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were sworn to do your will,

      And you had spread a sail for home, a wind

      Would rise of a sudden, or a wave so huge,

      It had washed among the stars and put them out,

      And beat the bulwark of your ship on mine,

      Until you stood before me on the deck—

      As now.

      DECTORA.

      Does wandering in these desolate seas

      And listening to the cry of wind and wave

      Bring madness?

      FORGAEL.

      Queen, I am not mad.

      DECTORA.

      And yet you say the water and the wind

      Would rise against me.

      FORGAEL.

      No, I am not mad—

      If it be not that hearing messages

      From lasting watchers, that outlive the moon,

      At the most quiet midnight is to be stricken.

      DECTORA.

      And did those watchers bid you take me captive?

      FORGAEL.

      Both you and I are taken in the net.

      It was their hands that plucked the winds awake

      And blew you hither; and their mouths have promised

      I shall have love in their immortal fashion.

      They gave me that old harp of the nine spells

      That is more mighty than the sun and moon,

      Or than the shivering casting-net of the stars,

      That none might take you from me.

      DECTORA.

       [First trembling back from the mast where the harp is, and then laughing.]

      For a moment

      Your raving of a message and a harp

      More mighty than the stars half troubled me.

      But all that’s raving. Who is there can compel

      The daughter and granddaughter of kings

      To be his bedfellow?

      FORGAEL.

      Until your lips

      Have called me their beloved, I’ll not kiss them.

      DECTORA.

      My husband and my king died at my feet,

      And yet you talk of love.

      FORGAEL.

      The movement of time

      Is shaken in these seas, and what one does

      One moment has no might upon the moment

      That follows after.

      DECTORA.

      I understand you now.

      You have a Druid craft of wicked sound

      Wrung from the cold women of the sea—

      A magic that can call a demon up,

      Until my body give you kiss for kiss.

      FORGAEL.

      Your soul shall give the kiss.

      DECTORA.

      I am not afraid,

      While there’s a rope to run into a noose

      Or wave to drown. But I have done with words,

      And I would have you look into my face

      And know that it is fearless.

      FORGAEL.

      Do what you will,

      For neither I nor you can break a mesh

      Of the great golden net that is about us.

      DECTORA.

      There’s nothing in the world that’s worth a fear.

      [She passes FORGAEL and stands for a moment looking into his face.

      I have good reason for that thought.

      [She runs suddenly on to the raised part of the poop.

      And now

      I can put fear away as a queen should.

      [She mounts on to the bulwark and turns towardsFORGAEL.

      Fool, fool! Although you have looked into my face

      You do not see my purpose. I shall have gone

      Before a hand can touch me.

      FORGAEL [folding his arms].

      My hands are still;

      The ever-living hold us. Do what you will,

      You cannot leap out of the golden net.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      No need to drown, for, if you will pardon us

      And measure out a course and bring us home,

      We’ll put this man to death.

      DECTORA.

      I promise it.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      There is none to take his side.

      AIBRIC.

      I am on his side.

      I’ll strike a blow for him to give him time

      To cast his dreams away.

      [AIBRIC goes in front of FORGAEL with drawn sword. FORGAEL takes the harp.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      No other’ll do it.

      [The SAILORS throw AIBRIC on one side. He falls upon the deck towards the poop. They lift their swords to strike FORGAEL, who is about to play the harp. The stage begins to darken. The SAILORS hesitate in fear.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      He has put a sudden darkness over the moon.

      DECTORA.

      Nine swords with handles of rhinoceros horn

      To him that strikes him first!

      FIRST SAILOR.

      I will strike him first.

      [He goes close up to FORGAEL with his sword lifted. The harp begins to give out a faint light. The scene has become so dark that the only light is from the harp.

      [Shrinking back.] He has caught the crescent moon out of the sky,

      And carries it between us.

      SECOND SAILOR.

      Holy fire

      Has come into the jewels of the harp

      To burn us to the marrow if we strike.

      DECTORA.

      I’ll give a golden galley full of fruit,

      That has the heady flavour of new wine,

      To him that wounds him to the death.

      FIRST SAILOR.

      I’ll do it.

      For all his spells will

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