Last Act In Palmyra

Chapter LXXI

I saw Grumio glance back at us. Unluckily for him, the sturdy 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 bastard; 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 bastard 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: 'Gods 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.