Doctor Who_ Byzantium! - Keith Topping [31]
Still Barbara stammered, trying to make herself understood to him.
'She is a simpleton, perhaps?' asked one of Hieronymous's group.
‘No, she is a spy,' shouted the old woman, leaping up and down with spittle drooling from her lips. Her red-scabbed and misshapen mouth formed itself into an obscene parody of a smile. 'It is plain to see. She is no Jew.'
Hieronymous turned and scowled at the woman. ‘There shall be no more sacrilege within my sight, Loruhamah. Be at peace and let this poor woman speak.'
‘But...’
'Silence, thou aged and haggard and bent old crone,'
Hieronymous shouted. 'There shall be no more talk of spies and deceit.' He turned to Barbara. 'From whence come thee, woman?'
'Britannia,' said Barbara, happy that she had finally recovered some powers of speech.
Ànd by what name did thy mother bear thee?'
`Barbara,' she replied quickly. `Barbara Wright.'
Hieronymous nodded, wisely, and then returned his attention to the rest of the people within the temple. ‘Know this,' he said in a deep and authoritative voice. ‘Be it understood that from this hour forward, Barbara Wright of Britannia is a guest of the Temple of Jared bar Abraham, of the house of David and Solomon, in the city of Byzantium.
And of its leader and law-giver, Hieronymous bar Jehoiachin, let his name be revered. That Barbara Wright, of Britannia, is under our sacred and divine protection and that any man, or woman, who harms her shall answer unto the laws of God and man.'
Trying not to look as smug or relieved as she felt, Barbara mouthed a quick 'Thank you' to Hieronymous and then looked defiantly at the hostile, grimacing faces of the people surrounding her.
If you're going to get any ally in a place like Byzantium, she thought to herself, might as well go to the top man himself.
Chapter Eleven
The Culture Bunker, Part Three —
Going Underground
And he answered, saying, My
name is Legion: for we are many.
Mark 5:9
A dim half-circle of clear white light in the distance beckoned lovingly to the Doctor.
He felt brain-numbed and sluggish as he tried to move towards it. Inert, like wading through a lake of thick, sticky treacle.
His movements were slow and painful.
And then, as suddenly as if a rope and anchor had been cut from his feet, he threw himself into the light and rose from the cloth matting that he was lying on.
Sitting upright, he looked around, trying to focus on any movement within the near-darkness that surrounded him A candle flame flickered, briefly, somewhere to his right and the Doctor followed the source, aware, for the first time, of the tight bandage wrapped around his head. A dull and nagging ache throbbed in his temple. Quite without warning, his vision began to swim and wobble before him, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. The Doctor slumped back onto his temporary bedding and moaned out loud.
That got their attention. Who ever they were.
Strong yet gentle hands held him and laid him back on the matting. 'Be still, old one,' said a spectral female voice. `You are safe. Rest, and you shall recover, fully.'
`My head...’ the Doctor managed to say. His throat was dry and hoarse. He could feel a damp cloth being pressed onto his lips and, after a moment of spitting and spluttering, he sucked, greedily, on the liquid. It tasted peculiar.
Gradually, the Doctor recovered his wits and found himself in a cave outside of the city walls. Besides the gentle woman, tending to his wounds, there were also a man and two younger women present. The man was standing at the mouth of the cave, naturally formed from the wind-ravaged rock, looking down on the city below, which was beautifully silhouetted against the skyline. It was an outstanding view and, for a moment, all the Doctor could do was to take it in and be grateful that he had lived to see it. Then a pertinent question cut through the fog in his mind.
`How did we get to this place?'
The man and the woman looked at each other. This was clearly esoteric knowledge. Eventually, the man shrugged his shoulders and came across and knelt by