A Play of Isaac by Margaret Frazer Page A

Piers, and he readily copied, albeit clumsily, Piers’s leap and caper around the playing space. Basset brought them to a stop then with a sharp clap of his hands and said, “That’s the way of it. No trouble there. Now here’s the part you have to careful with.” He held out his hand for the two spears Ellis had brought from the cart. Ellis gave them over and Basset showed them to Piers and Lewis together. “They’re only painted wood, even the heads, but they’re sharp” he said sternly. “You wouldn’t want to be poked with a sharp stick, would you, Master Fairfield? No. Nor does Elis. You can poke them at Ellis but you must never, never touch him with them. You understand?”
    Lewis frowned, puzzled, and said slowly, “Piers did. I saw him.”
    “You thought you saw him, but he never really did,” Basset said, slowly and clearly back, because it was very necessary Lewis understand this. “Come. Stand with me, and Piers and Ellis will show you.”
    Still frowning, Lewis obeyed. Ellis took his place as the Steward, Piers took one of the spears, made his long leap onto the “stage” and capered and jumped and bounded around Ellis, thrusting at him with the spear without ever touching him while Ellis yelped and flinched and tried to dodge and flinched and yelped some more until driven off, Piers thrusting and poking the spear behind him all the way.
    His frown gone to a grin, Lewis clapped wildly. “I see! I saw how they did it! Let me! Let me!”
    “Slowly,” Basset said, handing over the spear but holding up a warning finger. “Slowly at first. Faster later. You understand?”
    Lewis nodded eagerly and went to join Piers, and shortly showed that he did understand. He even understood, without being told, that his own movements were less sure than Piers’s and was the more careful because of it. They were doing it a third time, at a little better speed, when Ellis did catch a hard jab in the ribs and Lewis stepped hurriedly back with a shocked gasp but Ellis said quickly, with a grin, “My fault. I bumped into the spear, not the spear into me. But you,” he added at Piers. “You slow down, you little demon. Lewis is doing better than you are.”
    Piers stuck out his tongue, Ellis took a slap at his head without any chance or intent of reaching him, Lewis laughed, and they started again.
    Joliffe’s part, when he had said his last line, was simply to get out of the way and stand with hands on hips, laughing devilishly, then follow his demons off the stage. For now he simply waited aside with Basset, so interested in watching Lewis and Piers that he hardly noticed when Simon sidled in past Matthew and around to Basset’s other side, to stand silently watching with them until Basset said quietly, with a nod at Lewis, “Your brother is simple, Master Simon, but he’s not a fool.”
    Simon looked at him with surprise, then past him to Joliffe who nodded agreement. Simon smiled. “There’s not many can see that about him. Thank you.”
    Matthew eased over to join them, keeping a servant’s place a little behind Simon but saying, “Begging pardon, but maybe best call this enough for Master Fairfield for now.” He made a small nod toward Lewis. “He wears down sudden, you know, Master Simon. We don’t want him going blue.”
    “True,” Simon agreed unwillingly. “But it’s good to see him at such fun.”
    With happy yells and much flailing of spears, the devils had just chased yelping Ellis off the stage yet again and Lewis was begging to do it one more time but Basset clapped his hands at them and Piers immediately swung around and came toward him. Lewis turned, too, his wide grin dimming as he looked from Simon to Matthew and back again. He would have stayed where he was except Ellis laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, saying, “You have to come when Master Basset calls. We all do.”
    Smiling, Simon held out a hand to his brother. “It’s time to go, Lewis. Come on.”
    “Go away,”