Did he look angry, stern?
FOURTH BOY. He did, at times.
FIRST BOY. Had he a laughing look?
FOURTH BOY. He laughed only once.
SECOND BOY. How did he look mostly? Stern or laughing?
FOURTH BOY. He looked sorrowful. When he was talking to the kings and
the heroes he had an angry and a laughing look every second while, but
when he was silent he was sorrowful.
FIRST BOY. What sorrow can he have?
FOURTH BOY. I do not know. The thousands he has slain, perhaps.
SECOND BOY. The churches he has plundered.
THIRD BOY. The battles he has lost.
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Alas, the poor King!
SECOND BOY. You would not like to be a King, Giolla na Naomh?
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I would not. I would rather be a monk that I might pray
for the King.
FOURTH BOY. I may have the kingship of this country when I am a man, for
my father is of the royal blood.
SECOND BOY. And my father is of the royal blood, too.
THIRD BOY. Aye, and mine.
FOURTH BOY. I will not let the kingdom go with either of you. It is
mine!
SECOND BOY. It is not, but mine.
THIRD BOY. It matters not whose it is, for _I_ will have it!
SECOND BOY. No, nor anyone of your house!
FOURTH BOY (_seizing a switch of sally and brandishing it_). I will ply
the venom of my sword upon you! I will defend my kingdom against my
enemies! Giolla na Naomh, pray for the King!
_A bell sounds from the monastery._
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. The bell is ringing.
_The people of the monastery come upon the green in ones and twos, the
Abbot last. The boys gather a little apart. Distant sounds of battle
are heard._
THE ABBOT. My children, the King is giving battle to his foes.
FIRST MONK. This King has lost every battle into which he has gone up to
this.
THE ABBOT. In a vision that I saw last night as I knelt before my God it
was revealed to me that the battle will be broken on the King again.
SECOND MONK. My grief!
THIRD MONK. My grief!
FIRST MONK. Tell us, Father, the cause of these unnumbered defeats.
THE ABBOT. Do you think that an offering will be accepted from polluted
hands? This King has shed the blood of the innocent. He has made spoils
and forays. He has oppressed the poor. He has forsaken the friendship of
God and made friends with evil-doers.
FIRST MONK. That is true. Yet it is a good fight that the King fights
now, for he gives battle for his people.
THE ABBOT. It is an angel that should be sent to pour out the wine and
to break the bread of this sacrifice. Not by an unholy King should the
noble wine that is in the veins of good heroes be spilt; not at the
behest of a guilty king should fair bodies be mangled. I say to you that
the offering will not be accepted.
FIRST MONK. And are all guilty of the sins of the King? If the King is
defeated it’s grief will be for all. Why must all suffer for the sins of
the King? On the King the eric!
THE ABBOT. The nation is guilty of the sins of its princes. I say to you
that this nation shall not be freed until it chooses for itself a
righteous King.
SECOND MONK. Where shall a righteous King be found?
THE ABBOT. I do not know, unless he be found among these little boys.
_The boys have drawn near and are gathered about the Abbot._
FIRST MONK. And shall the people be in bondage until these little lads
are fit for battle? It is not the King’s case I pity, but the case of
the people. I heard women mourning last night. Shall women be mourning
in this land till doom?
THIRD MONK. As I went out from the monastery yesterday there was a dead
man on the verge of the wood. Battle is terrible.
SECOND MONK. No, battle is glorious! While we were singing our None but
now, Father, I heard, through the psalmody of the brethren, the voice of
a trumpet. My heart leaped, and I would fain have risen from the place
where I was and gone after that gallant music. I should not have cared
though it were to my death I went.
THE ABBOT. That is the voice of a young man. The old wait for death, but
the young go to meet it. If into this quiet place, where monks chant and
children play, there were to come from yonder battlefield a bloodstained
man, calling upon all to follow him into the battle-press, there is none
here that would not rise and follow him, but I myself and the old
brother that rings our bell. There is none of you, young brothers, no,
nor any of these little lads, that would not rise from me and go into
the battle. That music of the fighters makes drunk the hearts of young
men.
SECOND MONK. It is good for young men to be made drunk.
FIRST MONK. Brother, you speak wickedness.
THE ABBOT. There is a heady ale which all young men should drink, for he
who has not been made drunk with it has not lived. It is with that ale
that God makes drunk the hearts of the saints. I would not forbid you
your intoxication, O young men!
FIRST MONK. This is not plain, Father.
THE ABBOT. Do you think if that terrible, beautiful voice for which
young men strain their ears were to speak from yon place where the
fighters are, and the horses, and the music, that I would stay you, did
ye rise to obey it? Do you think I would grudge any of you? Do you think
I would grudge the dearest of these little boys, to death calling with
that terrible, beautiful voice? I would let you all go, though I and the
old brother should be very lonely here.
SECOND BOY. Giolla na Naomh would not go, Father.
THE ABBOT. Why do you say that?
SECOND BOY. He said that he would rather be a monk.
THE ABBOT. Would you not go into the battle, Giolla na Naomh?
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I would. I would go as a gilly to the King, that I
might serve him when all would forsake him.
THE ABBOT. But it is to the saints you are gilly, Giolla na Naomh, and
not to the King.
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. It were not much for the poor King to have one little
gilly that would not forsake him when the battle would be broken on him
and all forsaking him.
THE ABBOT. This child is right. While we think of glory he thinks of
service.
_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?