They used their natural, well-contrasted voices. The rhymes were stressed. The long speech about the hapless sailor gone to Aleppo, was a curse.

‘“Though his bark cannot be lost.

Yet it shall be tempest-tossed.

Look what I have.”’

And Rangi scuffled in his marketing bag.

‘“Show me. Show me,”’ slavered the greedy Wendy.

But Rangi’s hand in his bag was stilled. He himself was still. Frozen. And then he suddenly opened the bag and peered inside. He withdrew his clenched hand.

‘“Here I have a pilot’s thumb

Wrecked as homeward he did come.”’

He opened his hand very slightly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Peregrine asked. ‘Haven’t they given you something for the thumb?’

Rangi opened his hand. It was empty.

‘I’ll speak to Props. On you go.’

‘“A drum, a drum,”’ said Wendy, ‘“Macbeth doth come.”’

And now their dance, about, about, turn and twist, bow, raise their joined hands. All very quick.

‘“Peace! The charm’s wound up.”’

‘Yes,’ Peregrine said. ‘The Aleppo speech has improved enormously. It’s really alarming now. One feels the wretched sailor in his doomed ship, tossing and turning, not dying and not living. Good. We’ll go on. Banquo and Macbeth. One moment, though. Banquo, the whole scene has been very carefully ordered so that Macbeth, the convention of the soliloquy having changed over four centuries, will not seem to be within hearing distance of his brother-officers. You and Ross and Angus are talking together. Way upstage. But very quietly and with virtually no movement. Shakespeare himself seems to have felt the usual convention not really good enough. His “thank you, gentlemen” is a dismissal. We’ll make it so. They bow and move as far away as they can get. The soliloquy, I needn’t tell you, is of great importance. So no loud laughter, if you please. OK?’

‘I took the point the first time you made it,’ said Banquo.

‘Good. That will save me the fatigue of making it a third time. Are you ready? “The earth hath bubbles.”’

The scene went forward. The messages of favours to come were delivered. The golden future opened out. Everything was lovely and yet…and yet…

Presently they embarked on the cauldron scene. Peregrine developed the background of whispering. ‘Double, double toil and trouble…’ Would it be heard? He tried a murmur: ‘Double, double toil and trouble…’ ‘We’ll try it whispered when the whole company is here,’ he said. ‘Six groups each beginning after “trouble”. I think that’ll work.’

The witches were splendid. Clear and baleful. Their movements were explicit. They were real. But Peregrine was conscious that Rangi was troubled by something. He did not fumble a cue or muddle a movement or need a prompt but he was unhappy. Unwell? Sickening for something? Oh God, please not, thought Peregrine. Why is he looking at me? Am I missing something?

‘And points at them for his.’