‘No, I didn’t. You are not tiddly. You’re just suddenly elevated. Here come our oysters.’

‘Well, if you say so, I suppose I’m all right.’

‘Of course you are. Wade in.’

So she did wade in and she was not tiddly. In the days to come she was to remember this evening, from the time when she left the flat until the end of their rehearsals, as something apart. Something between her and London, with Dougal Macdougal as a sort of necessary ingredient. But no more.

V

Gaston Sears inhabited a large old two-storey house in a tiny culde-sac opening off Alleyn Road in Dulwich. It was called Alleyn’s Surprise and the house and grounds occupied the whole of one side. The opposite side was filled with neglected trees and an unused pumping-house.

The rental of such a large building must have been high and among the Dulwich College boys there was a legend that Mr Sears was an eccentric foreign millionaire who lived there, surrounded by fabulous pieces of armour, and made swords and practised black magic. Like most legends, this was founded on highly distorted fact. He did live among his armour and he did very occasionally make swords. His collection of armour was the most prestigious in Europe, outside the walls of a museum. And certainly he was eccentric.

Moreover, he was comfortably off. He had started as an actor, a good one in far-out eccentric parts, but so inclined to extremes of argumentative temperament that nobody cared to employ him. A legacy enabled him to develop his flair for historic arms and accoutrements. His expertise was recognized by all the European collectors and he was the possessor of honorary degrees from various universities. He made lecture tours in America for which he charged astronomical fees, and extorted frightening amounts from greedy, ignorant and unscrupulous buyers which more than compensated for the opinions he gave free of charge to those he decided to respect. Of these Peregrine Jay was one.

The unexpected invitation to appear as sword-bearer to Macbeth had been accepted with complacency. ‘I shall be able to watch the contest,’ he had observed. ‘And afterwards correct any errors that may creep in. I do not altogether trust the Macbeth. Dougal Macdougal indeed!’

He was engaged upon making moulds for his weapons. From one of these moulds would be cast, in molten steel, Macbeth’s claidheamh-mor. Gaston himself, as Seyton, would carry the genuine claidheamh-mor throughout the performance. Macbeth’s claymore he would wear. A second claymore, less elaborate, would serve to make the mould for Macduff’s weapon.

His workshop was a formidable background. Suits of armour stood ominously about the room, swords of various ages and countries hung on the walls with drawings of details in ornamentation. A lifesize effigy of a Japanese warrior in an ecstasy of the utmost ferocity, clad in full armour, crouched in warlike attitude, his face contorted with rage and his sword poised to strike.