ACT III.

Tent below Emain, with shabby skins and benches. There is an opening at each side and at back, the latter closed. Old Woman comes in with food and fruits and arranges them on table. Conchubor comes in on right.

CONCHUBOR.
— sharply. — Has no one come with news for me?

OLD WOMAN.
I’ve seen no one at all, Conchubor.

CONCHUBOR.
— watches her working for a moment, then makes sure opening at back is closed. — Go up then to Emain, you’re not wanting here. (A noise heard left.) Who is that?

OLD WOMAN.
— going left. — It’s Lavarcham coming again. She’s a great wonder for jogging back and forward through the world, and I made certain she’d be off to meet them; but she’s coming alone, Conchubor, my dear child Deirdre isn’t with her at all.

CONCHUBOR.
Go up so and leave us.

OLD WOMAN.
— pleadingly. — I’d be well pleased to set my eyes on Deirdre if she’s coming this night, as we’re told.

CONCHUBOR.
— impatiently. — It’s not long till you’ll see her. But I’ve matters with Lavarcham, and let you go now, I’m saying.

[He shows her out right, as Lavarcham comes in on the left.

LAVARCHAM.
— looking round her with suspicion. — This is a queer place to find you, and it’s a queer place to be lodging Naisi and his brothers, and Deirdre with them, and the lot of us tired out with the long way we have been walking.

CONCHUBOR.
You’ve come along with them the whole journey?

LAVARCHAM.
I have, then, though I’ve no call now to be wandering that length to a wedding or a burial, or the two together. (She sits down wearily.) It’s a poor thing the way me and you is getting old, Conchubor, and I’m thinking you yourself have no call to be loitering this place getting your death, maybe, in the cold of night.

CONCHUBOR.
I’m waiting only to know is Fergus stopped in the north.

LAVARCHAM.
— more sharply. — He’s stopped, surely, and that’s a trick has me thinking you have it in mind to bring trouble this night on Emain and Ireland and the big world’s east beyond them. (She goes to him.) And yet you’d do well to be going to your dun, and not putting shame on her meeting the High King, and she seamed and sweaty and in great disorder from the dust of many roads. (Laughing derisively.) Ah, Conchubor, my lad, beauty goes quickly in the woods, and you’d let a great gasp, I tell you, if you set your eyes this night on Deirdre.

CONCHUBOR.
— fiercely. — It’s little I care if she’s white and worn, for it’s I did rear her from a child. I should have a good right to meet and see her always.

LAVARCHAM.
A good right is it? Haven’t the blind a good right to be seeing, and the lame to be dancing, and the dummies singing tunes? It’s that right you have to be looking for gaiety on Deirdre’s lips. (Coaxingly.) Come on to your dun, I’m saying, and leave her quiet for one night itself.

CONCHUBOR.
— with sudden anger. — I’ll not go, when it’s long enough I am above in my dun stretching east and west without a comrade, and I more needy, maybe, than the thieves of Meath. . . . You think I’m old and wise, but I tell you the wise know the old must die, and they’ll leave no chance for a thing slipping from them they’ve set their blood to win.

LAVARCHAM.
— nodding her head. — If you’re old and wise, it’s I’m the same, Conchubor, and I’m telling you you’ll not have her though you’re ready to destroy mankind and skin the gods to win her. There’s things a king can’t have, Conchubor, and if you go rampaging this night you’ll be apt to win nothing but death for many, and a sloppy face of trouble on your own self before the day will come.

CONCHUBOR.
It’s too much talk you have. (Goes right.) Where is Owen? Did you see him no place and you coming the road?

LAVARCHAM.
I seen him surely. He went spying on Naisi, and now the worms is spying on his own inside.

CONCHUBOR.
— exultingly. — Naisi killed him?

LAVARCHAM.
He did not, then. It was Owen destroyed himself running mad because of Deirdre. Fools and kings and scholars are all one in a story with her like, and Owen thought he’d be a great man, being the first corpse in the game you’ll play this night in Emain.

CONCHUBOR.
It’s yourself should be the first corpse, but my other messengers are coming, men from the clans that hated Usna.

LAVARCHAM.
— drawing back hopelessly. — Then the gods have pity on us all!

[Men with weapons come in.

CONCHUBOR.
— to Soldiers. — Are Ainnle and Ardan separate from Naisi?

MEN.
They are, Conchubor. We’ve got them off, saying they were needed to make ready Deirdre’s house.

CONCHUBOR.
And Naisi and Deirdre are coming?

SOLDIER.
Naisi’s coming, surely, and a woman with him is putting out the glory of the moon is rising and the sun is going down.

CONCHUBOR.
— looking at Lavarcham. — That’s your story that she’s seamed and ugly?

SOLDIER.
I have more news. (Pointing to Lavarcham.) When that woman heard you were bringing Naisi this place, she sent a horse-boy to call Fergus from the north.

CONCHUBOR.
— to Lavarcham. — It’s for that you’ve been playing your tricks, but what you’ve won is a nearer death for Naisi. (To Soldiers.) Go up and call my fighters, and take that woman up to Emain.

LAVARCHAM.
I’d liefer stay this place. I’ve done my best, but if a bad end is coming, surely it would be a good thing maybe I was here to tend her.

CONCHUBOR.
— fiercely. — Take her to Emain; it’s too many tricks she’s tried this day already. (A Soldier goes to her.)

LAVARCHAM.
Don’t touch me. (She puts her cloak round her and catches Conchubor’s arm.) I thought to stay your hand with my stories till Fergus would come to be beside them, the way I’d save yourself, Conchubor, and Naisi and Emain Macha; but I’ll walk up now into your halls, and I’ll say (with a gesture) it’s here nettles will be growing, and beyond thistles and docks. I’ll go into your high chambers, where you’ve been figuring yourself stretching out your neck for the kisses of a queen of women; and I’ll say it’s here there’ll be deer stirring and goats scratching, and sheep waking and coughing when there is a great wind from the north. (Shaking herself loose. Conchubor makes a sign to Soldiers.) I’m going, surely. In a short space I’ll be sitting up with many listening to the flames crackling, and the beams breaking, and I looking on the great blaze will be the end of Emain.

[She goes out.

CONCHUBOR.
— looking out. — I see two people in the trees; it should be Naisi and Deirdre. (To Soldier.) Let you tell them they’ll lodge here tonight.

[Conchubor goes out right. Naisi and Deirdre come in on left, very weary.

NAISI.
— to Soldiers. — Is it this place he’s made ready for myself and Deirdre?

SOLDIER.
The Red Branch House is being aired and swept and you’ll be called there when a space is by; till then you’d find fruits and drink on this table, and so the gods be with you.

[Goes out right.

NAISI.
— looking round. — It’s a strange place he’s put us camping and we come back as his friends.

DEIRDRE.
He’s likely making up a welcome for us, having curtains shaken out and rich rooms put in order; and it’s right he’d have great state to meet us, and you his sister’s son.

NAISI.
— gloomily. — It’s little we want with state or rich rooms or curtains, when we’re used to the ferns only and cold streams and they making a stir.

DEIRDRE.
— roaming round room. — We want what is our right in Emain (looking at hangings), and though he’s riches in store for us it’s a shabby, ragged place he’s put us waiting, with frayed rugs and skins are eaten by the moths.

NAISI.
— a little impatiently. — There are few would worry over skins and moths on this first night that we’ve come back to Emain.

DEIRDRE.
— brightly. — You should be well pleased it’s for that I’d worry all times, when it’s I have kept your tent these seven years as tidy as a bee-hive or a linnet’s nest. If Conchubor’d a queen like me in Emain he’d not have stretched these rags to meet us. (She pulls hanging, and it opens.) There’s new earth on the ground and a trench dug. . . . It’s a grave, Naisi, that is wide and deep.

NAISI.
— goes over and pulls back curtain showing grave. — And that’ll be our home in Emain. . . . He’s dug it wisely at the butt of a hill, with fallen trees to hide it. He’ll want to have us killed and buried before Fergus comes.

DEIRDRE.
Take me away. . . . Take me to hide in the rocks, for the night is coming quickly.

NAISI.
— pulling himself together. — I will not leave my brothers.

DEIRDRE.
— vehemently. — It’s of us two he’s jealous. Come away to the places where we’re used to have our company. . . . Wouldn’t it be a good thing to lie hid in the high ferns together? (She pulls him left.) I hear strange words in the trees.

NAISI.
It should be the strange fighters of Conchubor. I saw them passing as we came.

DEIRDRE.
— pulling him towards the right. — Come to this side. Listen, Naisi!

NAISI.
There are more of them. . . . We are shut in, and I have not Ainnle and Ardan to stand near me. Isn’t it a hard thing that we three who have conquered many may not die together?

DEIRDRE.
— sinking down. — And isn’t it a hard thing that you and I are in this place by our opened grave; though none have lived had happiness like ours those days in Alban that went by so quick.

NAISI.
It’s a hard thing, surely, we’ve lost those days for ever; and yet it’s a good thing, maybe, that all goes quick, for when I’m in that grave it’s soon a day’ll come you’ll be too wearied to be crying out, and that day’ll bring you ease.

DEIRDRE.
I’ll not be here to know if that is true.

NAISI.
It’s our three selves he’ll kill tonight, and then in two months or three you’ll see him walking down for courtship with yourself.

DEIRDRE.
I’ll not be here.

NAISI.
— hard. — You’d best keep him off, maybe, and then, when the time comes, make your way to some place west in Donegal, and it’s there you’ll get used to stretching out lonesome at the fall of night, and waking lonesome for the day.

DEIRDRE.
Let you not be saying things are worse than death.

NAISI.
— a little recklessly. — I’ve one word left. If a day comes in the west that the larks are cocking their crests on the edge of the clouds, and the cuckoos making a stir, and there’s a man you’d fancy, let you not be thinking that day I’d be well pleased you’d go on keening always.

DEIRDRE.
— turning to look at him. — And if it was I that died, Naisi, would you take another woman to fill up my place?

NAISI.
— very mournfully. — It’s little I know, saving only that it’s a hard and bitter thing leaving the earth, and a worse and harder thing leaving yourself alone and desolate to be making lamentation on its face always.

DEIRDRE.
I’ll die when you do, Naisi. I’d not have come here from Alban but I knew I’d be along with you in Emain, and you living or dead. . . . Yet this night it’s strange and distant talk you’re making only.

NAISI.
There’s nothing, surely, the like of a new grave of open earth for putting a great space between two friends that love.

DEIRDRE.
If there isn’t, it’s that grave when it’s closed will make us one for ever, and we two lovers have had great space without weariness or growing old or any sadness of the mind.

CONCHUBOR.
— coming in on right. — I’d bid you welcome, Naisi.

NAISI.
— standing up. — You’re welcome, Conchubor. I’m well pleased you’ve come.

CONCHUBOR.
— blandly. — Let you not think bad of this place where I’ve put you till other rooms are readied.

NAISI.
— breaking out. — We know the room you’ve readied. We know what stirred you to send your seals and Fergus into Alban and stop him in the north, (opening curtain and pointing to the grave) and dig that grave before us. Now I ask what brought you here?

CONCHUBOR.
I’ve come to look on Deirdre.

NAISI.
Look on her. You’re a knacky fancier, and it’s well you chose the one you’d lure from Alban. Look on her, I tell you, and when you’ve looked I’ve got ten fingers will squeeze your mottled goose neck, though you’re king itself.

DEIRDRE.
— coming between them. — Hush, Naisi! Maybe Conchubor’ll make peace. . . . Do not mind him, Conchubor; he has cause to rage.

CONCHUBOR.
It’s little I heed his raging, when a call would bring my fighters from the trees. . . . But what do you say, Deirdre?

DEIRDRE.
I’ll say so near that grave we seem three lonesome people, and by a new made grave there’s no man will keep brooding on a woman’s lips, or on the man he hates. It’s not long till your own grave will be dug in Emain, and you’d go down to it more easy if you’d let call Ainnle and Ardan, the way we’d have a supper all together, and fill that grave, and you’ll be well pleased from this out, having four new friends the like of us in Emain.

CONCHUBOR.
— looking at her for a moment. — That’s the first friendly word I’ve heard you speaking, Deirdre. A game the like of yours should be the proper thing for softening the heart and putting sweetness in the tongue; and yet this night when I hear you I’ve small blame left for Naisi that he stole you off from Ulster.

DEIRDRE.
— to Naisi. — Now, Naisi, answer gently, and we’ll be friends tonight.

NAISI.
— doggedly. — I have no call but to be friendly. I’ll answer what you will.

DEIRDRE.
— taking Naisi’s hand. — Then you’ll call Conchubor your friend and king, the man who reared me up upon Slieve Fuadh.

[As Conchubor is going to clasp Naisi’s hand cries are heard behind.

CONCHUBOR.
What noise is that?

AINNLE.
— behind. — Naisi. . . . Naisi. Come to us; we are betrayed and broken.

NAISI.
It’s Ainnle crying out in a battle.

CONCHUBOR.
I was near won this night, but death’s between us now.

[He goes out.

DEIRDRE.
— clinging to Naisi. — There is no battle. . . . Do not leave me, Naisi.

NAISI.
I must go to them.

DEIRDRE.
— beseechingly. — Do not leave me, Naisi. Let us creep up in the darkness behind the grave. If there’s a battle, maybe the strange fighters will be destroyed, when Ainnle and Ardan are against them.

[Cries heard.

NAISI.
— wildly. — I hear Ardan crying out. Do not hold me from my brothers.

DEIRDRE.
Do not leave me, Naisi. Do not leave me broken and alone.

NAISI.
I cannot leave my brothers when it is I who have defied the king.

DEIRDRE.
I will go with you.

NAISI.
You cannot come. Do not hold me from the fight.

[He throws her aside almost roughly.

DEIRDRE.
— with restraint. — Go to your brothers. For seven years you have been kindly, but the hardness of death has come between us.

NAISI.
— looking at her aghast. — And you’ll have me meet death with a hard word from your lips in my ear?

DEIRDRE.
We’ve had a dream, but this night has waked us surely. In a little while we’ve lived too long, Naisi, and isn’t it a poor thing we should miss the safety of the grave, and we trampling its edge?

AINNLE.
— behind. — Naisi, Naisi, we are attacked and ruined!

DEIRDRE.
Let you go where they are calling. (She looks at him for an instant coldly.) Have you no shame loitering and talking, and a cruel death facing Ainnle and Ardan in the woods?

NAISI.
— frantic. — They’ll not get a death that’s cruel, and they with men alone. It’s women that have loved are cruel only; and if I went on living from this day I’d be putting a curse on the lot of them I’d meet walking in the east or west, putting a curse on the sun that gave them beauty, and on the madder and the stone-crop put red upon their cloaks.

DEIRDRE.
— bitterly. — I’m well pleased there’s no one in this place to make a story that Naisi was a laughing-stock the night he died.

NAISI.
There’d not be many’d make a story, for that mockery is in your eyes this night will spot the face of Emain with a plague of pitted graves.

[He goes out.

CONCHUBOR.
— outside. — That is Naisi. Strike him! (Tumult. Deirdre crouches down on Naisi’s cloak. Conchubor comes in hurriedly.) They’ve met their death — the three that stole you, Deirdre, and from this out you’ll be my queen in Emain.

[A keen of men’s voices is heard behind.

DEIRDRE.
— bewildered and terrified. — It is not I will be a queen.

CONCHUBOR.
Make your lamentation a short while if you will, but it isn’t long till a day’ll come when you begin pitying a man is old and desolate, and High King also. . . . Let you not fear me, for it’s I’m well pleased you have a store of pity for the three that were your friends in Alban.

DEIRDRE.
I have pity, surely. . . . It’s the way pity has me this night, when I think of Naisi, that I could set my teeth into the heart of a king.

CONCHUBOR.
I know well pity’s cruel, when it was my pity for my own self destroyed Naisi.

DEIRDRE.
— more wildly. — It was my words without pity gave Naisi a death will have no match until the ends of life and time. (Breaking out into a keen.) But who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the lips of Naisi from her neck and from her cheek for ever? Who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the twilight in the woods with Naisi, when beech-trees were silver and copper, and ash-trees were fine gold?

CONCHUBOR.
— bewildered. — It’s I’ll know the way to pity and care you, and I with a share of troubles has me thinking this night it would be a good bargain if it was I was in the grave, and Deirdre crying over me, and it was Naisi who was old and desolate.

[Keen heard.

DEIRDRE.
— wild with sorrow. — It is I who am desolate; I, Deirdre, that will not live till I am old.

CONCHUBOR.
It’s not long you’ll be desolate, and I seven years saying, “It’s a bright day for Deirdre in the woods of Alban”; or saying again, “What way will Deirdre be sleeping this night, and wet leaves and branches driving from the north?” Let you not break the thing I’ve set my life on, and you giving yourself up to your sorrow when it’s joy and sorrow do burn out like straw blazing in an east wind.

DEIRDRE.
— turning on him. — Was it that way with your sorrow, when I and Naisi went northward from Slieve Fuadh and let raise our sails for Alban?

CONCHUBOR.
There’s one sorrow has no end surely — that’s being old and lonesome. (With extraordinary pleading.) But you and I will have a little peace in Emain, with harps playing, and old men telling stories at the fall of night. I’ve let build rooms for our two selves, Deirdre, with red gold upon the walls and ceilings that are set with bronze. There was never a queen in the east had a house the like of your house, that’s waiting for yourself in Emain.

SOLDIER — running in. — Emain is in flames. Fergus has come back and is setting fire to the world. Come up, Conchubor, or your state will be destroyed!

CONCHUBOR.
— angry and regal again. — Are the Sons of Usna buried?

SOLDIER.
They are in their grave, but no earth is thrown.

CONCHUBOR.
Let me see them. Open the tent! (Soldier opens back of tent and shows grave.) Where are my fighters?

SOLDIER.
They are gone to Emain.

CONCHUBOR.
— to Deirdre. — There are none to harm you. Stay here until I come again.

[Goes out with Soldier. Deirdre looks round for a moment, then goes up slowly and looks into grave. She crouches down and begins swaying herself backwards and forwards, keening softly. At first her words are not heard, then they become clear.

DEIRDRE.
It’s you three will not see age or death coming — you that were my company when the fires on the hill-tops were put out and the stars were our friends only. I’ll turn my thoughts back from this night, that’s pitiful for want of pity, to the time it was your rods and cloaks made a little tent for me where there’d be a birch tree making shelter and a dry stone; though from this day my own fingers will be making a tent for me, spreading out my hairs and they knotted with the rain.

[Lavarcham and Old Woman come in stealthily on right.

DEIRDRE.
— not seeing them. — It is I, Deirdre, will be crouching in a dark place; I, Deirdre, that was young with Naisi, and brought sorrow to his grave in Emain.

OLD WOMAN.
Is that Deirdre broken down that was so light and airy?

LAVARCHAM.
It is, surely, crying out over their grave.

[She goes to Deirdre.

DEIRDRE.
It will be my share from this out to be making lamentation on his stone always, and I crying for a love will be the like of a star shining on a little harbour by the sea.

LAVARCHAM.
— coming forward. — Let you rise up, Deirdre, and come off while there are none to heed us, the way I’ll find you shelter and some friend to guard you.

DEIRDRE.
To what place would I go away from Naisi? What are the woods without Naisi or the sea shore?

LAVARCHAM.
— very coaxingly. — If it is that way you’d be, come till I find you a sunny place where you’ll be a great wonder they’ll call the queen of sorrows; and you’ll begin taking a pride to be sitting up pausing and dreaming when the summer comes.

DEIRDRE.
It was the voice of Naisi that was strong in summer — the voice of Naisi that was sweeter than pipes playing, but from this day will be dumb always.

LAVARCHAM.
— to Old Woman. — She doesn’t heed us at all. We’ll be hard set to rouse her.

OLD WOMAN.
If we don’t the High King will rouse her, coming down beside her with the rage of battle in his blood, for how could Fergus stand against him?

LAVARCHAM.
— touching Deirdre with her hand. — There’s a score of woman’s years in store for you, and you’d best choose will you start living them beside the man you hate, or being your own mistress in the west or south?

DEIRDRE.
It is not I will go on living after Ainnle and after Ardan. After Naisi I will not have a lifetime in the world.

OLD WOMAN.
— with excitement. — Look, Lavarcham! There’s a light leaving the Red Branch. Conchubor and his lot will be coming quickly with a torch of bog-deal for her marriage, throwing a light on her three comrades.

DEIRDRE.
— startled. — Let us throw down clay on my three comrades. Let us cover up Naisi along with Ainnle and Ardan, they that were the pride of Emain. (Throwing in clay.) There is Naisi was the best of three, the choicest of the choice of many. It was a clean death was your share, Naisi; and it is not I will quit your head, when it’s many a dark night among the snipe and plover that you and I were whispering together. It is not I will quit your head, Naisi, when it’s many a night we saw the stars among the clear trees of Glen da Ruadh, or the moon pausing to rest her on the edges of the hills.

OLD WOMAN.
Conchubor is coming, surely. I see the glare of flames throwing a light upon his cloak.

LAVARCHAM.
— eagerly. — Rise up, Deirdre, and come to Fergus, or be the High King’s slave for ever!

DEIRDRE.
— imperiously. — I will not leave Naisi, who has left the whole world scorched and desolate. I will not go away when there is no light in the heavens, and no flower in the earth under them, but is saying to me that it is Naisi who is gone for ever.

CONCHUBOR.
— behind. — She is here. Stay a little back. (Lavarcham and Old Woman go into the shadow on left as Conchubor comes in. With excitement, to Deirdre.) Come forward and leave Naisi the way I’ve left charred timber and a smell of burning in Emain Macha, and a heap of rubbish in the storehouse of many crowns.

DEIRDRE.
— more awake to what is round her. — What are crowns and Emain Macha, when the head that gave them glory is this place, Conchubor, and it stretched upon the gravel will be my bed tonight?

CONCHUBOR.
Make an end of talk of Naisi, for I’ve come to bring you to Dundealgan since Emain is destroyed.

[Conchubor makes a movement towards her.

DEIRDRE.
— with a tone that stops him. — Draw a little back from Naisi, who is young for ever. Draw a little back from the white bodies I am putting under a mound of clay and grasses that are withered — a mound will have a nook for my own self when the end is come.

CONCHUBOR.
— roughly. — Let you rise up and come along with me in place of growing crazy with your wailings here.

DEIRDRE.
It’s yourself has made a crazy story, and let you go back to your arms, Conchubor, and to councils where your name is great, for in this place you are an old man and a fool only.

CONCHUBOR.
If I’ve folly, I’ve sense left not to lose the thing I’ve bought with sorrow and the deaths of many.

[He moves towards her.

DEIRDRE.
Do not raise a hand to touch me.

CONCHUBOR.
There are other hands to touch you. My fighters are set round in among the trees.

DEIRDRE.
Who’ll fight the grave, Conchubor, and it opened on a dark night?

LAVARCHAM.
— eagerly. — There are steps in the wood. I hear the call of Fergus and his men.

CONCHUBOR.
— furiously. — Fergus cannot stop me. I am more powerful than he is, though I am defeated and old.

FERGUS.
— comes in to Deirdre; a red glow is seen behind the grove. — I have destroyed Emain, and now I’ll guard you all times, Deirdre, though it was I, without knowledge, brought Naisi to his grave.

CONCHUBOR.
It’s not you will guard her, for my whole armies are gathering. Rise up, Deirdre, for you are mine surely.

FERGUS.
— coming between them. — I am come between you.

CONCHUBOR.
— wildly. — When I’ve killed Naisi and his brothers, is there any man that I will spare? And is it you will stand against me, Fergus, when it’s seven years you’ve seen me getting my death with rage in Emain?

FERGUS.
It’s I, surely, will stand against a thief and a traitor.

DEIRDRE.
— stands up and sees the light from Emain. — Draw a little back with the squabbling of fools when I am broken up with misery. (She turns round.) I see the flames of Emain starting upward in the dark night; and because of me there will be weasels and wild cats crying on a lonely wall where there were queens and armies and red gold, the way there will be a story told of a ruined city and a raving king and a woman will be young for ever. (She looks round.) I see the trees naked and bare, and the moon shining. Little moon, little moon of Alban, it’s lonesome you’ll be this night, and tomorrow night, and long nights after, and you pacing the woods beyond Glen Laoi, looking every place for Deirdre and Naisi, the two lovers who slept so sweetly with each other.

FERGUS.
— going to Conchubor’s right and whispering. — Keep back, or you will have the shame of pushing a bolt on a queen who is out of her wits.

CONCHUBOR.
It is I who am out of my wits, with Emain in flames, and Deirdre raving, and my own heart gone within me.

DEIRDRE.
— in a high and quiet tone. — I have put away sorrow like a shoe that is worn out and muddy, for it is I have had a life that will be envied by great companies. It was not by a low birth I made kings uneasy, and they sitting in the halls of Emain. It was not a low thing to be chosen by Conchubor, who was wise, and Naisi had no match for bravery. It is not a small thing to be rid of grey hairs, and the loosening of the teeth. (With a sort of triumph.) It was the choice of lives we had in the clear woods, and in the grave, we’re safe, surely. . . .

CONCHUBOR.
She will do herself harm.

DEIRDRE.
— showing Naisi’s knife. — I have a little key to unlock the prison of Naisi you’d shut upon his youth for ever. Keep back, Conchubor; for the High King who is your master has put his hands between us. (She half turns to the grave.) It was sorrows were foretold, but great joys were my share always; yet it is a cold place I must go to be with you, Naisi; and it’s cold your arms will be this night that were warm about my neck so often. . . . It’s a pitiful thing to be talking out when your ears are shut to me. It’s a pitiful thing, Conchubor, you have done this night in Emain; yet a thing will be a joy and triumph to the ends of life and time.

[She presses knife into her heart and sinks into the grave. Conchubor and Fergus go forward. The red glow fades, leaving stage very dark.

FERGUS.
Four white bodies are laid down together; four clear lights are quenched in Ireland. (He throws his sword into the grave.) There is my sword that could not shield you — my four friends that were the dearest always. The flames of Emain have gone out: Deirdre is dead and there is none to keen her. That is the fate of Deirdre and the children of Usna, and for this night, Conchubor, our war is ended.

[He goes out.

LAVARCHAM.
I have a little hut where you can rest, Conchubor; there is a great dew falling.

CONCHUBOR.
— with the voice of an old man. — Take me with you. I’m hard set to see the way before me.

OLD WOMAN.
This way, Conchubor.

[They go out.

LAVARCHAM.
— beside the grave. — Deirdre is dead, and Naisi is dead; and if the oaks and stars could die for sorrow, it’s a dark sky and a hard and naked earth we’d have this night in Emain.

CURTAIN