A Double Sorrow Read online

  The service begins.

  He can neither see nor hear.

  The people fall to prayer.

  I. 295–301

  Lime

  His men gather him up.

  He must play his part in the pranks and pleasures to come.

  The day, the night, will be long.

  He who takes flight without thought

  Has to haul out of himself each word, each gesture

  As love spreads through him like lime through feathers

  And settles its weight.

  I. 323–357

  Troilus cannot move

  What it is that pours from his heart

  That he is lucky to find a woman who so deserves

  His love. That the story of his love will be told

  And that the story of his love will be no less glorious

  If he fails.

  That he can serve his love – whatever she feels –

  And that if he can admit to having been shot through

  Who will not admire his gaping wound?

  I. 367–378

  Seed

  Night follows night.

  His secret so full he cannot risk a sigh.

  The air might creep with feeling.

  What if someone – and there is always someone – close by

  Were to taste it on their tongue and pass it on?

  What fruit could grow from sweetness spread so thin?

  Night follows night.

  I. 384–385

  Troilus cannot sleep

  There is work to be done

  Something to build strong enough to contain

  The bird in his heart

  That the wound has become.

  He thinks of love as steps to a dance

  And keeps breaking into song.

  Rough-voiced

  He must arm himself.

  I. 381–389

  Troilus attempts a strategy

  If he ever fears he might not win her

  He falls into some inward place of trees

  Refusing any path that does not make of itself

  The right answer. Hope will emerge

  Like a gentle creature drawn from green shadows

  To steady his gaze.

  A fawn, soft in the wild,

  Followed only by more of its kind.

  I. 463–466

  The sharp showers fall

  He will not flinch or swerve.

  In at the first, there to the last,

  He sees it all from on high

  Like a god. He sees this war is small.

  Indifferent, invincible, sleepless, tireless

  He thinks of the stories they’ll tell.

  How could she then say no?

  I. 470–484

  Troilus in battle

  Vapours

  Whispering long ribbons of fear.

  Reveries and sighs. At the fall of her name

  He gives way like snow flung upon a fire.

  People wish this?

  He does not know that what he feels is feeling.

  Should he declare himself? What is correct?

  If so, not yet.

  I. 435–462, 523–525

  Troilus hesitates

  Pandarus

  A man who wanders the corridors

  Who presses his ear to the wall

  Who rushes in as if to the rescue.

  Has the prince – flat out, sobbing – been hurt

  Or has some devilry borne fruit?

  He pulls up a chair.

  He can taste the juice.

  I. 547–560

  At his friend’s insistence

  I fear that to put this into words

  Will break me down

  But I must show you trust

  So here it is. I love someone

  And do not want this weakness

  To be known. A thousand ships

  Have sailed into my heart. Say nothing.

  I. 596–616

  Troilus speaks

  Whet

  Why have you kept this to yourself for so long?

  My trials in love are renowned.

  To be blunt

  I’ve learnt what should – and should not – be done.

  I may be well worn but I know how to sharpen.

  Think of me as an instrument

  On which to tune your song.

  I. 617–632

  Pandarus gives himself a role

  Hover

  This brother, this passer-by

  Sees the highs and lows to come

  And as he has no adventure of his own

  Anticipates the sport:

  How they will hover at the ready

  Till she’s drawn forth.

  How they will soar and swoop.

  I. 670–671

  Yet he nothing answers

  He struggles to raise his head

  Then subsides back into lethargy

  Till his friend roars

  Wake up!

  Has fear folded up your breath?

  So young, so green, so vigorous!

  Serve this love. Devote yourself.

  Are you not ready?

  I. 722–730, 800–819

  Troilus is challenged

  Dropped

  He’s on the edge of a precipice.

  At its foot, dark water.

  Who knows what lies beneath or if

  He will survive the fall.

  This is his trial.

  He must name his grail.

  He names her.

  I. 869–875

  To love well and in a worthy place

  Flawless, as you already know,

  And while not quite your equal

  Beyond peer in her gentility.

  Made for romance and while not susceptible

  She will be feeling a certain vulnerability.

  If there’s love in her then love we’ll find.

  We just need to pinpoint what kind.

  I. 876–889, 974–987

  Pandarus explains that Criseyde is his niece

  To have someone speak of it as if it could be done

  He is told to concentrate

  To be patient, to rehearse

  To suffer the tide and to have faith

  That the right conditions will arise.

  All weather is changeable.

  There will be a path

  And it will be passable.

  I. 954–961

  Troilus listens

  As a gentleman

  If I have any fear

  It is that I may be the cause

  Of damage to her.

  I will only go so far as is proper.

  I put myself in your hands.

  Commend me to she who me commands

  But do not use force.

  I. 1030–1057

  Troilus draws a line

  A construct

  First measure out the work.

  Do not rush into laying foundations.

  Read the lie of the land

  And draw whatever line you take

  As if from the heart.

  The right words will lend grace

  To the right time and the right place.

  I. 1065–1071

  Pandarus gives himself some advice

  High

  He gallops out on his bay

  And in battle is ever more brave

  As if under a form of protection.

  Otherwise he’s changed.

  Remember his mockery? His disdain?

  His thoughtfulness is remarked upon.

  He may never be himself again.

  I. 1072–1085

  Troilus wakes

  BOOK TWO

  Out of these black waves for to sail

  This plot (which has not been easy to steer)

  Is finding its course.

  The air has started to clear

  For better or worse.

  The prince and his friend are learning to rhyme

  What might be s
aid with where and when.

  So it begins. Day one.

  II. 1–10

  A form of speech

  Stories change shape in the telling

  As words alter through long use.

  This is nothing new

  But it’s close to home

  Which might colour my view (were I to have one).

  It’s not exactly light, not entirely dark.

  I’m saying what happens not naming parts.

  II. 15–24

  The second of the four sweet months

  The meadows quicken.

  Life drifts across the walls.

  What’s inside opens.

  Consider the phase of the moon

  The sun full-beam in the sign of the bull

  The sharpness of the swallow’s song.

  The time has come.

  II. 50–75

  Imperative

  Listening in sleep to the swallow’s song

  He hears small wheels in a vast machine

  Doing their best to keep up.

  Less of a beat, more of a ripple.

  Something’s got caught. It spins and slaps.

  He opens the back

  And out comes spool after spool.

  II. 64–68

  Pandarus remembers his promise

  Forgetful of all measurement

  He yells for his servants to dress him now

  And bulging with intent bounds forth

  Without thought of what he might say

  Or she.

  He marches through his niece’s gates

  As if he were about to rescue the people

  From seven years’ battle.

  II. 71–80

  Within a paved parlour

  She is at home among women

  One of whom is reading aloud

  A well-known tragedy:

  A king’s death, the terrible act of a son

  And a world where too much happens

  And not enough to some. They laugh at it

  But each is on the edge of her seat.

  II. 81–105

  Sits Criseyde among her companions

  A red-letter day

  He yanks her to her feet

  Grinning as if about to announce the greatest

  Good news.

  Why indoors? Have you not seen the sun?

  We must pay observance. Dance! Dance!

  Uncle, please don’t rave.

  You’re scaring me.

  II. 103, 111–116

  Barb

  Take off the scarf drawn tight beneath your chin.

  It hangs like a beard. Unbutton!

  You know why I cover myself.

  I am a widow, no longer womanly.

  I should live in a cave and devote my days

  To religious tracts. I cannot caper and twirl.

  Still he caws: Oh lucky girl, lucky girl!

  II. 110, 117–118

  A corner

  He sits her down as if about to announce whatever

  It is but says that if he were able to tell her

  There is something he could tell her

  That would make her dance

  Then he takes a sharp turn

  Towards himself, the weather, the old romance

  She’s reading and its other dozen versions . . .

  II. 108, 121–133

  Pandarus leads Criseyde out of earshot

  Till she can bear no more and turns back

  What is this great good luck?

  This secret you’re trying so hard to keep.

  Are the gates open? Are we without enemy?

  Please don’t play games.

  I find it hard to keep up.

  Your poetry strains.

  Just tell me.

  II. 122–154

  The king has more than one son

  He winds one brother round the other

  Speaks of Hector’s latest skirmish

  And out of it the other’s splendour:

  Troilus in superlatives.

  This is not news, she’s already heard

  From those to whom she most pays heed

  All about this man, this shield.

  II. 155–189

  Glaze

  Now the prince’s name is in the air

  His friend keeps it spinning

  Till noble deeds and bright lines blur

  And neither crack nor fault can be discerned

  In his image.

  Judging the picture complete

  He rises and says that he must leave.

  II. 190–209

  A serious matter

  He thinks he has her but she wants only

  Advice on the management of her money.

  He tries to say the right things.

  When her accounting comes to an end

  He leaps up. They have to dance

  Because Fortune has made her the offer

  Of a future. And what a future!

  II. 210–224

  Criseyde says they must talk further

  The strength in any story lies in its end

  His theme demands elaboration

  So on he rambles till his eyes fix upon her face

  And he sees it clearly:

  Her simplicity.

  He takes the decorations down.

  You’re being given a chance, he says.

  Take it.

  II. 246–294

  He who strives to do right in all things

  The noble Troilus does so love you

  That his life is hell. In truth

  I do not believe he will survive

  His longing. There it is.

  Do as you wish. Have him live or die.

  She knows that life is about to change

  And that in change lies danger.

  II. 309–322

  A knife

  Say no and he will die

  And I who failed to save his life

  Will slit my throat with this very knife.

  The prince and I offer only protection.

  Imagine us gone. Feel how sharp the blade.

  Such a man thrown away

  As if he were ordinary.

  II. 323–340

  Pandarus presses

  A stone

  He warns her that her charms won’t stretch

  To making amends for the prince’s loss.

  She may be beauty’s root and crop

  But like the most precious crystal

  If she lacks the power to heal

  Where’s the use?

  She neither moves nor speaks.

  II. 344–350

  Transparency

  If he came to her door it would not be often.

  He knows how to govern himself.

  Yes people might talk so why not be open?

  This would be the visit of a friend.

  No promises.

  Just a little kindness.

  The city is full of such friends.

  II. 365–380

  Pandarus releases

  She turns the colour of the morning air

  This is it? My great good luck?

  Were I misguided enough to declare a passion

  For a man of royal blood, for any man

  Given who I am, you would be merciless

  And I would be a laughing stock.

  What is this painted process?

  You call this a happy ending. In what version?

  II. 410–427, IF II. 47

  Criseyde reddens

  Jeopardy

  I must play my cards well

  Or this will prove a dangerous game.

  It might make things worse if I refuse to listen.

  I’ve heard of the extremes men go to for love.

  What if the prince killed himself?

  What if he came here and slit his throat in front of me?

  What would people say?

  II. 456–462

  Criseyde thinks

  Yes

  I will not offer
him my hand.

  I will not lead him here.

  I cannot love him if I do not love him.

  Else I will try to light his day

  As I can do so honourably.

  I say now I will offer nothing more

  Even if it destroys him, you, me.

  II. 477–489

  A puzzle

  She lays out what’s been said

  Turning each word over.

  All she can remember.

  She arranges shapes

  And sees how pieces might fit together

  And is astonished to find her fear gone

  And this thing become what will happen.

  II. 600–606

  Criseyde retires to her chamber

  Undone is the chain

  The street on which she lives is closed

  Yet now come shouts to give access

  To what’s left of a company of soldiers

  In need of a shortcut back to the palace.

  She hears the clop and clank and groans