________________________________________________
_
THURSTON seated near a small fire.
[Enter EUSTACE.]
Eustace.
We have come through this skirmish with hardly a scratch.
Thurston.
And without us, I fancy, they have a full batch
Of sick men to look to. Those robbers accurs'd
Will soon put our soundest on terms with our worst.
Nathless I'd have bartered, with never a frown,
Ten years for those seconds when Osric went down.
Where's Ethelwolf?
Eustace.
Dying.
Thurston.
And Reginald?
Eustace.
Dead.
And Ralph is disabled, and Rudolph is sped.
He may last till midnight--not longer. Nor Tyrrel,
Nor Brian will ever see sunrise.
Thurston.
That Cyril,
The monk, is a very respectable fighter.
Eustace.
Not bad for a monk. Yet our loss had been lighter
Had he and his fellows thrown open the gate
A little more quickly. And now, spite of fate,
With thirty picked soldiers their siege we might weather,
But the Abbess is worth all the rest put together.
[Enter Ursula.]
Thurston.
Here she comes.
Ursula.
Can I speak with your lord?
Eustace.
'Tis too late,
He was dead when we carried him in at the gate.
Thurston.
Nay, he spoke after that, for I heard him myself;
But he won't speak again, he must lie on his shelf.
Ursula.
Alas! is he dead, then?
Thurston.
As dead as St. Paul.
And what then? to-morrow we, too, one and all,
Die, to fatten these ravenous carrion birds.
I knelt down by Hugo and heard his last words:
"How heavy the night hangs--how wild the waves dash;
Say a mass for my soul--and give Rollo a mash."
Ursula.
Nay, Thurston, thou jestest.
Thurston.
Ask Eric. I swear
We listened and caught every syllable clear.
Eustace.
Why, his horse was slain, too.
Thurston.
'Neath the linden trees grey,
Ere the onset, young Henry rode Rollo away;
He will hasten the Prince, and they may reach your gate
To-morrow--though to-morrow for us is too late.
Hugo rode the boy's mare, and she's dead--if you like--
Disembowel'd by the thrust of a freebooter's pike.
Eustace.
Neither Henry nor Rollo we ever shall see.
Ursula.
But we may hold the walls till to-morrow.
Thurston.
Not we.
In an hour or less, having rallied their force,
They'll storm your old building--and take it, of course,
Since of us, who alone in war's science are skill'd,
One-third are disabled, and two-thirds are kill'd.
Ursula.
Art thou hurt?
Thurston.
At present I feel well enough,
But your water is brackish, unwholesome and rough;
Bring a flask of your wine, dame, for Eustace and I,
Let us gaily give battle and merrily die.
[Enter Eric, with arm in sling.]
Eric.
Thou art safe, Lady Abbess! The convent is safe!
To be robbed of their prey how the ravens will chafe!
The vanguard of Otto is looming in sight!
At the sheen of their spears, see! thy foemen take flight,
Their foremost are scarce half a mile from the wall.
Thurston.
Bring the wine, lest those Germans should swallow it all. _
Read next: Scene 31. The Chapel of the Convent
Read previous: Scene 29. A Room in the Convent Tower Overlooking the Gate
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