A Proper Circus Wedding by Clair Wright

It was inevitable that Leda and Troy would fall in love. How could they not? What could be more romantic than risking certain death together on the high wire, falling together, plunging through the air into the net below? The tension, the elation, the adoration and gasps from the crowd as they performed high in the circus tent, were intoxicating. Though watched by hundreds of eager eyes, yet they were alone, isolated on the high wire.

A proper circus wedding. There was some discussion as to whether the Circus Master should give the bride away, or perform the role of best man. But as Mr Byzantine was a rather portly gentleman, not known for his lightness of step, it was felt that to attempt to stand on the high wire might be a step too far. It was agreed that he could give Leda away, handing her onto the wire from the safety of his turret, high above the congregation. He would be symbolically setting her on her journey to join her groom.

The trapeze artists wanted a role too. They couldn’t bear to be earth-bound when all the action was high in the air. They were accustomed to soaring above the audience, even above the tight rope, to swinging past Leda and Troy as they waited for their drum roll cue.  So it was agreed that the trapeze troupe could be attendants, swinging above the congregation and scattering rose petals.

Leda insisted that the clowns stay on the ground. She didn’t want her beautiful moment being ruined by their silly antics. Leda was impatient, and a little wary, of the clowns. Sometimes, behind their painted smiles, she sensed jealousy, even hatred in their eyes. Perhaps they resented the skill, the grace of the high wire artists. After all, thought Leda, who would ever fall in love with a clown?

So, the clowns were to sit in the congregation, awkward in their big shoes and giant bow-ties, to sing the hymns and make up the numbers.

Troy wanted them to wear their circus costumes. He only felt right when he was decked out in his harlequin colours, with his taut muscles rippling under the fabric. He thought Leda was at her most beautiful in her high wire costume, lithe and strong, like a cat.

But Leda had other ideas. She was an old-fashioned girl underneath the glitter.  She wanted the wedding she had dreamed of when she was a little girl in the back of her parents’ circus wagon, looking at pictures of Cinderella and happy ever after.  She wouldn’t feel like a bride, she thought, without the billowing skirt, the white lace, the filmy veil. Troy looked awkward in his suit, but Leda insisted.

The vicar didn’t have much of a head for heights. After Mr Byzantium slipped him an extra £50 ‘for the bell fund,’ he agreed to conduct the ceremony from the top of a ladder. 

        ‘At least the sermon will be short,’ smirked the clowns, who were looking forward to the ‘do’ at the Dog and Duck afterwards.

And so they were ready. Leda and Mr Byzantium climbed the spiral staircase to the window in the tower. Leda held her skirt away from the dusty stairs, and climbed daintily in her white ballet slippers. Mr Byzantium took her hand, a tear in his eye, and held it as she stepped lightly onto the wire.  Across the courtyard, Leda could see Troy setting out from his tower.

Their eyes met as they walked in unison towards each other. Like reflections they stepped one, two, along the wire.  The clowns sniggered as they looked up and caught a glimpse of thigh through Leda’s petticoats.

The vicar chose his moment and began to climb the ladder. His sticky palms slipped on the rungs as he held his breath and counted the steps, his prayer book knocking against his ribs in time with his hammering heart.

‘Dearly Beloved...’ he began, and the congregation strained to hear his quavering words, high above their heads.

‘Do you, Troy, take Leda...’

The vows were repeated. The bride and groom were motionless, perfectly balanced on their wire.

The vicar began to feel a little better. The ceremony was reaching its climax, then he would be able to get off this awful ladder.

‘The rings?’ he whispered, and the groom reached for his breast pocket. He dropped them onto the vicar’s open prayer book.

The vicar leaned forward, a little too far, and began to wobble. He panicked, grabbed the ladder, and the prayer book tipped. The rings slid, spun for a moment glinting in the sun, then fell.

Leda saw, Troy saw. They gasped; they swayed; they fell. They tumbled and turned, they twisted and spun – the congregation froze, mid-breath.

Gold streaked from right and left; caught the falling pair and swept them up in mirroring arcs as the trapezes swung away.  The crowd gasped, then broke into rapturous applause. It ran on and on as Leda and Guy swung back and forth above them.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife!’ the vicar blurted, as he scrambled down the ladder. He mopped his sweating forehead and collapsed into a chair.

The trapezes were lowered to the ground; the bride and groom took their bows. Mr Byzantium held out the rings, and wiped away a tear.

Toe to toe, the clowns formed a guard of honour as the happy couple danced in up the aisle. Leda paused, ran back, and planted a kiss on each red nose.

The congregation, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, all agreed it was a proper circus wedding.