'I intend to make that woman that woman my wife,' Hieronymous said. my wife,' Hieronymous said.

'What?' Gabrielle asked, a fraction of a second before this was echoed by Barbara herself.

'She is a good and wise woman with numerous qualities that I greatly admire. She will make a good wife.'

Gabrielle's reply was predictably myopic. 'She is a spy,' she cried, as Barbara scurried down the stairs and stood at the bottom with her hands on her hips and a look of disgust on her face.

'Now just one blinking minute,' she said quickly. 'It is traditional even in your culture, I believe, to tell somebody that you have intentions towards them before announcing it to the whole world?'

'Barbara,' Hieronymous said with an embarra.s.sed gulp.

'You heard nothing but speculative words.'

'Indeed,' said Barbara, cutting off Gabrielle who was about to say something spiteful and vindictive. 'And that is all they shall remain. I have no wish to marry you, Hieronymous. I am grateful for your kindness and hospitality, and for protecting me from ignorance when it would have been easier for you to have thrown me to the wolves. But I have no desire for you. I am not your cuckold, and neither am I your slave.' She turned to Gabrielle, still angry and confused. 'And as for you, young lady, your father is a decent man and deserves better than the treatment that you have seen fit to shower him with.

For your information, I have no desire to remain in this house for a single second longer than is necessary for my own safety. I will not be used as an excuse for either of you to shatter the harmony of this home. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. A blessing be upon all of those who dwell within this house,' she concluded sarcastically.

Barbara turned her back on the silenced pair and walked slowly back to the staircase with an unseen yet rueful smile on her face. That's been and gone and torn it, she told herself.

At the stairs she stopped and turned back to the still-silent Hieronymous and Gabrielle. I am disgusted and annoyed with you both,' she said. 'I feel betrayed by you,' she continued, pointing to Hieronymous. 'And you, madam, belittle me with your suspicions. I am what I am. A woman of a strange land trying to keep her head while others all around are losing theirs. You both wrong me in different ways. I have said my last word on this matter.'

She hurried upstairs, listening intently for a break in the silence. At long last Gabrielle began to speak but Hieronymous stopped her with an almighty roar of anger and pain. 'Return you to your widow woman, for that is where I wish you to remain. If you see Phasaei or t.i.tus, inform them that I wish to see them.'

'Very well, Father,' Gabrielle replied, tearfully. 'Goodbye.'

For a long time afterwards, there was an eerie and tangible quiet about the house. Barbara was almost afraid to breathe. And she certainly didn't wish to face Hieronymous again for a while until his emotions had been calmed by the pa.s.sage of time.

Some time later, she heard t.i.tus and Phasaei's unmistakable voices at the door and, again, listened closely at the head of the stairs.

'Come in,' said Hieronymous with a mean-spirited and harsh voice that made the hair of Barbara's neck stand on end.

Here was a man who had suffered a brutal and humiliatingly public rejection. Oh dear, thought Barbara, perhaps I should have cushioned the blow a little.

I have decided that my policy towards the Christians has been both too pa.s.sive and weak. I have treated those base heretics with too much kindness. No more.' There was a terrifying pause, during which Barbara wanted to run downstairs, hug Hieronymous and tell him to forget what she said earlier and that true love could conquer all obstacles.

Truth is always the victor, Barbara told herself, and bit her tongue.

I wish to persecute the Christians to extinction,' Hieronymous told his gathered deputies.

Something human within the heart of Barbara Wright died.

Another day, another move of location. The cave that the Doctor and the Christians now occupied was set so deep into the hills that Byzantium was now a mere speck on the horizon, straddling a river the colour of the TARDIS.

Like a distant and shimmering mirage, almost as if it were trying to convince the Doctor that it had never really existed at all.

Everything the Doctor looked at, or thought about, reminded him of what he had lost. Of the life that was now over for him. He would live and regenerate and live and regenerate and live and regenerate and, maybe, in two thousand years he would be in the right place at the right time to find an escape route from this alluring, yet primitive, world.

With this thought making him feel a little bit more positive, the Doctor found himself a corner of the new cave, rolled down his straw-mat bedding and fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

Silhouetted in the entrance to the cave, one hand groping along the moist wals and into the dark interior, the visitor was suddenly a.s.saulted by the light of five torches springing at him through the blackness.

'My G.o.d,' he said. It was an exclamation of alarm, rather than worship.

Luke Panathaikos, the hated Greek tax collector, stood at the mouth of the cave, a hand clutching his fast-beating heart and a look of shock on his face.

If your intention was to have me defecate myself,' he said, sullenly, 'then you have almost succeeded.'

'What manner of ignorance is this, tax collector?' asked Daniel.

Luke gave the young man a contemptuous stare. 'If you had posted sentries in those locations where they would be of some use then my arrival would not have been so stealthy.'

James pushed Daniel away from the Greek and placed a welcoming arm around his shoulders. 'But it is good to see you, my friend. We did not know if you were still at liberty within Byzantium. You are our only ally now within those walls.'

Luke relaxed, sat cross-legged by the fire and warmed his hands. 'It would be wise for that to remain so for a while longer,' he told Daniel and James. 'For even now, as I speak, Zealot aggressors roam the streets to sate their thirst for vengeance.' He paused and looked around hopefully 'Any food, hereabouts?'

'We have little,' James replied. 'But what we have is yours.'

The tax collector nodded. Briefly, he looked at the sleeping figure of the Doctor. 'Another convert to the cause?'

he asked, somewhat cynically.

'None are disbarred from our ranks, Luke,' James said, sitting by the fire. 'Not even the likes of you.'

It was a perfect cover, of course. No one would suspect someone hated by his own community and trusted implicitly by the Romans of being a secret sympathiser with the Christians. But that was what made Luke Panathaikos such an important part of the Christians' organisation. He could go (and was welcomed) in all of the places that they could not. He could hear what was restricted to them. Like the night itself, he could slip unnoticed around the city, collecting s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation that might have some effect on the Christians.

'What news do you bring us today?' asked James, handing Luke a piece of cold chicken which the Greek ate hungrily.

'Many things,' he said, clearing his mouth and wiping the grease from his lips with the back of his hand. 'Basellas's thugs are on the rampage everywhere that the Romans are not. They loot and pillage each house where they believe a Christian might be, and leave them burning into the night when they have taken what they want. They defile their women and girls in ways that even the Romans would find base and depraved. Everyone is scared. The Arab quarter is off-limits to all but the Romans and the Bedouin have announced that they intend to leave the city soon. I also heard from a Mesopotamian in the market-place that others, too, are considering a tactical withdrawl.'

James shook his head, sadly. 'My beautiful city shall lie in ruins at the hands of these Jewish extremists.' He paused.

'Do the Pharisees have nothing to say on the matter?'

'Much,' replied Luke. 'But they are weak and powerless to come up with so much as a contingency plan. Phasaei wanders the streets muttering from the scriptures and becoming an object of ridicule to most while t.i.tus plots and schemes his way further and further up his own a.n.u.s. He is twisted, that one.

He thinks too much.'

and Hieronymous?' asked Daniel.

'Ah, the ways of love have made Hieronymous blind to the goings-on of Byzantium. He spends his days in his flower garden, skipping and humming to himself like a girl.'

This amused James greatly. 'I dread to think what manner of woman could bring the great Hieronymous to his knees,' he said, 'What else?'

'This and that,' replied Luke, aware that the old man in the corner was stirring in his sleep. But it lasted only a moment.

'Nothing of any great consequence,' continued the tax collector. 'The Romans have officially blamed the riot in the square on Zealotry. There are some ubiquitous rumours circulating about the way in which they intend to prosecute the crimes. There is a fair-skinned girl living with a family known to me in the Greek quarter who seems to have come from nowhere though I think she is a little young to be a spy.'

'You are always looking for spies, Luke,' Daniel interjected as the snoring from the Doctor intensified.

and I have survived thus far because of it.' Panathaikos replied. 'This apart, life is quiet and as slow as ever. Things will change but only in their own time.'

Chapter Twenty.

What Did Your Last Slave Die Of?

If thy hand offend thee, cut it off it is better for thee to enter into life maimed better for thee to enter into life maimed than having two hands to go into h.e.l.l, than having two hands to go into h.e.l.l, into the fire that never shall be quenched: into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not Where their worm dieth not Mark 9:43-44

The pale and wan light of dawn had barely broken through the clouds of an overcast sky as Vicki slipped silently from her bedding, padded her way, shoeless, across the cold stone floor and, with a melancholy glance over her shoulders, opened the door and fled.

Freedom tasted bitter, frankly. She felt nauseous and afraid.

Without the vaguest clue as to where she was going,Vicki put on her shoes and jogged out of the Greek quarter and down towards the sea walls. Perhaps, she had thought, she could stow away on a fishing boat and find a safe harbour somewhere. But the dawn brought with it heavy clouds and the threat of rain. The fishermen would not be venturing out to sea today.

For some reason, Vicki turned north, heading through the twisting and interlocking streets of the Arab quarter and making for the city walls. Soon, the towering sandstone building gave way to the water meadows of Byzantium's outskirts. It was here that, for the first time, Vicki paused and actually considered the ramifications of what she was doing. Leaving the Georgiadis family behind was the biggest gamble of her life. She was completely alone in a world where she did not belong. More scared now than at any stage since she had first arrived in Byzantium, Yield sat on a cold jagged rock and watched the sun rise across the river in the east.

With a deep sigh she looked down at her feet and wondered how much walking she could do before they were raw and blistered. How far could she get before somebody started to ask questions about who she was and where her family were? She would lie, that was the easy part.

But how long would it be before she met the wrong person? Her encounter with the Roman legionnaire the previous day had given her a horribly prophetic view of the rest of her life. Constantly running, using her wits to talk her way out of awkward situations. Constantly looking back over her shoulder until finally, one day, she ran out of places to hide.

It is a beautiful morning, yes?'

Vicki spun around, and slipped from her rock perch, landing in the mud on one knee.

Oh well, that's just the b.l.o.o.d.y limit,' she shouted angrily, looking down at her filth-splattered toga. 'As if I haven't got enough to worry about...'

She glanced up to find the somewhat bemused face of Papavasillion, the genial old man that she had met at the Georgiadis horse some nights earlier.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

I'm not going back,' she said flatly. You can tell them that the next time you see them Thank them very much for their hospitality. I'm grateful, I truly am. But I've had enough of trying to fit in like a square peg in a round hole. I don't belong here.'

I know that,' said Papavasil iou, sitting on the rock that Vicki had recently vacated. 'None of us truly belong anywhere.'

Vicki sighed loudly. 'Look, don't trade any of that philosophical babble with me, old man, I'm really not in the mood.' Then she saw the look of hurt on Papavasilliou's face and felt like a shoplifter. 'I'm sorry,' she said, feeling very upset. I didn't mean to take it out on you. But there's a lot going on in my life that you don't know about.'

'You mean that your new guardian regards you as a headstrong and naughty little girl. That she punishes you for things that you do not deserve. That no one hereabouts understands you or your needs. That you feel threatened, alone, betrayed. That you wish you could be with those who would treat you as an equal...?'

Vicki was impressed at this remarkable piece of insight.

'Something not wholly dissimilar to that,' she said, trying not to sound too blase. 'And about a million more things that I could mention, but we'd be here all day.'

Papavasilliou's aged and lined face cracked into a broad smile. I have no pressing engagements,' he said. 'That is the beauty of being old. I have nothing but time on my hands.' He patted one hand on his knee. 'Come, little one. Sit by me and tell me of your troubles.'

Ian Chesterton was beginning to enjoy the luxurious breakfasts within the Vil a Praefectus. Vil a Praefectus. Here, even the slaves ate like kings, as Ian found out by taking many of his meals with Drusus and his staff. Here, even the slaves ate like kings, as Ian found out by taking many of his meals with Drusus and his staff.

This morning, he had woken early and arrived in the mezzanine vestibule to find only a lone serving girl drinking a bowl of milk Ian smiled at her and the girl averted her eyes from him.

He had seen her around the villa on several occasions; sometimes with Felicia waiting upon the lady Jocelyn, sometimes undertaking the tasks that Drusus had given her with fellow male slaves. And sometimes, like now, on her own, her head bowed in silent contemplation.

It was a well-known fact (which Barbara Wright had spotted some time ago) that it was the quiet birds that always got Ian Chesterton's attention. She was peach, this slave girl, her dark brown eyes and dusky Mediterranean complexion reminding Ian of the kind of women you see on the cover of twentieth-century travel magazines advertising holidays in exotic locations the likes of which he could never afford.

'h.e.l.lo,' he said brightly. I'm Ian.'

'I know who you are and from whence you have come,' the girl said, her eyes still fixed to the floor. 'I have heard much about you.'

'None of it good, I hope,' Ian said with a cheeky grin.

'Oh no, sir,' the girl said, raising her head and looking horrified at the prospect. 'All 'All of it good.' of it good.'

Ian was as embarra.s.sed as she was, his joke having spectacularly backfired. 'And you are...?' he asked, trying to wrestle the initiative back from complete defeat.