'So you would allow a bunch of thugs to run my election campaign completely off the road,' Makepeace snapped. 'I'm sorry.' 'And what will you do if I refuse?'
'Mr Makepeace, I have given you a lawful direction to stop this march. If you don't, you would leave me with no choice but to arrest you. Neither of us wants that. Wouldn't do your election campaign much good either.' 'You'll allow me to be the judge of that.'
But others were also judging, pressing around more closely as they began to understand that the police presence surrounding Makepeace was not for his protection. The mood was turning edgy.
'I don't pretend to understand politics, Sir, but I have a job to do. So let's wind this march up peacefully.'
'No, I think we'll take the other route. Arrest me or get out of my way.' Makepeace began marching once more, trying to clear a path through the bodies in front of him. 'Please, Sir…'
Harding was reaching out after him; Makepeace brushed aside the restraining hand. Harding hurried to bring himself alongside.
'Sir, you do not have to say anything. But if you do not mention now something which you later use in your defence, the court may decide…'
The rest was drowned in a growl of opposition from various members of the Akropolis weightlifting team who had begun pushing forward through the crowd. Parents with children in arms were getting jostled, someone tumbled, cries of confusion sounded on all sides, the march had suddenly tugged on the edge of chaos. Is that what Harding intended? Makepeace arrested in the midst of violence without a neo-nazi in sight? Forcefully Maria thrust herself between Makepeace and the advancing muscle, shouting reprimands in seaman's Greek and waving them to subside.
Makepeace had a constable latched on to either arm but he did not struggle or resist. Instead he, too, was calling out for order. 'Relax. Get on with the march,' he shouted to those around. 'I'll be back with you as soon as I've got this nonsense sorted out.'
But Harding's placatory smile had disappeared. 'No, Mr Makepeace, I don't think we can allow that. Not at all.' The cutting had been blocked by a barricade of eight buses, ancient Bedford and modem Mercedes, parked sideways and four deep, fronted by a low rampart of boulders and pine trunks. There was no way through and, since the sides of the cutting rose steeply from the roadway, no way round. The buses were empty, doors ajar, curtains flapping at dust-streaked windows, yet the silence had an unmistakable menace which filled St Aubyn's throat with bile.
'Back!' he yelled, waving his hand in a circular motion above his head as the driver made an agile three-point turn and started off for the far end of the cutting. The four-tonners snorted and complained like beached whales as they struggled in the narrow confines to follow suit.
It had been less than three minutes since they had passed into the rocky valley, but when they returned to it the entrance was not as it had been. Seated in the road as though engaged in a summer's picnic were two hundred chattering schoolgirls, in uniform, none more than fifteen. A barrier as unbreachable as rock. The Land-Rover slid ungracefully to a halt in a cloud of dust.
Trapped. And he could see something else out of the comer of his eye. Shadows were falling across his path, cast down from on high. St Aubyn looked to the top of the cutting, towering above him some forty feet, where the silhouettes of men were shooting up like a field of thistles. Every one of them was armed.
Then he saw two further dark shapes appear against the hard blue sky. Men holding to their shoulders not weapons, but television cameras.
With a certainty that sickened him, St Aubyn suddenly knew he was going to be famous. Makepeace was, of course, already famous, and about to move up to the category which would label him notorious. As soon as he had been arrested he had moved to the side of the road, out of the path of the march and against the wall of a church. There, framed against the statue of Mother and Child which dominated the churchyard, he refused any further co-operation. At least for the next couple of minutes. He had spotted a television van parking a short distance away, its crew tumbling forth. He needed to make a little time for them; there was little to be gained from being arrested if the drama couldn't be played out on primetime television.
Maria was at his side, gesticulating to the marchers to continue, while Makepeace refused to budge, his arms folded and studiously ignoring the eye and the commands of the beleaguered Harding. But then all was ready, the mike boom was thrust forward, the red eye glaring on the front of the video camera.
Slowly, as though in prayer, he clenched his hands and held them well away from his body. Once more he was asked to co-operate, again he refused, shaking his head. He held the hands out still further, his eyes shut tight. They took his arm, he shook them off. He was going nowhere. Reluctantly the Chief Inspector gave the order and a pair of handcuffs were snapped around his wrists.
When his eyes flicked open, they shone with vivid intensity. Makepeace held his cuffed hands aloft, like a warrior triumphant in battle, shaking them for all to see. 'The chains of an Englishman!' he exclaimed.
Maria held out her hands, too. Then another, and yet another. All around there were marchers asking, almost demanding to be arrested. The confused constables looked to the Chief Inspector for instruction. Hell, he couldn't turn it into a massacre of the innocents. Makepeace would have to be enough. He tugged nervously at the cuffs of his sleeve and shook his head.
Then, and only then, did Makepeace allow himself to be led away.
And the marchers continued marching. Every time a policeman approached they held their hands out in front of them, priests, mothers with babes in arms, children, even some in wheelchairs. And each time the policeman turned away. Two issues confronted the editors of television news programmes that night.
The first was how on earth to get political balance into their programmes, to ensure that during the election period all sides got roughly equal coverage to avoid accusations of bias. In the end, most said to hell with the alternative of Clarence cuddling grannies on the seafront at Skegness. Delivered unto them had been the enviable combination of hard stories and gripping pictures, TV news at its best. They went with it. The second was more difficult, to decide which of the two contending items should get top billing. Some chose Makepeace, most featured Colonel St Aubyn. A 'Double Whammy!' as the Minor was to call it the following morning. Disruption, diversion and editorial delight.
Elizabeth glanced across at Urquhart, creases of concern about her eyes. He recognized the look.
'I don't know, Elizabeth, how this will end. We don't control it any more. Fools are afoot and our fate lies in the hands and upon the votes of the graceless mob.'
'St Aubyn. Makepeace. Are these stories of help or hindrance?'
'Who is to tell? All I am sure of is that these are contrary winds, and some boats will be quite swamped before the gale has blown itself out.'
TEN
The custody sergeant was deeply unimpressed. A pack of tissues, a depleted tube of blister ointment, a couple of pens – one biro and the other a sparkling Parker Duofold – a comb, watch, a paper clip, a mobile phone and three envelopes containing letters of support thrust at Makepeace during the morning's march were all that he could produce by way of personal effects from his pockets. No cash, no credit cards, no visible means of support.
'I could 'ave you done for vagrancy,' the Sergeant quipped.
'I was on a march, not an outing to John Lewis,' Makepeace responded drily.
'Well, at least I can't book you for shoplifting, I suppose.'
He finished completing the sheet of personal details, stumbling only over the occupation.
'Since Parliament is prorogued that means I'm technically no longer an MP,' Makepeace explained. 'Must make me unemployed.'
The Sergeant sniffed, sucked the top of his pen and wrote down 'Election Candidate'. Then he began reciting the words of the formal caution. 'You are charged with the offences shown below. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so…'