by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk)

First Doctor:  rated U

Doctor Who is copyright BBC

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Four figures crouched in shadow behind boulders at the back of the dank
cave.  The young man and woman wondered, with growing exasperation, why?
The girl also had no idea why; but her trust in the fourth watcher was
unshakable.  The old man waited, with infinite patience, merely to confirm
what he already knew.  Silent and cold, they had squatted there most of the
night, observing the fifth man.

Completely unaware of being watched, he lay slumped against the cold, damp
rocks just back from the cave entrance, peering fearfully into the dark
beyond.  His pursuers had not found him yet; but it was only a matter of
time.  The wretched man pulled the blood stained tatters of the fine
quality cloak about his strong shoulders and leaned towards the entrance,
listening.  He had heard nothing of the pursuit for hours.

It would be dawn soon.  He glanced up at the sky, the orange tinged grey
heralding the beginning of another hopeless day.

Fretfully fingering his ragged black beard, the man sat back.  Once more he
went over the battle in his mind, hearing the agonised screaming of the
wounded and dying; the men who had trusted him to lead them to victory, to
free the land of the southern tyrant, and had paid with pain, blood and
death in the disaster.

He had not wanted to flee the battle field. But his retainers had urged him
to go; for, they pointed out reasonably, that if he was taken then it would
not just be a battle that was lost - but the whole war.  So he ran.  And
now he was hiding, hopeless, in this dank cave waiting for the inevitable.

What was the point of going on?  Why not just walk out and let them take
him?  The dream of freedom was over.  He had tried his best for his people;
and it had not been enough.  Was that true?  Had he really tried?  The man
shook his head sadly.  The only thing he was sure of now was defeat.

A sudden flicker of movement caught his eye.  He stiffened, drawing a long
dirk.  His grey eyes scanned the hillside below the cave, indistinct in the
grey light.

Nothing moved there - save a fox trotting confidently from one piece of
cover to the next, a grouse dangling from its jaws.  Again that flicker of
something at the edge of his vision.  He smiled a little ruefully at his
madly thumping heart when his frantically searching gaze discovered the
cause.  Settling back and combing fingers through his tangled black mane,
the man watched the spider at her work high up in the cave entrance.

She was trying to anchor a first strand.  She failed.  Undaunted, The tiny
creature tried once more - and again failed.  The man studied the spider's
endeavours, marvelling at its persistence.

At long last, she succeeded in fixing the first strand.  The sun chose that
exact moment to lift its edge over the low mountains across the valley,
sending a shaft of golden light into the cave.  It illuminated the tiny
speck of life, and turned the shimmering strand to silver.  It fell upon
the face of the man, suddenly contorted with emotion.

'How can this be?' he spoke his thoughts aloud.  'How have things come to
this pretty pass?  That I, a man, and one who would be king in his own
land, is put to shame by a mere insect?  Why?  Had I but half the resolve
of this tiny creeping thing I should be King of the whole world!'

In the back of the cave the young woman trembled, suddenly excited.  She
leaned close and whispered urgently in the young man's ear.  He listened,
then nodded in an uncertain acknowledgement.

The man in the entrance spoke again: 'By God!  This shall not be!  How may
I with honour countenance such thoughts of defeat, when you do not?
Spider, most mean of Gods creatures you may be, yet your example has such
power that it shall make a King yet of a broken man!' He drew out the
shattered stub of his sword.  Holding up the cross-hilt handle to the
light, the man who had just found resolution in the endeavours of a simple
spider, solemnly swore an oath before his God.

'I swear before Almighty God that I shall not cease from striving to push
out that bloody southern Devil from my land while yet one single drop of
the noble blood of the De Brews still flows in my veins.  This I so swear.'

With new energy and resolve, the man got to his feet, his battered war gear
clinking and creaking.  For a few moments he stood staring at the spider
racing up an down.  Now the first anchor was in place, the web was quickly
taking shape.  The sight firmed his resolve even more.

Then, careful not to disturb the work,the warrior pushed out into the new
morning.  He stood tall and straight in the light.

'By God!  I WILL try again,' he shouted his defiance to the heather covered
hills.

'AGAIN...Again ...  again.' It lifted his heart further to hear his words
echoing back.  Even the land was with him - how could he fail now?

Robert the Bruce, with a new spring in his step, set off downhill to keep
an appointment with destiny.

In the dark recesses of the cave, the air trembled to a quiet groan of
relief.

'Is it safe now?'

'I should think so, my boy.  Come along!' the elderly gentleman replied.
He sprang up with an energy and bounce that gave the lie to his aged
appearance.  As he moved towards the light shining in the cave mouth, his
head of shoulder length white hair gleamed.

From the darkness a woman's voice asked: I do hope there is a point to all
this, Doctor?  I'm wet through-  and frozen to the marrow.'

From beside the woman a teenage girl sprang easily to her feet and held
down a hand to help the older woman.  'Here, Miss Wright?'

Barbara took the proffered hand and got stiffly to her feet.  She peered up
the cave at the two men silhouetted against the bright morning light,
streaming in the cave mouth.  They were examining the spider web being
assembled across the gap.

The girl laid a hand on her arm.  'Are you alright, Miss Wright?'

'Yes thank you, Susan.  I suppose you have no idea why your Grandfather
brought us here?'

The girl peered at the two figures.  She shook her head. 'Sorry, Miss
Wright.'

'I thought not.
I had hoped it was just another of his eccentric "living history' lessons,
but now I have the feeling there is more to it than that?'

Susan shrugged.  'You know Grandfather.  He enjoys being mysterious.'

Barbara nodded.  She began to rub her arms, working some warmth and life
back into them.

Susan started up the cave towards the two men in the entrance.  'Come on,
Miss Wright!  I want to see what Mr Chesterton is getting so excited
about.'

'Well, Chesterton?  What do you think?' the Doctor was asking as the two
women came up.

Ian studied the tiny moving speck of life, dashing around the web, trailing
a thin strand of silk.  'I was right.' he announced.

'Are you indeed?'

Ian ignored the feigned surprise in the Doctor's tone.  He was getting used
to the Doctor's occasional superciliousness.

'There is something very odd going on here.' He shot a look at the Doctor.

The old man beamed at him, looking insufferably smug.  He nodded.
'Something odd indeed - but what?'

Ian glanced at the spider again - just to make certain.  He sensed another
of the Doctor's petty games.  'Tejenaria Domestica.'

The Doctor nodded, and did a passable impression of the Cheshire cat who
had just found the key to the creamery.

'The Common House Spider.  Strange place to find such a thing?  Wouldn't
you say, Chesterton my boy?'The Doctor's eyes twinkled, full of mischief.

Ian started to make some reply; but the Doctor waved him to silence and,
with a theatrical flourish, produced a small box from a waistcoat pocket.

'You're quite wrong you know, Chesterton.' The Doctor peered down his hawk
nose, endeavouring to give the impression of a long suffering teacher
finally conceding defeat with a particularly dullard pupil.  'My friend
here is not Tejenaria Domestica at all.'

'But...' Ian began to protest, squinting at the spider.

The Doctor flicked a button on the box.  Upon the instant the spider froze.
Extending a finger, he jiggled the arachnid onto the tip, and lifted it
clear.

Gleefully, he held it out under Ian's nose, and produced a gigantic
magnifying glass.  'Odd did you say, Chesterton?  Well, my boy, I think you
will find that it is even odder than you think.  Here.  Have a look with
this.'

Bemusedly, Ian took the glass and studied the tiny thing, squatting
immobile on the end of the Doctor's finger.  He drew in a sharp breath.

'What is it Ian?' Barbara asked, peering over his shoulder.

'Here, have a look for yourself;' and he angled the glass for her to see.

The spider was not Tejeneria Domestica; it was not a spider, not even a
living creature at all, but a machine - a fantastically intricate and
beautifully fashioned machine.

Barbara caught her breath at the almost magical perfection of the
mechanism.  She shot an accusing glare at the Doctor.  He beamed smugly
back at her, enjoying being the centre of attention.

'What IS going on here?' Barbara demanded.

'Why don't u tell me, my dear? I believe history is one of your subjects.'
He cast a significant glance at the tall man striding into the sunrise.

Barbara looked from the tiny mechanical device - to the web - to the man
before turning a scandalised look on the Doctor.  'NO?  Surely not?  That's
just a tale? It never really happened?'

'Just a tale ay? Well, well, fancy that.' His eyes twinkled merrily in the
level rays of the sun.  He flipped open the lid of the box, brought his
finger to the lip and said: 'Hup!'

The tiny spider sprang into life.  It leapt into the box.  The Doctor
flipped the lid shut and pocketed it.

'Oh!  Grandfather!  You're interfering with things again.  You know you
should not do it!'

'Interfering!  Nonsense!' snorted the Doctor.  He drew himself up, hooking
thumbs through the arm holes of his waistcoat.  'I do not interfere...' He
paused, daring anyone to contradict him, and then went on in his most
sententious tone.  'You cannot leave these things to chance.  Fate needs a
helping hand now and then.'

Barbara's mouth dropped open.  'Do you mean to tell us that...That if you
had not "interfered" none of this would have happened?'

'Exactly!'

Ian burst out: 'You're impossible!'

'The Doctor inspected him with a jaundice eye.  'Hungry actually.  What
would you say to some breakfast?  I know this woman who bakes the most
delicious oat cakes.  Now where was it she lived?  Ah!  Athelney!  That's
it, the Isle of Athelney.  Hmmm.  Was it he eighth century or the ninth?'
He gave them a mischievous look.  'do hurry - we wouldn't want the cakes to
get burnt!'

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The end.

Comments or criticisms welcome.