Chapter 7: The Loss and the Answer

The Doctor stood in the courtyard of the castle the next morning, his face tipped upward toward the unexpectedly warm sunshine. After days of fog and chill, it felt marvelous to feel the sun on his skin, to see the sky a clear and vibrant blue. With his eyes closed, he could hear the hum of preparations for the wedding later that day. The wedding mass was to take place in the afternoon, followed by a lavish banquet in the evening. Durham Castle looked its finest; the servants had been working without respite to scrub and decorate. The door that led to the kitchens was open across the courtyard, and he could smell the rich odor of roasting meat and, more subtle, the sweet spice of baking pastry. The wedding. He was so close to the goal of the trip, the marriage of Robert and Blanche. He and Donna could then go home. Leave Northumberland behind. Return the true Philip to his life. Return themselves to the TARDIS. Donna would be thrilled. And he would be…

"My lord!"

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Robert. He looked, understandably enough, pale and on edge. The Doctor smiled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "How do you feel? You have a fine day for it."

"Yes, thankfully. I didn't sleep much, I confess. I am looking forward to this ride." He sent an impatient glance toward the door from the living quarters, seeming to will his sister and foster brother to appear.

The Doctor drew on Philip's memories of his own wedding day years before. "It is the same for all bridegrooms, I'm afraid—and brides too, I imagine."

"You were married once, were you not, my lord?"

"I was indeed. Isabelle died ten years ago."

"I am sorry. Have you…have you never thought to marry again?" Almost as soon as the question was out, Robert blushed. "Forgive me, my lord, I should not pry."

"No, no, it is fine. A natural curiosity. A marriage for a king is a complicated thing, Robert. I have not found the right alliance to make."

"But…do you not worry about an heir?"

"I do, naturally. Perhaps you and Blanche will produce a nephew who will serve in a pinch."

Robert scuffed his toe on the paving stones in embarrassment at this remark, and the Doctor felt a surge of affection for the young man. Further conversation was cut off, however, by the arrival of their riding companions. The Doctor stepped forward to greet Rosalind, who blushed slightly when he bent over her hand. Raising his head, the Doctor saw that Robert noticed this and was studying the two of them speculatively. But soon the young man's attention was distracted by the voice of the earl, who appeared in the doorway. The Doctor felt Rosalind tense next to him at this unexpected turn. It appeared that Edward had not drunk as much as usual the night before; he was not only awake at this early hour, but dressed, groomed, and sharp of eye. He addressed his son: "Will tells me you're riding." Robert shot a glance at his foster brother, who looked abashed. "Is this a good idea, on your wedding day?"

"Of course, Father. We're not going far. It's just a brief ride to get some air." Robert smiled ruefully at Philip. "And to calm my nerves."

Edward was clearly unhappy at this idea. He crossed the courtyard and plucked at his son's sleeve. "Just because your sister feels the need to ride constantly doesn't mean you have to." The Doctor noticed that Rosalind's eyes remained resolutely on the ground. She was clearly determined not to engage her father today. "You should stay," the earl insisted.

Robert looked puzzled and mildly irritated, but he placed a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. "We'll be back in an hour or so and I'll get dressed for the wedding. I promise, Father." He moved away, followed by the other three riders and a small group of servants who would accompany them. Turning back before they rounded the corner to the stables, the Doctor saw that the earl remained where they had left him.

The bitter irony, as the Doctor looked back on the events of that morning, was that it was not even a difficult ride. Nothing like the dash down the hillside with Rosalind two mornings ago. And yet…

The first hour had gone well. They were all able riders and set out at a good clip, leaving the castle and the city behind, the massive towers of the cathedral diminishing until they disappeared beyond the horizon. They followed along the meanders of the Wear, in a landscape of green hills and thick woods. It became clear, as they trotted along, that Robert was relaxing. He chatted with Will and Rosalind and laughed more freely. The weather continued to be fine, with the sun growing steadily stronger as the morning progressed. All of them shed their cloaks and enjoyed the warmth on their skin.

It was Robert who, after an hour, called for a stop. The four dismounted and their servants led the horses to water in the river. Rosalind, Robert, and Will moved, seemingly with one mind, and flung themselves down in the soft grass of the meadow that led to the riverbank. It occurred to the Doctor that this kind of early morning ride must have been a routine practice of their childhood. After a few minutes, they sat up as one of the attendants approached with a basket containing breakfast. None of them had eaten before leaving the castle, and they all felt their hunger after an hour of exercise. The basket contained bread, cheese, and apples. Rosalind took it upon herself to tear the bread apart and assemble simple cheese sandwiches for all of them, while Will procured a knife from one of the servants and began to halve an apple, coring it efficiently and cutting off slices to hand around. They all ate quietly, staring out over the river and enjoying the deliciousness of simple food in fresh air. Rosalind and Robert sat back-to-back, leaning against each other. Will and the Doctor were both cross-legged facing them. The moment was idyllic, and they all seemed hesitant to shatter it with too much conversation or with any reference to the events that would occur later that day. Finally, when all the food was consumed, it was Will who broached the issue: "We should probably return. We all need to look presentable this afternoon."

Robert and Rosalind both sighed. "Yes," Robert said, "we should." He turned and chucked his sister under the chin. "Thank you for proposing this, Rose. I feel much better." She grinned in response and squeezed his hand. All four of them stood, helping each other to their feet and then brushing off each other's backs, making sure they were not too disheveled. Their servants brought their horses and they mounted for the ride back to Durham.

Twenty minutes later they paused at the edge of a particularly open bit of meadow. Rosalind turned to Robert, her face filled with mischief. "Race you, brother!" She applied her heels to her horse's flank and shot ahead of them. Robert laughed with unrestrained glee and followed after. Will and Philip trailed behind, within sight of the two siblings but not attempting to keep abreast of them. Robert slowly gained on his sister. She squealed as he pulled even with her, and for a distance they rode neck in neck, trading a slight lead back and forth. The city appeared in the distance above the tree line. They were close to home.

And then, quite suddenly, it all went wrong. Rosalind pulled ahead again. In front of them, a fallen tree lay in the open grass between the river and the forest line. On the way out they had circumvented it, but now Rosalind headed directly for it. Her horse cleared it with ease and her brother followed in hot pursuit, intent on matching her step for step. But his horse shied away and with a tortured twisting movement, refused the jump. Robert, clearly surprised, flailed, fighting for control, and was thrown, hitting the ground spread-eagled on his back.

Rosalind, hearing Will's shout behind her as Robert fell, swung her horse around and rode toward her brother, who lay still. She pulled up and dismounted gracefully, still laughing as she spoke: "Couldn't you clear that little log? You must be getting old! You used to…" The Doctor saw the moment when she registered that something was amiss, that her brother was not sitting up to respond to her teasing, indeed was not moving at all. Her step faltered for a moment but then she continued resolutely onward and came to kneel at his side. Even before she touched him, she called: "Will, he's been knocked out. God, the ground is rockier here than I realized. We might need to send back to the castle for a litter." Her voice was concerned, a bit afraid, but still in control.

Will and Philip were by now approaching on foot. Several of the attendants were also nearby. They watched the girl bend over her brother, sliding her hands under his head to raise it and allowing her to study his face. "Rob? Rob, can you hear me?"

Her hair, which had been ripped free from her braids by the force of the wind as they rode, fell forward over her eyes. Impatiently she removed one hand from the back of her brother's head to sweep the hair from her forehead and tuck it behind her ear. Those watching gasped in alarm when they saw that the gesture left a thick smear of blood and tissue on her brow and cheek. She heard the collective intake of breath and looked up, seeing the horror on their faces. Then, still cradling Robert's head in her left hand, she looked down at her right, which was red and clotted with blood.

In a single smooth movement, she rose to her feet and now stared at both her hands. For a long moment she merely looked, her mouth open. Then her eyes transferred back to her brother's still form, and as she registered the implications of what she saw, those horribly stained hands began to shake. She fell back to her knees and leaned over him, cupping his face, whispering now, desperate. "Rob? Rob, wake up. Rob, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have jumped…please, wake up."

Slowly, dazedly, Will began to move, bending over her, pulling her up, holding her in a kneeling position with his hands on her shoulders. "Rosie…Rosie, I think he's badly hurt. Philip?" He turned questioningly to the Doctor, eyes pleading for help. The Doctor stepped up and knelt on Robert's other side, feeling his throat for a pulse. There was none. He reached out and turned the young man's head to the side. The terrible wound was visible even through his blood-soaked hair. He had, by a terrible fluke, landed with his head on a sizable and sharp rock. The back of his skull was crushed. There was nothing to be done.

The Doctor could feel Rosalind's eyes fixed on him. When he raised his gaze to meet hers, she saw the truth he had not yet spoken. A moan forced its way through her clenched teeth. He refused to look away from her, and tears began to spill from her eyes. She shook her head, imploring him. "No. Please, no."

"I'm so sorry," was all he could think of to say.

"No." She rallied, sounding defiant and impatient. "He's going to be married today. He needs to wake up." Tears streaked her face and she wiped them away impatiently, marking her cheeks further with her brother's blood. Will said, "Rosie, let's wash your hands in the river. Then we'll take him back to the castle." The Doctor could tell that the boy was barely holding on to his composure.

"Yes, we'll get him back," she agreed. "Perhaps Master Peter can help. He is a very skilled physician."

"Rosie, he can't help. Rob is…Rob is dead, Rosie."

"No." Her voice was flat. With an imploring glance, Will sent another wordless appeal to Philip, who stepped forward. He clasped her bloody hands and waited for her to look at him.

"He is dead, Rosalind."

Her tears began to flow again and she said in a choked voice, "He is not. He can't be."

"He is. It was an accident. He tried the jump and his head hit a rock when he fell."

"No. You don't understand."

"He is."

She whispered, "He wouldn't leave me. He can't." The Doctor pulled her into a hard embrace, felt her body shaking. She was in shock, he knew. Still holding her tightly with one arm, he gestured to one of the attendants to approach. He gave the man crisp instructions to return to Durham and come back with a litter to collect the Lord Robert's body. The man nodded and, with a sign to one of the other servants, quickly mounted and pounded off toward the city. The Doctor returned his attention to the girl in his arms. She had fisted her stained hands in his tunic, seemingly hanging on for dear life. Her eyes were blank, her breath coming in pants.

"Rosalind, we need to get you back to the city."

She looked up at him with no comprehension. The Doctor grasped her chin and tried to force her to focus on him. Her teeth chattered, but her eyes seemed less dull. "Do you understand me? We're going to get you back home."

She stared at him for a long moment. When she spoke, the formality of titles had fallen away. "Don't you understand, Philip? There is no way back now."

It had been a grim hour before the servants returned with the litter. Rosalind had insisted on sitting next to her brother's body, holding his hand in her own, her head resting on her knees. Will sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders, although she was unresponsive when he tried to address her. The Doctor paced in front of them, back and forth at Robert's feet. The only words Rosalind had spoken in the time before the servants returned with the litter were directed at him. "Philip, would you close his eyes? I…I can't." In response, the Doctor had leaned over the body of the young man and gently lowered his lids. Rosalind met his eyes, briefly, in thanks. She then dipped her head again, resting her forehead gently on her brother's hand. She did not appear to be crying, although the Doctor knew it was only a matter of time.

Since she seemed not to need him further at the moment, the Doctor left her in Will's care and walked a few yards to the spot where Robert's horse had reared. It had been a strange accident. It was a large log, but hardly insurmountable—Rosalind had jumped it with ease. Robert was an experienced and skilled rider. What had happened? He followed the line of the horse's hoof prints in the soft earth, trying to find the answer. As he neared the fallen tree, he saw something flash on the ground. He bent to retrieve it and stared at the palm-sized object for a few moments. A Salmarian blaster. Without ammunition, and thus completely without power and harmless. Clearly it had been sitting in that field for a number of weeks, given how it was lodged in the dirt and the trigger was locked up from moisture. Salmarian-crafted metal didn't rust or tarnish, however, so it was still polished to a high shine. It must have been the flash of sunlight on the casing that had caused Robert's horse to startle.

The Doctor felt his knees weaken and he sat down abruptly, holding the small object in his hands. This was the variable for which they had been searching, the thing that had changed the history of Northumberland and of France. The Salmarians were a sophisticated race, explorers in time and space. They were generally peaceful, although they took care to be able to defend themselves, as evidenced by the blaster. They must have arrived, found the planet too primitive to be of interest, and left without incident. If he asked around, he would probably hear stories of bright lights and strange wind patterns in the vicinity when the landing had occurred. The locals would have put it down to fluke weather, if anyone had even noticed what had happened in this remote spot. But the Salmarians had accidentally left behind this little artifact. It probably dropped off a belt clip or out of a pocket. And before it could get buried and lost to history, it had—through the most unlikely chain of unfortunate events—caused the death of Robert and the ruin of the purpose for which the Doctor and Donna had come. A good man was dead. There would be no marriage between Blanche and Robert. And there would be no heir for France. He shut his eyes as a feeling of futility washed over him. Could he have prevented this? This…freak accident? And more importantly, what could he do now?

In addition to fetching a conveyance for Robert's body, the men Philip had sent back to Durham had of course explained what had happened, and so when Will, Philip, and Rosalind arrived back at the castle with the body of the earl's heir, the courtyard was crowded. At the front of the gathering stood Blanche, tearful and upset, leaning on Donna. The Doctor noted with gratitude that Donna looked shocked but steady. The earl, however, looked pale and wildly angry. As the litter drew up carrying his son's body, he barely looked at it, fixing his eyes instead on his daughter as she dismounted. She had ridden back to the castle sitting behind Will on his horse, clinging to his back, and now she looked vulnerable and frightened; she swayed slightly as she walked, hesitantly approaching her father. Her face, dress, and hands were streaked with blood. She came to stand in front of Edward, trembling as she met his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Father," she whispered. "It was a jump, he fell…" She got no further. The earl brought up his arm in a violent movement and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. The Doctor and Will both started toward her but were not in time as she fell to the cobblestones. Donna reached her first, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around the girl's shaking form. The earl glared down at his daughter, who looked up at him in despair, her lip split and bleeding from his blow. "You did this. You are the bad wolf, and you have killed my son."

With that, he left the courtyard. And Rosalind, clinging desperately to Donna, her own blood mingling on her face with that of her brother, began to wail.