Before the Banishment
A King Lear Prologue
The king was not present when the first scream ripped through the still night air.
Agonized cries ascended to the heavens as the queen bore her labour in the manner of many before her; comforted by the midwife, rather than her husband. Gasping for air to fuel one final screech, she pushed with all her strength and the child was born.
King Lear strode purposefully down the corridors towards the room that temporarily claimed the status of maternity ward. Without so much as a pause he swept into the room, brushing the concerned mid-wife aside and coming to a halt by his wife's bedside.
The infant was settled at its mother's breast, focused on the act of utilizing the natural resource. The king gave it but a brief glance before planting a kiss on the queen's forehead. "You have done well, our beloved."
She raised her eyes and smiled tiredly at him. His gaze slid from hers to the form nestled at her bosom and beamed proudly. "Fortune smiles upon us; we have a whole child. Be it hunter or forager?"
"No babe of ours shall be mere forager. She is a child who will one day be queen, o lord and loving husband." The queen brushed a hand across the infant's face, tracing the eyebrows. "She bears the grace's likeness, methinks."
"So she might, yet we cannot see such. She has not our silver tips nor our mighty voice."
"For she is not man, sire." She replied, laughing softly.
"So wise, yet so young. Tell us, o noble seer-ess, what title has our mirror-double?"
His wife lifted the babe from her bosom to examine her, before replying, "She claims our majesty's masculine air. She will do well with what declares so: 'Gonerill'."
"We greet you most humbly, lady Gonerill." King Lear dipped his head in a bow to the dozing child. "May we come to live on pleasant terms, so that we may hand over our kingdom with sound knowledge that you are a right and noble queen."
"Approach, little one." King Lear called to his daughter from the head of the table. Gonerill held her head high and walked the length to pause at his left. The queen smiled as she sipped from her glass, seated at his right.
"How many years have you, child?" Lear asked in a tone indicative of his knowledge of the answer.
"Seven, sire." Gonerill replied confidently.
"A good many years then. How many more have you to serve this kingdom?"
"As many years as Apollo grants me."
"Pray tell, how do you intend to serve the people of this fine land?"
"With open ears, clear eyes, and a true heart."
King Lear nodded, his eyes shining with approval as he turned to the noble guests of his kingdom that lined the table. "Your future queen, gentlemen. A truer ruler you ne'er did see."
Gonerill smiled, delighted that she had pleased her father. Turning, she curtseyed to the masses before returning to her nursemaid who escorted her away from the elegant banquet.
King Lear entered the room with a proud smile on his face. Gonerill closed the book she had been reading and stood, smoothing her skirts.
"Dost thou know what day this is?" He asked abruptly.
"No, my lord." Gonerill replied, intrigued.
"This is the day that our fatherly love hath split in twain." He declared enigmatically.
Gonerill paused at this as a feeling of unexplained jealousy swamped her.
"What means this?" she asked, keeping her voice perfectly controlled.
"Come child, meet your new kin!" Her father turned and marched along the corridor. Gonerill followed at a slower pace, unsure as to whether she wished to meet the new owner of half her father's affection.
King Lear led her into the nursery where a solitary cot stood. A pang of nostalgia distracted her from the jealousy as she approached the whitewashed wood that had cradled her through her earlier years.
Standing on tiptoe she peered into the cot. Amongst the blankets a small pink bundle stared back and gurgled happily.
"Gonerill, behold your new sister Regan."
As the siblings observed one another a servant entered the room. He bowed, his nose almost touching the stone floor, then spoke. "Your highness, it is the queen."
King Lear turned. "Ah, how fares my mistress of matyrdom?"
"Better, your majesty. Her colour returns, though her body is weak."
"Take me to her. I shall be her strength."
"Insolent wretch! What hast thou done?!" King Lear's voice reverberated around the room, magnified by the high ceilings of the nursery and the fear that kept Regan quiet. The knife lay forgotten on the ground, resting in a pile of recently cut hair.
"Ignorant impetuous child! Such a blade could sever head from shoulders! Foolish girl! To scythe thine own hair, tis madness!" He bellowed at his youngest before turning on Gonerill.
"And what hast thou to say to this? Blessed with two eyes, two ears, two hands and a mouth, yet such an act not worthy of their use? Nay, you stand by and watch it!? She is but a child! As eldest why did thou not intervene?!" he roared at the taller of the two.
Gonerill took a deep breath, composing herself. "One's actions are one's own. I am naught but responsible for mine." She replied diplomatically.
"O detestable queen! 'Naught but responsible for mine'?" He mimicked humourlessly. "Selfish child! I pity thy followers, for they are to be naught to thou!"
Gonerill remained silent, her face expressionless but her gaze steely. In the corner Regan choked back a sob.
"No protest? So be it! Take thy own responsibility and remain here to rot!" he yelled as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Moments later the sound of scraping wood informed the girls that a temporary barricade now lay beyond the exit.
Gonerill picked up the knife and handed it to her little sister. "Your actions are your own, sister dear. I merely facilitate them."
Regan wiped away her tears and continued hacking at her hair.
King Lear sat at his wife's side, clasping her hand in his. His face was pale, his eyes devoid of any of the usual passion as he watched her eyes flutter. With each breath that caught in her throat he gripped her hand tighter.
"The babe…" she gasped, eyes closed in pain and exhaustion.
The midwife hurried to her side and gently laid the child in the crook of the queen's arm. Opening her eyes slightly, she gazed adoringly at her last triumph.
"O sweet Cordelia…" she crooned, before closing them again.
"She bears the queen's likeness, methinks." King Lear said gently.
"So she might, but we cannot see it…" she smiled faintly.
"For thy eyes are closed, beloved." He replied as he stroked her hair.
"And shall remain, for now and forevermore." She coughed feebly. "Take her, o lord and loving husband. I am bone-weary."
King Lear scooped the delicate child up with one arm. Cradling the babe to his chest, he kissed her hand. "Then rest, our love. Rest and be peaceful."
The smile faded from her face as she succumbed to the siren call of eternal slumber. The king continued holding her hand as the tears formed and fell in a silent accolade to the love of his life.
"Father?" Gonerill called from the doorway.
Receiving no reply she entered, Regan following close behind.
The king ignored them and continued to mourn, shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. "Such shudders! Art thou cold?" the younger asked.
"Nay, he hath washed eyes." Gonerill whispered to her sibling. "Methinks the child be stillborn."
"What care have we if this child live or die?" King Lear brayed suddenly. "She be not friend, lover, nor wife. She is nothing. Nothing will come of nothing…"
"Father, what hath caused this unbridled flood? Be the child stillborn?" Gonerill asked loudly above the sounds of mourning.
"Should she be stillborn we should be joyful in her absence. Nay, 'tis your mother: the queen. She no longer shall rise with Apollo, children."
"How can this be?" Regan asked tearfully.
The king merely shook his head sorrowfully.
Gonerill pulled her sister into an embrace as sobs began to rack the young girl's frame. "T'was childbirth that did the deed." She whispered. "She bore one too many."
King Lear was unaware of his children's conspiratione talk. His eyes had fallen upon the infant who lay in his arms quietly. His eyes darted from the body of his late wife back to his newborn baby in disbelief.
"Cordelia…" he uttered the name his wife had bestowed upon the child. "Why, if ever there be prettier babes than thou, they must be angels."
Unthinkingly he released his grip on the late queen's hand and raised his own to stoke the girl's cheek. Cordelia opened her eyes, looking straight into his, and smiled.
"Beloved…" he murmured, smiling back. "Perhaps thou art an angel after all."
He stood and lifted the child up to get a better look at her. Hoisted into the air she gurgled happily, her small body glowing in the presence of the rising sun.
Gonerill and Regan watched from the corner, forgotten, as King Lear began laughing joyfully. "Apollo welcomes and blesses thee with his rays, fair Cordelia!"
He kissed her forehead before cradling her against his heart, waving a hand at the queen's remains. "With her light extinguished yours burns ever brighter, little one. Her essence lives within, her image reflected in your features. Like her, you shall be our treasure, for now and forevermore."
King Lear admired his daughter as he sat upon the iron throne. Dressed in fine blue silk with flowing sleeves, she resembled her mother now more than ever.
"Approach, little one." He called to her, and she rose gracefully.
"Yes, father dear?" she asked sweetly.
"How many years hath thou?" he asked.
"Eight, sire." She replied quietly.
"A fine number." He nodded. "A fine number indeed. Your mother was quite fond of it. She claimed it the only number whose form was infinite."
"She sounds a wise and wonderful woman."
"So she was, and a fine queen." He smiled and her face with his hand. "Fair Cordelia, one day thou shalt make a fine queen as well."
"How canst thou be certain?"
"Thou hath her eyes, her ears, her hands and her mouth. Her essence lives within, flowing through these features. Thou cannot do otherwise."
"Why dost thou say this, father?"
He sighed. "One day we shall be old. We cannot cling to our earthly role forever. When that time comes we bestow upon thee our kingdom, for we know thou art to be a right and noble queen."
"Thankyou father." Cordelia bowed and smiled at the king.
Beyond the entrance, Gonerill was listening intently. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." she muttered sourly. "Even the bastards are better off than you and I." She added to Regan who was crouching beside her. "All dowry is removed at birth."
"The only dowry I wished for was taken with her arrival." Regan spat, glaring at Cordelia as the youngest daughter danced for her father. " Look how she prances. Mother moved far more gracefully."
"Yet he still dotes upon her, as though she were his queen." Gonerill noted in disgust. "Fair Cordelia, sweet, glorious Cordelia, though shalt be queen!" she declared mockingly, her chest tight with jealousy. "Take our kingdom! Take our wealth!"
"We give all to thee if thou wouldst smile for us one more time! Show us our beloved once more!" Regan finished dramatically, and the two fell into a spiteful silence.
"Ne'er have I seen such grace since thy mother! Again, fair maiden, again!" King Lear cheered, clapping heartily. The sound faded, swallowed up by the sheer vastness of the empty room as Cordelia began to dance once more.
"Know, that we have divided in three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent to shake all cares and business from our age, conferring them on younger strengths, while we unburdened crawl toward death." King Lear announced to the smattering of nobles and servants present. Turning to his children, he continued, "Tell me, my daughters, since now we will divest us both of rule, interest of territory, cares of state, which of you shall say doth love us most, that we our largest bounty may extend where nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, our eldest born, speak first."
Gonerill stepped forward and dipped in a curtsey, her head lowered and her face blank. When she rose again it bore a tender smile, as though she had slipped a mask on in those few moments.
Standing tall, she declared confidently, "Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter, dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty, beyond what can be valued rich or rare, no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour, as much a child ne'er loved or father found: a love that makes breath poor and speech unable; beyond all manner of 'so much' I love you."
There was a smattering of inappropriate applause from a few servants who had mistaken this heartfelt declaration for an eloquent speech. Standing nearby them was the youngest daughter, wearing a look of concern on her face.
"What shall Cordelia speak?" she wondered to herself. She had no means of expressing the adoration and gratitude she felt for her father. There was only one course of action. "Love, and be silent."
King Lear looked pleased at Gonerill's words. Turning to the middle child, he called "What says our second daughter, our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall?"
Regan walked past her elder, a small smirk crossing her face for only her to see.
Curtseying lower than her sister had, she proceeded to gesture widely and speak passionately.
"I am made of that self mettle as my sister and price me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; only she comes too short, that I profess myself an enemy to all other joys which the most precious square of sense possesses, and find I am alone felicitate in your dear highness' love." She stated, and curtseyed once more.
"Then poor Cordelia!" the youngest gasped. "And yet not so, since I am sure my love's more ponderous than my tongue." She reassured herself, and began to approach her father.
"Now, our joy, what can you say to draw a third more opulent than your sisters'?" King Lear asked, smiling broadly. "Speak!"
Cordelia drew a large breath, looked him in the face and replied. "Nothing, my lord."
"Nothing?" he repeated, confused.
"Nothing." She whispered, willing him to look beyond her physical presence and into her soul so that he may see the love she felt for him.
"Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again." He urged.
Cordelia lowered her eyes. "Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love your majesty according to my bond, no more nor less."
"How, how, Cordelia!" he cried, a note of desperation evident in his voice. "Mend thy speech a little lest you may mar your fortunes."
"Good my lord, you have begot me, bred me, loved me. I return those duties back as are right fit, obey you, love you, and most honour you." She declared, her voice unwavering despite the despair she felt in the knowledge that he did not understand his own daughter.
"But goes thy heart with this?" he asked, his voice cracking. "So young, and so untender?"
"So young, my lord, and true."
The words hung in the air, ringing in his ears. He couldn't belief his beloved daughter loved him no more than was required. It was more than he could bear to look upon her face and know it did not hold the affection he believed it had.
"Let it be so! Thy truth then be thy dower!" he yelled abruptly, the pain of his unrequited love burning in each syllable. "For by the sacred radiance of the sun, here I disclaim all my paternal care, and as a stranger to my heart and me hold thee from this for ever. "
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