The Spook Who Spoke Again

15

Lunch was on the hoof, which only meant flatbreads in the hand and carry on with what you were doing.

Since the acrobats were barred from performing, they just huddled by the racetrack so I went to sit with them. Hesper came slinking up to Pollia.

‘Don’t come whining around me, Hesper. You have ruined my marriage!’

‘You ruined your own marriage!’ snarled Hesper, trying to stop the others hearing, especially Pedo, Pollia’s husband. He was watching with a faint sneer. ‘I thought you were true but you ruined my life!’

‘Get lost, waste of space.’

‘Oh shut up, the lot of you!’ shrieked Sassia, the tiny woman. Everyone looked shocked. Questioning looks were passed between them. Sassia jumped up and strode off by herself, aiming a kick at Hesper as she passed him. I had no idea what that was for, though the others looked as if they had just twigged something.

The play rehearsal was starting, so I left them and went to sit with the actors. I looked around for Falco but I could not see him. That made me worried, in case nobody came to fetch me for dinner that evening.

The Young Hero was to play Moschion, the Prince of Chersonesos Kimbrike.

‘Wherever in Hades that is,’ muttered Chrysis, who was elegantly lolling in a seat alongside me. I tried not to look at the wart on her face, for I know that is rude.

‘Chersonesos Kimbrike is in the far, far north,’ I informed her. ‘We have a Map of the World on a wall at our house, so I have learned all the places.’

‘How clever you are! Plays always have to have exotic settings, Postumus. You couldn’t set a comedy in Italy or Greece, it’s too familiar.’

I didn’t recognise the Young Hero at first because he was wearing a black wig to show he was youthful and virile (even though dim and cowardly).

First Davos came on as the old father, in a long white gown with a staff. A short prologue explained to us that he was sailing off to Sicily.

‘Why is he going there?’ I whispered to Chrysis.

‘Absolutely no bloody idea, pet.’

‘To get him out of the way so he can come back,’ explained Davos, as he came off stage — which was actually off track, of course, since we were at the Circus of Gaius and Nero, not at a proper theatre.

Davos plumped himself down, holding a copy of the play, so he could wrote notes on it. He seemed to get bored with that quickly so he gave me the scroll to help me follow. It was not much help.

The play continued like this:

Mother: Stay with us, Moschion, my son. Do not go to Germania Libera!

Pause. Even longer pause

Davos: rushes back on stage

Bloody hell, I’d already left for Sicily … No, wife, he shall go to Britain.

Mother: Why, they are all mad in Britannia, and painted blue.

Father: Then nobody will notice that Moschion is mad too. He shall be escorted by our loyal slaves, clever Congrio and wily Bucco.

Mother: Then take good care of him for us, wily Congrio and clever Bucco.

Moschion, Prince of Chersonesos Kimbrike, then did not go anywhere, though his father did. Perhaps Moschion had stayed at home because he was supposedly going away to be educated at a university, even though he was clearly too dim. Besides he was busy pursuing the Beautiful Virgin so he had no time for study. There are no universities in Germania Libera, it is all huge forest.

Word then came that after two days at sea a warlike pirate sailed up and set upon Moschion’s father and killed him. I felt sad for Moschion.

Congrio, the thin old clown, was to appear next and tell jokes to cheer us up. I had seen him already on the sidelines, huddled with someone wearing the ghost’s costume. The ghost seemed to be telling him a new joke, which they were busy writing down. Congrio was clutching a large scroll that Chrysis told me was his joke book. If anyone tried to borrow or steal it, Congrio would kick off in an apoplectic fury. Sometimes if they ever found it unattended people moved it for a game, though they never moved it very far, nor owned up who did it. That was very funny.

Presumably because he had no time to learn the new joke, Congrio brought the scroll on stage with him and read it out. First he explained what had happened to the old man, Moschion’s father, who had ended up missing at sea. I said it to you in one sentence, but Congrio spouted on endlessly. If this was meant to be amusing, I failed to see why. Facts should be told in a plain way and get on with it. Then he did his joke.

Congrio: Three intellectuals went into a bar.

Bucco: aside

Jupiter, who writes this stuff? You just can’t get the poets nowadays.

Congrio: When the waiter came to greet them with offers of refreshment, the Platonist decided that since the three parts of the soul are Wisdom, Courage and Temperance, he would wisely ask for bread to line his stomach, bravely try a high priced wine, but restrain himself to a half flagon.

The Aristotelian disagreed. He thought the perfect form of the human soul is reason, separated from all connection with the body. So he would try to get extremely drunk on anything the waiter brought him, until his body had no idea where it was and his mind lost all capacity to reason.

The Cynic claimed the highest good is to spurn every kind of enjoyment, so he would order the terrible housewine then not even drink it. The kindly waiter took pity on him, offering to supply the primal substance identified by Thales of Miletus — which is water.

Bucco: This is tedious. Get on before we all pass out!

Congrio: The waiter brought their order, then the three intellectuals spent a pleasant afternoon at the bar, engaged in discourse of the finest kind, each one drinking according to his personal philosophy. Eventually it was time to leave. The waiter had been keeping a careful eye on them, for he had met intellectuals before. He jumped in to present their bills, pointing out that in the spirit of Pythagorus, the world is perfect harmony depending on number, and the most perfect number would be the price of their drinks plus a large tip for him.

The Aristotelian at once replied that the aim of human activity is happiness, for which material goods are unnecessary — so he had left his purse at home.

The Platonist responded with a smile that the waiter would not lose by this, for Wisdom, Courage and Temperance are united by Justice, so he would cover his friend’s bill as well as his own.

The Cynic wasn’t there by then. Needing to relieve himself of much primal substance, he guessed it was time to pay the bill and since cynics are shameless, he went out to the lavatory, dived down the alley and never came back.

Bucco: The Spook claims this rubbish is not what he wrote. Let those who are to play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.

Congrio’s joke had caused a lot of winces among the audience. They were making restless movements.

Congrio: The other intellectuals thought the punchline needed more work. But the waiter said, what can you expect? Falco wrote it.

I had had enough of drama, so I slipped away quietly, taking my torch for more practice. It had gone out, so I went outside the Circus gates to the little hut. The public slave was asleep but he woke up and said since I was using the torch so much, I ought to have the bucket of pitch. He showed me how to dip the torch and replenish it so it would go on burning.

I spent some time by myself, marching, then I was bored. The torch was still burning well since I had used a lot of pitch on it. I had no way to douse the flame. Since I am a sensible boy, I did go and look at the cage where Roar was kept, because I thought he would have a bucket of water in which I could plunge the flaming torch with a huge fiery hiss, but the half-grown lion must have been thirsty that morning and had drunk it. I left the torch and the pitch container safely outside his straw-carpeted cage. I leaned the burning torch against the stonework of the spina where it could do no damage

Roar wasn’t in his cage. Thalia had taken him out earlier, hoping once more to entice him onto the tightrope, though he kept refusing. He was still over by the equipment, fastened with a rope on his leg, looking lonely. I went to speak to him. He was lying with his paws together, looking around with a sinister, snooty expression. It looked safe to go up and stroke him but I decided not to. He began chewing at the rope on his leg. I would have mentioned it to Thalia but she was too far away. Nobody else was nearby because they had all gone to stand around laughing at the play.

When I myself returned to watch more rehearsal, the action had moved on. I could not tell easily what was happening or why.

Chrysis: Methinks I saw your father by the port.

Moschion: Beautiful and virtuous Virgin, how can this be, for he is lost at sea, murdered most foully by a warlike pirate. Alas poor ghost!

Chrysis: No ghost. Not dead.

Moschion: amazed

Not dead?

Enter Father

Moschion: amazed again

Father! Not dead! Mother, here is my father. Seasick, I think, coming from Sicily.

Mother: amazed

Oh Moschion, speak no more, for I believed him dead and I am married!

Pollia: off stage

More fool you then!

Father: amazed

Wife! Married?

Mother: Husband!

Chrysis: Help, ho; she faints!

Moschion: Mother, mother, mother .

Father: Attend your mother.

Moschion: Father, father, father.

Enter Spook

Chrysis: Here’s one who can explain all this. Speak, speak, Spook, speak to me!

The Spook was a good character. I liked him very much. I think the actor enjoyed playing him. He loped onstage in a wild manner, swaying from one side to the other, waving his sheeted arms and swooping. Even when asked, he did not speak. His not speaking was the scariest thing about him.

That was when new things happened, which interrupted the rehearsal. Over by the acrobats’ equipment, Roar must have gnawed through the rope holding him. He stood up to stretch his legs, then decided to go to his own cage where he felt comfortable and he might find a piece of bloody meat left over from his breakfast. He couldn’t get into the cage though. With a grunt, he jumped on top, which people noticed, then when they began shouting, he came off again with a grand flying leap. He was a rather clumsy lion. The half-grown beast landed on the bucket of pitch, which fell over onto a spare bale of straw, where all the contents rolled out. Roar took one sniff then sprang back. His next mistake was to knock into the torch even though he could see I had left it standing upright to be safe. He pushed the torch over too with one curious paw, so it landed in the overflowing pitch. That started a big whoosh of fire.

Roar was so scared by what he had done, he ran away. First he fled straight into the scene where the play was being acted. When he saw the Spook, he spun around with catlike tread towards the other actors. They all jumped in terror, screaming.

Exit pursued by a lion.

With one mighty bound, Roar then cleared the barrier by the track that was supposed to be protection if a chariot team crashed. He took off, jumping up the rows of seats to the very top of the Circus, where he stood on guard, roaring proudly.

Despite this, I noticed people pointing elsewhere. Gulp.

The overturned pitch was now a big wild fire, sheeting all up the spina which appeared to be burning even though it was stone. The effect was spectacular. This only lasted a short time, luckily, because all the men who worked for both Thalia and Davos went running as fast as they possibly could to put out the flames that were burning down this famous monument. But it had set alight the dry old wood of the temporary set with three doors and was licking over the baskets and hampers, with their ancient desiccated wicker. The men had to spend a long time working to rescue things and dampen down the raging flames. I could hear horrified exclamations at the damage.

This was not my fault, and unintended. Nevertheless, it seemed a good idea to go away while I could do so. I foresaw a lot of being talked to. I was just setting off quietly, when somebody scary stood in front of me. He was wearing the ghost’s costume.

At last the Spook spoke. It was a surprise. ‘Hold on there, Scruff!’

From the ironic nickname, then I knew that the Spook was Father.