Doctor Who BBC N07 - The Stone Rose Read online

  Despite Gracilis’s expectations, Vanessa seemed more cheerful after a night’s rest and even responded hesitantly to some of Rose’s remarks about the scenery. Encouraged, Rose pressed on. ‘I’m from Britain –

  Britannia?’ she said. ‘You know, where this Emperor Hadrian bloke built his wall, yeah?’

  ‘Oh, Hadrian’s Wall.

  Meant to keep out the barbarians,’ said

  Vanessa.

  ‘What, like Celtic football fans?’ said Rose, laughing.

  Vanessa looked puzzled, but laughed too. For a moment, Rose thought she was going to say more, reveal something about herself

  – but she didn’t.

  It was dusk by the time they reached the villa, but I here was just enough light left for Rose to see what it was like. She had been expecting something resembling a stately home, but it was more like a farm, even if an incredibly posh one. There were a number of buildings covered with rather ugly stucco decoration surrounding a courtyard with fountains and fish ponds. There were elaborate mosaics and elegant statues. There were fields of crops, an orchard of peaches and almonds bursting with blossom, stables for donkeys and yards for chickens and geese.

  ‘Not a bad place, this,’ murmured the Doctor, as they went inside.

  A short, dumpy woman came running to meet them. She looked as if her natural state was kindness and jollity, but at the moment her face was drawn and anxious. ‘Did you find him?’ she cried, ignoring everyone but Gracilis.

  20

  Gracilis shook his head sadly, then introduced the woman as his wife, Marcia, mother of Optatus. ‘But these good people are here to help!’ he told her. ‘This slave –’ he indicated Vanessa – ‘is a prophet of great power. Once she has discovered more of Optatus, she will find him for us.’ He paused for a second. ‘Is there word from Ursus?’

  ‘He assures me it will still be ready for tomorrow, as promised,’

  Marcia answered.

  Marcia offered them food, but they had eaten on the way. The light was now fading rapidly and the few oil lamps did not really offer sufficient illumination – it would seem it was the habit to retire early and rise with the sun.

  ‘Tomorrow I will show you my son,’ Gracilis promised as he sum-moned slaves to show the Doctor and Rose to guest rooms. ‘I am sure you will prove to be the answer to my prayers.’

  But Rose, as she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar – yet thankfully clean – bed, wasn’t sure of that at all.

  The Doctor was already out and about when Rose II made her sleepy way downstairs the next morning. She finally found him in an orchard, sitting beneath a tree as peach blossoms sprinkled his hair like a snow shower.

  ‘Way to go for the detective work,’ she said.

  ‘Hercule Poirot could solve any case by just sitting back and thinking,’ he told her.

  ‘You with a twirly moustache!’ She laughed. ‘Go with the sideburns, that would.’

  ‘I expect it would make me look even more sophisticated,’ he said haughtily.

  Rose grinned. ‘Go on, then. Grow a twirly moustache. I dare you.’

  ‘Fine!’ he said, gesturing at his upper lip. ‘I’m growing one now.

  Look!’

  She peered closely, pretending to believe him, but collapsed in a gale of laughter after a moment, and the Doctor joined her. ‘Maybe not,’ he said.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ Rose asked after they’d both calmed down.

  21

  ‘Gracilis is preparing something,’ the Doctor told her. ‘We’re to meet him in half an hour.’

  They talked of nothing in particular until a slave came to fetch them. He led them to a grove near the villa’s main entrance. Proud peacocks strode across I he grass and through the neat, ordered flower beds, and water trickled from the mouths of stone nymphs and fauns into a little pond. The only discordant note was struck by a human being; a tall, thick-set, scowling man, alien in this environment of richness and beauty. He was slumped against the base of a statue – at least Rose assumed it was a statue; it had a sheet draped over it.

  Gracilis, Marcia and Vanessa were approaching the grove from a different direction and the unpleasant-looking man struggled to his feet as he saw them arrive.

  ‘Ah, Ursus, my dear fellow,’ said Gracilis. ‘I trust all is prepared for the unveiling?’

  The man nodded curtly.

  ‘Excellent!’ Gracilis turned to the Doctor and Rose. Rose noticed that Vanessa pretty much didn’t exist in his eyes, unless he was actually talking about or to her. ‘This is Aulus Valerius Ursus. He’s a local lad but is fast becoming the talk of the Empire! I think I may say with little fear of contradiction that he is one of the greatest sculptors of our day. He rarely undertakes commissions for private citizens, so I was greatly honoured when he agreed to create a work for me to celebrate my beloved son.’

  ‘The money you offered, I could hardly refuse,’ said the man, with a rapacious smile that reminded Rose of Vanessa’s former owner, Balbus.

  Gracilis gave a sad chuckle. ‘It is true that the advantage of being a very rich man is that things can sometimes be bought which are not normally for sale. And yet I cannot buy the one thing I desire above all others: the return of my son.’

  He stepped forward and took hold of the cloth covering the statue.

  ‘Still, it is my hope that this will bring us closer to that happy event.’

  With a sharp flick of his wrist, the sheet fell away and the statue was revealed. It was of a young boy striking a noble pose. The statue was 22

  of gleaming white marble, but its lips, eyes and hair had been painted in bright colours – Rose considered that a bit tasteless personally, only one step away from drawing on a moustache and glasses in felt-tip.

  Gracilis sighed heavily. ‘This day was supposed to be a celebration,’

  he said, turning to the Doctor and Rose. ‘The Liberalia, the day on which my son took at last the toga virilis and became a man in the eyes of the world.’ He gestured at the stone boy. ‘This was to commemorate that momentous day. But at least it may aid us in our plight.’

  ‘This is Optatus,’ said Marcia, dissolving into tears, and flinging herself at the statue, hugging its knees tightly as though to stop her son leaving again. ‘And now you will be able to find him.’

  23

  Gracilis led his weeping wife back towards the main house. Vanessa was told to follow them; Marcia would tell her more about Optatus’s birth. Ursus seemed about to go too, but the Doctor stopped him with a gesture.

  ‘Pretty impressive stuff,’ he said, indicating the sculpture.

  ‘All my “stuff” is impressive.’ Ursus replied.

  ‘Ah, I see. Do I see? Yes, I think I do,’ said the Doctor, nodding. He half turned away, letting the man go, but then suddenly pounced with another question. ‘you must have seen a lot of Optatus, working on this. What do you think has happened to him?’

  Ursus shrugged. ‘How should I know? Sons of rich men, they get kidnapped. It happens.’

  ‘Pretty rubbish kidnappers,’ put in Rose. ‘They’ve had him for days and not even bothered to ask for a ransom.’

  ‘Then he has gone off on his own somewhere.

  Perhaps he has been attacked by highwaymen, perhaps he is drunk in a tavern somewhere. It is none of my concern.’

  The Doctor seemed to consider this. ‘Yes, could be. . . of course, we’re miles from the city and he took no transport. . . Still, you could 25

  be right.’

  Rose could tell he didn’t believe it in the slightest.

  Or perhaps he-just didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want a mundane solution. Perhaps, for the Doctor, any little mystery to investigate was better than none at all.

  ‘When did you last see the boy?’ asked the Doctor, in his best detective voice.

  Ursus seemed reluctant to answer. ‘Four days ago,’ he muttered eventually. ‘My work was almost complete, but he visited me in my studio to observe the finishing tou
ches. I have a studio set up near the stables in order to work here.’

  ‘Must be interesting,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’d like to come and visit you there.’

  Ursus shook his head firmly. ‘I allow no one to see me at work. No one.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. Then he began counting on his fingers. ‘Hang on, four days ago? That’s the very day young Master Optatus disappeared. Blimey, you could even have been the last person to see him!’

  ‘Perhaps.’ The sculptor shrugged. ‘How do I know?’

  ‘Well, I think we really will have to visit that excellent studio of yours, then. Start of the trail and all that.’

  Ursus bristled, ‘I have told you, no one is allowed inside my studio.

  I am an artist and I do not permit it!’

  ‘Not your studio, though, is it?’ said Rose. ‘This place belongs to Gracilis, and I bet he’d let us in there. Seeing as we’re after his son and all.’

  Ursus stepped forward and for a moment Rose thought he was going to hit her. She tensed. But instead he reached out a hand and lightly touched her cheek. His hands were enormous, thick sausage fingers encased in stiff leather gloves, not the sort of hands she associated with artists. But his clumsy physical appearance obviously belied his skill, as proved by the superbly lifelike sculpture of Optatus.

  ‘You, can come to my studio,’ the sculptor said to Rose, and she suddenly realised the inevitability of what was to come next.

  26

  ‘I have a commission, a statue of a goddess. You are young and beautiful. You will be her. That is the only way you will get to see my studio – if I make you a goddess.’

  ‘This is what it had all been leading up to. Arriving in Rome, rescuing Gracilis, being invited to his villa, meeting Ursus – it had always been going to happen, because it was all there to bring them to this moment, to the creation of a statue that would travel across hundreds of years and half of Europe to end up in a basement room in the British Museum in the twenty-first century.

  ‘All right,’ said Rose.

  The Doctor had sat down on the edge of the pond and was dangling his feet in the water, smiling at the small shiny fish that swam up to nibble his toes. Rose slipped off her sandals and joined him.

  ‘So, you’re gonna be a model, then,’ he said. ‘Rose the model. Model Rose.’

  She nodded glumly. ‘Yeah, looks like it. You know, I thought it’d be a bit more glam than this – posing for a caveman in a toga in someone’s stables.’

  ‘It may not be glamorous, but it is important. We need to have a look in that studio.’

  ‘You think Ursus is dodgy?’ Rose asked.

  The Doctor just shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Could be.

  I mean, I didn’t like him – but that doesn’t mean he’s dodgy. Although it hints at it, seeing as I’m such a good judge of character.

  Anyway, best not to neglect any possibilities.’

  Rose sighed. ‘I wonder how Vanessa’s getting on with Mrs Gracilis.

  Poor kid. I reckon that Balbus bloke put her up to this astrology lark and now she’s stuck with it.’

  ‘You think she can’t really tell the future?’ asked the Doctor.

  Rose laughed incredulously. ‘Course she can’t! No one can. I mean, I know mere are some people who see stuff – but that’s, like, aliens and rifts and that. Come on, you could tell she’s a fake!’

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Remember what they said about her in the cafe. The things she predicted.’

  27

  ‘You’ve been watching too much Living TV on the scanner, you have,’ Rose said, scarcely believing she had to explain this to the Doctor, of all people. ‘She could’ve guessed about the building thing, or heard rumours. And just ’cause we know the Roman empire really is gonna fall doesn’t mean anyone who talked about it’s a prophet.

  They’re probably just, you know, pessimistic.’

  ‘Good logic,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rose. She thought for a minute. ‘Mind you, there is something a bit weird about her. I wish she’d told me a bit more about herself. Wouldn’t even tell me where she came from. This TARDIS thing that’s in my head – OK, so I can understand languages, which is, you know, all right, but it don’t half make it tricky to work out accents. I guess she must be speaking Latin, ’cause everyone else can understand her, but I don’t think she’s from Rome, though. . . She knows about Hadrian’s Wall, but I don’t think she’s British. . . I’ll keep trying, but –’

  The Doctor was suddenly as still as the stone faun by his side. ‘So,’

  he said after a moment, ‘you don’t believe this girl can tell the future.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Rose.

  ‘So, would you like to explain to me exactly how this Latin-speaking sixteen-year-old is aware of a wall that Hadrian won’t even start to think about building until at least next year? That’s what I call a really good guess.’

  Rose just gaped at him.

  The Doctor had gone off to talk to people around the estate, to try to work out when and where Optatus was last seen. He’d asked Rose to find Vanessa and see again if she could get her talking. ‘But don’t let her suspect you know her secret,’ he said. ‘Not for now, anyway.’

  ‘So, are we thinking she’s dangerous?’ Rose asked. ‘Because she doesn’t seem dangerous. I liked her. Did you like her?’

  ‘I didn’t not like her,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘There you go, then. Judge of character and all that. If there’s a bad guy here, it’s that Ursus, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Just be careful,’ the Doctor told her.

  28

  She’d found Vanessa in the main house with Marcia. Marcia had a piece of needlework on her knee, but was ignoring it in favour of telling Vanessa the entire life history of Optatus.

  ‘And then in his fifth summer he fell from a peach tree and hurt his arm. . . ’ She paused expectantly.

  Vanessa said, ‘Ah, the, er, typical adventurousness of the Capricorn, coming under the. . . hostile influence of. . . Jupiter.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Marcia agreed. ‘Come on in, my dear, and sit down,’ she said to Rose. She waved a hand at a slave, who went off and returned seconds later with a cup of wine for Rose. ‘My dear, I have to tell you how much I love your hair,’ she continued. ‘Blonde is so fashionable!’

  ‘Er, thanks,’ said Rose. ‘Well, you know what they say, blondes have more fun. . . ’

  ‘Was it a slave’s?’

  ‘No,’ said Rose, confused, ‘it’s mine.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve had it dyed,’ said Marcia, nodding knowledgeably. ‘Well, it really suits you.’

  Rose decided it would be sensible to leave the topic of ancient hair-dressing before she tripped herself up. She turned to Vanessa. ‘So, picked up any clues yet?’

  The young girl gave a nervous smile. ‘I feel that Optatus is favoured by the gods,’ she said. ‘The stars at his birth were. . . auspicious. I am sure that he is safe.’

  ‘Great,’ said Rose, sitting down.

  ‘Y s, my mind is greatly relieved!’ said Marcia, smiling.

  ‘Well, while Vanessa’s, er, considering his astrological destiny, we’re trying to figure out who saw him last. Tell me, Marcia, what do you know about this Ursus bloke?’

  Marcia’s eyes widened. ‘You think Ursus may be connected with my son’s disappearance? I shall have my husband evict him from the estate at once!’

  Rose hastened to calm her down. ‘No, look, I’m just asking. Gracilis said he was a local boy, right? So you must know him. And even if he is connected – I’m not saying he is,’ she added quickly, as Marcia’s 29

  mouth flew open, ‘we don’t want him getting the wind up or anything.

  Keep them where you can see them, that’s the thing.’

  Marcia nodded reluctantly. She thought for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t really know much about him. He was rather a clumsy, unpleasant child, as I rec
all. I remember being surprised to hear he was planning to take up art.’

  It was the sort of story that never changed, Rose thought. An un-popular child, teased and ridiculed but determined to fulfil his ambitions and prove his tormentors wrong. But the ending happened less frequently: boy makes good against all the odds. Because, as she’d seen for herself, that’s what had happened. After years of humiliation, the boy – now a man – had suddenly found the success he had been seeking, perhaps more than he’d ever dreamed of.

  ‘It was – oh, I’m not sure how long ago,’ Marcia told her. ‘Suddenly we began to hear his name everywhere. His statues appeared in the temples and shrines of Rome itself, and they were so admired. W

  thought they must be by some other artist of the same name, but no, it was the Ursus we knew. My husband pursued him for some time before he would agree to take on our commission.’ She sighed. ‘And how thankful I am. It comforts me to know I can still gaze on the face of my child, even in this time of darkness.’

  Ross didn’t say anything, didn’t suggest to Marcia that if they hadn’t persuaded Ursus to produce his sculpture of Optatus, the whole ‘time of darkness’ thing might have been avoided altogether.

  Suddenly Marcia thumped a fist on her knee. ‘Of course!’ she said.

  ‘We first saw a statue by Ursus when we were in Rome – I remember now. It was the festival of Fortuna. That means it is almost ten months ago.’

  Vanessa started.

  ‘You all right?’ Rose said.

  The girl nodded, but was staring into the distance. ‘Almost ten months,’ she said under her breath. ‘We believed Fortuna had smiled on us when he agreed to craft our son,’ said Marcia sadly. ‘Now I believe we may have offended her.’