Chapter 4: A Ride and a Conversation
"First-class bastard." Thus was Donna Noble's assessment of Edward, earl of Northumberland.
"Donna, he lost his wife," the Doctor said, with the slightest tone of reproach in his voice, even as he smiled affectionately at the indignant redhead.
"And if the girl had slipped poison in her mother's soup or…or bludgeoned her with a rock, I'd understand his behavior entirely. But the poor wee thing didn't ask to be born and certainly didn't intend to kill her mother in the process. How much guilt must she carry for that? And to have her father treat her as if it's her fault…" Donna's voice trailed off and she shook her head in disbelief.
They sat together in Philip's chamber. Donna considered the Doctor, who, despite looking like the king of France, was seated in uniquely Doctor-ish fashion, with his chair tipped back and his feet resting crossed on the table in front of him, tongue touching his top lip as he pondered the situation. If his tunic had pockets, his hands would undoubtedly have been buried in them.
"The remarkable thing," he continued, "is what she's done as the neglected child of a half-mad, resentful father. How many children would wither under such circumstances? But she's taken all the opportunities to educate herself, made herself into a scribe, a scholar, a horsewoman…" He grinned.
Donna eyed him skeptically. "And do those accomplishments help her in this society?"
His smile faded. "Robert said that, too. That in allowing her to do what she's done, he's created an unmarryable woman."
"Sounds to me like he's being more realistic about her prospects than you are."
The Doctor hummed and avoided her gaze. Her eyes narrowed. "Doctor?"
"Don't start, Donna."
"We are here to ensure the marriage of Blanche and Robert and then leave. You remember that, right?"
"Of course I do."
"Are you sure you're keeping that clearly in mind? And not being distracted by the fact that she looks like Rose?"
His eyes flashed. "Donna, no one is more aware than I that this is not my Rose. I don't need you to remind me."
Donna was silent for a moment. Then, as a peace offering, she changed the subject. "Robert seems to be a nice man, not a bit like his father."
The Doctor brightened immediately at this neutral topic. "Yes. I'm not sure that in good conscience I could leave any woman in the sole care of the father, but I think Blanche will be just fine with Robert. Intelligent lad, too."
"Hopefully the wedding will come off without any scenes."
"Mmm. I imagine I'll be seated between the earl and Rosalind. I'll get to play peacemaker."
"And then we can get back to the TARDIS." Donna found it hard to conceal her relief at the thought.
"What, Donna, you're not enjoying yourself on this adventure?" He grinned at her, tongue between teeth.
"I'm cold, it's constantly damp, I'm wearing these itchy and uncomfortable clothes, we're in a house with a father and daughter that hate each other, and all I do is lace Blanche in and out of gowns. Oh, and it would appear, spaceman, that the entire world thinks I'm your mistress." The Doctor's eyes widened, affecting a look of innocent surprise. "Yeah, I figured that one out. Don't think you're not going to pay for that, by the way. So, to answer your question, yeah, I'm ready to be done with this adventure."
In the chill of the seven o'clock hour the next morning, the Doctor sat on his horse on a bluff overlooking the river, with the castle some distance at his back. Although the rain had stopped the day before, the river still roiled impressively below him, and branches of trees, caught in the flow, were visible crashing into the pylons of the massive stone bridge they had crossed several days before. He turned to look at the woman whose horse stood next to his own. Rosalind was dressed in what appeared to be her standard costume for early morning riding: a dress covered with a long woolen cloak with a line of finely-wrought metal clasps that fastened it all the way up to her throat. She wore a blue cap on her head and—he could see where her feet rested in the stirrups—woolen leggings under her dress. She sat, as he did, astride. Behind her, quite nearby but far enough not to hear their conversation, sat the same two escorts, wearing the livery of the earl of Northumberland, a black wolf embroidered on their chests.
"It was kind of you to let me join you this morning, my lady."
"Not at all. Normally Rob would have come, but the wedding preparations are beginning in earnest. I believe he's up already, harassing the cooks and the decorators. It will be a long day."
"Indeed. It is hard to believe only two days remain before the wedding." He gave a slight shiver. "Is it possible that the weather will warm up somewhat before then?" His eyes lingered on her ankles and the woolen leggings on them.
She followed his eyes and smiled. She drew her dress up fractionally. "Woolen pants—they help with the chill. It's rarely warm in the early morning here, even in mid-summer."
"And I presume they allow you to ride astride."
"Yes. I can ride side-saddle but it's impossible to get up much speed that way without toppling off. Ridiculous, really. When I was younger I wore only trousers with an old tunic of my brother's when I rode, but when I came of age…my father no longer approved of that costume, so I came up with this."
He noticed the hitch in her voice as she mentioned her father. She fell silent and he could not resist trying to draw her out on the subject of the earl; given what Robert had told him the day before, he wondered what this brilliant and strange girl thought of her own situation. "And does your father not object to you riding alone with only male escorts?"
She smiled, a little bitterly. "He is rarely awake early enough to see me leave or even return, so it has not come up."
"Is he participating in the wedding preparations today as well?"
She turned her head and regarded him with an expression of studied blandness. "My father does not confide his plans in me, I am afraid."
She was good at evasion, he decided. He would have to put more of his cards on the table if he wanted to know her better. "Your brother told me something of your troubles with your father yesterday."
Her gaze sharpened. "My brother must find you an appealing confidant if he told you such unflattering things about our family so shortly after making your acquaintance."
"I think he was concerned about how I would interpret the scene at dinner the night before. I reassured him of my intention to carry through with the wedding."
"And he then told you the whole story. I see."
"I wouldn't say the 'whole story'". But he told me of the reasons for your father's, ah, attitude toward you. It explained a great deal, of course, about the dinner."
She paused and her expression softened. "I can imagine why you would be worried about leaving your sister here, thinking that perhaps my father might mistreat her. Rest assured that he is…he is generally a good man. He probably will not notice her very much, frankly. She will not be harmed. His anger is directed almost exclusively at me, for reasons that I am sure Robert outlined for you."
Her face, usually so controlled and amused, suddenly looked so sad. Before he thought it through, the Doctor blurted out, "I can't imagine how you tolerate being treated in that way, my lady."
At this she startled him by giving a full-throated laugh. The escorts started up in their saddles at the sound, but immediately settled again when they saw nothing amiss. Rosalind turned to look at him directly. "What kind of thing is that to say, my lord?"
"What…?" He was bewildered, and it showed.
"You say that as if…as if I have some choice in the matter. You cannot be a naïve man. I have read and heard too much of your political maneuvering and successes in France to believe that. And yet you ask me such a question. What would you have me do? Shall I usurp my father and rule as earl myself? Shall I ignore his wishes when they are directly expressed? Shall I bring down his anger on my brother by forcing Robert to come to my defense more than he already does? He is my father. His word is law. I feel gratitude that his dislike of me has resulted in neglect and only occasional interference; that Robert has been effectively put in charge of my upbringing. A father whose resentment was more focused, less…blurred by drink might have married me already to some ancient husband, or put me in a nunnery, just to get me out of his sight!"
He reached out a hand and touched her arm. "Forgive me, Lady Rosalind. I spoke without thinking."
After a moment she gathered herself and shook her head. "No, I spoke too hastily. Your question was meant kindly. And I know that you saw me provoke my father at the dinner. It is something I try to avoid doing, but sometimes…sometimes I cannot help myself in the moment. Generally, I try to remember that he lost everything he loved most when he lost my mother. And he never again found anyone who can stop him when he is at his worst."
The Doctor shuddered at her unconscious echo of Donna's words to him from their first meeting. She noticed immediately and it was her turn to reach out to him. "My lord? Are you well?"
"Yes, thank you." The feel of her hand on his sleeve was distracting. "I just…I admire your ability to understand how much the loss of a great love can wound a man."
She considered him. "You are a widower, are you not, my lord? I know you lost your queen in childbirth some years ago—and your child too—and that you have not remarried." She looked suddenly abashed. "This must be a difficult subject for you. Forgive me."
He stared at her. "Yes, my wife—Isabelle—died ten years ago. She was a good woman and I mourned her. But we were not…it was not the kind of loss your father experienced." He wanted to say more, wanted to tell her he had experienced that kind of loss, but he could not. That was not Philip's loss, but his own; the loss of a girl physically identical to the one in front of him, and who, beyond outward resemblance, shared with this woman a deep sense of empathy and a tendency to chafe against her assigned lot in life.
She spoke again. "Less sad for you, but more so for your wife, perhaps? To die without great love?" She paused and shook her head. "Now it is I who am speaking out of turn."
He caught her eye and with his look let her know he was not offended. "Are you a romantic, my lady?"
She grinned at him. "On some days. In this case, I was thinking of a poem I read recently—composed in France, as it happens—The Song of Roland."
He nodded excitedly. "I know it! I heard it sung at my court not long ago, although I've never seen a written text of it."
"Ah, well. I should show you the manuscript of it that I borrowed from the cathedral library. My point was: the poem, as you know, is full of great deeds—Roland fighting the Muslims and dying heroically, the revenge of Charlemagne for his nephew's death. But in Roland's death scene, when he knows he will not survive, he thinks of France, and his king, and his friends dead beside him in battle, but not once of his fiancée. But when she hears the news of his death, she immediately dies herself, of grief. The poet spares only two or three lines for her, and yet I cannot help but think of her as tragic. Living for a man who did not live for her."
"I never thought of it that way."
"No, why would you? It is not something often discussed. We are, after all, encouraged to be passive creatures, we women, even if we are not inclined that way by natural temperament."
"And you, my lady? Are you not naturally passive?" His face was expressionless but his tone mischievous.
She met his eyes. "I, my lord? I am the model of genteel femininity. And to prove it, I will race you across the bridge."
Without warning, she spurred her horse into motion and pelted in the direction of the switchback road that led down the hill toward the riverbank and the stone bridge. An hour later, as they arrived back at the castle with their horses lathered from the effort, the Doctor could only thank the universe for the fact that the TARDIS had given him Philip's muscle memories and physical abilities along with his mental faculties. If it had not been so, he would have broken his neck several times over trying to keep up with the young woman now laughing as she handed her horse off to the groom. The Doctor shared a rueful glance with the two young escorts as he stiffly dismounted and followed her into the castle.