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 upon 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!
_The shield is put on the child’s left arm._
THE ABBOT. Let him be given the spear of the King. (_The spearbearer
comes forward and holds up the spear._) A blessing on this spear! May it
be sharp against foes!
THE HEROES. A blessing on this spear!
THE ABBOT. Let him be given the sword of the King. (_The King lifts his
sword and girds it round the child’s waist. Giolla na Naomh draws the
sword and holds it in his right hand._) A blessing on this sword! May it
be hard to smite foes!
THE HEROES. A blessing on this sword!
THE ABBOT. I call this little lad King, and I put the battle under his
protection in the name of God.
THE KING (_kneeling before the boy_). I do homage to thee, O King, and I
put the battle under thy protection.
THE HEROES, MONKS, BOYS, etc. (_kneeling_). We do homage to thee, O
King, and we put the battle under thy protection.
GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I undertake to sustain the battle in the name of God.
THE ABBOT. Let a steed be brought him. (_A steed is brought._) Let the
banner of the King be unfurled. (_The banner is unfurled._) Turn thy
face to the battle, O King!
GIOLLA NA NAOMH (_kneeling_). Bless me, Father.
THE ABBOT. A blessing on thee, little one.
THE HEROES, etc. (_with one voice_). Take victory in battle and slaying,
O King.
_The little King mounts, and, with the heroes and soldiers and
gillies, rides to the battle. The Abbot, the King, the Monks, and the
Boys watch them._
THE ABBOT. King, I have given you the noblest jewel that was in my
house. I loved yonder child.
THE KING. Priest, I have never received from my tributary kings a
kinglier gift.
FIRST MONK. They have reached the place of battle.
THE ABBOT. O strong God, make strong the hand of this child. Make firm
his foot. Make keen his sword. Let the purity of his heart and the
humbleness of his spirit be unto him a magnifying of courage and an
exaltation of mind. Ye angels that fought the ancient battles, ye
veterans of God, make a battle-pen about him and fight before him with
flaming swords.
THE MONKS AND BOYS. Amen, Amen.
THE ABBOT. O God, save this nation by the sword of the sinless boy.
THE KING. And O Christ, that was crucified on the hill, bring the child
safe from the perilous battle.
THE ABBOT. King, King, freedom is not purchased but with a great price.
(_A trumpet speaks._) Let the description of the battle be given us.
_The First Monk and the Second Monk go upon the rampart._