[Forcing his way through the Servants who gather round]
Wail, but keep from the road.
[He kneels before Red Man. There is a pause]
Quick to your work, old Radish, you will fade when the cocks have crowed.
[A black cat-headed Man holds out the Helmet. The Red Man takes it]
Red Man
I have not come for your hurt, I’m the Rector of this land,
And with my spitting cat-heads, my frenzied moon-bred band,
Age after age I sift it, and choose for its championship