Doctor Who_ The Romans - Donald Cotton [26]
Personally I slept well; but in the morning Vicki was in a refractory mood, complaining of bats in her attic and rats in her mattress, and similar irritabilia, until I quite lost patience with her, and suggested she take her breakfast of stewed lampreys back to bed, while I found a quiet corner of the palace to perfect my concert piece.
But today it was difficult to find any sequestered rest-room suited to my purpose, since all available space was seething with spectators who had come to watch the big fight; so, skirting the arena and its environs, I eventually came to a balcony overlooking what I presumed to be the zoological gardens, where several fine specimens of felis leo were taking a siesta in the shade, and here I determined to rehearse.
I confess to being well pleased with my first attempt at atonal composition, Thermodynamic Functions, since to me it typifies the eternal conflict between Art and Audience -
which is brought to an altogether alienating crescendo of raucous discords in the final movement.
But it begins relatively quietly, with a wailing lament for lost innocence, modulating freely through a good many keys, until it reaches the long and lachrymose legato passage which expounds the violent argument - without, of course, resolving it in the slightest! If you follow me?
And I find it especially satisfactory that I, a scientist, should have so easily been able to achieve what unborn generations of professional concertgoers are bound to find extremely difficult.
So it was with a certain amount of justified complacency that I reached for the first bundle of chords - and struck them with all the strength at my disposal...
It has been said, I believe, that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast; but on this occasion at least, I was interested to note that the effect was entirely different.
As my ineffably incredible arpeggios sank amongst the hitherto somnolent carnivores before me, they instantly opened indignant eyes, and backed bristling towards the opposite wall of their enclosure, snarling and spitting suspiciously in all directions!
Simultaneously a loud and angry cry from behind me caused me to duck, and, as I did so, over my head flew that squat and unsavoury figure whose frequent attempts on my life have been such an unwelcome feature of my stay in Italy.
Instinctively I struck out at it in passing with my lyre, unfortunately once again entangling the man’s flailing arms in the strings; so that as he descended into the lions’
den he was carrying the instrument with him; whereupon it emitted one last despairing diapason, and then disintegrated - I would say irreparably, confound the fellow!
The lions, for their part, looked at the cracked apparatus resentfully, then rose to their paws and paced implacably towards my assailant, flexing their biceps in the manner of cats who are going to settle this thing here and now.
Obviously the assassin received the same impression, for he now ran whimpering around the limited space available to him, like a mouse in a bucket, making a series of despairing and ineffectual leaps towards the parapet.
Why I should have helped the man I am not sure, for I certainly owed him no consideration after his previous behaviour towards me; but I had noticed that near to where I was standing there was a winch mechanism from which ropes descended to a sliding door, which I presumed
- erroneously, as it transpired - led to the beasts’ sleeping quarters. If, I reasoned, I opened this door just sufficiently to allow of his escape, and then instantly lowered it behind him, he would be trapped intact within their dormitory until such time as he could be delivered to the proper authorities, and made to give an account of himself.
So: ‘This way, my good fellow; to your immediate left!’
I advised him;