Doctor Who_ The Romans - Donald Cotton [6]
‘He was. You’ve been sitting on it for the last twenty minutes,’ she informed me; somewhat pertly, I fancied.
‘In that case, why didn’t you say so at once?’ I demanded, rising to inspect the instrument, which I had hitherto taken to be one of those superannuated bedsteads so commonly discarded in places designated as being of special scenic interest. ‘I might have damaged it.’
‘It sounds as if you have,’ she said, plucking a tentative Astring, which emitted a feline whine.
‘Give it to me!’ I told her; somewhat impatiently perhaps, for it seems to me that her remarks sometimes teeter on the edge of criticism. The instrument only needs to be tuned..
‘Go on, then,’ she said; ‘I suppose you’ll tell me you’re a professional lyre-tuner next?’
‘I am naturally acquainted with the basic principles of harmonics,’ I informed her, stiffly, ‘as indeed with all scientific matters...’
And I was proceeding to investigate the dynamics of the apparatus, when my attention was drawn to a Roman centurion who had approached us unobserved; and who was now slashing savagely about the bushes with a sword of sorts, an expression of vexed perplexity on his forbidding features.
‘Have a care there, my good fellow!’ I advised him, not wishing him to discover the deceased and assume us responsible for its current condition. ‘You are damaging your valuable botanical heritage...’
‘Damaging my what?’ he enquired suspiciously.
‘Viper’s bugloss,’ I informed him. ‘These plants are not common in the Mediterranean eco-system...’ A remark which gave him the pause I had anticipated, and of which I took advantage to ask if he’d lost something.
‘Well, I thought I had,’ he replied, approaching us with the measured tread which had already carried the Pax Romana so far afield; ‘but I seem to have found it, after all...’
He looked at the lyre in my hands, with what I can only describe as angry incredulity. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but am I, by any chance, addressing Maximus Petullian, the celebrated Corinthian ballad-monger, whose melodies have set a nation’s feet a-tapping?’
Rather to Vicki’s astonishment, I fancy, I decided to adopt the pseudonym so conveniently proffered. The question of my identity has often been a difficult one to resolve during my travels.
‘Precisely!’ I told him. ‘I am flattered to find that my reputation has arrived ahead of me...’
‘Oh, indeed,’ he confirmed; ‘and our meeting is therefore a most happy coincidence. Our Emperor was most concerned to learn that you had decided to walk to Rome, giving impromptu folk-recitals on the road; and he has sent me to give you safe conduct to the court. He is greatly looking forward to discussing with you the state of modern music, and would not wish to be disappointed in this by the circumstances of your death and mutilation by anti-social elements. You haven’t, I suppose,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘already been attacked by any of the latter?
Such as legionary, second class, Ascaris, for instance? I only mention the name because he is a refractory fellow with strongly critical ideas on the art of fugue, which have disrupted many a regimental sing-song. Also he is known to be in the district. He once eviscerated a harpist,’ he amplified, ‘so I thought I’d better ask...’
I pointed out that my own viscera were still manifestly in situ; and with many a jocular expression of relief at this happy state of affairs, we continued in company on the road to Rome.
But, for some reason, I do not altogether trust the man, and I shall watch him closely...
DOCUMENT V
Second Extract from the Journal of Ian Chesterton
Should I ever be so unfortunate as to encounter the Doctor again, I shall try to redeem the occasion by telling him just what I think of his complacent incompetence, and its relevance to the apparently hopeless situation in which I now find myself.
Brilliant scientist as debatably he may be – at least in his own frequently expressed opinion – he appears to