Peter speaks again.

‘Frank,’ he says, nodding at him, and Frank turns pale and flushes. Freda notices it, quivering; there is a change in her brother too, evoked by Peter. She finds it difficult to walk along calmly on this side, and would like to cross over to be near Frank. But she dare not because of tall Peter.

They go everywhere. They walk straight through the glittering arrow corridor. The arrows start moving beside them, but they walk as though the arrows did not exist. In these bewitched corridors people are watching in secret from behind doors and walls, but the three walk through openly, and when Peter does not wish to go any further he turns off into a side passage. He walks so strangely free.

How long are they to go on walking? They are to go on walking like this together with Peter until everyone sees that they are not guilty.

A gleam of light dawns in Frank and Freda:

We’re going to take part, we too.

We’re not condemned. We’re like others, with a right to everything, and people see this now as we are walking.

Peter will never get tired, they think to themselves; perhaps he’s not going to give up until every corner of the house has seen him in their company. They realize that they have longed for this to happen. This very walk. And now he has come, and the eyes of the people they meet have altered.

A young man, not known to them, approaches and shakes hands with Frank and Freda. ‘Good morning!’ he says, accepting them into the circle of all those who will be taking part.

They are unable to reply. During their walk they have not been capable of words, only of mute amazement.

Now they are holding their heads high as Peter continues to walk with them. They are sure that he will stay with them until all those who live here have seen them in his company.

20

Henry and the Chorus

Henry is walking unsteadily down the corridor. He has come from the meeting with Peter and John, from the breakdown of his fellowship with his old comrades.

He is just walking. Anywhere. Not even wondering where he’s going. John told him to go, and Peter stood watching him.

‘At your mercy,’ said John. Henry turns over the words in his mind. They had sounded so terrible when John repeated them that they are still ringing in his ears. And then John’s eyes, hard as flint, looking at him as he spoke. They have worked together so long. But John was right, he supposed. He had only done what he had to in such a situation.

Is he an outcast?

Not quite. But finished. Useless. And dangerous, as one who knows things.

That was the worst: ‘at your mercy’. For of course that’s how it is. Their lives depend on whether he blurts out any information. He must see that there’s no question of it. Keep out of the way, said John – and that’s what he’ll have to do. John looked as though he doubted whether he could stand the ordeal, that was why he used the words ‘at your mercy’. For all of them are at each other’s mercy in that respect.