Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [48]
‘I fear for us all,’ said the Doctor.
‘I had hoped,’ continued Mykola, ‘that perhaps you had foreknowledge of the fate of our city.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is said by some that you know of the future, and of our fate at the hands of the Tartars. Perhaps Kiev will be safe after all, and that is why you are content to leave your friends there.’
There was an honest desperation in the man’s voice.
‘What can anyone know of the future?’ the Doctor asked with a dismissive chuckle as if the idea was, self-evidently, nonsensical.
‘Any man can see into the future, if God Himself wills it so.’
The Doctor saw the fear behind the man’s questions. Mykola only wanted his loved ones to be safe, and was thus likely to seize on even the slightest hint that they would be. The Doctor reflected that it would be a cold-hearted man who did otherwise.
He sighed. ‘I’ll be honest with you, young man,’ he said at length. ‘I have a vision of the future, and it is not pleasant.’ He paused, his eyes scanning the lush grasslands and forests that surrounded them. ‘But I would scarcely approach the Mongols if I did not think there was some chance that the city might be spared.’
‘Is that your only reason for coming?’
‘I do have other concerns,’ admitted the Doctor. ‘But all my concerns will be met if I am able to persuade the Mongol leaders to stay their hand.’
‘Are you confident?’
‘I am confident I can put a strong case,’ smiled the Doctor.
‘I cannot be confident that what I say will be received with open hearts and minds.’
Mykola nodded sagely. ‘We must all do what we think is for the best,’ he said in a quiet voice.
The Doctor was about to question him further when the captain sat bolt upright in his saddle, pointing into the middle distance. ‘Look!’ he exclaimed in a loud voice.
The men behind the Doctor murmured their interest. A light was glinting on the edge of the plain, the weak sun catching something metallic and shiny.
It was moving towards them.
‘What is it?’ queried the Doctor.
Mykola shaded his eyes, squinting further into the distance.
‘I cannot tell. Someone on horseback, coming at speed towards us.’
‘A Tartar?’ asked one of the soldiers, nervously gripping the sword at his side.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mykola. ‘I do not believe he has seen us – in any case, can one man defeat us all?’ As he said this, he turned to the soldiers who flanked him, clearly hoping to instil enthusiasm and bravado with words alone.
‘But they are devils. Their trickery is notorious,’ said a soldier, fidgeting nervously in his saddle.
‘If you think such things you should have stayed in the city, playing with the girls of the street!’ exclaimed Mykola. ‘We should capture this lone rider, and from him discover the location of the Tartar army.’
‘Your friend may have a point,’ said the Doctor. ‘It could be a trap. He could intentionally have alerted us to his presence.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Mykola. ‘He has made a mistake. We must use that mistake against our foe!’ He jerked on the reins of his horse, altering direction and speed. ‘You will all follow me. We do not wish to meet this Tartar head-on.’
The Doctor said nothing, for Mykola’s mind was clearly made up. He spurred his horse clumsily, gripping the leather reins tightly as his mount caught up with the others.
They proceeded swiftly through the long grass, heading towards a small clump of bent trees that would offer them a vantage point from which to sweep down towards the Mongol scout. All eyes were trained on the rider who was coming closer all the time, now forming a bright brown speck against the yellowing plain.
The Doctor stared at the approaching figure, nodding his head slowly. Yes, it was a Mongol soldier, his horse galloping at full speed across the grasslands.
Even from a distance, the Mongol and his mount were very different from the soldiers and horses who surrounded the Doctor. The horse was only three-quarters of the size of the great beasts that had carried the men from the city; a stocky little thing, it was scarcely bigger than a pony,