He drew up sharply. Wailing music came to him, made by instruments that he had never heard before. It rose into a clamor and sank away sobbing. He tried to follow it, but it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all in the same moment It lost itself in the echoing of overhanging walls. At last, turning down a passage, he traced it to a barnlike building. As he got there the doors were flung wide and people came pouring out.
He was amused; he had almost been persuaded that he had stumbled on the supernatural. Glancing in, he saw the orchestra gathering up their old-fashioned horns and wind-instruments. The curtain bad been partly raised; slipping from under it the performers, still in costume, were climbing down and mingling with the thinning audience. For the moment the audience seemed the unreal people and the performers the people of his world.
He went out into the darkness and stood back a little from the passage that he might retain the medieval illusion as they passed. He made guesses at their characters. Here came Sir Galahad in silver armor, joking with Merlin, who carried his beard across his arm to prevent it from sweeping the ground. King Arthur, with his sword rattling between his legs, was running to catch up with Sir Launcelot. The girls were more difficult to identify; in their long robes, with their bare arms and plaited hair, there was nothing to distinguish them. As he watched, he saw one with a crown upon her head. The stones in it glinted as she approached. Queen Guinevere, he thought.
She was supple and slight and tall. She walked unhurriedly, with an air of pride, as though she had not yet shaken off her part. A man accompanied her. He was speaking earnestly; she gazed straight before her, taking little notice of what he said. Her hair was brushed back from her forehead to reveal the curve of her ears and the gleam of her shoulders. Her garment was of green and gold, caught in at the waist with a golden girdle; on her feet were golden sandals, which twinkled. The white intensity of her face and throat shone in the darkness. There was an ardency about her that arrested attention.
“It can’t be helped,” she spoke shortly, “so there’s no use talking. I’ve got to get there, whatever happens.”
Teddy followed her down the street. At the sound of her voice his heart had quickened. He wished she would turn her head beneath a lamp that he might see her clearly. Before The Pilgrims’ Inn there was a crowd; when he came up to it she had vanished.
On entering, he found a scene which might have walked out of the brain of Chaucer, so utterly were the costumes in keeping with the hostel. He cast his eyes about, seeking for Queen Guinevere.
As he stood hesitating between pursuing his fancy further or going to bed, the landlady came out from her office. Catching sight of him, she elbowed her way towards him.
“News for me?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” She frowned slightly. “I thought you said you didn’t know any of these actor-folk?”