23.
The Play of King Herod
because the York Mystery Plays are not much of a mystery any more. Devised as teaching tools to bring the Bible to the masses, they emerged in the fourteenth century as part of the Church's celebrations for the Feast of Corpus Christi. Written by craftsmen and artisans, they were designed to be performed on pageant carts which would be dragged around the city between sunset and sunrise, with performances given at the four main gates at Bootham, Monk Bar, Walmgate and Micklegate (remembering that 'gate' here is 'gatta', or way). Mystery cycles begin with the Creation of the Universe and finish with the Apocalypse and the Second Coming of Christ. Highlights include the Creation itself, the story of Noah's Flood, the birth of Jesus, his Crucifixion and Resurrection. The play to which Yo-yo has come is that of King Herod. It is being played in King's Square at the top of the Shambles and is in full swing.
HEROD is in a rage.
HEROD You say they've gone another way?
Seize them! Hold them! Make them stay!
Then these three wise men I’ll slay,
Strike their heads off and parade
Their bleeding trunks, which I'll degrade,
Scratched with briars, ripped to shreds,
Tear their skin to bloody threads!
Then chop off their treacherous feet-
King's revenge is always sweet.
One of his SOLDIERS approaches.
SOLDIER Mighty Lord, forget these kings.
You must deal with other things.
Jesus, This new King of Jews ...
HEROD Ahhhh!! I am angry! I am mad!
Everywhere the news is bad!
Jesus! Jesus! King of Jews!
Everybody knows my views.
All the children in the town
Must be slaughtered, be cut down.
Toddlers, teethers, babes in arms,
Slit their throats and do them harms!
Bloody rivers here shall flow!
Hear my order! Arm, and go!
The SOLDIERS leave.
HEROD Now this baby Jesus dies.
Back to God his soul soon flies.
Early warning makes him late.
No-one crosses Herod the Great!
There now follows a jazzy song-and-tap-dance routine for King Herod. He soft-shoe-shuffles across the stage, giving it 'jazz- hands' and grinning like a loon. He is joined by the cadaverous, black-hooded figure of Death. They join hands and salsa across the stage, strictly come dancing for Sir Bruce Forsyth:
Bruce Forsyth: Good evening, good evening, ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls and others, welcome to Strickly Come Dancing. It's nice to see you, to see you …
AUDIENCE: (In chorus) NICE!
BRUCE FORSYTH: Our first couple tonight is King Herod and Death, and don't they look good together? Herod, you'll remember, found fame for his role in the BBC's updated Christmas Nativity set in the Cold War, No Room in Berlin and for murdering hundreds of babies, but that was two thousand years ago and all is forgiven now. Death, of course, is familiar from his regular appearances in East Enders and Corrie, and he recently won a Royal Television Society Award for Best Guest in a Soap.
Brucie drapes a yellow boa round Death's neck and the Bee Gees kick into that great disco classic ''Stayin' Alive''. Death and King Herod mix rumba, jive, quickstep and foxtrot and the audience loves it. Death slides King Herod between his legs and then rolls him up and over his shoulders. Herod does a cartwheel. Death does a disco manoeuvre, the infamous sword-drawing move.
''Ooh ooh ooh ooh, stayin' alive, stayin' alive…
Ooh ooh ooh stayin' ali-i-i-ya-ive…''
Death's dazzling quickstep is nifty. Herod's hand-jive is slick. Death's tap is spectacular. Herod's hip-wiggle brings the audience to its feet The climax sees Death flinging Herod into a knee-slide towards the camera. The audience goes wild.
Bruce Forsyth: Look at that! Look at that! Look what you've done. A standing ovation. Death and King Herod, ladies and gentlemen. Didn't they do well?
The judges love them too.
''Mahvellous, dahlings, simply mahvellous. I loved your kicks and flicks, Death dahling, and I thought the story-telling was fab-u-lous. Eight out of ten,'' says the token toff.
''Oh thank you,'' Herod gushes, air-drying tears with a few hand-flaps.
''You really nailed that dance, Herod,'' says the token totty. ''There was flow and elegance, and lovely lifts. I thought Death was a little too fluffy in places but Herod brought out the emotions well. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Good job. Eight.''
''Oh my, this is so exciting,'' says King Herod, fiddling with his false fingernails.
''A-ppa-lling,'' snarls the token tough-guy. ''Death, you've got two left feet and Herod, what were you thinking with that purple robe? It was like watching two three-legged Rottweilers eating a pie on ice. Massacre of the Innocents? Massacre of the Inner Sense, more like.''
Booooo! The audience makes its feelings plain.
''Oh, the heartbreak, the heartbreak, darling,'' sobs Herod, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. ''Showbiz is such a cruel mistress, but we've always got the phone vote, and we can still get through if all those lovely people vote for us….''
''Bollocks, '' says Death bitterly. ''I really wanted that glitterball an' all.''
BRUCE FORSYTH: Never mind. He’s an old misery-guts, isn’t he? We all liked it. You’re my favourite couple.
KING HEROD: Thank you, Brucie.
BRUCE FORSYTH: Anyway, now we have my favourite couple, the Angels of Death, doing the Charleston!
The audience whoops.
DEATH My winged angels are fearsome of face
Harpies from Hell move through time and space:
Their bony fingers will freeze your skin
And their horrible howling will make your blood thin.
Behold them with fear. They're a terrible sight.
And pray you don't meet them in Tesco's tonight.
There is a commotion behind the curtain and, as Death raises a bony finger and a stage-hand rolls a drum, Rocket Lettuce bursts on to the stage, his big shoes flapping, his blue wig askew, his red mouth smiling.
ROCKET Hello there, boys and girls! Anyone want a custard pie?
The audience laughs.
DEATH What the hell do you think you're doing?
Kos Lettuce's violet wig bristles.
KOS You're not very polite. (To the audience) He's not very polite, is he, boys and girls?
AUDIENCE (In Chorus) Nooooo.
KOS Shall we pie him?
AUDIENCE (In Chorus) Yeeeesss!
KOS Shall we?
AUDIENCE Yesss! Pie him! Pie him! Pie him! Pie him!
Death's black hood jerks in anger. ''I am Death, you arse-head, come for King Herod and the innocent babes. Where are my angels?''
CHICORY We pied 'em back-stage.
ENDIVE And now we'll pie you!
DEATH I AM DEATH! I AM THE GRIM REAPER! I TAKE ALL, RICH AND POOR, PRINCES AND PEASANTS! LOOK ON MY FACE AND TREMBLE WITH FEAR!
The Lettuce Brothers exchange nods and four custard pies splat together on Death's black hood. King Herod exclaims an astonished ''What's going on?''
''Ah!'' growls Rocket, ''The evil King Herod.''
SPLAT! goes a pie. The audience cheers, laughs and claps.
''Gee, this is swell,'' says an American tourist. ''I never saw this coming.''
''Is it in the Bible, honey?'' asks his wife.
''Oh sure,'' he replies. '' 'And the Lord sent the clowns to custard the King, and there was much rejoicing.' The Book of Bartholomaeus, Chapter 4 Verse 2.''
As Death lurches around the stage wiping custard-cream out of his eyes, Endive Lettuce turns to the crowd. ''Are there any little boys or girls out there who'd like to give Mister Death a custard pie right in his ugly fat kisser?'' A dozen hands go up. ''Are there any little boys called Yo-yo out there who'd like to give Death a pie in the face?'' One hand remains. Yo-yo springs from his seat
and up to the stage. He waves cheerily and beams at the audience but Endive does a double-take. ''Or any little girls?''
''It's me, you twat,'' hisses Yo-yo. ''I'm in disguise.''
''It's very good,'' says Endive admiringly. ''You certainly had me fooled. Where did you get the haircut? And the frock? That's a nice bra. Plenty of room for you to grow into it.''
''Aye,'' says Chicory, ''You'll have a nice pair if I'm not much mistaken.''
''Like little balls of knitting wool, all soft and cuddly,'' says Rocket.
''Or grapefruit, if they're a little firmer and juicier,'' says Kos.
''Shut your faces,'' Yo-yo raps , adjusting the socks in his bra.
''Nice lippy,'' says Kos. ''Passionate Plum? Or Jailbait Jaune?''
''You look like Judy Garland,'' Endive observes. ''Are you a Friend of Dorothy?''
''How dare you!'' says Yo-yo. ''Aunty Em'll string you up by your Munchkins.''
''You should have gone for the Coral Kiss,'' says Kos, ''With your colouring. Your skin's a little dark. You're not a gypsy, are you?''
''Bugger off,'' says Yo-yo.
''Or Irish?'' says Chicory. ''Orange, white and green, ha ha.''
Death pulls himself together and roars out his rage. ''YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU DO! I AM DEATH, THE BRINGER OF WOE!''
''I thought you were going to say 'I am Death, the bringer of Death','' says Rocket.
Everyone laughs. Except Death. Death seizes Yo-yo and rams his sickle-blade against 'her' throat.
''I SHALL TAKE HER!'' The audience boos. ''THIS GIRL SHALL BE MINE!''
''Get your hands off her, you filthy pervert!'' shouts the American.
''Leave her alone!'' cries someone else. ''She's only a little girl.''
''Pick on someone your own size, you great bully!''
''Shame on you!''
Boo. Boo! Boo!!
The American takes off his camera. ''Here. Hold this, honey.'' He steps on to the stage and raises his fists. ''You wanna fight? Y'all can fight with me.'' The crowd cheers. ''Put 'em up. Put 'em up.''
''I AM DEATH, YOU ANUS…''
''An' I'm a good ole boy from the Confederate Deep Sa-a-a-th,'' says the American. ''Now see here, buddy. I saw your kind back in 'Nam and you weren't so clever then. In Thicktwistle, Alabamy, we'd tar and feather you, Mister Death, and then whup your ugly be-hind owdda town, yes sirree.''
''This isn't in the script,'' Death moans to the producer. ''I'm supposed to kill Herod and sing a song, not be accosted by pie-flinging clowns, a gung-ho Yankee Doodle and a pre-pubescent cross-dresser.''
''You're just a great, big bully,'' says the American, ''And ah'm a-gunna kick your fat ass for molestin' that sweet little lady and then, for good measure, ah'm a-gunna invade a small and harmless A-rab state that I don't like because I can.''
''Ah, go take a hike, Uncle Sam,'' says Death. He claps a skeletal hand over Yo-yo's mouth. ''One scream out of you, little girl, and I'll kill you. Clear?'' He drags Yo-yo backwards to the wings. Enraged, the crowd storms the stage.
Bottles break,
chip butties fly,
apples are hurled,
curtains come down,
planks are ripped up,
punches are thrown.
''One peep and I'll slit your throat LIKE An Envelope.'' Death pulls Yo-yo away from the chaos as Herod and Uncle Sam wrestle in the debris. 'Resistance is futile.'' He tucks the 'girl' under his arm and dashes down The medieval Shambles, formerly the Street of Butchers. They are not exactly hand-in-hand, more like arm-round-neck, but running they are. Death is strong, his grip is strong, and he uses his sickle to clear a path through screaming shoppers and shuffling sight-seers to Margaret Clitherow's shrine. Dragging Yo-yo inside, he flings him to the floor at the foot of the altar.
''Welcome to my domain,'' he growls. ''This is where the Woman was punished.''
''Margaret Clitherow,'' Yo-yo gasps, ''Was crushed to death by large boulders placed on her chest because her neighbours accused her of witchcraft.''
''And you,'' snarls Death, ''You TOO are a witch, and you too shall be crushed.'' He smacks Yo-yo in the head with the butt of his swinging sickle. Everything goes