Chapter Two

A few hours (and so many falls Martha had lost count) later, they were standing on the outskirts of Cairo, their camels ("Monsters," she had insisted, much to the Doctor's amusement) tied-up at the nearest watering hole. Standing there, hands in his trouser pockets, the Doctor gazed upon the city with eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

Looking upon it herself, Martha couldn't help but wonder what the big deal was. "It doesn't look as...majestic as I pictured it would be," she admitted finally.

"Really?" the Doctor sounded surprised, turning to observe her as if to discover what tinted lenses she was viewing the city through before turning to look out at Cairo, lips pursed. "Need I ask if you imagined everyone walking in profile, arms jutting out like they're all playing 'I'm a Little Teapot'?"

"Funny, Doctor...what's up, then?" she asked, reading his look. "Why the long face?"

"Oh, I was just regenerated with it...okay, fine," he gave in under her unflinching stare. "What I want to know is why? Why here, why Cairo? Ancient Egypt is saturated with temples, some of which are much closer to the Pharaoh's palaces –"

"Palaces?" Martha repeated slowly, comprehension refusing to assert itself for her. "What, as in the plural? And what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, Egyptians believed their kings, the Pharaohs, were living embodiments, incarnations of the sun god Ra."

"Ra?"

"Ra," the Doctor nodded, pursing his lips as if struggling to contain himself.

"You were going to mention something about cheerleaders, weren't you?" she asked bemusedly.

He shrugged, guilty as charged. "That, or Rasputin," he grinned, blinked several times and slipped back into his serious-yet-awed demeanour, hands stuffed deeper in his pockets. "Anyway, where was I...? Oh! Yeah, Egypt-Pharaohs-incarnations-Ra, right! Well, you'd think these other 'gods', after being so kind as to descend amongst us – well, you – humble mortals, that they would want to meet with him more than anything. So, why Cairo? Why so far away? Bit of an inconvenience for the head honcho..."

"If they're really gods, you mean," Martha added, filling in the blanks.

"If, yeah...well," he spun on his heel, turning to face her with a gleam in his eye, "only one way to find out for sure!"

Before she could say another word, the Doctor off down the small sand bank they were standing atop, his feet throwing sand up into the creases of his trousers, socks and into his sneakers. But he didn't seem to care or notice, his mind firmly set on other things completely. Sighing in deep exasperation, Martha stomped after him.

They passed under the arches of the sandblasted walls of the city, the Doctor's head never remaining still for an instant as he took in the sights, the culture, the people, and it was very easy to see why he found everything so engrossing; the block-like houses Martha had seen from the outside had quickly given way to larger streets crammed with stalls and carts selling everything one could possibly need (and a few things she was quite she would never require), from exotic herbs to lavish, colourful materials. They were also getting more than their fair share of looks, but Martha didn't think much more of it until one trader in particular approached them, his eyes more on her than the Doctor.

"Hello!" the Doctor smiled cheerily. "What can we do for you, then? I'm afraid we haven't much money – actually, I don't think I ever got around to collecting any currency from this age..."

"Your woman –"

"Doesn't have any money either," Martha interjected quickly, none too pleased with the objective term as the trader continued to look intently at her. "What...?"

"I think," the Doctor turned to face her, darkness clouding his features, "he means he wants to buy you."

"Yes, yes!" the other man nodded, sweaty palms rubbing on his shabby cloth clothes. "Nubian slaves for Pharaoh! Much profit to be made, my good friend! Name your price, I am a generous –"

Her palm shot out from nowhere, but the Doctor was quicker, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip that was unshakeable. His eyes bore into hers warningly, his head shaking slowly. "If you want to keep your hands," he muttered hurriedly, "I'd very much advise against that."

"Indeed," nodded the merchant with a sneer, "your woman, she has much spirit and anger, but–"

"But she is not for sale," the Doctor intoned heavily as he rounded upon the other man, glowering. "You see, I'm afraid you've made a terrible mistake...because, you see, she isn't a slave."

"Not a slave?" the trader scoffed, "But she is a Nubian!"

"Even so," the Doctor growled and, this time, Martha could sense how hard he was struggling to keep his own anger in check. "She is not a slave. She is with me, as an emissary for her people, who has come to meet with your gods, to commune with them, to witness their majesty and, maybe, even be converted – sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"You...you wish to see the gods?!" the merchant stammered in fear, backing up against another trader's stall and knocking a couple of ceramic pots down into the sandy stone road, where they shattered amidst a deathly silence that had suddenly encompassed the two travellers.

"Is that a problem?" asked the Doctor, surprised.

"It is madness!" cried the trader, turning and breaking into a frenzied run. "Madness!"

"Well, that was weird," the Doctor mused as he turned from watching the man retreat, to observe the uneasy hush around them, and finally to regard Martha. "I wonder what he meant by that?"

"Hmph!"she snorted, arms crossed.

"Oh, come on," he chided lightly, "you're not seriously going to let his comments get to you, are you? It's an ancient civilization, Martha! With ancient religions, ancient cultures, ancient ethics, ancient prejudices and, and...and ancient food!" he grinned a triumphant grin. "Speaking of which, did you know their bread –"

"He thought I was a slave girl!" she exclaimed in frustration.

"Ancient prejudices," he repeated gently as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Seriously, think nothing of it. Then again, I guess we should be thankful slavery is one aspect of life you humans dropped some time ago – just imagine if it was like this now!" he caught her stifling a giggle and sighed. "Oh, what now?"

"Nothing," she groaned, breathing heavily. "Oh, I'm sorry Doctor... I was just trying to imagine the Queen Mum in a pyramid!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, considering this with a slight smile, a smile which became a huge, idiotic grin in seconds. "Not what I meant," he told her as he turned back to examine the route of the fleeing trader. "But, yeah...come on, the temple must be nearby. Heh, over two thousand gods – you'd think every building was one!"

"Two...two thousand?"

"At my last count, yes, but don't expect me to be able to name them all. It's not like they had an electoral roll of omnipotent beings back then."

"Oh, really...?"

"Too much papyrus, I guess," he caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye. "What? It was trying times..."

"What about it, then?"

"Hmmm...? What about what?"

"What about their bread, Doctor?"

"Bread?" he looked at her momentarily as if she'd lost it completely before recollecting. "Oh, right, yes! The bread...well, it grinds their teeth down to blunt stubs, doesn't it?"

"That bad, was it?" she asked, smirking.

"Martha," he said softly, "look under your feet."

Even though she felt she knew what he was hinting at, she checked anyway. "Sand?" she asked finally.

He nodded. "Gets everywhere, especially their flour...gives a whole new meaning to 'gradual wear-and-tear,' I can tell you."

"Oh, can you?" she asked, sceptical. "Have you ever actually tried to eat any?"

"Well, no, that would just have been stupid...come on!" he took off.

Upon catching up with him, she managed to match his stride effortlessly. "So, what's up?" she asked, turning her head as they walked further into the city.

"What's up with what?"

"With you...I know that look."

"What look, this look?" he asked, pulling a face like a constipated bulldog. When he noticed she was serious, he looked ahead purposefully, his mind racing. "That merchant back there, he was petrified simply at the thought of us going to meet these gods...and that doesn't make any sense! The Egyptians weren't afraid of their gods," he quickly explained as Martha made to interrupt. "Quite the opposite, if you'd believe such a thing. Yes, they'd visit the temple, yes they'd pray to their gods with passion and yes, they would ask, beg and beseech the god for something or other. And yet, days later, if they still hadn't received what it was they had begged for, do you know what they did?"

"Convert to one of the other one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine gods?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no...no, they'd settle for punishing them instead. By withholding tribute, offerings and prayers – heh, if memory serves me correctly, they even used to beat statues of the god who was neglecting their worshippers!"

"No..." Martha gasped.

"Oh, yes!" he grinned, sighing blissfully. "Oh, you humans...you'd do the things if you firmly believe that you'll get what you want out of it! Ah, here we are! What a beauty!"

They stood at the foot of a set of cracked, sun-bleached stone steps of a much larger building then any they had seen previously, strewn with columns and statues of dog and cat headed beings ("The gods of Anubis and Set," he informed her as they both looked on in awe). The doors into the temple were closed but, if anything, Martha knew the Doctor well enough to figure that to be all the more reason for him to barge on in.

And she was right. "After you," he offered, sweeping a hand up the steps.

Not one to pass up an offer of a lifetime, Martha marched up the stairs, the Doctor close behind. She found the climb easier once she was within the shade of the temple – a blessing, the Doctor quipped. Upon reaching the large wooden doors, she stopped to rest against them and regain her breath...and almost toppled backwards when they gave slightly.

"No barring," the Doctor observed, holding her up as she reached out for support. "Hmm, maybe simply shutting a door means 'No Entry' to the locals," he looked at her with a wicked grin. "Good thing we're from outta town!"

Pushing the doors wide open, he strode boldly in until he was standing in the centre of the temple's antechamber. He took a deep breath, taking in the culture, the atmosphere...and froze, his nose wrinkling, eyes narrowing in a scowl.

"This isn't right," he muttered darkly, his back to her as she approached him hesitantly, "something's wrong, something's very, very wrong, something terrible...what is it, though?" he growled, growing both curious and yet angry at himself at the same time (Martha noticed he did this a lot, priding himself on his seemingly-limitless knowledge and intellect, but falling prone to berating himself incessantly whenever limits – or, at least, obstacles – presented themselves). "What?" another sniff, deeper than the last, nostrils flaring. "Arrrgh, think, man, think! Gods come to Earth, people should be elated, but they're not. Nooo, they're bloody terrified, but why? Why?" another sniff. "What's there to be... afraid... of...?"

Fearing his tone, Martha slowly followed his eyes down to the bricked floor they now stood upon, bricks stained crimson. "Blood?"

"Human blood," he nodded grimly as, in his head, the entire enigma was solved a fraction. She made to question him, and although he knew she dearly wanted to hear it was a mistake, that he merely thought it was human, he could not lie to her. "I can smell it, Martha," he told her sadly, "I've grown accustomed to it, regretfully, come to hate the stench of it, the stench of death... and yet, it follows me everywhere, mocking me...taunting me," if she hadn't known him better, after all they'd been through, she'd have said he was on the verge of tears. But, as it was, she knew the Doctor to be far stronger than that. "Nine hundred years I've lived with it, Martha, wishing – vainly wishing – that I would never have to witness death again...and yet its life's one true certainty isn't it? Her inescapable guarantee...that all will die in time," refusing to brood on it a second longer, his look of profound sadness was once again replaced with a frown.

"No, it's not right," he told her firmly. "It shouldn't be like this, not here," he looked at her, realising the awful truth. "We shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because, Martha Jones, the Ancient Egyptians didn't practice human sacrifice..."

A/N: Again - long time since I updated this but, seeing as the TV series is over and the fanfic 'market' for it still seems to be booming I thought 'Why not?' XDD

If this chapter came across as too preachy/teachy, I'm sorry - I'll try and cut back on the facts and just focus on the story from now on!

Dave