Romana followed the Doctor into the gallery, and stood at his side as they studied various paintings. But when the Doctor decided to tell her the story behind every single one, which usually featured himself in a starring role, she wandered off and explored on her own.
There were paintings from through Earth's long and great history, remarkable compositions of incredible beauty. Romana was enraptured. Humanity really was a grand species, as the Doctor always insisted. She no longer wondered why he loved this planet so much.
As she wandered around the silent, empty halls of the gallery, one painting in particular caught Romana's eye. The sign next to it declared that it was called the Laughing Cavalier, and that the man it depicted was something of an enigma. Painted in 1624, the subject was clearly a military man, dressed in elaborate and beautiful clothes. His smile was charming and his eyes were alluring. But it was more than that...
Romana leaned closer to the frame. There was something else about the painting, but she couldn't quite place it. The secret was in the eyes, she knew that, but what was it?
'Recognise him?' asked the Doctor.
Romana jumped in fright. He was stood right behind her, and no doubt had been for some time. "What do you mean?"
The Doctor indicated the painting. 'You know him. So do I.'
Romana thought hard. That was it: the eyes were familiar. 'He's a Time Lord!' she realised aloud. 'I remember him from Gallifrey. Well, I saw pictures of him. We never actually met.'
The Doctor stared straight ahead, as if lost in thought. 'We were in the same classes at the academy. Both dreamed of running away someday, to go off and explore the universe. He was something of a history buff, always had his head buried in textbooks, reading about some battle or war.'
'Did he succeed in running away from Gallifrey?'
'Of course.' The Doctor nodded at the painting. 'Stole a TARDIS just like I did, and ran for the stars. He made it to Earth, to join in the English Civil War. But he must've arrived too early, by about two decades, and got his portrait drawn to pass the time. That's what I heard, anyway. Look at him, smiling out at us from that frame. What a guy!'
Romana was remembering more and more now. 'Don't they call him the Cavalier now, back home?'
'That's his identity. Suits him, I think. He always was so confident, always in a hurry, never thinking things through. When the Time Lords found out about this painting, how he had gotten involved in the affairs of this planet, they exiled him. Stripped him of his name, labelled him as the Cavalier to remind him of his crime, and told him never to return.'
Romana noticed to wistful look in the Doctor's eyes. 'When did you last see him?'
The Doctor shrugged. 'Ages ago. Too long, I think. But the universe is a big place, Romana. We're hardly likely to bump into each other. And I never was very good at staying in touch with people.'
'That's a shame.'
'Yes, it is.' The Doctor smiled absent-mindedly, lost in thought. 'We were close, back in the day.'
Romana was suddenly reminded of the rumours that had circulated the Prydon Academy long after the Doctor's time, of graffiti on the walls, of names scratched into tables. 'Some would even say tooclose,' she grinned.
The Doctor feigned offence. 'Romana, we were youngsters! At school! There was no time for any of that nonsense, was there? What would make you think I wasted my time like that?'
'Well, passing your finals with fifty-one percent on the second attempt might be seen a small clue-'
Harsh, blaring sirens interrupted Romana. Instinctively she grabbed hold of the Doctor's hand. He was frozen to the spot, looking around frantically, eyes wide. He wasn't scared; it was more like excitement.
All of a sudden the noises stopped the lights went out. The whole gallery descended into total silence and darkness. Romana could see nothing. She squeezed the Doctor's hand tighter. 'What's happening?' she whispered.
The Doctor gave an answer that always made Romana feel uneasy: 'I don't know.'
A few tense moments passed before the lights snapped on again. Romana looked around to see what had happened, but nothing seemed to be wrong. Everything was as it was, except for one thing...
The Laughing Cavalier was gone.
'Now why would someone want to steal that?' the Doctor wondered aloud.
Romana could only shake her head; she had no idea. Looking up at the Doctor, she saw that he had broken out into a huge grin. Adventure had found them, it seemed, and he loved it.
Before she knew it, Romana was smiling back. 'Shall we go in search of it?' she asked, but the Doctor was already running off down the corridor, his never-ending scarf trailing behind him as he went.
'Come on, K-9,' cried the Doctor, as he burst out of the art gallery. 'Walkies?'
A few paces back, Romana wasn't sure why he had voiced that last word as more of a question. But when she looked to where the dog was waiting, she understood: K-9 was now back to his old self again.
The Doctor untied the robot dog from the lamppost, and studied his metal companion intently. 'You changed back,' he said simply. The disappointment in his voice was clear.
'I am well aware of that, Master,' replied K-9.
'I liked you before,' the Doctor said. 'You answered back less. You weren't so sarcastic and condescending. You were politer and more fun and, you know, fluffier. Why couldn't you stay as you were?'
'It was not in my control,' said K-9. 'All systems have now been restored to their original functionality.'
'That's a shame.' The Doctor wore a miserable look on his face. 'Come on, then,' he sighed.
'Let's get back to the TARDIS. We've got a painting to find-'
Interrupting him, K-9 barked.
Romana snorted. 'K-9, did you just...?'
The robot dog didn't answer for a moment. 'Side-effects are to be expected.'
The Doctor rubbed his hands together with glee. 'Oh, this is going to be fun!'
~~~
Hidden in the shadow of the Alps, in the year 218 BC, was a Roman encampment. A dozen tents had been erected on a small perch on the mountainside, protected from the harsh winds and concealed from view by the tundra.
General Lucius Vispanius Titus the Wise, Commander of the Army of the Alps, Recipient of the Golden Eagle and Sigil of Remus, Defender of the Empire, sat alone in his tent. He was deep in thought, contemplating his strategies for the forthcoming battle. On this day, the mighty Empire of Rome was relying on him to command a small band of soldiers to victory. He had ordered them all to get a good night's rest, but he had been unable to follow his own orders.
Warfare didn't usually bother General Titus. His ancestors had been great leaders, and their courage and wisdom were in his blood, but he couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the pressure he was faced with. He knew what was coming for Rome, and it was all down to him to stop them.
He was leaving nothing to chance. His battle plans had been meticulously outlined with painstaking precision. He would not allow any silly mistakes to cause their downfall. General
Titus could not, however, have predicted what was about to happen.
A fresh-faced Roman soldier came hurrying into his tent, out of breath and clearly panicked by something.
'What is it, soldier?' asked Titus.
'A man, sir. A man's been sighted crossing the Alps!'
General Titus gulped. Was this it? Had the battle begun earlier than expected? Their information had never been wrong before, but perhaps this was a sign that the gods were not on their side.
'Is it... him?' he asked. A name was not needed; they were all thinking of the same person. He was the only man they had thought of for days, the same man who haunted their dreams.
'No, sir,' said the soldier. 'It's a stranger to these lands. And I think he's dying...'
The Alps were a treacherous path, Titus knew, and anyone who dared to traverse their wintry heights was brave indeed. That was why the Empire feared their current foe so much, almost respecting and fearing him in equal measure.
But if someone else had dared to challenge the mountain, they did not deserve to die alone in the terrible silence of these wintry heights. A dignified death was the least that Titus could do for the unknown wanderer. And perhaps, after this act of unprecedented kindness, the gods might smile upon him in the coming conflict.
He ordered the soldier to escort the man off the mountain, out of sight, and to bring him down to the General's tent, which was acting as the official command centre of their field base. General Titus watched as the man was carried into the safety of the tent, and ordered that he be placed upon his bed to keep him warm. The stranger looked in a bad way. He could not speak; his lips were blue and quivering; his whole body was trembling; the snow and the winds had caused his skin to turn paler than anything that Titus had ever seen before.
Titus knew that the man would not survive for long. He had, at most, a few minutes of life left to cling onto before darkness claimed him forever more. 'Be brave, sir,' said Titus. 'Do not fear death. Embrace it!'
The man's eyelids--previously frozen shut--slowly began to open, as did his mouth. He strained, struggling to speak, before he eventually managed it. 'No can do, amigo,' he mumbled. 'You might want to step back...'
Confused, General Titus did as he was told. Fearing what might happen, he ordered all other soldiers to leave the tent, and watched alone as the most remarkable thing happened. The stranger's body began to glow with a strange, ethereal light. The warmth that seemed to burn from within melted the snow that clung to his skin, and he once again looked healthy.
General Titus suddenly noticed the extravagant clothes that the man was wearing--and the only reason they grabbed his attention was because they too melted away from him as the light that shone from beneath his skin began to burn harsher and brighter. His flesh seemed to be on fire. Titus wondered whether the man's body was simply going to melt away just as his clothes had. The General was forced to shield his eyes as the bizarre, supernatural event became unbearable to watch. He heard the man cry out in pain and could do nothing to help.
Then the light died, and the man didn't.
Slowly,
General Titus allowed himself to gaze upon the man again--but it
seemed that he was gone, and had been replaced by someone else. This
new man leapt up off the bed and started looking himself up and down.
'Let's see what I've got this time,' he said. 'Twelfth time lucky, I hope...'
General Titus could only watch in horror, and with mild amusement.
'Oh, look at that belly!' said the man. 'I'm fat! And already hungry! I can barely see my feet. Oh, and I wish I hadn't looked--they're so small. I reckon about a size four. That'll make shoe shopping a big tricky, but not impossible. I wonder if certain other extremities are similarly undersized... What do you think, General? Not a bad size, eh? And hey, it's what you do with it that counts, am I right?'
Titus leapt to his feet, suddenly realising how absurd the whole situation was, and drew his sword. He held it up to the man's neck, pressing lightly upon him--but he was willing to press harder. 'I don't want to spill any more blood than is necessary today,' he warned, "so you had better explain yourself, stranger-'
At that moment, another Roman soldier entered, quickly looking away when he noticed the man.
'It's all right,' the man said, putting his hands on his hips and standing proud. 'You can look. And I'd be interested to hear your opinion on it. Good or bad? Average?'
'Below average,' sneered General Titus, much to the man's annoyance.
'Sir, there's a naked man in your tent,' said the Roman soldier matter-of-factly.
'Yes there is, so why don't you get him some clothes?'
The man nodded and left, no doubt emotionally scarred by the brief experience.
General Titus lowered his sword and sheathed it, inviting the man to take a seat--on the floor, not on the bed. People would talk, and he had a reputation to think of. 'Start at the beginning,' he said, 'and tell me everything. Who are you?'
'I,' said the naked man, 'am the Cavalier.'
The Cavalier's head was spinning. He could barely remember his own name, let alone that of the man who had helped get him to safety. Was it Titan? No, Titus, that was it. The man--General Something Fancy and Unpronounceable Titus--handed the Cavalier a suit of Roman armour to protect his modesty and to prevent any further awkwardness between the strangers. Their hug a few moments ago had been bad enough. It was only awkward for Titus, of course. The Cavalier had rather enjoyed it.
He could fell regeneration energy dancing around his body and, though it would stay with him for a good few hours yet, it was becoming less effective at combating the cold. As such, the Cavalier was glad to get dressed and shield himself from the harsh winds. He may not have liked his new body on first impressions, but he had to look after it. He had become rather careless with his bodies of late, and he couldn't afford to be like that any more, much to his annoyance. Being careful wasn't usually much fun at all.
General Titus took a seat in front of the Cavalier, and smiled reassuringly. He seemed like a good man, the Cavalier thought. Tough and butch and not really his type at all, but a good man nonetheless. A soldier. A man of war. The Cavalier had met plenty of those, the best and the worst. But never had one been so kind to him as Titus had been on this day.
'Let's see what I've got this time,' he said. 'Twelfth time lucky, I hope...'
General Titus could only watch in horror, and with mild amusement.
'Oh, look at that belly!' said the man. 'I'm fat! And already hungry! I can barely see my feet. Oh, and I wish I hadn't looked--they're so small. I reckon about a size four. That'll make shoe shopping a big tricky, but not impossible. I wonder if certain other extremities are similarly undersized... What do you think, General? Not a bad size, eh? And hey, it's what you do with it that counts, am I right?'
Titus leapt to his feet, suddenly realising how absurd the whole situation was, and drew his sword. He held it up to the man's neck, pressing lightly upon him--but he was willing to press harder. 'I don't want to spill any more blood than is necessary today,' he warned, "so you had better explain yourself, stranger-'
At that moment, another Roman soldier entered, quickly looking away when he noticed the man.
'It's all right,' the man said, putting his hands on his hips and standing proud. 'You can look. And I'd be interested to hear your opinion on it. Good or bad? Average?'
'Below average,' sneered General Titus, much to the man's annoyance.
'Sir, there's a naked man in your tent,' said the Roman soldier matter-of-factly.
'Yes there is, so why don't you get him some clothes?'
The man nodded and left, no doubt emotionally scarred by the brief experience.
General Titus lowered his sword and sheathed it, inviting the man to take a seat--on the floor, not on the bed. People would talk, and he had a reputation to think of. 'Start at the beginning,' he said, 'and tell me everything. Who are you?'
'I,' said the naked man, 'am the Cavalier.'
The Cavalier's head was spinning. He could barely remember his own name, let alone that of the man who had helped get him to safety. Was it Titan? No, Titus, that was it. The man--General Something Fancy and Unpronounceable Titus--handed the Cavalier a suit of Roman armour to protect his modesty and to prevent any further awkwardness between the strangers. Their hug a few moments ago had been bad enough. It was only awkward for Titus, of course. The Cavalier had rather enjoyed it.
He could fell regeneration energy dancing around his body and, though it would stay with him for a good few hours yet, it was becoming less effective at combating the cold. As such, the Cavalier was glad to get dressed and shield himself from the harsh winds. He may not have liked his new body on first impressions, but he had to look after it. He had become rather careless with his bodies of late, and he couldn't afford to be like that any more, much to his annoyance. Being careful wasn't usually much fun at all.
General Titus took a seat in front of the Cavalier, and smiled reassuringly. He seemed like a good man, the Cavalier thought. Tough and butch and not really his type at all, but a good man nonetheless. A soldier. A man of war. The Cavalier had met plenty of those, the best and the worst. But never had one been so kind to him as Titus had been on this day.