Part 2 / Act 3 — Scene I.—A platform before the Citadel. Knights entering.

Her. (to one of the Knights.) You would plead for him? Knight. Nay, remember all His past renown! Her. I had a friend in youth— This Aymer’s father had him shamed for less Than his son’s fault—far less! We must accuse him;—he must have his shield Reversed—his name degraded. Knight. He might yet— All the Knights. Must his shame cleave to us? We cast him forth— We will not bear it. Rainier enters. Rai. Knights! ye speak of him— My brother—was’t not so? All silent! Nay, Give your thoughts breath! What said ye? Her. That his name Must be degraded. Rai. Silence! ye disturb The dead. Thou hear’st, my father! [Going up indignantly to the Knights. Which of ye Shall first accuse him? He, whose bold step won The breach at Ascalon ere Aymer’s step, Let him speak first! He that plunged deeper through the stormy fight, Thence to redeem the banner of the Cross, On Cairo’s plain, let him speak first! Or he Whose sword burst swifter o’er the Saracen, I’ the rescue of our king, by Jordan’s waves— I say, let him speak first! Her. Is he not an apostate? Rai. No, no, no! If he were that, had my life’s blood that taint, This hand should pour it out! He is not that. Her. Not yet. Rai. Not yet, nor ever! Let me die In a lost battle first! Her. Hath he let go Name—kindred—honour—for an infidel, And will he grasp his faith? Rai. (after a gloomy pause.) That which bears poison—should it not be crush’d What though the weed look lovely? [Suddenly addressing Du Mornay You have seen My native halls, Du Mornay, far away In Languedoc? Du Mor. I was your father’s friend— I knew them well. Rai. (thoughtfully.) The weight of gloom that hangs— The very banners seem to droop with it— O’er some of those old rooms! Were we there now, With a dull wind heaving the pale tapestries, Why, I could tell you—— [Coming closer to Du Mornay. There’s a dark-red spot Grain’d in the floor of one—you know the tale? Du Mor. I may have heard it by the winter fires, —Now ’tis of things gone by. Rai. (turning from him displeased.) Such legends give Some minds a deeper tone. (To Herman.) If you had heard That tale i’ the shadowy tower—— Her. Nay, tell it now! Rai. They say the place is haunted—moaning sounds Come thence at midnight—sounds of woman’s voice. Her. And you believe—— Rai. I but believe the deed Done there of old. I had an ancestor— Bertrand, the lion-chief—whose son went forth (A younger son—I am not of his line) To the wars of Palestine. He fought there well— Ay, all his race were brave; but he return’d, And with a Paynim bride. Her. The recreant!—say, How bore your ancestor? Rai. Well may you think It chafed him—but he bore it—for the love Of that fair son, the child of his old age. He pined in heart, yet gave the infidel A place in his own halls. Her. But did this last? Rai. How should it last? Again the trumpet blew, And men were summon’d from their homes to guard The city of the Cross. But he seem’d cold— That youth! He shunn’d his father’s eye, and took No armour from the walls. Her. Had he then fallen? Was his faith wavering? Rai. So the father fear’d. Her. If I had been that father—— Rai. Ay, you come Of an honour’d lineage. What would you have done? Her. Nay, what did he? Rai. What did the lion-chief? [Turning to Du Mornay. Why, thou hast seen the very spot of blood On the dark floor! He slew the Paynim bride. Was it not well? (He looks at them attentively, and as he goes out exclaims—) My brother must not fall!