Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [3]
The rebuke in the Doctor’s voice only served to agitate Dmitri further. ‘My subjects?’ His voice was bitter now, and he seemed about to launch into some tirade, some honest expression of the appalling position he found himself in, when he noticed the soldiers positioned about the debating chamber. I could read his face in an instant: it was unwise to talk about such things in front of the common folk. Status, and apparent status, were everything in this society.
Instead, Governor Dmitri lapsed into introspective silence. I glanced at Dodo, sitting opposite me, and smiled, but we both knew that the conversation was not going well. We were at the mercy of the governor but, though unstintingly polite, the Doctor seemed unprepared to meet the man half-way.
I turned my mind back to our arrival the previous day.
Dodo, feeling a little unwell, had said she needed some ‘fresh air’. The Doctor, rigorous pragmatist that he is, complained that the TARDIS’s air supply was constantly recycled, purified, modified... But, with a twinkle in his eye, he had agreed to Dodo’s request. ‘It’s not the aft, my dear,’ he said, ‘it is the walls which enclose it that become wearisome.’
The TARDIS had come to rest in the corner of a room just as a family were about to have supper.
As unannounced entrances go, it was one of our best.
We emerged to find ourselves almost alone in the room, as all had fled in superstitious terror. All bar one. I later learned that his name was Isaac, and that he was the head of the household.
For the moment, though, he stood meekly before us, clearly afraid, but very much intrigued.
Not knowing when or where we had landed, the first thing I observed was the man’s clothing. He wore a black fur-trimmed coat over some sort of embroidered tunic. Dark, narrow trousers led down to large boots of leather. Everything about him was understated, though I guessed that his tunic was of high quality for the time. Given this, the yellow patch of fabric on the man’s coat drew the eye, a bright badge against a backcloth of cool sobriety.
I sensed that the Doctor was also drawn to this single identifying mark. He glanced swiftly around the room – no doubt taking in the design of the stone walls, the oak table at which the family had been sitting, the food on the table, the candles that provided illumination – and nodded to himself as if precisely confirming our whereabouts in time and space. The TARDIS’s instruments were all very well, but the Doctor was a scientist, an inquirer, who would take nothing at face value, and believe nothing until it had been categorically proved.
The Doctor looked back at the man, and smiled. ‘ Shalom aleichem,’ he said, inclining his head in a mark of respect.
The man was clearly amazed, barely knowing how to respond to this courtesy. Eventually, he fell to his knees, averting his eyes.
The Doctor chuckled. ‘Get up, get up,’ he said. ‘I am a man, such as yourself.’
(I grinned to myself at this. If only it were that simple. .)
‘Forgive me,’ stuttered the man. ‘We were saying our prayers before our meal. I have read of the angel of the Lord appearing to Abraham. I merely thought...’
‘Of course you did,’ said the Doctor lightly. He indicated the TARDIS. ‘Our means of travel might be unusual, but I assure you that we mean you no harm.’
Moments later, Isaac introduced himself, then begged us to stay and join in with the family meal. He insisted – it was his obligation to all weary travellers. The moment we gave him our word that we would be delighted to stay, he scurried off to reassure his servants and family. We found ourselves alone for some minutes – clearly convincing his family to return was no easy task.
I remember the Doctor sitting on one of the benches that surrounded the low table and surveying the food with great