103
The leaves turned gold and crimson before drifting to the ground to be covered in snow. Snowdrops sprouted among the abandoned Roman tents, while moss grew over the collapsed canvas. He picks gooseberries from the hedgerows, thinking of his old nickname, and makes ink from them, painting messages throughout the Underhenge. They fade in less than a week.
118
When Rory, leaning against one of the stones, first saw the company approaching across Salisbury plain, a lump rose in his plastic throat. People. Actual people, who could talk to him.
The commander has explained it all. Somehow word had reached Rome of the Lone Centurion guarding a Celtic treasure for sixteen years. "We've come to escort your back to Rome, with full honors."
"Really? Well that's good. Really good. Been a bit…dull around here."
420
In the Temple of the Blue Box, the Lone Centurion, High Priest of the Lady Pond, draws his sword, waiting for the Franks to cross his threshold.
A barbarian warrior slinks into the temple, eyes darting across the room. He's heard the rumors, of course; everyone says the Centurion is the oldest man alive, with the strength of ten, never showing pain and fighting like a demon to defend the box.
He doesn't live to confirm them.
1120
The Knights Templar aren't as bad as he through they'd be. Maybe he'd watched too much Monty Python and confused them with the Spanish Inquisition. Always was rubbish with history.
1231
They've made him into some sort of saint—Saint Fidelis, the Faithful One, or Saint Vigilans, the Vigilant One. He wishes Amy would take up and tell them all the reasons they're being ridiculous. At least he already knows Latin—that makes the endless Masses more bearable. In fact, he knows Latin so well he can sneak in dirty jokes and nonsense that go right over the Pope's head.
1492
He's forgotten what it's like to sit down at a meal and actually eat something.
1776
The American Revolution began the other day. He wants to laugh at the government's insistence that the rebels will never succeed. When Parliament wants him to give a stirring address to the departing troops, he disappears for a few months. "Stay out of trouble," the Doctor had said. Good luck with that.
1896
One hundred years to go.
He misses Amy.
1996
"I waited. Two thousand years I waited."
"Oh, shut up," Amy cuts off his complaints with a kiss.