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enough!’ repeated Coriolanus. ‘Whose wedding are we going to today?’
    â€˜It’s Colin marrying that Chloe,’ said his brother disgustedly.
    â€˜Why d’you say it like that?’ asked Coriolanus. ‘He’s a lovely boy.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, he’s lovely all right,’ said Pegasus, putting his tongue round his lips. ‘But Chloe! She’s got such round little titties that you could never take her for a boy! …’
    Coriolanus blushed.
    â€˜Well I think she’s sweet …’ he murmured. ‘She makes you feel you want to touch them … Doesn’t she have that effect on you? …’
    His brother looked at him, stupefied.
    â€˜You’re a rotten pig!’ he spluttered, using all his energy. ‘You’re the most depraved person I know … One of these days you’ll end up marrying a woman! …’

18
    Father Phigga came out of the undervestry, followed by his Unisexton Bedull and a Husher. They were carrying colossal corrugated cardboard cartons crammed with candles, coloured crepe and carnival decorations.
    â€˜When the Daubers’ van comes, ask it to drive right up to the altar, Aubrey,’ he said to the Husher.
    This was because the majority of professional Hushers are called Marmaduke.
    â€˜And everything has got to be yellow?’ said Aubrey.
    â€˜With purple stripes,’ said the Unisexton Bedull. His name on the charts was Adam Browbeadle but he was really called Jeremiah Jingo. He was a big friendly rascal whose gold chain and uniform shone as brightly as a row of frozen noses.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Father Phigga, ‘because the Hamarishi Pibosh is coming on later in his caravan to give them the blessing. Come on, let’s tart up the Minstrels’ Gallery with the things in these boxes.’
    â€˜How many Minstrels are there?’ asked the Husher.
    â€˜Three score and thirteen,’ said the Unisexton Bedull.
    â€˜And twenty Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys,’ said Father Phigga proudly.
    The Husher gave a long low whistle.
    â€˜And only two people getting married!’ he said with admiration.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Father Phigga. ‘That’s the way rich folk do things.’
    â€˜And are there many people coming?’ asked the Unisexton Bedull.
    â€˜Millions!’ said the Husher. ‘I’m going to carry my long red pikestaff and my big stick with the red knob.’
    â€˜Oh, no!’ said Father Phigga. ‘You ought to carry the yellow pikestaff and the purple stick – they’re much more uppercrust, and you’ll be as swish as a Swiss Guard.’
    By now they were under the gallery. Father Phigga opened a little secret door in one of the supporting pillars. Like an Archimedean screw they began climbing up the narrow winding stair, one after the other. A vague glimmer of light came down on them from above.
    After twenty-four turns of the screw they stopped for breath.
    â€˜It’s hard work!’ said Father Phigga.
    The Husher, who was at the bottom, agreed, and Adam Browbeadle, who was in the middle, concurred with this observation.
    â€˜Only two more turns and a half,’ said Father Phigga.
    They emerged on to a platform at the opposite end of the church to the altar, a hundred yards up in the air, and the floor below could be barely seen through the mist. Clouds drifted into the church and floated across the nave in fat faithful flocks.
    â€˜It’s going to be fine,’ said the Unisexton Bedull, sniffing at the clouds. ‘I can smell thyme passing.’
    â€˜There’s hawthorn and catkin too,’ said the Husher. ‘I’m sure I got a whiff of them.’
    â€˜I hope the service will be a success!’ said Father Phigga.
    They put down their boxes and began to decorate the Minstrels’ music-stands with chains and bells. The Husher unwrapped them, blew away the dust, and then passed them on to the