Doctor Who_ Curse of Peladon - Brian Hayles [43]
Peladon paused. If he was to be struck down for sacrilege, now was the moment. Nothing happened. He took breath, and went on, ‘But if the alien lives—even at the cost of my Champion’s life—then shall the name of Aggedor be honoured and respected once more in the land of Peladon as a bringer of peace and good fortune.’ The young king bowed and saluted in the traditional manner, then, straightening, ended his edict: ‘So be it.’ And as he spoke, he saw the figure of Hepesh step forward from the shadows into the torchlight. The old man’s face seemed carved from stone, yet his eyes blazed.
‘I am the voice of Aggedor,’ came Hepesh’s chilly tones. ‘I am his eyes, his ears, his messenger! No one but I—’
Peladon cut in, harshly. ‘Are you above the king? I am the king. You heard my words. They were addressed to my servant, Aggedor. You in turn are his servant, and my subject! Do not argue with your king!’
It was as though Peladon had struck the old man in the face.
Hepesh seemed to flinch, then, drawing in his anger, he composed his face, and bowed before speaking. ‘All is ready at the Pit of Combat, majesty. We only await only your presence.’
Reluctantly, Alpha Centauri and Arcturus had agreed to attend the deadly contest—but not without protest.
‘Our presence is not required,’ insisted Arcturus. ‘We must make ourselves ready to escape, if necessary!’
‘I cannot face such a barbaric ceremony,’ shrilled Alpha Centauri. ‘I shall faint—I know it!’
Izlyr would make no allowances. ‘It is essential that the Commission be present,’ he hissed, ‘if we are to make an adequate and objective report to the Galactic Council.’ This was something that the other delegates couldn’t very well argue with, and, silently, they took their places. Jo deliberately placed herself near Izlyr and Ssorg. Whatever the Doctor thought of them, Jo thought they were the only people to be trusted. The only people now missing were the king and Hepesh. The king’s chair was set within an enclosed cubicle at a prime viewing point along the gallery that encircled the upper rim of the Pit of Combat. He would sit down alone. All other observers were free to move about the gallery, and watch from whatever vantage point they chose.
‘He may yet survive,’ whispered Izlyr to Jo.
Her face was drawn, and she shook her head wanly. ‘You haven’t seen Grun in his armour, Izlyr. I have. He’s—’ she paused, trying not to sound utterly defeatist, ‘he’s going to be very hard to beat.’ Her voice trailed away. Into the royal box stepped Peladon. The combat would soon begin.
Everyone was nervously awaiting the arrival of Grun and the Doctor. Jo looked down into the Pit. She had half expected an arena rather like a Roman amphitheatre; flat, sandy, with steep walls and a cage-like entrance. The Pit was very different. The entrance was covered by a heavily spiked portcullis. The floor was of highly polished granite so smooth that it reflected like a lake of still water. There were only three small areas in which direct combat could easily take place. All the rest of the ground space was filled with steps, mounds, steep slopes and a jumbled medley of pillars and short columns of stone. On the walls, on the pillars, and scattered here and there about the Pit, were a variety of weapons: a four-edged axe, a sword with a broad blade that became a vicious prong, a lance with a barbed, three-forked head, and a triple ball and chain, hideously spiked. She shuddered, and was about to turn away when the portcullis slowly opened—and into that strange arena, stepped Grun and the Doctor.
The formalities were simple. The two combatants were to march to the centre of the arena,