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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (30/49)
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
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
“That’s one of the joys and frustrations of being a historian. Everyone has their own story. The Pandorica is a menace or a marvel; it all depends on who you talk to.”
Sarah Jane scribbled something down in her notebook. Barbara craned her neck, just enough to get a quick peek at the page. It was full of strange symbols and squiggles, which she recognized as shorthand. Not that Barbara could read it, but she had a friend who still used shorthand as well.
“I think that is what makes it such an enduring icon, though. There’s a debate every time people talk about it.”
“There are two sides to every tale,” agreed Sarah Jane. She finished up her latest notation before looking up at Barbara. “What are your thoughts on the Pandorica’s origins? We know the Romans didn’t create it; it was found at Stonehenge along with the other totems.”
“In other words, is it possible that the Pandorica was made by the local Celts?” Sarah Jane didn’t nod, instead letting Barbara run with her own interpretation of the question. “Any archaeologist will tell you that it would have been impossible for the Celts to craft the Pandorica by hand. The tools for such precision work wouldn’t have existed yet.”
“But then that begs the question: if the Celts didn’t make the Pandorica, then who did?”
It was a question Barbara had heard many times during her career and one she always returned to when time allowed. “Ask a historian that question and the good ones will probably mention that the fabled stars in the night sky supposedly disappeared around the same time the Pandorica was discovered.”
Sarah Jane mulled over this comment for about a second. “Are you suggesting that the Pandorica and the stars are related?” She didn’t speak as though she thought that Barbara was some crackpot. She seemed genuinely interested in this new line of thinking.
“Let’s just say that you aren’t the first to make that assumption.”
* * *
South African Coast, 1371 A.D.
“I am serious. That is what it is called.”
The others just stared at Rory dubiously, though Kasumi looked like she was trying not to laugh.
“The Horn of Africa. I am not making it up.” Again, no response. He signed inwardly, sensing that opinions weren’t going to change anytime soon. “If you saw Africa on a map or from the air, you would see what I am talking about. It is shaped sort of like a rhino’s head and there is a bit that sticks out…”
The samurai turned away, shaking their heads in amusement as they walked off. Ichiro patted him on the shoulder as he passed by to return to the wheelhouse, like he was saying, “Nice try, son.” Kasumi finally smiled at him; it was the sort of smile one used when a dog did something amusing or a child was being cute.
“You have seen Africa from the air?” she asked. She looked out at the coastline steadily growing closer to the ship.
“Not personally, but others have.”
“In the flying machines you described? The…” Her brow furrowed as she sought to find the right word in English. “Aer-o-plane?”
For a brief moment, Rory thought of mentioning space shuttles, but he quickly dismissed the thought. It was bad enough that Kasumi and the others knew about cars and airplanes. He didn’t need to start the space race about six hundred years too early.
He supposed he shouldn’t have been talking about the future at all, but on these long voyages what else was there to talk about? Rory didn’t want to talk about himself or Amy or the Doctor. Of course, the others were left with the question of just how Rory knew about all of these things that didn’t exist yet. They hadn’t asked him outright so far, but he was waiting for the moment when they asked if he was insane or a prophet.
Rory decided to change the subject. “Did you think it would take this long? Halfway there in just over two years?” The mention of airplanes had led him to this thought. A flight from Beijing to London would have probably taken less than a day of travel time.
“I am sure that if we had not extended our stay in Australia, we would be nearing England by now.”
And Rory only had himself to blame for that. But they were halfway, so to speak. Once they stopped and re-supplied, they would sail up the west coast of Africa, pass by the Mediterranean, jut around Spain, and then it was through the Channel and down the Thames to London. Though it sounded relatively simple, he knew it could take another six months to a year to get back to England. He wasn’t about to claim a victory when there was still half the race to complete.
Still, it felt good to be that much closer to home and the thought that he could be back on familiar ground in under a year, after being gone for over a millennia, made him smile.
He turned away from the view and walked over to the Pandorica. The hemp canvas that covered it looked a little worse for wear, but Kasumi had spruced it up a bit by painting some flowing Japanese kanji on it. Rory patted the stone box and whispered under his breath, “Not long now, Amy.”
It wasn’t a massive settlement, but Rory was impressed by the stone wall enclosing the village. The wall was tall and sturdy, two features that went a long way to discourage any attacks. The village was also the first settlement they had stumbled upon since dropping anchor in a nearby harbour. He supposed they could have kept walking, found a bigger village to trade with, but he knew everyone was weary from the long trip and taking a rest was the foremost thought on his companions’ minds. So they approached the gates and he hoped the villagers were the friendly type.
A sentry atop the wall noticed them right away; Rory didn’t even have to say a greeting. The thin young man disappeared from view, but his voice could be heard, calling out to the rest of the village. The language was a mixture of unfamiliar sounds and clicks, as though Rory were listening to the old radiator in the nurses’ lounge back at Leadworth Hospital.
Yamada rested his hand on the hilt of Kimura’s katana. He had claimed the sword after the battle and it had not left his side since. “You always assume the worst,” Kasumi teased him.
“Someone must,” he replied with complete seriousness.
Behind him, Chiaki nodded his head enthusiastically, sending his ponytail bobbing, and Rory bit down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling. Out of the five original rōnin, the stocky samurai had probably “mellowed” the most. He was still a steadfast warrior capable of slicing a man in half, but he enjoyed the new things they encountered instead of seeing enemies in every shadow. The saying went that travel broadens the mind, and Rory definitely saw that in Chiaki.
The reinforced gates of the village swung open on rusting hinges. Half a dozen men armed with spears greeted them, but they didn’t rush forward and try to impale them. Rory took that as a good sign. He raised his hand and waved. “Hello.”
It was no surprise that no one replied, but he thought it was worth a shot. He slowly walked forward to enter the village, meeting the gaze of each guard to assure them that he meant no harm. The men parted to allow the group to enter, but they kept their spears at the ready. When the four of them crossed completely into the village proper, the gates were closed behind them. Rory tried not to see it as an ominous sign that they were never leaving.
He turned his focus to the village itself to distract himself. The wall had belied how big the village truly was. There were more homes than he expected, some simple huts constructed out of wood or mud, while others were built from stone. He would say a hundred people probably lived here. People exited their homes to stare at the newcomers, but none of them appeared surprised or even frightened by the sight of them. Slim dogs that looked far from tame ran in and around the buildings. One came up to Rory and sniffed the toe of his boot. He started to bend down to offer his hand to the dog when the animal snarled at him, exposing sharp teeth. The dog looked ready to lunge when a teenaged boy swooped in and scooped it up. This didn’t stop the dog from barking angrily at Rory as it was carried away.
“Perhaps it did not like how you smell?” suggested Kasumi.
Rory might have laughed, but he had to wonder if she was right. Could the dog tell that he wasn’t flesh and bone? He didn’t have this problem with other animals, but dogs had a very keen sense of smell. He would have to be sure to avoid any canine contact for now.
They reached the centre of the village without further mishap, but during that time no one approached to greet them. Now a wizened man with dark brown skin and white hair stepped out from one of the stone houses. He wore numerous necklaces and talismans around his neck and various bangles and jewels around his wrists and ankles. There was no doubt that this man was the village elder.
The old man squinted at them, hinting that he had poor vision. Rory stepped closer, with his hand held out for a handshake, to show that he wasn’t holding a weapon. The elder glanced down at Rory’s hand and then up at his face. He stared intently at Rory, as if trying to commit every feature to memory. Or he was trying to gauge Rory’s intentions from how honest he looked.
After a few moments of awkward silence, in which Rory couldn’t decide whether to pull his hand away, the elder hollered a command back at the stone house. He said something, pointed at Rory, and then he said something else and pointed to a figure emerging from the building.
For a second, Rory thought they were being deferred to another village elder, but the man who exited the house clearly was not an elder.
In fact, he wasn’t even African. Rory, more than anyone else, was surprised to see a face as white as his own. A European; he had to be. His clothes were a testament to that; breeches, a linen shirt, and leather shoes. The only oddity were the African necklaces and bracelets worn around his neck and wrists.
The man was tall, middle-aged, with blonde hair that was starting to be bleached by the sun. He had fair skin and like most fair skinned people, he burned rather than tanned. His high cheekbones and nose were peeling from an old sunburn. He didn’t strike Rory as the outdoors type. His build wasn’t broad and muscular enough.
From the way the man looked at Rory, with an intense scrutiny, he had to guess that he was the scholarly type. Rory was suddenly glad he wasn’t wearing his armour. After Cannanore, Kasumi had a kimono fashioned for him so he would blend in with the samurai. This couldn’t mask his appearance though, but he was grateful to face the scholar as just another oddly dressed European. There was something about the man’s gaze that put Rory off so the fewer questions posed the better.
“Hello,” said Rory, speaking English out of habit. “This is certainly a surprise.”
“Thou are cled sulliche for a wine-maies.”
If there had been any crickets about, Rory would have heard them chirping right then. Kasumi, whose grasp of English was fairly moderate by now, whispered, “What language is he speaking?”
“English” would have been both the right and wrong answer. It wasn’t the language as Rory knew it, but Middle English, the language dreaded by university students taking introductory English courses. He had been forced to read some Chaucer once for a class and it was the only course he had ever considered quitting. At least this guy wasn’t speaking Old English.
He had promptly forgotten all of his Chaucer after writing the final exam for the course, but he really doubted that quoting The Canterbury Tales would help him right now. Rory figured if this man was a scholar, he would know some other languages.
“Hello,” he tried again, this time in Latin. “My apologies. My understanding of your language is minimal.”
The man’s eyes widened with surprise. “I have not heard Latin be spoken in many years,” he replied in flawless Classical Latin. “Are you with the Church?”
He had been, sort of, while travelling with the Polos. “Yes.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. The man hadn’t asked if he was currently with the Church.
The man rushed forward and eagerly shook Rory’s hand. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. I am Owain Williams.”
Rory was sure his jaw hit the ground. He just stood there, dumbfounded, while Owain continued to shake his hand. Williams. Was it possible that this man an ancestor of his? What were the odds? It was a common enough surname, though. It wasn’t as if he was related to Robbie Williams. But he hadn’t even considered that he would meet distant relatives during his journey.
These thoughts were so consuming that he didn’t realize Owain had asked him a question until Kasumi nudged him in the ribs. “I am sorry?”
“Your name, sir.” Owain finally let go of his hand.
“My name? Of course. It is…” Rory drew a blank. He couldn’t use Rory and he didn’t want to say Centurion, either. Where was the Doctor’s psychic paper when you needed it?
“Takeshi.” Kasumi spoke, saving Rory some embarrassment. How she knew he was fishing for a name was beyond him, but he was still thankful for her help. “Tell him we call you Takeshi,” she added. “It means ‘warrior’.”
To Owain, the words were meaningless. He looked to Rory imploringly. “They call me Takeshi,” said Rory.
“Takeshi.” Owain repeated the word to himself. “Curious language. Not as curious as Xhosa, mind you. I am still learning and I have been here five years.” The man laughed heartily, like he had just heard a good joke. “Let us retire before I end up a dreadful shade of red. We can exchange stories inside.” He gestured to the stone house he had exited.
“Of course.” Rory smiled at Owain until the man turned away from them to walk back to the house. He then turned to Kasumi and the others. “He wants to-”
“Who is that man?” asked Yamada, interrupting Rory. He watched Owain enter the house, barely looking at Rory as he asked the question.
“Is he one of your people?” added Chiaki.
“You could say that, I suppose,” said Rory. Owain was English; his accent gave him away. It also explained why no one in the village had been surprised when they saw Rory. He wasn’t the first white man to visit. “I am not sure what he is doing here. He wants to talk.”
“If he knows the language,” said Kasumi, “we should ask him about supplies.”
“Right.” At least they wouldn’t have to resort to waving hands and shouting to get the supplies they needed.
Rory led the way into the house. It was noticeably cooler inside and it felt nice to get out of the hot sun. A few battered lanterns provided the illumination. The house had no windows, making the space seem even smaller. It also didn’t help that a makeshift table, made out of some planks of wood and two large boulders, stood right in the middle of the room. The surface of it was covered with books and maps and African artefacts.
“My apologies.” Owain closed some of the books and stacked them atop one another. “I was trying to sort out some of the local legends with the tribe leader.”
There was no furniture in the house. Some blankets in the corner and an old sack seemed to represent all of Owain’s earthly belongings. The others milled about behind him, not exactly sure what to do with themselves in the empty dwelling. “Are you an explorer?” asked Rory. It was sort of dizzying, switching back from one language to the other. He hadn’t forgotten his Latin, but it had been a long time since he had use for it.
Owain chuckled. “I see myself more as a scholar with the delusion of being an explorer.”
“What brought you to the continent?” He glanced at one of the maps. It showed the area of Northern Africa with Egypt as the dominant focus.
“Stories, for the most part. It is part of my research. Are you on a mission?”
Rory almost thought Owain was talking about the Pandorica, but then he realized that the man was asking him if he was a missionary with the Church. “I set off from Rome some time ago.” Another half-truth, but that was all Rory was willing to tell.
“Do you now return home?”
“Yes. My friends were gracious enough to leave their homes to help me.” Rory really wished he could bring the others into the conversation. Kasumi looked absolutely bored and Yamada hadn’t moved after taking up a position near the door. Only Chiaki seemed preoccupied; he was examining some of the artefacts on the table.
“Home.” Owain spoke the single word with such longing. “I left London ten years ago. It was my choice, of course, but one always longs for the place they find most familiar.”
It took very little imagination to know what Owain meant. The England that Rory would return to wasn’t the England he knew, but it was still where he was from and setting foot in its lands would signal the end of his very lengthy journey. “We had hoped to re-supply before setting sail again. I was wondering-”
“If I could help with communication?” Owain finished Rory’s sentence for him. “I will do my best. I am tempted to teach the village Latin just to make my life easier.” It sounded like a joke, but Rory got the feeling the man had given the idea some serious thought.
“Thank you.” He gestured to the others that they were leaving and then he followed Owain out of the house. Rory’s parents had taught him never to turn away help, no matter who was offering it. Owain seemed a bit strange, but who wasn’t? It wasn’t Rory’s place to pry. He would leave the man to his business and hopefully the reverse would be bestowed on him.
Ichiro, along with Katō and Inaba, were doing general repairs to the ship when Rory and the others returned. A group of villagers had accompanied them to help carry supplies and they all stopped and gawked at the Hikaru Maru. It seemed like they hadn’t seen too many ships before this moment. Owain tried to explain what it was in their unusual language and Rory couldn’t tell if the man was having any success.
“That did not take long,” said Ichiro. He looked past Rory, taking in the villagers with their dark brown skin and tribal dress. Then the captain noticed Owain. Ichiro wasn’t one for comical reactions, but right then his eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline.
“I know,” admitted Rory. “I was just as surprised.” Katō and Inaba finally noticed Owain, too, and they paused in their work of replacing the ties that held down the Pandorica to the deck.
“A fine vessel,” said Owain, coming up next to Rory, seemingly unaware of the attention he was receiving. “It reminds me of the merchant ship I travelled on to get from London to Gibraltar.”
Kasumi led the way onto the Hikaru Maru, the burden of carrying the supplies onboard split evenly between the villagers and her and the samurai. Katō and Inaba went to help and Rory would have, too, if Owain hadn’t been so insistent upon talking to him. While it didn’t seem fair that his friends and strangers were doing all the work, he couldn’t just leave Owain either. The man had been out here on his own for years. Seeking companionship from someone who understood you, in more ways than one, was a difficult urge to resist. Rory would have probably done the same if he had met someone who spoke his version of English.
“I sailed through there once, a long time ago.” It had been that trip that had started this long journey. If Rory had stayed undiscovered beneath Stonehenge who knows how different his life would have been.
“Magnificent, was it not? One could almost imagine what it was like for the Ancient Greeks and Romans, travelling across the Mediterranean to sell their wares.”
Rory didn’t have to imagine. He had seen some of it firsthand. God, he was going to have so many stories when he saw Amy again. It was going to be brilliant to finally tell someone else about all of his adventures without having to hold back certain details.
Owain’s attention had drifted away from Rory and now it was on the Hikaru Maru. The robust merchant ship had weathered quite a lot to get them here. Once they reached England, he hoped Ichiro, Kasumi, and the samurai would consider staying for a little while. They deserved a little holiday before returning to Japan.
One of the villagers dropped a bundle of dried meat and it bumped along the deck until it came to a stop at the base of the Pandorica. Without any ties holding the canvas down, the fabric flapped a bit in the breeze coming off of the water. Naturally curious about this giant box shaped object, the villager lifted up a corner of the canvas to peer at what lay beneath. Rory noticed just as the covering revealed the corner of one of the circular carvings.
“Hey!” He shouted at the villager and the poor man was scared out of his wits. He dropped the canvas and ran off of the ship. Owain said something to him as the villager passed by but it didn’t little to stop the man’s exit.
The remaining villagers suddenly cast wary looks at the Pandorica.
“It is cargo I am taking back to Rome,” explained Rory, sensing that Owain had a question or two. “It is very fragile.”
The scholar nodded his head. “Of course.”
“I think we can manage from here. Could you give my thanks to the villagers?”
“I will. I would also like to extend an invitation. The tribe leader would like to throw a feast in your honour, a gesture to show the strength of our newfound friendship. Tomorrow night. Please say you will come.”
It had been while since Rory had received a formal dinner invitation. Kublai Khan used to thrown elaborate banquets whenever he had honoured guests, but none of his successors had had the same flair. “I will discuss it with my companions.” If the others wanted to stay, then they would. The decision wasn’t solely his to make.
“Send word when you can. I shall eagerly await your response.”
Owain called to the villagers, letting them know that it was time to go. The men disembarked from the ship, nodding their good-byes. Only a few glanced back as they left. Rory watched them leave and once they were out of earshot, he boarded the Hikaru Maru to discuss, of all things, dinner plans.
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
“That’s one of the joys and frustrations of being a historian. Everyone has their own story. The Pandorica is a menace or a marvel; it all depends on who you talk to.”
Sarah Jane scribbled something down in her notebook. Barbara craned her neck, just enough to get a quick peek at the page. It was full of strange symbols and squiggles, which she recognized as shorthand. Not that Barbara could read it, but she had a friend who still used shorthand as well.
“I think that is what makes it such an enduring icon, though. There’s a debate every time people talk about it.”
“There are two sides to every tale,” agreed Sarah Jane. She finished up her latest notation before looking up at Barbara. “What are your thoughts on the Pandorica’s origins? We know the Romans didn’t create it; it was found at Stonehenge along with the other totems.”
“In other words, is it possible that the Pandorica was made by the local Celts?” Sarah Jane didn’t nod, instead letting Barbara run with her own interpretation of the question. “Any archaeologist will tell you that it would have been impossible for the Celts to craft the Pandorica by hand. The tools for such precision work wouldn’t have existed yet.”
“But then that begs the question: if the Celts didn’t make the Pandorica, then who did?”
It was a question Barbara had heard many times during her career and one she always returned to when time allowed. “Ask a historian that question and the good ones will probably mention that the fabled stars in the night sky supposedly disappeared around the same time the Pandorica was discovered.”
Sarah Jane mulled over this comment for about a second. “Are you suggesting that the Pandorica and the stars are related?” She didn’t speak as though she thought that Barbara was some crackpot. She seemed genuinely interested in this new line of thinking.
“Let’s just say that you aren’t the first to make that assumption.”
* * *
South African Coast, 1371 A.D.
“I am serious. That is what it is called.”
The others just stared at Rory dubiously, though Kasumi looked like she was trying not to laugh.
“The Horn of Africa. I am not making it up.” Again, no response. He signed inwardly, sensing that opinions weren’t going to change anytime soon. “If you saw Africa on a map or from the air, you would see what I am talking about. It is shaped sort of like a rhino’s head and there is a bit that sticks out…”
The samurai turned away, shaking their heads in amusement as they walked off. Ichiro patted him on the shoulder as he passed by to return to the wheelhouse, like he was saying, “Nice try, son.” Kasumi finally smiled at him; it was the sort of smile one used when a dog did something amusing or a child was being cute.
“You have seen Africa from the air?” she asked. She looked out at the coastline steadily growing closer to the ship.
“Not personally, but others have.”
“In the flying machines you described? The…” Her brow furrowed as she sought to find the right word in English. “Aer-o-plane?”
For a brief moment, Rory thought of mentioning space shuttles, but he quickly dismissed the thought. It was bad enough that Kasumi and the others knew about cars and airplanes. He didn’t need to start the space race about six hundred years too early.
He supposed he shouldn’t have been talking about the future at all, but on these long voyages what else was there to talk about? Rory didn’t want to talk about himself or Amy or the Doctor. Of course, the others were left with the question of just how Rory knew about all of these things that didn’t exist yet. They hadn’t asked him outright so far, but he was waiting for the moment when they asked if he was insane or a prophet.
Rory decided to change the subject. “Did you think it would take this long? Halfway there in just over two years?” The mention of airplanes had led him to this thought. A flight from Beijing to London would have probably taken less than a day of travel time.
“I am sure that if we had not extended our stay in Australia, we would be nearing England by now.”
And Rory only had himself to blame for that. But they were halfway, so to speak. Once they stopped and re-supplied, they would sail up the west coast of Africa, pass by the Mediterranean, jut around Spain, and then it was through the Channel and down the Thames to London. Though it sounded relatively simple, he knew it could take another six months to a year to get back to England. He wasn’t about to claim a victory when there was still half the race to complete.
Still, it felt good to be that much closer to home and the thought that he could be back on familiar ground in under a year, after being gone for over a millennia, made him smile.
He turned away from the view and walked over to the Pandorica. The hemp canvas that covered it looked a little worse for wear, but Kasumi had spruced it up a bit by painting some flowing Japanese kanji on it. Rory patted the stone box and whispered under his breath, “Not long now, Amy.”
It wasn’t a massive settlement, but Rory was impressed by the stone wall enclosing the village. The wall was tall and sturdy, two features that went a long way to discourage any attacks. The village was also the first settlement they had stumbled upon since dropping anchor in a nearby harbour. He supposed they could have kept walking, found a bigger village to trade with, but he knew everyone was weary from the long trip and taking a rest was the foremost thought on his companions’ minds. So they approached the gates and he hoped the villagers were the friendly type.
A sentry atop the wall noticed them right away; Rory didn’t even have to say a greeting. The thin young man disappeared from view, but his voice could be heard, calling out to the rest of the village. The language was a mixture of unfamiliar sounds and clicks, as though Rory were listening to the old radiator in the nurses’ lounge back at Leadworth Hospital.
Yamada rested his hand on the hilt of Kimura’s katana. He had claimed the sword after the battle and it had not left his side since. “You always assume the worst,” Kasumi teased him.
“Someone must,” he replied with complete seriousness.
Behind him, Chiaki nodded his head enthusiastically, sending his ponytail bobbing, and Rory bit down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling. Out of the five original rōnin, the stocky samurai had probably “mellowed” the most. He was still a steadfast warrior capable of slicing a man in half, but he enjoyed the new things they encountered instead of seeing enemies in every shadow. The saying went that travel broadens the mind, and Rory definitely saw that in Chiaki.
The reinforced gates of the village swung open on rusting hinges. Half a dozen men armed with spears greeted them, but they didn’t rush forward and try to impale them. Rory took that as a good sign. He raised his hand and waved. “Hello.”
It was no surprise that no one replied, but he thought it was worth a shot. He slowly walked forward to enter the village, meeting the gaze of each guard to assure them that he meant no harm. The men parted to allow the group to enter, but they kept their spears at the ready. When the four of them crossed completely into the village proper, the gates were closed behind them. Rory tried not to see it as an ominous sign that they were never leaving.
He turned his focus to the village itself to distract himself. The wall had belied how big the village truly was. There were more homes than he expected, some simple huts constructed out of wood or mud, while others were built from stone. He would say a hundred people probably lived here. People exited their homes to stare at the newcomers, but none of them appeared surprised or even frightened by the sight of them. Slim dogs that looked far from tame ran in and around the buildings. One came up to Rory and sniffed the toe of his boot. He started to bend down to offer his hand to the dog when the animal snarled at him, exposing sharp teeth. The dog looked ready to lunge when a teenaged boy swooped in and scooped it up. This didn’t stop the dog from barking angrily at Rory as it was carried away.
“Perhaps it did not like how you smell?” suggested Kasumi.
Rory might have laughed, but he had to wonder if she was right. Could the dog tell that he wasn’t flesh and bone? He didn’t have this problem with other animals, but dogs had a very keen sense of smell. He would have to be sure to avoid any canine contact for now.
They reached the centre of the village without further mishap, but during that time no one approached to greet them. Now a wizened man with dark brown skin and white hair stepped out from one of the stone houses. He wore numerous necklaces and talismans around his neck and various bangles and jewels around his wrists and ankles. There was no doubt that this man was the village elder.
The old man squinted at them, hinting that he had poor vision. Rory stepped closer, with his hand held out for a handshake, to show that he wasn’t holding a weapon. The elder glanced down at Rory’s hand and then up at his face. He stared intently at Rory, as if trying to commit every feature to memory. Or he was trying to gauge Rory’s intentions from how honest he looked.
After a few moments of awkward silence, in which Rory couldn’t decide whether to pull his hand away, the elder hollered a command back at the stone house. He said something, pointed at Rory, and then he said something else and pointed to a figure emerging from the building.
For a second, Rory thought they were being deferred to another village elder, but the man who exited the house clearly was not an elder.
In fact, he wasn’t even African. Rory, more than anyone else, was surprised to see a face as white as his own. A European; he had to be. His clothes were a testament to that; breeches, a linen shirt, and leather shoes. The only oddity were the African necklaces and bracelets worn around his neck and wrists.
The man was tall, middle-aged, with blonde hair that was starting to be bleached by the sun. He had fair skin and like most fair skinned people, he burned rather than tanned. His high cheekbones and nose were peeling from an old sunburn. He didn’t strike Rory as the outdoors type. His build wasn’t broad and muscular enough.
From the way the man looked at Rory, with an intense scrutiny, he had to guess that he was the scholarly type. Rory was suddenly glad he wasn’t wearing his armour. After Cannanore, Kasumi had a kimono fashioned for him so he would blend in with the samurai. This couldn’t mask his appearance though, but he was grateful to face the scholar as just another oddly dressed European. There was something about the man’s gaze that put Rory off so the fewer questions posed the better.
“Hello,” said Rory, speaking English out of habit. “This is certainly a surprise.”
“Thou are cled sulliche for a wine-maies.”
If there had been any crickets about, Rory would have heard them chirping right then. Kasumi, whose grasp of English was fairly moderate by now, whispered, “What language is he speaking?”
“English” would have been both the right and wrong answer. It wasn’t the language as Rory knew it, but Middle English, the language dreaded by university students taking introductory English courses. He had been forced to read some Chaucer once for a class and it was the only course he had ever considered quitting. At least this guy wasn’t speaking Old English.
He had promptly forgotten all of his Chaucer after writing the final exam for the course, but he really doubted that quoting The Canterbury Tales would help him right now. Rory figured if this man was a scholar, he would know some other languages.
“Hello,” he tried again, this time in Latin. “My apologies. My understanding of your language is minimal.”
The man’s eyes widened with surprise. “I have not heard Latin be spoken in many years,” he replied in flawless Classical Latin. “Are you with the Church?”
He had been, sort of, while travelling with the Polos. “Yes.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. The man hadn’t asked if he was currently with the Church.
The man rushed forward and eagerly shook Rory’s hand. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. I am Owain Williams.”
Rory was sure his jaw hit the ground. He just stood there, dumbfounded, while Owain continued to shake his hand. Williams. Was it possible that this man an ancestor of his? What were the odds? It was a common enough surname, though. It wasn’t as if he was related to Robbie Williams. But he hadn’t even considered that he would meet distant relatives during his journey.
These thoughts were so consuming that he didn’t realize Owain had asked him a question until Kasumi nudged him in the ribs. “I am sorry?”
“Your name, sir.” Owain finally let go of his hand.
“My name? Of course. It is…” Rory drew a blank. He couldn’t use Rory and he didn’t want to say Centurion, either. Where was the Doctor’s psychic paper when you needed it?
“Takeshi.” Kasumi spoke, saving Rory some embarrassment. How she knew he was fishing for a name was beyond him, but he was still thankful for her help. “Tell him we call you Takeshi,” she added. “It means ‘warrior’.”
To Owain, the words were meaningless. He looked to Rory imploringly. “They call me Takeshi,” said Rory.
“Takeshi.” Owain repeated the word to himself. “Curious language. Not as curious as Xhosa, mind you. I am still learning and I have been here five years.” The man laughed heartily, like he had just heard a good joke. “Let us retire before I end up a dreadful shade of red. We can exchange stories inside.” He gestured to the stone house he had exited.
“Of course.” Rory smiled at Owain until the man turned away from them to walk back to the house. He then turned to Kasumi and the others. “He wants to-”
“Who is that man?” asked Yamada, interrupting Rory. He watched Owain enter the house, barely looking at Rory as he asked the question.
“Is he one of your people?” added Chiaki.
“You could say that, I suppose,” said Rory. Owain was English; his accent gave him away. It also explained why no one in the village had been surprised when they saw Rory. He wasn’t the first white man to visit. “I am not sure what he is doing here. He wants to talk.”
“If he knows the language,” said Kasumi, “we should ask him about supplies.”
“Right.” At least they wouldn’t have to resort to waving hands and shouting to get the supplies they needed.
Rory led the way into the house. It was noticeably cooler inside and it felt nice to get out of the hot sun. A few battered lanterns provided the illumination. The house had no windows, making the space seem even smaller. It also didn’t help that a makeshift table, made out of some planks of wood and two large boulders, stood right in the middle of the room. The surface of it was covered with books and maps and African artefacts.
“My apologies.” Owain closed some of the books and stacked them atop one another. “I was trying to sort out some of the local legends with the tribe leader.”
There was no furniture in the house. Some blankets in the corner and an old sack seemed to represent all of Owain’s earthly belongings. The others milled about behind him, not exactly sure what to do with themselves in the empty dwelling. “Are you an explorer?” asked Rory. It was sort of dizzying, switching back from one language to the other. He hadn’t forgotten his Latin, but it had been a long time since he had use for it.
Owain chuckled. “I see myself more as a scholar with the delusion of being an explorer.”
“What brought you to the continent?” He glanced at one of the maps. It showed the area of Northern Africa with Egypt as the dominant focus.
“Stories, for the most part. It is part of my research. Are you on a mission?”
Rory almost thought Owain was talking about the Pandorica, but then he realized that the man was asking him if he was a missionary with the Church. “I set off from Rome some time ago.” Another half-truth, but that was all Rory was willing to tell.
“Do you now return home?”
“Yes. My friends were gracious enough to leave their homes to help me.” Rory really wished he could bring the others into the conversation. Kasumi looked absolutely bored and Yamada hadn’t moved after taking up a position near the door. Only Chiaki seemed preoccupied; he was examining some of the artefacts on the table.
“Home.” Owain spoke the single word with such longing. “I left London ten years ago. It was my choice, of course, but one always longs for the place they find most familiar.”
It took very little imagination to know what Owain meant. The England that Rory would return to wasn’t the England he knew, but it was still where he was from and setting foot in its lands would signal the end of his very lengthy journey. “We had hoped to re-supply before setting sail again. I was wondering-”
“If I could help with communication?” Owain finished Rory’s sentence for him. “I will do my best. I am tempted to teach the village Latin just to make my life easier.” It sounded like a joke, but Rory got the feeling the man had given the idea some serious thought.
“Thank you.” He gestured to the others that they were leaving and then he followed Owain out of the house. Rory’s parents had taught him never to turn away help, no matter who was offering it. Owain seemed a bit strange, but who wasn’t? It wasn’t Rory’s place to pry. He would leave the man to his business and hopefully the reverse would be bestowed on him.
Ichiro, along with Katō and Inaba, were doing general repairs to the ship when Rory and the others returned. A group of villagers had accompanied them to help carry supplies and they all stopped and gawked at the Hikaru Maru. It seemed like they hadn’t seen too many ships before this moment. Owain tried to explain what it was in their unusual language and Rory couldn’t tell if the man was having any success.
“That did not take long,” said Ichiro. He looked past Rory, taking in the villagers with their dark brown skin and tribal dress. Then the captain noticed Owain. Ichiro wasn’t one for comical reactions, but right then his eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline.
“I know,” admitted Rory. “I was just as surprised.” Katō and Inaba finally noticed Owain, too, and they paused in their work of replacing the ties that held down the Pandorica to the deck.
“A fine vessel,” said Owain, coming up next to Rory, seemingly unaware of the attention he was receiving. “It reminds me of the merchant ship I travelled on to get from London to Gibraltar.”
Kasumi led the way onto the Hikaru Maru, the burden of carrying the supplies onboard split evenly between the villagers and her and the samurai. Katō and Inaba went to help and Rory would have, too, if Owain hadn’t been so insistent upon talking to him. While it didn’t seem fair that his friends and strangers were doing all the work, he couldn’t just leave Owain either. The man had been out here on his own for years. Seeking companionship from someone who understood you, in more ways than one, was a difficult urge to resist. Rory would have probably done the same if he had met someone who spoke his version of English.
“I sailed through there once, a long time ago.” It had been that trip that had started this long journey. If Rory had stayed undiscovered beneath Stonehenge who knows how different his life would have been.
“Magnificent, was it not? One could almost imagine what it was like for the Ancient Greeks and Romans, travelling across the Mediterranean to sell their wares.”
Rory didn’t have to imagine. He had seen some of it firsthand. God, he was going to have so many stories when he saw Amy again. It was going to be brilliant to finally tell someone else about all of his adventures without having to hold back certain details.
Owain’s attention had drifted away from Rory and now it was on the Hikaru Maru. The robust merchant ship had weathered quite a lot to get them here. Once they reached England, he hoped Ichiro, Kasumi, and the samurai would consider staying for a little while. They deserved a little holiday before returning to Japan.
One of the villagers dropped a bundle of dried meat and it bumped along the deck until it came to a stop at the base of the Pandorica. Without any ties holding the canvas down, the fabric flapped a bit in the breeze coming off of the water. Naturally curious about this giant box shaped object, the villager lifted up a corner of the canvas to peer at what lay beneath. Rory noticed just as the covering revealed the corner of one of the circular carvings.
“Hey!” He shouted at the villager and the poor man was scared out of his wits. He dropped the canvas and ran off of the ship. Owain said something to him as the villager passed by but it didn’t little to stop the man’s exit.
The remaining villagers suddenly cast wary looks at the Pandorica.
“It is cargo I am taking back to Rome,” explained Rory, sensing that Owain had a question or two. “It is very fragile.”
The scholar nodded his head. “Of course.”
“I think we can manage from here. Could you give my thanks to the villagers?”
“I will. I would also like to extend an invitation. The tribe leader would like to throw a feast in your honour, a gesture to show the strength of our newfound friendship. Tomorrow night. Please say you will come.”
It had been while since Rory had received a formal dinner invitation. Kublai Khan used to thrown elaborate banquets whenever he had honoured guests, but none of his successors had had the same flair. “I will discuss it with my companions.” If the others wanted to stay, then they would. The decision wasn’t solely his to make.
“Send word when you can. I shall eagerly await your response.”
Owain called to the villagers, letting them know that it was time to go. The men disembarked from the ship, nodding their good-byes. Only a few glanced back as they left. Rory watched them leave and once they were out of earshot, he boarded the Hikaru Maru to discuss, of all things, dinner plans.
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Date: 2013-07-29 12:48 am (UTC)*HUGS*
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Date: 2013-07-31 12:16 am (UTC)