Free Death of a Fool by Ngaio Marsh Page B

lovely smell was mixed with the pungent odour of tar.
    The Mardian dolmen stood darkly against the snow. Flanking it on either side were torches that flared boldly upon the scene which — almost of itself, one might have thought — had now acquired an air of disturbing authenticity.
    Dame Alice, with a wooden gesture of her muffled arm, shouted, “E venin’, everybody.” From round the sides of the courtyard they all answered raggedly, “Evening. Evening, ma-am,” dragging out the soft vowels.
    Behind the Mardian Stone was the archway in the battlements through which the performers would appear. Figures could be seen moving in the shadows beyond.
    The party of three consulted their programmes, which had been neatly typed.
     
    WINTER SOLSTICE
    The Mardian Morris of the Five Sons
    The Morris Side:
    Fool — William Andersen
    Betty — Ralph Stayne
    Crack — Simon Begg
    Sons — Daniel, Andrew, Nathaniel, Christopher and Ernest (Whiffler) Andersen
     
    The Mardian Morris, or perhaps, more strictly, Morris Sword Dance and Play, is performed annually on the first Wednesday after the winter solstice. It is probably the survival of an ancient fertility rite and combines, in one ceremony, the features of a number of other seasonal dances and mumming plays.
    ORDER OF EVENTS
    1. General Entry — The Five Sons
    2. The Mardian Morris
    3. Entry of the Betty and Crack
    4. Improvisation — Crack
    5. Entry of the Fool
    6. First Sword Dance:
    (a) The Glass Is Broken
    (b) The Will Is Read
    (c) The Death
    7. Improvisation — The Betty
    8. Solo — D. Andersen
    9. Second Sword Dance
    10. The Resurrection of the Fool
     
    Dulcie put down her programme and looked round. “
Everybody
must be here, I should think,” she said. “Look, Aunt Akky, there’s Trixie from the Green Man and her father and that’s old William’s grand-daughter with them.”
    “Camilla?” the Rector said. “A splendid girl. We’re all delighted with her.”
    “Trousers,” said Dame Alice.
    “Skiing trousers, I
think
, Aunt Akky. Quite suitable, really.”
    “Is that woman here? The German woman?”
    “Mrs. Bünz?” the Rector said gently. “I don’t
see
her, Aunt Akky, but it’s rather difficult — She’s a terrific enthusiast and I’m sure—”
    “If I could have stopped her comin’, Sam, I would. She’s a pest.”
    “Oh, surely—”
    “Who’s this, I wonder?” Dulcie intervened.
    A car was labouring up the hill in bottom gear under a hard drive and hooting vigorously. They heard it pull up outside the gateway into the courtyard.
    “Funny!” Dulcie said after a pause. “Nobody’s come in. Fancy!”
    She was prevented from any further speculation by a general stir in the little crowd. Through the rear entrance came Dr. Otterly with his fiddle. There was a round of applause, but the hand-clapping was lost in the night air.
    Beyond the wall, men’s voices were raised suddenly and apparently in excitement. Dr. Otterly stopped short, looked back and returned through the archway.
    “Doctor’s too eager,” said a voice in the crowd. There was a ripple of laughter through which a single voice beyond the wall could be heard shouting something indistinguishable. A clock above the old stables very sweetly tolled nine. Then Dr. Otterly returned and this time, after a few preliminary scrapes, struck up on his fiddle.
    The air for the Five Sons had never been lost. It had jigged down through time from one Mardian fiddler to another, acquiring an ornament here, an improvisation there, but remaining essentially itself. Nobody had rediscovered it, nobody had put it in a collection. Like the dance itself it had been protected by the commonplace character of the village and the determined reticence of generation after generation of performers. It was a good tune and well suited to its purpose. After a preliminary phrase or two it ushered in the Whiffler.
    Through the archway came a blackamoor with a sword. He had bells on his legs and