The King's Threshold; and On Baile's Strand

Cuchullain.

[To the blind man.] You knew him, then?

Fintain.

I saw him when I had my eyes, in Aoife’s country.

Cuchullain.

You were in Aoife’s country?

Fintain.

I knew him and his mother there.

Cuchullain.

He was about to speak of her when he died.

Fintain.

He was a Queen’s son.

Cuchullain.

What Queen, what Queen? [He seizes the blind man.] Was it Scathach? There were many Queens. All the rulers were Queens.

Fintain.

No, not Scathach.

Cuchullain.

It was Uathach, then. Speak, speak!

Fintain.

I cannot speak, you are clutching me too tightly. [Cuchullain lets him go.] I cannot remember who it was. I am not certain. It was some Queen.

Barach.

He said a while ago that the young man was Aoife’s son.

Cuchullain.

She? No, no, she had no son when I was there.

Barach.

That blind man there said that she owned him for her son.

Cuchullain.

I had rather he had been some other woman’s son. What father had he? A soldier out of Alba? She was an amorous woman, a proud, pale amorous woman.

Fintain.

None knew whose son he was.

Cuchullain.

None knew? Did you know, old listener at doors?

Fintain.

No, no, I knew nothing.

Barach.

He said a while ago that he heard Aoife boast that she’d never but the one lover, and he the only man that had overcome her in battle.

[A pause.

Fintain.

Somebody is trembling. Why are you trembling, fool? the bench is shaking, why are you trembling? Is Cuchullain going to hurt us? It was not I who told you, Cuchullain.

Barach.

It is Cuchullain who is trembling. He is shaking the bench with his knees.

Cuchullain.

He was my son, and I have killed my son.

[A pause.

’Twas they that did it, the pale windy people,Where, where, where? My sword against the thunder.But no, for they have always been my friends;And though they love to blow a smoking coalTill it’s all flame, the wars they blow aflameAre full of glory, and heart uplifting pride,And not like this; the wars they love awakenOld fingers and the sleepy strings of harps.Who did it then? Are you afraid; speak out,For I have put you under my protectionAnd will reward you well. Dubthach the Chafer.He had an old grudge. No, for he is with Maeve.Laegaire did it. Why do you not speak?What is this house? [A pause.] Now I remember all.Fintain.He will kill us. O, I am afraid!Cuchullain.[Who is before Concobar’s chair.]’Twas you who did it, you who sat up thereWith that old branch of silver, like a magpieNursing a stolen spoon. Magpie, magpie,A maggot that is eating up the earth!

[Begins hacking at the chair with his sword.

No, but a magpie, for he’s flown away.Where did he fly to?Fintain.He is outside the door.Cuchullain.Outside the door?Fintain.He is under Baile’s yew-tree.Cuchullain.Concobar, Concobar, the sword into your heart.

[He goes out. A pause. The fool goes to the great door at back and looks out after him.

Barach.

He is going up to King Concobar; they are all under the tree. No, no, he is standing still. There is a great wave going to break and he is looking at it. Ah! now he is running down to the sea, but he is holding up his sword as if he were going into a fight. [A pause.] Well struck, well struck!

Fintain.

What is he doing now?

Barach.

Oh! he is fighting the waves.

Fintain.

He sees King Concobar’s crown on every one of them.

Barach.

There, he has struck at a big one. He has struck the crown off it, he has made the foam fly. There again another big one.

[Shouting without.

Fintain.

Where are the Kings? What are the Kings doing?

Barach.

They are shouting and running down to the shore, and the people are running out of the houses, they are all running.

Fintain.

You say they are running out of the houses, there will be nobody left in the houses. Listen, fool.

Barach.

There, he is down! He is up again! He is going out into the deep water.

Fintain.

Come here, fool; come here, I say.

Barach.

[Coming towards him but looking backward towards the door.] What is it?

Fintain.

There will be nobody in the houses. Come this way, come quickly; the ovens will be full; we will put our hands into the ovens.

[They go out.

1

Written for the first production of “The King’s Threshold” in Dublin, but not used, as, owing to the smallness of the company, nobody could be spared to speak it.