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forward on the box, looking neither to right nor left but
staring straight ahead at the waiting crowd on the Green,
and the bonfire, and Sir George standing eagerly in the
stirrups on his chestnut horse.
Wolsey’s eyes narrowed when he saw the Doctor being
held by troopers, but he kept the cart moving steadily
forward behind the drummers, to maintain a constant,
smooth pace for the May Queen seated behind him.
After the jolting and rolling journey, the Queen of the
May no longer sat up so proudly as she had done at the
start. In fact, it seemed to the Doctor that now the parade
was reaching its climax she had slumped on her throne and
was almost slouching. That wasn’t like Tegan, who was
always spirited, whatever the circumstances.
The Doctor watched the cart arrive and draw to a halt
by the side of the Green, and he smiled.
But Sir George Hutchinson, who had been smiling up to
now, frowned. He grimaced. Standing up in the stirrups he
craned his neck to see over the heads of the encroaching
onlookers, and a cloud of anger darkened his face.
A tall trooper, carrying a burning torch, came marching
up the Green to station himself at the bonfire, but Sir
George took no notice of him, for the villagers’ murmurs
and shouts of excitment as they ran to surround the cart
had suddenly stopped. Now the crowded people hovered
uncertainly, and hung back, taken by surprise.
‘Something’s wrong!’ Sir George snarled. Shouting with
frustration, he spurred his horse and galloped towards the
cart. Sergeant Willow, too, ran forward. The soldiers
holding the Doctor dragged him down the Green. The
trooper with the burning torch held it high in the air like a
salute. Nobody took any notice of him.
Willow reached the cart first. He jumped up on to the
boards and strode over to the slouching Queen of the May.
Lying limply across the chair which had served as her
throne, she looked lifeless. Cursing roundly to himself,
Willow snatched away the white, ribboned bonnet: the
head so roughly revealed was a ragged, compacted mass of
straw. Willow lifted the body and felt the light, limp frame
of a dummy. Bewildered, he crushed it in his fingers and
dropped it back on the cart. Then he turned in dismay
towards Sir George, who was forcing a path through the
crowd; he held up the bonnet and pointed to the sad
mockery of their May Queen.
Sir George could hardly speak. His face was dark
crimson. Veins stood out on his neck. His eyes bulged and
the skin on his cheeks twitched as though it was crawling
with beetles. Willow stood on the cart and watched him
coming to pieces, and could do nothing.
‘What’s happening?’ Sir George finally spluttered.
Ben Wolsey, holding the reins at the ready, turned
round on his box and looked Sir George straight in the eye.
He too was shocked to see the change in him, but he stood
his ground. ‘There’s your Queen of the May,’ he said. ‘You
can burn her if you wish. This is not as attractive as Tegan,
perhaps, but more humane.’
Ben Wolsey, too, had changed. Gone was the diffident,
embarrassed, subservient accomplice to the Squire. Now he
was an equal, in charge of his own actions and making
them count for something; practical and positive because
at last he was doing something, and taking part in a down-
to-earth manoeuvre which he could understand. In such a
case Ben Wolsey became a giant of a man, and Sir George,
recognising the change, backed away from him. He could
scarcely believe what he was hearing; he could not
comprehend that all his carefully wrought plans were
turning to ashes before his eyes. Then, quite suddenly, it
hit him. It hit him hard – his last vestiges of self-control
crumbled away, and with them went his reason. Before the
eyes of Ben Wolsey and Joseph Willow and all the people
around him, Sir George Hutchinson was going mad.
‘What are you trying to do?’ he screamed at Wolsey.
‘Wreck everything?’
Wolsey chose his words deliberately. ‘I’m trying to
return some sanity to these proceedings,’ he said.
The implications were lost on Sir George. He seemed to
be past understanding anything. Holding his head as if it
were about to burst, he cried out, ‘You’ve ruined it! You’ve
ruined everything!’ With an agomsed expression he turned
to his Sergeant. ‘Kill him!’ he shouted. Then he wheeled
his horse away.
Wolsey had been expecting this and was ready for it.
Although surrounded by enemies he felt ice-cool; he was
seeing things very clearly and he knew that Willow would
now go for his sword. He was right, but Willow only got as
far as laying his hand on the hilt when Wolsey yelled and
whipped up the horse and the cart lurched forward.
Willow lost his balance completely and fell sprawling
from the cart. He lay winded on the ground.
While this was going on the Doctor had trled to take
advantage of the confusion to slip away from his captors.
Unfortunately for him, the soldiers had grown even more
terrified of their leader in his manic condition than they
had been before, and they were making doubly sure that
his fury was not increased by the loss of his prisoner. So
instead of their grip on the Doctor slackening it increased,
and his chances of escape were less than ever.
Then he saw Will Chandler.
Will had watched the events on the Green with an
overwhelming joy when he saw that by some miracle the
sacrificial burning of the May Queen had been avoided. He
had breathed a big sigh of relief and edged forward to see if
he could help his friends; now he saw the Doctor’s
predicament at the moment the Doctor saw him.
‘Over here, Will!’ the Doctor shouted.
Will ran.
What
happened
then
occurred
so
quickly
that
afterwards Will was unable to separate one event from
another. When he started to run towards the Doctor he had
not the vaguest notion of how he was going to help him.
But as he crossed over to the Green he saw, out of the
corner of his eye, the trooper carrying the burning torch.
Almost without thinking, he changed direction and
dived at him. Although the trooper was twice Will’s size
the charge took him completely by surprise, and he
staggered backwards and dropped the torch It rolled across
the grass.
Will picked it up. The heat scorched his fingers, but he
gritted his teeth and holding the torch firmly with both
hands, began to whirl it around his head. The swinging
flames made a peculiar roaring noise, like water tumbling
over a weir. Will was a fearsome sight as he advanced on
the soldiers holding the Doctor, with sweat running down
his forehead, a look of stubborn determination on his face,
and the torch flying and roaring in his hands. The soldiers
scattered in fright as it flared towards them – and the [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]