‘You mean that they turned out to be the wise men despite there being an extra one?’
‘Well it is, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll say. What about the presents, for starters?’
‘Presents? Oh, I see what you mean; the gold, frankincense and myrrh. Why are they part of the mystery? They must be in their travel bags.’
John smiled mischievously. ‘But they carry a present each into the manger, don’t they? I just wondered what the fourth one was taking. A selection box, perhaps.’
They all sat together on a groundsheet of stiff, coarsely woven brown cloth which had been rolled up and strapped to one of the resigned-looking camels. Nearby were several rocky hills, one much larger than the others, of a burnt orange colour. The four men, all ancient relics of yesteryear swathed in robes, had provided their new acquaintances with a portion of unleavened bread apiece, heavy and more than a little stale, and a swallow or two of wine, heavily watered and thus a shadow of its former self.
Balthasar was a broadly-built, venerable-looking character with appraising eyes that seemed as old as time. He wore a decorated leather collar that extended over his shoulders and chest.
‘I am always pleased to break bread with fellow travellers,’ he announced.
Caspar, his hair and beard grey and wispy, regarded the oddly-garbed newcomers in a restrained manner, though with a slight smile. ‘It is less than a hardship to share with you on this occasion. This bread would turn the stomach of my camel.’
‘He’s quite right. It would,’ John whispered to Gillian, making her laugh.
‘Hush, children,’ reprimanded Dr Who.
Melchior, an anxious-looking old fellow, spoke up in a quivery voice with, ‘Surely a little privation matters nought when measured against the glorious event that approacheth.’
‘I dare say,’ Caspar riposted, ‘but it has still been a long, hard journey with precious little shelter along the way. We’ve rested only in snatches and none of us are exactly in the first flush of youth either.’ He looked at his piece of bread again, made an exclamation of disgust and tossed it over his shoulder. ‘What a treat for the vultures. They’ll not fly again after they’ve pecked away at that.’
Melchior was about to make an attempt to smooth things over when Balthasar chimed in gruffly. ‘We ate well in Jerusalem. There was no shortage of fine dishes at the banquet King Herod invited us to.’
‘The bread there wasn’t crusty enough, though’ Caspar persisted, less than seriously now.
‘You’re a miserable old grouch,’ Balthasar rumbled at him, but with a tolerant look in his eyes as he berated his old colleague.
The Doctor addressed the fourth man, Aranagar, a wizened old specimen with a sunken face, friendly blue eyes and an easy smile. ‘I take it that the four of you share but a single objective?’
Aranagar darted a penetrating glance at him. ‘To witness the birth of the one of whom the prophets of old spoke,’ he confirmed.
Dr Who smiled benevolently. ‘A worthwhile pilgrimage indeed, then, lengthy and arduous as it has been for you all.’
Melchior interjected. ‘Aranagar joined our party in Jerusalem. He heard of our quest and shared our eagerness.’
Aranagar’s eyes had narrowed somewhat. ‘Your grandchildren and yourself are but curious wanderers, you said, but presumably you do not always wander on foot and without travel bags or provisions?’
Both John and Gillian noticed Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior all turn towards the Doctor, obviously interested in his answer to the question posed by their colleague.
Dr Who, though taken aback at being quizzed himself, rose above the situation with aplomb. ‘Oh dear me, no. In fact we have not done so on this occasion. Our transport awaits us a little way back. We had just secured it, having decided to pause for a time, when we noticed your group and on an impulse walked to meet you and exchange greetings.’
Balthasar nodded approvingly. ‘That was civil of you, my friend.’
It was then that attention was abruptly drawn towards Melchior, who had begun to choke on a piece of the unappetising bread and rose unsteadily to his feet.
‘There!’ Caspar said triumphantly. ‘I knew how it would be…’
Balthasar, Aranagar and Caspar soon surrounded their ancient travelling companion, whom they patted on the back and urged to take a swallow of his wine, which he did. John and Gillian stared, transfixed by the sudden drama. The wine only made matters worse. Dr Who was curiously slow to join in the attempts to resolve the crisis but was the one who did so by facing Melchior and bringing his knee up sharply into the old man’s stomach. The bread, together with splatters of wine, flew out of his mouth.
‘Well done, Grandfather,’ congratulated John.
‘We owe you a debt of gratitude,’ Balthasar told the Doctor sincerely.
‘Well, well, let us finish our wine, if not our bread, and then perhaps rest before we all move on again, hmm?’
The four old men concurred with the suggestion and soon they had settled down for sleep. Dr Who stretched out as well and closed his eyes. The children, though not particularly keen on the idea of sleeping at first, found themselves wearier than they thought after their trek across plains and up and down hills and in the end succumbed to the arms of Morpheus…
~~~
When the Doctor woke him up John stared confusedly at an altered scenario. For one thing it was now dark, the inky sky a backdrop for what had to be ‘yonder star’, as he thought of it, glowing but palely and, surprisingly, seeming to convey the chill he suddenly felt in the marrow of his bones. It looked, he thought, like some mystical sword suspended in the heavens. The beauty he perceived as he regarded this legendary phenomenon was undeniable yet oddly indefinable. Mesmerised, he experienced difficulty in looking away. The depth and eloquence of his thoughts increased, for they were not those of the boy he was but of the man he would one day be…what was happening?...who was he?...young John or someone who didn’t exist yet? A strange, welcoming lassitude began to creep over him, a comforting escape from the need to work it out…
Dr Who stepped in front of him, blocking his view. ‘Wake up your, sister, boy,’ he snapped.
The interruption dissipated the cocoon of odd thoughts and feelings and John was soon himself again. It was then that he fully assimilated the other changes around him. Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior were nowhere to be seen and the four tethered camels had gone as well. Aranagar remained, slumped against a rock and still deep in sleep. Or was he dead?
‘Quickly,’ urged Dr Who, breaking into John’s thoughts again.
Hastily recalling what his grandfather had told him to do, John shook Gillian awake. The girl stared about her, as bemused as he had been.
‘We must be on our way,’ the Doctor informed them. ‘Come along.’
John indicated Aranagar. ‘What about him?’
‘He’ll sleep for quite a while yet, thanks to the sleeping powder I slipped into his wine,’ Dr Who explained, with a wintry smile. ‘I always carry a few, as on occasion it’s imperative that one gets enough rest.’
Something clicked in John’s mind. ‘You put it in while Melchior was choking!’
‘It was a fortuitous distraction,’ the Doctor commented.
Gillian glanced at Aranagar. ‘But why did you do it?’
‘He joined the three pilgrims in Jerusalem. He just had to be an undercover emissary of King Herod’s.’
‘Where are the others now?’ Gillian asked.
‘Where they should be, my dear child. On their way to Bethlehem.’
The first light of dawn had appeared by the time they arrived back at the grove where the Tardis was. Dr Who ushered the children, who he had warned continually during the walk to avoid looking at the star, into the trees. He then ignored his own advice, pausing at the edge of the grove to turn and risk a brief final view of it. About to resolutely detach his gaze, he saw the sword-like shape twist, become an indistinct blur, then clarify into four intersecting strands. The small star at the centre was of an eye-aching white. Abruptly, the strands were bathed in a deep glow of a sinister, gaseous – looking red. The Doctor staggered as a boiling, volcanic fury was conveyed to him via his sight. Its terrible heat surged through his body. He crumpled to the ground, but in doing so broke the contact between his eyes and the enraged, vengeful entity in the early morning sky.
Had the revealing transformation of that mysterious intelligence been visible only to him? He thought it likely, since Balthasar, Caspar and Melchior were still being guided by the star. To Bethlehem at least, he thought, and smiled grimly to himself. His further intervention in counselling those ancient travellers to return home from there by an alternative route and to look no more at the star must as yet be unknown to that cunning enemy. It was fortunate, he reflected, that he had always wondered why a ‘yonder star’ with good intentions should have included Jerusalem and a visit to Herod in the itinerary of the Three Wise Men.
Dr Who was feeling quite himself again as he unlocked the Tardis door and beckoned the children to follow him into the police box. Gillian was the last to enter and as she did so she glanced back and spotted, in the light shining from within, a lizard perched on a leaf. Hastily she slammed the door behind her. She had never cared for lizards.
Which, considering their next destination, was most unfortunate.
A sudden rush of wind, disturbing the still leaves and frightening away the lizard, and the Tardis was gone.
written by
MICHAEL BAXTER
copyright 2015
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2015