With his hands firmly tied to a sturdy yoke, the Doctor was unable to push against the strong hand firmly pressing him to his knees. Beads of perspiration mingled with the thick streaks of crimson which blurred his vision and matted his hair, itself contained by a crown of broken glass.
The problem was all too familiar, and the consequences of his rash actions had left the fate of an entire civilisation hanging in the balance. The future of this world depended upon whether the Doctor lived, or died. Casting his mind back, the Doctor struggled to remember the events which led him to be on trial before the brotherhood of Ezreal. He hoped that it would clarify his…
After a long and particularly vociferous debate about his personal ethics, the Doctor and Peri had found themselves at a new destination - the TARDIS had brought them to the heart of the sub-baked Jelmendi desert on Tafara Yassa in the general vicinity of Epsilon Eridani.
Finding themselves about a league and a half from the nearest town, they had been fortunate enough to arrive at just the right moment to flag down a passing caravan, whose merchant occupants were more than happy to give them a lift - TARDIS and all.
Treated with the greatest of kindness and respect, the Doctor - as usual - had charmed his way into dining with the Merchant Captain, Dornouy. Peri had been suspicious of the fawning respect ladled upon the Doctor throughout the course of their evenings together, although it soon became apparent that the deference was entirely due to the Doctor's title. In a culture as yet too primitive to equate the term" Doctor "with scientific or medical qualifications, the natives of Tafara Yassa had taken the name to mean "Healer" - a word of great local significance.
Shortly before their arrival in the great city of Jemesculad, Dornouy explained that in Tafaran religion "The Healer" was the Son of Ezreal, a messianic figure said by the prophets to "come from the desert in a coat of many colours". Of course, no one had a more colourful coat than this particular Doctor.
Before they could extricate themselves from the situation, the Doctor and Peri were led by Dornouy to the steps of the Great Temple of Jemesculad, dedicated to Ezmeal himself. While Peri was admiring the architecture and Dornouy was announcing the arrival of the new messiah, the Doctor got himself into yet another situation.
Spying a particularly delicious looking sweet on sale at one of the market stalls set up around the Temple - a sort of cross between Turkish Delight and alcoholic Jelly Babies called kufti. Tasting the delicacy, the Doctor was hooked, muddling through his pockets in search of something worthwhile as he attempted to barter for a small supply. Upon hearing Dornouy's gossip, the rather sceptical market trader let it be known that the Son of Ezreal would not be interested in eating food that was not - for want of a better word - kosher.
One thing led to another, and during the subsequent riot between Dornouy's faithful and the Jemesculad traders, the Doctor and Peri decided to slip into the Temple. Their intention had been to seek refuge, but upon entering the Doctor was hypnotised by the interior design, announcing that the "Temple " was, in fact, a starship built by the inhabitants of the planet Daemos. While speculating that Ezreal must be a slumbering or, heaven forbid, a conscious member of the Daemon race, the Doctor passed through the congregation, oblivious to their prayers, and began to examine the altar, which he revealed to be a command console.
After a cursory examination of the ship's computer, the Doctor had been satisfied that Ezreal was not an immediate threat, and turned to leave, only to find the entire Temple on its knees before him
Proclaimed messiah by the faithful once more while being accused of heresy by the Ezrealite priests, the Doctor and Peri had no choice but to accept the protection of the crowd, who whisked them away to a remote quarter of the city.
After resting, the Doctor and Peri were dined by the leaders of the community, where it became clear that the citizenry of Jemesculad was clearly divided into two castes - the Ezrealites (who of course lived in the lap of luxury) and the Jemesculi (the common people living in poverty and used as slaves upon the whims of the priesthood). The spokesman for the Jemesculi, Retepe, told of a pious prophet who came to the city only months before. This man - Hajan - said that the " Time of Great Healing " was at hand: he was beheaded for his heresy.
Feeling a little hot around the collar, the Doctor attempted to leave, but Peri - in one of her particularly irritating bursts of idealistic fanaticism - foolishly promised his help to the people, coercing them into planning a " demonstration " against the Ezrealites and a " sit-in " at the Temple. So the Doctor had reluctantly joined in.
While discussing their plans for the next day's action over dinner, one of Dornuoy's people interrupted the proceedings, announcing that the Merchant Captain and his mean would be executed alongside the market traders with whom they had been in conflict. Only by giving up "The Healer" would the Jemesculi be able to save them.
Again the Doctor tried to act, volunteering to give himself up in exchange for the prisoners. Unfortunately, the Jemesculi couldn't care less about the market traders or the merchants, and refused to let him go. This forced the Doctor into a fit of deviousness, forcing dearest Peri to leave the proceedings for a visit to the Temple, where she was to "sell" his whereabouts to the Ezrealites.
Appropriately betrayed (although Peri's bartering skills could only secure twenty-five pieces of silver), the Doctor was arrested by the Ezrealite secret police - the Jemedar - who brought him before Dorius, the High Priest of Ezreal.
The Doctor awaited condemnation - he could hear rather than see Dorius circling him, appraising him. His physiology at least was different enough for the locals to think twice about his origins, being more than a head taller and crowned - he winced at the thought of the glass cutting into his forehead - with a mop of curly blond hair.
"What is your name?"
"I - uh - I am called The Doctor."
"So, you do claim to be the Son of Ezreal!"
"Well, I – ah…"
Dorius leaned close, his sweet breath warm across the Doctor's cheek. It smelt of kufti
"Listen, Doctor," he whispered, "I have a proposition for you."
The Doctor was intrigued - here he was at the mercy of a religious Order in complete control of their environment, and the High Priest was about to make an offer.
"What kind of proposition?"
A hand grasped the Doctor's hair firmly as the pressure eased upon his neck. A moment later his head was yanked upwards and he came face to face with Dorius.
"Quite frankly, you are a threat. I don't really care whether you are the Son of Ezreal or not, but the people out there…" he gestured, "they would die for their god, whether he was alive or dead. I think it would be best if you confessed to being a fraud - public humiliation is far safer than death."
"And then I suppose I'll be condemned forever to rot in some dingy old cell far beneath the city?"
Dorius smiled sardonically. "Not at all. If you deny that you are the messiah and leave our city - never to return - then I will give you anything you want."
The Doctor was surprised. "Anything?"
"Jemesculad is the richest city in the known world - I'm sure that we can provide whatever you desire."
"Really? I have a pretty vivid imagination."
"Try me."
The Doctor paused, considering the outcomes of his decision. If he took the High Priest's offer the Jemesculi would remain in slavery - at least for the time being. If he refused…
"It's a deal."
Dorius' face fell - a reaction which the Doctor put down to stunned surprise.
"It is?"
"Absolutely. I am not the Son of Ezreal. I never have been and never will be. I'll say it in public if it would make you feel any better."
"I - er - yes, yes, please…"
"There is one condition, however. Your promise - "
"Whatever you want," Dorius nodded vigorously, "I am a man of my word."
"I'm sure you are."
"So what is it, exactly," a bead of perspiration collected on the High Priest's lip as he spoke - he was getting nervous, "that you desire?"
"About a hundred-weight of kufti and a couple of camels. That stuff tastes fantastic."
It was a deal.