And the Hobby-Horse stood close.
It swayed and fidgeted as if the being at its centre was uneasy. Once, as the head moved, Alleyn caught a glimpse of eyes behind the window in its neck.
The second sword-knot was made and exhibited by Dan. Then young Bill leant his mask to one side and mimed the writing of the Will and the offer of the Will to the Sons.
Alleyn quoted again:
“ ‘Twice for a Testament. Read it and see/If you look at the leavings then so I’ll go free.’ ”
The Betty drew nearer. The Hobby and the Betty now stood right and left of the dolmen.
The Sons broke the knot and began the third part of the dance.
To the party of three on the steps, to the watching audience and the policemen and to Camilla, who looked on with a rising sensation of nausea, it seemed as if the Five Sons now danced on a crescendo that thudded like a quickening pulse towards its climax.
For the last and the third time their swords were interlaced and Dan held them aloft. The Fool was in his place behind the dolmen, the hermaphrodite and the horse stood like crazy acolytes to left and right of the stone. Dan lowered the knot of swords to the level of the Fool’s head. Each of the Sons laid hold of his own sword-hilt. The fiddling stopped.
“I can’t look,” Camilla thought and then, “But that’s not how it was. They’ve gone wrong again.”
At the same time the gong, the hunting horn and Alleyn’s whistle sounded. Ralph Stayne, Tom Plowman and Trixie all held up their hands and Dr. Otterly raised his bow.
It was the Hobby-Horse again. It should, they said, have been close behind the Fool, who was now leaning across the dolmen towards the sword-lock.
Very slowly the Hobby moved behind the Fool.
“And then,” Alleyn said, “came the last verse. ‘Here comes the rappers to send me to bed/They’ll rapper my head off and then I’ll be dead.’ Now.”
Young Bill leant over the dolmen and thrust his head with its rabbit-cap and mask into the lock of swords. There he was, grinning through a steel halter.
“Betty to lover me
Hobby to cover me
If you cut off my head
I’ll rise from the dead.”
The swords flashed and sang. The rabbit head dropped on the dolmen. The Fool slid down behind the stone out of sight.
“Go on,” Alleyn said. He stood beside the Hobby-Horse. The Fool lay at their feet. Alleyn pointed at Ralph Stayne. “It’s your turn,” he said. “Go on.”
Ralph said apologetically, “I can’t very well without any audience.”
“Why not?”
“It was an ad lib. It depended on the audience.”
“Never mind. You’ve got Mr. Plowman and Trixie and a perambulation of police. Imagine the rest.”
“It’s so damn’ silly,” Ralph muttered.
“Oh, get on,” Dame Alice ordered. “What’s the matter with the boy!”
From the folds of his crate-like skirt Ralph drew out a sort of ladle that hung on a string from his waist. Rather half-heartedly he made a circuit of the courtyard and mimed the taking up of a collection.
“That’s all,” he said and came to a halt.
Dame Alice tooted, Dulcie banged the gong and Chris Andersen shouted, “No, it bean’t all, neither.”
“I mean it’s all of that bit,” Ralph said to Alleyn.
“What comes next? Keep going.”
With rather bad grace he embarked on his fooling. He flirted his crinoline and ran at two or three of the stolidly observant policemen.
His great-aunt shouted, “Use yer skirt, boy!”
Ralph made a sortie upon a large officer and attempted without success to throw the crinoline over his head.
“Yah!” jeered his great-aunt. “Go for a little ’un. Go for the gel.”
This was Trixie.
She smiled broadly at Ralph. “Come on, then, Mr. Ralph. I doan’t mind,” said Trixie.
Camilla turned away quickly. The Andersens stared, bright-eyed, at Ralph.
Alleyn said, “Obviously the skirt business only works if the victim’s very short and slight. Suppose we resurrect the Fool for the moment.”
Young Bill got up from behind the dolmen. Ralph ran at him and popped the crinoline over his head. The crinoline heaved and bulged. It was not difficult, Alleyn thought, to imagine the hammer blows of bucolic wit that this performance must have inspired in the less inhibited days of Merrie England.
“Will that do?” Ralph asked ungraciously.
“Yes,” Alleyn said. “Yes, I think it will.”
Young Bill rolled out from under the rim of the crinoline and again lay down between dolmen and “Crack.”
“Go on,” Alleyn said. “Next.”
Ralph set his jaw and prepared grimly for a revival of his Ernie-baiting. Ernie immediately showed signs of resentment and of wishing to anticipate the event.
“Not this time yer won’t,” he said showing his teeth and holding his sword behind him. “Not me. I know a trick worth two nor that.”
This led to a general uproar.
At last when the blandishments of his brothers, Dame Alice’s fury, Alleyn’s patience and the sweet reasonableness of Dr. Otterly had all proved fruitless, Alleyn fetched Simon from behind the wall.
“Will you,” he said, “get him to stand facing his brothers and holding his sword by the ribbons, which, I gather, is what he did originally?”
“I’ll give it a whirl if you say so, but don’t depend on it. He’s blowing up for trouble, is the Corp.”
“Try.”
“Roger. But he may do anything. Hey! Corp!”
He took Ernie by the arm and murmured wooingly in his ear. Ernie listened but, when it came to the point, remained truculent. “No bloody fear,” he said. He pulled away from Simon and turned on Ralph. “You keep off.”
“Sorry,” Simon muttered. “N.b.g.”
“Oh, well,” Alleyn said. “You go back, will you?”
Simon went back.
Alleyn had a word with Ralph, who listened without any great show of enthusiasm but nodded agreement. Alleyn went up to Ernie.
He said, “Is that the sword you were making such a song about? The one you had on Wednesday?”
“Not it,” Ernie said angrily. “This’un’s a proper old blunt ’un. Mine’s a whiffler, mine is. So sharp’s a knife.”
“You must have looked pretty foolish when the Betty took it off you.”
“No, I did not, then.”
“How did he get it? If it’s so sharp why didn’t he cut his hand?”
“You mind your own bloody business.”
“Come on, now. He ordered you to give it to him and you handed it over like a good little boy.”
Ernie’s response to this was furious and unprintable.
Alleyn laughed. “All right. Did he smack your hand or what? Come on.”
“He wouldn’t of took it,” Ernie spluttered, “if I’d seen. He come sneaking up be’ind when I worn’t noticing, like. Didn’t you?” he demanded of Ralph. “If I’d held thik proper you wouldn’t ’ave done it.”
“Oh,” Alleyn said offensively. “And how did you hold it? Like a lady’s parasol?”
Ernie glared at him. A stillness had fallen over the courtyard.
The bonfire could be heard crackling cheerfully beyond the wall. Very deliberately Ernie reversed his sword and swung it by the scarlet cord that was threaded through the tip.
“Now!” Alleyn shouted and Ralph pounced.
“Crack” screamed: a shrill wavering cry. Mrs. Bünz’s voice could be heard within, protesting, apparently, in German, and the Hobby, moving eccentrically and very fast, turned and bolted through the archway at the rear. At the same time Ralph, with the sword in one hand and his crinoline gathered up in the other, fled before the enraged Ernie. Round and round the courtyard they ran. Ralph dodged and feinted, Ernie roared and doubled and stumbled after him.
But Alleyn didn’t wait to see the chase.