Free Doctor Who: The Romans by Donald Cotton Page A

featuring two recaptured galley-slaves tomorrow morning.
    This invitation the old man rather churlishly refused, however, on the grounds that Vicki was far too young to watch so bloodthirsty a spectacle, however educational it might be, since it was likely also to deprave and corrupt (and where’s the harm in that, I would like to know?); while he himself felt that his time would be better spent in rehearsing his piece for its premiere in the evening, the poor fool!
    So with many false expressions of mutual goodwill we parted; and I now look forward to seeing them torn to pieces by a howling mob of brutal and licentious music lovers after the performance.
    Just another boring day in the life of a very ordinary Roman Empress. Heigh-ho as usual.
    And so to bed,
     

DOCUMENT XXIII
    Fifth Letter from Legionary (Second Class) Ascaris
    Dear Mum,
    I have already let you know the dodgy outcome of my last vain attempt to redeem ‘my fallen fortunes’, which ended in the sad death of my commanding officer, but was an accident, as he would be the first to admit was he so able. But without his valuable testimony as to his sitting in the wrong seat at the time of the stabbing, I have thought it best to keep my low profile in the sewer for a bit longer while things blow over me. Which I now believe they may have done, since no word has reached me to the contrary, or indeed at all for some time.
    But I cannot rest here easy while Petullian lives, for he and the screaming baggage who must also go both saw me do the job, and so it is now them or me, as I’m sure you will quite understand. So here I go again, with a heart as high as the rest of me, to sort out the pair of them for keeps this time, let us hope!
    After which I should be over-ripe for promotion if there is any justice; and a credit to you, like you suggested I should try being sometime.
    Still no letter. Your very puzzled
    Ascaris.
     

DOCUMENT XXIV
    Sixth Extract from the Doctor’s Diary Neither of the Neros having had the grace to offer us accommodation for the night, and the events of the evening having persuaded me of the inadvisability of dining with them – what a very odd couple, to be sure! - I eventually succeeded in booking two somewhat squalid but quite adequate rooms in one of the city’s poorer quarters; and we retired early after an interesting meal of ants’ eggs sautéed in some sheep’s milk.
    Personally I slept well; but in the morning Vicki was in a refractory mood, complaining of bats in her attic and rats in her mattress, and similar irritabilia, until I quite lost patience with her, and suggested she take her breakfast of stewed lampreys back to bed, while I found a quiet corner of the palace to perfect my concert piece.
    But today it was difficult to find any sequestered rest-room suited to my purpose, since all available space was seething with spectators who had come to watch the big fight; so, skirting the arena and its environs, I eventually came to a balcony overlooking what I presumed to be the zoological gardens, where several fine specimens of felis leo were taking a siesta in the shade, and here I determined to rehearse.
    I confess to being well pleased with my first attempt at atonal composition, Thermodynamic Functions , since to me it typifies the eternal conflict between Art and Audience -
    which is brought to an altogether alienating crescendo of raucous discords in the final movement.
    But it begins relatively quietly, with a wailing lament for lost innocence, modulating freely through a good many keys, until it reaches the long and lachrymose legato passage which expounds the violent argument - without, of course, resolving it in the slightest! If you follow me?
     
    And I find it especially satisfactory that I, a scientist, should have so easily been able to achieve what unborn generations of professional concertgoers are bound to find extremely difficult.
    So it was with a certain amount of justified complacency that I reached