Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers Part 2

A vast empire! Yes, an extraordinary achievement!'

He looked round as the soldier who had been watching over them left the room, to be replaced by another.

'But I have said quite enough,' he said in a quiet voice. 'This is all in the future. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, isn't that right, my dear?'

'If you say so,' said Dodo. 'But I still don't understand why they're so frightened of these Mongols.'

'Oh, my child,' said the Doctor sadly, 'I pray you never have to find out for yourself.' He paused, thinking, then led Dodo to the window. 'Come. . come. Look down, and tell me what you see.' The governor's residence was an imposing building of dark stone, punctured with windows and topped with towers and unadorned battlements. It sat on Starokievska Hill, surrounded by the palaces of Kiev's princes, and afforded a fine view of the city's commercial district and, beyond that, the great cathedral.

The library was high up in one of the towers, a series of interconnected and vast circular rooms built one on top of the other.

From the window Dodo saw people moving through the shadows cast by the great building. Some herded animals to market, others encouraged reticent oxen to pull carts of grain.

On a street corner a ragged man was trying to sell something, though he ran when a group of soldiers marched smartly down the street, scattering fowl and children before them like dust.

'I see. . I see everyday things.'

'Yes, my dear, that's right.' The Doctor's bony finger traced the roof-tops, the chimneys that poured smoke into the grey autumnal skies. 'Over four hundred churches, nine or ten markets, probably some sixty thousand inhabitants...'

'How does that compare to London?' Dodo wanted to know.

'No more than twenty-five thousand people live there, I should think,' said the Doctor. 'Kiev is a fine city, a n.o.ble and dominant place.'

He turned to the book shelves, searching for something. He found a great Bible, thicker than an arm, and heaved it from the shelf and on to the desk.

'Let me see, let me see,' he muttered to himself, flicking quickly through the thick parchment pages. Dodo noticed that their margins were filled with ill.u.s.trations and cryptic comments in Latin; the capital letter at the start of each chapter was enormous and ornate, filled with scarlet and gold, swirling shapes and precisely knotted geometric patterns.

At last the Doctor found what he was looking for. It was an enormous ill.u.s.tration towards the end of the book, and depicted a wounded lamb on a throne, with twelve leaders below and, in a great procession, myriad men and women bowing low. 'Here is the world as these people see it,' said the Doctor. 'It begins with the men and women of what we would term the Middle East and Europe, and extends to the far reaches of the known world.

So we see Hebrews, Arabs, Armenians, Byzantines, Romans, Scythians...' He traced a finger along the procession, and Dodo noticed with a start that the people had started to alternate with beasts and monsters. She saw great giants with single eyes in their foreheads; slender girlish figures with extra fingers; men covered from head to foot with hair; grotesques who moved on one single leg, and others with faces in their stomachs. The further along the line her eyes moved, the more bizarre the creatures became, gradually losing their humanity to a dizzying array of seemingly random animal parts.

'Fauns, centaurs, naiads and dryads, monsters of all kinds,'

said the Doctor. 'These people are frightened of the unknown, and who can blame them? And the Mongols are a great storm rising from lands they do not comprehend.'

'You mean there's been no contact with Asia?'

'Not quite, my child, not quite,' said the Doctor. 'The Romans returned from their eastern expeditions with silk, though they imagined it was combed from the leaves of particular plants. Alexander marched into India, and described a land of peculiar men and monsters. As you see...' The Doctor indicated the great procession again. 'Merchants persist in telling these tales to this day. They speak of cynocephali, or dog-headed men, and antipodes, who are people whose feet face backwards.

Of course, if you follow their footsteps, you will never find them!' He chuckled, then pointed to one of the figures with a single leg. 'Monopodes well, the name says it all! Griffins, unicorns, vampires, satyrs, Amazons... The list is endless.'

The Doctor closed the book suddenly and, with Dodo's help, returned it to the shelf. 'The Mongols are absolutely unstoppable,' he announced firmly. 'It is little wonder that contemporary accounts talk of flesh-eating beasts and a coming Armageddon. Their fear only makes the Mongols yet more powerful.'

He laid a gentle hand on Dodo's shoulder, and looked at her sadly. 'There are many beasts and monsters in the universe, it is true,' he said. 'But the worst of them is man. No more, no less.'

Adviser Yevhen found the bishop kneeling before the great golden altar, head bowed. The meeting had been arranged the previous night, and Yevhen was not surprised to find the man in prayer. Bishop Vasil was not one to spurn an opportunity to appear pious.

Swallowing his irritation, Yevhen waited patiently for the bishop to rise to his feet. Vasil was not a tall man, but he had an aura about him, a certain haughty bearing that made the most of his wiry frame. A wrinkled face seemed to merge into the dark folded robes that bunched about his head and shoulders and which resembled a dark halo, the inverse of the many bright icons that littered the cathedral. Only his full grey beard brought any colour to the man's features and that was the colour of decay, of old things stiff with dust.

Vasil straightened slowly. Yevhen genuflected, brus.h.i.+ng his lips against the gilt ring that adorned the bishop's right hand.

'G.o.d bless you, my child,' said Vasil, his voice cracking like torn parchment. He angled his head to regard the empty pews that stretched towards the door. Yevhen had long suspected that the reason Vasil chose the cathedral for important meetings was because no one would dare to spy within the very house of G.o.d.

When Vasil was sure they were alone he lowered himself on to one of the pews, and motioned for Yevhen to sit at his side.

'You wished to speak with me?'

'Thank you, my lord.' Yevhen's voice rang out loudly, for he had nothing to hide. 'I am interested to hear if any progress has been made.'

'Progress?' Vasil feigned deliberate confusion, averting his eyes from Yevhen's implacable stare.

'In the response of the Church to this threat. You indicated when last we spoke that a certain... resolution was being sought.'

Vasil nodded. 'Matters are indeed moving forward.'

'But you have no conclusion for me?'

'The governor and his advisers will be the first to know, Yevhen. You must understand that the Church is being pressed on both sides. You are familiar with Prester John?'

Yevhen nodded. John was a legendary Christian ruler from the east, the descendant, perhaps, of the Magi who had visited Christ, who had wanted greater ties with Europe. In actual fact, no one was now sure he had even existed.

'The Church still believes that salvation, not apocalypse, may yet come from the east.'

Yevhen was incredulous. 'But... After the destruction the Tartars have caused. . How can you think that?'

'Are they not people, who need to come to Christ?' asked the bishop.

'They are monsters!'

'Augustine said that monsters are part of G.o.d's plan. I grant you it takes time to establish their role in things, but...'

'Time is what we do not have in Kiev,' snapped Yevhen.

'Kiev is but one of our concerns.'

Yevhen couldn't help but snort bitterly. 'That's what Prince Michael said, when he fled from the wrath of the Tartars like a frightened animal!'

Bishop Vasil turned sharply towards the younger man. 'Our civil leaders are appointed by G.o.d. We must not question their actions only pray for them, and support them. The fall of Chernigov and Pereislav in such quick succession means that difficult decisions have to be made.'

'Decisions that can be made far better in Hungary.'

'Each of us has to decide how best to deal with the coming storm.'

Yevhen nodded. 'Yes. Yes, that is what I mean. I cannot wait for ever. I have my own... ideas.'

'You have a great concern for the city, and that is as it should be,' stated Vasil lightly. 'But the Church cannot be rushed.'

Yevhen nodded. 'Then I have your support?'

'If you have the support of your conscience before G.o.d, you do not need mine,' said Vasil, with something approaching a smile. 'In any event, I do not know the precise nature of your plans.'

'And you are happy that you do not,' said Yevhen, with a hint of scorn in his voice.

'Perhaps.' Vasil's face remained locked in his oily smile.

'While you are here, perhaps you could tell me about the travellers the old man, the man who shares your name, the girl.

I am not allowed to see them, so you must be my ears and eyes.'

Yevhen nodded. 'Of course.'

'They have been here some little while. Are they still resolute?'

'The old man is. He refuses all overtures to open the box even when he and his companions are offered their freedom.'

'You think this box important?'

'I know only that the old man believes it so. For all his age, he is clearly their leader. The others look to him for guidance in all matters.'

'And the others... this "Steven", this girl. Are they equally strong-minded?'

'No, my lord. It is clear that they wish to leave at almost any cost.'

The bishop nodded. 'We may be able to use this to our advantage.'

'Indeed.'

'What think you of these travellers? From where do they hail?'

'They themselves do not say, but they are clearly unused to our customs, our way of life. I have heard from the governor's servants that they grumble at their sumptuous imprisonment.

Clearly they are used to the very finest of dwellings.'

'Poverty has its uses,' said Vasil. 'It reminds us all of our station.'

Yevhen glanced at the gold-encrusted altar, but said nothing.

'These heathen travellers,' continued Vasil, 'seem to have put their trust in the trappings of ephemeral wealth.'

'Some of the soldiers say they came from the very heavens,'

suggested Yevhen lightly.

'Do they seem like angels to you, adviser?' queried Vasil, with a hint of rebuke in his voice.

'They seem good and honest,' admitted Yevhen. 'Beyond that, I cannot say.'

Vasil grinned, and got to his feet. 'That is right, adviser Yevhen. You leave thoughts of good and evil to the Church.

Your concern is the governance of this city.'

The meeting was clearly at an end, but it had proved less satisfying than Yevhen had hoped. 'And the Tartars?' he called after the retreating figure of the bishop.

The word brought Vasil up short. He turned to look back at Yevhen. 'It is dark,' he commented cryptically. 'You must do what you have to do.'

Taras was waiting for Yevhen outside the cathedral. It was raining now, which did little to improve the adviser's mood.

'What did he say?' asked Taras.

Yevhen motioned for Taras to follow him into the shadows of the nearby houses, and out of the rain. 'He is a weak fool!'

exclaimed Yevhen. 'He tries to manipulate me, yet does not wish to hear my plans.'

'I said it was pointless to turn to the leaders of the Church in times of trouble,' muttered Taras.

'Indeed you did, my friend, and I should have listened.'

Yehven watched as two men trudged through the rain under rough woollen capes, and waited for them to pa.s.s. 'I had hoped that the prince might be able to exert political pressure... to call for help from neighbouring cities and lands. But what fine neighbours they proved to be!' He snorted. 'The Lord was right when he said, by way of parable, that those who should give you help very rarely do.'

'And now the Church seems just as powerless,' observed Taras.

'They mouth words of support, but provide not a single man to help with our defences.'

'Did you tell the bishop of the legend?'

'He already knows these things. If he wished us to call upon the dark angel of G.o.d, he would have done so by now.'

'Bishop Vasil does not strike me as a man who puts much faith in legends.'

'Perhaps so. Any plans he has for our salvation involve this world, not the next.'

'Then we do nothing?'

Yevhen shook his head vehemently. 'No. We have come this far, we should finish what we have begun. Even the bishop said as much.'

'You have his approval?' queried Taras.

'I have no need of his approval.' Yevhen produced a bunch of rusted, ancient keys from the pouch at his belt. 'I am an adviser to the governor of Kiev, de facto ruler of this city. I can do as I wish.'

'Then we will proceed?'

Yevhen nodded. 'I shall meet you here, with any men you can muster, at midnight.'

Taras grinned, encouraged at last. 'May G.o.d protect our endeavours!'

Yevhen said nothing, but watched him as he disappeared into the shadows.