She had visited the Temple Gate building in the dim and distant past (or future) and knew that it had been built (or would be built) by the Knights Templars.

Looming out of the darkness, the temple door was within reach. Barbara limped the last few painful paces and pushed at it. Mercifully, it creaked open.

Barbara found herself at the back of a huge and imposing tabernacle interior. At the far end of the ma.s.sive central chamber were several dozen people who had gathered around a s.p.a.ce lit by many candles. Hurriedly Barbara covered the lower part of her face with the shawl that had miraculously clung to her shoulders during the madness in the square.

Cautiously, she moved towards the group, happy to have found a refuge, but wary that her presence might be unwelcome here. As she grew closer, she recognised that the people were listening to a prayer to Jehovah, spoken in a rich and deep voice by the impressively bearded man standing amidst the candles. A rabbi or Pharisee, clearly. A man of power and influence. Unfortunately Barbara chose that exact moment, when the murmur of voices in front of her had all but died, to stand on a loose stone on the synagogue floor.

She winced as the slab grated loudly against its neighbour and every head in the building turned in her direction.

'Sorry,' she said, quietly, moving the shawl a fraction to allow her words to be heard and then pulling it back into place.

The holy man began to say something but his words struggled to reach Barbara as others within the group moved slowly towards her. There was an old woman at the front of the congregation, small and squat, with a sore-looking red growth on the side of her neck and several blackened stumps for teeth. Suspiciously, the woman approached Barbara, who found herself rooted to the spot and, as she attempted to say something to calm the atmosphere, the woman reached up an arthritic claw of a hand and pulled away the shawl from Barbara's face, revealing it to everyone present.

I know not this woman. She is a spy,' spat the old woman, her words tripping over themselves for release. 'A dirty, filthy, infidel Roman spy.'

The Jews behind her, already furious at the Roman soldiers' murder of their people, seemed ready to take any scapegoat presented to them at a time like this. Someone shouted, 'Stone her!' and there were other horrifying and unintelligible screams. Barbara tried to speak but found herself tongue-tied. Her legs had turned to jelly. She felt as though she would surely faint.

And then, from a distance, there came the booming voice of the holy man, silencing everyone within the temple.

'Cease this unsavoury clamour in the house of the Lord.'

Barbara closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and then opened them again in the hope that she had been magically transported back to Coal Hill. Or Cricklewood. Or Skaro, for that matter. Anywhere, in fact, but here.

Instead, what she found herself looking at was the holy man walking towards her as the crowd parted for him Like Moses and the Red Sea, Barbara thought, before deciding that this wasn't, perhaps, the most tactful of moments to be using biblical metaphors.

'What are you, woman?' asked the priest.

Barbara opened and closed her mouth rapidly but again nothing emerged. She stared into the holy man's marine-blue eyes and found a glint, a sparkle. He was amused.

'You have no need to be afraid, good daughter. For I am Hieronymous. by my mother's name. This is my tabernacle and there shall be no word or deed of violence spoken against or by any man nor woman within this house of Jehovah.'

Still Barbara stammered, trying to make herself understood to him.

'She is a simpleton, perhaps?' asked one of Hieronymous's group.

'No, she is a spy,' shouted the old woman, leaping up and down with spittle drooling from her lips. Her red-scabbed and misshapen mouth formed itself into an obscene parody of a smile. 'It is plain to see. She is no Jew.'

Hieronymous turned and scowled at the woman. 'There shall be no more sacrilege within my sight, Loruhamah. Be at peace and let this poor woman speak.'

'But...'

'Silence, thou aged and haggard and bent old crone,'

Hieronymous shouted. 'There shall be no more talk of spies and deceit.' He turned to Barbara. 'From whence come thee, woman?'

'Britannia,' said Barbara, happy that she had finally recovered some powers of speech.

and by what name did thy mother bear thee?'

'Barbara,' she replied quickly. 'Barbara Wright.'

Hieronymous nodded, wisely, and then returned his attention to the rest of the people within the temple. 'Know this,' he said in a deep and authoritative voice. 'Be it understood that from this hour forward, Barbara Wright of Britannia is a guest of the Temple of Jared bar Abraham, of the house of David and Solomon, in the city of Byzantium.

And of its leader and law-giver, Hieronymous bar Jehoiachin, let his name be revered. That Barbara Wright, of Britannia, is under our sacred and divine protection and that any man, or woman, who harms her shall answer unto the laws of G.o.d and man.'

Trying not to look as smug or relieved as she felt, Barbara mouthed a quick 'Thank you' to Hieronymous and then looked defiantly at the hostile, grimacing faces of the people surrounding her.

If you're going to get any ally in a place like Byzantium, she thought to herself, might as well go to the top man himself.

Chapter Eleven.

The Culture Bunker, Part Three - Going Underground

And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.

Mark 5:9

A dim half-circle of clear white light in the distance beckoned lovingly to the Doctor.

He felt brain-numbed and sluggish as he tried to move towards it. Inert, like wading through a lake of thick, sticky treacle.

His movements were slow and painful.

And then, as suddenly as if a rope and anchor had been cut from his feet, he threw himself into the light and rose from the cloth matting that he was lying on.

Sitting upright, he looked around, trying to focus on any movement within the near-darkness that surrounded him A candle flame flickered, briefly, somewhere to his right and the Doctor followed the source, aware, for the first time, of the tight bandage wrapped around his head. A dull and nagging ache throbbed in his temple. Quite without warning, his vision began to swim and wobble before him, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. The Doctor slumped back onto his temporary bedding and moaned out loud.

That got their attention. Who ever they they were. were.

Strong yet gentle hands held him and laid him back on the matting. 'Be still, old one,' said a spectral female voice. 'You are safe. Rest, and you shall recover, fully.'

'My head...' the Doctor managed to say. His throat was dry and hoa.r.s.e. He could feel a damp cloth being pressed onto his lips and, after a moment of spitting and spluttering, he sucked, greedily, on the liquid. It tasted peculiar.

Gradually, the Doctor recovered his wits and found himself in a cave outside of the city walls. Besides the gentle woman, tending to his wounds, there were also a man and two younger women present. The man was standing at the mouth of the cave, naturally formed from the wind-ravaged rock, looking down on the city below, which was beautifully silhouetted against the skyline. It was an outstanding view and, for a moment, all the Doctor could do was to take it in and be grateful that he had lived to see it. Then a pertinent question cut through the fog in his mind.

'How did we get to this place?'

The man and the woman looked at each other. This was clearly esoteric knowledge. Eventually, the man shrugged his shoulders and came across and knelt by the Doctor.

'Pa.s.sages,' he said. 'Hidden entrances and exits. For is it not written that "judgment also will I lay to the line and righteousness to the plummet; and the hail shall sweep away the refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow the hiding place"?'

'Was that the weather forecast, hmm?' the Doctor asked, still feeling sluggish and numb.

The man shook his head, sadly 'No,' he said. a prophecy that has become all too true in these dark days and times. I am Daniel,' he continued. 'My wife is Rachel, and her sisters are Miriam and Xanthe.

'You forget another,' came a voice from the darkness. And if introductions are to be so given then, surely, they should also be reciprocal, yes?' An older man stepped from the deep shadows. Dressed in rough haircloth and with a head of white hair that matched the Doctor's own, he moved over to the cave entrance and gave the munic.i.p.ality below them a cursory glance. 'My mother named me James, that I might tell the world this fact wheresoever I wander. And what of you, old stranger?'

The Doctor, still groggy from the blow to his head, muttered something incoherent and the older man came closer. 'Say again?' he queried.

'Doctor,' came the reply. It means, in the language of my people, a creator.'

James nodded, satisfied. 'Rachel,' he said quickly, 'this place shall not be safe for long. We must prepare to leave at once. Send thy good sisters on ahead to warn the others that we are coming and that we shall have with us a guest.'

Is that wise?' Daniel asked.

It is better if the two travel together. They are quick and nimble and will not be seen.'

Daniel nodded and turned to the girls. 'Go. And G.o.d's speed be with you.'

'We shall run like the wind,' said Xanthe, giving a circular signal with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.

'... And also with you, my cherished one,' Rachel said, returning the gesture, and kissing both of her sisters. Then the men did likewise.

'Hurry through the wilderness, sisters,' James continued.

'We shall follow presently.'

The Doctor propped himself up on one elbow and looked at James, Daniel and Rachel curiously. 'The sign of the fish?'

he asked. 'You are Christians, yes? Followers of the church of Jesus of Nazareth?'

'You know of our ways?' asked Daniel, clearly surprised.

'I am am aware of your work,' the Doctor noted. aware of your work,' the Doctor noted.

'From whence?'

The Doctor gave a dismissive gesture. 'Oh, here and there, my boy. I've been around, don't you know?'

Daniel turned to James with a gleeful look on his face.

'Hear you this? The Word has spread even to the outlands of the empire.'

James nodded and again turned to look out over the city as the sun set below the distant horizon. As the last rays of twilight rippled across the dark waters of the Black Sea, the old man's eyes were misty and full of emotion.

It has come to pa.s.s, as He always said it would. Just as Paul and Barnabas, Mark and Peter and Luke all said it would. Secrets can not be kept hidden forever.'

'It is not safe for us to be so near the city,' Daniel said, looking down at the glowing torches of the first of the Roman columns leaving the city to search for those breaking the curfew. 'We must go, or they will be upon us and we shall be undone.'

'Can you stand, good father?' asked Rachel. The Doctor nodded, and struggled to his feet.

'I didn't think I would be leaving Byzantium alone,' he noted.

'You are not alone,' James replied.

'No, that's not what I meant.' Fresh in the Doctor's memory was seeing young Chesterton bludgeoned to the ground and trampled underfoot, just before he, himself, was knocked into unconsciousness by a stray blow to the head.

Not only had the Doctor seen Ian struck down, but he believed that he had also seen Vicki being plucked from the crowd and carried away as he was falling to the ground and fighting for his very life.

The poor child had been abducted, to who knew what terrible fate?

And as for Barbara...?

'I arrived with friends,' the Doctor told his rescuers. 'Three of them. A man, a woman and a young girl. I must find out what became of them in that chaos.' Woefully, in his mind, he was already speculating on what could have happened to his companions. And he didn't like what he was imagining at all.

'We shall endeavour to find out when the sun is risen anew,' James told him 'For now, Byzantium is not safe for anyone, except the legions of Rome.'

Chapter Twelve.

The Culture Bunker, Part Four - Everybody's Been Burned Before

And when the centurion, which stood over against him, saw that he so cried out, and gave up the ghost, he said, and gave up the ghost, he said, Truly this man was the Son of G.o.d.

Mark 15:39