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“Sister!”

We embraced warmly. Her sturdy arms almost swayed me off my balance. I was astonished at how glad I was to see her. “Pray join uth a fine legedly abjured them.

In my inner chamber, I had my leg surreptitiously checked and re-bandaged by Dr. Butts. He wrapped it in fine silk, so although it was tightly bound it would not be bulky.

“For tonight only,” he cautioned. “Silk is not an agreeable bandage. It does not absorb. So, should the sore weep, it will leak and be visible. But it looks dry for now. It should keep for a few hours, at least.” He nodded. “Take a good dose of the soothing-syrup.”

“Nay. It dulls the. pain but it also befuddles me, and I must needs remember all the dancing-steps.”

I turned to look at myself in the mirror. I was unrecognizable, a vision from the East.

The Great Hall, too, was unrecognizable, utterly transformed from our eating-place of only an hour earlier. A throng of strangers milled about on the floor. A harem-girl. Merlin the magician. Several nuns. There was Pope Adrian, the only English Pope, looking remarkably like myself. (Who had done this?) There was a headsman with a hood and bloody axe, Friar Tuck, painted savages from the New World, werewolves, crusaders. At the far end of the hall, Jezebel. She was wearing a scanty costume that revealed three-quarters of her body, and next to her was a man dressed as Elijah, ranting and raving. As she moved, I knew her—Catherine!

I was appalled. The Queen of England! How dare she appear almost naked in public, dressed as a harlot and an evil queen? Jezebel was wicked, a symbol of wickedness, and an enemy of the Lord. I watched carefully as Elijah harangued her, pointing his fingers sanctimoniously at a mock Torah. Behind them came a pudgy, greasy-haired King Ahab, licking his fingers and giggling. Who were her accomplices? The onlookers laughed and cheered them on, clearly delighting in the sacrilegious display.

No one took notice of my elaborate costume, even with the camel trailing behind. No, they were too enthralled with Jezebel.

A Cleopatra entered the hall, with snakes coiling around her belly. They cosied up to her and slithered into the private reaches of her costume. A drunken Mark Antony followed, and then Julius Caesar, falling down regularly in fits. Foam spouted out of his mouth (replenished from a container of whipped egg whites he carried). The crowd cried, “Fall, mighty Caesar!” Every ten feet he obliged.

Troilus and Cressida made the next entrance. They hung upon each other, these lovers of ancient Troy, kissing and caressing. Then a large company of oiled athletes grabbed hold of Cressida and, before Troilus’s weeping eyes, pulled up her skirt and made sport of her, fingering her private parts, whilst she swooned in ecstasy and jerked spasmodically in mock fulfilment.

What had become of the gentle, knightly disguises of my past? Was this what Twelfth Night had turned into? I looked round. A few old-timers were decked out in the beautiful, intricate costumes I had expected, whilst all around them rioted obscene youth.

The Abbot of Misrule appeared on the dais, to a great gasp. He was a human-sized private part, complete even to a ring of circumcision. Around his feet sprouted black wires, to mimic pubic hairs, which shook and swayed. The organ itself stood upright, turgid and blushing. The Abbot wiggled back and forth to command attention.

“D to ughter. “I stand before you, at your service.” Screams of laughter. “Some of you have seen me often. To others I am as yet unknown.” He bowed toward the “nuns.” “Or perhaps not so?” More laughter. “Now you are all agreed to do exactly as I command you. I desire, therefore, that everyone with a bodypart like my own gather at the far end of the Hall. Those who are cloven between the legs, stay here.”

Eager to see what he had in mind, the entire company rushed to obey. I was pushed along in the company of men, so that I lost my camel. But what matter? My costume, my entire idea, was passé. No one cared