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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (7/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
Rory had met plenty of Roman emperors, but this was his first time meeting a monarch of a different country, at least in a formal setting. For the occasion he had donned his armour again, now fully dried. The only mar was the rip in the leather under armour, where the Crusader’s sword had cut him. There hadn’t been any time to mend it and he hid the damage the best he could by draping his cape over his shoulder.
It turned out that the Al-Aqsa Mosque was King Baldwin’s palace and they only had to walk down a corridor before they reached the section where the king held court. They were greeted by one of Baldwin’s attendants, who led them the rest of the way.
It surprised Rory how fast they were granted an audience with the king. He thought it would take a few days at least, not a few hours. It made him wonder what de Payens wrote in the note he had sent.
He felt like he was caught in a tornado that was spinning him around faster and faster. After ten years in one place he had gotten used to a monotonous, if somewhat soggy, lifestyle. A part of him wished he had followed de Payens’ earlier advice about taking a rest.
But it was too late to back down now. A large set of carved doors opened and they entered into the king’s chambers. It wasn’t an elaborate set-up but it had all the comforts a king could need. A comfortable throne to sit on, numerous attendants to cater to his every whim, and a marvellous view of Jerusalem to enjoy. Baldwin himself was neither impressive nor a disappointment. He was a well-built man, though probably shorter than Rory, and his brown eyes were so dark they were almost black. He sported a dark moustache, which would have been described as a handlebar in another era. His long robes were finely cut and made out of silk. Rory hadn’t expected him to be larger than life. He was a human being, not a historical figure, at least not yet.
Baldwin nodded at de Payens before his gaze strayed to Rory. The king looked him over, noting his armour, but he didn’t seem that impressed by it. His look of indifference remained the same. At least there was someone who didn’t know who he was.
“How are you settling in, de Payens?” asked Baldwin in accented French.
“Everything is going well, my lord.”
“I am glad to hear it. May I ask why you wanted to speak with me?” At least Baldwin didn’t beat around the bush.
“I would like to introduce you to the Centurion. He was…” De Payens trailed off, unable to describe Rory’s ordeal in kinder terms.
“I was gaoled, here on the Mount,” said Rory in what he hoped was passable French.
Baldwin raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Gaoled? We do not have a prison here.”
“I discovered him in the disused well, sir,” said de Payens.
“And you live to tell the tale?” Baldwin asked Rory. “That is a truly remarkable feat. Tell me, how did you end up in Jerusalem?”
That was a long and complicated story. Rory certainly didn’t have enough French to tell the tale. “Do you speak Latin?” he asked hastily.
The various attendants around the king seemed to take offence with his casual tone. There were a few pairs of eyes wide with shock. Baldwin just appeared amused. “I studied it as a youth, but I admit I have not used the language in years.”
“I know the language, my lord,” said de Payens. Rory nearly let out a whoop of joy.
“Then you shall translate for me, de Payens. The Centurion’s story is one I would very much like to hear.”
And suddenly Rory was the centre of attention. Everyone looked at him, ready to listen to his account. He wasn’t sure quite where to begin. He had never recounted his complete history to anyone before. Right away he knew he would not mention his life in the 21st century or how he was actually a plastic robot.
“You used to reside in Rome, correct?” De Payens offered him a smile.
Rory was grateful for the opening. “I lived in Rome for three hundred years.” De Payens efficiently translated his words to Baldwin as he spoke. “I left to pursue a group of thieves. They ambushed me on the road and took me back to their leader. He thought I had something that would help him to conquer the Romans. I proved to be useless to him.”
Rory paused here. He hadn’t talked about this since it happened. It wasn’t something he wanted to relive. He felt like a lorry was sitting on his chest. If he had the ability to sweat, his palms would have been clammy right then. Swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat, he pushed on.
“They buried me alive,” he said softly.
De Payens was so shocked he forgot to translate for Baldwin. The king cleared his throat and the knight quickly repeated Rory’s words in French. Baldwin then muttered an oath under his breath in his native language.
“It was… unpleasant. I was there for decades, in the dark. It was just luck that my bonds rusted and rotted away.”
His hands twitched as he remembered the pain he endured while clawing his way out of the earth. Handful after handful of dirt but it was never enough to reach the surface. Any headway he made would quickly collapse, burying him again. It was like he was being pulled back down, down into Hell itself where he would melt away into nothingness. There were so many times where he wanted to give up, but he had pushed on, thinking of Leadworth, of the Doctor, and the TARDIS. Of Amy. He had reasons to live, but only if he kept going.
“When I finally got out, I could not believe it.” Rory had spat up dirt, vomiting until his stomach was sore. To his surprise, he had found his helmet half buried in the overturned earth. It likely had gotten pushed ahead of him as he tunnelled to the surface. “For a day, I just sat there, breathing in the fresh air.”
He paused again so de Payens could catch up. His breathing had sped up and now he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. It had been far worse than the well. The weight of the dirt only served to remind him that he was trapped. For decades after he experienced bouts of anxiety in dark and crowded spaces.
“When I finally returned to Rome, it was too late. The empire was crumbling.” Rory laughed bitterly. “I saw the fall of Rome.”
It had been useless to stay in the city after that. Nearly sixty years had passed while he lay buried in the ground and anyone who remembered him was dead or had moved on. He had become just a character in a story.
Everyone in the room regarded him, enraptured by the tale. Baldwin leaned forward on his throne. “I cannot imagine the horrors of your experience. You clearly have a strong will.”
“I had a very good motivation.” The thought of the Pandorica out in the world somewhere, unprotected, had encouraged Rory to keep going. “I travelled for centuries, all over what was left of the Western Roman Empire.”
He stopped in every town he came upon, but no one seemed to know what had happened to the Pandorica. Even the other Franks had nothing to reveal, though they had no love for a lone Roman soldier. Rory had barely escaped their territory with his head still attached. After that, he should have just given up and found a boat back to England, but he couldn’t stand the thought of breaking his vow. He would stop at nothing to get the Pandorica, and Amy, back.
“I cannot remember the year, but I was trekking along the coast when I was attacked. We fought but there were too many of them and they overwhelmed me. Bound and gagged, they carried me back to their ship. They were Viking slavers. Their entire hold was filled with people they had kidnapped and we were on our way to auction.”
The ship took the same route he had sailed when the Romans had first moved the Pandorica, only this time, Rory didn’t have the luxury of being a passenger. The hold was crammed end to end with grimy bodies. People were rife with diseases and sitting around in their own filth only made it worse. He tried numerous times to escape, and while he could easily overcome one or two of the guards, he was unable to take on the entire crew. The Vikings enjoyed that he could take a beating and keep coming back. All of the other slaves grew frail as the journey stretched on.
“The Vikings sold people all along the upper coast of Africa, treating them like cattle.” Whips were used as tools of encouragement. Rory did his best to protect the weakest, but then ten Vikings would come at him and beat him into submission. During this time, he never left the hold and he should have realized that the Vikings had grown fond of him. He was the only slave whose strength wasn’t failing and that meant plenty of money when he was sold. They had saved him for something special.
“We eventually made it to the Byzantine Empire. Never once was the hold completely empty. They picked up new… merchandise everywhere they went.” It had crushed him to know that these people were doomed. None of them would see freedom again. He had seen plenty of escaped slaves executed back in Rome. “I was sold into hard labour. Back breaking work with a high turnover rate.” Not that it mattered to the people in charge. There were plenty of slaves out there and more than enough coin in their pockets.
“I worked for decades, helpless to do anything as people died around me. Most slaves were worked to death, the proprietors too cheap to bring in a doctor.” And sometimes people died because of him. Rory grimaced at the thought. The whippings and beatings never left a mark on him. So the slave drivers took out their frustrations on the other slaves, forcing him to watch. It was powerful motivation to stay in line.
His grief must have been obvious. “Do you wish to stop, Centurion?” asked Baldwin. De Payens also regarded him with concern.
Rory screwed his eyes shut. Screams of pain from the distant past echoed inside of his head. “No, I am all right.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. This story wasn’t easy to tell, but it felt good to get it out. It was like therapy, talking it through.
“After a while, I was more trouble than I was worth and I was sold to a noble family in Constantinople.” The family owned some textile company and their silk was shipped all over the known world. They were wealthy enough to have more than one house in more than one city. “They did not use me for labour. I was like a sculpture or a painting to them. Something to be owned and admired.”
It was worse than the hard labour. He was pampered like those dogs women liked to keep in their purses, but he wasn’t a person. He was an object.
“When the Crusades happened, the family sent me along with one of their sons. They probably thought I would protect him. I saw most of the major battles, but I could not bring myself to fight. It was not my war. The day the Crusaders took Jerusalem, a group of them rode through the city, pillaging, and they dragged me along. One of the knights set fire to the home of a peasant family with them still inside. I could not stand by and watch.”
It had been a foolish decision. The Doctor had warned him to stay away from fire and here Rory was, running into a burning building. He had been acutely aware of the heat from the flames, but he ignored his discomfort. “I ran in and saved the family. Nothing could be done to save their house. The fire was still raging when I got out, but the knights had not fled. I thought maybe they felt guilty about what they had done.
“But it was not guilt. It was fear. Fear of me. I had walked out of a burning house without a scratch or a burn. One Crusader charged at me, shouting I was a spawn of Satan.” Rory’s hand absently flew to his shoulder. “He cut me, and when they saw I did not bleed their fears and paranoid grew worse.”
Once more, he was heavily bound. For a spawn of Satan, they heated the chains in the fire before they wrapped them around him. Rory was sure that had made the difference. Had they just used rope, he probably could have fought back, but it was the heat that sapped his strength.
“They tied me up and dragged me behind one of their horses back to the Temple Mount. The leaders had gathered there, in this very mosque. They were told about what I had done and immediately convinced that I needed to be dealt with. Chains were wrapped around my legs and neck and then the other ends were wrapped around a heavy stone block.”
He could feel the phantom weight of his bindings even now. He had to remind himself that he was no longer bound.
“They took me to the well and it took three knights to throw the stone over the side. I was pulled along as it plunged into the water and dragged down to the very bottom. They must have bricked over the opening after that. I could not tell. I was in darkness the entire time, struggling to break free.”
It had felt like forever before he managed to break the chains and another eternity to climb up the slick sides of the well. Even then, he fell back into the water numerous times while trying to punch a hole in the cover.
“It was de Payens who saved me. I might have been down there another ten years if he had not come along.”
The knight faltered in his translation when he realized he was being complimented by the Fabled Centurion of Rome.
“Remarkable,” Baldwin said softly. He seemed equally impressed and saddened by the story. “How is it that you do not age or cannot be harmed?”
Rory hesitated. His old stand-by of saying he was gifted with immortality by the gods wasn’t of much use anymore. It may have worked a thousand years ago when people were more superstitious and barely aware of science, but humans had come a long way since then. They were less likely to believe in a mystical reason.
“It is a result of his oath,” spoke up de Payens.
“His oath?” asked Baldwin.
“To protect the Pandorica, sir.”
Rory waited for the inevitable question asking what the Pandorica was, but Baldwin truly surprised him. “The Pandorica? It is a large stone cube with circular markings carved into the sides, yes?”
“Uh…” Rory couldn’t form a response. How could Baldwin not know who he was but he could accurately describe the Pandorica?
“That is the Pandorica,” said de Payens, answering for him. “You have heard of it?”
“Yes, it was described to me by my cousin, who was king before me. He had seen it while fighting in the Crusades.”
“It was here, in the Holy Land?” Rory finally found his voice.
“What did my cousin tell me?” Baldwin paused to think. Rory very nearly leapt up to the king’s throne and grabbed him by the front of his robes. He wanted to shake the man until he remembered. It had been seven hundred years since he had last seen the Pandorica and just as long since he had a lead on it. If Baldwin knew where it was… The implications made Rory’s head spin.
“Ah yes. A group of knights, I think it might have belonged to one of them, brought the Pandorica to the Holy Land. They thought it would bring them luck in the battlefield. My cousin said it was stolen by bandits and never seen again.”
“That is all?” demanded Rory.
Baldwin was taken aback by his tone. “It was a minor tale mentioned to me in passing,” he said sternly. “It is fortunate that I recalled it at all.”
Rory had a retort ready to go, but then de Payens placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, my lord,” said the knight, his words dripping with politeness. “You have been a most grateful audience. We shall not take up anymore of your time.” He bowed at the waist and tugged on Rory’s arm when he didn’t follow his lead.
With a sigh, Rory bowed. They hurried out of the king’s chambers and the doors seemed to close with great enthusiasm behind them. He and de Payens didn’t exchange a word until they were back on their side of the mosque.
“You were in the Crusades, right?” Rory spun around on de Payens, blocking his path. “Did you ever see or hear about the Pandorica?”
“No, I did not, but I did not have the honour to travel with the higher nobility who led our forces. The King’s story could very well be true.”
Rory felt like kicking something. What were the chances that the Pandorica had been in the Crusades as well? He could have been in the same city as it and would have been none the wiser. He wanted to believe Baldwin, but it was such a vague account. In ten years, the Pandorica could have been anywhere by now.
“Centurion.” De Payens paused as Rory looked up at him. The man looked ridiculously optimistic. “The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon have pledged to protect the pilgrims who travel to the Holy Land. Our oath will take us all across the region. If there is news of the Pandorica, we will find it for you.”
“The Knights of what?”
“The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon. Or The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. We have not settled on a name.”
A hazy memory from his old existence sparked to life in the back of Rory’s mind. The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon. That sounded really familiar to him. It was like putting a face to a name. The answer was just out of reach.
Then it hit him. He snatched the answer and held it tight before it could elude him again. The Da Vinci Code. “The Knights Templar!” he practically shouted at de Payens.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I suppose that is easier to say…”
But Rory didn’t hear him. He was standing with the founder of the Knights Templar. He suddenly felt giddy, like he was five years old again on a Christmas morning. Every boy went through a knight phase and he was no different. Twigs as swords and rubbish bin lids as shields and a broom as a trusty steed. He and a group of boys from the neighbourhood had envisioned themselves as knights of the Round Table. Even Amy had joined him for a time, when she had started to grow tired of the Raggedy Doctor.
Rory viewed de Payens in a new light. The knight had been treating him with such respect when it should have been the other way around. He knew now what he had to do.
He got down on one knee and crossed his right arm over his chest. With his head bowed, he said to de Payens, “Let me pledge my allegiance to the Knights Templar. I would be honoured to join you and your knights on your travels.”
There was absolute silence from de Payens. Rory glanced up. The man looked utterly lost. “I…” He repeated this a few times, like a stuttering robot.
“If you are going to search for the Pandorica, then it seems only right for me to join you. But I will not detract you from your original mission. I will serve as a knight in your order.” It wouldn’t have been right for him to usurp the Knights Templar for his own personal means. They had an important role to play and he was interfering enough as it was.
De Payens drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. This seemed to help calm him and he was able to speak again. “If that is the Centurion’s wish, then I would be a fool to deny it. Arise, knight.”
Rory stood up. De Payens grasped his foreman in a warrior’s salute and he did the same.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Rory had met plenty of Roman emperors, but this was his first time meeting a monarch of a different country, at least in a formal setting. For the occasion he had donned his armour again, now fully dried. The only mar was the rip in the leather under armour, where the Crusader’s sword had cut him. There hadn’t been any time to mend it and he hid the damage the best he could by draping his cape over his shoulder.
It turned out that the Al-Aqsa Mosque was King Baldwin’s palace and they only had to walk down a corridor before they reached the section where the king held court. They were greeted by one of Baldwin’s attendants, who led them the rest of the way.
It surprised Rory how fast they were granted an audience with the king. He thought it would take a few days at least, not a few hours. It made him wonder what de Payens wrote in the note he had sent.
He felt like he was caught in a tornado that was spinning him around faster and faster. After ten years in one place he had gotten used to a monotonous, if somewhat soggy, lifestyle. A part of him wished he had followed de Payens’ earlier advice about taking a rest.
But it was too late to back down now. A large set of carved doors opened and they entered into the king’s chambers. It wasn’t an elaborate set-up but it had all the comforts a king could need. A comfortable throne to sit on, numerous attendants to cater to his every whim, and a marvellous view of Jerusalem to enjoy. Baldwin himself was neither impressive nor a disappointment. He was a well-built man, though probably shorter than Rory, and his brown eyes were so dark they were almost black. He sported a dark moustache, which would have been described as a handlebar in another era. His long robes were finely cut and made out of silk. Rory hadn’t expected him to be larger than life. He was a human being, not a historical figure, at least not yet.
Baldwin nodded at de Payens before his gaze strayed to Rory. The king looked him over, noting his armour, but he didn’t seem that impressed by it. His look of indifference remained the same. At least there was someone who didn’t know who he was.
“How are you settling in, de Payens?” asked Baldwin in accented French.
“Everything is going well, my lord.”
“I am glad to hear it. May I ask why you wanted to speak with me?” At least Baldwin didn’t beat around the bush.
“I would like to introduce you to the Centurion. He was…” De Payens trailed off, unable to describe Rory’s ordeal in kinder terms.
“I was gaoled, here on the Mount,” said Rory in what he hoped was passable French.
Baldwin raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Gaoled? We do not have a prison here.”
“I discovered him in the disused well, sir,” said de Payens.
“And you live to tell the tale?” Baldwin asked Rory. “That is a truly remarkable feat. Tell me, how did you end up in Jerusalem?”
That was a long and complicated story. Rory certainly didn’t have enough French to tell the tale. “Do you speak Latin?” he asked hastily.
The various attendants around the king seemed to take offence with his casual tone. There were a few pairs of eyes wide with shock. Baldwin just appeared amused. “I studied it as a youth, but I admit I have not used the language in years.”
“I know the language, my lord,” said de Payens. Rory nearly let out a whoop of joy.
“Then you shall translate for me, de Payens. The Centurion’s story is one I would very much like to hear.”
And suddenly Rory was the centre of attention. Everyone looked at him, ready to listen to his account. He wasn’t sure quite where to begin. He had never recounted his complete history to anyone before. Right away he knew he would not mention his life in the 21st century or how he was actually a plastic robot.
“You used to reside in Rome, correct?” De Payens offered him a smile.
Rory was grateful for the opening. “I lived in Rome for three hundred years.” De Payens efficiently translated his words to Baldwin as he spoke. “I left to pursue a group of thieves. They ambushed me on the road and took me back to their leader. He thought I had something that would help him to conquer the Romans. I proved to be useless to him.”
Rory paused here. He hadn’t talked about this since it happened. It wasn’t something he wanted to relive. He felt like a lorry was sitting on his chest. If he had the ability to sweat, his palms would have been clammy right then. Swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat, he pushed on.
“They buried me alive,” he said softly.
De Payens was so shocked he forgot to translate for Baldwin. The king cleared his throat and the knight quickly repeated Rory’s words in French. Baldwin then muttered an oath under his breath in his native language.
“It was… unpleasant. I was there for decades, in the dark. It was just luck that my bonds rusted and rotted away.”
His hands twitched as he remembered the pain he endured while clawing his way out of the earth. Handful after handful of dirt but it was never enough to reach the surface. Any headway he made would quickly collapse, burying him again. It was like he was being pulled back down, down into Hell itself where he would melt away into nothingness. There were so many times where he wanted to give up, but he had pushed on, thinking of Leadworth, of the Doctor, and the TARDIS. Of Amy. He had reasons to live, but only if he kept going.
“When I finally got out, I could not believe it.” Rory had spat up dirt, vomiting until his stomach was sore. To his surprise, he had found his helmet half buried in the overturned earth. It likely had gotten pushed ahead of him as he tunnelled to the surface. “For a day, I just sat there, breathing in the fresh air.”
He paused again so de Payens could catch up. His breathing had sped up and now he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. It had been far worse than the well. The weight of the dirt only served to remind him that he was trapped. For decades after he experienced bouts of anxiety in dark and crowded spaces.
“When I finally returned to Rome, it was too late. The empire was crumbling.” Rory laughed bitterly. “I saw the fall of Rome.”
It had been useless to stay in the city after that. Nearly sixty years had passed while he lay buried in the ground and anyone who remembered him was dead or had moved on. He had become just a character in a story.
Everyone in the room regarded him, enraptured by the tale. Baldwin leaned forward on his throne. “I cannot imagine the horrors of your experience. You clearly have a strong will.”
“I had a very good motivation.” The thought of the Pandorica out in the world somewhere, unprotected, had encouraged Rory to keep going. “I travelled for centuries, all over what was left of the Western Roman Empire.”
He stopped in every town he came upon, but no one seemed to know what had happened to the Pandorica. Even the other Franks had nothing to reveal, though they had no love for a lone Roman soldier. Rory had barely escaped their territory with his head still attached. After that, he should have just given up and found a boat back to England, but he couldn’t stand the thought of breaking his vow. He would stop at nothing to get the Pandorica, and Amy, back.
“I cannot remember the year, but I was trekking along the coast when I was attacked. We fought but there were too many of them and they overwhelmed me. Bound and gagged, they carried me back to their ship. They were Viking slavers. Their entire hold was filled with people they had kidnapped and we were on our way to auction.”
The ship took the same route he had sailed when the Romans had first moved the Pandorica, only this time, Rory didn’t have the luxury of being a passenger. The hold was crammed end to end with grimy bodies. People were rife with diseases and sitting around in their own filth only made it worse. He tried numerous times to escape, and while he could easily overcome one or two of the guards, he was unable to take on the entire crew. The Vikings enjoyed that he could take a beating and keep coming back. All of the other slaves grew frail as the journey stretched on.
“The Vikings sold people all along the upper coast of Africa, treating them like cattle.” Whips were used as tools of encouragement. Rory did his best to protect the weakest, but then ten Vikings would come at him and beat him into submission. During this time, he never left the hold and he should have realized that the Vikings had grown fond of him. He was the only slave whose strength wasn’t failing and that meant plenty of money when he was sold. They had saved him for something special.
“We eventually made it to the Byzantine Empire. Never once was the hold completely empty. They picked up new… merchandise everywhere they went.” It had crushed him to know that these people were doomed. None of them would see freedom again. He had seen plenty of escaped slaves executed back in Rome. “I was sold into hard labour. Back breaking work with a high turnover rate.” Not that it mattered to the people in charge. There were plenty of slaves out there and more than enough coin in their pockets.
“I worked for decades, helpless to do anything as people died around me. Most slaves were worked to death, the proprietors too cheap to bring in a doctor.” And sometimes people died because of him. Rory grimaced at the thought. The whippings and beatings never left a mark on him. So the slave drivers took out their frustrations on the other slaves, forcing him to watch. It was powerful motivation to stay in line.
His grief must have been obvious. “Do you wish to stop, Centurion?” asked Baldwin. De Payens also regarded him with concern.
Rory screwed his eyes shut. Screams of pain from the distant past echoed inside of his head. “No, I am all right.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. This story wasn’t easy to tell, but it felt good to get it out. It was like therapy, talking it through.
“After a while, I was more trouble than I was worth and I was sold to a noble family in Constantinople.” The family owned some textile company and their silk was shipped all over the known world. They were wealthy enough to have more than one house in more than one city. “They did not use me for labour. I was like a sculpture or a painting to them. Something to be owned and admired.”
It was worse than the hard labour. He was pampered like those dogs women liked to keep in their purses, but he wasn’t a person. He was an object.
“When the Crusades happened, the family sent me along with one of their sons. They probably thought I would protect him. I saw most of the major battles, but I could not bring myself to fight. It was not my war. The day the Crusaders took Jerusalem, a group of them rode through the city, pillaging, and they dragged me along. One of the knights set fire to the home of a peasant family with them still inside. I could not stand by and watch.”
It had been a foolish decision. The Doctor had warned him to stay away from fire and here Rory was, running into a burning building. He had been acutely aware of the heat from the flames, but he ignored his discomfort. “I ran in and saved the family. Nothing could be done to save their house. The fire was still raging when I got out, but the knights had not fled. I thought maybe they felt guilty about what they had done.
“But it was not guilt. It was fear. Fear of me. I had walked out of a burning house without a scratch or a burn. One Crusader charged at me, shouting I was a spawn of Satan.” Rory’s hand absently flew to his shoulder. “He cut me, and when they saw I did not bleed their fears and paranoid grew worse.”
Once more, he was heavily bound. For a spawn of Satan, they heated the chains in the fire before they wrapped them around him. Rory was sure that had made the difference. Had they just used rope, he probably could have fought back, but it was the heat that sapped his strength.
“They tied me up and dragged me behind one of their horses back to the Temple Mount. The leaders had gathered there, in this very mosque. They were told about what I had done and immediately convinced that I needed to be dealt with. Chains were wrapped around my legs and neck and then the other ends were wrapped around a heavy stone block.”
He could feel the phantom weight of his bindings even now. He had to remind himself that he was no longer bound.
“They took me to the well and it took three knights to throw the stone over the side. I was pulled along as it plunged into the water and dragged down to the very bottom. They must have bricked over the opening after that. I could not tell. I was in darkness the entire time, struggling to break free.”
It had felt like forever before he managed to break the chains and another eternity to climb up the slick sides of the well. Even then, he fell back into the water numerous times while trying to punch a hole in the cover.
“It was de Payens who saved me. I might have been down there another ten years if he had not come along.”
The knight faltered in his translation when he realized he was being complimented by the Fabled Centurion of Rome.
“Remarkable,” Baldwin said softly. He seemed equally impressed and saddened by the story. “How is it that you do not age or cannot be harmed?”
Rory hesitated. His old stand-by of saying he was gifted with immortality by the gods wasn’t of much use anymore. It may have worked a thousand years ago when people were more superstitious and barely aware of science, but humans had come a long way since then. They were less likely to believe in a mystical reason.
“It is a result of his oath,” spoke up de Payens.
“His oath?” asked Baldwin.
“To protect the Pandorica, sir.”
Rory waited for the inevitable question asking what the Pandorica was, but Baldwin truly surprised him. “The Pandorica? It is a large stone cube with circular markings carved into the sides, yes?”
“Uh…” Rory couldn’t form a response. How could Baldwin not know who he was but he could accurately describe the Pandorica?
“That is the Pandorica,” said de Payens, answering for him. “You have heard of it?”
“Yes, it was described to me by my cousin, who was king before me. He had seen it while fighting in the Crusades.”
“It was here, in the Holy Land?” Rory finally found his voice.
“What did my cousin tell me?” Baldwin paused to think. Rory very nearly leapt up to the king’s throne and grabbed him by the front of his robes. He wanted to shake the man until he remembered. It had been seven hundred years since he had last seen the Pandorica and just as long since he had a lead on it. If Baldwin knew where it was… The implications made Rory’s head spin.
“Ah yes. A group of knights, I think it might have belonged to one of them, brought the Pandorica to the Holy Land. They thought it would bring them luck in the battlefield. My cousin said it was stolen by bandits and never seen again.”
“That is all?” demanded Rory.
Baldwin was taken aback by his tone. “It was a minor tale mentioned to me in passing,” he said sternly. “It is fortunate that I recalled it at all.”
Rory had a retort ready to go, but then de Payens placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, my lord,” said the knight, his words dripping with politeness. “You have been a most grateful audience. We shall not take up anymore of your time.” He bowed at the waist and tugged on Rory’s arm when he didn’t follow his lead.
With a sigh, Rory bowed. They hurried out of the king’s chambers and the doors seemed to close with great enthusiasm behind them. He and de Payens didn’t exchange a word until they were back on their side of the mosque.
“You were in the Crusades, right?” Rory spun around on de Payens, blocking his path. “Did you ever see or hear about the Pandorica?”
“No, I did not, but I did not have the honour to travel with the higher nobility who led our forces. The King’s story could very well be true.”
Rory felt like kicking something. What were the chances that the Pandorica had been in the Crusades as well? He could have been in the same city as it and would have been none the wiser. He wanted to believe Baldwin, but it was such a vague account. In ten years, the Pandorica could have been anywhere by now.
“Centurion.” De Payens paused as Rory looked up at him. The man looked ridiculously optimistic. “The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon have pledged to protect the pilgrims who travel to the Holy Land. Our oath will take us all across the region. If there is news of the Pandorica, we will find it for you.”
“The Knights of what?”
“The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon. Or The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. We have not settled on a name.”
A hazy memory from his old existence sparked to life in the back of Rory’s mind. The Knights of the Temple of King Solomon. That sounded really familiar to him. It was like putting a face to a name. The answer was just out of reach.
Then it hit him. He snatched the answer and held it tight before it could elude him again. The Da Vinci Code. “The Knights Templar!” he practically shouted at de Payens.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I suppose that is easier to say…”
But Rory didn’t hear him. He was standing with the founder of the Knights Templar. He suddenly felt giddy, like he was five years old again on a Christmas morning. Every boy went through a knight phase and he was no different. Twigs as swords and rubbish bin lids as shields and a broom as a trusty steed. He and a group of boys from the neighbourhood had envisioned themselves as knights of the Round Table. Even Amy had joined him for a time, when she had started to grow tired of the Raggedy Doctor.
Rory viewed de Payens in a new light. The knight had been treating him with such respect when it should have been the other way around. He knew now what he had to do.
He got down on one knee and crossed his right arm over his chest. With his head bowed, he said to de Payens, “Let me pledge my allegiance to the Knights Templar. I would be honoured to join you and your knights on your travels.”
There was absolute silence from de Payens. Rory glanced up. The man looked utterly lost. “I…” He repeated this a few times, like a stuttering robot.
“If you are going to search for the Pandorica, then it seems only right for me to join you. But I will not detract you from your original mission. I will serve as a knight in your order.” It wouldn’t have been right for him to usurp the Knights Templar for his own personal means. They had an important role to play and he was interfering enough as it was.
De Payens drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. This seemed to help calm him and he was able to speak again. “If that is the Centurion’s wish, then I would be a fool to deny it. Arise, knight.”
Rory stood up. De Payens grasped his foreman in a warrior’s salute and he did the same.
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Date: 2013-05-09 11:47 pm (UTC)Oh wow!! I have been...RIVETED. I am just so -
There are no adequate words!!
*Marvels*
*SQUISH*
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Date: 2013-05-12 03:04 am (UTC)It was easier to do it this way, skipping ahead 700 years. I don't think I could have sustained Rory wandering around Europe without it being boring and repetitive.