Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [16]
‘Away with you, you cowards!’ cried Jamie.
The Doctor helped the old man to his feet and made a valiant effort to dust him down. But the copious stains that covered his clothes seemed to date from some considerable time before the fight.
‘Are you all right?’ said the Doctor.
The man looked at his rescuers and nodded his filthy head.
‘I am. Thanks to you.’
The Doctor sniffed and wrinkled his nose as a wave of the old man’s none-too-pleasant aroma washed over him. Fixing a cheery smile on to his face, the Doctor did his best to ignore the smell.
‘What... what was all that about?’
The man pulled up his wretched stockings and scowled in the direction of the retreating ruffians.
‘Royalist scum!’ he spat. ‘They set about me like a pack of wolves. You see...’ He gave a conspiratorial wink and beckoned the Doctor and Jamie closer, something that neither was very keen to do.
‘You see,’ he continued, ‘I caught them singing songs in praise of the King and I told them what I thought of them.’
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor. ‘And then they told you what they thought of you, I imagine?’
‘Aye, sir, they did. With their ruddy Royalist fists, they did.’ He shrugged his shoulders, straightened up and held out a calloused and mud-caked hand. ‘But thank you both again, sirs, for your help. I am Nathaniel Scrope.’
The Doctor cleared his throat and gingerly shook Scrope’s hand. Jamie did the same but turned away, fighting the instinct to gag.
‘I’m the Doctor,’ announced the Doctor. ‘This is Jamie.’
Jamie flashed his eyes at the Doctor in dumb appeal. ‘Och, Doctor,’ he hissed under his breath. ‘He reeks!’
The Doctor elbowed him in the ribs and turned to Scrope, smiling sweetly. ‘Tell me, Mr Scrope, what precisely did you object to about those men?’
Scrope sniffed. ‘What I say. Isn’t it obvious? They would have the King released and pardoned! As though the last seven years of slaughter had been but a dream!’
The Doctor nodded slowly. ‘I see.’
Jamie looked at the Doctor and frowned, aware that he was missing something. Holding a hand across his nose in what he hoped was a subtle gesture, he turned to their smelly new friend. ‘Aye, well, I reckon you could do with a little something to calm your nerves, eh, Mr Scrope?’
Scrope grinned. ‘I wouldn’t say no, my young friend, but it will be my pleasure to treat you to a plate of oysters and some ale a little later on. Just now, you see, I have important matters of state to attend to.’
Jamie looked puzzled. ‘Eh?’
The Doctor smiled. ‘Well, well, we shan’t keep you.’
Scrope turned to go. ‘Will you meet me here at seven, gentlemen? I know a local hostelry which will make us very welcome. Now I must away! Good day to you both and thanks once again.’
He shuffled away, in a cloud of stale vapour.
Jamie let out a long breath. ‘Och,’ he spluttered, ‘where’s the fellow been keeping himself? He stinks like a cow’s carcass.’
The Doctor chuckled. ‘He’s certainly pungent. But very entertaining.’ He laughed to himself again and then came to a decision. ‘You know what, Jamie? I think we’ll meet up with Ben and Polly and then take up Mr Scrope on his kind offer.’
‘Aye, I would nae say no to a little food and ale.’
The Doctor scratched his mop of black hair. ‘He helped us get our dates right, too, did you notice?’
Jamie nodded. ‘Aye.’ Then he looked down at his feet and frowned. ‘Well...’
The Doctor opened his cloak and retrieved Every Boy’s Book of the English Civil Wars from the pocket of his frock coat.
He scanned its pages quickly and then carried on blithely.
‘Yes. Here we are. Now our friend said they’d been fighting for seven years. That means the Civil Wars must be over and they’re about to put the King on trial. It must be some time in... 1648. December I should say.’
‘But they’ll no have sprigs of holly out, eh, Doctor?’ said Jamie brightly. ‘I remember