.2. Bristol, AD 1348
"That's Bristol? Seriously? Nooo... Really?"
"That is Bristol. See, the castle."
"There's a castle in Bristol?"
The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair.
"No, just a moment, wait, not in the twenty first century, no. It's been demolished... sometime along the way... Can't remember when."
Donna was already pointing her finger at a stone structure in front of them.
"What about that bridge?"
"Oooh, a brilliant bridge, a fantastic bridge, shame it's not finished yet. One of the busiest commercial centres of the time."
"A medieval Bluewater?" Donna snorted.
"Exactly. Just like the London Bridge, non existent in your times, or the Ponte Vecchio over the Arno River in Florence, still open for tourists; there'll be shops, shops on both sides of the bridge; and houses above them – tall, multi-storey, timber houses. To save space on the bridge, they'll be jetting out over the river and over the road, propped with special supporting constructions. And there, just there, in the middle, there'll be the Chapel of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the largest chapel built on a bridge, with meeting rooms, and a bell-tower, and a crypt, and a gateway tunnelling..."
"Now what? Why did we stop? A traffic jam?" Donna, who couldn't care less about all the details, cut in.
Up till now, they were picking their way among groups of people in great numbers heading for the town. Donna and the Doctor were passing oxcarts and peasants leading roped goats and swine, carrying bunches of wild fowl, brushwood, osier and herbs, bending under the weight of baskets full of fruit, and hauling unidentified packages of all shapes and sizes. The Doctor and Donna had been, in turn, overtaken by several horsemen, usually soldiers. Once they were passed by a lady dressed in furs and brocades, escorted by several armed men (Donna stared at her with pure envy, turning her face slightly green). Whole gangs of kids were running among the carts, goats and piglets, yelling and jumping over the piles of horses' manure, cows' dung and large puddles of rainwater.
Donna was surprised with traffic on that barely hardened, narrow road. And Bristol must have been a large town, since most of the people didn't even know each other. Donna and the Doctor didn't seem to rouse any interest, although the Doctor had emphatically refused to put on a chequered tunic and tight leggings (not to mention the seezms), and was marching energetically with his trusty coat billowing behind him. Donna suspected that there was some sort of Chameleon Circuit imbedded in the coat's fabric, as the Doctor would apparently fade into the background wherever they happened to land. She, on the other hand, was wearing a brown dress, with a yellow tunic thrown on top of it. She didn't get any veil, so she braided her hair in two, thick plaits. The Doctor tried to persuade her into wearing some sort of bass slippers, but she just scoffed at him. She agreed, however, to put on a leather belt, even more eagerly, as one of the purses attached to the belt jingled in a very promising way.
The crowd of travellers apparently got stuck at the town's gate. Piglets grunted and squealed, kids were pushing one another, and grown-ups grumbled, shifting from one foot to the other, or sitting down on the road-side. Donna, craning her neck, tried to spot a cause of the obstruction.
"What's that, then? A traffic jam?"
"I'd say it's a toll," the Doctor said. "You have to pay the toll to cross the gate."
"So, what, somebody got stuck at the toll booth?" she laughed. "Forgot to bring the change again? When will they finally learn?"
"Most people pay in kind," the Doctor corrected. "Can you imagine how difficult it must be to give a change from a chicken?"
Donna got giggles, that wouldn't go away even when the queue to the toll started moving again. When the toll collector extended his hand, waiting for them to pay, Donna doubled with laughter, murmuring breathlessly: "Change from a chicken, a chicken change." The Doctor had to produce a few small coins from her purse and pay the toll, at the same time explaining that "the feral girl, when she was still a tiny baby, fell down from the haystack and bashed her head, thus straining her wits." Donna nudged him in the ribs, but didn't lose her high spirits.
They went through the high gate ("The St Nicholas's Gate," the Doctor announced with important airs, after eavesdropping on two peasants talking to each other), and found themselves on an incredibly crowded street. After just a few steps, Donna stopped giggling. She sniffed and quickly covered her nose with a hand.
"Urghh!" She pulled a face. "It stinks!"
"Sewerage. Or the lack of the above." The Doctor pointed at open drain channels running along down the centre of the street. "Everything gets here. Muck from the stables, dyers vats content, household dishwater. Ah, right, they tend to empty their chamber-pots out of windows, so look sharp and dodge."
As if summoned, somebody emptied a chamber-pot out of the upper floor window, jutting far into the street above their heads. The Doctor ducked deftly, even without taking his hands out of his pockets; Donna jumped away, only by a hair's breadth avoiding being splashed.
"In every medieval town I get the same welcome," the Doctor stated philosophically. "Sludge."
"Disgusthigh..." Donna murmured, pinning her nose with two fingers.
"No, stop. Don't do that. Just breathe, you'll get used to it."
"Not in this life," Donna moaned. "Blimey, it stinks!"
"Heeerbs and spiiices!" somebody yelled straight into her ear. "Spices from beyond the seas; ginger and nutmeg, cinnamon, cumin, cloves and pepper! Herbs ad spices for you, Miss?!"
Donna had to struggle to free her sleeve from the salesman's grasp.
"Call me a Miss again, and I'll spice you so hard, you won't even know what clovered you in the first place!" she yelled back. "Why does everybody assume I'm single?! Do I look single?! Ha?!"
Petrified salesman disappeared in the crowd, and the crowd itself thinned a little, leaving some free space for Donna and the Doctor.
"You know, there are times I almost like your yelling," the Doctor summed up. He jumped over the muddy puddle and strode towards a large hearth, right in the middle of the street, with a roasting spit and a huge cauldron hanging over the flames. "Look, it's a takeaway."
"How can you even think about food...?" Donna began, but the aroma coming from this medieval fast food bar wasn't half bad. It smelled of roast and stew, onions and garlic, and fresh herbs. "What's that smell?"
"Stewed hare," a man standing behind the hearth answered. He rapped a long, wooden spoon against the cauldron's wall. The cauldron sang in a deep, iron-y voice. "There are carrots, and turnips, and onions, to your liking. Want some bread with your stew; I'll send Michael to the bakers. Help yourself to some smoked fish. Still hot; just has been brought over from the smoker. Or spit roasted birds – take a look, there are pigeons and grouse, and a duck, and a hen. And if you're in a hurry, buy some meat and vegetable pies; they're finger-licking good."
Against her own will, Donna lent over the cauldron. The stew was bubbling and emanating a killer aroma. The Doctor was inspecting hot, golden-baked pies. There were hulked hares, drawn chickens, chopped pieces of pork and lamb on the dressing board, covered with fresh leaves to protect the food from sun and flies.
"I always thought that they ate rotten meat in the Middle Ages," Donna whispered straight in the Doctor's ear. "And they used all that spices to kill the stench, you know."
"Why would anybody eat rotten meat?" the Doctor wondered.
"Ooo..." the cook interrupted. "Not so long ago folks would kill each other for a piece of a stinky horse meat. They even say that man would eat man. You won't spurn anything when you're starving. But, what are we talking about here? My food is fresh and lovely! See for yourselves. Take a nibble. Go on. They would chuck me out of the Guild if I tried to sale rotten meat and fish."
"Yeah, so, when was... that... famine?" The Doctor knitted his eyebrows.
"Can I have a pie? How much is it?" Donna asked. "And what's that? Is it a pancake?"
"Oh, it'll be thirty years ago, or more," the cook said. "My father was just a boy back then, but he'll tell the story even today. He's still afraid that the dearth may come back. And who knows, the weather's foul enough this year, crops are scarce. Maybe dad's not worrying for nothing."
"And those baked thingies? What are they? And that little chicken looks tasty."
"It's a pigeon."
"A wha...?" Donna moved back. "A pigeon? You mean like a... a pigeon?"
"Like a coo-coo pigeon." The Doctor waved his hands in front of Donna's nose.
"Oi!" she bristled instantly. "Don't get too smart, alien!"
"We'll take a pie each." The Doctor produced a handful of coins he was left with after paying the toll, and let the cook pick the appropriate amount. He and Donna grabbed large, steaming pies, wrapped in leaves – in Donna's opinion, much more sensible packaging than cardboard boxes at MacDonald's. Biting into hot stuffing they walked slowly up the street, among stalls of seamstresses, shoemakers, candle-makers and brewers. They've got carried along by a loud, colourful crowd, resounding with shouts, laughter and quarrels. Donna was looking around delightedly taking in the street's atmosphere. She stopped noticing the sewage stench at last, and even pigs pushing their way underfoot seemed more funny than annoying. She noticed, surprised with the fact, many dun, and brown, and black faces, as well as clothing from Middle and Far East. She was staring at women, buying fruit and vegetables at the stalls, picking eggs from little egg pyramids, and haggling with shopkeepers. With her head lifted up, she admired multi-storey buildings, jutting over the street on both sides so far, their thatched roofs would meet overhead. Their walls were made of stone or wood, sometimes whitewashed or plastered; they had narrow frontages, with just a door and maybe a tiny window, panes (if there were any) small, thick and completely opaque. Begrimed kids played hide and seek. The pie tasted wonderfully, hot with garlic and onion.
The crowd carried them onto a small square at a crossing of four streets. There was a tall, stone cross in the middle of the square. In front of the cross, there was a wooden dais covered with canvas. Actors in bright costumes, wearing masks covering their faces, were performing on stage. People in the audience were bursting with laughter almost every second. Finishing her pie, Donna halted and started watching the play.
But the war is not a spree,
It no longer pleases me;
John wanted the Frenchmen dead,
But the Frenchmen bashed his head.
One actor smacked the other over the head with a stick. The smacked one keeled over and fell to the planks. The crowd laughed and cheered.
"Well, he's no Chaucer, that's for sure," the Doctor murmured.
Johnnie's eyes are getting dim,
His breath lost to Reaper Grim;
Soon he's gonna breathe no mo more,
So the Doctor was sent for.
"Have you heard that? They've sent for you," Donna laughed.
"Very funny."
In the meantime there was a moment of a standstill on the stage. After a while, even "Johnnie" lying breathlessly on the planks, lifted his head up and yelled:
I am lying here, dead,
Where are you, you bloody cad?
The other actor was searching for somebody among the crowds.
"Simon!" he yelled. "Simon, you rascal, it's your turn! Where did he go again? I've been telling you to move away from the brewers!"
The spectators burst into laughter. Shocked, Donna realised that the Doctor was clambering up onto the stage. She snorted, amused but also irritated; that was so like him. Both actors started protesting, but the Doctor faced the public, winked at Donna and spouted bombastically:
I'm the Doctor, I'll help you,
There's no trick I cannot do.
You'll be living at full throttle,
Once you've drunk what's in this bottle!
He leant over the "killed" actor, pretending to pour something down his throat. "Johnnie" jumped up immediately, bowed down in front of the Doctor and the spectators, and recited quickly:
Devil was there by my bed,
But the Doctor bashed his head.
Now I'm stronger than a boar,
And to France I go, to war!
Laughter, applause and whistles accompanied the Doctor jumping down from the stage.
"Couldn't help yourself, could you?" Donna snorted. "Who do you think you are, Leonardo di Caprio?"
"Maybe I'm not Leonardo di Caprio, but I was on stage with Shakespeare," the Doctor answered.
"What, were you in 'Romeo and Juliet'? In 'Hamlet'?" Donna chided.
"'Love Labours Won' actually."
"Oi, trying to be clever again, are you?"
But the Doctor froze suddenly, his face long, his eyes popping out.
"Oh... no..." he mumbled. "Oh... no-no-no-no-no-no-no..."
Donna followed his gaze and over the heads of the people in the crowd she saw a roof of the blue box, moving away quickly.
"The TARDIS!" she shouted. "What?! How?! Doctor?!"
The Doctor was running already, pushing his way through the crowd around the stage.
"No!" he was screaming. "Not again! It can't be! It can't be happening!"
"Doctor!" Donna bellowed, trying to catch up with him. "Wait for me! Doctor!"
The TARDIS's roof was sailing away, and the distance between the box and the Doctor wasn't decreasing but increasing with each passing moment. It seemed to him that the crowd thickened somehow; there were far too many people in his way. He jumped onto the plinth of the stone cross, holding to it with one arm, and above the crowd's heads he saw his ship being carried away on a wagon pulled by two horses. And surrounded by armed man. The Doctor quickly calculated the shortest way to the wagon, and jumped down, back on the street.
"On the fourteenth of August, the year of our Lord thirteen forty eight, we pray for late Johanna of Dundry, and for her husband, Peter! May God give them eternal rest, Amen!"
The Doctor, already prepared for a desperate sprint, stopped dead in his tracks. Very, very slowly he turned his head in the direction of the voice.
The town-crier rang the bell he held in his hand.
"On the fourteenth of August, the year of our Lord thirteen forty eight, we pray for those killed by the Great Mortality, brought from beyond the sea, to English shores, to the seaport of Melcombe! May God give them eternal rest, Amen!"
"Oh... no..." the Doctor whispered. Donna, who had almost caught up with him, saw the expression of purest dread on his face. "No... please... not that..."
"What's wrong?" she shouted, reaching him, and clutching at his coat's sleeve. "What's going on, Doctor?"
He jerked both hands up and squeezed his temples, as if he had a sudden headache. He was looking around wildly.
"Doctor?! What is it?!"
"Bristol! Anno Domini 1348! Fifteenth of August 1348!"
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Oh, Donna, it's the day when the Plague reaches Bristol! The Great Mortality! The Pestilence! The Black Death! ...The Plague!"
Now she understood. Her eyes widened in fear.
"We are in Pompeii," she whispered, "and it's Volcano Day."
"It's Volcano Day," he confirmed, horror in his voice.
To be continued...