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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (9/49)
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.
Jaffa, 1120 A.D.
Surviving excerpts from the personal journal of Hugues de Payens (translated from the original Medieval French)
… word has reached us regarding attacks on pilgrims in Jaffa. I did not think bandits could be so bold, carrying out attacks in such a protected city…
… have converged in Jaffa for the mean time. My knights and I will… to ensure that they reach Jerusalem safely. If time permits, we will seek out the leader of these bandits…
… must leave at once… great discovery…
Rory’s horse was tiring. He could feel the animal’s muscles quivering as it pushed itself to keep going. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if it collapsed. The thought of leaving the horse behind to die didn’t sit right with him, but he had to stay on the move. If he lost track of his target now, he doubted he would find the man again.
The bandit leader was a speck on the horizon. He had the advantage of a fresh horse and he was lighter, too, since he didn’t wear any armour. He could keep going for many more miles long after Rory’s own mount would be lying dead in the dust.
Rory needed to be smart about this. He wouldn’t catch up if he drove his horse into the ground.
He pulled on the reins, slowing his horse from a mad dash to a moderate gallop. The animal still struggled to catch its breath, but at least now it could make it to the next sunrise. In the distance, the bandit leader disappeared over the horizon. Rory took a deep breath of the dry desert air and reassured himself that there was nothing to panic about. The bandit leader was headed away from Jaffa, so he likely wasn’t racing to catch a ship, nor was he headed to Jerusalem. The knights had split up and about four remained in the city. If the bandit leader wanted to make a quick escape, then he was headed away from the populated areas. As long as a dust storm didn’t roll in, Rory could track the bandit by his horse’s prints in the sand.
It soon became obvious that he was no boy scout.
A hot wind quickly swept away any footprints and there wasn’t much in the way of foliage. The old trick of noticing a bent blade of grass was useless out here. But Rory rode on. He had no other choice. Not for the first time, he wished he had some back-up. After countless centuries he had gotten used to working on his own, but after spending two years with the Knights Templar and fighting by their side, he knew the value of a fellow comrade. He had no idea what sort of situation awaited him; he could have been riding into an ambush. Facing the unknown with another would have alleviated some of his trepidation.
But he didn’t regret leaving abruptly as he had. This man and his gang were a menace. If he stopped him now, then maybe the worse of the raids on the pilgrims would end.
He continued south, assuming the bandit leader was headed out of the Crusader States. When he spotted a watering hole, he stopped, mostly so his horse could drink and rest, but he also looked for signs of a camp. The first few stops offered nothing, but a few days later he found the remains of a fire. Rory couldn’t tell how recent it was, but it was small, suitable for one person trying to avoid detection. This gave him some hope.
It was easier at night. The heat abated a little and in the darkness the glow of flames was easily seen. He made camp when the health of the horse demanded it, but he didn’t light a fire. Instead, he slung his cape over his horse to keep it warm. He certainly didn’t need it.
A week into the pursuit found Rory at a small oasis. It sat in a shallow dell, protected on three sides from the furnace-like desert wind. The spot proved to be popular. He found evidence of numerous camps, some old and some fairly recent, but there was nothing to indicate that the bandit leader had been through here.
He kicked at one of the old fires, sending bits of charcoal flying. His horse looked up from taking a drink in the small lake, its ears twitching nervously. The outburst felt childish, but Rory was getting nowhere. He was wandering blindly again, like he had done for centuries.
Before he could start drowning in a sea of self-pity, he heard the pounding of horse hooves coming towards him. There was no time to consider if the approaching rider was friend or foe. Rory grabbed the reins of his horse and dragged it into cover. It nipped him on the arm, but it offered no other forms of protest and it stayed where it was when he motioned it to hang back.
Pulling his sword free, Rory crept around to the lower section of dell and peeked over the rise. He saw one horse, but there were two riders. An old image from his childhood came back to him and he stood up to his full height without fear of being attacked.
The two riders galloped right up to him, kicking up a cloud of dust when they urged their horse to stop. Thoroughly covered with dust already, Rory didn’t balk. He was more delighted than anything else.
“You are amazing,” he said in Latin.
Hugues de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer smiled down at him. “We are Knights Templar, brother,” replied de Payens in Latin. “We are very hard to dissuade.” The co-founders of the Knights Templar dismounted their horse. Without prompting, the animal hurried over to the water and drank deeply.
“How did you find me?” Rory put his sword away.
“Luck, for the most part,” said de Saint-Omer. He pushed back the hood of his chainmail armour and rubbed a vigourous hand through his dark hair.
“We also had the advantage of being well informed,” added de Payens. They walked to the water’s edge.
“I do not understand,” said Rory.
De Saint-Omer followed his horse’s example and knelt down to drink from the oasis. He took in deep handfuls of water, leaving him too preoccupied to clarify Rory’s confusion. He looked to de Payens instead.
“We had time to speak with the captured bandits. They were persuaded to inform us that the man you pursue is headed to Mecca.” The place sounded vaguely familiar to Rory; it seemed like one of those cities you heard about on the news. “They also told us that the man is their master. He commands all of the bandits in the Holy Land.”
There was a subtle, excitable gleam in de Payens’ eyes. Rory hadn’t forgotten what they learned last year.
“He knows where the Pandorica is.”
“No, Centurion. He is on his way to the Pandorica.”
If de Payens added something else, Rory didn’t hear it. He was too caught up in his thoughts to comprehend anything but his own excited feelings. He felt flushed and giddy. It was exactly like when he had proposed to Amy and she said yes. A joy so overwhelming that it escaped words filled him completely.
He gripped de Payens by the shoulders. “The Pandorica is in Mecca?” He nearly shook the knight like a crazed maniac.
“Yes, or at least nearby. The bandits’ leader arrived to oversee the move of the Pandorica. He races to meet his men so they may hide it once more.”
Seven hundred years. He hadn’t seen the Pandorica since it was stolen by the Franks. Rory couldn’t believe he was so close to seeing it again. “Do you know how to get to Mecca from here?” He wanted to leave now. He’d run all the way there if he had to.
De Payens looked to de Saint-Omer. “Godfrey?” The knight was still gulping down water. “If you keep drinking, the horse will not be able to carry both of us.”
“Why are you sharing one horse?” asked Rory. The knights were poor but they weren’t that poor. Maybe this was how the men came to decide on their seal depicting two knights on one horse.
“We lost some of our mounts in the fight,” said de Payens. “There was not time to acquire more and Godfrey is well acquainted with this area. Sharing a horse was our only option if we wanted to reach you in time.”
Rory eyed the skinny stallion. The poor thing looked miserable. Carrying the weight of two men in armour was wearing it out. “Take my horse and I shall ride yours. We might make it to Mecca this way.”
“I drink,” said de Saint-Omer, speaking as though there had not been a pause in the conversation, “because I do not want to die of thirst out here.” He rose to his feet. “Take your fill, Hugues, so we may be on our way.”
Life on the road became easier, now that Rory had company and a new sense of hope. At the end of their journey, somewhere, was the Pandorica. He had always believed he would find it again, but now that goal seemed closer than ever. He hadn’t admitted this to anyone, but he had felt a gnawing guilt at the back of his mind since the day he lost the Pandorica. Maybe now that guilt could finally be lifted.
With de Saint-Omer leading the way, their route seemed more direct. Rory didn’t feel like he was wandering aimless anymore. It left him with time to think and plan. If the Pandorica was still in Mecca then they would have to fight off the bandits and then they would have to find a way to transport it. That was the most vulnerable part. Between the three of them, they were a formidable force, but they only numbered three. If there was an army of bandits then his reunion with the Pandorica would be very short indeed.
Their greatest hope, then, would be to find the Pandorica while it was being moved. They could give the bandits a taste of their own medicine and attack them on the road. It was impossible to know what the situation was, though. It was entirely possible that they could miss the Pandorica completely due to ill timing.
Rory shook the thought away. If he had picked up anything during his time with the Knights Templar it was to have faith. Anything was possible.
They rode into the mountains, though the blazing heat of the desert did not disappear. Mecca lay nestled between three mountain ranges and most travellers from the north used the mountain roads to reach the city. The terrain was more uneven but they kept up their hurried pace as best as they could.
During the nights when the two men and the two horses were too tired to ride on, they rested, finding what protected shelter they could. They didn’t risk lighting a fire, but de Payens and de Saint-Omer didn’t have much in the way of food and they had no qualms about eating cold, dried meat. Rory always stood watch the entire night, grateful he didn’t need to sleep. He patrolled around the area, his sword at the ready.
On their third night in the mountains, while he stared up at the empty night sky, he heard the distant sound of voices chanting. It wasn’t in any language he knew and he thought it odd that worshippers would be holding a ceremony up in the mountains in the middle of the night. He made certain no one was lurking nearby their campsite before taking off and climbing up the rock face. At the top of the ridge, Rory found himself looking down into a rocky valley. There was a lit fire and the dancing flames illuminated a sight he hadn’t expected to see.
Dark grey and stony like the rest of the surroundings, the Pandorica blended right in expect for the fact that its shape was like nothing found in nature. Without the fire, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
But here it was, the object he had sought for so many centuries. Rory might have let out a whoop of joy, but, annoyingly, he wasn’t alone.
Five men knelt around the Pandorica, their heads bowed low to the ground. They were the source of the chanting and it was obvious that they were performing a ritual of worship. It wasn’t the frenzied fanaticism of a cult. The men were respectful, treating the Pandorica like a relic of great importance.
From his viewpoint, Rory couldn’t see their faces. He rose up onto his knees, trying to see if one of the men was the bandit leader. A rock suddenly shifted beneath his hand and the next thing he knew, he was tumbling down the mountainside in an avalanche of stones. End over end he fell, crashing down on jagged points but nothing was large enough to stop his descent. When he finally reached the valley floor and rolled to a stop he was utterly dazed. For a second, he didn’t know which way was up.
It didn’t matter in the end. Someone grabbed him and hauled him across the ground towards the Pandorica. Rory was thrown back against the stone box and a strong hand on his chest kept him there. A torch was lit from the fire and brought over to light the scene. The flames were held close to his face, too close for his comfort. He became acutely aware of the heat being given off by the torch.
“You.” One could practically hear the sneer that accompanied that one word.
Rory, too, was just as displeased. He could now see who was holding the torch. The bandit leader was easily recognizable with his ragged black beard and bushy eyebrows. “Did you really think I would stay away?” Rory asked in French, well aware that the man would understand him.
The bandit leader brought the torch closer, until the flames were right above Rory’s head. He eyed a bit of flaming pitch that fell from the torch, which landed on his cape. He wanted to twitch and slap away the tiny fire, but it would have shattered his calm exterior. “Are there other knights here with you?” demanded the bandit leader, speaking in heavily accented French.
Rory wished he could say he had an army with him, but the Knights Templar wouldn’t become a formidable force for years yet. Claiming so now would have been an obvious lie. So he went in the opposite direction. “I am here alone.”
The bandit leader mulled this over. Rory could tell what he was thinking. The man couldn’t afford to send a few of his men to check the truth of Rory’s statement. Doing so would leave the Pandorica unprotected. He had to risk staying out in the open.
“You had hoped to overwhelm me and my men on your own?”
“You know who I am, do you not?” Rory smiled boldly at the bandit leader. “I am the Protector of the Pandorica. I would fight armies to ensure the Pandorica’s safety. A mere five men do not scare me.”
The bandit leader’s upper lip curled back into a snarl. “You are foolish, Centurion.”
“If so, why do you look so afraid?”
The bandit leader didn’t take kindly to this taunt. He raised the torch and clubbed it across Rory’s face, whipping his head to one side. He had been beat up in a similar fashion many times before, but he was never prepared for the pain that followed. Fire always made it worse.
His head lolled limply as he tried to regain his bearings. He could keep this up for a little while, but sooner or later the bandit leader would grow tired of this. Rory needed to make a move before the man decided to light him on fire or something. Gathering his will, he lifted his head and looked the bandit leader right in the eye. “You stole the Pandorica. You will not go unpunished.”
Rory expected another blow. He had planned to cry out, as loud as he could, on the hopes that de Payens or de Saint-Omer was a light sleeper. Some back-up would not go amiss right now. But the bandit leader didn’t move. He didn’t even indicate to his men that they should deliver punches in his place.
“The Pandorica is rightfully ours,” he claimed. “It belongs to the people of Islam. It is a holy relic of Abraham.”
“Uh, what?” Rory had fully anticipated a response involving greed or revenge on the Christians usurpers. He didn’t think religion would play into this. “I do not understand.”
“How can you, when you are so ignorant of our ways?” The bandit leader didn’t speak in anger. He seemed to pity Rory more than anything.
“Explain it to me then.” The torch dipped lower, nearly brushing the plume atop Rory’s helmet. “Why do you need the Pandorica?” He tried not to let panic slip into his voice. There was always the possibility that they could resolve this peacefully.
The bandit leader scoffed. “No.” He turned and walked away. “Do what you must to ensure that he does not follow us.”
Rory should have known better. They never wanted to talk.
The other four men reached for their swords and Rory was about to do the same when some rocks skidded down the mountainside. It seemed like a trivial thing, but then more rocks cascaded down and two figures burst from the darkness. Twin blades flashed and two of the men cried out in pain.
Leaping into action, Rory punched the man closest to him, clearing a path for himself. He ran past de Payens and de Saint-Omer, his sights set on the bandit leader. The man had heard the commotion and already had his dagger drawn. He faced Rory with the short blade in one hand and the torch in the other. For a moment, they regarded each other, like they were gunfighters facing off at high noon.
“You will not take me!” declared the bandit leader. He threw the torch at Rory, causing a momentary distraction.
Then he plunged his dagger into his stomach, right to the hilt.
“No!” Rory crossed the distance between them in a second and he caught the bandit leader before he could fall to the ground. A triumphant smile touched the man’s lips before he went limp in Rory’s arms.
He wasn’t sure what to feel. Victory seemed misplaced now, but he couldn’t quite feel sorry, either. He was simply stunned. The bandit leader had been dedicated to his cause. In his eyes, death was better than capture. Rory wished the man had been willing to explain his reasons. Maybe then this wouldn’t feel so senseless.
Carefully, he lowered the bandit leader to the ground and then he closed the man’s eyes.
“Centurion.” De Payens jogged towards him, sliding his sword back into his scabbard. Rory looked past him and saw de Saint-Omer standing guard over the two remaining men. The other two lay in the dirt, clearly dead. The sight of the bodies made Rory grimace.
The leader of the Knights Templar noticed the body at Rory’s feet. He nodded to himself, but he did not utter any praises. “The Pandorica is ours,” he said simply.
“It didn’t have to be like this,” Rory whispered in English. He was tired of seeing people die for no reason. Life was so much easier when he wasn’t a part of the world. He looked up at de Payens. “He killed himself,” he said in Latin. “It is a waste of life.”
De Payens considered this for a moment. “This man was not unlike us. Ready to die for a cause. Faith is a powerful motivator. It is not a waste of life when you know you have fulfilled your duty on this earth.”
De fideli. It wasn’t quite the answer Rory had been looking for, but the words brought a sense of comfort. He pulled off his cape and laid it over the bandit leader.
With his conscience somewhat appeased, he turned his gaze to the Pandorica. He drifted towards it, initially unaware that he was moving at all. All he could think about was whispering his apologies to Amy for being away so long. At least she slept peacefully within, completely unaware of the journey she had been on. When he reached the stone box, he lay his hand on the surface and closed his eyes.
“From this point on,” Rory said softly to himself, “I am not letting you out of my sight.”
* * *
“The Pandorica remained with the Knights Templar in Jerusalem until they were forced to move their headquarters some years later. By 1231, it was the property of the Vatican.”
The security guard nodded at Barbara. “And what about the Lone Centurion?”
“Some scholars say he was the ninth founding knight of the order, but there’s no existing proof to support that.” Barbara always tried to remain objective, but it was hard to picture a Roman soldier running around with a group of Christian knights. If it had happened at all, there would be some mention of it somewhere.
“He’s a bit like the Sasquatch, the Lone Centurion. Plenty of stories but no concrete proof.”
Barbara smiled at the analogy. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
The clacking wheels of Floria’s cleaning cart echoed from down the corridor, signalling that the woman was done. Barbara hadn’t realized it while they were talking, but her tea had grown cold. “I should get back to work.”
“You should go home,” said the security guard good-naturedly.
“I’ll sleep once the exhibit is up and running.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding like a vow. She had no idea why she was uttering a vow to a man less than half her age.
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” said the security guard, walking back into the museum.
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
Jaffa, 1120 A.D.
Surviving excerpts from the personal journal of Hugues de Payens (translated from the original Medieval French)
… word has reached us regarding attacks on pilgrims in Jaffa. I did not think bandits could be so bold, carrying out attacks in such a protected city…
… have converged in Jaffa for the mean time. My knights and I will… to ensure that they reach Jerusalem safely. If time permits, we will seek out the leader of these bandits…
… must leave at once… great discovery…
* * *
Rory’s horse was tiring. He could feel the animal’s muscles quivering as it pushed itself to keep going. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if it collapsed. The thought of leaving the horse behind to die didn’t sit right with him, but he had to stay on the move. If he lost track of his target now, he doubted he would find the man again.
The bandit leader was a speck on the horizon. He had the advantage of a fresh horse and he was lighter, too, since he didn’t wear any armour. He could keep going for many more miles long after Rory’s own mount would be lying dead in the dust.
Rory needed to be smart about this. He wouldn’t catch up if he drove his horse into the ground.
He pulled on the reins, slowing his horse from a mad dash to a moderate gallop. The animal still struggled to catch its breath, but at least now it could make it to the next sunrise. In the distance, the bandit leader disappeared over the horizon. Rory took a deep breath of the dry desert air and reassured himself that there was nothing to panic about. The bandit leader was headed away from Jaffa, so he likely wasn’t racing to catch a ship, nor was he headed to Jerusalem. The knights had split up and about four remained in the city. If the bandit leader wanted to make a quick escape, then he was headed away from the populated areas. As long as a dust storm didn’t roll in, Rory could track the bandit by his horse’s prints in the sand.
It soon became obvious that he was no boy scout.
A hot wind quickly swept away any footprints and there wasn’t much in the way of foliage. The old trick of noticing a bent blade of grass was useless out here. But Rory rode on. He had no other choice. Not for the first time, he wished he had some back-up. After countless centuries he had gotten used to working on his own, but after spending two years with the Knights Templar and fighting by their side, he knew the value of a fellow comrade. He had no idea what sort of situation awaited him; he could have been riding into an ambush. Facing the unknown with another would have alleviated some of his trepidation.
But he didn’t regret leaving abruptly as he had. This man and his gang were a menace. If he stopped him now, then maybe the worse of the raids on the pilgrims would end.
He continued south, assuming the bandit leader was headed out of the Crusader States. When he spotted a watering hole, he stopped, mostly so his horse could drink and rest, but he also looked for signs of a camp. The first few stops offered nothing, but a few days later he found the remains of a fire. Rory couldn’t tell how recent it was, but it was small, suitable for one person trying to avoid detection. This gave him some hope.
It was easier at night. The heat abated a little and in the darkness the glow of flames was easily seen. He made camp when the health of the horse demanded it, but he didn’t light a fire. Instead, he slung his cape over his horse to keep it warm. He certainly didn’t need it.
A week into the pursuit found Rory at a small oasis. It sat in a shallow dell, protected on three sides from the furnace-like desert wind. The spot proved to be popular. He found evidence of numerous camps, some old and some fairly recent, but there was nothing to indicate that the bandit leader had been through here.
He kicked at one of the old fires, sending bits of charcoal flying. His horse looked up from taking a drink in the small lake, its ears twitching nervously. The outburst felt childish, but Rory was getting nowhere. He was wandering blindly again, like he had done for centuries.
Before he could start drowning in a sea of self-pity, he heard the pounding of horse hooves coming towards him. There was no time to consider if the approaching rider was friend or foe. Rory grabbed the reins of his horse and dragged it into cover. It nipped him on the arm, but it offered no other forms of protest and it stayed where it was when he motioned it to hang back.
Pulling his sword free, Rory crept around to the lower section of dell and peeked over the rise. He saw one horse, but there were two riders. An old image from his childhood came back to him and he stood up to his full height without fear of being attacked.
The two riders galloped right up to him, kicking up a cloud of dust when they urged their horse to stop. Thoroughly covered with dust already, Rory didn’t balk. He was more delighted than anything else.
“You are amazing,” he said in Latin.
Hugues de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer smiled down at him. “We are Knights Templar, brother,” replied de Payens in Latin. “We are very hard to dissuade.” The co-founders of the Knights Templar dismounted their horse. Without prompting, the animal hurried over to the water and drank deeply.
“How did you find me?” Rory put his sword away.
“Luck, for the most part,” said de Saint-Omer. He pushed back the hood of his chainmail armour and rubbed a vigourous hand through his dark hair.
“We also had the advantage of being well informed,” added de Payens. They walked to the water’s edge.
“I do not understand,” said Rory.
De Saint-Omer followed his horse’s example and knelt down to drink from the oasis. He took in deep handfuls of water, leaving him too preoccupied to clarify Rory’s confusion. He looked to de Payens instead.
“We had time to speak with the captured bandits. They were persuaded to inform us that the man you pursue is headed to Mecca.” The place sounded vaguely familiar to Rory; it seemed like one of those cities you heard about on the news. “They also told us that the man is their master. He commands all of the bandits in the Holy Land.”
There was a subtle, excitable gleam in de Payens’ eyes. Rory hadn’t forgotten what they learned last year.
“He knows where the Pandorica is.”
“No, Centurion. He is on his way to the Pandorica.”
If de Payens added something else, Rory didn’t hear it. He was too caught up in his thoughts to comprehend anything but his own excited feelings. He felt flushed and giddy. It was exactly like when he had proposed to Amy and she said yes. A joy so overwhelming that it escaped words filled him completely.
He gripped de Payens by the shoulders. “The Pandorica is in Mecca?” He nearly shook the knight like a crazed maniac.
“Yes, or at least nearby. The bandits’ leader arrived to oversee the move of the Pandorica. He races to meet his men so they may hide it once more.”
Seven hundred years. He hadn’t seen the Pandorica since it was stolen by the Franks. Rory couldn’t believe he was so close to seeing it again. “Do you know how to get to Mecca from here?” He wanted to leave now. He’d run all the way there if he had to.
De Payens looked to de Saint-Omer. “Godfrey?” The knight was still gulping down water. “If you keep drinking, the horse will not be able to carry both of us.”
“Why are you sharing one horse?” asked Rory. The knights were poor but they weren’t that poor. Maybe this was how the men came to decide on their seal depicting two knights on one horse.
“We lost some of our mounts in the fight,” said de Payens. “There was not time to acquire more and Godfrey is well acquainted with this area. Sharing a horse was our only option if we wanted to reach you in time.”
Rory eyed the skinny stallion. The poor thing looked miserable. Carrying the weight of two men in armour was wearing it out. “Take my horse and I shall ride yours. We might make it to Mecca this way.”
“I drink,” said de Saint-Omer, speaking as though there had not been a pause in the conversation, “because I do not want to die of thirst out here.” He rose to his feet. “Take your fill, Hugues, so we may be on our way.”
Life on the road became easier, now that Rory had company and a new sense of hope. At the end of their journey, somewhere, was the Pandorica. He had always believed he would find it again, but now that goal seemed closer than ever. He hadn’t admitted this to anyone, but he had felt a gnawing guilt at the back of his mind since the day he lost the Pandorica. Maybe now that guilt could finally be lifted.
With de Saint-Omer leading the way, their route seemed more direct. Rory didn’t feel like he was wandering aimless anymore. It left him with time to think and plan. If the Pandorica was still in Mecca then they would have to fight off the bandits and then they would have to find a way to transport it. That was the most vulnerable part. Between the three of them, they were a formidable force, but they only numbered three. If there was an army of bandits then his reunion with the Pandorica would be very short indeed.
Their greatest hope, then, would be to find the Pandorica while it was being moved. They could give the bandits a taste of their own medicine and attack them on the road. It was impossible to know what the situation was, though. It was entirely possible that they could miss the Pandorica completely due to ill timing.
Rory shook the thought away. If he had picked up anything during his time with the Knights Templar it was to have faith. Anything was possible.
They rode into the mountains, though the blazing heat of the desert did not disappear. Mecca lay nestled between three mountain ranges and most travellers from the north used the mountain roads to reach the city. The terrain was more uneven but they kept up their hurried pace as best as they could.
During the nights when the two men and the two horses were too tired to ride on, they rested, finding what protected shelter they could. They didn’t risk lighting a fire, but de Payens and de Saint-Omer didn’t have much in the way of food and they had no qualms about eating cold, dried meat. Rory always stood watch the entire night, grateful he didn’t need to sleep. He patrolled around the area, his sword at the ready.
On their third night in the mountains, while he stared up at the empty night sky, he heard the distant sound of voices chanting. It wasn’t in any language he knew and he thought it odd that worshippers would be holding a ceremony up in the mountains in the middle of the night. He made certain no one was lurking nearby their campsite before taking off and climbing up the rock face. At the top of the ridge, Rory found himself looking down into a rocky valley. There was a lit fire and the dancing flames illuminated a sight he hadn’t expected to see.
Dark grey and stony like the rest of the surroundings, the Pandorica blended right in expect for the fact that its shape was like nothing found in nature. Without the fire, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
But here it was, the object he had sought for so many centuries. Rory might have let out a whoop of joy, but, annoyingly, he wasn’t alone.
Five men knelt around the Pandorica, their heads bowed low to the ground. They were the source of the chanting and it was obvious that they were performing a ritual of worship. It wasn’t the frenzied fanaticism of a cult. The men were respectful, treating the Pandorica like a relic of great importance.
From his viewpoint, Rory couldn’t see their faces. He rose up onto his knees, trying to see if one of the men was the bandit leader. A rock suddenly shifted beneath his hand and the next thing he knew, he was tumbling down the mountainside in an avalanche of stones. End over end he fell, crashing down on jagged points but nothing was large enough to stop his descent. When he finally reached the valley floor and rolled to a stop he was utterly dazed. For a second, he didn’t know which way was up.
It didn’t matter in the end. Someone grabbed him and hauled him across the ground towards the Pandorica. Rory was thrown back against the stone box and a strong hand on his chest kept him there. A torch was lit from the fire and brought over to light the scene. The flames were held close to his face, too close for his comfort. He became acutely aware of the heat being given off by the torch.
“You.” One could practically hear the sneer that accompanied that one word.
Rory, too, was just as displeased. He could now see who was holding the torch. The bandit leader was easily recognizable with his ragged black beard and bushy eyebrows. “Did you really think I would stay away?” Rory asked in French, well aware that the man would understand him.
The bandit leader brought the torch closer, until the flames were right above Rory’s head. He eyed a bit of flaming pitch that fell from the torch, which landed on his cape. He wanted to twitch and slap away the tiny fire, but it would have shattered his calm exterior. “Are there other knights here with you?” demanded the bandit leader, speaking in heavily accented French.
Rory wished he could say he had an army with him, but the Knights Templar wouldn’t become a formidable force for years yet. Claiming so now would have been an obvious lie. So he went in the opposite direction. “I am here alone.”
The bandit leader mulled this over. Rory could tell what he was thinking. The man couldn’t afford to send a few of his men to check the truth of Rory’s statement. Doing so would leave the Pandorica unprotected. He had to risk staying out in the open.
“You had hoped to overwhelm me and my men on your own?”
“You know who I am, do you not?” Rory smiled boldly at the bandit leader. “I am the Protector of the Pandorica. I would fight armies to ensure the Pandorica’s safety. A mere five men do not scare me.”
The bandit leader’s upper lip curled back into a snarl. “You are foolish, Centurion.”
“If so, why do you look so afraid?”
The bandit leader didn’t take kindly to this taunt. He raised the torch and clubbed it across Rory’s face, whipping his head to one side. He had been beat up in a similar fashion many times before, but he was never prepared for the pain that followed. Fire always made it worse.
His head lolled limply as he tried to regain his bearings. He could keep this up for a little while, but sooner or later the bandit leader would grow tired of this. Rory needed to make a move before the man decided to light him on fire or something. Gathering his will, he lifted his head and looked the bandit leader right in the eye. “You stole the Pandorica. You will not go unpunished.”
Rory expected another blow. He had planned to cry out, as loud as he could, on the hopes that de Payens or de Saint-Omer was a light sleeper. Some back-up would not go amiss right now. But the bandit leader didn’t move. He didn’t even indicate to his men that they should deliver punches in his place.
“The Pandorica is rightfully ours,” he claimed. “It belongs to the people of Islam. It is a holy relic of Abraham.”
“Uh, what?” Rory had fully anticipated a response involving greed or revenge on the Christians usurpers. He didn’t think religion would play into this. “I do not understand.”
“How can you, when you are so ignorant of our ways?” The bandit leader didn’t speak in anger. He seemed to pity Rory more than anything.
“Explain it to me then.” The torch dipped lower, nearly brushing the plume atop Rory’s helmet. “Why do you need the Pandorica?” He tried not to let panic slip into his voice. There was always the possibility that they could resolve this peacefully.
The bandit leader scoffed. “No.” He turned and walked away. “Do what you must to ensure that he does not follow us.”
Rory should have known better. They never wanted to talk.
The other four men reached for their swords and Rory was about to do the same when some rocks skidded down the mountainside. It seemed like a trivial thing, but then more rocks cascaded down and two figures burst from the darkness. Twin blades flashed and two of the men cried out in pain.
Leaping into action, Rory punched the man closest to him, clearing a path for himself. He ran past de Payens and de Saint-Omer, his sights set on the bandit leader. The man had heard the commotion and already had his dagger drawn. He faced Rory with the short blade in one hand and the torch in the other. For a moment, they regarded each other, like they were gunfighters facing off at high noon.
“You will not take me!” declared the bandit leader. He threw the torch at Rory, causing a momentary distraction.
Then he plunged his dagger into his stomach, right to the hilt.
“No!” Rory crossed the distance between them in a second and he caught the bandit leader before he could fall to the ground. A triumphant smile touched the man’s lips before he went limp in Rory’s arms.
He wasn’t sure what to feel. Victory seemed misplaced now, but he couldn’t quite feel sorry, either. He was simply stunned. The bandit leader had been dedicated to his cause. In his eyes, death was better than capture. Rory wished the man had been willing to explain his reasons. Maybe then this wouldn’t feel so senseless.
Carefully, he lowered the bandit leader to the ground and then he closed the man’s eyes.
“Centurion.” De Payens jogged towards him, sliding his sword back into his scabbard. Rory looked past him and saw de Saint-Omer standing guard over the two remaining men. The other two lay in the dirt, clearly dead. The sight of the bodies made Rory grimace.
The leader of the Knights Templar noticed the body at Rory’s feet. He nodded to himself, but he did not utter any praises. “The Pandorica is ours,” he said simply.
“It didn’t have to be like this,” Rory whispered in English. He was tired of seeing people die for no reason. Life was so much easier when he wasn’t a part of the world. He looked up at de Payens. “He killed himself,” he said in Latin. “It is a waste of life.”
De Payens considered this for a moment. “This man was not unlike us. Ready to die for a cause. Faith is a powerful motivator. It is not a waste of life when you know you have fulfilled your duty on this earth.”
De fideli. It wasn’t quite the answer Rory had been looking for, but the words brought a sense of comfort. He pulled off his cape and laid it over the bandit leader.
With his conscience somewhat appeased, he turned his gaze to the Pandorica. He drifted towards it, initially unaware that he was moving at all. All he could think about was whispering his apologies to Amy for being away so long. At least she slept peacefully within, completely unaware of the journey she had been on. When he reached the stone box, he lay his hand on the surface and closed his eyes.
“From this point on,” Rory said softly to himself, “I am not letting you out of my sight.”
* * *
“The Pandorica remained with the Knights Templar in Jerusalem until they were forced to move their headquarters some years later. By 1231, it was the property of the Vatican.”
The security guard nodded at Barbara. “And what about the Lone Centurion?”
“Some scholars say he was the ninth founding knight of the order, but there’s no existing proof to support that.” Barbara always tried to remain objective, but it was hard to picture a Roman soldier running around with a group of Christian knights. If it had happened at all, there would be some mention of it somewhere.
“He’s a bit like the Sasquatch, the Lone Centurion. Plenty of stories but no concrete proof.”
Barbara smiled at the analogy. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
The clacking wheels of Floria’s cleaning cart echoed from down the corridor, signalling that the woman was done. Barbara hadn’t realized it while they were talking, but her tea had grown cold. “I should get back to work.”
“You should go home,” said the security guard good-naturedly.
“I’ll sleep once the exhibit is up and running.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding like a vow. She had no idea why she was uttering a vow to a man less than half her age.
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” said the security guard, walking back into the museum.
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no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 04:09 pm (UTC)These men...seven hundred years the Centurion looked for the Box. Surely they knew it was NOT their relic? I can see how you could incorporate it...but...such a waste. I understand faith, but there is a time when faith can become fanaticism. Poor Rory. If only he knew how many had lived and died in the Pandorica's name.
Another gorgeous and wonderously detailed chapter. Thank you so much for this!
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2013-05-18 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-18 01:24 am (UTC)You know, I never gave any thought to that. Because Rory would definitely be uncomfortable with the thought that he was related to so much suffering. Damn, that's a good story beat. Oh well...