Doctor Who: The Massacre Read Free Page A

toast.’
    The more conservatively dressed member of the group glanced apprehensively at the Doctor and Steven and turned back to the young man who had spoken. ‘Be careful, Gaston,’ he said, covering his mouth with his hand.
    Gaston also glanced at the Doctor and Steven and then laughed. ‘The trouble with you, Nicholas, is that you are too cautious.’
    ‘And you are too provocative,’ Nicholas replied in earnest. Gaston glanced over at the Doctor and Steven again with a smile as the landlord came to the table and refilled their goblets. Gaston picked his up as another man came into the bar. Nicholas looked at Gaston with alarm.
    ‘Don’t be indiscreet,’ he warned as Gaston stood up and raised his glass.
    ‘To Henri of Navarre, our Protestant king,’ Gaston called out.
    The toast had been proposed and had to be seconded.
    The others stood up, including the reluctant Nicholas, and raised their goblets. ‘To Henri of Navarre,’ they called out in unison and drank.
    The man at the bar spun around to face them and grabbing the Doctor’s as yet untouched goblet of wine raised it in front of his face. ‘And to his bride of yesterday, our Catholic Princess Marguerite,’ he cried. Then he gulped down the wine in one swallow as Gaston spluttered and hit himself on the chest with a clenched fist.
    The Doctor drew in his breath sharply as Gaston, recovering quickly with a cough, looked at the stranger in mild amusement and mock astonishment. ‘Simon Duval,’
    he exclaimed, ‘what a surprise to find you in a tavern that’s rid of rigid Catholic dogma.’ Then he turned to the landlord. ‘Antoine-Marc, what decent wines have you to offer?’ he asked, swirling the rest of his wine around the goblet.
    ‘We sell the best Bordeaux to be found hereabouts, Sire,’
    the landlord replied in a mumble.
    ‘Bordeaux. It’s such a thin Catholic concoction.’ He turned to his companions in disdain. ‘Hardly fit for the altar,’ he added.
    Nicholas leant across the table in warning. ‘Gaston,’ he exclaimed as Duval took a step forward, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword, then checked himself and eyed the group coldly.
    For his part Gaston waved each arm in the air one at a time. ‘How would you rather I fought the duel, Simon?
    With my right hand or my left?’ he asked nonchalantly.
    Duval turned to Nicholas.
    ‘For a free-thinking German, Herr Muss, I congratulate you on your good sense,’ he said and inclined his head to the conservatively dressed Nicholas. ‘But I am dismayed to find you in a tavern where our Princess Marguerite is seemingly game for insult.’
    Gaston raised an eyebrow. ‘Insult, Simon? I am not aware of any said or intended against the noble lady.
    Indeed, quite the opposite. I asked Antoine-Marc for a wine as befits her rank and future. A bold burgundy of character, don’t you agree, Nicholas?’ he smiled at his friend who stood grim-faced across the table and then, without waiting for a reply, ordered a carafe and more glasses from the landlord.
    The Doctor and Steven watched in silence as the confrontation was played out. Both Gaston and Simon Duval were tall, handsome young men who bore themselves with the authority of social status and wealth although Gaston’s air was the more languid. He was blond and fair-skinned with pale blue eyes where Simon’s complexion was more Latin and his eyes were brown. The barboy carried the tray of goblets and set it down on the table. Antoine-Marc brought over the carafe of wine and poured equal measures into each glass. Then he withdrew to safety behind the bar.
    Gaston toyed with the stem of his goblet. ‘What was the toast again, Simon?’ he asked.
    ‘The health, Viscount Lerans, of our Catholic Princess Marguerite,’ Simon replied through clenched teeth.
    ‘So it was,’ Lerans replied lightly, looking around, ‘and so let it be, gentlemen.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Henri’s bride,’ he said and drank. Duval and the others