Doctor Who - Past Doctor Adventures - 42 - Asylum (4th Doctor) by Peter Darvill-evans

Author:Peter Darvill-evans
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Murder, Juvenile Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Oxford (England), Adventure, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction, Time Travel
ISBN: 9780563538332
Publisher: BBC Pubns
Published: 2001-05-06T07:00:00+00:00

Richard smiled. He was enjoying this. ‘This is my authority,’ he said, holding up his sword. ‘And my men will enforce it.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the line of soldiers, standing grimly across the width of the street with their pole-arms held horizontally before them. The transformation of the castle garrison from a drunken, brawling mob into at least the appearance of a disciplined force would, he was sure, impress the townspeople. ‘My coat is stained with the blood of Welshmen,’ he added, ‘and a little bailiff’s blood will hardly show.’

Reginald of Tay took several steps backwards. ‘There’s no need for violence, sir knight,’ he stammered. ‘But a murder has been done. The Jews did it.’

Richard assumed the bailiff was referring to the death of the Franciscan, Godwin. He couldn’t understand why the townspeople were blaming the Jews – except that they seemed to blame the Jews for everything.

‘And is this your idea of the correct procedure?’ he asked, gesturing towards the crowd and the bonfire.

‘You know what they’re like,’ the bailiff pleaded. ‘Sly.

Secretive. Heathen. This is the only way to get the truth out of them.’

‘This way leads only to injustice,’ Richard replied. He pointed with his sword. ‘You, bailiff, will stay with me, and you will tell the mayor what we find. The rest of you,’ he added, raising his voice, ‘go home, now, or my men will clear you from the street. As the chancellor’s man I’ll look into this business and if murder’s been done I’ll bring it before the chancellor’s court and then, if necessary, the King’s assizes.

Now go!’

He pulled on the reins and his destrier reared, its hooves flashing. Muttering curses, the men and boys slowly dispersed.

Richard made a sign to his soldiers to part their line to allow the people through. More men and boys were emerging from Jewry Lane as they realised that the crowd behind them had disappeared, and when they saw Richard, with the bailiff standing uncomfortably beside his left stirrup, and the halberd-wielding soldiers, they too made their escape.

At last the area was unnaturally silent. The streets were deserted, and there was no noise from within the shuttered houses. Richard dismounted, sheathed his sword, and posted his men as sentries at the mouth of Jewry Lane. He looked up at the stone-pocked, shit- and mud-spattered houses to the left and right of it on Fish Street. The largest of them showed signs of having previously been attacked and daubed with rubbish and obscenities. ‘What’s that house?’ he asked the bailiff.

‘That’s their, what do you call it, their synagogue.’

Reginald of Tay spat on the ground.

‘I suppose it’s just like a church,’ Richard said, although he had heard tales of the appalling rites and bloody sacrifices that went on in such places.

‘The body’s down there,’ the bailiff said, pointing to the entrance of Jewry Lane. ‘It’s a terrible sight.’

‘You’ve seen it?’

‘Ah, well, no,’ the bailiff admitted, ‘but that’s what I’ve heard.’

Richard strode into the alley. ‘Come on, then.

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