_A little cloister in a woodland. The subdued sunlight of a forest
place comes through the arches. On the left, one arch gives a longer
vista where the forest opens and the sun shines upon a far hill. In
the centre of the cloister two or three steps lead to an inner place,
as it were a little chapel or cell._
_Art, Breasal, and Maine are busy with a game of jackstones about the
steps. They play silently._
_Ronan enters from the left._
RONAN. Where is the Master?
ART. He has not left his cell yet.
RONAN. He is late. Who is with him, Art?
ART. I was with him till a while ago. When he had finished his
thanksgiving he told me he had one other little prayer to say which he
could not leave over. He said it was for a soul that was in danger. I
left him on his knees and came out into the sunshine.
MAINE. Aye, you knew that Breasal and I were here with the jackstones.
BREASAL. I served his Mass yesterday, and he stayed praying so long
after it that I fell asleep. I did not stir till he laid his hand upon
my shoulder. Then I started up and said I, “Is that you, little mother?”
He laughed and said he, “No, Breasal, it’s no one so good as your
mother.”
RONAN. He is merry and gentle this while back, although he prays and
fasts longer than he used to. Little Iollann says he tells him the
merriest stories.
BREASAL. He is fond of little Iollann.
MAINE. Aye; when Iollann is late, or when he is inattentive, the Master
pretends not to notice it.
BREASAL. Well, Iollann is only a little lad.
MAINE. He is more like a little maid, with his fair cheek that reddens
when the Master speaks to him.
ART. Faith, you wouldn’t call him a little maid when you’d see him strip
to swim a river.
RONAN. Or when you’d see him spring up to meet the ball in a hurley
match.
MAINE. He has, certainly, many accomplishments.
BREASAL. He has a high, manly heart.
MAINE. He has a beautiful white body, and, therefore, you all love him;
aye, the Master and all. We have no woman here and so we make love to
our little Iollann.
RONAN (_laughing_). Why, I thrashed him ere-yesterday for putting
magories down my neck!
MAINE. Men sometimes thrash their women, Ronan. It is one of the ways of
loving.
ART. Maine, you have been listening to some satirist making satires.
There was once a Maine that was called Maine Honey-mouth. You will be
called Maine Bitter-Tongue.
MAINE. Well, I’ve won this game of jackstones. Will you play another?
CEALLACH (_enters hastily_). Lads, do you know what I have seen?
ART. What is it, Ceallach?
CEALLACH. A host of horsemen riding through the dark of the wood. A grim
host, with spears.
MAINE. The King goes hunting.
CEALLACH. My grief for the noble deer that the King hunts!
BREASAL. What deer is that?
CEALLACH. Our Master, Ciaran.
RONAN. I heard one of the captains say that the cell was to be
surrounded.
ART. But why does the King come against Ciaran?
CEALLACH. It is the Druids that have incited him. They say that Ciaran
is overturning the ancient law of the people.
MAINE. The King has ordered him to leave the country.
BREASAL. Aye, there was a King’s Messenger here the other day who spoke
long to the Master.
ART. It is since then that the Master has been praying so long every
day.
RONAN. Is he afraid that the King will kill him?
ART. No, it is for a soul that is in danger that he prays. Is it the
King’s soul that is in danger?
MAINE. Hush, the Master is coming.
CIARAN (_comes out from the inner place; the pupils rise_). Are all
here?
BREASAL. Iollann Beag has not come yet.
CIARAN. Not yet?
CEALLACH. Master, the King’s horsemen are in the wood.
CIARAN. I hope no evil has chanced to little Iollann.
MAINE. What evil could chance to him?
CEALLACH. Master, the King is seeking you in the wood.
CIARAN. Does he not know where my cell is?
BREASAL. The King has been stirred up against you, Master, rise and fly
before the horsemen surround the cell.
CIARAN. No, if the King seeks me he will find me here.... I wish little
Iollann were come. (_The voice of Iollann Beag is heard singing. All
listen._) That is his voice.
ART. He always comes singing.
MAINE. Aye, he sings profane songs in the very church porch.
RONAN. Which is as bad as if one were to play with jackstones on the
church steps.
CIARAN. I am glad little Iollann has come safe.
_Iollann Beag comes into the cloister singing._
IOLLANN BEAG (_sings_).
We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away,
With an óró and an iero and an úmbó éró.
ART. Hush, Iollann. You are in God’s place.
IOLLANN BEAG. Does God not like music? Why then did he make the finches
and the chafers?
MAINE. Your song is profane.
IOLLANN BEAG. I didn’t know.
CIARAN. Nay, Maine, no song is profane unless there be profanity in the
heart. But why do you come so late, Iollann Beag?
IOLLANN BEAG. There was a high oak tree that I had never climbed. I went
up to its top, and swung myself to the top of the next tree. I saw the
tops of all the trees like the green waves of the sea.
CIARAN. Little truant!
IOLLANN BEAG. I am sorry, Master.
CIARAN. Nay, I am not vext with you. But you must not climb tall trees
again at lesson time. We have been waiting for you. Let us begin our
lesson, lads. _He sits down._
CEALLACH. Dear Master, I ask you to fly from this place ere the King’s
horsemen close you in.
CIARAN. My boy, you must not tempt me. He is a sorry champion who
forsakes his place of battle. This is my place of battle. You would not
have me do a coward thing?
ART. But the King has many horsemen. It is not cowardly for one to fly
before a host.
CIARAN. Has not the high God captains and legions? What are the King’s
horsemen to the heavenly riders?