Doctor Who_ The Stone Rose - Jacqueline Rayner [3]
They were in a town or city, tenement blocks to either side of them. The sky was blue, but the colder sort of blue that said spring or early autumn.
The Doctor peered up at the skyline. ‘Aha! See that?’ He indicated an enormous pillar with the figure of a man on top, just visible above the roofs. ‘Trajan’s Column. Definitely Rome, then. Unless your estate’s gone majorly up in the world.’
‘It stinks like the estate,’ said Rose, wrinkling her nose. She took a step forward and grimaced as her sandals splashed into a deep puddle. ‘And look at these streets – they’re flooded! Is this Rome or Venice?’
The Doctor looked down at her feet and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, that explains the stink anyway.’
Rose frowned. ‘What do you –’ Then she realised. ‘Oh, ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. Hey, I thought the Romans invented sewers and drains and stuff?’
‘Pretty much,’ the Doctor told her. ‘But I don’t think we’ve landed in the nicest part of town…’
‘I’ll say we haven’t!’ exclaimed Rose, as a cry suddenly rang out from a nearby street.
Both of them immediately began running towards the sound.
Three young men were crowded round an elderly bearded man with grey hair. He lay on the ground, clearly winded, staring up in fear at the dagger that was being waved in his face.
‘Oi!’ yelled Rose. ‘Leave him alone!’
The men didn’t even turn to look at her.
‘Help!’ croaked the old man. ‘Please, help me!’
‘Just hand over your cash, grandad. You do what we say and everything’ll be fine,’ said the man with the dagger.
‘Er, excuse me, gentlemen,’ began the Doctor confidently, striding forwards.
This time they turned to look, and Rose took advantage of the distraction. There was a pile of large clay jars in the doorway next to her and one soon found itself hurtling towards the head of the dagger‐wielding mugger. The Doctor stepped in and relieved the dazed man of his weapon, as more jars connected with his two companions. Soon all three were racing off down the street, shards of pottery clinging to their hair and clothes.
‘Ha!’ Rose called after them, as the Doctor helped the old man to his feet. He seemed a bit shaken – well, that was hardly surprising.
‘Thank you so much,’ he said weakly. ‘Gnaeus Fabius Gracilis at your service.’
Further introductions were put on hold as a nearby door slammed open. An angry‐looking red‐faced man glared down at the depleted pile of pottery at his feet. ‘Here! What’ve you done to my amphorae?’
‘Er – it was them!’ Rose said mendaciously, pointing after the three muggers.
The man started after them, yelling ‘Oi! Oi! Oi!’ as the Doctor and Rose beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction, carrying Gracilis between them. ‘You all right?’ Rose asked him, as they reached a safe distance and came to a stop. ‘Did those blokes nick anything?’
The man shook his head – but the effort seemed to make him lose his balance.
The Doctor stepped in and caught him. ‘Whoops!
Steady there. I don’t think you are all right, are you? Are you hurt?’
‘No, no,’ said Gracilis. ‘Just the worry, you know… And I must confess I feel slightly dizzy.’
The Doctor frowned. ‘Really? Can you remember what day it is?’
‘Ah, I am not so weak as all that,’ said the man. ‘It is the Ides of March.’
Rose nearly choked. ‘You’re joking!’
Gracilis looked startled. ‘Am I, then, wrong? Am I suffering from fever of the brain?’
The Doctor frowned at Rose but gave Gracilis a great big reassuring smile. ‘No, no, quite right. I’m assuming you know what year it is as well, though?’
‘The year?’ said the man incredulously. ‘Of course I do. Really, sir, I appreciate your concern, and of course your brave intervention, but I assure you I am fine. There is no need for this.’
‘Absolutely! You’re fine,’ said the Doctor, slapping Gracilis on the back and grimacing at Rose. He mouthed ‘Worth a try’ and then ‘I’ll work it out later’ to her. ‘Well, clean bill of health on the memory front. Excellent. But tell me, when did you last have anything to eat?’
Gracilis looked thoughtful. ‘Do you