“I’m fucking old!” said Lear.
“We’ll stipulate that,” said I.
“And,” continued Goneril, “while you, in your dotage, should be revered for your wisdom and grace, you piss on your legacy and reputation by keeping this train of ruffians. They are too much for you.”
“They are my loyal men and you have agreed to maintain them.”
“And I shall. I shall pay your men, but half will stay here at Albany, under my charge, under my orders, in soldiers’ quarters, not running about the bailey like marauders.”
“Darkness and devils,” cursed Lear. “It shall not be! Curan, saddle my horses, call my train together. I have another daughter.”
“Go to her, then,” said Goneril. “You strike my servants and your rabble makes servants of their betters. Be gone, then, but half your train shall remain.”
“Prepare my horses!” said Lear. Curan hurried out of the hall, followed by the other knights, passing the Lord Albany as he entered, the duke looking more than somewhat confused.
“Why does the king’s captain exit with such urgency?” asked the duke.
“Do you know of this harpy’s intent to strip me of my train?” asked Lear.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” said Albany. “Pray, be patient, sire. My lady?” Albany looked to Goneril.
“We do not strip him of his knights. I have offered to maintain them here, with our own force, while Father goes on to my sister’s castle. We shall treat his men as our own, with discipline, as soldiers, not as guests and revelers. They are out of the old man’s control.”
Albany turned back to Lear and shrugged.
“She lies!” said Lear, now wagging a finger under Goneril’s nose. “Thou detested viper. Thou ungrateful fiend. Thou hideous—uh—”
“Slag!”[32] I offered. “Thou piteous prick-pull. Thou vainglorious virago. Thou skunk-breathed licker of dog scrotums. Do jump in, Albany, I can’t go on forever, no matter how inspired. Surely you’ve years of suppressed resentment to vent. Thou leprous spunk-catch. Thou worm-eaten—”
“Shut up, fool,” said Lear.
“Sorry, sirrah, I thought you were losing your momentum.”
“How could I have given preference to this villainess over my sweet Cordelia?” asked Lear.
“Doubtless that question was lost worse in the wood than I, seeing as it has only caught up with you now, sire. Shall we take cover against the impact of the revelation that you’ve awarded your kingdom to the best liars of your loins?” Who would have thought it, but I’d felt more charity toward the old man before he realized his folly. Now—
He turned his eyes skyward and began to invoke the gods:
“Hear me, nature, dear goddess hear.
Convey sterility onto this creature,
Dry up her womb
And never let a babe spring from
Her body to honor her.
Instead create in her a child of spleen and bile.
Let it torment her, and stamp wrinkles in her youthful brow
Let it turn all of her mother’s benefits
To laughter and contempt, that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth
It is to have a thankless child!”
With that the old man spat at Goneril’s feet and stormed out of the hall.
“I think he took that as well as could reasonably be expected,” said I. I was ignored, despite my positive tone and sunny smile.
“Oswald!” called Goneril. The smarmy steward slithered forth. “Quickly, take the letter to my sister and Cornwall. Take two of the fastest horses and alternate them. Do not rest until it is in her hand. And then take you to Gloucester and deliver that other message as well.”
“You have given me no other message, lady,” said the worm.
“Yes, right, come with me. We shall draft a letter.” She led Oswald out of the great hall leaving the Duke of Albany looking to me for some sort of explanation.
I shrugged. “She can be a whirlwind of tits and terror when she puts her mind to a purpose, can’t she, sir?”
Albany didn’t seem to notice my comment, somewhat forlorn, he looked. His beard seemed to be greying with worry as he stood there. “I don’t approve of her treatment of the king. The old man has earned more respect. And what of these messages, to Cornwall and Gloucester?”
I started to speak, thinking it a perfect opportunity to mention her newfound affection for Edmund of Gloucester, my recent session of bawdy discipline with the duchess, and a half-dozen metaphors for illicit shagging that had come to mind while the duke mused, when Jones said: