Forced off course by the Mandragora Helix, the Tardis lands
in the province of San Martino in fifteenth-century Italy. Here,
the court astrologer, Hieronymous, has been taken over by
the Mandragora energy-form—Hieronymous and the other
members of his star-worshipping black magic cult will be
used as a bridgehead, enabling the Mandragora Helix to
conquer the Earth and rule it through their chosen servants.

The Doctor has to defeat not only the Mandragora energy,
but the evil schemes of the murderous Count Frederico who
plans to usurp the place of his nephew, the rightful ruler of
the province.


ISBN 0 426 11893 6
        DOCTOR WHO AND
         THE MASQUE OF
          MANDRAGORA
Based on the BBC television serial The Masque of Mandragora by
  Louis Marks by arrangement with the British Broadcasting
                        Corporation


            PHILIP HINCHCLIFFE




                        published by
                  The Paperback Division of
                   W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd
A Target Book
Published in 1977
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.
A Howard & Wyndham Company
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Text of book copyright © 1977 Philip Hinchcliffe and Louis
Marks
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © 1977 by the British
Broadcasting Corporation

Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by
Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk


ISBN 0 426 11893 6

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way
of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
CONTENTS

1 The Mandragora Helix
2 The Brethren of Demnos
3 Execution!
4 Sacrifice
5 The Prince Must Die
6 The Secret of the Temple
7 The Spell of Evil
8 Torture!
9 The Invasion Begins
10 Siege
11 Duel to the Death
12 The Final Eclipse
                       1
              The Mandragora Helix
The year was 1492, the place—a remote principality in Northern
Italy. A handful of ragged peasants sweated and strained as they
hauled a cart full of hay along a steep path. Their faces were
lined and care-worn by years of drudgery but their natural high
spirits remained undimmed as they swore and cajoled amongst
themselves with great gusto.
     They reached the brow of the hill and paused for breath.
Suddenly the air was filled with the pounding of horses’ hooves
and a troop of armed men appeared, their helmets and
breastplates glinting in the sun. Swiftly they surrounded the
defenceless peasants. One of them brandished a burning torch.
With a grin he tossed it into the cart. The dry grass exploded
into flame. Terrified, the peasants began screaming and running
in all directions. The horsemen allowed them to get a short
distance away then drew their swords and started to ride them
down. As each peasant was caught he was mercilessly butchered.
     The slaughter continued for several minutes until a harsh
voice rang out.
     ‘Leave a few alive, Captain, to tell the others how
insurrection is dealt with!’
     The captain of the troop saluted and called his men off. The
man who gave the order was seated astride a majestic ebony-
black stallion. The man wore rich and elaborate clothes denoting
he was someone of rank and power, a hunting outfit in red
velvet covered by a black silken cloak. But this outward elegance
was marred by his own features which were brutal and ugly:
heavy-lidded eyes, dark and cold, a nose hooked like a vulture’s
beak, a mouth set in a permanent sneer.
     Apparently pleased with the scene of bloodshed and
carnage, he wheeled his horse and spurred it savagely in the
ribs. The animal darted forward at a gallop and the troop of
horsemen fell in behind and followed.

‘Make way! Make way for Count Federico!’
      The mounted troop thundered through the city gates
scattering all before them and pulled up inside the palace
courtyard. The Count dismounted and, with a quick glance
towards a large shuttered window, entered the palace.
      Behind the shutters a sombre drama was being enacted. The
old Duke of San Martino—a feared but just ruler—lay dying.
Around his deathbed were gathered all his courtiers, grave and
respectful. By the old man’s pillow, clasping his thin bony hand,
knelt a young man of about twenty. He was strikingly handsome
with long, dark-brown hair. This was his son and heir Giuliano.
The young Prince fought bravely to control his emotions as the
priest administered the Last Rites.
      Observing the scene, a few paces removed, was the bizarre
figure of the court astrologer, Hieronymous. His eyes darted
ceaselessly round the room like a trapped bird of prey. His long
thick beard, black skull cap and voluminous cloak gave him a
strange and sinister appearance. Even those who knew him well
felt uneasy in his presence.
      Abruptly the priest’s low mumblings came to a halt. It was
over. The Duke was dead. Giuliano rose and looked down on his
father’s face, austere and imposing even in this last moment of
life. A tall blond young man touched his arm in comfort. It was
his childhood friend and companion Marco.
      ‘He was a good man, Giuliano. A just and noble ruler.’
      Giuliano nodded then turned round and faced the
astrologer. ‘Hieronymous, you foretold my father’s death. How?’
     ‘Everything is foretold by the stars,’ replied the old
soothsayer gravely. ‘I am just a humble astrologer, I only
interpret their meaning.’
     ‘But the exact day—the very hour—it’s not possible.’ The
young Prince clenched his fist in disbelief.
     ‘When Mars comes into conjunction with Saturn in the
seventh layer, and the moon is full-grown... death comes to great
ones. So it is decreed.’ The astrologer raised his arms
heavenwards and turned to leave.
     As he reached the doors Count Federico entered. A look of
understanding passed between them unnoticed by anyone else
in the room, then the astrologer swept out.
     ‘I’m sorry you could not be present at my father’s deathbed,
Uncle,’ said Giuliano bitingly.
     ‘I came as soon as I could. There were important matters of
state to attend to.’
     ‘I see. I’m sorry. I thought you were out enjoying some
sport.’
     The Count’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘There was trouble
among the peasants. They needed teaching a lesson.’ He rapped
his thigh with a leather riding whip.
     Giuliano smiled sarcastically. ‘Isn’t that your sport, Uncle?’
     The Count stared hatefully at his nephew for a moment
then turned on his heel and stalked out.
     ‘You are upset my lord,’ said Marco soothingly, ‘but do not
anger your uncle—not at this time.’ He dropped his voice,
‘Remember he is strong and ruthless.’
     Giuliano drew himself up proudly—his handsome face stern
and regal. ‘I am Duke now. I want to rule over a land where
there is no tyranny, no blind ignorance and superstition like that
old fool Hieronymous preaches. We make our own lives, not the
stars.’
    Marco nodded in agreement. ‘Nevertheless it is most
remarkable. Your father was in good health. To be struck down
so suddenly... and Hieronymous did predict it exactly.’

Far and deep in the Space-Time Vortex a strange blue craft
blinked and shimmered like a shaft of light. The craft was
unusually shaped, about eight feet high and five feet square and
on its top flashed a small white lamp. It had an altogether
enigmatic and alien appearance. Unless, that is, you happened
to be an earthling from the mid-twentieth century. In which case
you would have recognised it as a very ordinary London police
box. But even then you would have been misled. Because inside,
the craft was infinitely larger than it was on the outside, and
looked nothing like a police box. In fact it bore far more
resemblance to a highly sophisticated space ship, which is what it
was. A ship which travelled through Space and Time! Its inner
workings embodied a secret which had eluded countless
civilisations since the dawn of life itself.
     The owner of the ship, however, seemed quite at home with
this grandiose achievement and frequently complained when
things went wrong. At this moment he was striding purposefully
along one of the many gleaming white corridors which ran off
the main control room. He was a tall curly-haired man of
indeterminate age with sparkling blue eyes and a beaming smile.
He was dressed rather curiously in tweed trousers and a long
red-velvet frockcoat. Round his neck he wore a very long
woollen scarf of many colours which trailed on the ground
behind him.
     By his side was a pretty young woman who kept asking
questions as they walked along the corridor. She was Sarah Jane
Smith, a London journalist who had first met the Doctor several
years before when he had visited Earth. She had accompanied
him on other adventures since, and now felt she knew him well.
Even so the Doctor was always surprising her with something
novel and unexpected. This was the first time, for example, he
had allowed her to really explore the TARDIS.
      She gazed round in fascination at the white walls with their
weird hexagonal indentations. They seemed to glow with an
unearthly light.
      ‘I’ve never been in this section before,’ she said admiringly.
      ‘One day I’ll give you a proper guided tour,’ replied the
Doctor. ‘If I can remember the way.’ He stopped by an open
doorway. Sarah peered in. A vast room stretched out before her,
empty apart from a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor.
      ‘What’s this?’
      ‘Boot cupboard. Not very interesting.’ The Doctor pressed a
button and the door closed.
      Sarah frowned. ‘Doctor?’
      ‘Mmmm?’
      ‘Just how big is the TARDIS?’
      The Doctor shrugged. ‘How big is big? Relative dimensions,
you see. No constant.’ He continued walking.
      ‘That’s not an answer.’
      The Doctor stopped and turned. ‘All right—how big are
you? At the moment?’
      Sarah drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very
tall. ‘Five feet five and a quarter.’
      ‘Bah!’ snorted the Doctor. ‘There are no measurements in
infinity. You humans have such little minds. I don’t know why I
like you.’ He strode off again. Sarah was not sure whether he
was really cross or not. She was about to tell him not to be so
rude when her attention was caught by a recess in the wall. She
pressed a button and the wall slid open to reveal a room beyond.
      ‘Hey what’s this place?’
      Inside it was dark and dusty. The walls were panelled just
like the main control room but in brown mahogany not white. In
the centre stood a hexagonal console, a smaller more old-
fashioned version of the one Sarah knew.
     ‘This is the secondary control centre,’ said the Doctor
appearing in the doorway. ‘I can run the TARDIS just as easily
from here as from the old one.’ He thought for a moment.
‘Come to think of it this was the old one. Let’s see now.’ He
pressed some coloured switches on the console. There was a
humming noise and a section of one wall slid back to reveal a
monitor screen. It showed a twisting swirling whirlpool of stars,
formed into a giant spiral. At the same instant the TARDIS
began to judder and sway.
     ‘Oh dear!’ said the Doctor unhappily.
     ‘Something wrong?’
     ‘It’s the Mandragora Helix. I thought we’d avoided it. I
should have known better than to cut through uncharted
segments of the Vortex.’ He started to punch buttons furiously
on the console. ‘Let’s hope we can counter-magnetise enough to
resist the pull.’
     Sarah frowned. ‘What is the Mandragora Helix, Doctor?’
     ‘A spiral of pure energy radiating outwards in ways we don’t
fully understand—except that at its centre there is a controlling
intelligence.’
     ‘An intelligence? You mean something living?’
     ‘Oh, certainly living—in its fashion. But that’s all anyone’s
ever established.’
     The room began to shake more severely and a loud
shrieking noise howled around them.
     ‘It’s sucking us in!’ yelled Sarah.
     ‘We’ll have to thrust straight through and hope we come out
the other side,’ shouted the Doctor as the sound increased.
     Sarah began to stagger. The shrieking was becoming
unbearable. ‘It’s getting into my head!’ she cried.
     ‘Concentrate Sarah ! Keep your mind on something —
anything!’
     ‘I can’t! ‘
     ‘Say the alphabet backwards. Go on. Z... Y... X...’
     Sarah pressed her hands to her ears and forced herself to
concentrate. ‘... W... V... U... T...’
     The room began to spin and topple. They were now in the
very eye of the Helix and plunging faster and faster to the
bottom of the whirlpool. The noise was like the screeching of
souls in torment. The Doctor wrestled with the controls but the
violent motions of the TARDIS hurled him to the floor. The
room seemed to buckle and split like a distorted mirror-image of
itself and the noise intensified to an excruciating pitch.
     Then suddenly the sensation died away and everything fell
quiet and still.
     ‘...F...E...D...C...B...A!’ Sarah opened her eyes triumphantly.
     The Doctor smiled at her from the floor. ‘No ill effects?’
     ‘I don’t think so. Are we there?’
     ‘Where?’
     ‘Where we were going.’
     The Doctor scrambled to his feet and examined the console.
‘Hard to say. The astrosextant rectifier has gone out of phase.
No other damage though.’ He beamed brightly. ‘I’ll just pop out
and see where we are. Stay here.’
     The Doctor stepped out from the TARDIS and looked
around. They had landed inside a circle of mountainous crystals
which seemed to hang in the air like magic. As he looked the
Doctor realised that beyond the first circle of crystals was a
second, and a third, and a fourth, and so on into infinity. It was
impossible to tell how near or far away they were. For a moment
he felt he could almost reach out his hand and touch them.
Then suddenly they were like distant mountain ranges and the
TARDIS a tiny speck on the shimmering plain between.
      ‘I see what you mean about relative dimensions,’ said a voice
at his elbow.
      ‘I thought I told you to stay...’ Before the Doctor could
finish Sarah grabbed his sleeve.
      ‘Sssh! What’s that noise?’
      A rushing rumbling sound like an approaching hurricane
filled their ears. A look of alarm spread across the Doctor’s face.
      ‘Mandragora Energy! ‘ he whispered. ‘Quick—get down!’
He threw an arm round Sarah and pulled her to safety behind a
corner of the TARDIS. The air grew hot and red and a ball of
blazing light seemed to envelop them and the TARDIS. Then,
just as swiftly, it disappeared and the roaring wind faded to a
distant moan.
      ‘That could have been very nasty,’ said the Doctor quietly.
‘Come on. I think we’d better get out of here.’ He paused. ‘That
is, if they will allow us to.’ He bundled Sarah through the open
door of the TARDIS and slammed it shut.
      Within a few seconds the familiar white light began to flash
and the TARDIS dematerialised. As it vanished a rumble of
triumphant laughter echoed around the crystal mountains like a
clap of thunder.
                        2
             The Brethren of Demnos
‘He angers me! The last obstacle between myself and the
Dukedom.’
     Count Federico spat out the words with venom as he paced
the chamber of Hieronymous, the court astrologer. The room
was small and dark, crammed with old charts, astrolobes, ancient
books and bottled potions—all the paraphernalia of astromancy.
Hieronymous was tending a noxious substance bubbling inside a
large brass cauldron.
     ‘You mean your nephew, Giuliano?’ replied the cunning
soothsayer. He knew very well whom the Count had in mind.
     ‘Yes, yes. How soon will he die?’
     Hieronymous continued to stir his foul concoction. ‘You
must be patient.’
     The Count snorted. ‘I have been patient. Now the Dukedom
is almost in my grasp.’ He curled his gloved hand in a crushing
gesture.
     ‘Nevertheless,’ the sorcerer went on craftily, ‘so many deaths
in so short a time... all so sudden.’
     ‘But you said yourself it was written in the stars.’ A sneer
spread over the Count’s ugly features. ‘Don’t say you are
doubting your own prophecies?’
     The sorcerer’s eyes flashed momentarily with anger.
‘Giuliano has a sharp mind. He may suspect.’
     ‘All the more reason to act quickly. A day—two days at the
most. You have the poison still ready?’
     Hieronymous did not reply but crossed to the casement
window and gazed out, a faraway look in his eyes.
     ‘Well? What’s wrong?’ the Count grew restless.
      ‘These last few weeks as the summer solstice approaches I’ve
felt...’ Hieronymous turned and paused. ‘You wouldn’t
understand...’
      ‘Go on, go on.’
      ‘I’ve felt as if my powers were growing, as if I had been
chosen to be granted visions of the future.’
      ‘Hah!’ the Count scoffed. ‘So many correct predictions have
gone to your head.’
      ‘The stars will not be mocked!’ cried the astrologer fiercely.
      ‘And neither will I!’ thundered the Count equally aroused.
‘Cast your horoscope, soothsayer. The young Duke Giuliano will
die suddenly in two days’ time. I will do the rest!’ He swept
angrily out of the room.
      Hieronymous tugged on his beard for a moment deep in
thought, then crossed to the window once more. As he stared at
the sky a clap of thunder echoed across the heavens like an
omen from the gods.

The Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS and peered out.
    ‘That’s strange. A forced landing.’
    They appeared to be wedged in a very large bush
overhanging a slope.
    ‘You mean you weren’t in control?’ enquired Sarah sweetly,
knowing how touchy the Doctor was on this subject.
    The Doctor scowled and scrambled out. Sarah followed with
more difficulty.
    ‘It’s very pleasant,’ she said when her feet finally touched the
ground and she could look around properly. ‘Ooh look, grapes!’
She set off to explore.
    They had landed in a vineyard on the side of a hill. The
climate was warm and sunny and Sarah delightedly stuffed her
mouth full of grapes. ‘Delicious!’ she shouted, ‘and just look at
those peaches over there.’ She ran off up the slope.
     The Doctor seemed not to hear. ‘Perhaps that’s the reason I
stopped using the old control room?’ he muttered to himself
puzzled. He gave up the problem and looked about him.
     A piece of broken glass caught his eye on the ground a few
feet away. He bent down and studied it.
     ‘Hmm. Earth, Mediterranean, late fifteenth-century Italian.’
He tossed it to one side. ‘Not a pleasant period. I think we’ll be
on our way.’ He stood up and looked round for Sarah. She was
nowhere to be seen.
     ‘Sarah! Where are you?’
     The Doctor’s voice carried faintly over the hill to where
Sarah was now happily picking peaches. She gave a little grin but
didn’t reply.
     Less than ten paces away three hooded figures in black
robes were carefully watching her every move. Oblivious to the
danger Sarah drew nearer and nearer the hidden watchers. She
began to hum a tune. Suddenly she heard a noise.
     ‘Is that you, Doct...’ The words froze on her lips as the
hooded assailants lunged towards her. Before she could speak
one of them clamped a large hand over her mouth. The next
moment she was being dragged away roughly through the
bushes. She tried to struggle but the hand over her mouth was
stopping her breath. Her lungs felt ready to burst and the blood
rushed to her head.
     They must have covered about a hundred yards when a
voice rang out from behind them. ‘Stop! ‘
     Sarah’s captors turned to see the imposing figure of the
Doctor advancing towards them. The largest of them ran to
attack the Doctor but as he got within arm’s length he was
suddenly lifted off his feet and hurled through the air in a
graceful arc. He landed heavily on the hard earth with a grunt
and rolled over apparently unconscious.
     ‘Now put her down,’ commanded the Doctor to the other
two. Gingerly they lowered Sarah’s inert form to the ground.
     ‘Right. Move away.’ The two hooded figures obeyed. ‘Good.’
The Doctor stepped forward to examine Sarah but as he did so
there was a flash of action behind him and a heavy stone crashed
mercilessly against the back of his head. He fell like a log.
     The third figure stepped over the Doctor’s crumpled body
and dropped the stone with which he had dealt the vicious blow.
Swiftly and silently, the three of them lifted Sarah up again and
disappeared with their bundle into the dark woods nearby.
     A hundred yards away the TARDIS stood alone and
unguarded, partly hidden among the vines. All at once the door
started to open slowly of its own accord and a blazing obelisk of
fiery red light emerged. It was accompanied by a rushing
shrieking sound which startled all the birds and sent them
squawking away in panic. The ball of light hovered for a few
seconds outside the TARDIS then set off gradually through the
trees about three feet above the ground. As it moved it left a
darkened trail of burnt and shrivelled foliage.

The Doctor slowly recovered consciousness and clambered to his
feet. A sharp stabbing pain in the back of his head reminded him
all too clearly of what had occurred. He shouted Sarah’s name
but she and the hooded figures had vanished. He wondered
what to do next—everything was a disagreeable mystery.
     He was standing on a narrow footpath which led into a thick
wood. He decided he had no recourse but to follow it.
     The path ran steeply down between mossy banks and
overhanging trees and then levelled off after half a mile and
came to a small lake. On the opposite side was a peasant
gathering rushes. He had already laid some on the bank to dry,
and was now tossing them into a cart with a pitchfork.
    The Doctor was on the point of calling out to him when he
heard a strange screeching sound overhead. He glanced up and
saw what looked like a red fire-ball swooping down towards the
lake from out of the sky. As he watched, it plunged beneath the
water’s surface and headed towards the peasant leaving a hissing
bubbling trail in its wake. The peasant was paralysed with fright.
He clutched his pitchfork in self-defence but before he could
move the glowing phosphorescence rose out of the water and
engulfed him in a sizzling flash.
    It was all over in a matter of seconds. The Doctor hurried to
where the peasant had fallen. All that remained was a blackened
corpse.
    ‘Mandragora Energy!’ whispered the Doctor, horrified. ‘It
must have got into the TARDIS.’
    Grimly he studied the trail of smouldering grass indicating
the passage of the lethal bolt. He shuddered at the thought of
what further destruction this evil and irresistible force might
wreak. Whatever its purpose one fact was irrefutable. He, the
Doctor, was the unwitting cause of the death he had just
witnessed. It was he who had brought this deadly menace to
Earth. And at the moment he had no idea how to combat it.

Giuliano was seated at a table in his private chamber in the
palace. With him was Marco. Instead of their usual silken
doublet and hose both men wore the official clothes of
mourning. The face of the young Prince was pallid and wan but
now and then a flicker of life crossed his features as he toyed
with various round pieces of glass on the table in front of him.
Eventually he took one up and fitted it inside a rudimentary-
looking telescope.
    ‘There’s a man in Florence,’ he said squinting through the
eye-piece, ‘who claims that by arranging ground glasses in
certain orders it is possible to see the moon and stars as large as
your hand.’
     Marco looked up from cleaning his sword. ‘Is that a good
thing?’
     ‘Of course it’s a good thing. That way we can find out more
about them.’
     Marco tossed back his blond hair and smiled. ‘What is there
to know about the stars except how they move in the heavens?
And we’ve known that for hundreds of years.’
     ‘That’s the whole point, Marco,’ exclaimed Giuliano
excitedly, jumping up from the table. ‘Perhaps they don’t move
as we think they move. That’s what this man in Florence is
saying. Perhaps it is we who move!’
     Before Marco could respond the door to the chamber burst
open and Count Federico strode in followed by Hieronymous in
his skullcap and trailing robes. Giuliano’s animated mood was
immediately dispelled.
     ‘It is customary to knock before entering a room, Uncle,’ he
said coolly.
     ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Federico without appearing so, ‘but
there is bad news, Giuliano.’
     For a moment the young Duke looked fearful. ‘Why? What’s
happened?’
     Federico motioned the soothsayer forward. ‘Tell him.’
     Hieronymous bowed obsequiously. ‘Sire, forgive me, it is not
of my doing—but this morning I was casting a horoscope—’
     ‘I’ve told you often enough,’ interrupted Giuliano, ‘I don’t
believe in horoscopes.’
     Hieronymous shook his head sadly. ‘I only wish I too could
not believe. But it was there too plainly to be ignored...’ He
broke off.
     ‘What was there?’
     ‘I cannot speak of it,’ whispered the astrologer, clearly
overcome by the dire nature of his premonition. Giuliano began
to grasp the meaning of this charade.
     ‘My death?’ he scoffed.
     ‘Please, my lord. Do not take these things lightly.’
Hieronymous’s face wore a pained expression. He leant forward
and took hold of Giuliano’s arm. ‘I beg you not to leave the
palace on any account. Take no risks of any kind. Perhaps it can
be... avoided.’ He stared into the young Duke’s eyes.
     Giuliano seemed unmoved. ‘I have no intention of
sacrificing my life to satisfy some old superstitious nonsense.’
     Hieronymous glanced at Federico. The Count stepped
forward. His long nose and raven black hair poked out from
beneath a black velvet hat making him look more sinister than
ever. ‘Remember your father, Giuliano. He, too, scoffed.’
     ‘Yes, I remember my father,’ replied the young Duke tight-
lipped. ‘His death remains a mystery. But it was nothing to do
with the stars, of that I am certain.’ He stared straight at
Federico who was forced to turn away beneath his unflinching
gaze.
     ‘And how are the troubles with the peasants, Uncle?’
Giuliano continued after a moment, this time in a mocking tone.
     ‘We think they are being stirred up by spies sent from our
enemies,’ Federico smiled coldly, ‘but we shall catch them—and
make them pay for it.’ He slapped his gloved palm with his
riding whip and, motioning Hieronymous to follow stalked out
of the room.
     Giuliano and Marco exchanged worried glances. There was
intrigue and villainy afoot.

The Doctor hurried on through the wood. He had abandoned
the futile search on foot for the Mandragora Energy. His
foremost concern now was to recover Sarah.
     He rounded a bend in a path and came upon a group of
peasants resting beneath a tree. He extracted a peach from his
pocket and, taking a bite, approached the peasants in a
nonchalant manner.
     ‘Excuse me, I’m a traveller in these parts. I was wondering if
you had happened to see...’ He broke off aware of a sudden
panic in their faces. In an instant the peasants had snatched up
their belongings and fled into the woods leaving him quite alone.
The reason for their flight was quickly explained as a troop of
armed soldiers rode up and surrounded the Doctor. They were
attired in yellow and scarlet livery.
     The captain of the troop, a heavily built man with a scar on
his left cheek, addressed the Doctor rudely. ‘Who are you?’
     ‘I’m a traveller.’
     ‘Where from?’
     The Doctor smiled. ‘My dear fellow, you’d never believe me.
By the way you haven’t seen a young girl have you? About five
feet five and...’
     ‘Silence!’ the captain roared at him.
     ‘... probably got peach juice all over her chin...’
     The captain whipped out his sword and held it to the
Doctor’s throat. ‘Your life is in peril, dog! Produce your
documents.’
     The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Documents? Certainly—
hold this for a moment.’ He pushed the sword aside and stabbed
his peach on the point. The captain, taken aback, was
momentarily speechless.
     ‘I think you’ll find some of these rather interesting.’ said the
Doctor, rummaging around in his pockets. He pulled out a large
football rattle and stared at it with vague surprise.
‘Extraordinary the things one carries about one’s person.’ He
suddenly whirled the rattle in front of the captain’s horse. The
animal shied and reared, unseating its rider.
     ‘After him!’ yelled the captain, struggling to get his breath
back.
     But the Doctor was already doubling between the stationary
horses like a hare in flight. Before anyone could move he had
pulled a soldier from his mount, leapt into the saddle and
spurred the animal away down the path. In the confusion it took
several seconds for the remaining soldiers to gather their wits
and set off in pursuit. This they eventually did with the scar-
faced captain bellowing angry imprecations at their rear.
     It was a long time since the Doctor had ridden a horse.
Luckily the animal was strong and surefooted and gradually they
began to draw clear of their pursuers. The Doctor had no idea
where he was heading. At some point he knew he would have to
leave the main path and set off into the woodland if he were to
lose his trackers completely.
     He rounded a bend and came to a fork in the path.
Approaching him from the left was a large body of mounted
soldiers in the same scarlet and yellow livery. He wheeled his
horse to the right and set off down the clear pathway but too late
saw it was a trap. Above him in a large overhanging tree were
two soldiers waiting to pounce. As his horse passed beneath they
dropped like stones onto the Doctor’s back and hurled him to
the ground. The Doctor let out a cry of pain as his head caught a
sharp rock. The force of the blow knocked him unconscious and
he lay there dishevelled and defenceless as the pursuing captain
and his troop arrived on the scene.
     The captain grunted with satisfaction as he observed the
Doctor’s prostrate form. ‘Bind the dog before he recovers his
wits!’ he ordered. ‘Count Federico will want to question this
one!’

Sarah woke to find herself tied and gagged. Two men were
bundling her through a warren of dark stone passages. She
guessed they must be underground because the air was damp
and chill and the only source of light came from burning torches
set at intervals in the walls. She realised she must have lost
consciousness when the hooded figures smothered her in the
woods. She had no idea how far they had come, and still had not
seen the faces of her kidnappers. They kept their black cowls
well forward like monks.
    Presently they entered a vast underground chamber like a
huge cavern scooped out of a rocky hillside. More of the hooded
figures formed a semi-circle around a rectangular stone altar in
the middle of the chamber. One of them stepped forward as she
was dragged in. This time she could see his face, he made no
attempt to hide it. He was tall and hollow-checked, a fanatical
gleam in his eyes.
    ‘Release her,’ he said. His voice sounded reverential and
priestly but Sarah felt sure this was not a Christian sect. The
whole place smelt of occultism and magic.
    ‘Where was she found?’
    ‘On the slopes of the Hill of Sorrows.’
    ‘At what hour?’
    ‘At the noon hour.’
    The priestly one nodded with satisfaction. ‘Exactly as it was
foretold. A maiden of face and sturdy of body.’
    ‘You can forget the flattery,’ said Sarah as her gag was
removed. ‘What do you want?’
    The voice grew more incantatory. ‘It is written that some are
conscious of the purpose for which they are chosen, others are as
innocent as lambs.’
    ‘Sorry?’ replied Sarah not following his drift. ‘Try again.’
    ‘My child, the purity of your sacrifice renders it doubly
welcome to the mighty Demnos, god of the twin realms of
moontide and solstice.’
    ‘Sacrifice? Now just a minute—’ Their intention was now
becoming very clear. The priest ignored her. Raising his voice he
commanded, ‘Let her be prepared to receive the sacrificial
blade!’
    Before Sarah could protest the two hooded brothers
grabbed her arms and began to drag her across the floor of the
chamber.
                            3
                        Execution !
The Doctor came round. His head was muzzy and throbbed with
pain. His mind struggled to focus itself. He was being half
carried across a smooth marble floor. Sounds echoed loudly as if
they were in a long corridor. Every so often a large stone pillar
brushed past his shoulder. It dawned on him that he was inside
some sort of palace.
     His captors stopped outside a pair of heavy ornate doors
which swung open before them like magic. They entered. Inside
was a large and richly furnished state-room. In the centre
flanked by guards in scarlet livery sat an imposing figure on a
raised throne. He was elegantly dressed in silk and ermine
robes, on his head the black velvet hat emphasised the
coarseness of his face beneath. The Doctor noted the vulture-like
nose and thin-lipped mouth and decided it was not a face he
could readily warm to.
     ‘This is the man, sire.’ said a voice at the Doctor’s elbow and
he was thrust roughly forward. The Doctor recognised the voice
as belonging to the scar-faced captain.
     ‘So!’ Count Federico rose to his feet and studied the Doctor.
‘I hear you led my ruffians quite a dance.’
     The Doctor smiled. ‘Just a short gallop. Good for the liver.’
     ‘What is your name?’
     ‘Doctor will do.’
     The Count fingered the Doctor’s coat. ‘You wear strange
garments. Where are you from?’
     ‘Does it matter?’ responded the Doctor rudely.
     The Count’s features contorted themselves into an even
uglier expression. ‘You are tall enough, Doctor. Answer my
questions civilly and promptly or your body will be lengthened
on the rack.’
     ‘Don’t threaten me,’ replied the Doctor sharply. ‘I’ve come
here to help you.’
     The captain stepped forward ready to strike. ‘Sire, let me
punish the insolent dog!’
     ‘Wait!’ the Count waved him back. ‘The fellow puzzles me.’
He stared curiously at the Doctor. ‘What help do I need?’
     The Doctor leant closer to explain. ‘An energy wave —part
of the Mandragora Helix—has been released here. It could do
untold damage. It must be neutralised immediately.’
     Federico scowled. ‘What language is this? Make yourself
plain.’
     The Doctor looked round the circle of uncomprehending
faces. He’d forgotten he was in the fifteenth century. ‘Let me put
it this way—a ball of heavenly fire has come to Earth and will
consume all who stand in its path. I must take it back to the
stars.’
     There was a stunned silence then a ripple of laughter ran
through the room. The captain spoke first. ‘His mind is afflicted,
sire, the fall from the horse...’
     ‘No,’ said the Count with a glint of understanding in his
eyes. ‘He professes sorcery.’ He smiled evilly at the Doctor. ‘But
there is no gold for you in San Martino. My seer, Hieronymous,
is the finest in the land.’
     ‘Well just ask your seer if he’s ever seen an energy wave,’
replied the Doctor impatiently.
     Federico was not to be put off. He circled the Doctor slowly
as if inspecting an animal in a cage. An expression of eager
cunning crept over his ugly features. ‘Can you tell the future?’
he asked slyly.
     ‘I can tell your future,’ retorted the Doctor, ‘and it’s likely to
be very short and very unpleasant unless you listen to me.’
    The Count’s face darkened and he fell silent for a moment
or two. Then turning to a guard he ordered Hieronymous to be
summoned immediately. ‘If you are making sport with us.’ he
snarled ominously at the Doctor, ‘we shall make sport with your
body. Be warned!’

Outside dusk was falling and the deep notes of the carillon rang
across the city informing the inhabitants of the nightly curfew.
Under the broad arch of the city gates a burly soldier was
shooing the stragglers inside.
     ‘Curfew... curfew... hurry along!’ He prodded an overladen
donkey through the opening with its equally laden master, a fat
merchant from Padua. Satisfied they were the last he called out,
‘Close the gates!’ Above him on the ramparts the gatekeeper
dodged into the winding room and the heavy doors began to
close.
     As the soldier was about to slip through the narrowing gap
his attention was caught by a strange shrieking noise. He
stopped and turned. It seemed to be coming from the air above
him. He looked upwards and his whole body froze with horror.
Swooping down towards him from the sky was a blinding ball of
fire about ten feet in diameter. He drew his sword but it grew
white hot and burst into flames. Screaming he scrabbled at the
city gates trying to find the opening but they had already shut
behind him. He was trapped. As he cowered against the archway
the ball of fire descended upon him and engulfed his body in a
blaze of dazzling light. Seconds later the light disappeared. All
that remained was the hideously shrivelled form of the hapless
soldier, like a piece of scarred wood struck by lightning.

Inside the palace Hieronymous was conducting his
interrogation. The sorcerer weaved and bobbed around the
Doctor like a monkey on a string, shooting questions at him
from all sides. All the time he kept one eye cocked towards his
master Federico who sat watching quietly and impassively. The
astrologer’s black skull cap and thick grey beard lent him a
particularly sinister air in the Doctor’s opinion. In addition he
had noticed a suspicious looking phial of liquid which the
sorcerer had brought to Federico on first entering. A look had
passed between the two men suggesting complicity in some
business of which the other courtiers in the room were ignorant.
An uneasy fear was growing in the Doctor’s mind that he had
stumbled into a complicated and dangerous state of affairs. And
this childish interrogation was not helping matters.
     ‘Now answer me this,’ continued the soothsayer, ‘what does
it signify when Venus is in opposition to Saturn and a great
shadow passes over the moon?’
     The Doctor sighed. ‘This is really all a great waste of time.’
     ‘Answer him! ‘ commanded the Count, rising from his chair.
     ‘Well it depends, doesn’t it?’
     ‘On what?’ hissed Hieronymous smelling the chance of
ensnaring his prey.
     ‘On whether the cock crows three times before dawn and
twelve hens lay addled eggs.’
     ‘What school of philosophy is that?’ demanded the
astrologer suspiciously.
     The Doctor smiled. ‘I can easily instruct you. All it needs is a
colourful imagination and a quick tongue.’
     Hieronymous scowled blackly. ‘And you, “my friend”, have a
mocking tongue, which can lead you into great danger.’ He
glanced pointedly at Federico.
     The Doctor ignored this veiled threat. ‘It is you who are in
danger, believe me.’ He turned to the Count. ‘Surely you don’t
allow yourselves to be taken in by this clap-trap?’
     ‘Silence!’
      The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and gazed round the
room. For the first time he caught sight of a new-comer, a
handsome young man with long dark-brown hair standing in the
shadows behind Federico’s chair. He had slipped in unnoticed,
and was now following the proceedings with great attention.
      For the present, however, the inquisition had apparently
been abandoned and Hieronymous was whispering intently into
his master’s ear. Seizing his opportunity the Doctor casually
uncapped the phial of liquid left on the nearby table and sniffed
it.
      ‘Rat poison?’ he muttered to himself, ‘and in such an
attractive bottle.’
      ‘Put that down! ‘ Federico hissed angrily.
      ‘You shouldn’t leave poison lying about,’ said the Doctor,
‘it’s a dangerous habit.’
      ‘Not so dangerous as your failure to answer our questions,’
replied the Count coldly. He turned to the captain. ‘Prepare the
execution.’
      The Doctor was immediately seized by half a dozen guards
and dragged from the chamber.
      ‘Now wait a minute!’ he yelled, ‘you haven’t listened to a
word I’ve said—’ The doors of the chamber slammed shut
cutting off any further protest.
      Federico rose to leave but found his exit blocked by
Giuliano.
      ‘Who is that man?’ asked the young Duke.
      ‘A spy.’
      ‘Or an alchemist?’ Giuliano’s questioning gaze fell on the
phial of liquid.
      ‘A draught for easing my stomach, nephew,’ replied
Federico and he hurriedly pocketed the phial. ‘Hieronymous
studies the humours of the body as well as the patterns of the
stars.’ He strode past Giuliano and out of the room. The young
Duke looked after him thoughtfully. There was evil brewing
between his uncle and Hieronymous, the signs were clear. Yet,
there was little he could do except watch—and wait.

Deep beneath the city the sacrificial chamber of the Brother of
Demnos reverberated to the sound of a low and eerie chanting.
A file of black-cowled figures processed slowly round the bare
stone altar in the middle of the chamber, intoning strange
litanies and orisons. Their faces were covered by grotesque and
ancient masks hideously carved out of gold and silver into fixed
expressions of hate and evil. In the flickering torch-light they
lent the scene a disturbing and hellish touch. As each brother
passed the altar he bowed and threw a pink flower-petal onto
the clean stone surface.
     Then the priest entered the chamber carrying a silk cushion
which he placed at one end of the altar. On it lay a gleaming
sharply-pointed knife. This was the sacrificial blade.
     Not far away in a cramped stone dungeon Sarah could hear
the chanting. The words were foreign sounding and confused
but their import was clear enough. Unless she could find a way
out of this place she would end up as just another sacrifice to
their wretched god, whatever his name was. She grabbed at the
iron bars of the cell and tried to budge them. It was hopeless.
She let out a sob of despair and sank to the floor. The utter
futility of her situation was all too clear.
     Then a key turned in the lock and the heavy metal door
swung open. Two brothers stepped inside and swiftly seized her
by the wrists while a third covered her in a long white robe.
Sarah struggled as fiercely as she could, but could not prevent
the robe from being put round her. Next, her head was forced
back and a goblet full of liquid poured down her throat. It tasted
sweet and sickly. It must have been a drug because instantly she
began to feel drowsy and light-headed. Through the quickly
spreading numbness she heard the voice of the priest in the
doorway, soft and soothing.
    ‘You are lucky, my child. Few have the honour of serving
the great god Demnos so totally. When the moon rises over the
southern obelisk your hour of glory will have come.’
    The mellifluous tones grew more and more distant and
Sarah realised she was losing control of her senses. She tried to
fight the effects of the drug, but consciousness was ebbing faster
and faster away and finally she blacked out.

In the palace the long marble corridors were deserted. The
candles on the walls flickered fitfully in the evening draughts
and cast long shadows across the richly patterned floors. A small
door opened halfway along one of the dimly lit passages and a
sinister skull-capped figure flitted into view. It was
Hieronymous, the court astrologer. Swiftly and silently he
traversed the corridor and disappeared down a narrow staircase.
With the speed and sureness of one who had made the journey
before, he threaded his way down a maze of passageways, lower
and lower until he reached the nethermost regions of the palace.
Finally, he stopped in front of a rough stone wall. With practised
ease he pressed his fingers against the stone-work, and the wall
swung away in front of him to reveal a secret passage beyond.
He stepped through, and the wall slid back into position with a
clunk.

Above ground it was twilight. Normally at this hour a quiet
peace would fall on the city of San Martino as all and sundry
retired for the night. But now the city was alive and buzzing. In
the main square in front of the palace crowds pushed and
squeezed their way forward towards a raised wooden platform
on which stood an executioner’s block. Rows of pikemen in the
scarlet and yellow livery of Count Federico stood stiffly to
attention at the foot of the dais, and on all sides of the square
mounted guards formed a protective cordon through which no
one could escape.
     The crowd grew fidgety and restless, the guards’ horses
snorted and pawed the ground impatiently; everyone was
waiting.
     Then, a line of drummers stepped forward from beneath
the palace entrance and began to beat a slow and solemn roll. A
gasp of fear and excitement ran through the square as the
deathly figure of the executioner appeared. His chest and arms
were bare and over his head he wore a black hood with eye-slits.
He carried an enormous two-handed sword. At a signal from a
balcony above he took up his position on the platform. In the
balcony, hidden by shadows, sat Count Federico.
     Suddenly, the crowd fell silent and there was no sound apart
from the measured beat of the drums. The Doctor, stern and
tight-lipped, was led into the square flanked by four armed
guards. At their head was the scar-faced captain who had first
captured him. As the Doctor mounted the steps of the wooden
platform, a ghost of a smile played around the Count’s cruel
mouth.
     The Doctor halted in front of the block, and the drumming
ended abruptly. He looked round at the sea of faces. Their
expressions were curious, eager, fearful—that peculiar mixture
of emotions which always accompanies moments of spectacle and
violence. He raised his eyes above the crowd to the trees and
hills beyond. The sky was a beautiful pale blue, fingered with
red. How ironic, thought the Doctor, that he was to lose his life
in this little backwater of human existence. Earth, the planet he
had come to know and love as a second home, was about to
dispense with his services for ever. That was, unless he could
pull off the impossible—and somehow this time the odds seemed
stacked too firmly against him.
     He glanced about him. The platform was surrounded by
pikemen and beyond them a ring of horsemen blocked any form
of escape. If only he had more time to think.
     ‘Kneel! ‘
     He was forced to his knees by two guards who then stepped
smartly away. The Doctor loosened the scarf around his neck.
He was sweating. The executioner stepped forward and gently
positioned his head on the block. It felt strangely comfortable.
     Then, at a signal from Count Federico, the executioner
raised his massive sword in a slow back-wards arc and stood
poised to deliver the deadly blow.
                             4
                          Sacrifice
‘Excuse me,’ said the Doctor lifting his head from the block. ‘I
always like to look my best on these occasions.’ He flashed a
smile at the executioner who froze like a statue in mid-swing.
Carefully and unhurriedly, the Doctor began to unwind his long
scarf. Then in one explosive movement he flung it round the
executioner’s ankles and pulled. The man tumbled onto the
wooden boards in an ungainly heap, his sword narrowly missing
the Doctor’s head as it fell from his grasp. In the moment of
confusion that followed, the Doctor leapt to his feet and took a
running dive off the edge of the platform. He sailed through the
air over the heads of the astonished pikemen and landed with a
thud on the back of the nearest horse. With one blow he swept
the rider from his saddle and dug his heels into the horse’s
flanks. The startled animal reared violently and bolted like a
bullet from a gun.
     Scattering onlookers and guards alike the Doctor hurtled
towards the nearest exit from the square. Blocking his path were
two pikemen and a mounted soldier but the Doctor’s steed
vaulted the long pointed staves like a champion hurdler and,
landing expertly, wheeled round past the remaining guard who
was too surprised to move.
     ‘Fools! Stop him!’ screamed Federico at the top of his voice.
Tumbling over themselves in haste the remaining guards gave
chase. But the Doctor had a head start and was already out of
sight and racing through the cobbled streets like a man
possessed. He knew it would be foolish to try and outrace his
pursuers over any great distance. Ahead a low parapet ran along
one side of the street. He quickly reined in the horse and
jumped from the saddle. Then, giving the gallant animal a good
slap on the rump, he swung over the parapet and waited,
knowing the growing darkness would help protect him. Seconds
later the clattering hooves of the pursuing troop thundered by
inches from his head. He remained perfectly still until sure they
were gone, then let out his breath and looked around. Below
him was a drop of about twelve feet onto a paved terrace.
Although it was growing dark, he could make out a number of
paths leading from the terrace into a maze of wooden arbours
and grottos. He guessed it must be part of the palace gardens.
No doubt the Guard would start searching there very shortly,
but at least the trees would afford him some cover. He dropped
nimbly onto the terrace, and set off down a narrow winding
path.
     He had travelled no more than a couple of hundred yards
when he heard voices calling out on either side of him. He could
see the flicker of torchlight through the trees. The search parties
were out quicker than he had anticipated. He hesitated, not
knowing which way to turn.
     Suddenly, two pikemen appeared on the pathway ahead.
They let out a cry and began running towards him. In
desperation the Doctor dived off the path and down a bushy
slope. He slithered and stumbled to the bottom only to discover
he was trapped in a dark stone grotto. Apart from the slope he
had just come down there was no exit. He was walled in on all
sides by what looked like ancient ruins. The excited yells of the
pikemen grew nearer. He was cornered like a rat in a hole.
     Then an extraordinary thing happened. As the Doctor’s
back pressed against the rough stonework he felt the wall behind
him move! He spun round and sure enough a gap had appeared
in the masonry the height of a door. He pushed against the wall
with both hands, and it swung open to reveal a narrow flight of
steps leading into the ground. Unable to believe his good
fortune the Doctor stepped smartly through the door, and
heaved it back into place behind him.
    Moments later the two pikemen arrived on the other side.
The Doctor could hear their astonished conversation through
the wall.
    ‘I swear he came in here,’ said the first, ‘and there’s no way
out! Are we chasing a phantom?’
    ‘Or a worshipper of Demnos?’ whispered the second, fear
creeping into his voice. ‘Those devils know a hundred secret
ways through the city.’
    ‘A passage? Quick then, let’s find the trick!’
    The Doctor held his breath as the first pikeman began to
push and prod at the stonework.
    ‘No Giovanni,’ said the other restraining his companion. ‘I’d
not venture into those catacombs for all the gold in Rome. I
know men who’ve tried and never been seen again! ‘
    There was a pause and the first pikeman muttered
something the Doctor did not catch. He must have been
convinced by his companion’s reasoning because the next thing
the two of them could be heard cursing and grunting as they
climbed back up the steep slope.
    The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and considered his next
move. The pikeman’s talk about the worshippers of Demnos had
aroused his curiosity. They sounded very much like the hooded
brothers who had kidnapped Sarah. If he had stumbled upon an
entrance to their meeting place then he might well be able to
find her. He set off cautiously down the narrow stone steps and
into the thickening gloom of the catacombs.

He had not gone very far when a sixth sense alerted him to
danger. A few feet ahead lay an intersection with another
passage and down it he could hear footsteps approaching. He
pressed himself back into a niche in the rock-wall.
     The footsteps grew nearer and finally a figure in long
purple robes appeared out of the darkness. It stopped at the
junction of the two passageways and, facing the blank wall,
stretched out its arms and pressed the stonework. From where
he was hiding the Doctor could only glimpse the outline of the
figure but he felt sure it was wearing a head-mask of some kind.
There was a rumble and where the figure had pushed the rock-
face a section of it now slid aside. The figure stepped through
and the entrance closed behind him.
     The Doctor waited several moments then emerged from his
niche and approached the rock-face. Carefully he explored the
blank wall with the tips of his fingers until he discovered a small
indentation. He pressed, the same rumbling noise occurred, and
the wall slid aside to reveal a further passage beyond. The
Doctor tip-toed through and the secret door swung to behind
him.

In a quiet ante-room in the palace Giuliano was examining the
body of the sentry killed outside the city gates. A guardsman
looked on, fearful and wide-eyed.
     ‘No it is not a fire demon.’ said the Prince reassuringly, ‘such
things are pure superstition.’
     ‘Then what is it, sire?’
     ‘His skin is such a strange colour. I’ve not seen a corpse like
this before.’ He frowned, genuinely puzzled, then covered the
body with a sheet. ‘Poor man.’
     ‘We thought...’ mentioned the guardsman, ‘... with your
interest in the new learning...’
     The Prince put up his hand. ‘You did well to bring him to
me. But the new learning does not always have answers. It
means only that we must throw away old beliefs like witchcraft,
sorcery and demons and trust our own intelligence.’
    ‘I still think it could be a fine demon, sire. I once heard of a
case in Florence...’
    The Prince smiled at him. ‘All right. You may return to your
duties.’
    The guard bowed low and left the room. A moment later
Marco entered.
    ‘No further news, my lord.’ He stopped as he caught sight of
the body on the couch.
    ‘He was found at the city gate, Marco.’
    He lead his companion to the couch and pulled back the
sheet. ‘What do you make of it. old friend?’
    Marco winced at the sight and he looked questioningly at his
young master.

Robed in white and looking deathly pale Sarah lay unconscious
on the sacrificial altar. Around her a hundred hooded figures
whirled like dervishes in a mounting frenzy of religious fervour.
As they danced around their victim their grotesque masks
seemed to come alive in the flickering torchlight, like ghouls
awakened from the dead.
     The ritual continued for several minutes. Then the brothers
dropped to the floor and knelt towards the altar. The High
Priest appeared at one end of the chamber and made his way
slowly to the head of the altar. Grasping the sacrificial blade
which lay on the cushion by Sarah’s head he turned and
displayed it to the kneeling throng. A response of feverish
excitement rang around the chamber. A second figure cloaked
in purple robes and wearing a mask carved from pure gold
emerged from a small hidden entrance near the altar. With its
leering mouth and cruel, deep-set eyes, the masked visage
seemed the embodiment of evil.
    The figure approached the altar and took up a position on
the highest step. The High Priest bowed to him and began to
chant.
    ‘Let the sacrifice be swift and certain lest the great god
Demnos be displeased!’
    ‘So shall it be,’ replied the masked figure and taking hold of
the sacrificial knife he raised it point downward over Sarah’s
defenceless form. The chanting of the High Priest and the
responses of the brothers rose to a pitch of hysteria, echoing
round the vast chamber in a cacophony of sound.

The Doctor paused. He had reached a dimly lit pas-sage not far
from the main chamber. The eerie chanting sound which he had
heard for several minutes now began to ring more loudly in his
ears. He hurried on, drawn by the mesmeric incantation.
Intuition, sixth sense, that telepathic power which Time Lords
possess told him Sarah was ahead and in danger. He rounded
one more bend in the tunnel and there in front was the chamber
and the source of the sound he had been following. For a second
he was stunned by the sheer numbers of black hooded figures
covering the floor of the cavern. But that shock was superseded
by an even greater one as he spied Sarah on the altar, the
sacrificial knife poised ready to plunge into her heart.
     Both the High Priest and the masked figure were gazing
upwards to the roof of the cavern incanting the final phrases of
their votive offering. In the instant’s delay, the Doctor leapt
through the kneeling bodies and gained the altar steps. As the
voice of the masked figure reached a climax and the knife began
its rapid descent, the Doctor swept Sarah up in his arms and
lifted her bodily from the path of the flashing blade. It dug into
the stone surface with a steely clang almost throwing the masked
figure off balance. It took a few moments for him to realise what
had happened but then he let out a scream of rage and pointed
to the fleeing form of the Doctor.
     ‘Seize him!’
     The High Priest ran down the altar steps followed by three
brothers. The remainder were still too confused to take in the
situation.
     The Doctor struggled with Sarah towards the passage which
led from the chamber.
     The pursuing brothers were almost on him when something
so remarkable occurred it halted them dead in their tracks. The
entire chamber had begun to glow with an ethereal light and the
sound of a great rushing wind reverberated around the
cavernous walls. The brothers, including the Doctor’s pursuers,
turned to face the altar where the masked figure in purple now
stood rooted to the spot, arms upraised in a supplicating
gesture.
     ‘Brothers, look!’ he cried, ‘our prayers are answered... our
temple is restored.’
     As the Doctor watched, the broken rocky masses which
formed the chamber walls began to shimmer and pulsate and
the ghostly outline of a beautiful, pillared temple complete in
every detail filled the chamber. Then the Doctor heard a familiar
whining noise and the glowing red sphere of Mandragora
Energy descended through the roof of the cavern, and engulfed
the altar in a dazzling blaze of light.
     ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ whispered a tiny weak voice
in the Doctor’s ear. He turned to see Sarah, her eyes half open
in an effort to regain consciousness. Thankful to be able to
release her weight from his arms he lowered her carefully to the
ground.
     ‘It seems our own little bit of the Mandragora Helix has
finally got here, Sarah.’
      As he spoke the light around the altar faded. It was as if the
stone slab had somehow absorbed the Energy.
      ‘Time to leave,’ whispered the Doctor. Taking Sarah’s arm
he led her on tiptoe out of the chamber.
      Behind them the attention of the assembled brethren was
still diverted as they gazed with awe upon their restored temple.
Plucking up courage the High Priest approached the altar and
bowed reverentially.
      ‘It is a dream of two thousand years come true! How is it
possible?’
      ‘Faith, brother,’ responded the masked figure, ‘Faith! ‘
      Then the High Priest let out a cry. ‘Look!’
      As they stared at the altar a column of radiant light
appeared at one end. It was about three feet in diameter and
seemed to shine straight down through the roof of the chamber.
      ‘Stand back! ‘ commanded the masked figure. The Priest
and surrounding brethren fell away from the altar as they were
bid and the masked figure slowly climbed the altar steps.
      The light looked immensely dangerous, like a current of
high-voltage power. The masked figure reached the top of the
steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped into the pillar of light!
He was instantly illuminated in a blinding supernatural glow.
His purple robes glittered and shimmered, and from the eye-
slits in his mask flashed an incandescent light. The figure
seemed to suffer no pain; rather he was held by the radiant
column in an ecstasy of paralysis.
      After a few seconds a distant booming voice, unearthly in
tone and cadence, reverberated around the chamber. It
emanated from the column of light itself.
      ‘You have been chosen for powers undreamt of,’ it said.
‘Through us you will become supreme ruler of Earth. Do you
understand us?’
      The masked figure nodded and replied, ‘I understand.’
     ‘Only you must stand in this spot,’ the voice continued. ‘Any
other mortal who dares stand where you stand now will he
destroyed. You and you alone will carry out our will on Earth.’
     There was a pause. ‘What must I do?’ whispered the masked
figure obediently.
     ‘There is one being apart from you who knows of our
purposes. He is called the Doctor. He must be found and
eliminated!’
     ‘How? How must I do this?’
     This time there was no reply. The light faded abruptly, and
the ghostly outline of the temple disappeared leaving only the
bare stone altar in the ruinous cavern as before.
     The masked figure, no longer illuminated, turned to
address the astonished brethren.
     ‘The service is concluded,’ he announced. ‘Go. But
remember—no word of this to a living soul.’
     Dazed and mute with wonder the brothers began to
disperse.
     With no further word the masked figure also left the
chamber. He hurried along a narrow passage which led finally
through a secret door into a small vestibule. Once there, he
began to disrobe. As the long purple vestments fell to the
ground the figure turned to face a mirror on the wall. Raising
both hands he carefully removed the golden mask.
     Revealed beneath it were the sinister grinning features of
Hieronymous. the court astrologer! He stared at his own image
in the mirror for several long moments. Finally he spoke.
     ‘Power undreamt of! Supreme ruler of the universe!’
     His eyes blazed with hypnotic fascination, as if his entire
being had succumbed to that overwhelming and irresistible idea.
The Doctor guided Sarah hurriedly though a maze of
underground passages. She was still suffering from the effects of
the drug and every so often, stumbled and fell.
     After ten minutes or so a pale light filtered into the passage
ahead and the close, fetid atmosphere gave way to softer, fresher
air. The Doctor settled Sarah into an alcove and went to explore.
He had hoped to retrace his steps back to the secret door but the
warren of catacombs had defeated him. However, it seemed they
had come upon an entrance which led out into the palace
gardens at another point. As he peered into the gloom he could
make out groups of soldiers still searching by torchlight. He
nipped back to Sarah.
     ‘We’ll have to wait here for a while.’ He gave her a cheerful
smile.
     Sarah grinned back. ‘Anything’s better than being sacrificed
to the great god Demnos.’
     ‘Demnos?’ The Doctor muttered the name. Ever since he
had heard it on the lips of the pikemen it had rankled at the
back of his mind.
     ‘Have you heard of him?’ asked Sarah.
     The Doctor nodded. It had come in a flash of memory. ‘A
particularly nasty Roman cult, which was supposed to have died
out in the third century.’
     ‘So why are they still around in the fifteenth century?’
Sarah’s voice echoed in the darkness. ‘And what have they got to
do with the Mandragora Helix?’
     ‘Put it the other way, Sarah. What has the Mandragora
Helix to do with them? What we saw back there was a sub-
thermal recombination of ionised plasma.’
     There was a slight pause. ‘Simple,’ said Sarah. ‘I should have
thought of that.’
     ‘The question is,’ continued the Doctor, ‘why a remote,
obscure little planet like Earth... what is their intention?’... He
tailed off ruminating on the problem.
     ‘Conquest? Invasion? They want to take over Earth and fill it
full of old Roman temples.’
     The Doctor laughed. ‘The Intelligences that in-habit the
Helix don’t have a physical existence in the way that you or I
would understand it. They don’t need Earth.’
     The Doctor was about to speculate further when he received
a nudge in the ribs from Sarah’s elbow. ‘Come in Number Seven
your time is up.’
     ‘What?’
     Sarah nodded towards the darkness behind him. The
Doctor whirled round. Four large shapes were advancing
towards them in the gloom, their long pikes glinting in the
reflected moonlight from the entrance. They surrounded the
Doctor and Sarah and motioned the pair to their feet. Resistance
was futile. They both obeyed and allowed themselves to be
prodded out of the tunnel and into the palace gardens.
     ‘Just when the conversation was getting interesting too,’
sighed the Doctor loudly and gave a wink of encouragement to
Sarah.
                          5
                 The Prince Must Die
The Doctor and Sarah were led hurriedly through the gardens
and into the palace itself. Once inside, their captors marched
them silently along dimly lit corridors, and finally bundled them
into a small wood-panelled chamber. A handsome young man
with dark-brown hair and wearing fine garments rose from a
table as they were thrust in. The Doctor recognised him
immediately as the stranger who had observed his interrogation
by Hieronymous.
     The young man nodded curtly to the guards who released
their hold on the prisoners and left the room.
     ‘Whatever happened to that old-time Italian courtesy?’
complained Sarah rubbing her sore wrists.
     ‘I apologise if you were roughly handled,’ said the young
man. ‘Speed was essential. My uncle has men searching for you
everywhere.’
     The Doctor looked surprised. ‘Your uncle?’
     The young man nodded. ‘Count Federico. He has given
orders that you be executed immediately you are found. Luckily,
a few of the guards are still loyal to their Prince.’ He gave a brief
smile.
     Sarah felt a sudden sense of relief. ‘And that’s you?’
     ‘Giuliano, Duke of San Martino.’ The young man bowed
politely.
     ‘And this is my companion, Marco.’
     A tall fair-haired young man stepped forward from the back
of the room where he had been concealed in the shadows. He
bowed stiffly.
     ‘Tell me more about your uncle,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘The Count murdered Giuliano’s father,’ interposed Marco
with vehemence.
     ‘Are you certain?’
     Giuliano nodded. ‘Certain.’
     ‘And now he’s plotting to kill Giuliano.’
     ‘I take it you don’t get on with your uncle,’ smiled the
Doctor.
     The Prince looked serious. ‘My uncle is a tyrant.’
     ‘While Giuliano lives Federico can never claim the throne,’
explained Marco.
     ‘I do not fear so much for myself as for the people,’
continued the young Prince. ‘Were he ever to rule San Martino
all knowledge, all attempt at learning would be suppressed.’
     The Doctor nodded understandingly. ‘And that’s what he
wants? Well Giuliano. if you don’t mind my saying so you look
good for at least another fifty years.’
     The Prince lowered his eyes. ‘I am to die. Hieronymous has
predicted it.’
     The Doctor gave a snort of derision. ‘Hieronymous? I
shouldn’t take too much notice of him.’
     ‘I try not to,’ replied the Prince in a level voice. ‘From the
way you spoke to him I take it you are a man of science?’ His
eyes searched the Doctor’s intelligently.
     ‘I do dabble a little,’ said the Doctor modestly.
     ‘Excellent! I crave for contact with men of intellect and
understanding.’
     The Doctor seemed amused. ‘How flattering! But surely
you’ve not gone to all these lengths just to enjoy my company?’
     In answer, Giuliano crossed to a screened alcove at the rear
of the chamber. ‘There are things I want to show you, Doctor.
This—for example.’ He snatched back the screen to reveal a
dead body on a pallet. Sarah winced. The body, once one of
Federico’s guards, was hideously disfigured with burn marks.
     The Doctor stepped back looking grim. ‘Yes Helix Energy.
High ionisation. It only has to touch human tissue...’
     Giuliano looked puzzled.
     ‘You’re not talking his language, Doctor,’ interjected Sarah.
     ‘This man’s body was found by the city gates,’ explained the
Prince. ‘The guards are muttering of fire devils. I of course do
not accept such superstitions.’
     ‘Nevertheless?’ enquired the Doctor.
     Giuliano frowned. ‘It worries me. Is it possible that
something has entered the city—perhaps something conjured
up by Hieronymous?’
     The Doctor shook his head gravely. ‘Something has certainly
entered the city, Giuliano—a malevolent power quite beyond the
experience of that old fake. The question is why?’
     The Prince still seemed puzzled. ‘I don’t understand...’
     The Doctor dug his hands deep into his pockets and began
pacing the room. ‘Why here? Why now?’
     ‘And what has it got to do with the Cult of Demnos?’ piped
up Sarah.
     ‘Exactly,’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘We seem to have rather a
lot of questions. It’s time we started finding a few answers.’

Outside Giuliano’s chamber there were increasing signs of
activity. The clank of armour and shuffling footsteps echoed
along the palace corridors indicating the search was being
intensified, and through the open window came distant yells of
guards still hunting the gardens.
     Meanwhile Count Federico strode about his chamber like a
caged tiger, awaiting news. There was a knock at his door and
the scar-faced captain entered and bowed.
     ‘Well,?’ snarled the Count impatiently. ‘Have you nothing to
report?’
     ‘Only that they have disappeared, sire.’
     ‘Impossible!’ exploded Federico. He aimed a kick at a
nearby footstool.
     ‘There has been no sign of them since they were last seen in
the palace gardens.’
     The Count’s face grew black with fury. ‘They must be found!
Something about that Doctor disturbs me greatly. I want every
corner of the palace searched. Take all the men you need.’ He
turned his back on the captain and waved him angrily out of the
room.
     The captain bowed silently but remained where he stood.
‘Sire.’ he said softly.
     Federico’s broad back remained firmly turned. ‘What is it?’
     The captain took out a piece of paper from his belt. ‘This
list—it was prepared by the Duke Giuliano’s secretary.’
     Federico span round and snatched the list. ‘To the King of
Naples?’ he read aloud, ‘... the Duke of Milan... the Duke of
Padua... the Doge of Venice... Signoria of Florence...’ His
expression grew more enraged by each name.
     ‘They are the rulers who have accepted Giuliano’s invitation
and are coming to San Martino,’ explained the captain in a
servile tone.
     A look of contempt appeared on the Count’s ugly face. ‘To
celebrate his accession to the Dukedom. The arrogant puppy!’
He screwed up the list in his hand, hurled it against the wall and
stormed out of the chamber.

Moments later there was a sharp rat-a-tat at Hieronymous’s door
and Federico strode in. Hieronymous looked up in surprise
from a pile of ancient charts he was studying.
    ‘I did not say enter,’ he said curtly. His face wore a cool and
reserved expression unlike his normal obsequious manner.
    ‘What?’ Federico seemed momentarily taken aback.
     ‘I wish to be left alone,’ snapped the old soothsayer and
returned to his charts.
     ‘In this palace, astrologer, I come and go as I please,’
growled Federico.
     ‘This is my private room.’
     The Count’s eyes narrowed and he leant forward
threateningly. ‘Whatever room you have here is because I allow
it. I’ve warned you before, Hieronymous, do not get above
yourself.’
     Hieronymous said nothing for a moment then responded in
a more conciliatory fashion. ‘I have studying to do. But if there is
something urgent you want?’
     ‘Yes, it is urgent!’ shouted Federico, then realising he might
be overheard lowered his voice. ‘We cannot wait until Mars or
Saturn or whatever other nonsense it was you said—Giuliano
must die at once.’ He fixed Hieronymous with a penetrating
stare.
     ‘It is not nonsense.’ retorted the astrologer.
     Federico continued unheeding. ‘He’s called a gathering
here of all the leading scholars and philosophers in Italy and
their patrons.’
     Hieronymous looked up sharply. ‘Gathering?’
     Federico nodded impatiently. ‘Don’t you see what it means?
With all those important people here, at his invitation, he will
establish his power in the state for good.’
     ‘So?’
     Federico banged his fist down on Hieronymous’s charts. ‘So
it will be harder to get rid of him!’ He paused for breath. ‘He
must die. Tonight! ‘
     Hieronymous drew himself up to his full height and shook
his head solemnly. ‘It cannot be.’
     ‘Why not? I have the poison.’ Federico scowled. ‘I want you
to announce that you have made a new finding,’ he waved his
arm airily, ‘some new conjunction has come to light. You’ll think
of. something.’ He pressed his face close to Hieronymous.
‘Sudden death!’
    Hieronymous withdrew. ‘You’re asking me to invent a
horoscope.’
    ‘That’s what you always do,’ snapped the Count.
    A look of hurt appeared on the soothsayer’s visage. ‘Do you
know what it is you are mocking?’ He raised his voice. ‘Do you
know what power is held by the celestial bodies? They are not at
our beck and call.’
    Federico took hold of Hieronymous by the shoulders and
shook him violently. ‘I’m asking you to help me. as you did
before.’ His voice grew menacing. ‘Giuliano must die tonight! Do
you understand?’ He bellowed in the soothsayer’s ears, ‘Tonight!
‘
                         6
             The Secret of the Temple
‘Spirit from the heavens? I thought you were a man of science,
Doctor.’
     The speaker was Giuliano and his handsome features wore a
vexed expression. He was now alone with the Doctor and Sarah
having dispatched Marco to keep unwelcome visitors at bay.
     The Doctor, who had been pacing up and down all this time
expounding theories, suddenly stopped and smiled.
     ‘It’s rather hard to explain the concept of Helix energy—
either sub- or super-thermal ionisation—in a medieval
vocabulary.’
     ‘I think you’re doing a great job,’ interposed Sarah, picking
at a bunch of grapes on the table in front of her. ‘But you
haven’t explained why these spirits are appearing in romantic
old fifteenth-century Italy, have you?’ She popped a grape in
her mouth.
     ‘Perhaps because the worshippers of Demnos offer a ready
made power-base,’ replied the Doctor suddenly attracted by the
idea. ‘And what better time than the fifteenth century? The time
between the dark ages of superstition and the dawn of Reason.’
     Sarah frowned. ‘You mean if they can gain control of Earth
now... through an ancient religion...?’
     ‘That could be the plan.’ The Doctor turned excitedly to the
young Prince. ‘Giuliano, that temple must be destroyed!’
     ‘But only ruins stand there now, Doctor.’
     ‘Those ruins are a focal point for enormous forces,’
exclaimed the Doctor. ‘The Helix Energy has penetrated every
stone.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Is there a way I can get to
the temple without being seen?’
    Guiliano nodded, impressed by the Doctor’s conviction and
sense of urgency. ‘I’ll show you myself.’
    ‘No. It’s better if I go alone.’
    The Prince shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ The Doctor
hesitated, looked at Sarah. They could not risk being caught
again.
    ‘All right,’ he said. ‘As far as the temple, but no further.’
    Giuliano crossed to a large wooden chest and took out a
couple of swords.
    ‘Here! ‘ He threw one to the Doctor who caught it expertly,
and executed a series of clever flourishes.
    ‘If I’d known we were coming I’d have practised my épée,’
he exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye. Sarah grinned.
    ‘We’ll take the back staircase,’ explained Giuliano. He
opened the door warily and, satisfied that none of Federico’s
guards were lurking in the shadows, led them quickly away.

Moments later the three of them emerged from a rear door of
the palace, crossed a series of small cobbled courtyards, and
disappeared into the welcoming cover of the gardens.
    It was nearly dawn. A slight dew lay on the grass dampening
their clothes as they brushed through. The young Prince led
them down a maze of hidden pathways until the palace was left
far behind. There was no sign of search parties and they made
rapid progress. At one point the Doctor thought they passed the
secret entrance he had discovered earlier, but Giuliano did not
pause. The gardens lacked any reliable landmarks and various
paths and grottoes were deceptively similar.
    After about twenty minutes the track grew steep and rocky
then suddenly dropped down beside a small stream. On the far
side a woody bluff rose up a hundred feet or so, its side covered
with bushes and thick overhanging trees. Giuliano guided them
on stepping stones across the stream, and up to the face of the
rocky mount.
     Scattered about the foot were large lumps of masonry,
ancient broken pillars of Greek or Roman design. They had
been there for centuries probably, covered with thick moss and
trailing vines.
     ‘This is it,’ said Giuliano. He pulled back one of the bushes
to reveal a hidden entrance running into the hillside.
     The Doctor peered into the forbidding gloom, then turned
and addressed the other two. ‘From this point on I must go
alone.’
     Giuliano was about to protest but Sarah held his arm and
shook her head. This was a matter for the Doctor. She had come
to recognise times when it was best not to interfere—when the
Doctor seemed guided by inner forces not fully understandable
to humans. This was one of those occasions.
     The Doctor gripped his sword firmly and without a further
word disappeared into the dark tunnel.
     From a hidden cache on the other side of the stream a
helmeted figure watched quietly as Sarah and Giuliano retreated
to the cover of a ruined column. He was dressed in the scarlet
and yellow livery of Federico’s bodyguard. He waited a few
moments until satisfied they were not going to leave, then
slipped away furtively through the trees in the direction of the
palace.

Federico was prowling his chamber like a fretful insomniac when
there was a perfunctory knock at the door and the captain burst
in, breathless.
     ‘Sire, they’ve been seen. They’re with the Duke Giuliano at
the ruined temple.’
     Federico’s tired eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘The Duke
is with them? Are you certain?’
     The captain nodded vehemently. ‘Otherwise the men would
have seized them at once.’
     Federico ceased his prowling and an evil smile flickered
across his saturnine features. ‘The ruined temple, you say?’
     ‘In that direction.’
     The Count weighed this information carefully. The outlines
of a devious stratagem began to formulate in his head.
     ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he whispered at last. ‘A chance to solve
all my problems in one blow.’
     The captain nervously fingered the scar on his cheek,
unsure of his master’s meaning.
     ‘It will appear like a sacrifice,’ continued the Count.
relishing the scenario in his mind’s eye. ‘A human sacrifice to the
gods. Our hands will be guiltless.’ He hugged himself with
delight at the prospect.
     Admiration and awe dawned on the captain’s face as he
grasped the drift of Federico’s plan. ‘A sacrifice... yes... the evil
pagans who worship Demnos...’
     ‘Get your men quickly!’ commanded Federico and he
snapped his fingers for a valet to bring his cloak. ‘I will lead
them myself.’

The Doctor felt his way carefully along the darkened tunnel.
There was no torchlight here, unlike the other parts of the
catacombs and in ten minutes he had travelled no further than a
hundred yards.
     After a while he began to notice a change in the air around
him. A faint draught brushed his face. That meant there must be
a large opening ahead. He quickened his pace. As he did so the
walls of the tunnel became more distinct. A source of light lay
somewhere in front.
     Abruptly the tunnel grew wider and turning a corner the
Doctor found himself staring into the sacrificial chamber. He
realised he had come out on the far side, exactly facing the exit
from which he had made his escape earlier with Sarah.
      He scanned the chamber carefully for any activity. It was
empty, save for the ever-flickering torches in their metal sockets
on the walls.
      In the centre of the ruined cavern stood the sacrificial altar
grey and bare.
      The Doctor picked his way stealthily across the rock-strewn
floor and approached the altar. As he did so a sudden cracking
noise rang out behind him. He froze.
      Silence.
      For several seconds he remained still as a statue, inwardly
coiled like a taut spring ready for action.
      But there was no further sound. He turned and surveyed
the cavern once more. The torchlight threw curious dancing
shadows on the walls, grotesque shapes which appeared and
disappeared like phantoms; otherwise the chamber was empty of
life.
      He continued towards the altar. Then, as he reached the
lowest step, the noise occurred again—much louder this time. It
sounded like stone walls shifting and crumbling. Simultaneously
the chamber was illuminated by an eerie glow which burned the
Doctor’s eyes. He was filled with an unaccountable urge to
escape, but as he ran towards the tunnel exit a large wall
materialised in front of him with a deafening crash. Blindly he
stumbled towards the other side of the cavern and a second wall
blocked his path. The ghostly Temple of Demnos had sprung up
before his very eyes! Panic-stricken he turned this way and that
seeking escape but all around him thick stone walls seemed to be
hemming him in. He was trapped.
      Then another, different noise assailed his ears. It was the
high-pitched wail of Mandragora Energy. It seemed to be
rushing and shrieking in diminishing circles above his head. In
an explosion of sound, he felt it penetrate his skull. His brain
was pierced by an agonising noise which grew louder and
louder. The shrill note seemed to plumb the very depths of his
being. The Doctor felt he was spinning out of control in a
vertiginous whirlpool of sound. He sank to his knees, his face
contorted with indescribable pain. At the same time a distant
booming laughter rolled around the cavernous temple, as if in
mockery at his helpless agony.
     Outside the entrance to the catacombs Giuliano and Sarah
sat waiting on one of the upturned columns. Sarah felt nervous
and anxious but tried not to show it. She was impressed by the
young Duke’s quiet confidence and did not wish to reveal how
desperate she thought their situation really was. As Giuliano
spoke in his soft firm voice, she also realised she found him very
attractive. The fact that five hundred years of history lay
between them and not just a few feet of grass only heightened
the peculiar fascination the young Prince was beginning to exert
on her. She listened earnestly as he explained about his studies.
     ‘You see, I have a theory that the world is really a sphere,’
he said solemnly.
     Sarah smiled. ‘I don’t think that idea will ever catch on.’
     ‘Why not?’ exclaimed Giuliano. ‘Other scientists are coming
to the same conclusion—that the Earth cannot possibly be flat
because...’
     Sarah suddenly grabbed his arm. ‘What was that?’ she
whispered.
     ‘Nothing... You see it’s really obvious when you think about
it. It’s...’ He broke off suddenly, and drew his sword. Sarah
followed his gaze. On all sides the bushes were parting to reveal
Federico’s soldiers advancing on them, swords at the ready.
     ‘Quick, the Doctor! ‘ cried Giuliano and gave Sarah a shove.
     As she raced for the hidden entrance Giulano leapt over the
broken pillar and positioned himself with his back to an over-
hanging rock. At the same moment, a voice rang out from across
the stream.
     ‘Kill him!’
     Giuliano just caught sight of his uncle’s menacing shape,
then the soldiers were upon him in a flurry of clashing steel.
     Sarah reached the entrance to the catacombs and dived in.
The sudden blackness was so unexpected she stopped in her
tracks for several seconds. Then, calling the Doctor’s name as
loud as she could, she stumbled on through the empty darkness.
     ‘Doctor! Doctor!’
     The sound echoed dully along the winding tunnel as she
blundered along, moaning and panting with exertion.
     All at once something moved in the gloom ahead. She ran
forward, tripping over the path.
     ‘Doctor!’
     A hand seized her round the throat. She screamed with
fright and started to struggle. But more hands pinioned her
arms and legs with a vice-like grip. Then a ghostly voice inches
from her ear whispered in the blackness.
     ‘Demnos will not be cheated of his pleasure this time, little
one.’
     Sarah’s blood ran cold as she recognised the macabre tones
of the High Priest.
                           7
                    The Spell of Evil
The Doctor stirred, consciousness seeped back into his body. His
muscles were rigid with tension, his face grey like the cold stone
floor on which he lay. He lifted his head and waves of nausea
immediately flooded his nervous system. He felt drained of all
energy, all will-power. It was as if Mandragora had shown him,
with one flick of its little finger, how weak and puny he really
was.
      He clambered to his feet. fought the spinning vertigo which
still clutched him in its grasp. A thousand sledge hammers
crashed inside his head, the cavern walls floated drunkenly
before his eyes.
      As he stood there swaying unsteadily from side to side a faint
cry penetrated the pounding in his skull. It sounded familiar yet
he could not formulate its meaning.
      He heard it again, a distant desperate cry, and this time he
recognised it. His own name. Someone was calling for him.
Hazily he peered about him. Flickering torchlight on looming
craggy walls. A solitary stone altar. On the ground nearby a bare
sword.
      With a sudden surge his brain clicked into gear and he
remembered. The cries had ceased. He hurriedly snatched up
the sword and scrambled towards the exit.

Outside the catacombs Giuliano was fighting for his life. But
because he was still the Prince. his attackers lacked the will to
press home their advantage. Shielded at his back by the rock-
face, Giuliano was containing their challenge.
      ‘So, Uncle,’ he cried. ‘You need an army to do your work!’
He felled a guard with an expert thrust.
      From across the stream Federico hurled orders and abuse at
his men.
      ‘On, you craven-gutted curs, he is but one man!’
      Suddenly the soldiers on Giuliano’s right flank began to fall
back as a second swordsman engaged them from the rear.
      ‘You can’t count, Count!’ exclaimed a familar voice and the
tall figure of the Doctor, sword in hand, appeared. Surprised by
this unexpected and vigorous assault Federico’s men
momentarily scattered.
      ‘Take the sorcerer, too!’ commanded Federico. ‘A gold piece
to the first that splits him!’
      Spurred on by their master’s threats the soldiers renewed
their attack. One, a large vicious-looking fellow, worked his
way,around the back of the Doctor and raised his sword for the
kill.
      ‘Behind you, Doctor! ‘ warned Giuliano.
      In one movement the Doctor did a neat side-step, disarmed
the soldier with a blow to the wrist, and sent him sprawling into
the group around Giuliano. The diversion enabled the young
Prince to gain the Doctor’s side.
      ‘Thanks—this way! ‘ shouted the Doctor.
      Blades flashing, the two of them retreated through the
ruins, their attackers milling round them like wolves. Suddenly
Giuliano dropped his sword and fell with a cry of pain. He had
received a savage jab to the right shoulder.
      Federico gave a yell of triumph. ‘Death to Giuliano! Now!—
Now!’
      But the Doctor stood his ground over the wounded Prince
and met the onslaught head on. With lightning speed and
accuracy he dispatched the two leading assailants. Then,
parrying the thrusts of a third, he planted a foot firmly on the
the man’s breast-plate and sent him hurtling down at the feet of
the advancing wave.
    ‘I assure you this is hurting you more than me,’ he
announced calmly as his attackers picked themselves up in
disarray.
    In the momentary pause the Doctor gathered his strength
for what was going to be the final, deadly rush. As he stood back
panting from his exertion a sudden horde of black-hooded
figures poured out of the hillside like ants from a nest.
    ‘The brethren!’ howled Federico in dismay.
    As he watched the black throng swarmed over his guards
sending them staggering and reeling in every direction. So swift
and unexpected was the attack that Federico’s men had no time
to regroup. Although the brethren were armed with no more
than wooden staves and knives their numbers overwhelmed the
armed soldiers who began to retreat in confusion.
    ‘To me! To me! Back to the palace!’ Federico rallied his
men, his face dark as thunder. The guards tumbled into the
stream knocking into each other in the confusion. On the far
bank the scar-faced captain waited, cursing and hitting them as
they emerged soaked and bedraggled from the water. In the
mêlée the Doctor managed to drag Giuliano to his feet and
together they slipped away unseen to the catacomb entrance.
Why the brethren had chosen to aid them in their struggle
against Federico puzzled the Doctor. Still, he had little time to
ponder their lucky escape.
    As they entered the mouth of the tunnel they heard the
sound of running feet ahead. The Doctor just had time to press
himself and Giuliano into a crevice in the wall before a dozen
brethren rushed past. The Doctor felt their rough woollen cloaks
brush his face as they swept by, but the darkness and the haste of
the brethren saved them from discovery.
     ‘That was fortunate!’ whispered the Doctor. He helped
Giuliano out of the crevice. ‘What happened to Sarah?’
     ‘She came down here for you, Doctor.’ The Prince stared
hard into the gloom. ‘You mean you have not seen her?’
     The Doctor shook his head. ‘She must still be wandering
about the catacombs. Come on.’
     He started to move off but stopped as Giuliano let out a
moan and sank to the ground.
     ‘You’d better let me look at that arm,’ said the Doctor
gently. He had overlooked the extent of Giuliano’s injury. He
ripped off the blood-soaked shirt sleeve and inspected the
wound as best he could in the dim light. The point of the sword
had penetrated just below the shoulder-blade. Luckily it was a
flesh wound, and nothing important had been severed. Expertly
the Doctor began to hind up the cut using the torn shirt.
Giuliano’s face, pale and drawn, tried to hide his pain.
     ‘You’ve not spent all your time in books. Doctor,’ he said
gratefully. ‘I owe you my life.’
     The Doctor concentrated on binding the wound. ‘Finest
swordsman I ever saw was a captain—this should staunch the
bleeding—in Cleopatra’s bodyguard.’ He wound the material
tightly and started to knot it. ‘He was kind enough to hand out a
few points. Keep still.’
     Giuliano winced as the tourniquet was pulled taut. ‘Did you
get to the temple. Doctor?’
     ‘Yes. The Mandragora Helix is there all right. It’s up to
some nasty tricks. There we are.’ He stepped hack and admired
his handiwork. ‘Florence Nightingale would be very pleased with
that little lash up.’ He smiled encouragingly at the Prince.
     Giuliano looked puzzled by the strange reference but
nodded. The wound certainly felt easier.
    ‘Come on then. I must find out what’s happened to Sarah.’
The Doctor lifted him to his feet and together they set off slowly
through the chilly darkness.

The High Priest led Sarah and her guards along a maze of rock
strewn tunnels, a flaring brand held high above his head. Here
and there trickles of water ran down the walls to form rivulets
beneath their feet and several times Sarah caught sight of giant
bats hanging upside down in huddles. Apart from the High
Priest her captors were once again masked, their grotesque
features leering at her like ghouls from hell as they continued
their journey. There was something so inexpressibly evil about
those faces, something non-human—it made her blood run cold.
She knew in her bones there would be no question of reasoning
with these people. They were fanatics, maniacs, impervious to
sympathy. She had been lucky to escape their clutches once.
They would make certain it did not happen again.
    Abruptly the High Priest stopped. The tunnel had reached a
dead end, a blank wall. The High Priest pressed his right hand
against one of the stones and the wall fell mysteriously away
before them to reveal a large ante-chamber beyond.
    Sarah was prodded in and she heard the stone wall grind
shut behind them. Facing her as she entered, expecting her,
stood a tall and sinister figure, his head encased in a gruesome
mask carved from pure gold. The nose was flat and cruel. the
cheeks furrowed with deep lines of torment, the eyes blank slits
shadowing the real eyes behind. His body was cloaked in rich
purple robes surmounted by a peaked hood in the same colour.
    Sarah eyed this awesome apparition in fear and
bewilderment. Her heart skipped a beat. Even though she had
been drugged, she knew instantly that this was the masked
figure who had officiated at the sacrificial ceremony.
    The High Priest pushed Sarah forward. ‘It is an omen. The
Mighty Demnos delivered his victim to us. She is the chosen
sacrifice.’
    The masked figure stepped up to Sarah and examined her
closely. ‘This one assists the foreign sorcerer. She may yet assist
him to his death before her hour of glory.’
    The High Priest seemed taken aback. ‘But Master, the great
blade of our god thirsts for blood...’
    ‘Patience,’ replied the masked figure. ‘Before the night ends,
priest, there will be blood in plenty. That I promise.’ His
commanding tones silenced his acolyte who lowered his head in
obeisance.
    ‘We of the brethren bow to your command, Master.’
    ‘Then bind her well so that she may not struggle or cry
out—and bring her to my chamber.’
    Before she could protest Sarah was roughly seized. A gag
was forced into her mouth and thick ropes were produced from
a cell in the corner to bind her wrists and arms. Then the High
Priest touched a secret mechanism in the wall, and once more
she was bundled out into the forbidding, subterranean world of
the brethren.

Sweating and breathless, Count Federico sat sprawled in a red
velvet armchair in his palace rooms. His face wore a disgruntled
frown as a white-haired retainer dabbed his brow with a large
silk handkerchief.
     Through the open casement a loud fanfare sounded from
the direction of the city gates. At the same time there was a
knock at the door and the scar-faced captain strode in looking
anxious.
     ‘The Duke of Milan is arriving, sire.’
     Federico scowled at this unwelcome piece of news. ‘Get this
muck out of here!’ he snapped at the servant. ‘Bring me clean
linen. Hurry! You oaf !’
     The servant scuttled out. Federico crossed to the window
and stared angrily across the rooftops. ‘And that fox-faced old
blowhard, the Doge, will be here within the hour. His advance
riders are carousing in the taverns even now.’ He turned and
glared at the captain.
     The captain shuffled his feet. ‘What’s to be done, sire? They
must be greeted.’
     ‘That fat clown of a chancellor must meet them,’ thundered
Federico. ‘Say I have been stricken with an ague. Before night
comes, Rossini, you and I have work to do!’ He bore down on
the captain jabbing the man’s breastplate to emphasise the point.
     ‘I have a score of men searching for the Prince. He has not
returned to the palace.’
     ‘Then we must search the city. He’s skulking in some
stinking hovel.’ Federico thrust his face inches from Rossini’s.
‘I’ve gone too far to stop now. I must see Giuliano’s liver fed to
the dogs by sunrise! ‘ His eyes glinted evilly as he spat the words
in the captain’s face. Rossini remained perfectly still, not
flinching. He had experienced his master’s wrath before.
     ‘But the deed must be stealthy, sire,’ he ventured after a
moment. ‘With so many visitors of rank lodged in San Martino...’
     ‘Peasant!’ exploded Federico. ‘Do I need your pig-brained
counsel?’ He struck the captain a fierce blow across the cheek.
     ‘Sire.’
     ‘Listen, Rossini, Giuliano is a traitor! The prince of a
Christian state mixing with the followers of Demnos. Taking part
in their filthy black rites. You and I are witness of this!’ His voice
reached a crescendo. ‘Oh no, I have him now!’ He clenched the
palm of his hand in satisfaction. ‘I have him here! The Holy
Father himself will kiss my hand for cleansing the state of San
Martino.’ He touched his knuckles to his lips and leered
malevolently at Rossini out of the corner of one eye.

The Doctor and Giuliano threaded their way slowly through the
dark twisting tunnels. Every so often they were forced to stop
and hide as members of the brethren flitted hack and forth like
shadows. They seemed to be posted at all the entrances to the
sacrificial chamber and the Doctor was obliged to pursue a
circuitous route which grew more and more confusing at each
intersection.
    Somewhere, somehow they had taken a wrong turning. He
had never been in such a maze—a rabbit warren of fetid, foul-
smelling corridors. He felt baffled, impotent—a prisoner in some
kind of hell. He realised he must be tired, having gone without
sleep for several days now. The thought of finding Sarah was
growing more and more remote and yet the Doctor knew he
must keep on searching. Wherever she was and whatever had
befallen her it was his responsibility and only he was capable of
doing anything about it. He strengthened his grip on the
wounded Prince and lengthened his stride.

For what seemed an eternity Sarah was half pushed, half
dragged along an endless labyrinth of dark stone corridors.
Cold, bruised, and utterly exhausted she at last fell into a semi-
conscious haze, her body numbed by the tightness of her bonds.
At one point she thought the ground began to slope upwards,
but that could just have been the effects of tiredness. She
remembered climbing a flight of steps, and being led into a
warmer, closer atmosphere, heavy with a cloying sickly smell.
Then she must have lost consciousness because when she came
round she was lying on a rough pallet in the corner of a room.
She was still bound and gagged.
     A thick woollen curtain divided where she was lying from
the rest of the room. She could hear voices muttering beyond it,
but could not make out what they were saying.
     ‘Why did you call on our brethren to save the young Prince,
Master?’
     The speaker was the High Priest. He addressed
Hieronymous in a low voice at the far end of the astrologer’s
chamber. The old soothsayer had removed his cloak and mask
and was now busy adding herbs and powders to a bubbling pot.
     ‘His life has yet some value,’ he replied quietly.
     ‘But he is no more in the eye of Demnos than any other
unbeliever.’ Hieronymous ceased stirring his concoction and
fixed the High Priest with a curious piercing stare. ‘Giuliano’s
appointment with death is already written. Not Count Federico,
nor any other mortal must anticipate the mighty Demnos.’
     The High Priest nodded obediently. ‘Even so, I fear the
Count will now bring all his soldiers to bear against us.’
     Hieronymous raised his arms heavenwards in a ritual
gesture.
     ‘Faith, Brothers! You have seen the sign of Demnos.’ His
dark eyes burned in their sockets with manic fervour.
     ‘The miracle as written in the prophecies,’ incanted the
Priest in reply.
     ‘Then let the word be spread through the city—guard the
sacred temple. The great god’s dwelling-place must not be
defiled by unbelievers in the last few hours. Now go! Hurry!’ He
pointed commandingly to the door. The High Priest bowed low
and left without further word.
     Hieronymous returned to his brew. He ladled a measure
from the pot, added water and sniffed the result carefully.
Apparently satisfied, he poured the mixture into a glass and set
it down gently on the table.
    Then, crossing to the alcove, he snatched back the woollen
curtain and stood gazing at the bound and gagged form on the
pallet.
    Sarah viewed his abrupt appearance with a mixture of alarm
and curiosity. She had never seen this bearded oddly clothed
figure before and yet there was something familiar about him.
She wondered whether it might be the infamous Hieronymous
the Doctor had mentioned, the old fraud himself. Now she could
glimpse the rest of the room it certainly resembled a den of
astromancy and magic.
    The figure knelt beside her and gently released the gag
from her mouth. Then he untied the ropes around her wrists.
Sarah stretched her neck and arms with grateful relief. She was
free to move but weak enough to fall.
    The stranger had crossed to a table and now returned
holding a glass full of a brightly coloured liquid. He placed it to
her lips.
    ‘Do not resist, my child.’ His voice was silky, soothing and
not unfamiliar.
    Sarah felt the fumes from the potion rising in her nostrils,
pungent like a heady spice. It made her cough violently and
struggle for breath.
    ‘The aroma is sweet,’ whispered the leering stranger.
Holding her head he began to force the mixture down her
throat. His grip was gentle but insistent. Weakened by her
ordeal Sarah could not prevent herself from swallowing one or
two drops.
    Immediately a dizzy intoxicating sensation spread through
her body, her head grew thick and muzzy. The room grew misty
and swayed around her.
    Then her attention was caught by something bright and
shiny a few inches from her face, a crystal pendant. It began to
swing slowly and rhythmically before her eyes. Somewhere in
the distance she could hear the voice.
      ‘Now child—whom do you serve?’
      It sounded warm and friendly as if Sarah had known it all
her life. She felt a surge of trust and affection towards its soft
mellifluous tones.
      ‘I serve you,’ she heard herself say.
      ‘And the Doctor?’
      Sarah paused. A preposterous thought had formed in her
head; something she had known all along, something which was
blindingly obvious. What a fool she had been not to see it before.
His strange manner, his alien powers, his magical possessions.
      ‘The Doctor is a sorcerer.’
      ‘And?...’
      The dark face smiled from behind the spinning crystal.
      ‘The Doctor is evil.’
      ‘And?’
      Sarah struggled for inspiration. This friendly smiling voice
was good. The Doctor was its enemy. Therefore the Doctor was
evil.
      ‘And must be destroyed.’
      Sarah gasped as she said the words. The crystal spun faster
and faster, a mesmerising ball of light burning its image into
Sarah’s brain, blotting out all other sensations except that
seductive insinuating voice.
      ‘All this you will forget. All but your purpose.’
      Sarah nodded. The crystal suddenly disappeared and
instead she felt her hand caressed by a cold metal object, long
and pointed.
      ‘When you stand close, and the Doctor suspects nothing,
you will strike him down.’ commanded the voice. ‘One scratch
will be sufficient.’
    Through blurred vision Sarah looked at her hand. In it lay a
gleaming steel bodkin about four inches long with an
ornamental head.
    ‘The hand of a friend is a subtle but certain weapon.’ The
stranger took the bodkin and pinned it gently onto the front of
Sarah’s dress like a brooch.
    ‘Now you must be returned to the Doctor’s side. How glad
he will be to see his young companion. And when I command
you must kill him.’
    He led Sarah to a concealed flight of steps behind a curtain.
Then, gazing deeply into her eyes one more time, he
commanded her to go. Hypnotised and spell-bound, Sarah
nodded meekly and descended the stair-case. Her mission, to kill
the Doctor!
                              8
                           Torture!
‘Well?’
     The challenge, delivered with rasping menace, hung in the
air like an executioner’s blade above Rossini’s head.
     The captain stared miserably at the patterned floor of
Federico’s chamber. ‘Nothing, sire.’ He blurted the words out
fearfully.
     Federico’s eyes narrowed and his face swelled with fury.
     ‘You inept clod! What were my orders?’
     ‘We have searched everywhere.’
     Federico rose from his chair and advanced on the captain,
his riding crop raised threateningly. ‘Dunghead!’
     He brought the crop across the captain’s cheek, leaving a
vicious red weal where it struck. The captain flinched but stood
his ground.
     ‘Fail me, Rossini, and I’ll swear you’ll breakfast on burning
coals! I want the Duke’s head here—tonight!’ He cracked the
whip across a table sending objects flying in all directions. ‘I want
to spit in his sightless eyeballs!’
     The captain eyed the whip and measured his words
carefully. ‘Sire, we can only think he has taken to the catacombs.’
     ‘The catacombs!’
     ‘A hundred men might search those galleries for a month,
sire, and still find nothing. They say there are places where the
bat droppings are twice the height of a man.’
     ‘They say, they say!’ the Count hissed contemptuously. ‘The
truth of it, Rossini, is you’ve no stomach for the task.’
     ‘If it is your wish, my lord. I’ll take the entire guard and
begin the search this very night.’
    Federico grunted and paced the floor thoughtfully. ‘No...
no, it’s true. If he’s gone into that warren he’ll be harder to find
than a louse in a beggar’s rags...’ He paused. ‘But sometime he’ll
have to come out again—or die like a sewer rat.’ He wagged a
finger knowingly at Rossini.
    The captain permitted himself a smile. ‘And when he does
we will be ready for him.’
    ‘Of course you will, numskull! But more than that.’ Federico
chuckled malevolently. ‘We are going to prove that the Duke
Giuliano has been a secret devotee of the cult of Demnos!’

The young Prince was still breathing uneasily and the pain had
returned. The Doctor paused for a moment to give him respite.
As they rested in the un-healthy darkness they could hear the
bats squeaking and dodging about their heads.
     ‘Doctor, there is a stench of evil in these catacombs,’ gasped
Giuliano.
     The Doctor sounded surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid?’
     ‘Of course not.’ The Prince’s voice was clear and firm.
     ‘Come on then!’ The Doctor started to lift Giuliano to his
feet. As he did so there was a sudden grinding noise and part of
the stonework behind them began to move.
     ‘Doctor! ‘ whispered Giuliano.
     Slowly a large mass of rock swung aside to reveal a secret
entrance. The Doctor guessed he must have triggered the
mechanism while levering Giuliano to his feet. He grinned. ‘The
ancients who built this place knew a thing or two.’
     He stepped through the secret opening. Giuliano did
likewise. Immediately the massive rock swung to behind them.
Ahead lay a curving corridor lit at intervals by burning torches
set into the walls.
     The Doctor suddenly realised it was the door through which
he had first followed the masked figure; only this time they were
passing through it in the opposite direction. In that case they
were heading towards the palace!
    Suddenly there was a sound, like a low moan.
    ‘Was that you, Giuliano?’
    ‘No.’
    The Doctor drew his sword and advanced carefully into the
shadows. Twenty paces on there was a bend in the tunnel and
the torchlight seemed brighter. The Doctor turned the corner
and let out a gasp of surprise. There lying limply against the
stonework was the prostrate form of Sarah Jane.
    ‘Sarah!’
    The Doctor darted forward and knelt over her. Behind him
Giuliano scrambled to his feet and ran to join him.
    ‘Is she all right?’
    ‘I think so.’ The Doctor gently shook her shoulder, ‘Sarah...
Sarah.’
    Slowly her eyes opened and looked dazedly around.
‘Where... where am I?’ She tried to sit up. The Doc-tor put his
arm round her comfortingly.
    ‘Her eyes are strange,’ remarked Giuliano.
    The Doctor nodded. ‘What happened, Sarah?’
    ‘The brothers... two of them... I... I can’t remember much.’
    Giuliano frowned. ‘Why would they leave her here?’
    ‘Perhaps they were planning to come back for her,’
speculated the Doctor. He looked around. ‘This passage runs
under the palace.’
    ‘How do you know?’ Giuliano sounded surprised.
    ‘The first time I saw him the leader of the cult, the masked
figure, was coming this way. He probably uses it regularly.’ The
Doctor’s clear blue eyes fixed the young Prince with a
penetrating stare.
    ‘I don’t think the Mandragora Intelligences hijacked the
TARDIS and sent us to this point of space and time without
reason. There is already somebody here sensitive to its influence.
Probably there has been some kind of tenuous link for
centuries.’
     Giuliano realised the Doctor was referring to the brethren
and their leader and the thought of that superstitious band
possessing genuine powers filled him with foreboding.
     ‘Doctor. give me a hand.’ Sarah’s pert voice cut through the
air. She seemed to have suddenly re-covered.
     ‘Are you fit to move?’ asked the Doctor.
     ‘I think so.’
     He helped her gently to her feet. ‘Come on then. Solvitur
ambulando.’
     ‘What?’
     ‘Latin.’ explained Giuliano. ‘The question is solved by
walking.’
     ‘Oh,’ said Sarah. ‘Thanks. Hey! Never mind Latin, I don’t
even speak Italian. Doctor, how is it I can understand Giuliano?
I’ve never thought of that before?’
     The Doctor turned and gave her a curious look. ‘Don’t
worry about it, Sarah. I’ll try to explain later.’ He led them off
down the corridor and his face betrayed a sign of anger.

Marco waited anxiously in Giuliano’s room toying with the
telescope on the table. His master and the two strange visitors
had been missing for hours and he was beginning to grow
anxious. Luckily no one had enquired too closely into the
Prince’s whereabouts but sooner or later he would have to think
of an explanation. There had been unusual activity too about the
palace. He had seen several troops of Federico’s guards leave
and then return apparently from some skirmish outside the city.
     Marco inwardly recoiled at Federico’s name. For years he
had nursed a growing fear of the Count’s evil ambitions. More
than once he had had to interpose on Giuliano’s behalf when
Federico’s poisonous lies had threatened to turn the old Duke
against his son. Now, with the old man gone, Federico’s wolfish
craving for the throne seemed to know no bounds.
     But whatever events the future might bring. Marco felt
strong and proud in his loyalty to the Prince.
     As he gazed out of the window, his mind full of these
thoughts, a thunderous knocking on the door brought him to
his senses.
     ‘Open! Open! In the name of Duke Giuliano.’
     Marco hurriedly crossed to the door as the knocking was
repeated. Thank goodness some of the guards were still loyal to
the Prince. He unbolted the door.
     Immediately, a squad of pikemen rushed into the room
headed by Rossini. Marco realised too late that these were not
Giuliano’s men but Federico’s. He drew his sword to put up a
fight but was quickly over-powered and dragged kicking out of
the room.

The Doctor paused and beckoned to Giuliano.
     ‘Anywhere you know?’
     The passage had broadened out and here and there red
brickwork showed through the walls. There was also a faint
musty smell as if casks of wine had once been stored nearby.
     Giuliano’s face broke into a grin.
     ‘We’re in the palace dungeons. I remember my father once
spoke of a secret passage—’
     The Doctor nodded. ‘Excellent. Do you think you can find
it?’
     Giuliano advanced cautiously into the shadows ahead.
     ‘Yes. Here it is,’ he whispered. He pointed to what looked
like a small alcove in the wall, but when the Doctor and Sarah
got nearer they could see it was a narrow flight of steps winding
upwards in a spiral.
    ‘Right. Follow me,’ said the Doctor. ‘And quietly now.’
He’started up the steps, sword in hand.

Hieronymous was seated in Federico’s room, alone. He had
requested an audience and was now waiting for the Count to
appear. The stars had revealed an unhappy conjunction, the
signs were clearly there, he would not be doing his duty to keep
such warnings from his Lordship. Even so Hieronymous now
had much weightier problems on his mind, and as he sat
awaiting the Count his thoughts began to wander. The events of
the last twenty-four hours had thrown his entire being into a
state of feverish tumult. That he, Hieronymous, son of a poor
peasant from Bologna should become the chosen vessel of
powers beyond the dreams of men! Not only San Martino and all
of the Italian states, but the very world itself might be within his
grasp. What could he not achieve then? What pleasures, what
powers could be denied him? His lips quivered as scenes of
undisguised degeneracy passed through his mind’s eye.
     But for the moment he must bide his time, listen carefully to
the words of Demnos and not fall foul of the prickly Federico.
     His musings were rudely curtailed as Federico slammed into
the room.
     ‘Hieronymous!’
     The Count stood in the middle of the room bristling with
bad temper.
     ‘You will forgive me for not rising, Count,’ replied the
soothsayer coolly. He was becoming annoyed by Federico’s
continual rudeness and bullying manner.
     The Count took a pace forward and unsmilingly drew a
dagger from his belt.
     ‘Only the dead fail to stand in my presence, Hieronymous.
Your lack of courtesy is easily corrected.’
     Hieronymous realised he had misread Federico’s mood and
leapt nimbly to his feet as the dagger moved towards his throat.
     ‘My lord, spare an old servant! It was only through my love
for you... I am numb with fear for your life.’
     Federico paused and grinned at the cowering figure of the
astrologer.
     ‘But the numbness has passed I see.’ He sheathed the
dagger and sprawled into a high-backed chair. ‘You’re a fraud,
Hieronymous. A fake. A charlatan. A market-place soothsayer.
We both know the truth of it.’ He leant forward and poked
Hieronymous in the ribs. ‘So just remember to keep your
humble place, court astrologer. That way you may also keep
your head.’
     Hieronymous bowed and pulled his beard slyly. ‘But I bring
you warning, my lord.’
     ‘Go on.’
     ‘There are intrigues brewing. Plots are being prepared. You
are in great danger.’
     Federico snorted. ‘The only plots, astrologer, are mine. And
they are going well.’
     But Hieronymous continued. ‘It is written that a blow will be
struck against you—here in this palace. You must bring all your
guards here to defend your noble person.’
     Federico rose from the chair and thrust the fortune-teller
away from him. ‘Hieronymous, you try my patience. You can no
more read the stars than read my chamber-pot. Go! Get out of
my sight!’
     Hieronymous’s wrinkled face suffused with blood and he
swallowed hard in order to control his anger. That this oaf, this
ruffian, this mindless brute, regal though he might be, should
continually dismiss his predictions as frivolous nonsense was
becoming too difficult to stomach.
     ‘Very well, sire,’ he replied coldly. ‘But before Mars sinks to
rest the blow will fall and your life will be forfeit. So it is written.’
He delivered the warning with chilling conviction and stalked
out of the room leaving Federico puzzled and slightly shaken.

‘I’d say you’ve had visitors,’ announced the Doctor as he led the
way into Giuliano’s room. The staircase had brought them out
into the palace kitchens and from there they had been able to
reach the sanctuary of the Prince’s room unobserved by way of
the servants’ corridors. The chamber betrayed signs of a fierce
struggle. The Prince’s telescope had been hurled to the floor but
was luckily undamaged.
     Giuliano took in the scene, white-faced.
     ‘Marco,’ he whispered. ‘My uncle’s men must have taken
him!’
     He turned impulsively to the door, ready to set off in search
of his companion.
     The Doctor restrained him.
     ‘There’s nothing you can do on your own Giuliano.’ He shut
the door gently and led the young Prince to a chair.
     ‘He’s my friend, my dear and loyal companion...’
     ‘Giuliano,’ interrupted the Doctor firmly, ‘there are other
considerations besides your uncle and his petty ambitions.’
     ‘Petty? But they’re far from petty.’ Realisation dawned on
his face. ‘I’ve called a gathering of scholars to celebrate my
accession to the Dukedom. My uncle will do everything he can to
stop our meeting.’
     This news caused the Doctor to frown. He unhitched his
sword and laid it thoughtfully on the table.
     ‘Who’s coming to this gathering, Giuliano?’
     ‘The most learned men in all Italy. Scholars, artists, men of
the new sciences.’
     ‘Leonardo da Vinci?’
    Giuliano nodded. ‘And his patron the Duke of Milan.’ The
Doctor shot a glance at Sarah. She did not seem particularly
interested or impressed. Not like her usual curious self. He
turned to Giuliano.
    ‘Of course, I see it now. If anything should happen to those
men the world would be back in a new dark age!’ He crossed to
the door. ‘You two stay here.’
    ‘Where are you going?’ enquired Sarah as if she had
suddenly woken up and only heard the last part of their
conversation.
    ‘I have an idea who the leader of the brethren is,’ replied
the Doctor.
    ‘Be careful,’ warned Giuliano. ‘The soldiers will be
everywhere.’
    The Doctor beamed a toothy smile. ‘Don’t worry. Besides
I’m not going to pass up the opportunity of meeting Leonardo!’
He opened the door and slipped out stealthily into the corridor.

A great bubbling howl of pain echoed through the dungeons of
the palace then died away into fitful gasps. The noise came from
behind a heavy metal door which gleamed with a dull sheen in
the burning torchlight. The sounds stopped, the cell-door
opened and the scar-faced captain stepped out. As he turned to
close the door Federico slid into view and approached him.
     He spoke in a low voice. ‘Scarlatti is enjoying his work.’
     The captain smiled faintly. ‘He is a craftsman.’
     ‘Nonetheless these cries,’ the Count gestured to-wards the
cell door, ‘I would prefer not to rouse the entire palace.’ He
pushed his face close to Rossini, his eyes glinting evilly in the
dancing shadows. ‘Has he weakened yet?’
     The captain shook his head, ‘He’s a stubborn ape, sire.’
     Federico thought for a moment. ‘I will have a word with
him. Sometimes the voice of reason is more effective than a
burning iron.’ He took Rossini by the shoulder. ‘I have another
task for you.’
    ‘My lord.’
    Federico dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘The astrologer,
Hieronymous, may be moving against me.’ He cast a look up
and down the passageway then leant close to Rossini’s car. ‘He
has prophesied my death.’
    ‘My lord!’ Consternation filled the captain’s face.
    ‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Federico waved a hand airily. ‘He plucks
these lies from the air.’ His tone grew stern. ‘But I want the old
spider out of the city tonight.’
    ‘Banished, sire?’
    Federico nodded vigorously. ‘Throw him out, and all his
rubbish with him.’

The Doctor hurried stealthily through the palace corridors, his
feet echoing softly on the marbled floors. It was Sarah who had
given him the final clue. She was obviously not herself, under
some kind of influence, too subtle to attract Giuliano’s attention
but sufficient to alert the Doctor. There was only one man
capable of practising such tricks, the court astrologer,
Hieronymous. The Doctor had had his suspicions for some time
but Sarah’s disappearance in the catacombs was the convincing
link. Hieronymous had to be the leader of the brethren—and in
league with the forces of Mandragora. Stop Hieronymous and
there was a chance of stopping the invasion of Earth which the
Doctor felt sure was imminent. A subtle and insidious invasion,
employing the conditioned brethren to dominate and enslave
the rest of San Martino, Italy and ultimately the world.
Henceforth, mankind would evolve, oblivious to the fact that
every act, every word, every thought, emanated from the distant
Helix: man’s apparent freedom would have turned into a
tyranny of the worst kind, the very soul of his existence
controlled by another, alien life-form.
    The Doctor redoubled his pace, intent on finding
Hieronymous’s lair. He turned a corner and found himself in a
long colonnade. One side bordered a small statue-filled patio,
open to the air. As he flitted cautiously from arch to arch he
heard a sound as if someone was following him. He dodged into
an alcove and waited. He allowed a few moments to pass but
there was no further noise. He continued on his way, his ears
even more keenly attuned to danger.
    Twenty paces behind the Doctor and unknown to him, a
pale phantom-like figure tip-toed in his wake. It was Sarah Jane,
her eyes peculiarly dilated staring straight ahead, her right hand
clenched tightly round the long, pointed bodkin.

‘A simple confession, my young friend.’ Federico stood smiling a
few feet from Marco, his crooked teeth glinting in the flickering
red light. There was a brazier at the far end of the cell into
which Scarlatti, the torturer, had thrust two irons. Already they
were growing red hot, fit to make a man’s flesh sizzle. Marco, his
blond hair matted with sweat, hung by his arms from an upright
wooden-rack. He turned to face Federico and summoning all his
strength gasped a reply.
     ‘Never.’
     Federico leant into his ear and whispered silkily. ‘You are of
noble birth, Marco, a man of intelligence. Use it and save
yourself pain.’
     ‘I shall not lie against the Duke.’ Marco heaved to gain his
breath between each word. ‘You may kill me first.’
     ‘No, but we may kill you afterwards. Scarlatti’s enthusiasm is
such that not all survive his attentions.’
    Federico nodded towards the corner. Scarlatti, his shaven
head and ox-like arms gleaming with sweat from the heat of the
brazier. turned and grinned.
    Marco winced. ‘You devils...’
    ‘One last chance, Marco. Confess that Giuliano is a follower
of Demnos. I will reward you well.’ There was no reply. Only
numb silence.
    ‘Come, man ! What is your answer?’ Federico bawled the
words out.
    Slowly Marco raised his head and deliberately spat into the
Count’s face.
    Federico drew back incensed.
    ‘Insolent fool! Now you will truly learn what suffering is.’ He
motioned angrily to Scarlatti and stormed out of the cell.

Vexed and embittered from his audience with the Count,
Hieronymous had returned to his room and thrown himself into
concocting one of his arcane and foul-smelling potions. The
noxious fumes rose billowing from the cauldron causing even
Hieronymous to cough and splutter and he was forced to open
first the window, then the door in order to allow the gases to
escape.
     In a short while he felt certain the Powers of Mandragora
would summon him to embark on the next phase of their
mission. Then, Federico would be forced to take heed and eat
his rancorous words. Hieronymous stirred the cauldron and
threw in a pinch of ground crystals. There was a loud bang and
great clouds of steam filled the room. As the air cleared
Hieronymous gave a sudden start. Standing before him like a
magic apparition was the Doctor.
     ‘Good evening,’ he smiled.
     Hieronymous gasped. ‘You?’ His eyes widened in wonder
and disbelief. ‘What are you?’
     ‘It’s time you and I had a serious talk. Hieronymous,’ said
the Doctor moving round the cauldron.
     ‘Keep back ! Keep away from me ! ‘
     The Doctor chuckled. ‘Not sure of yourself yet. I see—the
influence comes and goes, I suppose. That must be very
worrying for you.’
     The astrologer backed towards the window his arms held in
front of his face.
     ‘Were you sent from the stars?’
     ‘You could say that.’
     Hieronymous nodded. ‘They told me... the voices... that I
would be joined by another. Give me a proof you are the one.’
     The Doctor reached across to the desk and lifted up the
carved mask of gold.
     ‘Ingenious. Pre-diluvian sandstone with a complex circuit of
base metal fused into it.’ He looked up at Hieronymous and
grinned. The astrologer was taking no notice and the Doctor
realised someone else had entered the room. He dropped the
mask and swung round. Less than two paces away Sarah stood
poised to plunge a lethal steel needle into the back of his neck.
     ‘You defile the sacred image of Demnos,’ screamed
Hieronymous. ‘Destroy him! Destroy him now!’
                          9
                 The Invasion Begins
‘Hello, Sarah,’ said the Doctor quietly. His eyes took in the
bodkin. ‘A poisoned needle?’
     Sarah hesitated, her arm still raised ready to strike. Her face
was like a crazed mask. The Doctor fixed her with a hypnotic
stare, his clear blue eyes drilled into hers like a laser beam. ‘Drop
it, Sarah.’
     Hieronymous moved behind him. ‘Strike him down!’
     Sarah jumped at the Doctor but as the needle flashed
towards him he side-stepped and caught hold of her wrist,
deflecting the blow.
     ‘You don’t want to harm me, Sarah,’ he ordered firmly, ‘I
am your friend. Drop it.’
     Sarah struggled for a few seconds, blinked and her face
resumed its normal expression. Her gaze fell from the Doctor’s
eyes to her hand, her fingers opened slowly, and the needle
dropped to the ground.
     The Doctor smiled gently and released her. As he did so
Hieronymous lunged across the room, a dagger in his hand.
     ‘The curse of Demnos on you, forever!’
     The Doctor dodged to one side. Hieronymous lunged again.
This time the Doctor leant back and neatly kicked the knife out
of the astrologer’s hand.
     ‘You’re really too old for this sort of thing, Hieronymous.’
     As the knife went spinning across the floor there was a
commotion in the corridor outside and soldiers poured into the
room headed by Rossini.
     ‘Take them!’
     Three of the guards leapt upon the Doctor who was near the
door. He went down struggling.
     ‘Doctor!’ yelled Sarah and started clawing at one of the
guards.
     Hieronymous snatched up the mask. As the soldiers
advanced on him he threw a ladle of hot liquid from the
cauldron into their faces and dashed behind the curtain at the
rear of the chamber. The soldiers fell back screaming and
choking.
     ‘Fools! Stop him!’ yelled Rossini. ‘Don’t let him get away.’
     But Hieronymous had gained sufficient time to elude them
in the darkness of the secret passage and after a brief search the
captain had to content himself with his capture of the Doctor
and Sarah.

In his private chamber Giuliano was in a flurry of indecision.
Sarah had inexplicably slipped out while his back was turned
and he had been searching for fresh dressing for his wound.
     In addition, there was no word from the Doctor and several
hours had passed. He dared not go in search of them for fear of
meeting up with Federico’s men who were bound to be
patrolling the palace. It was pure good fortune they had not
returned to search his chambers again and no doubt before the
morning they would think of this.
     The Prince paced the room for several minutes. Finally he
reached a decision. He strapped on his sword belt, crossed to the
door and slipped cautiously out into the corridor.
     It was still nightfall and the palace lay strangely quiet. Most
of the torches had been doused but through the open colonnade
a strong moonlight cast a pale ethereal glow onto the marbled
floor. For some reason the quiet cool atmosphere made him
think back to his childhood, how as a little boy he had often
played alone in these same corridors dreaming of the day he
would be crowned Duke and ruler of San Martino. And now that
day had come here he was, a fugitive in his own house, fearing
for his life, with only the strange and resourceful Doctor as his
ally.
      He padded stealthily down the corridors heading for
Hieronymous’s chamber. He felt sure that was where the Doctor
had meant to visit.
      Suddenly there was a blur of movement behind a column to
his right and two shadowy figures hurled themselves upon him.
A knee dug him savagely in the back and before he could draw
his sword a sharp blade was pressed to his throat. Then swiftly
his assailants dragged him out of the corridor and down a flight
of stone steps.

‘Giuliano?’
    Federico’s ugly face lit up and he rose eagerly from his
couch to greet Rossini.
    ‘Is he dead?’
    ‘No, sire. He’s been taken to the dungeon with the other
prisoners.’
    ‘Then it is finished, Rossini!’ The Count rubbed his hands
and began prowling his chamber in a fit of excitement. ‘The
Duke and his troublemakers will be dead and buried by
cockcrow.’ Rossini bowed obediently. ‘There is only
Hieronymous. But he will not evade capture for long.’
    Federico nodded fervently, ‘There is nothing now that will
stop me. Nothing!’ He turned to Rossini, his face ablaze with
triumph.

In the dungeons the Doctor and Sarah hung side by side on
vertical wooden racks, their wrists manacled to the frame above
their heads. They had been placed in Marco’s cell and the heat
of the brazier caused the sweat to pour off them, adding to their
discomfort. Opposite them Marco hung limp and motionless, his
blond hair matted, his face streaked with tears and dirt. Only a
faint panting from time to time told them he was still alive.
     Sarah turned her head with difficulty and whispered faintly
to the Doctor.
     ‘I’m trying to remember what happened to me but I can’t.
There’s nothing at all.’
     ‘Drug-induced hypnosis,’ replied the Doctor, easing himself
free from the wooden slats which seemed to be eating through
his shoulder-blades. ‘Hieronymous is a resourceful old sly-boots.’
     Sarah looked sad and puzzled.
     ‘But I tried to kill you?’
     ‘You only did what you were ordered to do—and what I
expected,’ said the Doctor without reproach.
     ‘But how did you know I’d been drugged?’
     ‘Well I’ve taken you to some strange places and you’ve never
stopped to wonder why you spoke the local language. It’s a
Timelord gift that I let you share. But tonight you asked how
you could understand Italian.’
     ‘Did I?’
     ‘Yes. And that told me your mind had been taken over by
another influence.’
     Sarah was about to question the Doctor further when the
bolt was drawn back with a clank, and Giuliano was led in
between two soldiers. He gasped at the sight of the Doctor and
Sarah.
     ‘See to Marco,’ urged the Doctor.
     Giuliano darted to his companion’s side and cupped his
head in his hands.
     ‘Marco? What have they done to you?’
     Marco’s eyelids flickered momentarily and his lips trembled.
‘They made me... speak against you.’ His chin fell heavily to his
chest with the effort. Pity and anger mingled on Giuliano’s face
as he stared upon his boyhood companion.
     ‘What have they forced you to say?’ he whispered.
     ‘That you, dear nephew,’ answered a gloating voice from
behind, ‘and this dog of a sorcerer are in league to revive the
blasphemous cult of Demnos.’
     Giuliano swung round on his heels to encounter the
towering figure of his uncle, arms folded and legs astride,
leering devilishly at him from the doorway.
     ‘You stinking butcher! ‘
     Giuliano sprang at Federico’s throat but the two soldiers
wrenched him away and held him tight. The Count chuckled
and, removing his gauntlet, struck his nephew playfully across
the cheek.
     Behind him Rossini entered hastily.
     ‘My lord.’
     ‘What is it?’
     The captain was pale and breathless. ‘All over the city...
they’re coming out of every street...’
     ‘What are you gabbling about?’
     ‘The brethren,’ gasped Rossini. ‘They’re moving towards the
temple!’

Through the empty streets hordes of sinister wraith-like figures
glided over the cobblestones like a surging tide. Rossini, who
had witnessed the spectacle from the upper window in the
palace, ten minutes earlier, had never seen such a sight. No one,
not even Federico had realised the brethren numbered so many.
    At the southern end of the city files of black hooded figures
merged into one large column and surged across the Slopes of
Sorrow towards the ruined temple.
    Inside the sacrificial chamber, Hieronymous, cloaked in
purple and wearing the golden mask, stood at the foot of the
altar as the brethren arrived and took up their positions. By his
side stood the High Priest, adorned for the first time in a tall
silver mask fashioned like a gargoyle.
     Once the brethren were fully assembled a low chanting
commenced, which gradually rose in volume as they began
processing around the central altar. After a few moments
Hieronymous climbed onto the top step of the altar, and
kneeling down, kissed the base of the stone. Then raising his
arms exultantly he called out in an unknown tongue.
     Immediately, a strange shimmering effect appeared on the
walls of the cavern and the sound of creaking, grinding stone-
work echoed above the heads of the brethren. Slowly and
majestically the outline of their former temple materialised
around them. When the shape was complete and the noise had
ceased Hieronymous rose to his feet and made another gesture,
bringing his arms down to his sides in a wide circling motion.
     As he did so a brilliant shaft of light bathed him and the
altar in a curious ethereal glow. The centre of the column of
light was an intense iridescent white, impossible to look upon
directly, fading towards the outer edges into a vivid spectrum of
colours, orange, green, vermilion, and peacock-blue.
     The chanting from the brethren ceased and Hieronymous
cried in a loud voice.
     ‘Great God Demnos, we are ready to receive you into
ourselves. If we are worthy of your almighty presence, show
yourself.’
     For a few moments nothing happened, then a mighty
lightning flash like a shooting star sped down the beam of light
and struck the altar where Hieronymous was standing!
     Instantly he turned into a vivid ball of colour as the charge
travelled straight through him, from head to foot. Miraculously,
he remained alive and intact. As if obeying some unheard
command he spread his gloved hands over the altar, about a foot
above the surface. Immediately a force of energy leapt from the
stone to his hands and his fingers crackled with blue light. He
beckoned to the High Priest who approached from the other
side of the altar and raised his hands. Hieronymous took hold of
them in his and a bolt of energy passed through into the High
Priest. He jerked convulsively as if a powerful electric current
had entered his body. Hieronymous released his grip and the
High Priest stepped back to his position.
    The process had begun. The first recipients of Mandragora’s
awesome power had relinquished their human selves.

If Rossini’s news was true then there was even less time than the
Doctor had first thought. It was imperative to convince Federico
of the imminent danger. But the cunning tyrant was determined
to enjoy his moment of glory.
     ‘I’ve waited a long time, sorcerer, for this moment. Nothing
is going to stop me now from becoming Duke.’
     The Doctor retorted angrily. ‘Count Federico, I’m not
interested in your political ambitions. Your enemies are not here
in this dungeon, they’re in the temple. It’s not Giuliano you have
to fear but Hieronymous.’
     Federico snorted. ‘Hieronymous? That old fake?’
     ‘That old fake. Count, is the leader of the brethren.’
     ‘What?’ Federico’s checks drained of what little colour they
had and he stared uncomprehendingly at Rossini.
     ‘And he’s possessed of some extraordinary power,’
continued the Doctor smoothly, ‘Helix Energy. It’s a power that
could destroy everything. I’ve warned you before.’
     ‘It’s a trick, sire.’
     Federico looked from the captain to the Doctor, in two
minds.
     ‘How do I know sorcerer, that you are telling the truth?’
    ‘You don’t. But if you don’t stop Hieronymous, now, I
promise you there’ll be no Dukedom for you or anyone else to
rule over after tonight.’
    The Count looked visibly shaken. He hesitated a moment
then said, ‘I’ll see for myself. And you’ll come with me.’ He
prodded the Doctor in the ribs. ‘Unchain him.’
    ‘Don’t trust him, my lord,’ remonstrated the captain.
    Federico sneered.
    ‘I don’t have to trust him. Keep these three as hostages.’ He
indicated Giuliano, Sarah and the still half-conscious Marco. ‘If I
don’t return within the hour you know what to do.’
    Rossini clicked his heels and nodded and the guards began
unchaining the Doctor. Sarah looked anxiously at Giuliano.
There was nothing they could do. The Doctor was taking the
only course open to him. Their lives once more lay in his
hands—and Federico’s.

In the temple the brethren were still filing slowly up to the altar
one by one and receiving the ‘energy charge’ from
Hieronymous. Those who had already undergone the ordeal
stood silently in the centre of the chamber, their masked faces
trained obediently on their leader. They seemed no longer
human, too stiff, too still, like row upon row of carved dummies.
     As the altar queue gradually dwindled a handful of
latecomers appeared and tagged on the end. Their hoods were
pulled far forward concealing their faces and they quickly
mingled in with the other brethren as if not wanting to attract
attention. They were a good fifty feet away from the altar when
Hieronymous suddenly looked up from his administrations and
stared in their direction. The tallest of the latecomers whispered
in his neighbour’s ear.
     ‘Don’t go near him.’
    ‘Do I need your advice?’ snarled Federico and motioned his
guards to keep a firm grip on the Doctor’s arms. Then, suddenly
throwing back his hood he ran towards the altar and pointed an
accusing finger.
    ‘Hieronymous! You traitor!’
    The masked figure whirled round. Federico signalled to his
men to seize the astrologer. The guards started to obey then
stopped in their tracks. They seemed frozen with fear, transfixed
by the devilish staring mask.
    ‘Hieronymous!’
    Federico rushed forward, screaming with fury. An inner
demon drove him on to seek vengeance on his old astrologer.
He leapt up the altar steps and tore the golden mask from
Hieronymous’s face. Instantly he fell back in horror. There was
no face behind the mask! No flesh, no bone, nothing. Nothing
but a blinding searing light framed by the edges of the black
hood. It was clear there was nothing beneath the cloak, no
person at all, just a power source in the shape of a man.
    The ‘Shape’ raised its arm and pointed a gloved finger at
Federico. The Count cringed in terror. The Doctor looked on in
horrified fascination, unable to intervene. The gloved finger
levelled at Federico’s heart and daggers of blue light spurted
from the tip striking him instantly. Federico gave a hideous
shriek and exploded into a mass of flames. His guards ran to his
aid but they too were instantly devoured by a burst from
Hieronymous’s outstretched arm.
    The Doctor turned pale as he gazed at the charred and
smoking pile which an instant before had been Count Federico.
The effects of Mandragora Energy were more lethal than a laser
beam, more powerful than nuclear fission. And in this temple a
multitude were already armed with the same weapon. Unless he
could escape, Earth was doomed. Had his alien presence yet
been detected by the intelligences of Mandragora? As if in reply
the gloved finger of Hieronymous swung sharply round and
pointed ominously in the Doctor’s direction.
                              10
                             Siege
For a moment the Doctor felt his heart stop beating. Time stood
still and it seemed to him as if the sum total of his existence lay
naked and defenceless before that threatening accusing finger.
He closed his eyes and waited.
      ‘So shall perish all our earthly enemies.’
      The voice of Hieronymous echoed exultantly round the
cavernous chamber. The Doctor opened one eye. The masked
figure had lowered its arm and now addressed the enraptured
brethren.
      ‘Surround me with the Helix of power, brothers, and none
can overcome us.’ Hieronymous lowered his head reverentially
and sank into a kneeling position. The Doctor stood in a daze of
relief as the brothers nearest to him jostled and pressed their
way towards the base of the altar.
      There they formed a circle and began a low chant while
Hieronymous continued to address them with messianic fervour.
      ‘All has happened as was foretold down the centuries. The
waiting, the prayers, the sacrifices. Now, at last, the Empire of
Mandragora will encompass the Earth. For Demnos is only the
servant of Mandragora and Mandragora is the mighty master of
all things.’
      The Doctor looked cautiously about him. Everyone seemed
preoccupied, So, bowing his head and mumbling furtively he
took his chance and backed away towards the nearest exit.
Luckily it was the one through which Federico’s men had gained
admittance. He knew he could remember the way out.
      ‘Let the power flood into you, brothers. Tonight we shall
witness the last prophesy.’
     The Doctor reached the shadows. Hieronymous raised his
voice. ‘As it is written, Mandragora shall swallow the moon.
Then shall we strike!’
     The masked figure leapt to his feet and made a sweeping
gesture with his fist.
     The Doctor raised an eyebrow, interested. Battle plans? Of a
sort, yes, but puzzling. Now was not the time to work them out.
     Swiftly and stealthily he left the sacrificial chamber and
retraced his steps towards the palace.

In the dungeons Sarah, Giuliano and Marco hung manacled to
their racks just as Federico had ordered. Marco had now
regained consciousness but was still in a bad way. Rossini stood
staring at him without sympathy flanked by four armed guards.
From time to time he prodded the red-hot irons in the brazier,
more out of idle curiosity than from any desire to use them.
Even so it was enough to alarm Sarah who was not accustomed
to hanging around in medieval torture chambers.
     The Doctor had been gone over an hour when a fifth guard
appeared in the doorway and bowed at Rossini. The scar-faced
captain nodded and turned to his captives.
     ‘It is time. Count Federico ordered that these traitors be
executed at the end of an hour.’
     ‘Only if he didn’t return,’ protested Sarah.
     ‘Neither he nor the sorcerer nor any of their party have
returned from the temple,’ replied the captain flatly.
     ‘You mean it’s an hour already? Doesn’t time fly when
you’re having fun.’
     Rossini motioned to his guards. ‘Take them down.’
     The guard nearest Giuliano began to undo his manacles.
     ‘Stay, fellow,’ commanded the Prince. ‘Rossini, you call us
traitors, but lay a hand on your Prince and you will be the
traitor.’
     The guard hesitated, uncertain what to do. ‘I follow the
Count,’ replied Rossini gruffly.
     ‘You follow a tyrant and a murderer! ‘ gasped Marco from
his pallet. ‘It is Giuliano to whom you owe allegiance.’
     ‘Enough!’ cried Rossini. ‘Take them down! The execution
block grows dry.’
     The guards bowed and hurriedly released the prisoners
from their wooden racks.
     ‘Infamous filth!’ groaned Marco as he staggered to keep
upright. ‘Call yourselves soldiers!’ His hands freed, Giuliano
stood proud and erect facing his captors. ‘Are we to die without
even a priest?’
     ‘Or a hearty breakfast?’ chipped in Sarah.
     ‘No priest available,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Will a
brother do?’
     They all spun round to see the Doctor framed in the
doorway beaming, the brother’s cowl pushed back from his face.
     Rossini was the first to recover. ‘What have you done to the
Count, sorcerer?’ he snarled.
     ‘Federico is dead.’
     Giuliano turned pale. ‘Dead? My uncle is dead?’
     The Doctor nodded. ‘In the temple ruins.’
     ‘How did he die?’
     ‘Let’s just say Hieronymous gave him a blank look.’
     Rossini began to tremble and the weal-mark on his cheek
grew purple. He pointed to the Doctor angrily. ‘Seize him! ‘
     But the soldiers hung back, stunned by the news of
Federico’s death.
     ‘Seize him!’
     The guards still did not move.
     ‘Rossini, you don’t have any authority now.’ said the Doctor.
‘There’s your lawful ruler.’ He turned to Giuliano.
     Giuliano addressed the bewildered soldiers. ‘You men. Are
you with your Prince?’
     There was a moment’s pause then all five soldiers uncovered
their heads and knelt before the Prince. Rossini, left standing.
lowered his eyes then followed suit.
     ‘Take him to the block!’
     ‘No, Marco,’ replied the Prince restraining his companion.
He nodded to the soldiers. ‘Take him away. I’ll decide his fate
later.’
     The newly-converted guards rose and, taking hold of
Rossini. marched him out of the cell.
     Marco sprang to the Prince’s side and clasped him about the
neck. ‘Giuliano, the evil is ended! At last you can rule without
fear.’
     ‘Wrong, Marco,’ interrupted the Doctor. ‘The evil is only
just beginning. Hieronymous and the brethren still remain.’
     ‘Then destroy them, my lord,’ urged Marco. ‘You must take
command!’
     Giuliano paused, taking stock. ‘Is that what you think,
Doctor?’
     ‘You are the Prince! The soldiers will rally to you. Lead
them to this temple, win your inheritance, sire.’
     The Doctor smiled. ‘Marco, Marco.’ He took him by the
shoulders and led him gently to a bench. Then, turning to
Giuliano he said, ‘If you go near that temple you go to your
death.’
     Giuliano looked uncertain. ‘Then what do you suggest?
What would you have me do?’
     The Doctor glanced at the open doorway to make sure no
one was listening.
     ‘The brethren are still absorbing power. Get every man you
can, soldiers, joiners, stonemasons, and block all entrances to the
palace. Turn it into a fortress,’ he looked earnestly into the
Prince’s face. ‘Because when the brethren come here, you’re
going to need one.’
     Supporting his companion Giuliano led him out of the cell
towards the upper palace.
     Sarah turned to the Doctor. ‘Are the barricades enough to
stop the brethren?’ she asked gently.
     ‘Anything to delay them, Sarah. I need time to think.
Anyway his power isn’t complete yet.’ The Doctor unclipped his
cloak and threw it aside. ‘Come on.’ He headed out of the cell.
     ‘What do you mean?’ called Sarah as she followed him out of
the dungeons and up a stone staircase. The Doctor prised open
a thick studded door at the top and poked his head through. He
beckoned her on and the two of them stepped gingerly into the
moonlit colonnade running alongside the state rooms.
     ‘This way,’ whispered the Doctor, and then continued to
explain. ‘So far the only Helix Energy available in the brethren is
what we brought with us.’
     ‘Well that’s bad enough,’ Sarah frowned. ‘You mean there’s
more to come?’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Tomorrow night. When
Mandragora swallows the moon.’
     Sarah stopped, hands on hips. ‘Listen. I came here with you
remember? You don’t have to use that fifteenth-century double
talk with me. I speaka da pretty good English.’
     ‘I was just repeating what he said,’ replied the Doctor and
disappeared smartly behind a stone column. Sarah had to run to
catch up. ‘Who?’
     The Doctor hurried on, checking carefully at each corridor
intersection before hopping across.
     ‘Hieronymous. When Mandragora swallows the moon
they’re going to strike.’
     Sarah sighed in frustration.
     ‘But what does it mean?’
      The Doctor did not answer. They had come to a halt outside
an imposing door with the royal crest of arms carved in wood
and gilt above. Sarah recognised it as the entrance to Giuliano’s
chambers. The Doctor pushed the door open and ventured in.
The room was empty. Quickly he moved to the window and
began dismantling Giuliano’s telescope which still stood at an
angle on the table where Marco had left it. He squinted through
the eyepiece at Sarah.
      ‘Just about adequate I suppose.’ He adjusted the focus.
‘Another fifty years and we could have used Galileo’s. Come on.’
He was at the door and off again before she’d had time to draw
breath.
      ‘Where are you going now?’ protested Sarah, but he had
already gone and she knew she would have to follow to find out.
The Doctor in one of his impulsive moods was always the same.
She pulled a wry face and set off after him.
      Elsewhere in the palace there was great activity. The main
gates leading onto the city square had been barricaded and all
side entrances to the royal mansion were being scaled off.
Giuliano himself was busy commanding the work from the
corridor outside the state rooms.
      As he ordered a group of stonemasons and carpenters to the
west gate Marco ran up. He had changed into fresh clothes, but
still looked weakened from his ordeal.
      ‘Sire, it’s begun!’
      ‘What?’
      ‘The brethren. They are driving people from the town.’
      Giuliano’s handsome features darkened at this in-formation.
‘Are you sure of this?’
      Marco nodded. ‘Those who refuse to leave are being
destroyed by bolts of fire. They have brought the forces of
darkness out of those devilish catacombs.’
     The young Prince pushed open the doors leading to the
state rooms and led his companion inside. If overheard, the
news could spread alarm and panic.
     ‘So we are isolated now,’ deliberated Giuliano, ‘just the few
of us in this palace.’
     ‘Some of them the most precious heads in all Europe, sire.’
     Giuliano sank into the high backed throne and Marco read
the gravity of the situation in his master’s bleak expression.
     ‘Do they know what we face?’
     ‘I think they have some fear that all is not well,’ replied
Marco. ‘Their personal guards stay close. And the King of
Naples asked the reason for all the noise. I sent back word that it
was a preparation for the masque.’
     Giuliano leapt to his feet. ‘The masque! I had forgotten the
day. Marco, it must be cancelled.’
     Marco shook his head. ‘Would you explain to your peers
that your accession to the throne cannot be celebrated because of
a pagan uprising?’
     ‘The masque cannot be held, Marco! It is too dangerous.’
The young Prince grew flushed and agitated.
     ‘I have seen our defences, sire,’ replied Marco calmly. ‘This
palace could be held against an army. And the brothers are not
an army, they are a fanatical rabble.’
     ‘Who can kill with bolts of fire.’
     ‘Simple trickery. Hicronymous was always a cunning fox.
And do not forget, my lord, we have weapons of our own.’
Giuliano looked hard into the eyes of his steadfast companion.
All the years he had known him he had proved a wise and loyal
counsellor. But now they were dealing with powers and events
outside their knowledge. He wondered how his father the old
duke would have reacted, how would he best have protected his
people? And for the first time realised the awesome burden of
office that was his inheritance. ‘I don’t know, Marco,’ the young
Prince hesitated.
     His companion grasped him by the shoulders. ‘Giuliano,
you are the ruler now. A leader. If you falter at the first
challenge, you may lose everything. There are eyes watching.
There are those who will go from here saying the Duke of San
Martino is weak, ready to be toppled. Better to trust your guards
and hold the masque as though all were normal.’
     For several moments the young Prince did not respond.
Then clasping Marco’s arms in his, he smiled. ‘You speak sense
as always, dear Marco, but all is not normal. You and I both
know it. I will seek the Doctor’s advice. Where is he?’
     ‘In Hieronymous’s room. He has been there since this
morning. But what he does there I know not.’

‘Astrolabe, Sarah.’ The Doctor held out a hand.
     ‘What?’
     ‘The astrolabe,’ repeated the Doctor sharply. He was
perched on a stool his right eye firmly glued to Giuliano’s
telescope which pointed skywards out of the window. He
waggled his fingers. ‘The medieval sextant.’
     ‘Oh.’ Sarah scratched her head and selected the most likely
contender from the curious instruments which lay scattered
about the chamber. ‘What exactly are you trying to do, Doctor?’
     ‘I’m trying to get this thing to work. Exactly. Roughly will be
no good at all.’ He levelled the sextant towards the sun.
‘Unfortunately, the alidade is almost a whole degree out.’ He
adjusted the brass screw on the side of the sextant, took a
sighting and began a rapid calculation.
     ‘Compensate for error, then convert to the Copernican
system, hundred and twenty degrees, that’s eight, and seventeen
from sixty...’
     ‘Forty-three.’
     ‘Forty-three, thank you Sarah, that’s... that’s it. I’ve done it.’
He beamed. ‘Eight minutes and forty-three seconds after nine
o’clock tonight.’
     ‘What?’
     ‘Mandragora swallows the moon. In other words, a lunar
eclipse.’
     ‘And that’s when the brethren will attack?’
     The Doctor nodded. ‘I imagine so. More important,’ he
gestured around the room, ‘it’s when all this paraphernalia
could become man’s only science.’
     Sarah pulled a face. ‘Astrology? You mean when Mars is in
the house of the ram and all that nonsense?’
     ‘Nonsense?’ retorted the Doctor. ‘It’s not nonsense.’ He
wagged a finger at Sarah. ‘Remember Hieronymous, what he
did to you. The Mandragorans don’t conquer in a physical
sense. They dominate and control by Helix Energy, astral
influence. They take away the one thing worth having.’
     ‘Which is?’
     ‘The essence of life. Purpose. The ability granted to every
intelligent species to shape its destiny.’ The Doctor stepped
down from the window, animated by his concern. ‘Once let them
gain control and man’s ambition will never stretch beyond the
next meal. They’ll turn you into sheep. Idle, useless, mindless
sheep.’ He paused, his voice raised and angry at the thought.
     Sarah held up her hands. ‘All right. I’m convinced.’ It was
not often the Doctor grew so heated or showed his true feelings.
Sarah often wondered why he cared so much for Earth and its
people. But she knew it was the principle which counted. It was
oppression and tyranny he fought. Whether on a small scale
with Federico and San Martino, or Mandragora and Earth, it
amounted to the same denial of freedom.
     ‘But what can we do?’ she asked finally. There was no reply
from the Doctor. He had adopted the familiar lotus position of
an Eastern mystic, eyes closed. hands pressed firmly together,
and now sat immobile in the middle of the room. Instead there
was a tap at the door and Giuliano entered accompanied by a
soldier.
     ‘I’d like...’ Giuliano broke off and stared at the Doctor.
     ‘Don’t worry.’ explained Sarah. ‘he’s only thinking.’ The
Doctor let out a loud snore.
     ‘Thinking?’ queried the Prince.
     Sarah frowned. ‘I think.’
     ‘I came to seek his advice.’
     The Doctor suddenly opened his eyes and bounced to his
feet. ‘All or nothing, Sarah. I’ll have to take a gamble.’ He
started towards the door.
     ‘Doctor,’ said Giuliano, intercepting him.
     ‘Hello.’ The Doctor flashed a quick smile. ‘If it’s ionised
plasma it’s molecular, i.e. there’s only a certain amount of it. And
by now it must be spread pretty thinly among Hieronymous and
the brethren. Exhaust it. That’s the answer!’ He beamed
triumphantly at Giuliano.
     ‘Doctor, I have a question.’
     The Doctor tapped the soldier’s chainmail jerkin. ‘Can you
get me one of these? And a good length of wire?’
     ‘Wire?’ Giuliano looked bewildered.
     ‘Yes wire! Good heavens, man, it’s at least a hundred and
fifty years since wire-drawing machines were invented. You must
have some about the place.’
     The Prince gave a baffled shrug. ‘If you would speak to the
palace armourer...’
     ‘Of course, yes! I’ll see him right away.’ The Doctor strode to
the door then turned, remembering something. ‘Did you have a
question?’
     ‘I wanted to speak to you about tonight’s masque—the ball
for all our distinguished visitors,’ replied Giuliano. ‘Everything is
arranged, but it could yet be cancelled.’
     The Doctor chuckled. ‘Oh I see. You’re going to have a
hop? How splendid!’
     ‘If you don’t think it’s too dangerous,’ ventured Giuliano
tentatively.
     ‘Dangerous?’ The Doctor shook his head vigorously. ‘Duke,
you have a lot of guests to entertain. Of course you must hold
the masque. Sarah will love it.’ He waved an arm and
disappeared.
     ‘Oh yes,’ said Sarah with heavy sarcasm, ‘it’ll be just my
scene!’
     The Doctor popped his head round the door again. ‘And
save me a costume, Giuliano, I love a good knees up.’ Then he
was gone.
     Sarah was forced to laugh at the young Duke’s perplexed
expression. She had forgotten how unsettling the Doctor’s bouts
of enthusiasm could be to anyone who didn’t know him.

Hieronymous stood alone on the topmost step of the altar, his
golden mask glinting in the flickering torch-light. Behind the
eye-slits in the mask, where once the astrologer’s own beady eyes
looked out, was now a dim pulsating glow. The purple gloves
still covered his long, extended fingers.
      There was a movement in the shadows and the High Priest,
also masked, ascended the altar steps. Hieronymous inclined his
head. ‘The hour fast approaches.’
      ‘What is your plan, Great One?’
      The High Priest’s voice echoed through the sepulchral
gloom. No longer human, it sounded hoarse, devoid of emotion,
like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
      ‘The plan of Mandragora,’ answered Hieronymous. ‘I am
but the vessel for those who hold dominion over the cosmos.’
      ‘The mighty sky gods? What would they have us do, lord?’
      Hieronymous turned to face the High Priest and the eye-
slits in his ghoulish mask grew red and fierce.
      ‘This time and place were well chosen. Assembled in the
palace are many scholars, men of science and learning, many
rulers and nobles. Tonight they are to be destroyed. All of them.
In this way shall be established the power and supremacy of
those masters we serve.’
      The High Priest bowed.
      ‘The Duke has deployed many soldiers. All the entrances to
the palace are fortified and heavily guarded, lord.’
      Hieronymous dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘There is still
an entrance they know nothing of. Bring me ten of the brethren.
I will take them to the palace.’ He leant closer to his acolyte’s
ear. ‘Tonight there is a masque in the Duke’s honour. We will
provide the entertainers!’
      The High Priest bowed low and backed away into the
shadows. As he did so a peculiar croaking noise emanated from
behind the grinning mask of Hieronymous, like a hideous
inhuman cackle.
                           11
                    Duel to the Death
In Giuliano’s room the Doctor was endeavouring to get into the
chainmail jerkin. He tugged and heaved at the weighty garment,
struggling to fasten it round his bulky frame. The jerkin was the
largest the palace possessed but still it was a tight fit. At last he
managed it with the help of the palace armourer and a good
deal of ill-tempered muttering.
    ‘Now the coat. I don’t want it to show.’
    The armourer helped the Doctor into his velvet frock-coat
shaking his head in bewilderment at this eccentric and
unorthodox procedure.
    At this moment Sarah entered the room her arms laden with
a number of fancy dress costumes.
    ‘How do I look?’ enquired the Doctor anxiously.
    Sarah walked up to him and prodded his stomach. ‘Are you
putting on weight?’ The Doctor looked hurt. ‘And what’s that in
aid of?’ She yanked the metal jerkin.
    ‘A little plan.’ The Doctor turned to the armourer. ‘Leave
the wire.’
    The armourer bowed, placed a long coil of metal wire on the
sword-chest and then left.
    Sarah held out the costumes. ‘Giuliano sent you these to
choose from.’
    The Doctor selected a baggy russet-coloured garment with a
large lion’s head. ‘This is rather dignified, don’t you think?’ The
Doctor donned the lion’s head and let out a roar.
    ‘I think it’s ridiculous to be talking about fancy dress—I
mean if we’re in such desperate danger.’
     The Doctor pawed the air with his hands, threw back his
lion’s mane and roared again.
     ‘Oh stop it! ‘ cried Sarah, genuinely upset. ‘Remember the
French before Agincourt?’ The lion’s head waggled stupidly.
     Sarah turned away. There were times when the Doctor’s
behaviour infuriated her. ‘One thing I’ve noticed about you,’ she
said bitterly, ‘the worse the situation the worse your jokes get.’
     The Doctor stopped his fooling abruptly and removed the
costume head.
     ‘I’ll settle for the lion, all right?’ he said quickly.
     Sarah eyed him seriously. ‘Things are bad, aren’t they?’
     ‘Yes.’ The Doctor picked up the wire.
     ‘Very bad?’
     The Doctor nodded. ‘Desperately bad. We can only do our
best—and hope.’ His blue eyes met Sarah’s and for once they
lacked their natural warmth and sparkle. In that moment Sarah
knew they were up against something far more powerful and
frightening than even she had dared imagine.
     The Doctor took her hand. ‘Coming?’
     She smiled weakly and followed him out.
     In the state rooms and adjoining ante-chambers the guests
were already trickling in prior to the masque commencing. The
musicians were tuning up in the balcony and kitchen boys
scurried hither and thither with last minute additions to the
huge banqueting table which ran along one side of the ballroom.
     The Doctor and Sarah arrived in one of the ante-rooms with
Marco. The Doctor clutched the lion’s head. On a bench beneath
a window were seated three bizarre figures in fancy dress, a
goat’s head in white alabaster with snarling nostrils and
fiercesome horns, an oxen with gaping jaws, and an ogling clown
with bloated cheeks and stringy hair falling around its shoulders.
The Doctor drew Marco’s attention to the monstrous trio.
     ‘Is Leonardo da Vinci among that lot?’
     Marco smiled. ‘Those are the entertainers.’
     The Doctor shook his head, disappointed. ‘I don’t think I’m
ever going to see Leonardo, Sarah.’ He addressed Marco again.
     ‘Have the dungeon entrance opened.’
     ‘I’ll see to it at once, Doctor.’ Marco sped away.
     The Doctor turned to Sarah. ‘I want you to stay here and
keep an eye on this lot.’
     ‘What for?’ protested Sarah.
     ‘A Time Lord has to do what a Time Lord has to do.’ He
lifted the coil of wire. ‘Besides, you’re not equipped.’
     They had reached the colonnade which led down to the
dungeons.
     ‘Doctor, you said it was dangerous.’
     ‘Did I? Oh, yes.’
     ‘Well is it dangerous?’
     ‘Only if I’ve guessed wrong.’
     Sarah caught hold of the Doctor’s arm and forced him to a
halt. ‘I wish you’d stop giving me flip answers ! ‘
     ‘All right.’ The Doctor turned and faced her. ‘Cosmic rays—
negatively charged high-energy particles—follow magnetic lines
of force. So, if I’ve guessed right about the nature of Helix
Energy, I should be able to drain it off.’
     Sarah nodded. ‘And if you’re wrong?’
     The Doctor smiled expansively. ‘When have I ever been
wrong about anything?’ He gave her a sly wink and disappeared
down the corridor.
     Sarah stared after his retreating figure and bit her lip. ‘Lots
of times,’ she said to herself quietly and there was a look of
sadness in her eyes.

In the temple ruins a figure slid into the Sacrificial Chamber and
approached the purple form of Hieronymous standing sentinel-
like beside the altar.
     ‘The masque has begun,’ reported the High Priest urgently.
‘Shall I order our brothers into position?’
     ‘Yes. Kill all who try to escape.’
     ‘The others are inside?’
     ‘Concealed from prying eyes. They await only my signal.’
     The High Priest bowed. ‘Glory to Demnos.’ ‘And to
Mandragora.’
     The High Priest bowed once more and glided away into the
shadows. Hieronymous watched him disappear, then strutted
majestically down from the altar and vanished through a hidden
exit.
     A few moments later a grinning lion’s head peered round a
broken column, and the Doctor stepped out. He glanced quickly
round the cavernous chamber to make sure he was alone. Then,
laying aside the lion’s head. he unwound the coil of wire and
began scrabbling about in the dirt at the base of the altar.

In the palace the state rooms were now full of guests as the
masque began. The visiting dignitaries were easy to pick out in
their sumptuous costumes, each with a clutch of courtiers
swaggering and prancing around them in exaggerated fashion.
Every guest wore a mask or disguise of some kind and there was
much chaffing and banter as young gallants tried to guess the
identity of their pretty partners.
    After one or two lively opening dances the musicians
delivered a roll on the drums and through the large double
doors tottered a motley clad jester on tall wooden stilts. There
were ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of delight as he wobbled about the floor,
towering over the frightened lady courtiers. Then with a shout
he leapt from the stilts and somersaulted up onto a trestled
table. Plucking three lighted torches from the wall, he began to
juggle with them high in the air.
     Giuliano looked on from a raised dais at the far end of the
room, a faint smile on his lips. He was doing his best to be
outwardly calm and courteous to his visitors, but his thoughts
were on the hidden danger that lay outside. As he nodded
politely to the Duke and Duchess of Milan he caught sight of
Marco anxiously pushing towards him through the crowd.
     ‘Sire!’
     ‘What is it?’
     ‘I have heard a report from the guards. The brethren...’
     Giuliano hushed his companion and drew him to one side.
‘What of them?’
     ‘They are all round the outside of the palace. It is as though
they are waiting for something.’
     Giuliano looked puzzled. ‘What could it be—a signal?’
     Marco shrugged. ‘Perhaps. They are just standing silently in
the shadows.’
     The Prince broke off to applaud the juggler. ‘Is
Hieronymous with them?’
     ‘He has not been seen, my lord.’
     ‘I don’t like the smell of it, Marco.’ Giuliano gestured
towards the floor. ‘Even our guests sense that something is
wrong. See how quiet they are.’
     Marco followed his gaze and it was true. Small knots of
guests, close advisers of visiting Heads of State, were muttering
quietly to one another and casting anxious looks about the room.
     Marco grasped the young Duke’s arm encouragingly.
‘Giuliano, take heart. Our walls are thick and solid and the
guards well-trained—a match for any in the land. At least we
have your uncle to thank for that.’
     ‘You think we have nothing to fear?’
     ‘I think by dawn Hieronymous will have realised his
mistake. He and his followers will leave San Martino to search
for easier pickings elsewhere.’
     ‘I hope you are right,’ replied Giuliano but he seemed
unconvinced.
     There was a cry of amazement from the guests clustered
about the juggler as he reached the finale of his act, thrusting a
blazing torch into his mouth without apparent harm. Giuliano
rose to his feet and led the applause. Marco followed suit and
the two of them descended from the dais onto the dance floor.
     ‘Sire, if needs be,’ continued Marco, ‘we can hold out here
for a month. And long before that the armies of neighbouring
states would come to our help.’
     Giuliano acknowledged his friend’s counsel then smiled and
bowed to a pretty young lady who approached. She wore a
beautiful satin gown of exquisite pearl grey and a filigree silver
mask covered her eyes. Giuliano was especially taken with the
delicate nape of her neck, her lustrous hair, and found himself
strongly attracted to this mysterious stranger.
     ‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ she asked, and Giuliano
realised with a shock it was the Doctor’s companion, Sarah.
     ‘No,’ he answered endeavouring to regain his composure.
     Sarah seemed oblivious to the effect she had caused. ‘He
should be here by now,’ she said impatiently. ‘It must be nearly
nine.’
     ‘It was eight of the evening when I toured the guards,’
answered Marco.
     ‘This waiting, not knowing what’s happening. is worse than
being with him.’ Sarah scoured the dancing throng but the
Doctor was nowhere to be seen. As she stood on the edge of the
dancers a Florentine gallant stepped forward and made a low
bow before her.
     ‘Who, me?’ responded Sarah, looking round to see if she
was mistaken. The gallant bowed again, even lower this time.
Sarah shrugged and took his hand. As the young gallant minced
off with his prize Sarah threw Giuliano a desperate look. The
handsome young Duke raised an eyebrow and smiled.
    As Sarah whirled elegantly about the dance floor she caught
sight of the hideous features of the entertainers standing
motionless in the corners of the room, the goat, the oxen, and
the clown, and for some reason the sight of them sent an icy chill
down her spine.

The Doctor was crouched low by a corner of the altar finishing
off his work. He had run the wire right round the base of the
altar, in contact with it, to form a circuit. From this he had led
off a number of ‘spokes’ to the area immediately surrounding
the altar and camouflaged the whole skein of wires with earth
and stones. The remaining wire he attached to the chain jerkin
beneath his coat, leaving the other end free to trail on the
ground. Then, satisfied, he leant casually against the altar and
dusted his hands.
     He had his back to the hidden exit. Instinct told him that
Hieronymous would return, before the final assault, to gain
inspiration and strength of purpose from the sacred stone. And
in that short time the Doctor knew he had to make his move,
draw Hieronymous and the Helix Energy into a deadly and
decisive confrontation, or else all was lost.
     Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the sound of
someone picking their way through the ruins towards him. The
muscles in the Doctor’s face tensed but he kept his relaxed
posture.
     ‘You profane the sacred stone.’
     The voice was deathly, menacing, war-like.
     The Doctor turned casually. ‘Hello there! Had a hard day in
the catacombs?’
     ‘You profane the sacred stone!’
     ‘Come now! You know who I am.’ The Doctor spread his
arms in a friendly gesture. ‘You can drop all that bosh about
stones and profanity. Just be your natural horrid self.’
     Hieronymous halted about twelve feet away. The eye-slits of
his mask seemed ablaze in the dark shadows of the cavern. ‘why
have you come here, Time Lord?’
     ‘Well I had no choice, you see,’ replied the Doctor,
deliberately fudging the issue.
     ‘Had it not been you, there would have been other travellers
drawn into the Mandragora Helix. Earth had to be possessed.’
The purple gloved hands reached out in a clenching, grasping
motion. ‘Unchecked, man’s curiosity might lead him away from
this planet until, ultimately, even the galaxy itself may not
contain him! We of Mandragora will not permit a rival power
within our dominion! ‘
     ‘Pity,’ said the Doctor, ‘because I can’t allow you to interfere
with Earth’s progress.’
     ‘You arrogant dolt! ‘ Hieronymous advanced threateningly.
‘How dare you oppose the might of Mandragora!’
     ‘I’m afraid it’s part of a Time Lord’s job to insist on justice
for all species.’
     ‘Then you will be swept aside like the dirt that you are.’
     ‘Really?’ The Doctor backed away carefully down the altar
steps. He knew that any second now Hieronymous could point
his finger and the lethal bolts would be unleashed, and he
wanted to be in the correct position.
     Suddenly, Hieronymous rushed towards him, the horrible,
contorted visage illuminated by the red-hot energy force within.
     ‘Die, Doctor! ‘ he screamed and, raising his right arm, fired
a bolt of Helix Energy straight at the Doctor.
     There was a bright flash and the Doctor felt a massive jolt in
his chest like a powerful electric shock. He staggered backwards
but managed to regain his balance.
     ‘Time Lords don’t die so easily,’ he gasped through gritted
teeth.
     Hieronymous moved in closer for the kill.
     ‘We shall crush you! ‘ A second bolt sped from his fingertips
and slammed into the Doctor’s body.
     The Doctor twisted with the pain but remained standing. He
managed a mocking grin. ‘Not doing too well, are you?’
     Hieronymous hissed with rage and another burst of Helix
Energy stabbed the Doctor’s chest. This time the pain was
excruciating and he fell to one knee. The chain-mail jerkin was
taking the force of the impact but growing red-hot in the process
and burning into the Doctor’s flesh. The Doctor’s right hand
groped for the wire running to the ground by his side. It too was
fiercely hot and on the point of melting. Once that snapped the
massive charge of Helix Energy would no longer be ‘earthed’
and the next bolt would travel directly through the Doctor’s
body, burning him to a frazzle as it did so.
     The Doctor raised his head and looked towards
Hieronymous. Surely the Helix Energy was beginning to
dwindle? His whole gamble rested on the assumption of a
limited, finite amount within each of the brethren. Exhaust it
and nothing would remain.
     Hieronymous raised his arm a third time and pointed at the
Doctor. ‘Now die! Now!’
     A blue flash of lightning crackled from his fingers but this
time not so powerfully, and the impact barely jolted the Doctor.
He struggled to his feet and presented his chest squarely
towards the advancing Hieronymous. As he did so he felt the
earth-wire snap. This was it. He would have to absorb the force
of the next bolt himself—or die in the attempt.
     ‘Come on then,’ braved the Doctor. Hieronymous raised his
arms to the roof and cried out in beseeching tones.
‘Mandragora! Help me! ‘ Then, swinging round for the final
time he aimed his crooked fingers at the Doctor’s chest and let
out a piercing vengeful howl. The Doctor closed his eyes as the
flash of blue spat through the air towards him.
                         12
                  The Final Eclipse
Outside the palace. San Martino lay still and deserted beneath
the clear night air. The strong moon light, which earlier had
bathed the narrow cobbled streets in a pale silver glow, was now
fading as the giant shadow of the Earth crept across the lunar
landscape.
     Occasionally the sound of music and dancing carried across
the rooftops, like distant fairy revels; while beneath the palace
walls stood scores of black-hooded brethren, silent and
expectant, the shadowy harbingers of death and destruction.
     Inside, the masque was in full swing. The guests seemed to
have forgotten their earlier anxieties and the wine and music
flowed faster and faster. Sarah was even beginning to master the
complicated dances, particularly when Giuliano was her partner.
But, unlike Cinderella, she kept a firm eye on the clock.
     ‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ she panted as Giuliano took
hold of her for another gavotte.
     ‘Not yet.’
     ‘It’s nearly nine. Something must have happened to him.’
     Giuliano gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘He may be
already here. If he’s wearing his costume...’
     ‘He’d have let us know.’ Sarah did a graceful pirouette and
at that precise moment caught sight of a lion mask staring at her
from the far end of the room behind the dais. She broke off
from Giuliano and pushed her way towards it. ‘Doctor! What
happened? Where have you been?’
     The costumed figure gave her a mock salute and whirled
away behind a column and into an ante-chamber.
     Sarah caught up with him. ‘Stop playing the fool! Tell me
what happened! ‘ She stopped herself and stared at the lion’s
head. There was something different about it. Perhaps she had
made a mistake. ‘Doctor, it is you...?’
     The lion’s head remained motionless, it’s fanged jaws gaping
at her in mock derision. She stretched out her hand and quickly
pulled the mask off. The shock of what she saw made her scream
in terror. No face, no head, nothing, except a dazzling iridescent
sphere of light, framed by the cowl of the brethren.
     The figure pushed her aside and rushed into the ballroom.
From a commanding position on the dais it raised a gloved hand
above the heads of the dancing throng and cried out, ‘Kill,
brothers! Kill!’
     There was a curious, unreal silence as the music ceased and
everybody looked round. Then pandemonium broke out.
People ran in all directions, screeching and yelling with fear. But
as the crowd jostled and fought to escape, masked figures within
their midst turned upon them with bolts of fire. The goat-head,
the oxen, and the grinning clown threw off their headpieces to
reveal the familiar cowled shapes of the brethren beneath.
Mercilessly, they raised their fingers to shoot blinding, sizzling
shafts into the screaming bodies round them. Sarah saw her
Florentine gallant hurled to the floor and in seconds the air was
thick with the smell of burning flesh. As servants and princes
alike dashed for the exits still more brethren poured into the
room. In horror Sarah realised they had been let into the palace
by their fellows on a given signal. A total massacre seemed
imminent.
     Suddenly a voice rang out above the din. ‘Stop! Stop,
brothers!’
     Sarah whirled round. On the raised dais stood the
commanding form of Hieronymous, in purple cloak and golden
mask. He raised his arms above the cowed revellers. The
brethren turned, confused.
     ‘The final sacrifices must be made in our temple! Bring the
victims of Mandragora down by the temple.’
     There was a moment’s uncertainty and then Sarah was
roughly grabbed by arms of steel and herded into the centre of
the room together with the rest. She found herself next to a
dazed Giuliano.
     He shook his head mournfully. ‘The brethren. We have
been tricked, betrayed.’
     ‘Silence!’ ordered the figure of Hieronymous. ‘Go below, all
of you!’
     The guests were quickly surrounded by the brethren who
made them file out of the palace and into the night towards the
ruined temple. As she stumbled over the cobbles in the cold air
Sarah wondered despairingly what had befallen the Doctor.
Although she hoped against hope, in her heart she knew he
must already be dead.

The frightened and bewildered band of captives were marched
swiftly through the streets of the city and into the creepy
passages of the catacombs. Once assembled in the central
sacrificial chamber they were bound with thick rope and
grouped in a circle in the ruins about fifty feet from the altar.
Sarah had counted twenty heads of state and noblemen amongst
the prisoners besides a large number of courtiers of both sexes.
The women clung together weeping and moaning, their gay and
colourful costumes now torn and mud-spattered by the journey.
Giuliano and Marco were roped close together and Sarah was
not far away. She thought the young Duke looked defeated and
forlorn but his face only expressed what they were all feeling.
     The brethren had gathered in a circle round the altar, like a
ring of grinning fiends from hell. From out of the shadows the
majestic figure of Hieronymous appeared. He ascended the altar
steps and lifted his arms up high.
     ‘The eclipse,’ whispered Sarah. ‘It must be starting.’
     Hieronymous’s voice echoed loudly round the cavernous
chamber. ‘Now Mandragora swallows the moon. Now, as it was
written, the power of Mandragora will flood the Earth.’
     There was an eerie grinding noise all around them and
Sarah felt a chill wind rustle her hair. The atmosphere was
weird, uncanny, devilish. The cracked and jagged walls of the
chamber began to shimmer and a strange luminous glow
appeared on them. It gradually grew in strength until the
outline of a ghostly Roman temple was discernible. At the same
time the sound of tumbling masonry was augmented by a high-
pitched wail which almost drowned Hieronvmous.
     ‘Mandragora, we, your servants welcome you. Bestow your
power upon us that we may rule over the whole of your
dominion!’
     The shrieking, roaring din grew unbearable and Sarah and
the other captives buried their heads in one another’s shoulders
to escape the ear-splitting wail.
     Then, a brilliant sphere of light seemed to swoop down
through the roof of the temple. It hovered a few moments above
the altar then slowly descended into the slab causing it to glow
with white-hot heat.
     Hieronymous lowered his arms and pointed towards the
centre of the altar. The brethren followed suit. There was a
hum, like a build-up of power, and suddenly sheets of blue flame
leapt from the altar to the outstretched fingers of the encircling
brethren. At this instant Hieronymous jumped clear of the altar
steps and ran from the central area. But the brethren remained
transfixed to the floor, each brother illuminated like a fire-brand
with crackling, sizzling Helix Energy. Screams of torture and
anguish rang out from the hooded figures as they struggled to
move but they seemed held in the grip of an immutable current.
Their cloaks caught fire and the ground where they stood
erupted with sheets of flame which sped under-foot towards the
base of the altar. As the circuit was completed there was a
blinding flash and tumultuous explosion. Sarah was hurled to
the ground together with everyone around her.
     When she recovered the noise and ghostly vision were gone.
All that remained was the smoking slab of the sacrificial block
where once she had lain herself. Of the entire brethren there
was no sign. They had perished where they stood, every single
one. All that remained were heaps of empty clothing in a circle
round the altar.
     Hieronymous mounted the altar steps and took off his mask.
Beneath it was revealed the smiling face of the Doctor.
     Sarah gasped unable to believe her eyes. ‘Doctor!’
     The Doctor threw back the purple hood and gazed round at
the vanished brethren. ‘Even I have to admit that was rather
clever of me,’ he beamed. Then, taking a breath, he spoke in
deep, grating tones the exact replica of Hieronymous’s voice.
     ‘A case of energy squared. It puts Mandragora back to
square one.’
     Sarah stared at him mute with wonder. Giuliano and Marco
were likewise struck dumb.
     ‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ said the Doctor with a touch of
impatience. ‘I’m ready to accept your congratulations.’ He
winked at Giuliano. ‘I wouldn’t even say no to a salami
sandwich.’

A day later the Doctor and Sarah were riding across the Slopes
of Sorrow to the vineyard where the TARDIS had first landed.
Sarah was still numbed by the events of the previous night, but
at least she had made the Doctor explain what had happened.
His talent for mimicry was self-evident. She had forgotten how
gifted he was at such parlour tricks. But his confrontation with
Hieronymous was another matter. He explained how he had
managed to withstand the astrologer’s final desperate onslaught.
Once drained of his Helix Energy the outward shape of
Hieronymous simply collapsed, like his fellows later. The Doctor
had then borrowed his costume to lure the brethren to their
destruction.
     Now as they jogged across the fields, accompanied by
Giuliano and his footman, Sarah felt a deep longing to stay.
There was much reparation needed in the hearts and minds of
the people of San Martino, and Sarah wanted to share that task
with Giuliano. But she knew the Doctor would not understand.
He had pulled her leg more than once about the handsome
young Duke. Besides, he was already exhibiting signs of itchy
feet, and it didn’t do to cross him in that mood.
     The small group reached the clearing which led to the
TARDIS and reined in their horses and dismounted. The
Doctor went on ahead to inspect his machine and came back
smiling a few minutes later.
     ‘Still there, thank goodness.’ He began to munch at an
enormous salami sausage. ‘Excellent, Giuliano,’ he said with his
mouth full. ‘Thank you.’
     The young Duke bowed. ‘It is we who should thank you,
Doctor. Will you not reconsider?’
     ‘No, we really must be on our way, mustn’t we Sarah?’
     Sarah gave Giuliano a heartfelt look.
     He took her hand. ‘There is so much we could learn from
you.’
     ‘It will all come in time,’ replied the Doctor, a trifle off-hand.
‘Keep an open mind, that’s all you need.’ He shook hands with
Giuliano and headed for the TARDIS.
     Sarah bit her lip. The Doctor was always the same when it
came to saying goodbye, unsentimental and unromantic.
     ‘Come on, Sarah,’ he called out as he reached the TARDIS
door.
     Sarah turned to Giuliano. ‘Goodbye, Giuliano.’ She kissed
him gently on the cheek and hurried off.
     The Duke followed her lithe form as she skipped after the
Doctor. She was still wearing the satin gown from the ball and
her hair in a chignon. She turned before reaching the TARDIS
and waved. He saluted in return and shook his head sadly.
There were no girls quite like her in San Martino. Nor would
there ever be again.
     Sarah caught up with the Doctor.
     ‘I never met Leonardo da Vinci then,’ he said reaching for
the TARDIS key. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well, I’d have had to tell
him his submarine design was totally impractical.’
     But Sarah was not listening. ‘Poor Giuliano!’ she said. ‘He
looks so wistful. Will he have any more trouble from
Mandragora?’
     The Doctor paused on the TARDIS threshold. ‘He won’t,
but Earth will. Their constellation will be in position to try again
in another five hundred years.’
     ‘Five hundred years? But that takes us to...’ Sarah did a
quick calculation, ‘... just about the end of the twentieth century!’
     The Doctor nodded and disappeared inside the TARDIS.
Sarah shrugged, gave a final wave to Giuliano, and followed.
The door closed behind her.
     Twenty yards away Giuliano watched with amazement as the
strange blue box began to emit a peculiar trumpeting noise like
a wounded animal. Simultaneously, the little white light on top
started flashing and the whole contraption slowly faded into thin
air before his very eyes.
     The footman struggled to control the plunging horses as
Giuliano ran forward and probed the ground where the
TARDIS had rested. It was just as if nothing had ever been
there. The young Duke gazed up at the sky, puzzled, but not
afraid.
     ‘There is a reason for everything,’ he said to himself. ‘Even
this. One day science will explain it all.’