by Nigel Kneale
TETSY (a hoarse cry): Part of their souls!
It chills them. Men look round. One drops the horse’s skull. Lavinia jumps down from her place on the fallen tree. Cobb puts a reassuring arm round the shaking girl.
COBB: There, my dear. I think the squire means something more—more chemical than souls. Besides, Queen Boadicea may be officially doubted to have had any. She was a pagan. (He glances across at Lavinia, his wrist round Tetsy’s waist for a moment more, till she frees herself and moves towards the scowling Sam) Your master’s going to insist on the old queen, my lad. She fits his theory. So if she shows herself tonight, he’ll bottle her up!
Sir Timothy rises from his work, scowling.
SIR TIMOTHY: If anything happens—(seeing the mockery in Cobb’s face) Oh, leave me be!
He turns away, but Cobb keeps with him, enjoying it now.
COBB: But you’ll make it happen, sir—try at least. Or why all this?
He points to the “Roman” props. The skull is wearing one of the plumed helmets and has been stuck bizarrely on a post. The other helmet is fixed nearby, empty. The horse’s skull is hung below the human one, while the swords and shields have been hooked on branches.
The scroll is suspended open to reveal a Latin text. The effect is amateurishly occult.
COBB (continuing): Ancient Rome! The centurion and his horse!
SIR TIMOTHY: They might help to distill out the—
COBB: To chase her into your bottle! (He calls after the smarting Sir Timothy) But the text, sir! From Caesar! She was not born in Caesar’s day—
By the cart, surrounded by the other men, Lukey Chase has some bizarre instruments—two long toasting forks, each soldered at the blunt end to a large coil of bright wire. The lad has a similar pair of forks and is handily putting the coils over his arm.
BIG JEFF: Lukey goin’ to fight th’ old devils with their own weapons!
Sir Timothy, sharply over the laughter:
SIR TIMOTHY: Come now! Who’s your helper?
LUKEY (struggling with the coils): Him. I telled him what to do.
SIR TIMOTHY: Right. (Glancing up) Let him take that tree. And you, Lukey, this one.
The lad is the nimbler. He is up among the branches in a moment. Lukey fumbles for footholds, gasping.
BIG JEFF: Get after them devils, Lukey! (Feinting at him with the pitchfork) Like this!
LUKEY (scrambling up): Hey, hey!
Sir Timothy turns to find Cobb taking another of the forks from the cart. He relieves him of it.
SIR TIMOTHY: Yes, an ordinary toasting fork. Another of—my own ideas. (He passes it to Jethro—and the transfer is not lost on either master or man. Then a second fork-and-coil from the box) Wedge them there in the thorn bush. (Turns to call up into the trees) Are you ready?
A high shot of Lukey in the tree, holding both forks away from him while he shakes the coils free. He peers across at the other tree.
LUKEY: Right, lad? Chuck ’em down!
He throws his coils down, unwinding as they fall.
Below, they watch the four coils come rustling down and Sir Timothy darts forward to grab them. He pays out the wire as he makes for a plank where six primitive Leyden Jars, and the cat-headed electroscope, have been set out in the light of a lantern. They are only a yard or so from the “Roman” oddities.
Jethro meets him, unwinding the wires from the thorn bush.
JETHRO: Join to the electroscope?
SIR TIMOTHY: No, those to a Leyden Jar—(Realising he is taking the negro’s knowledge for granted) Can you do that?
JETHRO: Yes, sir.
They work quickly, fixing the connections.
SIR TIMOTHY (joining a wire to the electroscope): I’ve made trial before with electrical discharges. During thunderstorms.
JETHRO: With kites, like Benjamin Franklin?
SIR TIMOTHY (pleased): That’s right! Flying forks up into the storm—the fluid comes down the wet line. I got a bad burn once.
JETHRO: Shall we get burns tonight?
SIR TIMOTHY: I’d be glad to. (Suddenly confidential) With so many people here, it may excite the forces. And should these things, in a sense, focus them—(He indicates the “Roman” items. Jethro looks at them, unsure) You understand, don’t you?
COBB’S VOICE: Well, Jethro? Do you?
He is standing a yard away.
Jethro rises. Standing by the skull with its theatrical helmet, he looks at one man to the other as if aware of having to make a judgment between them. Then Sir Timothy scrambles up, calling.
SIR TIMOTHY: Get the cart away now. I want it down there—
He points. Big Jeff and others seize the shaft to pull it round. Cobb takes a pinch from a heavy silver snuff box.
COBB: Sir, a word. Before this addled attempt goes too far—
SIR TIMOTHY (waving at the cart): By the rope!
COBB: —and you’re the laughing stock of the entire county. Think of your lady there. (This brings Sir Timothy round to face him) You’re a singular fellow, sir—but do not set up to be an eccentric!
SIR TIMOTHY: Sir!
COBB (waving a hand round the clearing): Where did you get all this rubbish? From a bankrupt sorcerer? You don’t know what half of it is!
SIR TIMOTHY (indignantly): I make serious observations.
COBB: The best of them are so crude you can prove whatever you fancy! That mice are generated by sour cheese—that sneezing endangers the monarchy—
SIR TIMOTHY (controlling himself): I’m not a fool, sir!
COBB: Then throw away the toys.
SIR TIMOTHY: I have an open mind.
COBB: Close it, sir. Close it to nonsense!
SIR TIMOTHY: Keep your voice down.
They move closer, towards Lavinia, who is drinking in every word.
COBB: If you want proof, I can tell you how to find it.
SIR TIMOTHY: Pray do.
COBB: You need not seek it with quaint instruments. You have only to open your eyes—if you can—and see what is before you.
SIR TIMOTHY: That is too easy.
COBB (fiercely): It is not easy! It is so hard that only a handful in the land—or any land—have yet achieved it! They must scour their minds clean, ready for a new usage. Then turn their whole imagination right round—away from all the romantic fancies that delight it and then blur and deaden it. And bring that imagination to bear instead on the real world it has taken for granted, and see into it. And seek its deepest sense. The truth is all round us, but it is hard. (He looks from one to the other) And ordinary. And supreme.
Lavinia is enchanted simply with the sound of the words. Sam and the girl are listening nearby. Jethro sits on a box with his eyes to the ground. He has heard it before.
SIR TIMOTHY: Have you achieved this—cleansing of the brain?
COBB (confidently): Not wholly. But I shall.
SIR TIMOTHY: And how many others?
COBB: In time, a world-full. Man will change himself!
SIR TIMOTHY: I could not.
COBB: Then you will be left behind, sir. A mere bone in the rocks like a creature of the Great Flood. And all like you. The men of the future will be those who see things as they are.
LAVINIA (with a laugh of exhilaration): Go on, Timothy—argue! Refute him!
SIR TIMOTHY: How can I? He denounces fantasy, only to set up another one.
COBB: I give good sense for nonsense, new lamps for old!
LAVINIA: Bravo!
COBB: Come, sir—try the exchange? He will not.
LAVINIA: Let’s leave poor Timothy in his rock and go on. I want to feel history sweeping me away like a great warm tide!
COBB: It will be the world of men—and women—with opened eyes. They’ll be strong. They’ll need no crutches of petty, trammelling morality—
LAVINIA: Faith, is there morality now?
COBB (quickly): No, but they’ll be spared the pretence. (She laughs, sensing how all this relates to the three of them) They’ll see each oth
er as they truly exist, and count each other’s needs and accept them. Even joyfully. But above all honestly. They may count our virtues vice and our vices natural wisdom. They’ll judge all things afresh, by their own enlightenment.
SIR TIMOTHY: God will judge.
COBB: They will judge! They won’t go in dread seeking heavenly marks for good behavior, like tots in dame-school. They’ll have grown up!
SIR TIMOTHY (shaking his head): There must be God, and justice—
COBB (roaring): Justice, sir, is a god—the god of misers! It defines the way we may snatch from each other and then guard our grabbings! You say justice and you exalt a golden blindfold lady. I see a gibbet and a thing hanging with eyes pecked out!
He snatches out his snuffbox and takes a great pinch.
LAVINIA: Oh, you’re right—!
COBB: Law is for cowards and blockheads. For today’s foul little world, not for theirs. They’ll have no filth and cholera and killing for theft—who will steal in a world where every man’s a prince? There’ll be neither squire nor servant then.
JETHRO: Nor slave?
COBB: Nor—slave. They’ll have such riches that our great King George would look like a pauper. It’s in the earth for the asking—and they’ll have learned to ask, that’s all. They’ll build a world that’s clean and ordered and swift. It’ll come. It must.
LAVINIA: The world of machines.
COBB: Ay, great engines that could build you a pavilion of shining metal and keep your beauty perfect for a hundred years.
The directness of it, in Timothy’s presence, is too much for her. She takes refuge in coquetry.
LAVINIA: Is this the new realism?
COBB: No disease, no cruelty, no want. All that man gains, man will give.
LAVINIA: Love, too?
COBB: Ay, that too. That most of all.
While his wife remains staring at Cobb, Sir Timothy turns away. Big Jeff and the other men have settled down on the ground or are leaning against trees. He looks at his watch and snaps it shut.
SIR TIMOTHY: You’re not bound to stay. For those who do, there’ll be food in an hour. (No one offers to leave. He turns) You blind us with your Golden Age, Mr. Cobb. Tell me, do you have no doubts?
COBB: Few.
SIR TIMOTHY: I have doubts. I doubt everything I do.
COBB (with a grunt of amusement): With reason! You’re a fool to go on.
SIR TIMOTHY: I know that, but I must. I go slowly. I get knowledge grain by grain, as I come upon it. I go without direction, feeling my way. I test the ground and move aside if it won’t bear me, and go on again.
COBB: Like a beetle.
SIR TIMOTHY: No, a man. (Cobb grunts. Sir Timothy regards him with a thin smile) It’s the only discovery I’ve made, Mr. Cobb. Hassall’s Law: Man can never move back.
For a moment a quick retort hovers on Cobb’s lips. Then he frowns. He looks at Sir Timothy seriously for the first time, watching him as he goes to search among the ropes and boxes.
Sir Timothy rises with a gun in his hands, a wide-muzzled blunderbuss. Men turn idly to watch him. He sits on a box and prepares to load the weapon. Surprisingly, he is expert with it, his fingers deft with the powder-horn and ram-rod, caressing the gun.
He glances at Cobb, who has his eyes fixed on him. Sir Timothy’s expression has altered. All the uncertainty and gentleness seem to have gone, as if the touch of the weapon despatched them.
SIR TIMOTHY (almost whispering): You will talk. And I will do.
THE ROPED TREES
It is a couple of hours later.
A low shot through the wheels of the cart. Men are moving about in the lighted area beyond. Two figures move into shot in the foreground, walking along just inside the rope barrier; Big Jeff and another man. Jeff has the pitchfork over his shoulder, and has an ale-mug in his hand.
BIG JEFF (peering outwards): Not even the owl now. He’s gone to his bed. (He finishes his ale and shakes the last drops out into the darkness, calling) Come along, my dears—show y’selves! There’s gentry here awaitin’ for yer!
After a moment of silence, he giggles. He claps the other man on the shoulder, shaking with increasingly convulsive laughter.
THE CLEARING
Sir Timothy is looking towards the cart. Lukey Chase comes trotting back from that direction. He, too, has a mug in his hand, and a piece of bread in the other.
LUKEY: Ay, ’tis only Big Jeff foolin’ about.
SIR TIMOTHY (calling): Quiet down there! (He turns) Now, Lukey, back to your place.
LUKEY: Squire, what’s the use?
SIR TIMOTHY: Back, I said.
LUKEY: But already? I’m still stiff—
SIR TIMOTHY: And you, lad. (Lukey and the lad finish their ale and start for their places in the trees. Sir Timothy catches Lukey as he climbs) Lukey, can you see through the branches up there?
LUKEY: Only a little.
SIR TIMOTHY: Keep an eye on Big Jeff—I don’t trust him.
Lukey nods and climbs. Sir Timothy turns, pulling an elegant little notebook from his pocket.
The meal has been eaten. Sam closes the lid on the hamper and straps it. Tetsy is drawing the last ale from a small cask. Men are wiping their mouths, putting knives back in their pockets, stretching. The air of vague expectation has thinned to boredom.
At Sir Timothy’s signal, two of them pick up their staffs and make for another part of the rope barrier. Two more go to another section.
In the tree, Lukey settles and adjusts his toasting forks. He glances across at the other tree, catches the lad’s eye and grimaces as he points down.
Below, Tetsy brings a refilled tankard to Cobb. He is sitting on the ground by the ruined tree. Lavinia is a yard away, balanced on a trailing branch, pouring herself another small glass from a brandy flask.
COBB: Thank you, my dear.
LAVINIA (as Tetsy goes): Would you share her?
COBB: She’s got a man. She’s satisfied. (He takes a gulp of ale) For the present.
She looks from him to her husband. Sir Timothy is going from plank to plank inspecting his apparatus. Thermometers and barometers have been set up alongside the jars. He is noting readings with a crayon in his book.
She looks at Cobb again. There is a compact between them now, as if he has filled his part in humiliating her husband, and has earned her promise.
LAVINIA: You were saying just now—
COBB: Mm?
LAVINIA (puzzling it out): That immorality—is what gives us pain. (Cobb nods) Then—the London wives and their lovers must suffer a great deal?
COBB (grinning): Not a bit.
LAVINIA: But surely—
COBB: They’re not immoral. They’re enjoying a natural virtue. What morality is there in being tied to—a dotard, for instance?
LAVINIA (softly): Or a dullard. (She laughs prettily) I begin to understand.
COBB: You’ve much to learn. You must learn it.
LAVINIA: Yes. I must.
For a sudden, split second there is a disturbance in the air, a mere blink of sound, shrill and gone in a moment.
Tetsy, who is filling a mug at the cask, drops it. She gives a wail of terror.
Sam runs to her. Her cry dies into sharp sobbing. She seems unaware even of his arms around her.
Men are scrambling to their feet. Sir Timothy comes running. Lavinia springs from her seat and starts towards the spot.
SIR TIMOTHY: That noise frightened her.
She shakes her head, unable to speak.
LAVINIA: What was it?
SIR TIMOTHY: Sounded like—a shot somewhere across the valley.
SAM: No, it was here. (Pulling the girl round) All right, love. ’Tis gone now.
TETSY (looking into his face and whispering): I seen the road!
SAM: Eh!
SIR TIMOTHY: What does she say?
Tetsy turns to him, her voice gaining strength as she speaks.
TETSY: Like a lightnin’ flash, I seen it! There wasn’ no t
rees, but a huge, wide road—an’ things movin’—(Clutching at Sam) Didn’ you see it? (Sam shakes his head. She looks again at Sir Timothy and from him to the other men. Heads shake) Nobody?
She looks even to Lavinia, whose white face shows only distaste. But beyond her is a surprising sight. Cobb sits with his face buried in his hands. His spilled tankard lies on the grass beside him.
SIR TIMOTHY: Cobb—
He kneels by him. After a moment the heavy face is uncovered, chalk-white. The eyes look warily, slowly about.
COBB: A touch of dyspepsia. I must have eaten too quickly. Rather distressful.
TETSY: Did you see it, sir?
COBB: I—heard a curious sound.
SIR TIMOTHY: That might have been the echo of a fowling piece. A poacher somewhere.
TETSY: It was real—it was real to me! Oh, Sam—
She clings to him, shivering.
SIR TIMOTHY (to Cobb): Nothing else?
Cobb shakes his head. Sir Timothy goes briskly back to his observations.
Cobb meets Lavinia’s curious eyes and manages a smile.
COBB (putting a hand to his stomach): Greed. Clear example of vice, it’s so painful.
His hand stops rubbing his belly and his smile fades as he looks past her to Jethro.
The negro is regarding him with total disbelief.
A yard away, Tetsy senses the silence and turns from sheltering in Sam’s arms.
TETSY (whispering): He was lyin’.
Cobb looks up at the ring of doubting faces.
JETHRO: Were you?
COBB: Jethro—!
JETHRO: Were you?
COBB (pulling himself up on one knee): I will not have you speak so—
JETHRO: Here in this place, I can! I am not real to you, am I? I’m something you made, not a man. But the man is speaking to you now! Mr. Cobb, you have a great mind, but there are too many things it won’t admit—troubling, odd, hid-away, mean things—even in yourself. Yes, listen to me! They’ll rise up and spoil your grand design—you can’t talk them away and make a new world just with words—not even all your words, Mr. Cobb—
There is a wild jangling and clashing from the rope barrier.
THE ROPED TREES
Near the cart, bells and coils of rusty iron are jumping and clanking on the rope. Sam and one or two other men come running. They can see no cause.