Forced off course by the Mandragora

Helix, the Tardis lands in the province of

San Martino in fifteenth-century Italy.

Here the court astrologer, Hieronymous,

has been taken over by the Mandragora

energy-form – Hieronymous and the other

members of his star-worshipping black

magic cult will be used as a bridgehead,

enabling the Mandragora Helix to conquer

the Earth and rule it though their chosen

servants.

The Doctor has to defeat not only the

Mandragora energy, but the evil schemes

of the murderous Count Federico who

plans to usurp the place of his nephew, the

rightful ruler of the province.

Cover illustration by Mike Little

UK: 60p *Australia: $2.20

Malta: 65c New Zealand: $1.90

*Recommended Price

Children/Fiction ISBN 0 426 11893 6

DOCTOR WHO AND

THE MASQUE OF

MANDRAGORA

Based on the BBC television serial The Masque of

Mandragora by Louis Marks by arrangement with the

British Broadcasting Corporation

PHILIP HINCHCLIFFE

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

A Target Book

Published in 1977

by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Text of book copyright © 1977 Philip Hinchcliffe and

Louis Marks

‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © 1977 by the British

Broadcasting Corporation

Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by

Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

ISBN 0 426 11893 6

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CONTENTS

1 The Mandragora Helix

2 The Brethren of Demnos

3 Execution!

4 Sacrifice

5 The Prince Must Die

6 The Secret of the Temple

7 The Spell of Evil

8 Torture!

9 The Invasion Begins

10 Siege

11 Duel to the Death

12 The Final Eclipse

1

The Mandragora Helix

The year was 1492, the place—a remote principality in

Northern Italy. A handful of ragged peasants sweated and

strained as they hauled a cart full of hay along a steep path.

Their faces were lined and care-worn by years of drudgery

but their natural high spirits remained undimmed as they

swore and cajoled amongst themselves with great gusto.

They reached the brow of the hill and paused for breath.

Suddenly the air was filled with the pounding of horses’

hooves and a troop of armed men appeared, their helmets

and breastplates glinting in the sun. Swiftly they

surrounded the defenceless peasants. One of them

brandished a burning torch. With a grin he tossed it into

the cart. The dry grass exploded into flame. Terrified, the peasants began screaming and running in all directions.

The horsemen allowed them to get a short distance away

then drew their swords and started to ride them down. As

each peasant was caught he was mercilessly butchered.

The slaughter continued for several minutes until a

harsh voice rang out.

‘Leave a few alive, Captain, to tell the others how

insurrection is dealt with!’

The captain of the troop saluted and called his men off.

The man who gave the order was seated astride a majestic

ebony-black stallion. The man wore rich and elaborate

clothes denoting he was someone of rank and power, a

hunting outfit in red velvet covered by a black silken cloak.

But this outward elegance was marred by his own features

which were brutal and ugly: heavy-lidded eyes, dark and

cold, a nose hooked like a vulture’s beak, a mouth set in a permanent sneer.

Apparently pleased with the scene of bloodshed and

carnage, he wheeled his horse and spurred it savagely in

the ribs. The animal darted forward at a gallop and the

troop of horsemen fell in behind and followed.

‘Make way! Make way for Count Federico!’

The mounted troop thundered through the city gates

scattering all before them and pulled up inside the palace courtyard. The Count dismounted and, with a quick glance

towards a large shuttered window, entered the palace.

Behind the shutters a sombre drama was being enacted.

The old Duke of San Martino—a feared but just ruler—lay

dying. Around his deathbed were gathered all his courtiers, grave and respectful. By the old man’s pillow, clasping his thin bony hand, knelt a young man of about twenty. He

was strikingly handsome with long, dark-brown hair. This

was his son and heir Giuliano. The young Prince fought

bravely to control his emotions as the priest administered the Last Rites.

Observing the scene, a few paces removed, was the

bizarre figure of the court astrologer, Hieronymous. His

eyes darted ceaselessly round the room like a trapped bird of prey. His long thick beard, black skull cap and

voluminous cloak gave him a strange and sinister

appearance. Even those who knew him well felt uneasy in

his presence.

Abruptly the priest’s low mumblings came to a halt. It

was over. The Duke was dead. Giuliano rose and looked

down on his father’s face, austere and imposing even in

this last moment of life. A tall blond young man touched

his arm in comfort. It was his childhood friend and

companion Marco.

‘He was a good man, Giuliano. A just and noble ruler.’

Giuliano nodded then turned round and faced the

astrologer. ‘Hieronymous, you foretold my father’s death.

How?’

‘Everything is foretold by the stars,’ replied the old

soothsayer gravely. ‘I am just a humble astrologer, I only interpret their meaning.’

‘But the exact day—the very hour—it’s not possible.’

The young Prince clenched his fist in disbelief.

‘When Mars comes into conjunction with Saturn in the

seventh layer, and the moon is full-grown... death comes to great ones. So it is decreed.’ The astrologer raised his arms heavenwards and turned to leave.

As he reached the doors Count Federico entered. A look

of understanding passed between them unnoticed by

anyone else in the room, then the astrologer swept out.

‘I’m sorry you could not be present at my father’s

deathbed, Uncle,’ said Giuliano bitingly.

‘I came as soon as I could. There were important matters

of state to attend to.’

‘I see. I’m sorry. I thought you were out enjoying some

sport.’

The Count’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘There was trouble

among the peasants. They needed teaching a lesson.’ He

rapped his thigh with a leather riding whip.

Giuliano smiled sarcastically. ‘Isn’t that your sport,

Uncle?’

The Count stared hatefully at his nephew for a moment

then turned on his heel and stalked out.

‘You are upset my lord,’ said Marco soothingly, ‘but do

not anger your uncle—not at this time.’ He dropped his

voice, ‘Remember he is strong and ruthless.’

Giuliano drew himself up proudly—his handsome face

stern and regal. ‘I am Duke now. I want to rule over a land where there is no tyranny, no blind ignorance and

superstition like that old fool Hieronymous preaches. We

make our own lives, not the stars.’

Marco nodded in agreement. ‘Nevertheless it is most

remarkable. Your father was in good health. To be struck

down so suddenly... and Hieronymous did predict it

exactly.’

Far and deep in the Space-Time Vortex a strange blue craft blinked and shimmered like a shaft of light. The craft was unusually shaped, about eight feet high and five feet square and on its top flashed a small white lamp. It had an

altogether enigmatic and alien appearance. Unless, that is, you happened to be an earthling from the mid-twentieth

century. In which case you would have recognised it as a

very ordinary London police box. But even then you would

have been misled. Because inside, the craft was infinitely larger than it was on the outside, and looked nothing like a police box. In fact it bore far more resemblance to a highly sophisticated space ship, which is what it was. A ship

which travelled through Space and Time! Its inner

workings embodied a secret which had eluded countless

civilisations since the dawn of life itself.

The owner of the ship, however, seemed quite at home

with this grandiose achievement and frequently

complained when things went wrong. At this moment he was striding purposefully along one of the many gleaming

white corridors which ran off the main control room. He

was a tall curly-haired man of indeterminate age with

sparkling blue eyes and a beaming smile. He was dressed

rather curiously in tweed trousers and a long red-velvet

frockcoat. Round his neck he wore a very long woollen

scarf of many colours which trailed on the ground behind

him.

By his side was a pretty young woman who kept asking

questions as they walked along the corridor. She was Sarah Jane Smith, a London journalist who had first met the

Doctor several years before when he had visited Earth. She had accompanied him on other adventures since, and now

felt she knew him well. Even so the Doctor was always

surprising her with something novel and unexpected. This

was the first time, for example, he had allowed her to really explore the TARDIS.

She gazed round in fascination at the white walls with

their weird hexagonal indentations. They seemed to glow

with an unearthly light.

‘I’ve never been in this section before,’ she said

admiringly.

‘One day I’ll give you a proper guided tour,’ replied the

Doctor. ‘If I can remember the way.’ He stopped by an

open doorway. Sarah peered in. A vast room stretched out

before her, empty apart from a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor.

‘What’s this?’

‘Boot cupboard. Not very interesting.’ The Doctor

pressed a button and the door closed.

Sarah frowned. ‘Doctor?’

‘Mmmm?’

‘Just how big is the TARDIS?’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘How big is big? Relative

dimensions, you see. No constant.’ He continued walking.

‘That’s not an answer.’

The Doctor stopped and turned. ‘All right—how big are

you? At the moment?’

Sarah drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t

very tall. ‘Five feet five and a quarter.’

‘Bah!’ snorted the Doctor. ‘There are no measurements

in infinity. You humans have such little minds. I don’t

know why I like you.’ He strode off again. Sarah was not

sure whether he was really cross or not. She was about to

tell him not to be so rude when her attention was caught

by a recess in the wall. She pressed a button and the wall slid open to reveal a room beyond.

‘Hey what’s this place?’

Inside it was dark and dusty. The walls were panelled

just like the main control room but in brown mahogany

not white. In the centre stood a hexagonal console, a

smaller more old-fashioned version of the one Sarah knew.

‘This is the secondary control centre,’ said the Doctor

appearing in the doorway. ‘I can run the TARDIS just as

easily from here as from the old one.’ He thought for a

moment. ‘Come to think of it this was the old one. Let’s see now.’ He pressed some coloured switches on the

console. There was a humming noise and a section of one

wall slid back to reveal a monitor screen. It showed a

twisting swirling whirlpool of stars, formed into a giant

spiral. At the same instant the TARDIS began to judder

and sway.

‘Oh dear!’ said the Doctor unhappily.

‘Something wrong?’

‘It’s the Mandragora Helix. I thought we’d avoided it. I

should have known better than to cut through uncharted

segments of the Vortex.’ He started to punch buttons

furiously on the console. ‘Let’s hope we can counter-

magnetise enough to resist the pull.’

Sarah frowned. ‘What is the Mandragora Helix,

Doctor?’

‘A spiral of pure energy radiating outwards in ways we

don’t fully understand—except that at its centre there is a controlling intelligence.’

‘An intelligence? You mean something living?’

‘Oh, certainly living—in its fashion. But that’s all

anyone’s ever established.’

The room began to shake more severely and a loud

shrieking noise howled around them.

‘It’s sucking us in!’ yelled Sarah.

‘We’ll have to thrust straight through and hope we come

out the other side,’ shouted the Doctor as the sound

increased.

Sarah began to stagger. The shrieking was becoming

unbearable. ‘It’s getting into my head!’ she cried.

‘Concentrate Sarah ! Keep your mind on something —

anything!’

‘I can’t! ‘

‘Say the alphabet backwards. Go on. Z... Y... X...’

Sarah pressed her hands to her ears and forced herself to

concentrate. ‘... W... V... U... T...’

The room began to spin and topple. They were now in

the very eye of the Helix and plunging faster and faster to the bottom of the whirlpool. The noise was like the

screeching of souls in torment. The Doctor wrestled with

the controls but the violent motions of the TARDIS hurled

him to the floor. The room seemed to buckle and split like a distorted mirror-image of itself and the noise intensified to an excruciating pitch.

Then suddenly the sensation died away and everything

fell quiet and still.

‘...F...E...D...C...B...A!’ Sarah opened her eyes

triumphantly.

The Doctor smiled at her from the floor. ‘No ill effects?’

‘I don’t think so. Are we there?’

‘Where?’

‘Where we were going.’

The Doctor scrambled to his feet and examined the

console. ‘Hard to say. The astrosextant rectifier has gone out of phase. No other damage though.’ He beamed

brightly. ‘I’ll just pop out and see where we are. Stay here.’

The Doctor stepped out from the TARDIS and looked

around. They had landed inside a circle of mountainous

crystals which seemed to hang in the air like magic. As he looked the Doctor realised that beyond the first circle of crystals was a second, and a third, and a fourth, and so on into infinity. It was impossible to tell how near or far away they were. For a moment he felt he could almost reach out

his hand and touch them. Then suddenly they were like

distant mountain ranges and the TARDIS a tiny speck on

the shimmering plain between.

‘I see what you mean about relative dimensions,’ said a

voice at his elbow.

‘I thought I told you to stay...’ Before the Doctor could

finish Sarah grabbed his sleeve.

‘Sssh! What’s that noise?’

A rushing rumbling sound like an approaching

hurricane filled their ears. A look of alarm spread across the Doctor’s face.

‘Mandragora Energy! ‘ he whispered. ‘Quick—get

down!’ He threw an arm round Sarah and pulled her to

safety behind a corner of the TARDIS. The air grew hot

and red and a ball of blazing light seemed to envelop them and the TARDIS. Then, just as swiftly, it disappeared and

the roaring wind faded to a distant moan.

‘That could have been very nasty,’ said the Doctor

quietly. ‘Come on. I think we’d better get out of here.’ He paused. ‘That is, if they will allow us to.’ He bundled Sarah through the open door of the TARDIS and slammed it

shut.

Within a few seconds the familiar white light began to

flash and the TARDIS dematerialised. As it vanished a

rumble of triumphant laughter echoed around the crystal

mountains like a clap of thunder.

2

The Brethren of Demnos

‘He angers me! The last obstacle between myself and the

Dukedom.’

Count Federico spat out the words with venom as he

paced the chamber of Hieronymous, the court astrologer.

The room was small and dark, crammed with old charts,

astrolobes, ancient books and bottled potions—all the

paraphernalia of astromancy. Hieronymous was tending a

noxious substance bubbling inside a large brass cauldron.

‘You mean your nephew, Giuliano?’ replied the cunning

soothsayer. He knew very well whom the Count had in

mind.

‘Yes, yes. How soon will he die?’

Hieronymous continued to stir his foul concoction.

‘You must be patient.’

The Count snorted. ‘I have been patient. Now the

Dukedom is almost in my grasp.’ He curled his gloved

hand in a crushing gesture.

‘Nevertheless,’ the sorcerer went on craftily, ‘so many

deaths in so short a time... all so sudden.’

‘But you said yourself it was written in the stars.’ A

sneer spread over the Count’s ugly features. ‘Don’t say you are doubting your own prophecies?’

The sorcerer’s eyes flashed momentarily with anger.

‘Giuliano has a sharp mind. He may suspect.’

‘All the more reason to act quickly. A day—two days at

the most. You have the poison still ready?’

Hieronymous did not reply but crossed to the casement

window and gazed out, a faraway look in his eyes.

‘Well? What’s wrong?’ the Count grew restless.

‘These last few weeks as the summer solstice approaches

I’ve felt...’ Hieronymous turned and paused. ‘You wouldn’t understand...’

‘Go on, go on.’

‘I’ve felt as if my powers were growing, as if I had been

chosen to be granted visions of the future.’

‘Hah!’ the Count scoffed. ‘So many correct predictions

have gone to your head.’

‘The stars will not be mocked!’ cried the astrologer

fiercely.

‘And neither will I!’ thundered the Count equally

aroused. ‘Cast your horoscope, soothsayer. The young

Duke Giuliano will die suddenly in two days’ time. I will

do the rest!’ He swept angrily out of the room.

Hieronymous tugged on his beard for a moment deep in

thought, then crossed to the window once more. As he

stared at the sky a clap of thunder echoed across the

heavens like an omen from the gods.

The Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS and peered

out.

‘That’s strange. A forced landing.’

They appeared to be wedged in a very large bush

overhanging a slope.

‘You mean you weren’t in control?’ enquired Sarah

sweetly, knowing how touchy the Doctor was on this

subject.

The Doctor scowled and scrambled out. Sarah followed

with more difficulty.

‘It’s very pleasant,’ she said when her feet finally

touched the ground and she could look around properly.

‘Ooh look, grapes!’ She set off to explore.

They had landed in a vineyard on the side of a hill. The

climate was warm and sunny and Sarah delightedly stuffed

her mouth full of grapes. ‘Delicious!’ she shouted, ‘and just look at those peaches over there.’ She ran off up the slope.

The Doctor seemed not to hear. ‘Perhaps that’s the

reason I stopped using the old control room?’ he muttered

to himself puzzled. He gave up the problem and looked

about him.

A piece of broken glass caught his eye on the ground a

few feet away. He bent down and studied it.

‘Hmm. Earth, Mediterranean, late fifteenth-century

Italian.’ He tossed it to one side. ‘Not a pleasant period. I think we’ll be on our way.’ He stood up and looked round

for Sarah. She was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sarah! Where are you?’

The Doctor’s voice carried faintly over the hill to where

Sarah was now happily picking peaches. She gave a little

grin but didn’t reply.

Less than ten paces away three hooded figures in black

robes were carefully watching her every move. Oblivious to the danger Sarah drew nearer and nearer the hidden

watchers. She began to hum a tune. Suddenly she heard a

noise.

‘Is that you, Doct...’ The words froze on her lips as the

hooded assailants lunged towards her. Before she could

speak one of them clamped a large hand over her mouth.

The next moment she was being dragged away roughly

through the bushes. She tried to struggle but the hand over her mouth was stopping her breath. Her lungs felt ready to burst and the blood rushed to her head.

They must have covered about a hundred yards when a

voice rang out from behind them. ‘Stop! ‘

Sarah’s captors turned to see the imposing figure of the

Doctor advancing towards them. The largest of them ran to

attack the Doctor but as he got within arm’s length he was suddenly lifted off his feet and hurled through the air in a graceful arc. He landed heavily on the hard earth with a

grunt and rolled over apparently unconscious.

‘Now put her down,’ commanded the Doctor to the

other two. Gingerly they lowered Sarah’s inert form to the ground.

‘Right. Move away.’ The two hooded figures obeyed.

‘Good.’ The Doctor stepped forward to examine Sarah but

as he did so there was a flash of action behind him and a

heavy stone crashed mercilessly against the back of his

head. He fell like a log.

The third figure stepped over the Doctor’s crumpled

body and dropped the stone with which he had dealt the

vicious blow. Swiftly and silently, the three of them lifted Sarah up again and disappeared with their bundle into the

dark woods nearby.

A hundred yards away the TARDIS stood alone and

unguarded, partly hidden among the vines. All at once the

door started to open slowly of its own accord and a blazing obelisk of fiery red light emerged. It was accompanied by a rushing shrieking sound which startled all the birds and

sent them squawking away in panic. The ball of light

hovered for a few seconds outside the TARDIS then set off

gradually through the trees about three feet above the

ground. As it moved it left a darkened trail of burnt and shrivelled foliage.

The Doctor slowly recovered consciousness and clambered

to his feet. A sharp stabbing pain in the back of his head reminded him all too clearly of what had occurred. He

shouted Sarah’s name but she and the hooded figures had

vanished. He wondered what to do next—everything was a

disagreeable mystery.

He was standing on a narrow footpath which led into a

thick wood. He decided he had no recourse but to follow it.

The path ran steeply down between mossy banks and

overhanging trees and then levelled off after half a mile

and came to a small lake. On the opposite side was a

peasant gathering rushes. He had already laid some on the

bank to dry, and was now tossing them into a cart with a

pitchfork.

The Doctor was on the point of calling out to him when

he heard a strange screeching sound overhead. He glanced

up and saw what looked like a red fire-ball swooping down

towards the lake from out of the sky. As he watched, it

plunged beneath the water’s surface and headed towards

the peasant leaving a hissing bubbling trail in its wake.

The peasant was paralysed with fright. He clutched his

pitchfork in self-defence but before he could move the

glowing phosphorescence rose out of the water and

engulfed him in a sizzling flash.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. The Doctor

hurried to where the peasant had fallen. All that remained was a blackened corpse.

‘Mandragora Energy!’ whispered the Doctor, horrified.

‘It must have got into the TARDIS.’

Grimly he studied the trail of smouldering grass

indicating the passage of the lethal bolt. He shuddered at the thought of what further destruction this evil and

irresistible force might wreak. Whatever its purpose one

fact was irrefutable. He, the Doctor, was the unwitting

cause of the death he had just witnessed. It was he who had brought this deadly menace to Earth. And at the moment

he had no idea how to combat it.

Giuliano was seated at a table in his private chamber in the palace. With him was Marco. Instead of their usual silken

doublet and hose both men wore the official clothes of

mourning. The face of the young Prince was pallid and

wan but now and then a flicker of life crossed his features as he toyed with various round pieces of glass on the table in front of him. Eventually he took one up and fitted it

inside a rudimentary-looking telescope.

‘There’s a man in Florence,’ he said squinting through

the eye-piece, ‘who claims that by arranging ground glasses in certain orders it is possible to see the moon and stars as large as your hand.’

Marco looked up from cleaning his sword. ‘Is that a

good thing?’

‘Of course it’s a good thing. That way we can find out more about them.’

Marco tossed back his blond hair and smiled. ‘What is

there to know about the stars except how they move in the

heavens? And we’ve known that for hundreds of years.’

‘That’s the whole point, Marco,’ exclaimed Giuliano

excitedly, jumping up from the table. ‘Perhaps they don’t

move as we think they move. That’s what this man in

Florence is saying. Perhaps it is we who move!’

Before Marco could respond the door to the chamber

burst open and Count Federico strode in followed by

Hieronymous in his skullcap and trailing robes. Giuliano’s animated mood was immediately dispelled.

‘It is customary to knock before entering a room, Uncle,’

he said coolly.

‘I’m sorry,’ replied Federico without appearing so, ‘but

there is bad news, Giuliano.’

For a moment the young Duke looked fearful. ‘Why?

What’s happened?’

Federico motioned the soothsayer forward. ‘Tell him.’

Hieronymous bowed obsequiously. ‘Sire, forgive me, it

is not of my doing—but this morning I was casting a

horoscope—’

‘I’ve told you often enough,’ interrupted Giuliano, ‘I

don’t believe in horoscopes.’

Hieronymous shook his head sadly. ‘I only wish I too

could not believe. But it was there too plainly to be

ignored...’ He broke off.

‘What was there?’

‘I cannot speak of it,’ whispered the astrologer, clearly

overcome by the dire nature of his premonition. Giuliano

began to grasp the meaning of this charade.

‘My death?’ he scoffed.

‘Please, my lord. Do not take these things lightly.’

Hieronymous’s face wore a pained expression. He leant

forward and took hold of Giuliano’s arm. ‘I beg you not to leave the palace on any account. Take no risks of any kind.

Perhaps it can be... avoided.’ He stared into the young

Duke’s eyes.

Giuliano seemed unmoved. ‘I have no intention of

sacrificing my life to satisfy some old superstitious

nonsense.’

Hieronymous glanced at Federico. The Count stepped

forward. His long nose and raven black hair poked out

from beneath a black velvet hat making him look more

sinister than ever. ‘Remember your father, Giuliano. He,

too, scoffed.’

‘Yes, I remember my father,’ replied the young Duke

tight-lipped. ‘His death remains a mystery. But it was

nothing to do with the stars, of that I am certain.’ He

stared straight at Federico who was forced to turn away

beneath his unflinching gaze.

‘And how are the troubles with the peasants, Uncle?’

Giuliano continued after a moment, this time in a mocking

tone.

‘We think they are being stirred up by spies sent from

our enemies,’ Federico smiled coldly, ‘but we shall catch

them—and make them pay for it.’ He slapped his gloved

palm with his riding whip and, motioning Hieronymous to

follow stalked out of the room.

Giuliano and Marco exchanged worried glances. There

was intrigue and villainy afoot.

The Doctor hurried on through the wood. He had

abandoned the futile search on foot for the Mandragora

Energy. His foremost concern now was to recover Sarah.

He rounded a bend in a path and came upon a group of

peasants resting beneath a tree. He extracted a peach from his pocket and, taking a bite, approached the peasants in a nonchalant manner.

‘Excuse me, I’m a traveller in these parts. I was

wondering if you had happened to see...’ He broke off

aware of a sudden panic in their faces. In an instant the

peasants had snatched up their belongings and fled into

the woods leaving him quite alone. The reason for their

flight was quickly explained as a troop of armed soldiers

rode up and surrounded the Doctor. They were attired in

yellow and scarlet livery.

The captain of the troop, a heavily built man with a scar

on his left cheek, addressed the Doctor rudely. ‘Who are

you?’

‘I’m a traveller.’

‘Where from?’

The Doctor smiled. ‘My dear fellow, you’d never believe

me. By the way you haven’t seen a young girl have you?

About five feet five and...’

‘Silence!’ the captain roared at him.

‘... probably got peach juice all over her chin...’

The captain whipped out his sword and held it to the

Doctor’s throat. ‘Your life is in peril, dog! Produce your documents.’

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Documents?

Certainly—hold this for a moment.’ He pushed the sword

aside and stabbed his peach on the point. The captain,

taken aback, was momentarily speechless.

‘I think you’ll find some of these rather interesting.’ said the Doctor, rummaging around in his pockets. He pulled

out a large football rattle and stared at it with vague

surprise. ‘Extraordinary the things one carries about one’s person.’ He suddenly whirled the rattle in front of the

captain’s horse. The animal shied and reared, unseating its rider.

‘After him!’ yelled the captain, struggling to get his

breath back.

But the Doctor was already doubling between the

stationary horses like a hare in flight. Before anyone could move he had pulled a soldier from his mount, leapt into

the saddle and spurred the animal away down the path. In

the confusion it took several seconds for the remaining

soldiers to gather their wits and set off in pursuit. This they eventually did with the scar-faced captain bellowing

angry imprecations at their rear.

It was a long time since the Doctor had ridden a horse.

Luckily the animal was strong and surefooted and

gradually they began to draw clear of their pursuers. The

Doctor had no idea where he was heading. At some point

he knew he would have to leave the main path and set off

into the woodland if he were to lose his trackers

completely.

He rounded a bend and came to a fork in the path.

Approaching him from the left was a large body of

mounted soldiers in the same scarlet and yellow livery. He wheeled his horse to the right and set off down the clear

pathway but too late saw it was a trap. Above him in a large overhanging tree were two soldiers waiting to pounce. As

his horse passed beneath they dropped like stones onto the Doctor’s back and hurled him to the ground. The Doctor

let out a cry of pain as his head caught a sharp rock. The force of the blow knocked him unconscious and he lay

there dishevelled and defenceless as the pursuing captain

and his troop arrived on the scene.

The captain grunted with satisfaction as he observed the

Doctor’s prostrate form. ‘Bind the dog before he recovers

his wits!’ he ordered. ‘Count Federico will want to

question this one!’

Sarah woke to find herself tied and gagged. Two men were

bundling her through a warren of dark stone passages. She

guessed they must be underground because the air was

damp and chill and the only source of light came from

burning torches set at intervals in the walls. She realised she must have lost consciousness when the hooded figures

smothered her in the woods. She had no idea how far they

had come, and still had not seen the faces of her

kidnappers. They kept their black cowls well forward like

monks.

Presently they entered a vast underground chamber like

a huge cavern scooped out of a rocky hillside. More of the hooded figures formed a semi-circle around a rectangular

stone altar in the middle of the chamber. One of them

stepped forward as she was dragged in. This time she could see his face, he made no attempt to hide it. He was tall and hollow-checked, a fanatical gleam in his eyes.

‘Release her,’ he said. His voice sounded reverential and

priestly but Sarah felt sure this was not a Christian sect.

The whole place smelt of occultism and magic.

‘Where was she found?’

‘On the slopes of the Hill of Sorrows.’

‘At what hour?’

‘At the noon hour.’

The priestly one nodded with satisfaction. ‘Exactly as it

was foretold. A maiden of face and sturdy of body.’

‘You can forget the flattery,’ said Sarah as her gag was

removed. ‘What do you want?’

The voice grew more incantatory. ‘It is written that

some are conscious of the purpose for which they are

chosen, others are as innocent as lambs.’

‘Sorry?’ replied Sarah not following his drift. ‘Try

again.’

‘My child, the purity of your sacrifice renders it doubly

welcome to the mighty Demnos, god of the twin realms of

moontide and solstice.’

‘Sacrifice? Now just a minute—’ Their intention was

now becoming very clear. The priest ignored her. Raising

his voice he commanded, ‘Let her be prepared to receive

the sacrificial blade!’

Before Sarah could protest the two hooded brothers

grabbed her arms and began to drag her across the floor of the chamber.

3

Execution!

The Doctor came round. His head was muzzy and

throbbed with pain. His mind struggled to focus itself. He was being half carried across a smooth marble floor.

Sounds echoed loudly as if they were in a long corridor.

Every so often a large stone pillar brushed past his

shoulder. It dawned on him that he was inside some sort of palace.

His captors stopped outside a pair of heavy ornate doors

which swung open before them like magic. They entered.

Inside was a large and richly furnished state-room. In the centre flanked by guards in scarlet livery sat an imposing figure on a raised throne. He was elegantly dressed in silk and ermine robes, on his head the black velvet hat

emphasised the coarseness of his face beneath. The Doctor

noted the vulture-like nose and thin-lipped mouth and

decided it was not a face he could readily warm to.

‘This is the man, sire.’ said a voice at the Doctor’s elbow and he was thrust roughly forward. The Doctor recognised

the voice as belonging to the scar-faced captain.

‘So!’ Count Federico rose to his feet and studied the

Doctor. ‘I hear you led my ruffians quite a dance.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Just a short gallop. Good for the

liver.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Doctor will do.’

The Count fingered the Doctor’s coat. ‘You wear strange

garments. Where are you from?’

‘Does it matter?’ responded the Doctor rudely.

The Count’s features contorted themselves into an even

uglier expression. ‘You are tall enough, Doctor. Answer my questions civilly and promptly or your body will be

lengthened on the rack.’

‘Don’t threaten me,’ replied the Doctor sharply. ‘I’ve

come here to help you.’

The captain stepped forward ready to strike. ‘Sire, let

me punish the insolent dog!’

‘Wait!’ the Count waved him back. ‘The fellow puzzles

me.’ He stared curiously at the Doctor. ‘What help do I

need?’

The Doctor leant closer to explain. ‘An energy wave —

part of the Mandragora Helix—has been released here. It

could do untold damage. It must be neutralised

immediately.’

Federico scowled. ‘What language is this? Make yourself

plain.’

The Doctor looked round the circle of

uncomprehending faces. He’d forgotten he was in the

fifteenth century. ‘Let me put it this way—a ball of

heavenly fire has come to Earth and will consume all who

stand in its path. I must take it back to the stars.’

There was a stunned silence then a ripple of laughter

ran through the room. The captain spoke first. ‘His mind

is afflicted, sire, the fall from the horse...’

‘No,’ said the Count with a glint of understanding in his

eyes. ‘He professes sorcery.’ He smiled evilly at the Doctor.

‘But there is no gold for you in San Martino. My seer,

Hieronymous, is the finest in the land.’

‘Well just ask your seer if he’s ever seen an energy wave,’

replied the Doctor impatiently.

Federico was not to be put off. He circled the Doctor

slowly as if inspecting an animal in a cage. An expression of eager cunning crept over his ugly features. ‘Can you tell the future?’ he asked slyly.

‘I can tell your future,’ retorted the Doctor, ‘and it’s likely to be very short and very unpleasant unless you

listen to me.’

The Count’s face darkened and he fell silent for a

moment or two. Then turning to a guard he ordered

Hieronymous to be summoned immediately. ‘If you are

making sport with us.’ he snarled ominously at the Doctor,

‘we shall make sport with your body. Be warned!’

Outside dusk was falling and the deep notes of the carillon rang across the city informing the inhabitants of the

nightly curfew. Under the broad arch of the city gates a

burly soldier was shooing the stragglers inside.

‘Curfew... curfew... hurry along!’ He prodded an

overladen donkey through the opening with its equally

laden master, a fat merchant from Padua. Satisfied they

were the last he called out, ‘Close the gates!’ Above him on the ramparts the gatekeeper dodged into the winding room

and the heavy doors began to close.

As the soldier was about to slip through the narrowing

gap his attention was caught by a strange shrieking noise.

He stopped and turned. It seemed to be coming from the

air above him. He looked upwards and his whole body

froze with horror. Swooping down towards him from the

sky was a blinding ball of fire about ten feet in diameter.

He drew his sword but it grew white hot and burst into

flames. Screaming he scrabbled at the city gates trying to find the opening but they had already shut behind him. He

was trapped. As he cowered against the archway the ball of fire descended upon him and engulfed his body in a blaze

of dazzling light. Seconds later the light disappeared. All that remained was the hideously shrivelled form of the

hapless soldier, like a piece of scarred wood struck by

lightning.

Inside the palace Hieronymous was conducting his

interrogation. The sorcerer weaved and bobbed around the

Doctor like a monkey on a string, shooting questions at

him from all sides. All the time he kept one eye cocked

towards his master Federico who sat watching quietly and

impassively. The astrologer’s black skull cap and thick

grey beard lent him a particularly sinister air in the

Doctor’s opinion. In addition he had noticed a suspicious

looking phial of liquid which the sorcerer had brought to

Federico on first entering. A look had passed between the

two men suggesting complicity in some business of which

the other courtiers in the room were ignorant. An uneasy

fear was growing in the Doctor’s mind that he had

stumbled into a complicated and dangerous state of affairs.

And this childish interrogation was not helping matters.

‘Now answer me this,’ continued the soothsayer, ‘what

does it signify when Venus is in opposition to Saturn and a great shadow passes over the moon?’

The Doctor sighed. ‘This is really all a great waste of

time.’

‘Answer him! ‘ commanded the Count, rising from his

chair.

‘Well it depends, doesn’t it?’

‘On what?’ hissed Hieronymous smelling the chance of

ensnaring his prey.

‘On whether the cock crows three times before dawn

and twelve hens lay addled eggs.’

‘What school of philosophy is that?’ demanded the

astrologer suspiciously.

The Doctor smiled. ‘I can easily instruct you. All it

needs is a colourful imagination and a quick tongue.’

Hieronymous scowled blackly. ‘And you, “my friend”,

have a mocking tongue, which can lead you into great

danger.’ He glanced pointedly at Federico.

The Doctor ignored this veiled threat. ‘It is you who are

in danger, believe me.’ He turned to the Count. ‘Surely you don’t allow yourselves to be taken in by this clap-trap?’

‘Silence!’

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and gazed round the

room. For the first time he caught sight of a new-comer, a handsome young man with long dark-brown hair standing

in the shadows behind Federico’s chair. He had slipped in

unnoticed, and was now following the proceedings with

great attention.

For the present, however, the inquisition had

apparently been abandoned and Hieronymous was

whispering intently into his master’s ear. Seizing his

opportunity the Doctor casually uncapped the phial of

liquid left on the nearby table and sniffed it.

‘Rat poison?’ he muttered to himself, ‘and in such an

attractive bottle.’

‘Put that down! ‘ Federico hissed angrily.

‘You shouldn’t leave poison lying about,’ said the

Doctor, ‘it’s a dangerous habit.’

‘Not so dangerous as your failure to answer our

questions,’ replied the Count coldly. He turned to the

captain. ‘Prepare the execution.’

The Doctor was immediately seized by half a dozen

guards and dragged from the chamber.

‘Now wait a minute!’ he yelled, ‘you haven’t listened to

a word I’ve said—’ The doors of the chamber slammed

shut cutting off any further protest.

Federico rose to leave but found his exit blocked by

Giuliano.

‘Who is that man?’ asked the young Duke.

‘A spy.’

‘Or an alchemist?’ Giuliano’s questioning gaze fell on

the phial of liquid.

‘A draught for easing my stomach, nephew,’ replied

Federico and he hurriedly pocketed the phial.

‘Hieronymous studies the humours of the body as well as

the patterns of the stars.’ He strode past Giuliano and out of the room. The young Duke looked after him

thoughtfully. There was evil brewing between his uncle

and Hieronymous, the signs were clear. Yet, there was little he could do except watch—and wait.

Deep beneath the city the sacrificial chamber of the

Brother of Demnos reverberated to the sound of a low and

eerie chanting. A file of black-cowled figures processed

slowly round the bare stone altar in the middle of the

chamber, intoning strange litanies and orisons. Their faces were covered by grotesque and ancient masks hideously

carved out of gold and silver into fixed expressions of hate and evil. In the flickering torch-light they lent the scene a disturbing and hellish touch. As each brother passed the

altar he bowed and threw a pink flower-petal onto the clean stone surface.

Then the priest entered the chamber carrying a silk

cushion which he placed at one end of the altar. On it lay a gleaming sharply-pointed knife. This was the sacrificial

blade.

Not far away in a cramped stone dungeon Sarah could

hear the chanting. The words were foreign sounding and

confused but their import was clear enough. Unless she

could find a way out of this place she would end up as just another sacrifice to their wretched god, whatever his name was. She grabbed at the iron bars of the cell and tried to budge them. It was hopeless. She let out a sob of despair

and sank to the floor. The utter futility of her situation was all too clear.

Then a key turned in the lock and the heavy metal door

swung open. Two brothers stepped inside and swiftly

seized her by the wrists while a third covered her in a long white robe. Sarah struggled as fiercely as she could, but

could not prevent the robe from being put round her. Next, her head was forced back and a goblet full of liquid poured down her throat. It tasted sweet and sickly. It must have

been a drug because instantly she began to feel drowsy and light-headed. Through the quickly spreading numbness

she heard the voice of the priest in the doorway, soft and soothing.

‘You are lucky, my child. Few have the honour of

serving the great god Demnos so totally. When the moon

rises over the southern obelisk your hour of glory will have come.’

The mellifluous tones grew more and more distant and

Sarah realised she was losing control of her senses. She

tried to fight the effects of the drug, but consciousness was ebbing faster and faster away and finally she blacked out.

In the palace the long marble corridors were deserted. The candles on the walls flickered fitfully in the evening

draughts and cast long shadows across the richly patterned floors. A small door opened halfway along one of the dimly lit passages and a sinister skull-capped figure flitted into view. It was Hieronymous, the court astrologer. Swiftly and silently he traversed the corridor and disappeared down a

narrow staircase. With the speed and sureness of one who

had made the journey before, he threaded his way down a

maze of passageways, lower and lower until he reached the

nethermost regions of the palace. Finally, he stopped in

front of a rough stone wall. With practised ease he pressed his fingers against the stone-work, and the wall swung

away in front of him to reveal a secret passage beyond. He stepped through, and the wall slid back into position with a clunk.

Above ground it was twilight. Normally at this hour a quiet peace would fall on the city of San Martino as all and sundry retired for the night. But now the city was alive and buzzing. In the main square in front of the palace crowds

pushed and squeezed their way forward towards a raised

wooden platform on which stood an executioner’s block.

Rows of pikemen in the scarlet and yellow livery of Count

Federico stood stiffly to attention at the foot of the dais, and on all sides of the square mounted guards formed a

protective cordon through which no one could escape.

The crowd grew fidgety and restless, the guards’ horses

snorted and pawed the ground impatiently; everyone was

waiting.

Then, a line of drummers stepped forward from beneath

the palace entrance and began to beat a slow and solemn

roll. A gasp of fear and excitement ran through the square as the deathly figure of the executioner appeared. His chest and arms were bare and over his head he wore a black hood

with eye-slits. He carried an enormous two-handed sword.

At a signal from a balcony above he took up his position on the platform. In the balcony, hidden by shadows, sat Count Federico.

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent and there was no sound

apart from the measured beat of the drums. The Doctor,

stern and tight-lipped, was led into the square flanked by four armed guards. At their head was the scar-faced captain who had first captured him. As the Doctor mounted the

steps of the wooden platform, a ghost of a smile played

around the Count’s cruel mouth.

The Doctor halted in front of the block, and the

drumming ended abruptly. He looked round at the sea of

faces. Their expressions were curious, eager, fearful—that peculiar mixture of emotions which always accompanies

moments of spectacle and violence. He raised his eyes

above the crowd to the trees and hills beyond. The sky was a beautiful pale blue, fingered with red. How ironic,

thought the Doctor, that he was to lose his life in this little backwater of human existence. Earth, the planet he had

come to know and love as a second home, was about to

dispense with his services for ever. That was, unless he

could pull off the impossible—and somehow this time the

odds seemed stacked too firmly against him.

He glanced about him. The platform was surrounded by

pikemen and beyond them a ring of horsemen blocked any

form of escape. If only he had more time to think.

‘Kneel! ‘

He was forced to his knees by two guards who then

stepped smartly away. The Doctor loosened the scarf

around his neck. He was sweating. The executioner

stepped forward and gently positioned his head on the

block. It felt strangely comfortable.

Then, at a signal from Count Federico, the executioner

raised his massive sword in a slow back-wards arc and

stood poised to deliver the deadly blow.

4

Sacrifice

‘Excuse me,’ said the Doctor lifting his head from the

block. ‘I always like to look my best on these occasions.’ He flashed a smile at the executioner who froze like a statue in mid-swing. Carefully and unhurriedly, the Doctor began to

unwind his long scarf. Then in one explosive movement he

flung it round the executioner’s ankles and pulled. The

man tumbled onto the wooden boards in an ungainly heap,

his sword narrowly missing the Doctor’s head as it fell

from his grasp. In the moment of confusion that followed,

the Doctor leapt to his feet and took a running dive off the edge of the platform. He sailed through the air over the

heads of the astonished pikemen and landed with a thud

on the back of the nearest horse. With one blow he swept

the rider from his saddle and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The startled animal reared violently and bolted like a bullet from a gun.

Scattering onlookers and guards alike the Doctor

hurtled towards the nearest exit from the square. Blocking his path were two pikemen and a mounted soldier but the

Doctor’s steed vaulted the long pointed staves like a

champion hurdler and, landing expertly, wheeled round

past the remaining guard who was too surprised to move.

‘Fools! Stop him!’ screamed Federico at the top of his

voice. Tumbling over themselves in haste the remaining

guards gave chase. But the Doctor had a head start and was already out of sight and racing through the cobbled streets like a man possessed. He knew it would be foolish to try and outrace his pursuers over any great distance. Ahead a

low parapet ran along one side of the street. He quickly

reined in the horse and jumped from the saddle. Then,

giving the gallant animal a good slap on the rump, he

swung over the parapet and waited, knowing the growing

darkness would help protect him. Seconds later the

clattering hooves of the pursuing troop thundered by

inches from his head. He remained perfectly still until sure they were gone, then let out his breath and looked around.

Below him was a drop of about twelve feet onto a paved

terrace. Although it was growing dark, he could make out a number of paths leading from the terrace into a maze of

wooden arbours and grottos. He guessed it must be part of

the palace gardens. No doubt the Guard would start

searching there very shortly, but at least the trees would afford him some cover. He dropped nimbly onto the

terrace, and set off down a narrow winding path.

He had travelled no more than a couple of hundred

yards when he heard voices calling out on either side of

him. He could see the flicker of torchlight through the

trees. The search parties were out quicker than he had

anticipated. He hesitated, not knowing which way to turn.

Suddenly, two pikemen appeared on the pathway ahead.

They let out a cry and began running towards him. In

desperation the Doctor dived off the path and down a

bushy slope. He slithered and stumbled to the bottom only

to discover he was trapped in a dark stone grotto. Apart

from the slope he had just come down there was no exit.

He was walled in on all sides by what looked like ancient

ruins. The excited yells of the pikemen grew nearer. He

was cornered like a rat in a hole.

Then an extraordinary thing happened. As the Doctor’s

back pressed against the rough stonework he felt the wall

behind him move! He spun round and sure enough a gap

had appeared in the masonry the height of a door. He

pushed against the wall with both hands, and it swung

open to reveal a narrow flight of steps leading into the

ground. Unable to believe his good fortune the Doctor

stepped smartly through the door, and heaved it back into

place behind him.

Moments later the two pikemen arrived on the other

side. The Doctor could hear their astonished conversation

through the wall.

‘I swear he came in here,’ said the first, ‘and there’s no way out! Are we chasing a phantom?’

‘Or a worshipper of Demnos?’ whispered the second,

fear creeping into his voice. ‘Those devils know a hundred secret ways through the city.’

‘A passage? Quick then, let’s find the trick!’

The Doctor held his breath as the first pikeman began

to push and prod at the stonework.

‘No Giovanni,’ said the other restraining his

companion. ‘I’d not venture into those catacombs for all

the gold in Rome. I know men who’ve tried and never been

seen again! ‘

There was a pause and the first pikeman muttered

something the Doctor did not catch. He must have been

convinced by his companion’s reasoning because the next

thing the two of them could be heard cursing and grunting

as they climbed back up the steep slope.

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and considered his

next move. The pikeman’s talk about the worshippers of

Demnos had aroused his curiosity. They sounded very

much like the hooded brothers who had kidnapped Sarah.

If he had stumbled upon an entrance to their meeting place then he might well be able to find her. He set off cautiously down the narrow stone steps and into the thickening

gloom of the catacombs.

He had not gone very far when a sixth sense alerted him to danger. A few feet ahead lay an intersection with another

passage and down it he could hear footsteps approaching.

He pressed himself back into a niche in the rock-wall.

The footsteps grew nearer and finally a figure in long

purple robes appeared out of the darkness. It stopped at the junction of the two passageways and, facing the blank wall, stretched out its arms and pressed the stonework. From

where he was hiding the Doctor could only glimpse the

outline of the figure but he felt sure it was wearing a head-mask of some kind. There was a rumble and where the

figure had pushed the rock-face a section of it now slid

aside. The figure stepped through and the entrance closed

behind him.

The Doctor waited several moments then emerged from

his niche and approached the rock-face. Carefully he

explored the blank wall with the tips of his fingers until he discovered a small indentation. He pressed, the same

rumbling noise occurred, and the wall slid aside to reveal a further passage beyond. The Doctor tip-toed through and

the secret door swung to behind him.

In a quiet ante-room in the palace Giuliano was examining

the body of the sentry killed outside the city gates. A

guardsman looked on, fearful and wide-eyed.

‘No it is not a fire demon.’ said the Prince reassuringly,

‘such things are pure superstition.’

‘Then what is it, sire?’

‘His skin is such a strange colour. I’ve not seen a corpse like this before.’ He frowned, genuinely puzzled, then

covered the body with a sheet. ‘Poor man.’

‘We thought...’ mentioned the guardsman, ‘... with your

interest in the new learning...’

The Prince put up his hand. ‘You did well to bring him

to me. But the new learning does not always have answers.

It means only that we must throw away old beliefs like

witchcraft, sorcery and demons and trust our own

intelligence.’

‘I still think it could be a fine demon, sire. I once heard of a case in Florence...’

The Prince smiled at him. ‘All right. You may return to

your duties.’

The guard bowed low and left the room. A moment later

Marco entered.

‘No further news, my lord.’ He stopped as he caught

sight of the body on the couch.

‘He was found at the city gate, Marco.’

He lead his companion to the couch and pulled back the

sheet. ‘What do you make of it. old friend?’

Marco winced at the sight and he looked questioningly

at his young master.

Robed in white and looking deathly pale Sarah lay

unconscious on the sacrificial altar. Around her a hundred hooded figures whirled like dervishes in a mounting frenzy of religious fervour. As they danced around their victim

their grotesque masks seemed to come alive in the

flickering torchlight, like ghouls awakened from the dead.

The ritual continued for several minutes. Then the

brothers dropped to the floor and knelt towards the altar.

The High Priest appeared at one end of the chamber and

made his way slowly to the head of the altar. Grasping the sacrificial blade which lay on the cushion by Sarah’s head he turned and displayed it to the kneeling throng. A

response of feverish excitement rang around the chamber.

A second figure cloaked in purple robes and wearing a

mask carved from pure gold emerged from a small hidden

entrance near the altar. With its leering mouth and cruel, deep-set eyes, the masked visage seemed the embodiment

of evil.

The figure approached the altar and took up a position

on the highest step. The High Priest bowed to him and

began to chant.

‘Let the sacrifice be swift and certain lest the great god Demnos be displeased!’

‘So shall it be,’ replied the masked figure and taking

hold of the sacrificial knife he raised it point downward

over Sarah’s defenceless form. The chanting of the High

Priest and the responses of the brothers rose to a pitch of hysteria, echoing round the vast chamber in a cacophony

of sound.

The Doctor paused. He had reached a dimly lit pas-sage

not far from the main chamber. The eerie chanting sound

which he had heard for several minutes now began to ring

more loudly in his ears. He hurried on, drawn by the

mesmeric incantation. Intuition, sixth sense, that

telepathic power which Time Lords possess told him Sarah

was ahead and in danger. He rounded one more bend in

the tunnel and there in front was the chamber and the

source of the sound he had been following. For a second he was stunned by the sheer numbers of black hooded figures

covering the floor of the cavern. But that shock was

superseded by an even greater one as he spied Sarah on the altar, the sacrificial knife poised ready to plunge into her heart.

Both the High Priest and the masked figure were gazing

upwards to the roof of the cavern incanting the final

phrases of their votive offering. In the instant’s delay, the Doctor leapt through the kneeling bodies and gained the

altar steps. As the voice of the masked figure reached a

climax and the knife began its rapid descent, the Doctor

swept Sarah up in his arms and lifted her bodily from the

path of the flashing blade. It dug into the stone surface

with a steely clang almost throwing the masked figure off

balance. It took a few moments for him to realise what had happened but then he let out a scream of rage and pointed

to the fleeing form of the Doctor.

‘Seize him!’

The High Priest ran down the altar steps followed by

three brothers. The remainder were still too confused to

take in the situation.

The Doctor struggled with Sarah towards the passage

which led from the chamber.

The pursuing brothers were almost on him when

something so remarkable occurred it halted them dead in

their tracks. The entire chamber had begun to glow with

an ethereal light and the sound of a great rushing wind

reverberated around the cavernous walls. The brothers,

including the Doctor’s pursuers, turned to face the altar

where the masked figure in purple now stood rooted to the

spot, arms upraised in a supplicating gesture.

‘Brothers, look!’ he cried, ‘our prayers are answered...

our temple is restored.’

As the Doctor watched, the broken rocky masses which

formed the chamber walls began to shimmer and pulsate

and the ghostly outline of a beautiful, pillared temple

complete in every detail filled the chamber. Then the

Doctor heard a familiar whining noise and the glowing red

sphere of Mandragora Energy descended through the roof

of the cavern, and engulfed the altar in a dazzling blaze of light.

‘What is it? What’s happening?’ whispered a tiny weak

voice in the Doctor’s ear. He turned to see Sarah, her eyes half open in an effort to regain consciousness. Thankful to be able to release her weight from his arms he lowered her carefully to the ground.

‘It seems our own little bit of the Mandragora Helix has

finally got here, Sarah.’

As he spoke the light around the altar faded. It was as if the stone slab had somehow absorbed the Energy.

‘Time to leave,’ whispered the Doctor. Taking Sarah’s

arm he led her on tiptoe out of the chamber.

Behind them the attention of the assembled brethren

was still diverted as they gazed with awe upon their

restored temple. Plucking up courage the High Priest

approached the altar and bowed reverentially.

‘It is a dream of two thousand years come true! How is it

possible?’

‘Faith, brother,’ responded the masked figure, ‘Faith! ‘

Then the High Priest let out a cry. ‘Look!’

As they stared at the altar a column of radiant light

appeared at one end. It was about three feet in diameter

and seemed to shine straight down through the roof of the

chamber.

‘Stand back! ‘ commanded the masked figure. The

Priest and surrounding brethren fell away from the altar as they were bid and the masked figure slowly climbed the

altar steps.

The light looked immensely dangerous, like a current of

high-voltage power. The masked figure reached the top of

the steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped into the pillar of light! He was instantly illuminated in a blinding

supernatural glow. His purple robes glittered and

shimmered, and from the eye-slits in his mask flashed an

incandescent light. The figure seemed to suffer no pain;

rather he was held by the radiant column in an ecstasy of

paralysis.

After a few seconds a distant booming voice, unearthly

in tone and cadence, reverberated around the chamber. It

emanated from the column of light itself.

‘You have been chosen for powers undreamt of,’ it said.

‘Through us you will become supreme ruler of Earth. Do

you understand us?’

The masked figure nodded and replied, ‘I understand.’

‘Only you must stand in this spot,’ the voice continued.

‘Any other mortal who dares stand where you stand now

will he destroyed. You and you alone will carry out our will on Earth.’

There was a pause. ‘What must I do?’ whispered the

masked figure obediently.

‘There is one being apart from you who knows of our

purposes. He is called the Doctor. He must be found and

eliminated!’

‘How? How must I do this?’

This time there was no reply. The light faded abruptly,

and the ghostly outline of the temple disappeared leaving

only the bare stone altar in the ruinous cavern as before.

The masked figure, no longer illuminated, turned to

address the astonished brethren.

‘The service is concluded,’ he announced. ‘Go. But

remember—no word of this to a living soul.’

Dazed and mute with wonder the brothers began to

disperse.

With no further word the masked figure also left the

chamber. He hurried along a narrow passage which led

finally through a secret door into a small vestibule. Once there, he began to disrobe. As the long purple vestments

fell to the ground the figure turned to face a mirror on the wall. Raising both hands he carefully removed the golden

mask.

Revealed beneath it were the sinister grinning features

of Hieronymous. the court astrologer! He stared at his own image in the mirror for several long moments. Finally he

spoke.

‘Power undreamt of! Supreme ruler of the universe!’

His eyes blazed with hypnotic fascination, as if his

entire being had succumbed to that overwhelming and

irresistible idea.

The Doctor guided Sarah hurriedly though a maze of

underground passages. She was still suffering from the

effects of the drug and every so often, stumbled and fell.

After ten minutes or so a pale light filtered into the

passage ahead and the close, fetid atmosphere gave way to

softer, fresher air. The Doctor settled Sarah into an alcove and went to explore. He had hoped to retrace his steps back to the secret door but the warren of catacombs had defeated him. However, it seemed they had come upon an entrance

which led out into the palace gardens at another point. As he peered into the gloom he could make out groups of

soldiers still searching by torchlight. He nipped back to

Sarah.

‘We’ll have to wait here for a while.’ He gave her a cheerful smile.

Sarah grinned back. ‘Anything’s better than being

sacrificed to the great god Demnos.’

‘Demnos?’ The Doctor muttered the name. Ever since

he had heard it on the lips of the pikemen it had rankled at the back of his mind.

‘Have you heard of him?’ asked Sarah.

The Doctor nodded. It had come in a flash of memory.

‘A particularly nasty Roman cult, which was supposed to

have died out in the third century.’

‘So why are they still around in the fifteenth century?’

Sarah’s voice echoed in the darkness. ‘And what have they

got to do with the Mandragora Helix?’

‘Put it the other way, Sarah. What has the Mandragora

Helix to do with them? What we saw back there was a sub-

thermal recombination of ionised plasma.’

There was a slight pause. ‘Simple,’ said Sarah. ‘I should

have thought of that.’

‘The question is,’ continued the Doctor, ‘why a remote,

obscure little planet like Earth... what is their intention?’...

He tailed off ruminating on the problem.

‘Conquest? Invasion? They want to take over Earth and

fill it full of old Roman temples.’

The Doctor laughed. ‘The Intelligences that in-habit

the Helix don’t have a physical existence in the way that

you or I would understand it. They don’t need Earth.’

The Doctor was about to speculate further when he

received a nudge in the ribs from Sarah’s elbow. ‘Come in

Number Seven your time is up.’

‘What?’

Sarah nodded towards the darkness behind him. The

Doctor whirled round. Four large shapes were advancing

towards them in the gloom, their long pikes glinting in the reflected moonlight from the entrance. They surrounded

the Doctor and Sarah and motioned the pair to their feet.

Resistance was futile. They both obeyed and allowed

themselves to be prodded out of the tunnel and into the

palace gardens.

‘Just when the conversation was getting interesting too,’

sighed the Doctor loudly and gave a wink of

encouragement to Sarah.

5

The Prince Must Die

The Doctor and Sarah were led hurriedly through the

gardens and into the palace itself. Once inside, their

captors marched them silently along dimly lit corridors,

and finally bundled them into a small wood-panelled

chamber. A handsome young man with dark-brown hair

and wearing fine garments rose from a table as they were

thrust in. The Doctor recognised him immediately as the

stranger who had observed his interrogation by

Hieronymous.

The young man nodded curtly to the guards who

released their hold on the prisoners and left the room.

‘Whatever happened to that old-time Italian courtesy?’

complained Sarah rubbing her sore wrists.

‘I apologise if you were roughly handled,’ said the young

man. ‘Speed was essential. My uncle has men searching for

you everywhere.’

The Doctor looked surprised. ‘Your uncle?’

The young man nodded. ‘Count Federico. He has given

orders that you be executed immediately you are found.

Luckily, a few of the guards are still loyal to their Prince.’

He gave a brief smile.

Sarah felt a sudden sense of relief. ‘And that’s you?’

‘Giuliano, Duke of San Martino.’ The young man bowed

politely.

‘And this is my companion, Marco.’

A tall fair-haired young man stepped forward from the

back of the room where he had been concealed in the

shadows. He bowed stiffly.

‘Tell me more about your uncle,’ said the Doctor.

‘The Count murdered Giuliano’s father,’ interposed

Marco with vehemence.

‘Are you certain?’

Giuliano nodded. ‘Certain.’

‘And now he’s plotting to kill Giuliano.’

‘I take it you don’t get on with your uncle,’ smiled the

Doctor.

The Prince looked serious. ‘My uncle is a tyrant.’

‘While Giuliano lives Federico can never claim the

throne,’ explained Marco.

‘I do not fear so much for myself as for the people,’

continued the young Prince. ‘Were he ever to rule San

Martino all knowledge, all attempt at learning would be

suppressed.’

The Doctor nodded understandingly. ‘And that’s what

he wants? Well Giuliano. if you don’t mind my saying so

you look good for at least another fifty years.’

The Prince lowered his eyes. ‘I am to die. Hieronymous

has predicted it.’

The Doctor gave a snort of derision. ‘Hieronymous? I

shouldn’t take too much notice of him.’

‘I try not to,’ replied the Prince in a level voice. ‘From the way you spoke to him I take it you are a man of

science?’ His eyes searched the Doctor’s intelligently.

‘I do dabble a little,’ said the Doctor modestly.

‘Excellent! I crave for contact with men of intellect and

understanding.’

The Doctor seemed amused. ‘How flattering! But surely

you’ve not gone to all these lengths just to enjoy my

company?’

In answer, Giuliano crossed to a screened alcove at the

rear of the chamber. ‘There are things I want to show you, Doctor. This—for example.’ He snatched back the screen

to reveal a dead body on a pallet. Sarah winced. The body, once one of Federico’s guards, was hideously disfigured

with burn marks.

The Doctor stepped back looking grim. ‘Yes Helix

Energy. High ionisation. It only has to touch human

tissue...’

Giuliano looked puzzled.

‘You’re not talking his language, Doctor,’ interjected

Sarah.

‘This man’s body was found by the city gates,’ explained

the Prince. ‘The guards are muttering of fire devils. I of course do not accept such superstitions.’

‘Nevertheless?’ enquired the Doctor.

Giuliano frowned. ‘It worries me. Is it possible that

something has entered the city—perhaps something

conjured up by Hieronymous?’

The Doctor shook his head gravely. ‘Something has

certainly entered the city, Giuliano—a malevolent power

quite beyond the experience of that old fake. The question is why?’

The Prince still seemed puzzled. ‘I don’t understand...’

The Doctor dug his hands deep into his pockets and

began pacing the room. ‘Why here? Why now?’

‘And what has it got to do with the Cult of Demnos?’

piped up Sarah.

‘Exactly,’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘We seem to have rather

a lot of questions. It’s time we started finding a few

answers.’

Outside Giuliano’s chamber there were increasing signs of

activity. The clank of armour and shuffling footsteps

echoed along the palace corridors indicating the search was being intensified, and through the open window came

distant yells of guards still hunting the gardens.

Meanwhile Count Federico strode about his chamber

like a caged tiger, awaiting news. There was a knock at his door and the scar-faced captain entered and bowed.

‘Well,?’ snarled the Count impatiently. ‘Have you

nothing to report?’

‘Only that they have disappeared, sire.’

‘Impossible!’ exploded Federico. He aimed a kick at a

nearby footstool.

‘There has been no sign of them since they were last

seen in the palace gardens.’

The Count’s face grew black with fury. ‘They must be

found! Something about that Doctor disturbs me greatly. I

want every corner of the palace searched. Take all the men you need.’ He turned his back on the captain and waved

him angrily out of the room.

The captain bowed silently but remained where he

stood. ‘Sire.’ he said softly.

Federico’s broad back remained firmly turned. ‘What is

it?’

The captain took out a piece of paper from his belt.

‘This list—it was prepared by the Duke Giuliano’s

secretary.’

Federico span round and snatched the list. ‘To the King

of Naples?’ he read aloud, ‘... the Duke of Milan... the Duke of Padua... the Doge of Venice... Signoria of Florence...’

His expression grew more enraged by each name.

‘They are the rulers who have accepted Giuliano’s

invitation and are coming to San Martino,’ explained the

captain in a servile tone.

A look of contempt appeared on the Count’s ugly face.

‘To celebrate his accession to the Dukedom. The arrogant

puppy!’ He screwed up the list in his hand, hurled it

against the wall and stormed out of the chamber.

Moments later there was a sharp rat-a-tat at Hieronymous’s door and Federico strode in. Hieronymous looked up in

surprise from a pile of ancient charts he was studying.

‘I did not say enter,’ he said curtly. His face wore a cool and reserved expression unlike his normal obsequious

manner.

‘What?’ Federico seemed momentarily taken aback.

‘I wish to be left alone,’ snapped the old soothsayer and

returned to his charts.

‘In this palace, astrologer, I come and go as I please,’

growled Federico.

‘This is my private room.’

The Count’s eyes narrowed and he leant forward

threateningly. ‘Whatever room you have here is because I

allow it. I’ve warned you before, Hieronymous, do not get

above yourself.’

Hieronymous said nothing for a moment then

responded in a more conciliatory fashion. ‘I have studying to do. But if there is something urgent you want?’

‘Yes, it is urgent!’ shouted Federico, then realising he

might be overheard lowered his voice. ‘We cannot wait

until Mars or Saturn or whatever other nonsense it was you said—Giuliano must die at once.’ He fixed Hieronymous

with a penetrating stare.

‘It is not nonsense.’ retorted the astrologer.

Federico continued unheeding. ‘He’s called a gathering

here of all the leading scholars and philosophers in Italy and their patrons.’

Hieronymous looked up sharply. ‘Gathering?’

Federico nodded impatiently. ‘Don’t you see what it

means? With all those important people here, at his

invitation, he will establish his power in the state for good.’

‘So?’

Federico banged his fist down on Hieronymous’s charts.

‘So it will be harder to get rid of him!’ He paused for breath. ‘He must die. Tonight! ‘

Hieronymous drew himself up to his full height and

shook his head solemnly. ‘It cannot be.’

‘Why not? I have the poison.’ Federico scowled. ‘I want

you to announce that you have made a new finding,’ he

waved his arm airily, ‘some new conjunction has come to

light. You’ll think of. something.’ He pressed his face close to Hieronymous. ‘Sudden death!’

Hieronymous withdrew. ‘You’re asking me to invent a

horoscope.’

‘That’s what you always do,’ snapped the Count.

A look of hurt appeared on the soothsayer’s visage. ‘Do

you know what it is you are mocking?’ He raised his voice.

‘Do you know what power is held by the celestial bodies?

They are not at our beck and call.’

Federico took hold of Hieronymous by the shoulders

and shook him violently. ‘I’m asking you to help me. as

you did before.’ His voice grew menacing. ‘Giuliano must

die tonight! Do you understand?’ He bellowed in the

soothsayer’s ears, ‘Tonight! ‘

6

The Secret of the Temple

‘Spirit from the heavens? I thought you were a man of

science, Doctor.’

The speaker was Giuliano and his handsome features

wore a vexed expression. He was now alone with the

Doctor and Sarah having dispatched Marco to keep

unwelcome visitors at bay.

The Doctor, who had been pacing up and down all this

time expounding theories, suddenly stopped and smiled.

‘It’s rather hard to explain the concept of Helix

energy—either sub- or super-thermal ionisation—in a

medieval vocabulary.’

‘I think you’re doing a great job,’ interposed Sarah,

picking at a bunch of grapes on the table in front of her.

‘But you haven’t explained why these spirits are appearing in romantic old fifteenth-century Italy, have you?’ She

popped a grape in her mouth.

‘Perhaps because the worshippers of Demnos offer a

ready made power-base,’ replied the Doctor suddenly

attracted by the idea. ‘And what better time than the

fifteenth century? The time between the dark ages of

superstition and the dawn of Reason.’

Sarah frowned. ‘You mean if they can gain control of

Earth now... through an ancient religion...?’

‘That could be the plan.’ The Doctor turned excitedly to

the young Prince. ‘Giuliano, that temple must be

destroyed!’

‘But only ruins stand there now, Doctor.’

‘Those ruins are a focal point for enormous forces,’

exclaimed the Doctor. ‘The Helix Energy has penetrated

every stone.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Is there a way I can get to the temple without being seen?’

Guiliano nodded, impressed by the Doctor’s conviction

and sense of urgency. ‘I’ll show you myself.’

‘No. It’s better if I go alone.’

The Prince shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ The

Doctor hesitated, looked at Sarah. They could not risk

being caught again.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘As far as the temple, but no further.’

Giuliano crossed to a large wooden chest and took out a

couple of swords.

‘Here! ‘ He threw one to the Doctor who caught it

expertly, and executed a series of clever flourishes.

‘If I’d known we were coming I’d have practised my

épée,’ he exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye. Sarah

grinned.

‘We’ll take the back staircase,’ explained Giuliano. He

opened the door warily and, satisfied that none of

Federico’s guards were lurking in the shadows, led them

quickly away.

Moments later the three of them emerged from a rear door

of the palace, crossed a series of small cobbled courtyards, and disappeared into the welcoming cover of the gardens.

It was nearly dawn. A slight dew lay on the grass

dampening their clothes as they brushed through. The

young Prince led them down a maze of hidden pathways

until the palace was left far behind. There was no sign of search parties and they made rapid progress. At one point

the Doctor thought they passed the secret entrance he had

discovered earlier, but Giuliano did not pause. The gardens lacked any reliable landmarks and various paths and

grottoes were deceptively similar.

After about twenty minutes the track grew steep and

rocky then suddenly dropped down beside a small stream.

On the far side a woody bluff rose up a hundred feet or so, its side covered with bushes and thick overhanging trees.

Giuliano guided them on stepping stones across the

stream, and up to the face of the rocky mount.

Scattered about the foot were large lumps of masonry,

ancient broken pillars of Greek or Roman design. They

had been there for centuries probably, covered with thick

moss and trailing vines.

‘This is it,’ said Giuliano. He pulled back one of the

bushes to reveal a hidden entrance running into the

hillside.

The Doctor peered into the forbidding gloom, then

turned and addressed the other two. ‘From this point on I

must go alone.’

Giuliano was about to protest but Sarah held his arm

and shook her head. This was a matter for the Doctor. She

had come to recognise times when it was best not to

interfere—when the Doctor seemed guided by inner forces

not fully understandable to humans. This was one of those

occasions.

The Doctor gripped his sword firmly and without a

further word disappeared into the dark tunnel.

From a hidden cache on the other side of the stream a

helmeted figure watched quietly as Sarah and Giuliano

retreated to the cover of a ruined column. He was dressed

in the scarlet and yellow livery of Federico’s bodyguard.

He waited a few moments until satisfied they were not

going to leave, then slipped away furtively through the

trees in the direction of the palace.

Federico was prowling his chamber like a fretful insomniac when there was a perfunctory knock at the door and the

captain burst in, breathless.

‘Sire, they’ve been seen. They’re with the Duke

Giuliano at the ruined temple.’

Federico’s tired eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘The

Duke is with them? Are you certain?’

The captain nodded vehemently. ‘Otherwise the men

would have seized them at once.’

Federico ceased his prowling and an evil smile flickered

across his saturnine features. ‘The ruined temple, you say?’

‘In that direction.’

The Count weighed this information carefully. The

outlines of a devious stratagem began to formulate in his

head.

‘Excellent, excellent,’ he whispered at last. ‘A chance to solve all my problems in one blow.’

The captain nervously fingered the scar on his cheek,

unsure of his master’s meaning.

‘It will appear like a sacrifice,’ continued the Count.

relishing the scenario in his mind’s eye. ‘A human sacrifice to the gods. Our hands will be guiltless.’ He hugged

himself with delight at the prospect.

Admiration and awe dawned on the captain’s face as he

grasped the drift of Federico’s plan. ‘A sacrifice... yes... the evil pagans who worship Demnos...’

‘Get your men quickly!’ commanded Federico and he

snapped his fingers for a valet to bring his cloak. ‘I will lead them myself.’

The Doctor felt his way carefully along the darkened

tunnel. There was no torchlight here, unlike the other

parts of the catacombs and in ten minutes he had travelled no further than a hundred yards.

After a while he began to notice a change in the air

around him. A faint draught brushed his face. That meant

there must be a large opening ahead. He quickened his

pace. As he did so the walls of the tunnel became more

distinct. A source of light lay somewhere in front.

Abruptly the tunnel grew wider and turning a corner

the Doctor found himself staring into the sacrificial

chamber. He realised he had come out on the far side,

exactly facing the exit from which he had made his escape

earlier with Sarah.

He scanned the chamber carefully for any activity. It

was empty, save for the ever-flickering torches in their

metal sockets on the walls.

In the centre of the ruined cavern stood the sacrificial

altar grey and bare.

The Doctor picked his way stealthily across the rock-

strewn floor and approached the altar. As he did so a

sudden cracking noise rang out behind him. He froze.

Silence.

For several seconds he remained still as a statue,

inwardly coiled like a taut spring ready for action.

But there was no further sound. He turned and surveyed

the cavern once more. The torchlight threw curious

dancing shadows on the walls, grotesque shapes which

appeared and disappeared like phantoms; otherwise the

chamber was empty of life.

He continued towards the altar. Then, as he reached the

lowest step, the noise occurred again—much louder this

time. It sounded like stone walls shifting and crumbling.

Simultaneously the chamber was illuminated by an eerie

glow which burned the Doctor’s eyes. He was filled with an unaccountable urge to escape, but as he ran towards the

tunnel exit a large wall materialised in front of him with a deafening crash. Blindly he stumbled towards the other

side of the cavern and a second wall blocked his path. The ghostly Temple of Demnos had sprung up before his very

eyes! Panic-stricken he turned this way and that seeking

escape but all around him thick stone walls seemed to be

hemming him in. He was trapped.

Then another, different noise assailed his ears. It was

the high-pitched wail of Mandragora Energy. It seemed to

be rushing and shrieking in diminishing circles above his

head. In an explosion of sound, he felt it penetrate his

skull. His brain was pierced by an agonising noise which

grew louder and louder. The shrill note seemed to plumb

the very depths of his being. The Doctor felt he was

spinning out of control in a vertiginous whirlpool of

sound. He sank to his knees, his face contorted with

indescribable pain. At the same time a distant booming

laughter rolled around the cavernous temple, as if in

mockery at his helpless agony.

Outside the entrance to the catacombs Giuliano and

Sarah sat waiting on one of the upturned columns. Sarah

felt nervous and anxious but tried not to show it. She was impressed by the young Duke’s quiet confidence and did

not wish to reveal how desperate she thought their

situation really was. As Giuliano spoke in his soft firm

voice, she also realised she found him very attractive. The fact that five hundred years of history lay between them

and not just a few feet of grass only heightened the peculiar fascination the young Prince was beginning to exert on

her. She listened earnestly as he explained about his

studies.

‘You see, I have a theory that the world is really a

sphere,’ he said solemnly.

Sarah smiled. ‘I don’t think that idea will ever catch on.’

‘Why not?’ exclaimed Giuliano. ‘Other scientists are

coming to the same conclusion—that the Earth cannot

possibly be flat because...’

Sarah suddenly grabbed his arm. ‘What was that?’ she

whispered.

‘Nothing... You see it’s really obvious when you think

about it. It’s...’ He broke off suddenly, and drew his sword.

Sarah followed his gaze. On all sides the bushes were

parting to reveal Federico’s soldiers advancing on them,

swords at the ready.

‘Quick, the Doctor! ‘ cried Giuliano and gave Sarah a

shove.

As she raced for the hidden entrance Giulano leapt over

the broken pillar and positioned himself with his back to

an over-hanging rock. At the same moment, a voice rang

out from across the stream.

‘Kill him!’

Giuliano just caught sight of his uncle’s menacing

shape, then the soldiers were upon him in a flurry of

clashing steel.

Sarah reached the entrance to the catacombs and dived

in. The sudden blackness was so unexpected she stopped in

her tracks for several seconds. Then, calling the Doctor’s name as loud as she could, she stumbled on through the

empty darkness.

‘Doctor! Doctor!’

The sound echoed dully along the winding tunnel as she

blundered along, moaning and panting with exertion.

All at once something moved in the gloom ahead. She

ran forward, tripping over the path.

‘Doctor!’

A hand seized her round the throat. She screamed with

fright and started to struggle. But more hands pinioned her arms and legs with a vice-like grip. Then a ghostly voice

inches from her ear whispered in the blackness.

‘Demnos will not be cheated of his pleasure this time,

little one.’

Sarah’s blood ran cold as she recognised the macabre

tones of the High Priest.

7

The Spell of Evil

The Doctor stirred, consciousness seeped back into his

body. His muscles were rigid with tension, his face grey

like the cold stone floor on which he lay. He lifted his head and waves of nausea immediately flooded his nervous

system. He felt drained of all energy, all will-power. It was as if Mandragora had shown him, with one flick of its little finger, how weak and puny he really was.

He clambered to his feet. fought the spinning vertigo

which still clutched him in its grasp. A thousand sledge

hammers crashed inside his head, the cavern walls floated

drunkenly before his eyes.

As he stood there swaying unsteadily from side to side a

faint cry penetrated the pounding in his skull. It sounded familiar yet he could not formulate its meaning.

He heard it again, a distant desperate cry, and this time

he recognised it. His own name. Someone was calling for

him. Hazily he peered about him. Flickering torchlight on

looming craggy walls. A solitary stone altar. On the ground nearby a bare sword.

With a sudden surge his brain clicked into gear and he

remembered. The cries had ceased. He hurriedly snatched

up the sword and scrambled towards the exit.

Outside the catacombs Giuliano was fighting for his life.

But because he was still the Prince. his attackers lacked the will to press home their advantage. Shielded at his back by the rock-face, Giuliano was containing their challenge.

‘So, Uncle,’ he cried. ‘You need an army to do your work!’ He felled a guard with an expert thrust.

From across the stream Federico hurled orders and

abuse at his men.

‘On, you craven-gutted curs, he is but one man!’

Suddenly the soldiers on Giuliano’s right flank began to

fall back as a second swordsman engaged them from the

rear.

‘You can’t count, Count!’ exclaimed a familar voice and

the tall figure of the Doctor, sword in hand, appeared.

Surprised by this unexpected and vigorous assault

Federico’s men momentarily scattered.

‘Take the sorcerer, too!’ commanded Federico. ‘A gold

piece to the first that splits him!’

Spurred on by their master’s threats the soldiers

renewed their attack. One, a large vicious-looking fellow, worked his way,around the back of the Doctor and raised

his sword for the kill.

‘Behind you, Doctor! ‘ warned Giuliano.

In one movement the Doctor did a neat side-step,

disarmed the soldier with a blow to the wrist, and sent him sprawling into the group around Giuliano. The diversion

enabled the young Prince to gain the Doctor’s side.

‘Thanks—this way! ‘ shouted the Doctor.

Blades flashing, the two of them retreated through the

ruins, their attackers milling round them like wolves.

Suddenly Giuliano dropped his sword and fell with a cry of pain. He had received a savage jab to the right shoulder.

Federico gave a yell of triumph. ‘Death to Giuliano!

Now!—Now!’

But the Doctor stood his ground over the wounded

Prince and met the onslaught head on. With lightning

speed and accuracy he dispatched the two leading

assailants. Then, parrying the thrusts of a third, he planted a foot firmly on the the man’s breast-plate and sent him

hurtling down at the feet of the advancing wave.

‘I assure you this is hurting you more than me,’ he

announced calmly as his attackers picked themselves up in

disarray.

In the momentary pause the Doctor gathered his

strength for what was going to be the final, deadly rush. As he stood back panting from his exertion a sudden horde of

black-hooded figures poured out of the hillside like ants

from a nest.

‘The brethren!’ howled Federico in dismay.

As he watched the black throng swarmed over his

guards sending them staggering and reeling in every

direction. So swift and unexpected was the attack that

Federico’s men had no time to regroup. Although the

brethren were armed with no more than wooden staves and

knives their numbers overwhelmed the armed soldiers who

began to retreat in confusion.

‘To me! To me! Back to the palace!’ Federico rallied his

men, his face dark as thunder. The guards tumbled into

the stream knocking into each other in the confusion. On

the far bank the scar-faced captain waited, cursing and

hitting them as they emerged soaked and bedraggled from

the water. In the mêlée the Doctor managed to drag

Giuliano to his feet and together they slipped away unseen to the catacomb entrance. Why the brethren had chosen to

aid them in their struggle against Federico puzzled the

Doctor. Still, he had little time to ponder their lucky

escape.

As they entered the mouth of the tunnel they heard the

sound of running feet ahead. The Doctor just had time to

press himself and Giuliano into a crevice in the wall before a dozen brethren rushed past. The Doctor felt their rough

woollen cloaks brush his face as they swept by, but the

darkness and the haste of the brethren saved them from

discovery.

‘That was fortunate!’ whispered the Doctor. He helped

Giuliano out of the crevice. ‘What happened to Sarah?’

‘She came down here for you, Doctor.’ The Prince

stared hard into the gloom. ‘You mean you have not seen

her?’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘She must still be

wandering about the catacombs. Come on.’

He started to move off but stopped as Giuliano let out a

moan and sank to the ground.

‘You’d better let me look at that arm,’ said the Doctor

gently. He had overlooked the extent of Giuliano’s injury.

He ripped off the blood-soaked shirt sleeve and inspected

the wound as best he could in the dim light. The point of

the sword had penetrated just below the shoulder-blade.

Luckily it was a flesh wound, and nothing important had

been severed. Expertly the Doctor began to hind up the cut using the torn shirt. Giuliano’s face, pale and drawn, tried to hide his pain.

‘You’ve not spent all your time in books. Doctor,’ he

said gratefully. ‘I owe you my life.’

The Doctor concentrated on binding the wound. ‘Finest

swordsman I ever saw was a captain—this should staunch

the bleeding—in Cleopatra’s bodyguard.’ He wound the

material tightly and started to knot it. ‘He was kind

enough to hand out a few points. Keep still.’

Giuliano winced as the tourniquet was pulled taut. ‘Did

you get to the temple. Doctor?’

‘Yes. The Mandragora Helix is there all right. It’s up to

some nasty tricks. There we are.’ He stepped hack and

admired his handiwork. ‘Florence Nightingale would be

very pleased with that little lash up.’ He smiled

encouragingly at the Prince.

Giuliano looked puzzled by the strange reference but

nodded. The wound certainly felt easier.

‘Come on then. I must find out what’s happened to

Sarah.’ The Doctor lifted him to his feet and together they set off slowly through the chilly darkness.

The High Priest led Sarah and her guards along a maze of

rock strewn tunnels, a flaring brand held high above his

head. Here and there trickles of water ran down the walls

to form rivulets beneath their feet and several times Sarah caught sight of giant bats hanging upside down in huddles.

Apart from the High Priest her captors were once again

masked, their grotesque features leering at her like ghouls from hell as they continued their journey. There was

something so inexpressibly evil about those faces,

something non-human—it made her blood run cold. She

knew in her bones there would be no question of reasoning

with these people. They were fanatics, maniacs, impervious to sympathy. She had been lucky to escape their clutches

once. They would make certain it did not happen again.

Abruptly the High Priest stopped. The tunnel had

reached a dead end, a blank wall. The High Priest pressed

his right hand against one of the stones and the wall fell mysteriously away before them to reveal a large ante-chamber beyond.

Sarah was prodded in and she heard the stone wall grind

shut behind them. Facing her as she entered, expecting

her, stood a tall and sinister figure, his head encased in a gruesome mask carved from pure gold. The nose was flat

and cruel. the cheeks furrowed with deep lines of torment, the eyes blank slits shadowing the real eyes behind. His

body was cloaked in rich purple robes surmounted by a

peaked hood in the same colour.

Sarah eyed this awesome apparition in fear and

bewilderment. Her heart skipped a beat. Even though she

had been drugged, she knew instantly that this was the

masked figure who had officiated at the sacrificial

ceremony.

The High Priest pushed Sarah forward. ‘It is an omen.

The Mighty Demnos delivered his victim to us. She is the

chosen sacrifice.’

The masked figure stepped up to Sarah and examined

her closely. ‘This one assists the foreign sorcerer. She may yet assist him to his death before her hour of glory.’

The High Priest seemed taken aback. ‘But Master, the

great blade of our god thirsts for blood...’

‘Patience,’ replied the masked figure. ‘Before the night

ends, priest, there will be blood in plenty. That I promise.’

His commanding tones silenced his acolyte who lowered

his head in obeisance.

‘We of the brethren bow to your command, Master.’

‘Then bind her well so that she may not struggle or cry

out—and bring her to my chamber.’

Before she could protest Sarah was roughly seized. A gag

was forced into her mouth and thick ropes were produced

from a cell in the corner to bind her wrists and arms. Then the High Priest touched a secret mechanism in the wall,

and once more she was bundled out into the forbidding,

subterranean world of the brethren.

Sweating and breathless, Count Federico sat sprawled in a

red velvet armchair in his palace rooms. His face wore a

disgruntled frown as a white-haired retainer dabbed his

brow with a large silk handkerchief.

Through the open casement a loud fanfare sounded

from the direction of the city gates. At the same time there was a knock at the door and the scar-faced captain strode

in looking anxious.

‘The Duke of Milan is arriving, sire.’

Federico scowled at this unwelcome piece of news. ‘Get

this muck out of here!’ he snapped at the servant. ‘Bring

me clean linen. Hurry! You oaf !’

The servant scuttled out. Federico crossed to the

window and stared angrily across the rooftops. ‘And that

fox-faced old blowhard, the Doge, will be here within the

hour. His advance riders are carousing in the taverns even now.’ He turned and glared at the captain.

The captain shuffled his feet. ‘What’s to be done, sire?

They must be greeted.’

‘That fat clown of a chancellor must meet them,’

thundered Federico. ‘Say I have been stricken with an

ague. Before night comes, Rossini, you and I have work to

do!’ He bore down on the captain jabbing the man’s breastplate to emphasise the point.

‘I have a score of men searching for the Prince. He has

not returned to the palace.’

‘Then we must search the city. He’s skulking in some

stinking hovel.’ Federico thrust his face inches from

Rossini’s. ‘I’ve gone too far to stop now. I must see

Giuliano’s liver fed to the dogs by sunrise! ‘ His eyes

glinted evilly as he spat the words in the captain’s face.

Rossini remained perfectly still, not flinching. He had

experienced his master’s wrath before.

‘But the deed must be stealthy, sire,’ he ventured after a moment. ‘With so many visitors of rank lodged in San

Martino...’

‘Peasant!’ exploded Federico. ‘Do I need your pig-

brained counsel?’ He struck the captain a fierce blow

across the cheek.

‘Sire.’

‘Listen, Rossini, Giuliano is a traitor! The prince of a

Christian state mixing with the followers of Demnos.

Taking part in their filthy black rites. You and I are

witness of this!’ His voice reached a crescendo. ‘Oh no, I have him now!’ He clenched the palm of his hand in

satisfaction. ‘I have him here! The Holy Father himself

will kiss my hand for cleansing the state of San Martino.’

He touched his knuckles to his lips and leered

malevolently at Rossini out of the corner of one eye.

The Doctor and Giuliano threaded their way slowly

through the dark twisting tunnels. Every so often they

were forced to stop and hide as members of the brethren

flitted hack and forth like shadows. They seemed to be

posted at all the entrances to the sacrificial chamber and the Doctor was obliged to pursue a circuitous route which

grew more and more confusing at each intersection.

Somewhere, somehow they had taken a wrong turning.

He had never been in such a maze—a rabbit warren of

fetid, foul-smelling corridors. He felt baffled, impotent—a prisoner in some kind of hell. He realised he must be tired, having gone without sleep for several days now. The

thought of finding Sarah was growing more and more

remote and yet the Doctor knew he must keep on

searching. Wherever she was and whatever had befallen

her it was his responsibility and only he was capable of

doing anything about it. He strengthened his grip on the

wounded Prince and lengthened his stride.

For what seemed an eternity Sarah was half pushed, half

dragged along an endless labyrinth of dark stone corridors.

Cold, bruised, and utterly exhausted she at last fell into a semi-conscious haze, her body numbed by the tightness of

her bonds. At one point she thought the ground began to

slope upwards, but that could just have been the effects of tiredness. She remembered climbing a flight of steps, and

being led into a warmer, closer atmosphere, heavy with a

cloying sickly smell. Then she must have lost

consciousness because when she came round she was lying

on a rough pallet in the corner of a room. She was still

bound and gagged.

A thick woollen curtain divided where she was lying

from the rest of the room. She could hear voices muttering beyond it, but could not make out what they were saying.

‘Why did you call on our brethren to save the young

Prince, Master?’

The speaker was the High Priest. He addressed

Hieronymous in a low voice at the far end of the

astrologer’s chamber. The old soothsayer had removed his

cloak and mask and was now busy adding herbs and

powders to a bubbling pot.

‘His life has yet some value,’ he replied quietly.

‘But he is no more in the eye of Demnos than any other

unbeliever.’ Hieronymous ceased stirring his concoction

and fixed the High Priest with a curious piercing stare.

‘Giuliano’s appointment with death is already written. Not Count Federico, nor any other mortal must anticipate the

mighty Demnos.’

The High Priest nodded obediently. ‘Even so, I fear the

Count will now bring all his soldiers to bear against us.’

Hieronymous raised his arms heavenwards in a ritual

gesture.

‘Faith, Brothers! You have seen the sign of Demnos.’

His dark eyes burned in their sockets with manic fervour.

‘The miracle as written in the prophecies,’ incanted the

Priest in reply.

‘Then let the word be spread through the city—guard

the sacred temple. The great god’s dwelling-place must not be defiled by unbelievers in the last few hours. Now go!

Hurry!’ He pointed commandingly to the door. The High

Priest bowed low and left without further word.

Hieronymous returned to his brew. He ladled a measure

from the pot, added water and sniffed the result carefully.

Apparently satisfied, he poured the mixture into a glass

and set it down gently on the table.

Then, crossing to the alcove, he snatched back the

woollen curtain and stood gazing at the bound and gagged

form on the pallet.

Sarah viewed his abrupt appearance with a mixture of

alarm and curiosity. She had never seen this bearded oddly clothed figure before and yet there was something familiar about him. She wondered whether it might be the

infamous Hieronymous the Doctor had mentioned, the old

fraud himself. Now she could glimpse the rest of the room

it certainly resembled a den of astromancy and magic.

The figure knelt beside her and gently released the gag

from her mouth. Then he untied the ropes around her

wrists. Sarah stretched her neck and arms with grateful

relief. She was free to move but weak enough to fall.

The stranger had crossed to a table and now returned

holding a glass full of a brightly coloured liquid. He placed it to her lips.

‘Do not resist, my child.’ His voice was silky, soothing

and not unfamiliar.

Sarah felt the fumes from the potion rising in her

nostrils, pungent like a heady spice. It made her cough

violently and struggle for breath.

‘The aroma is sweet,’ whispered the leering stranger.

Holding her head he began to force the mixture down her

throat. His grip was gentle but insistent. Weakened by her ordeal Sarah could not prevent herself from swallowing

one or two drops.

Immediately a dizzy intoxicating sensation spread

through her body, her head grew thick and muzzy. The

room grew misty and swayed around her.

Then her attention was caught by something bright and

shiny a few inches from her face, a crystal pendant. It

began to swing slowly and rhythmically before her eyes.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear the voice.

‘Now child—whom do you serve?’

It sounded warm and friendly as if Sarah had known it

all her life. She felt a surge of trust and affection towards its soft mellifluous tones.

‘I serve you,’ she heard herself say.

‘And the Doctor?’

Sarah paused. A preposterous thought had formed in

her head; something she had known all along, something

which was blindingly obvious. What a fool she had been

not to see it before. His strange manner, his alien powers, his magical possessions.

‘The Doctor is a sorcerer.’

‘And?...’

The dark face smiled from behind the spinning crystal.

‘The Doctor is evil.’

‘And?’

Sarah struggled for inspiration. This friendly smiling

voice was good. The Doctor was its enemy. Therefore the

Doctor was evil.

‘And must be destroyed.’

Sarah gasped as she said the words. The crystal spun

faster and faster, a mesmerising ball of light burning its image into Sarah’s brain, blotting out all other sensations except that seductive insinuating voice.

‘All this you will forget. All but your purpose.’

Sarah nodded. The crystal suddenly disappeared and

instead she felt her hand caressed by a cold metal object, long and pointed.

‘When you stand close, and the Doctor suspects

nothing, you will strike him down.’ commanded the voice.

‘One scratch will be sufficient.’

Through blurred vision Sarah looked at her hand. In it

lay a gleaming steel bodkin about four inches long with an ornamental head.

‘The hand of a friend is a subtle but certain weapon.’

The stranger took the bodkin and pinned it gently onto the front of Sarah’s dress like a brooch.

‘Now you must be returned to the Doctor’s side. How

glad he will be to see his young companion. And when I

command you must kill him.’

He led Sarah to a concealed flight of steps behind a

curtain. Then, gazing deeply into her eyes one more time,

he commanded her to go. Hypnotised and spell-bound,

Sarah nodded meekly and descended the stair-case. Her

mission, to kill the Doctor!

8

Torture!

‘Well?’

The challenge, delivered with rasping menace, hung in

the air like an executioner’s blade above Rossini’s head.

The captain stared miserably at the patterned floor of

Federico’s chamber. ‘Nothing, sire.’ He blurted the words

out fearfully.

Federico’s eyes narrowed and his face swelled with fury.

‘You inept clod! What were my orders?’

‘We have searched everywhere.’

Federico rose from his chair and advanced on the

captain, his riding crop raised threateningly. ‘Dunghead!’

He brought the crop across the captain’s cheek, leaving

a vicious red weal where it struck. The captain flinched but stood his ground.

‘Fail me, Rossini, and I’ll swear you’ll breakfast on

burning coals! I want the Duke’s head here—tonight!’ He

cracked the whip across a table sending objects flying in all directions. ‘I want to spit in his sightless eyeballs!’

The captain eyed the whip and measured his words

carefully. ‘Sire, we can only think he has taken to the

catacombs.’

‘The catacombs!’

‘A hundred men might search those galleries for a

month, sire, and still find nothing. They say there are

places where the bat droppings are twice the height of a

man.’

‘They say, they say!’ the Count hissed contemptuously.

‘The truth of it, Rossini, is you’ve no stomach for the task.’

‘If it is your wish, my lord. I’ll take the entire guard and begin the search this very night.’

Federico grunted and paced the floor thoughtfully.

‘No... no, it’s true. If he’s gone into that warren he’ll be harder to find than a louse in a beggar’s rags...’ He paused.

‘But sometime he’ll have to come out again—or die like a

sewer rat.’ He wagged a finger knowingly at Rossini.

The captain permitted himself a smile. ‘And when he

does we will be ready for him.’

‘Of course you will, numskull! But more than that.’

Federico chuckled malevolently. ‘We are going to prove

that the Duke Giuliano has been a secret devotee of the

cult of Demnos!’

The young Prince was still breathing uneasily and the pain had returned. The Doctor paused for a moment to give

him respite. As they rested in the un-healthy darkness they could hear the bats squeaking and dodging about their

heads.

‘Doctor, there is a stench of evil in these catacombs,’

gasped Giuliano.

The Doctor sounded surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you’re

afraid?’

‘Of course not.’ The Prince’s voice was clear and firm.

‘Come on then!’ The Doctor started to lift Giuliano to

his feet. As he did so there was a sudden grinding noise

and part of the stonework behind them began to move.

‘Doctor! ‘ whispered Giuliano.

Slowly a large mass of rock swung aside to reveal a

secret entrance. The Doctor guessed he must have

triggered the mechanism while levering Giuliano to his

feet. He grinned. ‘The ancients who built this place knew a thing or two.’

He stepped through the secret opening. Giuliano did

likewise. Immediately the massive rock swung to behind

them. Ahead lay a curving corridor lit at intervals by

burning torches set into the walls.

The Doctor suddenly realised it was the door through

which he had first followed the masked figure; only this

time they were passing through it in the opposite direction.

In that case they were heading towards the palace!

Suddenly there was a sound, like a low moan.

‘Was that you, Giuliano?’

‘No.’

The Doctor drew his sword and advanced carefully into

the shadows. Twenty paces on there was a bend in the

tunnel and the torchlight seemed brighter. The Doctor

turned the corner and let out a gasp of surprise. There

lying limply against the stonework was the prostrate form

of Sarah Jane.

‘Sarah!’

The Doctor darted forward and knelt over her. Behind

him Giuliano scrambled to his feet and ran to join him.

‘Is she all right?’

‘I think so.’ The Doctor gently shook her shoulder,

‘Sarah... Sarah.’

Slowly her eyes opened and looked dazedly around.

‘Where... where am I?’ She tried to sit up. The Doc-tor put his arm round her comfortingly.

‘Her eyes are strange,’ remarked Giuliano.

The Doctor nodded. ‘What happened, Sarah?’

‘The brothers... two of them... I... I can’t remember

much.’

Giuliano frowned. ‘Why would they leave her here?’

‘Perhaps they were planning to come back for her,’

speculated the Doctor. He looked around. ‘This passage

runs under the palace.’

‘How do you know?’ Giuliano sounded surprised.

‘The first time I saw him the leader of the cult, the

masked figure, was coming this way. He probably uses it regularly.’ The Doctor’s clear blue eyes fixed the young

Prince with a penetrating stare.

‘I don’t think the Mandragora Intelligences hijacked the

TARDIS and sent us to this point of space and time

without reason. There is already somebody here sensitive

to its influence. Probably there has been some kind of

tenuous link for centuries.’

Giuliano realised the Doctor was referring to the

brethren and their leader and the thought of that

superstitious band possessing genuine powers filled him

with foreboding.

‘Doctor. give me a hand.’ Sarah’s pert voice cut through

the air. She seemed to have suddenly re-covered.

‘Are you fit to move?’ asked the Doctor.

‘I think so.’

He helped her gently to her feet. ‘Come on then.

Solvitur ambulando.’

‘What?’

‘Latin.’ explained Giuliano. ‘The question is solved by

walking.’

‘Oh,’ said Sarah. ‘Thanks. Hey! Never mind Latin, I

don’t even speak Italian. Doctor, how is it I can understand Giuliano? I’ve never thought of that before?’

The Doctor turned and gave her a curious look. ‘Don’t

worry about it, Sarah. I’ll try to explain later.’ He led them off down the corridor and his face betrayed a sign of anger.

Marco waited anxiously in Giuliano’s room toying with the

telescope on the table. His master and the two strange

visitors had been missing for hours and he was beginning

to grow anxious. Luckily no one had enquired too closely

into the Prince’s whereabouts but sooner or later he would have to think of an explanation. There had been unusual

activity too about the palace. He had seen several troops of Federico’s guards leave and then return apparently from

some skirmish outside the city.

Marco inwardly recoiled at Federico’s name. For years

he had nursed a growing fear of the Count’s evil ambitions.

More than once he had had to interpose on Giuliano’s

behalf when Federico’s poisonous lies had threatened to

turn the old Duke against his son. Now, with the old man

gone, Federico’s wolfish craving for the throne seemed to

know no bounds.

But whatever events the future might bring. Marco felt

strong and proud in his loyalty to the Prince.

As he gazed out of the window, his mind full of these

thoughts, a thunderous knocking on the door brought him

to his senses.

‘Open! Open! In the name of Duke Giuliano.’

Marco hurriedly crossed to the door as the knocking

was repeated. Thank goodness some of the guards were still loyal to the Prince. He unbolted the door.

Immediately, a squad of pikemen rushed into the room

headed by Rossini. Marco realised too late that these were not Giuliano’s men but Federico’s. He drew his sword to

put up a fight but was quickly over-powered and dragged

kicking out of the room.

The Doctor paused and beckoned to Giuliano.

‘Anywhere you know?’

The passage had broadened out and here and there red

brickwork showed through the walls. There was also a faint musty smell as if casks of wine had once been stored

nearby.

Giuliano’s face broke into a grin.

‘We’re in the palace dungeons. I remember my father

once spoke of a secret passage—’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Excellent. Do you think you can

find it?’

Giuliano advanced cautiously into the shadows ahead.

‘Yes. Here it is,’ he whispered. He pointed to what

looked like a small alcove in the wall, but when the Doctor and Sarah got nearer they could see it was a narrow flight of steps winding upwards in a spiral.

‘Right. Follow me,’ said the Doctor. ‘And quietly now.’

He’started up the steps, sword in hand.

Hieronymous was seated in Federico’s room, alone. He had

requested an audience and was now waiting for the Count

to appear. The stars had revealed an unhappy conjunction,

the signs were clearly there, he would not be doing his

duty to keep such warnings from his Lordship. Even so

Hieronymous now had much weightier problems on his

mind, and as he sat awaiting the Count his thoughts began

to wander. The events of the last twenty-four hours had

thrown his entire being into a state of feverish tumult.

That he, Hieronymous, son of a poor peasant from Bologna

should become the chosen vessel of powers beyond the

dreams of men! Not only San Martino and all of the Italian states, but the very world itself might be within his grasp.

What could he not achieve then? What pleasures, what

powers could be denied him? His lips quivered as scenes of undisguised degeneracy passed through his mind’s eye.

But for the moment he must bide his time, listen

carefully to the words of Demnos and not fall foul of the

prickly Federico.

His musings were rudely curtailed as Federico slammed

into the room.

‘Hieronymous!’

The Count stood in the middle of the room bristling

with bad temper.

‘You will forgive me for not rising, Count,’ replied the

soothsayer coolly. He was becoming annoyed by Federico’s

continual rudeness and bullying manner.

The Count took a pace forward and unsmilingly drew a

dagger from his belt.

‘Only the dead fail to stand in my presence,

Hieronymous. Your lack of courtesy is easily corrected.’

Hieronymous realised he had misread Federico’s mood

and leapt nimbly to his feet as the dagger moved towards

his throat.

‘My lord, spare an old servant! It was only through my

love for you... I am numb with fear for your life.’

Federico paused and grinned at the cowering figure of

the astrologer.

‘But the numbness has passed I see.’ He sheathed the

dagger and sprawled into a high-backed chair. ‘You’re a

fraud, Hieronymous. A fake. A charlatan. A market-place

soothsayer. We both know the truth of it.’ He leant forward and poked Hieronymous in the ribs. ‘So just remember to

keep your humble place, court astrologer. That way you

may also keep your head.’

Hieronymous bowed and pulled his beard slyly. ‘But I

bring you warning, my lord.’

‘Go on.’

‘There are intrigues brewing. Plots are being prepared.

You are in great danger.’

Federico snorted. ‘The only plots, astrologer, are mine.

And they are going well.’

But Hieronymous continued. ‘It is written that a blow

will be struck against you—here in this palace. You must

bring all your guards here to defend your noble person.’

Federico rose from the chair and thrust the fortune-

teller away from him. ‘Hieronymous, you try my patience.

You can no more read the stars than read my chamber-pot.

Go! Get out of my sight!’

Hieronymous’s wrinkled face suffused with blood and

he swallowed hard in order to control his anger. That this oaf, this ruffian, this mindless brute, regal though he might be, should continually dismiss his predictions as frivolous nonsense was becoming too difficult to stomach.

‘Very well, sire,’ he replied coldly. ‘But before Mars

sinks to rest the blow will fall and your life will be forfeit.

So it is written.’ He delivered the warning with chilling

conviction and stalked out of the room leaving Federico

puzzled and slightly shaken.

‘I’d say you’ve had visitors,’ announced the Doctor as he

led the way into Giuliano’s room. The staircase had

brought them out into the palace kitchens and from there

they had been able to reach the sanctuary of the Prince’s

room unobserved by way of the servants’ corridors. The

chamber betrayed signs of a fierce struggle. The Prince’s

telescope had been hurled to the floor but was luckily

undamaged.

Giuliano took in the scene, white-faced.

‘Marco,’ he whispered. ‘My uncle’s men must have

taken him!’

He turned impulsively to the door, ready to set off in

search of his companion.

The Doctor restrained him.

‘There’s nothing you can do on your own Giuliano.’ He

shut the door gently and led the young Prince to a chair.

‘He’s my friend, my dear and loyal companion...’

‘Giuliano,’ interrupted the Doctor firmly, ‘there are

other considerations besides your uncle and his petty

ambitions.’

‘Petty? But they’re far from petty.’ Realisation dawned

on his face. ‘I’ve called a gathering of scholars to celebrate my accession to the Dukedom. My uncle will do

everything he can to stop our meeting.’

This news caused the Doctor to frown. He unhitched

his sword and laid it thoughtfully on the table.

‘Who’s coming to this gathering, Giuliano?’

‘The most learned men in all Italy. Scholars, artists,

men of the new sciences.’

‘Leonardo da Vinci?’

Giuliano nodded. ‘And his patron the Duke of Milan.’

The Doctor shot a glance at Sarah. She did not seem

particularly interested or impressed. Not like her usual

curious self. He turned to Giuliano.

‘Of course, I see it now. If anything should happen to

those men the world would be back in a new dark age!’ He

crossed to the door. ‘You two stay here.’

‘Where are you going?’ enquired Sarah as if she had

suddenly woken up and only heard the last part of their

conversation.

‘I have an idea who the leader of the brethren is,’ replied the Doctor.

‘Be careful,’ warned Giuliano. ‘The soldiers will be

everywhere.’

The Doctor beamed a toothy smile. ‘Don’t worry.

Besides I’m not going to pass up the opportunity of

meeting Leonardo!’ He opened the door and slipped out

stealthily into the corridor.

A great bubbling howl of pain echoed through the

dungeons of the palace then died away into fitful gasps.

The noise came from behind a heavy metal door which

gleamed with a dull sheen in the burning torchlight. The

sounds stopped, the cell-door opened and the scar-faced

captain stepped out. As he turned to close the door

Federico slid into view and approached him.

He spoke in a low voice. ‘Scarlatti is enjoying his work.’

The captain smiled faintly. ‘He is a craftsman.’

‘Nonetheless these cries,’ the Count gestured to-wards

the cell door, ‘I would prefer not to rouse the entire palace.’

He pushed his face close to Rossini, his eyes glinting evilly in the dancing shadows. ‘Has he weakened yet?’

The captain shook his head, ‘He’s a stubborn ape, sire.’

Federico thought for a moment. ‘I will have a word with

him. Sometimes the voice of reason is more effective than a burning iron.’ He took Rossini by the shoulder. ‘I have

another task for you.’

‘My lord.’

Federico dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘The

astrologer, Hieronymous, may be moving against me.’ He

cast a look up and down the passageway then leant close to Rossini’s car. ‘He has prophesied my death.’

‘My lord!’ Consternation filled the captain’s face.

‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Federico waved a hand airily. ‘He

plucks these lies from the air.’ His tone grew stern. ‘But I want the old spider out of the city tonight.’

‘Banished, sire?’

Federico nodded vigorously. ‘Throw him out, and all

his rubbish with him.’

The Doctor hurried stealthily through the palace corridors, his feet echoing softly on the marbled floors. It was Sarah who had given him the final clue. She was obviously not

herself, under some kind of influence, too subtle to attract Giuliano’s attention but sufficient to alert the Doctor.

There was only one man capable of practising such tricks,

the court astrologer, Hieronymous. The Doctor had had

his suspicions for some time but Sarah’s disappearance in

the catacombs was the convincing link. Hieronymous had

to be the leader of the brethren—and in league with the

forces of Mandragora. Stop Hieronymous and there was a

chance of stopping the invasion of Earth which the Doctor

felt sure was imminent. A subtle and insidious invasion,

employing the conditioned brethren to dominate and

enslave the rest of San Martino, Italy and ultimately the

world. Henceforth, mankind would evolve, oblivious to the

fact that every act, every word, every thought, emanated

from the distant Helix: man’s apparent freedom would

have turned into a tyranny of the worst kind, the very soul of his existence controlled by another, alien life-form.

The Doctor redoubled his pace, intent on finding

Hieronymous’s lair. He turned a corner and found himself

in a long colonnade. One side bordered a small statue-filled patio, open to the air. As he flitted cautiously from arch to arch he heard a sound as if someone was following him. He

dodged into an alcove and waited. He allowed a few

moments to pass but there was no further noise. He

continued on his way, his ears even more keenly attuned to danger.

Twenty paces behind the Doctor and unknown to him,

a pale phantom-like figure tip-toed in his wake. It was Sarah Jane, her eyes peculiarly dilated staring straight

ahead, her right hand clenched tightly round the long,

pointed bodkin.

‘A simple confession, my young friend.’ Federico stood

smiling a few feet from Marco, his crooked teeth glinting

in the flickering red light. There was a brazier at the far end of the cell into which Scarlatti, the torturer, had thrust two irons. Already they were growing red hot, fit to make a man’s flesh sizzle. Marco, his blond hair matted with

sweat, hung by his arms from an upright wooden-rack. He

turned to face Federico and summoning all his strength

gasped a reply.

‘Never.’

Federico leant into his ear and whispered silkily. ‘You

are of noble birth, Marco, a man of intelligence. Use it and save yourself pain.’

‘I shall not lie against the Duke.’ Marco heaved to gain

his breath between each word. ‘You may kill me first.’

‘No, but we may kill you afterwards. Scarlatti’s

enthusiasm is such that not all survive his attentions.’

Federico nodded towards the corner. Scarlatti, his

shaven head and ox-like arms gleaming with sweat from

the heat of the brazier. turned and grinned.

Marco winced. ‘You devils...’

‘One last chance, Marco. Confess that Giuliano is a

follower of Demnos. I will reward you well.’ There was no

reply. Only numb silence.

‘Come, man ! What is your answer?’ Federico bawled

the words out.

Slowly Marco raised his head and deliberately spat into

the Count’s face.

Federico drew back incensed.

‘Insolent fool! Now you will truly learn what suffering

is.’ He motioned angrily to Scarlatti and stormed out of the cell.

Vexed and embittered from his audience with the Count,

Hieronymous had returned to his room and thrown

himself into concocting one of his arcane and foul-smelling potions. The noxious fumes rose billowing from the

cauldron causing even Hieronymous to cough and splutter

and he was forced to open first the window, then the door

in order to allow the gases to escape.

In a short while he felt certain the Powers of

Mandragora would summon him to embark on the next

phase of their mission. Then, Federico would be forced to

take heed and eat his rancorous words. Hieronymous

stirred the cauldron and threw in a pinch of ground

crystals. There was a loud bang and great clouds of steam

filled the room. As the air cleared Hieronymous gave a

sudden start. Standing before him like a magic apparition

was the Doctor.

‘Good evening,’ he smiled.

Hieronymous gasped. ‘You?’ His eyes widened in

wonder and disbelief. ‘What are you?’

‘It’s time you and I had a serious talk. Hieronymous,’

said the Doctor moving round the cauldron.

‘Keep back ! Keep away from me ! ‘

The Doctor chuckled. ‘Not sure of yourself yet. I see—

the influence comes and goes, I suppose. That must be very worrying for you.’

The astrologer backed towards the window his arms

held in front of his face.

‘Were you sent from the stars?’

‘You could say that.’

Hieronymous nodded. ‘They told me... the voices... that

I would be joined by another. Give me a proof you are the

one.’

The Doctor reached across to the desk and lifted up the

carved mask of gold.

‘Ingenious. Pre-diluvian sandstone with a complex

circuit of base metal fused into it.’ He looked up at

Hieronymous and grinned. The astrologer was taking no

notice and the Doctor realised someone else had entered

the room. He dropped the mask and swung round. Less

than two paces away Sarah stood poised to plunge a lethal

steel needle into the back of his neck.

‘You defile the sacred image of Demnos,’ screamed

Hieronymous. ‘Destroy him! Destroy him now!’

9

The Invasion Begins

‘Hello, Sarah,’ said the Doctor quietly. His eyes took in the bodkin. ‘A poisoned needle?’

Sarah hesitated, her arm still raised ready to strike. Her face was like a crazed mask. The Doctor fixed her with a

hypnotic stare, his clear blue eyes drilled into hers like a laser beam. ‘Drop it, Sarah.’

Hieronymous moved behind him. ‘Strike him down!’

Sarah jumped at the Doctor but as the needle flashed

towards him he side-stepped and caught hold of her wrist,

deflecting the blow.

‘You don’t want to harm me, Sarah,’ he ordered firmly,

‘I am your friend. Drop it.’

Sarah struggled for a few seconds, blinked and her face

resumed its normal expression. Her gaze fell from the

Doctor’s eyes to her hand, her fingers opened slowly, and

the needle dropped to the ground.

The Doctor smiled gently and released her. As he did so

Hieronymous lunged across the room, a dagger in his

hand.

‘The curse of Demnos on you, forever!’

The Doctor dodged to one side. Hieronymous lunged

again. This time the Doctor leant back and neatly kicked

the knife out of the astrologer’s hand.

‘You’re really too old for this sort of thing,

Hieronymous.’

As the knife went spinning across the floor there was a

commotion in the corridor outside and soldiers poured

into the room headed by Rossini.

‘Take them!’

Three of the guards leapt upon the Doctor who was near

the door. He went down struggling.

‘Doctor!’ yelled Sarah and started clawing at one of the

guards.

Hieronymous snatched up the mask. As the soldiers

advanced on him he threw a ladle of hot liquid from the

cauldron into their faces and dashed behind the curtain at the rear of the chamber. The soldiers fell back screaming

and choking.

‘Fools! Stop him!’ yelled Rossini. ‘Don’t let him get

away.’

But Hieronymous had gained sufficient time to elude

them in the darkness of the secret passage and after a brief search the captain had to content himself with his capture of the Doctor and Sarah.

In his private chamber Giuliano was in a flurry of

indecision. Sarah had inexplicably slipped out while his

back was turned and he had been searching for fresh

dressing for his wound.

In addition, there was no word from the Doctor and

several hours had passed. He dared not go in search of

them for fear of meeting up with Federico’s men who were

bound to be patrolling the palace. It was pure good fortune they had not returned to search his chambers again and no

doubt before the morning they would think of this.

The Prince paced the room for several minutes. Finally

he reached a decision. He strapped on his sword belt,

crossed to the door and slipped cautiously out into the

corridor.

It was still nightfall and the palace lay strangely quiet.

Most of the torches had been doused but through the open

colonnade a strong moonlight cast a pale ethereal glow

onto the marbled floor. For some reason the quiet cool

atmosphere made him think back to his childhood, how as

a little boy he had often played alone in these same

corridors dreaming of the day he would be crowned Duke

and ruler of San Martino. And now that day had come here

he was, a fugitive in his own house, fearing for his life, with only the strange and resourceful Doctor as his ally.

He padded stealthily down the corridors heading for

Hieronymous’s chamber. He felt sure that was where the

Doctor had meant to visit.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement behind a

column to his right and two shadowy figures hurled

themselves upon him. A knee dug him savagely in the back

and before he could draw his sword a sharp blade was

pressed to his throat. Then swiftly his assailants dragged him out of the corridor and down a flight of stone steps.

‘Giuliano?’

Federico’s ugly face lit up and he rose eagerly from his

couch to greet Rossini.

‘Is he dead?’

‘No, sire. He’s been taken to the dungeon with the other

prisoners.’

‘Then it is finished, Rossini!’ The Count rubbed his

hands and began prowling his chamber in a fit of

excitement. ‘The Duke and his troublemakers will be dead

and buried by cockcrow.’ Rossini bowed obediently. ‘There

is only Hieronymous. But he will not evade capture for

long.’

Federico nodded fervently, ‘There is nothing now that

will stop me. Nothing!’ He turned to Rossini, his face

ablaze with triumph.

In the dungeons the Doctor and Sarah hung side by side

on vertical wooden racks, their wrists manacled to the

frame above their heads. They had been placed in Marco’s

cell and the heat of the brazier caused the sweat to pour off them, adding to their discomfort. Opposite them Marco

hung limp and motionless, his blond hair matted, his face

streaked with tears and dirt. Only a faint panting from

time to time told them he was still alive.

Sarah turned her head with difficulty and whispered

faintly to the Doctor.

‘I’m trying to remember what happened to me but I

can’t. There’s nothing at all.’

‘Drug-induced hypnosis,’ replied the Doctor, easing

himself free from the wooden slats which seemed to be

eating through his shoulder-blades. ‘Hieronymous is a

resourceful old sly-boots.’

Sarah looked sad and puzzled.

‘But I tried to kill you?’

‘You only did what you were ordered to do—and what I

expected,’ said the Doctor without reproach.

‘But how did you know I’d been drugged?’

‘Well I’ve taken you to some strange places and you’ve

never stopped to wonder why you spoke the local language.

It’s a Timelord gift that I let you share. But tonight you asked how you could understand Italian.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes. And that told me your mind had been taken over

by another influence.’

Sarah was about to question the Doctor further when

the bolt was drawn back with a clank, and Giuliano was led in between two soldiers. He gasped at the sight of the

Doctor and Sarah.

‘See to Marco,’ urged the Doctor.

Giuliano darted to his companion’s side and cupped his

head in his hands.

‘Marco? What have they done to you?’

Marco’s eyelids flickered momentarily and his lips

trembled. ‘They made me... speak against you.’ His chin

fell heavily to his chest with the effort. Pity and anger

mingled on Giuliano’s face as he stared upon his boyhood

companion.

‘What have they forced you to say?’ he whispered.

‘That you, dear nephew,’ answered a gloating voice from

behind, ‘and this dog of a sorcerer are in league to revive the blasphemous cult of Demnos.’

Giuliano swung round on his heels to encounter the

towering figure of his uncle, arms folded and legs astride, leering devilishly at him from the doorway.

‘You stinking butcher! ‘

Giuliano sprang at Federico’s throat but the two soldiers

wrenched him away and held him tight. The Count

chuckled and, removing his gauntlet, struck his nephew

playfully across the cheek.

Behind him Rossini entered hastily.

‘My lord.’

‘What is it?’

The captain was pale and breathless. ‘All over the city...

they’re coming out of every street...’

‘What are you gabbling about?’

‘The brethren,’ gasped Rossini. ‘They’re moving

towards the temple!’

Through the empty streets hordes of sinister wraith-like

figures glided over the cobblestones like a surging tide.

Rossini, who had witnessed the spectacle from the upper

window in the palace, ten minutes earlier, had never seen

such a sight. No one, not even Federico had realised the

brethren numbered so many.

At the southern end of the city files of black hooded

figures merged into one large column and surged across

the Slopes of Sorrow towards the ruined temple.

Inside the sacrificial chamber, Hieronymous, cloaked in

purple and wearing the golden mask, stood at the foot of

the altar as the brethren arrived and took up their

positions. By his side stood the High Priest, adorned for

the first time in a tall silver mask fashioned like a gargoyle.

Once the brethren were fully assembled a low chanting

commenced, which gradually rose in volume as they began

processing around the central altar. After a few moments

Hieronymous climbed onto the top step of the altar, and

kneeling down, kissed the base of the stone. Then raising

his arms exultantly he called out in an unknown tongue.

Immediately, a strange shimmering effect appeared on

the walls of the cavern and the sound of creaking, grinding stone-work echoed above the heads of the brethren. Slowly

and majestically the outline of their former temple

materialised around them. When the shape was complete

and the noise had ceased Hieronymous rose to his feet and

made another gesture, bringing his arms down to his sides

in a wide circling motion.

As he did so a brilliant shaft of light bathed him and the altar in a curious ethereal glow. The centre of the column of light was an intense iridescent white, impossible to look upon directly, fading towards the outer edges into a vivid spectrum of colours, orange, green, vermilion, and

peacock-blue.

The chanting from the brethren ceased and

Hieronymous cried in a loud voice.

‘Great God Demnos, we are ready to receive you into

ourselves. If we are worthy of your almighty presence,

show yourself.’

For a few moments nothing happened, then a mighty

lightning flash like a shooting star sped down the beam of light and struck the altar where Hieronymous was

standing!

Instantly he turned into a vivid ball of colour as the

charge travelled straight through him, from head to foot.

Miraculously, he remained alive and intact. As if obeying

some unheard command he spread his gloved hands over

the altar, about a foot above the surface. Immediately a

force of energy leapt from the stone to his hands and his

fingers crackled with blue light. He beckoned to the High

Priest who approached from the other side of the altar and raised his hands. Hieronymous took hold of them in his

and a bolt of energy passed through into the High Priest.

He jerked convulsively as if a powerful electric current had entered his body. Hieronymous released his grip and the

High Priest stepped back to his position.

The process had begun. The first recipients of

Mandragora’s awesome power had relinquished their

human selves.

If Rossini’s news was true then there was even less time

than the Doctor had first thought. It was imperative to

convince Federico of the imminent danger. But the

cunning tyrant was determined to enjoy his moment of

glory.

‘I’ve waited a long time, sorcerer, for this moment.

Nothing is going to stop me now from becoming Duke.’

The Doctor retorted angrily. ‘Count Federico, I’m not

interested in your political ambitions. Your enemies are

not here in this dungeon, they’re in the temple. It’s not

Giuliano you have to fear but Hieronymous.’

Federico snorted. ‘Hieronymous? That old fake?’

‘That old fake. Count, is the leader of the brethren.’

‘What?’ Federico’s checks drained of what little colour

they had and he stared uncomprehendingly at Rossini.

‘And he’s possessed of some extraordinary power,’

continued the Doctor smoothly, ‘Helix Energy. It’s a power that could destroy everything. I’ve warned you before.’

‘It’s a trick, sire.’

Federico looked from the captain to the Doctor, in two

minds.

‘How do I know sorcerer, that you are telling the truth?’

‘You don’t. But if you don’t stop Hieronymous, now, I

promise you there’ll be no Dukedom for you or anyone else

to rule over after tonight.’

The Count looked visibly shaken. He hesitated a

moment then said, ‘I’ll see for myself. And you’ll come

with me.’ He prodded the Doctor in the ribs. ‘Unchain

him.’

‘Don’t trust him, my lord,’ remonstrated the captain.

Federico sneered.

‘I don’t have to trust him. Keep these three as hostages.’

He indicated Giuliano, Sarah and the still half-conscious

Marco. ‘If I don’t return within the hour you know what to do.’

Rossini clicked his heels and nodded and the guards

began unchaining the Doctor. Sarah looked anxiously at

Giuliano. There was nothing they could do. The Doctor

was taking the only course open to him. Their lives once

more lay in his hands—and Federico’s.

In the temple the brethren were still filing slowly up to the altar one by one and receiving the ‘energy charge’ from

Hieronymous. Those who had already undergone the

ordeal stood silently in the centre of the chamber, their

masked faces trained obediently on their leader. They

seemed no longer human, too stiff, too still, like row upon row of carved dummies.

As the altar queue gradually dwindled a handful of

latecomers appeared and tagged on the end. Their hoods

were pulled far forward concealing their faces and they

quickly mingled in with the other brethren as if not

wanting to attract attention. They were a good fifty feet

away from the altar when Hieronymous suddenly looked

up from his administrations and stared in their direction.

The tallest of the latecomers whispered in his neighbour’s ear. ‘Don’t go near him.’

‘Do I need your advice?’ snarled Federico and motioned

his guards to keep a firm grip on the Doctor’s arms. Then, suddenly throwing back his hood he ran towards the altar

and pointed an accusing finger.

‘Hieronymous! You traitor!’

The masked figure whirled round. Federico signalled to

his men to seize the astrologer. The guards started to obey then stopped in their tracks. They seemed frozen with fear, transfixed by the devilish staring mask.

‘Hieronymous!’

Federico rushed forward, screaming with fury. An inner

demon drove him on to seek vengeance on his old

astrologer. He leapt up the altar steps and tore the golden mask from Hieronymous’s face. Instantly he fell back in horror. There was no face behind the mask! No flesh, no

bone, nothing. Nothing but a blinding searing light framed by the edges of the black hood. It was clear there was

nothing beneath the cloak, no person at all, just a power

source in the shape of a man.

The ‘Shape’ raised its arm and pointed a gloved finger at

Federico. The Count cringed in terror. The Doctor looked

on in horrified fascination, unable to intervene. The gloved finger levelled at Federico’s heart and daggers of blue light spurted from the tip striking him instantly. Federico gave a hideous shriek and exploded into a mass of flames. His

guards ran to his aid but they too were instantly devoured by a burst from Hieronymous’s outstretched arm.

The Doctor turned pale as he gazed at the charred and

smoking pile which an instant before had been Count

Federico. The effects of Mandragora Energy were more

lethal than a laser beam, more powerful than nuclear

fission. And in this temple a multitude were already armed with the same weapon. Unless he could escape, Earth was

doomed. Had his alien presence yet been detected by the

intelligences of Mandragora? As if in reply the gloved

finger of Hieronymous swung sharply round and pointed

ominously in the Doctor’s direction.

10

Siege

For a moment the Doctor felt his heart stop beating. Time

stood still and it seemed to him as if the sum total of his existence lay naked and defenceless before that threatening accusing finger. He closed his eyes and waited.

‘So shall perish all our earthly enemies.’

The voice of Hieronymous echoed exultantly round the

cavernous chamber. The Doctor opened one eye. The

masked figure had lowered its arm and now addressed the

enraptured brethren.

‘Surround me with the Helix of power, brothers, and

none can overcome us.’ Hieronymous lowered his head

reverentially and sank into a kneeling position. The

Doctor stood in a daze of relief as the brothers nearest to him jostled and pressed their way towards the base of the

altar.

There they formed a circle and began a low chant while

Hieronymous continued to address them with messianic

fervour.

‘All has happened as was foretold down the centuries.

The waiting, the prayers, the sacrifices. Now, at last, the Empire of Mandragora will encompass the Earth. For

Demnos is only the servant of Mandragora and

Mandragora is the mighty master of all things.’

The Doctor looked cautiously about him. Everyone

seemed preoccupied, So, bowing his head and mumbling

furtively he took his chance and backed away towards the

nearest exit. Luckily it was the one through which

Federico’s men had gained admittance. He knew he could

remember the way out.

‘Let the power flood into you, brothers. Tonight we

shall witness the last prophesy.’

The Doctor reached the shadows. Hieronymous raised

his voice. ‘As it is written, Mandragora shall swallow the moon. Then shall we strike!’

The masked figure leapt to his feet and made a sweeping

gesture with his fist.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, interested. Battle plans?

Of a sort, yes, but puzzling. Now was not the time to work them out.

Swiftly and stealthily he left the sacrificial chamber and retraced his steps towards the palace.

In the dungeons Sarah, Giuliano and Marco hung

manacled to their racks just as Federico had ordered.

Marco had now regained consciousness but was still in a

bad way. Rossini stood staring at him without sympathy

flanked by four armed guards. From time to time he

prodded the red-hot irons in the brazier, more out of idle curiosity than from any desire to use them. Even so it was enough to alarm Sarah who was not accustomed to hanging

around in medieval torture chambers.

The Doctor had been gone over an hour when a fifth

guard appeared in the doorway and bowed at Rossini. The

scar-faced captain nodded and turned to his captives.

‘It is time. Count Federico ordered that these traitors be executed at the end of an hour.’

‘Only if he didn’t return,’ protested Sarah.

‘Neither he nor the sorcerer nor any of their party have

returned from the temple,’ replied the captain flatly.

‘You mean it’s an hour already? Doesn’t time fly when

you’re having fun.’

Rossini motioned to his guards. ‘Take them down.’

The guard nearest Giuliano began to undo his manacles.

‘Stay, fellow,’ commanded the Prince. ‘Rossini, you call

us traitors, but lay a hand on your Prince and you will be the traitor.’

The guard hesitated, uncertain what to do. ‘I follow the

Count,’ replied Rossini gruffly.

‘You follow a tyrant and a murderer! ‘ gasped Marco

from his pallet. ‘It is Giuliano to whom you owe

allegiance.’

‘Enough!’ cried Rossini. ‘Take them down! The

execution block grows dry.’

The guards bowed and hurriedly released the prisoners

from their wooden racks.

‘Infamous filth!’ groaned Marco as he staggered to keep

upright. ‘Call yourselves soldiers!’ His hands freed,

Giuliano stood proud and erect facing his captors. ‘Are we to die without even a priest?’

‘Or a hearty breakfast?’ chipped in Sarah.

‘No priest available,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Will a brother do?’

They all spun round to see the Doctor framed in the

doorway beaming, the brother’s cowl pushed back from his

face.

Rossini was the first to recover. ‘What have you done to

the Count, sorcerer?’ he snarled.

‘Federico is dead.’

Giuliano turned pale. ‘Dead? My uncle is dead?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘In the temple ruins.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Let’s just say Hieronymous gave him a blank look.’

Rossini began to tremble and the weal-mark on his

cheek grew purple. He pointed to the Doctor angrily. ‘Seize him! ‘

But the soldiers hung back, stunned by the news of

Federico’s death.

‘Seize him!’

The guards still did not move.

‘Rossini, you don’t have any authority now.’ said the

Doctor. ‘There’s your lawful ruler.’ He turned to Giuliano.

Giuliano addressed the bewildered soldiers. ‘You men.

Are you with your Prince?’

There was a moment’s pause then all five soldiers

uncovered their heads and knelt before the Prince. Rossini, left standing. lowered his eyes then followed suit.

‘Take him to the block!’

‘No, Marco,’ replied the Prince restraining his

companion. He nodded to the soldiers. ‘Take him away. I’ll decide his fate later.’

The newly-converted guards rose and, taking hold of

Rossini. marched him out of the cell.

Marco sprang to the Prince’s side and clasped him about

the neck. ‘Giuliano, the evil is ended! At last you can rule without fear.’

‘Wrong, Marco,’ interrupted the Doctor. ‘The evil is

only just beginning. Hieronymous and the brethren still

remain.’

‘Then destroy them, my lord,’ urged Marco. ‘You must

take command!’

Giuliano paused, taking stock. ‘Is that what you think,

Doctor?’

‘You are the Prince! The soldiers will rally to you. Lead

them to this temple, win your inheritance, sire.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Marco, Marco.’ He took him by the

shoulders and led him gently to a bench. Then, turning to

Giuliano he said, ‘If you go near that temple you go to your death.’

Giuliano looked uncertain. ‘Then what do you suggest?

What would you have me do?’

The Doctor glanced at the open doorway to make sure

no one was listening.

‘The brethren are still absorbing power. Get every man

you can, soldiers, joiners, stonemasons, and block all

entrances to the palace. Turn it into a fortress,’ he looked earnestly into the Prince’s face. ‘Because when the

brethren come here, you’re going to need one.’

Supporting his companion Giuliano led him out of the

cell towards the upper palace.

Sarah turned to the Doctor. ‘Are the barricades enough

to stop the brethren?’ she asked gently.

‘Anything to delay them, Sarah. I need time to think.

Anyway his power isn’t complete yet.’ The Doctor

unclipped his cloak and threw it aside. ‘Come on.’ He

headed out of the cell.

‘What do you mean?’ called Sarah as she followed him

out of the dungeons and up a stone staircase. The Doctor

prised open a thick studded door at the top and poked his

head through. He beckoned her on and the two of them

stepped gingerly into the moonlit colonnade running

alongside the state rooms.

‘This way,’ whispered the Doctor, and then continued to

explain. ‘So far the only Helix Energy available in the

brethren is what we brought with us.’

‘Well that’s bad enough,’ Sarah frowned. ‘You mean

there’s more to come?’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Tomorrow

night. When Mandragora swallows the moon.’

Sarah stopped, hands on hips. ‘Listen. I came here with

you remember? You don’t have to use that fifteenth-

century double talk with me. I speaka da pretty good

English.’

‘I was just repeating what he said,’ replied the Doctor

and disappeared smartly behind a stone column. Sarah had

to run to catch up. ‘Who?’

The Doctor hurried on, checking carefully at each

corridor intersection before hopping across.

‘Hieronymous. When Mandragora swallows the moon

they’re going to strike.’

Sarah sighed in frustration.

‘But what does it mean?’

The Doctor did not answer. They had come to a halt

outside an imposing door with the royal crest of arms

carved in wood and gilt above. Sarah recognised it as the

entrance to Giuliano’s chambers. The Doctor pushed the

door open and ventured in. The room was empty. Quickly

he moved to the window and began dismantling Giuliano’s

telescope which still stood at an angle on the table where Marco had left it. He squinted through the eyepiece at

Sarah.

‘Just about adequate I suppose.’ He adjusted the focus.

‘Another fifty years and we could have used Galileo’s.

Come on.’ He was at the door and off again before she’d

had time to draw breath.

‘Where are you going now?’ protested Sarah, but he had

already gone and she knew she would have to follow to find out. The Doctor in one of his impulsive moods was always

the same. She pulled a wry face and set off after him.

Elsewhere in the palace there was great activity. The

main gates leading onto the city square had been

barricaded and all side entrances to the royal mansion were being scaled off. Giuliano himself was busy commanding

the work from the corridor outside the state rooms.

As he ordered a group of stonemasons and carpenters to

the west gate Marco ran up. He had changed into fresh

clothes, but still looked weakened from his ordeal.

‘Sire, it’s begun!’

‘What?’

‘The brethren. They are driving people from the town.’

Giuliano’s handsome features darkened at this in-

formation. ‘Are you sure of this?’

Marco nodded. ‘Those who refuse to leave are being

destroyed by bolts of fire. They have brought the forces of darkness out of those devilish catacombs.’

The young Prince pushed open the doors leading to the

state rooms and led his companion inside. If overheard, the news could spread alarm and panic.

‘So we are isolated now,’ deliberated Giuliano, ‘just the

few of us in this palace.’

‘Some of them the most precious heads in all Europe,

sire.’

Giuliano sank into the high backed throne and Marco

read the gravity of the situation in his master’s bleak

expression.

‘Do they know what we face?’

‘I think they have some fear that all is not well,’ replied Marco. ‘Their personal guards stay close. And the King of

Naples asked the reason for all the noise. I sent back word that it was a preparation for the masque.’

Giuliano leapt to his feet. ‘The masque! I had forgotten

the day. Marco, it must be cancelled.’

Marco shook his head. ‘Would you explain to your peers

that your accession to the throne cannot be celebrated

because of a pagan uprising?’

‘The masque cannot be held, Marco! It is too

dangerous.’ The young Prince grew flushed and agitated.

‘I have seen our defences, sire,’ replied Marco calmly.

‘This palace could be held against an army. And the

brothers are not an army, they are a fanatical rabble.’

‘Who can kill with bolts of fire.’

‘Simple trickery. Hicronymous was always a cunning

fox. And do not forget, my lord, we have weapons of our

own.’ Giuliano looked hard into the eyes of his steadfast

companion. All the years he had known him he had proved

a wise and loyal counsellor. But now they were dealing

with powers and events outside their knowledge. He

wondered how his father the old duke would have reacted,

how would he best have protected his people? And for the

first time realised the awesome burden of office that was

his inheritance. ‘I don’t know, Marco,’ the young Prince

hesitated.

His companion grasped him by the shoulders.

‘Giuliano, you are the ruler now. A leader. If you falter at the first challenge, you may lose everything. There are eyes watching. There are those who will go from here saying the Duke of San Martino is weak, ready to be toppled. Better to trust your guards and hold the masque as though all were

normal.’

For several moments the young Prince did not respond.

Then clasping Marco’s arms in his, he smiled. ‘You speak

sense as always, dear Marco, but all is not normal. You and I both know it. I will seek the Doctor’s advice. Where is

he?’

‘In Hieronymous’s room. He has been there since this

morning. But what he does there I know not.’

‘Astrolabe, Sarah.’ The Doctor held out a hand.

‘What?’

‘The astrolabe,’ repeated the Doctor sharply. He was

perched on a stool his right eye firmly glued to Giuliano’s telescope which pointed skywards out of the window. He

waggled his fingers. ‘The medieval sextant.’

‘Oh.’ Sarah scratched her head and selected the most

likely contender from the curious instruments which lay

scattered about the chamber. ‘What exactly are you trying

to do, Doctor?’

‘I’m trying to get this thing to work. Exactly. Roughly

will be no good at all.’ He levelled the sextant towards the sun. ‘Unfortunately, the alidade is almost a whole degree

out.’ He adjusted the brass screw on the side of the sextant, took a sighting and began a rapid calculation.

‘Compensate for error, then convert to the Copernican

system, hundred and twenty degrees, that’s eight, and

seventeen from sixty...’

‘Forty-three.’

‘Forty-three, thank you Sarah, that’s... that’s it. I’ve

done it.’ He beamed. ‘Eight minutes and forty-three

seconds after nine o’clock tonight.’

‘What?’

‘Mandragora swallows the moon. In other words, a lunar

eclipse.’

‘And that’s when the brethren will attack?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘I imagine so. More important,’ he

gestured around the room, ‘it’s when all this paraphernalia could become man’s only science.’

Sarah pulled a face. ‘Astrology? You mean when Mars is

in the house of the ram and all that nonsense?’

‘Nonsense?’ retorted the Doctor. ‘It’s not nonsense.’ He

wagged a finger at Sarah. ‘Remember Hieronymous, what

he did to you. The Mandragorans don’t conquer in a

physical sense. They dominate and control by Helix

Energy, astral influence. They take away the one thing

worth having.’

‘Which is?’

‘The essence of life. Purpose. The ability granted to

every intelligent species to shape its destiny.’ The Doctor stepped down from the window, animated by his concern.

‘Once let them gain control and man’s ambition will never

stretch beyond the next meal. They’ll turn you into sheep.

Idle, useless, mindless sheep.’ He paused, his voice raised and angry at the thought.

Sarah held up her hands. ‘All right. I’m convinced.’ It

was not often the Doctor grew so heated or showed his true feelings. Sarah often wondered why he cared so much for

Earth and its people. But she knew it was the principle

which counted. It was oppression and tyranny he fought.

Whether on a small scale with Federico and San Martino,

or Mandragora and Earth, it amounted to the same denial

of freedom.

‘But what can we do?’ she asked finally. There was no

reply from the Doctor. He had adopted the familiar lotus

position of an Eastern mystic, eyes closed. hands pressed

firmly together, and now sat immobile in the middle of the room. Instead there was a tap at the door and Giuliano

entered accompanied by a soldier.

‘I’d like...’ Giuliano broke off and stared at the Doctor.

‘Don’t worry.’ explained Sarah. ‘he’s only thinking.’ The

Doctor let out a loud snore.

‘Thinking?’ queried the Prince.

Sarah frowned. ‘I think.’

‘I came to seek his advice.’

The Doctor suddenly opened his eyes and bounced to

his feet. ‘All or nothing, Sarah. I’ll have to take a gamble.’

He started towards the door.

‘Doctor,’ said Giuliano, intercepting him.

‘Hello.’ The Doctor flashed a quick smile. ‘If it’s ionised plasma it’s molecular, i.e. there’s only a certain amount of it. And by now it must be spread pretty thinly among

Hieronymous and the brethren. Exhaust it. That’s the

answer!’ He beamed triumphantly at Giuliano.

‘Doctor, I have a question.’

The Doctor tapped the soldier’s chainmail jerkin. ‘Can

you get me one of these? And a good length of wire?’

‘Wire?’ Giuliano looked bewildered.

‘Yes wire! Good heavens, man, it’s at least a hundred

and fifty years since wire-drawing machines were invented.

You must have some about the place.’

The Prince gave a baffled shrug. ‘If you would speak to

the palace armourer...’

‘Of course, yes! I’ll see him right away.’ The Doctor

strode to the door then turned, remembering something.

‘Did you have a question?’

‘I wanted to speak to you about tonight’s masque—the

ball for all our distinguished visitors,’ replied Giuliano.

‘Everything is arranged, but it could yet be cancelled.’

The Doctor chuckled. ‘Oh I see. You’re going to have a

hop? How splendid!’

‘If you don’t think it’s too dangerous,’ ventured

Giuliano tentatively.

‘Dangerous?’ The Doctor shook his head vigorously.

‘Duke, you have a lot of guests to entertain. Of course you must hold the masque. Sarah will love it.’ He waved an arm and disappeared.

‘Oh yes,’ said Sarah with heavy sarcasm, ‘it’ll be just my scene!’

The Doctor popped his head round the door again. ‘And

save me a costume, Giuliano, I love a good knees up.’ Then he was gone.

Sarah was forced to laugh at the young Duke’s perplexed

expression. She had forgotten how unsettling the Doctor’s

bouts of enthusiasm could be to anyone who didn’t know

him.

Hieronymous stood alone on the topmost step of the altar,

his golden mask glinting in the flickering torch-light.

Behind the eye-slits in the mask, where once the

astrologer’s own beady eyes looked out, was now a dim

pulsating glow. The purple gloves still covered his long,

extended fingers.

There was a movement in the shadows and the High

Priest, also masked, ascended the altar steps. Hieronymous inclined his head. ‘The hour fast approaches.’

‘What is your plan, Great One?’

The High Priest’s voice echoed through the sepulchral

gloom. No longer human, it sounded hoarse, devoid of

emotion, like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

‘The plan of Mandragora,’ answered Hieronymous. ‘I

am but the vessel for those who hold dominion over the

cosmos.’

‘The mighty sky gods? What would they have us do,

lord?’

Hieronymous turned to face the High Priest and the

eye-slits in his ghoulish mask grew red and fierce.

‘This time and place were well chosen. Assembled in the

palace are many scholars, men of science and learning,

many rulers and nobles. Tonight they are to be destroyed.

All of them. In this way shall be established the power and supremacy of those masters we serve.’

The High Priest bowed.

‘The Duke has deployed many soldiers. All the

entrances to the palace are fortified and heavily guarded, lord.’

Hieronymous dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘There is

still an entrance they know nothing of. Bring me ten of the brethren. I will take them to the palace.’ He leant closer to his acolyte’s ear. ‘Tonight there is a masque in the Duke’s honour. We will provide the entertainers!’

The High Priest bowed low and backed away into the

shadows. As he did so a peculiar croaking noise emanated

from behind the grinning mask of Hieronymous, like a

hideous inhuman cackle.

11

Duel to the Death

In Giuliano’s room the Doctor was endeavouring to get

into the chainmail jerkin. He tugged and heaved at the

weighty garment, struggling to fasten it round his bulky

frame. The jerkin was the largest the palace possessed but still it was a tight fit. At last he managed it with the help of the palace armourer and a good deal of ill-tempered

muttering.

‘Now the coat. I don’t want it to show.’

The armourer helped the Doctor into his velvet frock-

coat shaking his head in bewilderment at this eccentric and unorthodox procedure.

At this moment Sarah entered the room her arms laden

with a number of fancy dress costumes.

‘How do I look?’ enquired the Doctor anxiously.

Sarah walked up to him and prodded his stomach. ‘Are

you putting on weight?’ The Doctor looked hurt. ‘And

what’s that in aid of?’ She yanked the metal jerkin.

‘A little plan.’ The Doctor turned to the armourer.

‘Leave the wire.’

The armourer bowed, placed a long coil of metal wire on

the sword-chest and then left.

Sarah held out the costumes. ‘Giuliano sent you these to

choose from.’

The Doctor selected a baggy russet-coloured garment

with a large lion’s head. ‘This is rather dignified, don’t you think?’ The Doctor donned the lion’s head and let out a

roar.

‘I think it’s ridiculous to be talking about fancy dress—I mean if we’re in such desperate danger.’

The Doctor pawed the air with his hands, threw back

his lion’s mane and roared again.

‘Oh stop it! ‘ cried Sarah, genuinely upset. ‘Remember

the French before Agincourt?’ The lion’s head waggled

stupidly.

Sarah turned away. There were times when the Doctor’s

behaviour infuriated her. ‘One thing I’ve noticed about

you,’ she said bitterly, ‘the worse the situation the worse your jokes get.’

The Doctor stopped his fooling abruptly and removed

the costume head.

‘I’ll settle for the lion, all right?’ he said quickly.

Sarah eyed him seriously. ‘Things are bad, aren’t they?’

‘Yes.’ The Doctor picked up the wire.

‘Very bad?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Desperately bad. We can only do

our best—and hope.’ His blue eyes met Sarah’s and for

once they lacked their natural warmth and sparkle. In that moment Sarah knew they were up against something far

more powerful and frightening than even she had dared

imagine.

The Doctor took her hand. ‘Coming?’

She smiled weakly and followed him out.

In the state rooms and adjoining ante-chambers the

guests were already trickling in prior to the masque

commencing. The musicians were tuning up in the

balcony and kitchen boys scurried hither and thither with

last minute additions to the huge banqueting table which

ran along one side of the ballroom.

The Doctor and Sarah arrived in one of the ante-rooms

with Marco. The Doctor clutched the lion’s head. On a

bench beneath a window were seated three bizarre figures

in fancy dress, a goat’s head in white alabaster with

snarling nostrils and fiercesome horns, an oxen with

gaping jaws, and an ogling clown with bloated cheeks and

stringy hair falling around its shoulders. The Doctor drew Marco’s attention to the monstrous trio.

‘Is Leonardo da Vinci among that lot?’

Marco smiled. ‘Those are the entertainers.’

The Doctor shook his head, disappointed. ‘I don’t think

I’m ever going to see Leonardo, Sarah.’ He addressed

Marco again.

‘Have the dungeon entrance opened.’

‘I’ll see to it at once, Doctor.’ Marco sped away.

The Doctor turned to Sarah. ‘I want you to stay here

and keep an eye on this lot.’

‘What for?’ protested Sarah.

‘A Time Lord has to do what a Time Lord has to do.’

He lifted the coil of wire. ‘Besides, you’re not equipped.’

They had reached the colonnade which led down to the

dungeons.

‘Doctor, you said it was dangerous.’

‘Did I? Oh, yes.’

‘Well is it dangerous?’

‘Only if I’ve guessed wrong.’

Sarah caught hold of the Doctor’s arm and forced him

to a halt. ‘I wish you’d stop giving me flip answers ! ‘

‘All right.’ The Doctor turned and faced her. ‘Cosmic

rays—negatively charged high-energy particles—follow

magnetic lines of force. So, if I’ve guessed right about the nature of Helix Energy, I should be able to drain it off.’

Sarah nodded. ‘And if you’re wrong?’

The Doctor smiled expansively. ‘When have I ever been

wrong about anything?’ He gave her a sly wink and

disappeared down the corridor.

Sarah stared after his retreating figure and bit her lip.

‘Lots of times,’ she said to herself quietly and there was a look of sadness in her eyes.

In the temple ruins a figure slid into the Sacrificial

Chamber and approached the purple form of Hieronymous

standing sentinel-like beside the altar.

‘The masque has begun,’ reported the High Priest

urgently. ‘Shall I order our brothers into position?’

‘Yes. Kill all who try to escape.’

‘The others are inside?’

‘Concealed from prying eyes. They await only my

signal.’

The High Priest bowed. ‘Glory to Demnos.’ ‘And to

Mandragora.’

The High Priest bowed once more and glided away into

the shadows. Hieronymous watched him disappear, then

strutted majestically down from the altar and vanished

through a hidden exit.

A few moments later a grinning lion’s head peered

round a broken column, and the Doctor stepped out. He

glanced quickly round the cavernous chamber to make

sure he was alone. Then, laying aside the lion’s head. he

unwound the coil of wire and began scrabbling about in

the dirt at the base of the altar.

In the palace the state rooms were now full of guests as the masque began. The visiting dignitaries were easy to pick

out in their sumptuous costumes, each with a clutch of

courtiers swaggering and prancing around them in

exaggerated fashion. Every guest wore a mask or disguise

of some kind and there was much chaffing and banter as

young gallants tried to guess the identity of their pretty partners.

After one or two lively opening dances the musicians

delivered a roll on the drums and through the large double doors tottered a motley clad jester on tall wooden stilts.

There were ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of delight as he wobbled about the floor, towering over the frightened lady courtiers. Then with a shout he leapt from the stilts and somersaulted up

onto a trestled table. Plucking three lighted torches from the wall, he began to juggle with them high in the air.

Giuliano looked on from a raised dais at the far end of

the room, a faint smile on his lips. He was doing his best to be outwardly calm and courteous to his visitors, but his

thoughts were on the hidden danger that lay outside. As he nodded politely to the Duke and Duchess of Milan he

caught sight of Marco anxiously pushing towards him

through the crowd.

‘Sire!’

‘What is it?’

‘I have heard a report from the guards. The brethren...’

Giuliano hushed his companion and drew him to one

side. ‘What of them?’

‘They are all round the outside of the palace. It is as

though they are waiting for something.’

Giuliano looked puzzled. ‘What could it be—a signal?’

Marco shrugged. ‘Perhaps. They are just standing

silently in the shadows.’

The Prince broke off to applaud the juggler. ‘Is

Hieronymous with them?’

‘He has not been seen, my lord.’

‘I don’t like the smell of it, Marco.’ Giuliano gestured

towards the floor. ‘Even our guests sense that something is wrong. See how quiet they are.’

Marco followed his gaze and it was true. Small knots of

guests, close advisers of visiting Heads of State, were

muttering quietly to one another and casting anxious looks about the room.

Marco grasped the young Duke’s arm encouragingly.

‘Giuliano, take heart. Our walls are thick and solid and the guards well-trained—a match for any in the land. At least

we have your uncle to thank for that.’

‘You think we have nothing to fear?’

‘I think by dawn Hieronymous will have realised his mistake. He and his followers will leave San Martino to

search for easier pickings elsewhere.’

‘I hope you are right,’ replied Giuliano but he seemed

unconvinced.

There was a cry of amazement from the guests clustered

about the juggler as he reached the finale of his act,

thrusting a blazing torch into his mouth without apparent

harm. Giuliano rose to his feet and led the applause. Marco followed suit and the two of them descended from the dais

onto the dance floor.

‘Sire, if needs be,’ continued Marco, ‘we can hold out

here for a month. And long before that the armies of

neighbouring states would come to our help.’

Giuliano acknowledged his friend’s counsel then smiled

and bowed to a pretty young lady who approached. She

wore a beautiful satin gown of exquisite pearl grey and a

filigree silver mask covered her eyes. Giuliano was

especially taken with the delicate nape of her neck, her

lustrous hair, and found himself strongly attracted to this mysterious stranger.

‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ she asked, and Giuliano

realised with a shock it was the Doctor’s companion, Sarah.

‘No,’ he answered endeavouring to regain his

composure.

Sarah seemed oblivious to the effect she had caused. ‘He

should be here by now,’ she said impatiently. ‘It must be

nearly nine.’

‘It was eight of the evening when I toured the guards,’

answered Marco.

‘This waiting, not knowing what’s happening. is worse

than being with him.’ Sarah scoured the dancing throng

but the Doctor was nowhere to be seen. As she stood on the edge of the dancers a Florentine gallant stepped forward

and made a low bow before her.

‘Who, me?’ responded Sarah, looking round to see if she

was mistaken. The gallant bowed again, even lower this

time. Sarah shrugged and took his hand. As the young

gallant minced off with his prize Sarah threw Giuliano a

desperate look. The handsome young Duke raised an

eyebrow and smiled.

As Sarah whirled elegantly about the dance floor she

caught sight of the hideous features of the entertainers

standing motionless in the corners of the room, the goat,

the oxen, and the clown, and for some reason the sight of

them sent an icy chill down her spine.

The Doctor was crouched low by a corner of the altar

finishing off his work. He had run the wire right round the base of the altar, in contact with it, to form a circuit. From this he had led off a number of ‘spokes’ to the area

immediately surrounding the altar and camouflaged the

whole skein of wires with earth and stones. The remaining

wire he attached to the chain jerkin beneath his coat,

leaving the other end free to trail on the ground. Then,

satisfied, he leant casually against the altar and dusted his hands.

He had his back to the hidden exit. Instinct told him

that Hieronymous would return, before the final assault, to gain inspiration and strength of purpose from the sacred

stone. And in that short time the Doctor knew he had to

make his move, draw Hieronymous and the Helix Energy

into a deadly and decisive confrontation, or else all was

lost.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the sound of

someone picking their way through the ruins towards him.

The muscles in the Doctor’s face tensed but he kept his

relaxed posture.

‘You profane the sacred stone.’

The voice was deathly, menacing, war-like.

The Doctor turned casually. ‘Hello there! Had a hard

day in the catacombs?’

‘You profane the sacred stone!’

‘Come now! You know who I am.’ The Doctor spread

his arms in a friendly gesture. ‘You can drop all that bosh about stones and profanity. Just be your natural horrid

self.’

Hieronymous halted about twelve feet away. The eye-

slits of his mask seemed ablaze in the dark shadows of the cavern. ‘why have you come here, Time Lord?’

‘Well I had no choice, you see,’ replied the Doctor,

deliberately fudging the issue.

‘Had it not been you, there would have been other

travellers drawn into the Mandragora Helix. Earth had to

be possessed.’ The purple gloved hands reached out in a

clenching, grasping motion. ‘Unchecked, man’s curiosity

might lead him away from this planet until, ultimately,

even the galaxy itself may not contain him! We of

Mandragora will not permit a rival power within our

dominion! ‘

‘Pity,’ said the Doctor, ‘because I can’t allow you to

interfere with Earth’s progress.’

‘You arrogant dolt! ‘ Hieronymous advanced

threateningly. ‘How dare you oppose the might of

Mandragora!’

‘I’m afraid it’s part of a Time Lord’s job to insist on

justice for all species.’

‘Then you will be swept aside like the dirt that you are.’

‘Really?’ The Doctor backed away carefully down the

altar steps. He knew that any second now Hieronymous

could point his finger and the lethal bolts would be

unleashed, and he wanted to be in the correct position.

Suddenly, Hieronymous rushed towards him, the

horrible, contorted visage illuminated by the red-hot

energy force within.

‘Die, Doctor! ‘ he screamed and, raising his right arm,

fired a bolt of Helix Energy straight at the Doctor.

There was a bright flash and the Doctor felt a massive

jolt in his chest like a powerful electric shock. He staggered backwards but managed to regain his balance.

‘Time Lords don’t die so easily,’ he gasped through

gritted teeth.

Hieronymous moved in closer for the kill.

‘We shall crush you! ‘ A second bolt sped from his

fingertips and slammed into the Doctor’s body.

The Doctor twisted with the pain but remained

standing. He managed a mocking grin. ‘Not doing too well,

are you?’

Hieronymous hissed with rage and another burst of

Helix Energy stabbed the Doctor’s chest. This time the

pain was excruciating and he fell to one knee. The chain-

mail jerkin was taking the force of the impact but growing red-hot in the process and burning into the Doctor’s flesh.

The Doctor’s right hand groped for the wire running to the ground by his side. It too was fiercely hot and on the point of melting. Once that snapped the massive charge of Helix

Energy would no longer be ‘earthed’ and the next bolt

would travel directly through the Doctor’s body, burning

him to a frazzle as it did so.

The Doctor raised his head and looked towards

Hieronymous. Surely the Helix Energy was beginning to

dwindle? His whole gamble rested on the assumption of a

limited, finite amount within each of the brethren.

Exhaust it and nothing would remain.

Hieronymous raised his arm a third time and pointed at

the Doctor. ‘Now die! Now!’

A blue flash of lightning crackled from his fingers but

this time not so powerfully, and the impact barely jolted

the Doctor. He struggled to his feet and presented his chest squarely towards the advancing Hieronymous. As he did so

he felt the earth-wire snap. This was it. He would have to absorb the force of the next bolt himself—or die in the

attempt.

‘Come on then,’ braved the Doctor. Hieronymous raised

his arms to the roof and cried out in beseeching tones.

‘Mandragora! Help me! ‘ Then, swinging round for the

final time he aimed his crooked fingers at the Doctor’s

chest and let out a piercing vengeful howl. The Doctor

closed his eyes as the flash of blue spat through the air

towards him.

12

The Final Eclipse

Outside the palace. San Martino lay still and deserted

beneath the clear night air. The strong moon light, which

earlier had bathed the narrow cobbled streets in a pale

silver glow, was now fading as the giant shadow of the

Earth crept across the lunar landscape.

Occasionally the sound of music and dancing carried

across the rooftops, like distant fairy revels; while beneath the palace walls stood scores of black-hooded brethren,

silent and expectant, the shadowy harbingers of death and

destruction.

Inside, the masque was in full swing. The guests seemed

to have forgotten their earlier anxieties and the wine and music flowed faster and faster. Sarah was even beginning to master the complicated dances, particularly when Giuliano

was her partner. But, unlike Cinderella, she kept a firm eye on the clock.

‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ she panted as Giuliano took

hold of her for another gavotte.

‘Not yet.’

‘It’s nearly nine. Something must have happened to

him.’

Giuliano gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘He may

be already here. If he’s wearing his costume...’

‘He’d have let us know.’ Sarah did a graceful pirouette

and at that precise moment caught sight of a lion mask

staring at her from the far end of the room behind the dais.

She broke off from Giuliano and pushed her way towards

it. ‘Doctor! What happened? Where have you been?’

The costumed figure gave her a mock salute and whirled

away behind a column and into an ante-chamber.

Sarah caught up with him. ‘Stop playing the fool! Tell

me what happened! ‘ She stopped herself and stared at the

lion’s head. There was something different about it.

Perhaps she had made a mistake. ‘Doctor, it is you...?’

The lion’s head remained motionless, it’s fanged jaws

gaping at her in mock derision. She stretched out her hand and quickly pulled the mask off. The shock of what she

saw made her scream in terror. No face, no head, nothing,

except a dazzling iridescent sphere of light, framed by the cowl of the brethren.

The figure pushed her aside and rushed into the

ballroom. From a commanding position on the dais it

raised a gloved hand above the heads of the dancing throng and cried out, ‘Kill, brothers! Kill!’

There was a curious, unreal silence as the music ceased

and everybody looked round. Then pandemonium broke

out. People ran in all directions, screeching and yelling

with fear. But as the crowd jostled and fought to escape,

masked figures within their midst turned upon them with

bolts of fire. The goat-head, the oxen, and the grinning

clown threw off their headpieces to reveal the familiar

cowled shapes of the brethren beneath. Mercilessly, they

raised their fingers to shoot blinding, sizzling shafts into the screaming bodies round them. Sarah saw her

Florentine gallant hurled to the floor and in seconds the

air was thick with the smell of burning flesh. As servants and princes alike dashed for the exits still more brethren poured into the room. In horror Sarah realised they had

been let into the palace by their fellows on a given signal. A total massacre seemed imminent.

Suddenly a voice rang out above the din. ‘Stop! Stop,

brothers!’

Sarah whirled round. On the raised dais stood the

commanding form of Hieronymous, in purple cloak and

golden mask. He raised his arms above the cowed revellers.

The brethren turned, confused.

‘The final sacrifices must be made in our temple! Bring

the victims of Mandragora down by the temple.’

There was a moment’s uncertainty and then Sarah was

roughly grabbed by arms of steel and herded into the

centre of the room together with the rest. She found herself next to a dazed Giuliano.

He shook his head mournfully. ‘The brethren. We have

been tricked, betrayed.’

‘Silence!’ ordered the figure of Hieronymous. ‘Go below,

all of you!’

The guests were quickly surrounded by the brethren

who made them file out of the palace and into the night

towards the ruined temple. As she stumbled over the

cobbles in the cold air Sarah wondered despairingly what

had befallen the Doctor. Although she hoped against hope,

in her heart she knew he must already be dead.

The frightened and bewildered band of captives were

marched swiftly through the streets of the city and into the creepy passages of the catacombs. Once assembled in the

central sacrificial chamber they were bound with thick

rope and grouped in a circle in the ruins about fifty feet from the altar. Sarah had counted twenty heads of state and noblemen amongst the prisoners besides a large number of

courtiers of both sexes. The women clung together weeping

and moaning, their gay and colourful costumes now torn

and mud-spattered by the journey. Giuliano and Marco

were roped close together and Sarah was not far away. She

thought the young Duke looked defeated and forlorn but

his face only expressed what they were all feeling.

The brethren had gathered in a circle round the altar,

like a ring of grinning fiends from hell. From out of the

shadows the majestic figure of Hieronymous appeared. He

ascended the altar steps and lifted his arms up high.

‘The eclipse,’ whispered Sarah. ‘It must be starting.’

Hieronymous’s voice echoed loudly round the

cavernous chamber. ‘Now Mandragora swallows the moon.

Now, as it was written, the power of Mandragora will flood the Earth.’

There was an eerie grinding noise all around them and

Sarah felt a chill wind rustle her hair. The atmosphere was weird, uncanny, devilish. The cracked and jagged walls of

the chamber began to shimmer and a strange luminous

glow appeared on them. It gradually grew in strength until the outline of a ghostly Roman temple was discernible. At

the same time the sound of tumbling masonry was

augmented by a high-pitched wail which almost drowned

Hieronvmous.

‘Mandragora, we, your servants welcome you. Bestow

your power upon us that we may rule over the whole of

your dominion!’

The shrieking, roaring din grew unbearable and Sarah

and the other captives buried their heads in one another’s shoulders to escape the ear-splitting wail.

Then, a brilliant sphere of light seemed to swoop down

through the roof of the temple. It hovered a few moments

above the altar then slowly descended into the slab causing it to glow with white-hot heat.

Hieronymous lowered his arms and pointed towards the

centre of the altar. The brethren followed suit. There was a hum, like a build-up of power, and suddenly sheets of blue flame leapt from the altar to the outstretched fingers of the encircling brethren. At this instant Hieronymous jumped

clear of the altar steps and ran from the central area. But the brethren remained transfixed to the floor, each brother illuminated like a fire-brand with crackling, sizzling Helix Energy. Screams of torture and anguish rang out from the

hooded figures as they struggled to move but they seemed

held in the grip of an immutable current. Their cloaks

caught fire and the ground where they stood erupted with

sheets of flame which sped under-foot towards the base of

the altar. As the circuit was completed there was a blinding flash and tumultuous explosion. Sarah was hurled to the

ground together with everyone around her.

When she recovered the noise and ghostly vision were

gone. All that remained was the smoking slab of the

sacrificial block where once she had lain herself. Of the

entire brethren there was no sign. They had perished

where they stood, every single one. All that remained were heaps of empty clothing in a circle round the altar.

Hieronymous mounted the altar steps and took off his

mask. Beneath it was revealed the smiling face of the

Doctor.

Sarah gasped unable to believe her eyes. ‘Doctor!’

The Doctor threw back the purple hood and gazed

round at the vanished brethren. ‘Even I have to admit that was rather clever of me,’ he beamed. Then, taking a breath, he spoke in deep, grating tones the exact replica of

Hieronymous’s voice.

‘A case of energy squared. It puts Mandragora back to

square one.’

Sarah stared at him mute with wonder. Giuliano and

Marco were likewise struck dumb.

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ said the Doctor with a

touch of impatience. ‘I’m ready to accept your

congratulations.’ He winked at Giuliano. ‘I wouldn’t even

say no to a salami sandwich.’

A day later the Doctor and Sarah were riding across the

Slopes of Sorrow to the vineyard where the TARDIS had

first landed. Sarah was still numbed by the events of the

previous night, but at least she had made the Doctor

explain what had happened. His talent for mimicry was

self-evident. She had forgotten how gifted he was at such

parlour tricks. But his confrontation with Hieronymous

was another matter. He explained how he had managed to

withstand the astrologer’s final desperate onslaught. Once drained of his Helix Energy the outward shape of

Hieronymous simply collapsed, like his fellows later. The

Doctor had then borrowed his costume to lure the brethren

to their destruction.

Now as they jogged across the fields, accompanied by

Giuliano and his footman, Sarah felt a deep longing to stay.

There was much reparation needed in the hearts and

minds of the people of San Martino, and Sarah wanted to

share that task with Giuliano. But she knew the Doctor

would not understand. He had pulled her leg more than

once about the handsome young Duke. Besides, he was

already exhibiting signs of itchy feet, and it didn’t do to cross him in that mood.

The small group reached the clearing which led to the

TARDIS and reined in their horses and dismounted. The

Doctor went on ahead to inspect his machine and came

back smiling a few minutes later.

‘Still there, thank goodness.’ He began to munch at an

enormous salami sausage. ‘Excellent, Giuliano,’ he said

with his mouth full. ‘Thank you.’

The young Duke bowed. ‘It is we who should thank

you, Doctor. Will you not reconsider?’

‘No, we really must be on our way, mustn’t we Sarah?’

Sarah gave Giuliano a heartfelt look.

He took her hand. ‘There is so much we could learn

from you.’

‘It will all come in time,’ replied the Doctor, a trifle off-hand. ‘Keep an open mind, that’s all you need.’ He shook

hands with Giuliano and headed for the TARDIS.

Sarah bit her lip. The Doctor was always the same when

it came to saying goodbye, unsentimental and unromantic.

‘Come on, Sarah,’ he called out as he reached the

TARDIS door.

Sarah turned to Giuliano. ‘Goodbye, Giuliano.’ She

kissed him gently on the cheek and hurried off.

The Duke followed her lithe form as she skipped after

the Doctor. She was still wearing the satin gown from the

ball and her hair in a chignon. She turned before reaching the TARDIS and waved. He saluted in return and shook

his head sadly. There were no girls quite like her in San

Martino. Nor would there ever be again.

Sarah caught up with the Doctor.

‘I never met Leonardo da Vinci then,’ he said reaching

for the TARDIS key. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well, I’d have had to tell him his submarine design was totally impractical.’

But Sarah was not listening. ‘Poor Giuliano!’ she said.

‘He looks so wistful. Will he have any more trouble from

Mandragora?’

The Doctor paused on the TARDIS threshold. ‘He

won’t, but Earth will. Their constellation will be in

position to try again in another five hundred years.’

‘Five hundred years? But that takes us to...’ Sarah did a

quick calculation, ‘... just about the end of the twentieth century!’

The Doctor nodded and disappeared inside the

TARDIS. Sarah shrugged, gave a final wave to Giuliano,

and followed. The door closed behind her.

Twenty yards away Giuliano watched with amazement

as the strange blue box began to emit a peculiar trumpeting noise like a wounded animal. Simultaneously, the little

white light on top started flashing and the whole

contraption slowly faded into thin air before his very eyes.

The footman struggled to control the plunging horses as

Giuliano ran forward and probed the ground where the

TARDIS had rested. It was just as if nothing had ever been there. The young Duke gazed up at the sky, puzzled, but

not afraid.

‘There is a reason for everything,’ he said to himself.

‘Even this. One day science will explain it all.’

Document Outline

Front cover

Rear cover

Title page

Copyright

Contents

1 The Mandragora Helix

2 The Brethren of Demnos

3 Execution!

4 Sacrifice

5 The Prince Must Die

6 The Secret of the Temple

7 The Spell of Evil

8 Torture!

9 The Invasion Begins

10 Siege

11 Duel to the Death

12 The Final Eclipse