Part 37 (1/2)

I had to choose: whether to stop the performance in mid-scene, or wait. We had a large group of unruly soldiers who had paid for a spectacle. If they were disappointed, we could expect a riot.

My fears were well founded. 'You're going to catch it!' the Clever Cook warned the Country Clown as they bantered on-stage. This was not in the script. 'If I were you I would leg it while you can!'

Davos, quicker-witted than most people, grasped the point and muttered 's.h.i.+t!'

Tranio's exit was back into the side niche, but Grumio came our way. Maybe he thought Tranio had just been improvising lines. At any rate, he was still in character.

Musa glanced at me. I decided to do nothing. In the play, Philocrates was discovered hiding by his mother, had a quarrel with his girlfriend, and was exiled to the country for the usual complicated plot reasons. My drama moved fast.

Philocrates left the stage and arrived among us looking uneasy. I gave him a discreet nod; the play would continue. I noticed Thalia grab Davos by the arm. I saw her mouth in his ear, 'Next time you're on-stage, give that Tranio a thump!'

Musa went forward to hand Grumio the reins of Philocrates' mule, ready for the next scene. Both Philocrates and Grumio had flung on travelling cloaks; it was a very quick costume change. Philocrates as the young master swung on to his mule. Grumio for one was paying little attention to those of us standing around.

Just as they set off back on-stage for a short scene journeying to a farm, Musa stepped forward again to Grumio. Grumio, leading the mule, was on the verge of pa.s.sing into view of the audience. Quite unexpectedly, Musa rammed a hat upon his head. It was a wide Greek hat with a string beneath the chin. I saw Grumio go pale.

The hat was bad enough. But my faithful accomplice had devised a further trick: 'Don't forget to whistle!' Musa commanded cheerfully. It sounded like a stage direction, but some of us knew otherwise.

Before I could stop him, he clapped the mule on its rump, so it skidded out into the arena, dragging Grumio.

'Musa! You idiot. Now he knows we know!'

'Justice must be done,' said Musa calmly. 'I want him to know.'

'Justice won't be done,' I retorted, 'if Grumio escapes!'

On the far side of the arena, the other gate gaped wide. Beyond it a clear vista of the desert was stretching endlessly.

Chapter LXXI.

I saw Grumio glance back at us. Unluckily for him, the st.u.r.dy figure of Philocrates was holding forth on the mule so there was no chance of bringing the scene to a premature end. Moschion had a lengthy speech about women, which Philocrates enjoyed giving. No wonder. The character was an ignorant b.a.s.t.a.r.d; the speech based on himself.

Spinning around, I gripped Davos by his arm. 'I'll need your help. First, Musa! Get around to the end of the amphitheatre, and if it's not too late, slam those gates shut!'

'I'll do that,' said Thalia quietly. 'He's caused enough trouble!' She was a girl for action. She ran for a camel left outside by one of the audience, and within seconds was haring off in a cloud of dust.

'Right, Davos. Go up the back of the arena, and down the steps to the tribunal. Whisper to the commander we've got at least one killer out there, and possibly an accomplice.' I was not forgetting Tranio, currently holed up in a side niche. I had no idea what he might be planning. 'Helena's there. She'll back you up. Tell the man we're going to need some arrests.'

Davos understood. 'Someone will have to fetch that b.a.s.t.a.r.d off-stage...' Without hesitation, he threw his stage mask at a bystander, stripped off his white ghost's costume, and dropped it over my head. Wearing only a loincloth, he ran off towards the commander. I was given the mask.

I found myself shrouded in long folds of material that flapped strangely on my arms - and in darkness. The ghost was the only character we were playing in a mask. We rarely used them. I knew why the minute I had this one rammed over my face. Suddenly excluded from half of the world, I tried to learn how to look through the hollow eyes, while scarcely able to breathe.

A bothersome presence was grabbing my elbow.

'He's guilty then?' It was Congrio. 'That Grumio?'

'Get out of my way, Congrio. I've got to confront the clown.'

'Oh I'll do that!' he exclaimed. The certainty in his tone carried a familiar echo of Helena's brisk style. He was her pupil, one she had clearly led astray. 'Helena and I have thought up a plan!'

I had no time to stop him. I was still trying to master my costume. Adopting a curious sprint (his idea of great acting, apparently), Congrio raced into the arena ahead of me. Even then I still expected to hear the one line I had written for him: 'Madam! The young lady has just given birth to twins!'

Only he did not say the line.

He was not playing the part I had written him, but the traditional Running Slave: 'G.o.ds above, here's a pickle -' He ran so fast he caught up the travellers on their mule. 'I'm wearing myself out. Moschion turned out of doors, his mother in tears, the roast on fire and the bridegroom furious, and now this girl - hold on, I'll tell you all about the girl when I get round to it. Here's a pair of travellers! I'll stop for a chat with them.'

Then, as my heart sank further than I had ever thought it could, Congrio began to tell a joke.

Chapter LXXII.

Congrio had climbed up on a model of a rock for a better view. 'h.e.l.lo down there! You look glum. Would you like cheering up? Here's one I bet you haven't heard.' Philocrates, still on the mule, looked furious. He liked to know where he was with a script, and hated minions anyway. Congrio was unstoppable.

'A Roman tourist comes to a village and sees a farmer with a beautiful sister.'

I noticed that Grumio, who had been about to tug the mule's reins, abruptly stopped, as if he recognised the joke. Congrio was revelling in his new power to hold an audience.

' ”Ho there, peasant! How much for a night with your sister?”

' ”Fifty drachmas.”

'”That's ridiculous! Tell you what, you let me spend a night with the girl and I'll show you something that will amaze you. I bet I can make your animals talk... If not, I'll pay you the fifty drachmas.”

'Well the farmer thinks, ”This man is crazy. I'll string him along and agree to it.”

'What he doesn't know is that the Roman has been trained as a ventriloquist.'

'The Roman reckons at least he can have a bit of fun here. ”Let me talk to your horse, peasant. h.e.l.lo, horse. Tell me, how does your master treat you then?” '

' ”Pretty well,” answers the horse, ”though his hands are rather cold when he strokes my flanks...” '

As Congrio rambled on, I could just make out through the mask that Philocrates looked stunned, while Grumio was seething furiously.

' ”That's wonderful,” agrees the farmer, though he isn't convinced entirely. ”I could have sworn I actually heard my horse speak. Show me again.” '

'The Roman chuckles quietly to himself. ”Let's try your nice sheep then. h.e.l.lo, sheep! How's your master?” '

' ”Not too bad,” says the sheep, ”though I do find his hands rather cold on the udder when he milks me...” '

Philocrates had a.s.sumed a fixed grin, wondering when this unplanned torture was going to end. Grumio still stood like bedrock, listening as if he could not believe it. Congrio had never been so happy in his life.

' ”You're convincing me,” ' says the farmer.