Ganne


14 - Leave Taking.


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At the calling of his name, the Doctor gave a final tweak to a control on
the console.  He leaned over to study a display, frowning.  There was
nothing more that could be done here.  That field harmonic had to be shut
down, or the TARDIS was going to sustain irreparable damage.  There was
not much time left.  What shielding that could be rigged, had been; but it
was only a temporary measure.  He hoped that it would hold long enough.

He straightened, looked thoughtful for a moment, then patted the edge
of the control board.  "Hang on old girl," he encouraged, "a few weeks,
and we'll have you right as rain." The humming changed subtly.  The
Doctor cocked his head, as though listening to some quiet voice.  A
slow smile spread over his face, before he wound his scarf with a
flourish, and strode from the TARDIS, locking the door behind him.

Clustered over by the west gate, a group of six horses, three men and
three women stood in the dawn light.  The Doctor shoved hands into his
pockets and ambled over.

Sarah, he thought, carried it off well.  She really looked the part in
the dark blue riding cloak.  It hung well from her shoulders, reaching
below the tops of the black riding boots.  The hood was thrown back to
form a crumpled collar.  She had combed out her hair, and tied it with
a scarlet ribbon to give herself a short pony tail.  The effect was
quite charming.  She had opted for trousers, rather than the split
leather riding skirt favoured by Genella.  Both women wore long sleeved
shirts of white linen.  A slightly wistful smile tugged at the Doctor's
mouth.  Yes, Sarah certainly carried off the local fashions well.

Genella's cloak was a dirty brown, similar in cut to the cloaks over
the shoulders of Marlek and Sergeant Garron.  Her cloak, though, had
certainly seen better days.  Genella's hair, like Sarah's, had been let
out and tied with a yellow ribbon into a high pony tail.  The splash of
colour set off her mousey hair well.  All four of them were standing
around waiting for him.  It made a picturesque scene, spoilt only by
the drawn faces of Sarah and Genella.

The previous evening, Genella had invited Sarah and the Maron Gate
Healer to a little private tete-a-tete in Olan's study, specially
commandeered for the purpose.  "Oh!  Just a bit of a gossip...  Women's
talk...That sort of thing," Genella had explained over her shoulder as
she steered Sarah away.  To judge from the state Sarah was in this
morning, however, the Doctor suspected that a goodly amount of wine had
been consumed to keep the whistle wet.

"All ready to go?" the Doctor inquired in his most irritatingly breezy
manner.  He fixed Sarah with his gaze.  She avoided his eye, annoyed by
his amiable insensitivity.  The Doctor could be such a pain at times.
Sarah knew from experience that there was little hope of any sympathy
for her suffering from that quarter.

Genella drew herself up from the creeping slouch that had been
stealthily dragging her shoulders down.  She looked all around the
group.  "I think we are ready," she declared.

"Let's get started then," the Doctor said.  He took the reins of the
bey gelding from Garron, and swung into the saddle.  He grinned down at
Sarah as she prepared to haul herself onto a grey mare.  "You look a
little peaked, Sarah," he observed, "not coming down with something, I
hope?  There are some nasty little earth diseases on this world."

It was a long way up into the saddle.  Sarah had a pounding headache,
and her limbs had gone all wobbly.  She had enough of a struggle
mounting - she did not need the Doctor's good natured needling.  At
last, her struggles were successful; and she sat, shaking in the
saddle, gripping the pommel with white hands.  Dear God!  She really,
really did not need the Doctor's needling - not this morning.  A flash
of resentment against Genella rose in Sarah's soul, but burned itself
out as she watched Genella clawing her way up the flank of her mare.
At least she had the good grace to be in no better state.

Marlek and Garron mounted with an economy of motion, like the
professional cavalrymen they were.  Both men arranged their cloaks over
the hind quarters of their mounts in what was obviously the regulation
form.  Marlek looked to Genella for the command.  She was facing ahead,
her eyes squeezed shut, gripping the pommel.  Marlek transferred his
inquiring look to the Doctor.  The Doctor shrugged, and nodded at the
two figures standing nearby, wrapped in cloaks against the dawn chill.

Phaedra had come to check on Genella's state of mind, and to say her
farewells; Olan was here to give last orders to Marlek.  Sensing the
moment was at hand, the couple came forward to the little group.

Olan, a stocky man, once powerfully muscled but now rather run to fat,
with thinning grey hair and walrus moustache, was not happy about this
expedition.  He had railed and argued against it so vehemently that
Genella had finally been forced to give him a direct order, which he
could not disobey.  He might be the Garrison Commander at Maron Gate,
in charge of three thousand fighting men, a War Marshal of the second
rank, standing high in the esteem of the Council, but he knew as did
Genella where the real power lay - in the hands of Genella Bah Dishone.

Once he had accepted the situation, however, he gave his full support.
After all, he was risking two of his best officers.  Genella, to his
mind, was quite capable of taking care of herself.

He gave Genella a respectful bow.  "My lady Ganne."

Genella's lips drew into a tight line.  "Stuff the formal protocol
Olan," she muttered sharply.  "I cannot be doing with your silliness
this morning." The stocky man put on a look of mock hurt.  "But My Lady
Ganne...  I've been practising ..."

It woke the tiniest smile from Genella.  She shook her head, bemused.
"Oh Olan.  However did you manage to rise so high?  There are a dozen
Gannes at least, that I know of, who would have lashed you for that
impertinence."

His plump round face broke into an open grin.  It made him look like a
cheeky scamp.  The skin crinkled around his black eyes.  He said.  But
you, my Lady, are not among them."

He stepped in close to lay a very unsoldierly hand on her wrist.  It
was a gesture of genuine affection.  "Go safely, Genny ...  And try to
bring back my men un-dented, if at all possible."

He turned to the two men.  Amused smiles vanished from their faces.
"Right you two..."

Phaedra came forward.  Peering up into Genella's drawn countenance, sheğ
asked: "You are sure about this little adventure, Genella??  It's
certain to be dangerous.  Are you certain that you feel up to it.
Perhaps you should speak to the Council before doing anything rash, try
and get more support?  It would be wise..."

"Phaedra, please," Genella interrupted her.  "We went over and over
this last night.  Something must be done about the Curse in the Ballan
Tah." She lifted the Doctor's little black box, strung on a chain
around her neck.  "There may never be a better opportunity to put an
end to the Curse.  And just think how high I could rise in the Council
if I come back and report that I have dealt with the Curse; and that
the Ballan Tah is once more under the protection of the Ganne Council.
Besides, you know you'd like to see me back in favour with the Council,
and contending for the Chair.  Guara cannot live forever.  Do you
really want to see Clovis assume the Matriarchy unopposed?"

Phaedra hid a little leap of joy.  As she had planned, the Doctor was
having an effect on Genella's broken will.  Phaedra had been expecting
the changes to be more subtle.  This radical change of heart in Genella
seemed little short of miraculous.  The thought of Genella once more
embracing the natural ambition of a High Ganne filled Phaedra with
renewed hope that her long exile on this backward planet had not been
in vain.

Phaedra took a gentle hold of Genella's wrist, kissed the palm, and
pressed a small phial into it.  "Here, child, something for the
discomfort," she said.

Genella examined the small bottle.  She smiled ruefully and said, "I
thought you did not do hangover cures?"

"Just this once.  It's a special occasion."

Phaedra stepped away, turned to Sarah, and held out another bottle.
"Here, child, this will help."

Sarah accepted the bottle.  She weighed it in her hand, before thanking
Phaedra.  Then she gave it a curious look, and asked, "what do I do
with it?"

"Drink it.  It will help with that headache and the queasiness."

Sarah uncorked the bottle, and drank the contents.  It tasted foul.
She pulled a face, but then grinned at Genella's expression as she too
tossed off the medicine.

Phaedra stood peering thoughtfully up at Genella, who was still slumped
in the saddle.  Phaedra was suddenly possessed of a terrible certainty
that she would not look upon those aristocratic features again.  She
would have liked to remember that face other than it was now, made
haggard and pale by too much unhappiness and drink.  She knew it was
unreasonable to blame herself for that; even so she felt guilty for
having taken advantage of Genella's unhappiness to further her own
plans.  Even the knowledge that matters were already out of hand, and
that her leeway for action was precariously narrow, did not make her
feel any better.  Events were building up swiftly towards a
catastrophe, and should the Doctor fail to prevent it, others less
merciful would be forced to take a hand.  Her masters were quite
prepared to eradicate this world entirely from existence to secure
their own survival.

That prospect gave her an unusually acute stab of pain.  Had she really
"gone native" as her masters suspected?  She stole a glance at Olan; a
fond smile enlivened her face.  Would it be such a bad thing if she
had?  Phaedra mentally shook herself.  There were more important
matters here than the selfish desires of an old woman.

She touched Genella's thigh to get her attention.  The Ganne
straightened a little in the saddle.  Some of her drawn look faded from
her face.

"Genny?  Is there anything I should know about your methods of
administration?" she asked.

Genella managed a wan smile at the euphemism.  "Oh, Phaedra...  How is
it that a famous Soul Speaker and Healer has thoughts like that?"

"I am High Ganne, Genella...  And of the Bah Dishone Inheritance.  How
can you ask such a question?" the older woman asked, amusement dancing
in her brown eyes.

A wry grin touched Genella's lips.  She reached down and laid a hand on
the older woman's arm.  "I'm sorry to lay the burden of administering
my Seat on you.  How are you going to manage with your healing work?"

"I intend to make Bellinda my deputy.  The girl's eager to prove
herself, and get bak to Shennon and civilisation.  Northern Society is
definitely NOT to her liking." Phaedra's voice took on an affected
southern city tone.  "A positively primitive wasteland, I tell you, a
wasteland!  An absolute wasteland!" Phaedra fluttered her hands in a
gesture of feigned helplessness in a perfect parody of the Council spy.
The mimicry provoked a broad grin on Olan's round face, but only raised
a wan smile in Genella.  "Anyway," the Soul Speaker went on, "she'll
jump at the chance to run your office, especially as she'll get access
to your administration files, which is why I asked about any unusual
methods.  Her position as Council Spy will still be her first
loyalty...So is there anything she ought not to see?"

Genella shook her head.  "Frankly, I've not had the heart for any
serious creativity."

"I'm glad to hear it."

A sudden thought struck Genella.  "One thing, though.  Keep her nose
out of the Variana Cattle Market files if you can?  The papers have got
a little muddled.  Thinking on it, to anyone looking for incriminating
evidence, I fear it does look a little damming.  Especially that damned
letter from Marios the Banker.  Damn!  I really should have got round
to sorting that misunderstanding out."

There was a short, awkward pause while Phaedra obviously waited for
something.  At length, she prompted gently, "Genella?  I'll need your
Seal of Office?"

Genella fished in a pocket of her riding skirt, and drew out a large
silver medallion depending from a chain.  She handed down the Seal.
The level sun shining under the Maron Gate made the thing gleam and
sparkle before Phaedra slipped it from sight.  The older woman's gaze
swept around the group, before finally returning to Genella.  She said
in a formal tone: "Now go with the Ganne, Genella Bah Dishone, Princess
in Exile of the Ballan Tah, and by the Grace of the Goddess, return
safely to hearth and home."

The Doctor listened to these formal words of leave taking, while he
fiddled with the reins, to cover his discomfort.  He hated leave
takings.  He just wanted to be away down the road, hot on the heels of
a new adventure.  He chucked the reins and led off, steering the horse
towards the arch of the West Gate, leading one of the two pack horses.

The two older people watched the expedition departing, Phaedra had an
expression of grave misgiving.  Suddenly feeling a need for
reassurance, she reached out a hand to Olan.  The Garrison Commander
took it without comment.  He gave the graceful fingers a reassuring
squeeze.  "Genny knows what she's about, my dear." he said.  "Genella
is Strong in the Ganne."

Hand in hand, the pair remained under the arch watching the expedition
threading its way through the early morning traffic.  Each were
occupied with their own thoughts.  Guilt worried at Phaedra like a
tiresome dog.  All the deceit and manipulation she had been forced to
undertake, mixed with her worries about all the things which could so
easily go wrong with her plan churned in her mind.  The thing which
concerned her the most was being ordered to throw the Doctor into the
middle of the business without being able to explain anything to him.
She was deeply skeptical of the assurances of her masters that this was
the best way to proceed.

Olan, on the other hand, was dwelling upon pleasant thoughts of a
leisurely breakfast with an engaging Lady Ganne.

When the party was out of sight, Olan turned to Phaedra, executed a
courtly bow (that looked quite ridiculous and was deliberately meant to
be so) and proposed: "Would my Lady Ganne bestow the gift of her
presence at the lowly table of this humble soldier, her unworthy
servant."

Phaedra's mood lightened upon the instant.  She only just managed to
keep a straight face as she played up to Olan's gentle, tongue in
cheek, courtliness.  "Why!  Good Sir!  This Lady Ganne would be
honoured to bestow her august presence upon your breakfast table."

One of the gate guards sniggered, then came smartly to attention with a
clatter of arms as Olan speared him with an icy glare.  "Marduk, isn't
it?"

"Sir." responded the guard, now ramrod stiff.

"You find something funny?"

Trooper Marduk swallowed.  "Um - no sir."

Olan's face fell.  "I must be losing my touch," he opined sadly.  He
crooked an arm for Phaedra.  She was still grave of countenance; but
amusement twinkled in her eyes.  Olan was known as a "bit of a wag"
among the men; however, one could never rely on that.  Olan liked to be
unpredictable; it kept the men on their toes, and avoided the
unpleasantness of punishment detail.  As Olan and Phaedra moved away,
the soldier breathed a sigh of relief, aware of his companion's grin.

Arm in arm, the couple paraded across the court in grand processional.
As they came abreast of the alley where the strange blue box stood,
Phaedra disengaged her arm.  "You go on ahead," she said.  "I must
attend to a small matter.  I shall be along directly."

She headed for the entrance to her surgery.  Passing the TARDIS,
Phaedra stroked a hand over one of the panels.  She ascended to her
rooms, went into a back room and stood facing a blank wall.  She held
out her right hand.  On the middle finger was a ring with a large
stone.  The jewel set in the band winked green in a complicated
pattern.  The blank wall took on a silvery sheen.  A deep male voice
spoke.

"Well?"

"It is begun."

"Good.  You have done well.  Your reward is earned indeed."

Sudden defiance flared in Phaedra's face, her eyes blazing with
passion.  "I do not want your reward!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?" The disembodied voice sounded genuinely surprised.  "You
would prefer your exile to continue - how long is it now, fifty?
seventy years?  There is no requirement for you to remain on that
barbarous world a moment longer.  You can come home."

"I AM home," Phaedra said emphatically.  "This is my home now.  I wish
to stay.  And if the Doctor fails as he may well do, then I would
rather spend the little time remaining to us here among my friends."

There was a long silence.  Phaedra could picture those unseen faces at
the other end, their expressions of distaste, that she had "gone
native".  At last the voice spoke again, brusque, touched with anger.

"So be it."

The shimmer faded from the wall.  For a long while, Phaedra just stood
there gazing at the blankness, while a sense of blessed relief washed
through her.  Well, it was done now.  There was truly no going back.
She had but one regret - that her longed for fulfillment and happiness
had been bought with betrayal and deceit.

The ring on her finger began to emit a high pitched whine, too high for
the Terran descended natives to hear.  The little device was singing
its song of travelling.  Unlike herself, it was eager to depart.  She
must let it go.  Working the ring from her finger, she laid it down on
a ledge.  The jewel winked green in a complicated pattern.  A faint
wheezing groaning echoed from the walls of her office; and the ring
faded away.  At last, all ties to home were severed.

And now, she had a breakfast date with a fine, foolish old soldier who,
against all the rules, she had grown to love.  That love was the only
thing to have touched her soul with joy in an over-long, lonely and
sterile existence.  It was a love that could not last; but she would
face that inevitable sadness in its due time.  For now, not a second
more would she waste.  They would have so little time - even if the
Doctor was successful.

In an urgent rustle of robes, she bustled out.


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