Chapter 8: The Pain and the Tenderness

Author's note: The bishop of Durham in 1200 was a Frenchman, Philip of Poitiers. For convenience, I have switched his name with that of his predecessor, Hugh de Puiset, simply in order to avoid confusion (we don't need two Philips in one story).

He had never seen Donna look more exhausted than she did when she came to his chamber several hours later. After the earl's departure, Rosalind, finally giving into her grief, had held on to Donna fiercely and Donna had waved off those who tried to separate the two. "Show me where her rooms are," she had commanded two of the servants hovering helplessly nearby. She had guided Rosalind from the courtyard, shooting dagger glances at all who stared at the weeping girl. The Doctor had never loved Donna more than he did at that moment. And now she was here in front of him, her face gray with fatigue, the lines at the corners of her mouth deeply cut, her eyes red and her hair disheveled. She sat in a chair opposite him and they met each others' gaze. She answered his unspoken question.

"She's asleep. The doctor, or whatever he is—Peter, I think—gave her some kind of drink to help her sleep. God knows what was in it, but she's finally out."

"And before that?"

"What do you think?" Donna's tone was impatient. "The poor lamb just saw the person she loved most die in front of her." She put her head in her hands. "The things we see in this life of yours, Doctor…"

"I know. Thank you so much for taking care of her."

"What else could I do? That poor excuse for a father…" Donna couldn't even finish the sentence, her voice shaking with anger. She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. "What is going to happen to her, Doctor? And what are we going to do? Our whole reason for being here…"

"Yes. I'm trying to figure something out, but I…I don't know right now. I just don't know."

She nodded. "I'm going to eat something and then go back and sit with her. She'll need someone there when she wakes up."

Rosalind drifted upward from her drugged sleep, confused and disoriented. She sat up slowly and considered her surroundings. Her room was mostly dark, but it appeared that the sun was only setting if the dim light from her windows was any indication. And yet she felt like she had slept for hours. Her mouth felt woolly, her throat raw, and her head hurt. Was she ill? What had…

And then she remembered. Rob.

The wave of physical pain that went through her was astonishing. She doubled over and opened her mouth to scream, but her tortured throat made almost no noise. In the wake of the strangled sound she emitted, she heard a rustle from across the room and the red-haired woman appeared out of the shadows and rushed to her side. She felt herself enveloped by the woman's arms, which were familiar now—she vaguely recalled that it was this woman who had cared for her, cleaned the blood off of her face, soothed her, after they returned from the ride. The ride when Rob…

Donna was almost in tears herself as she held on to Rosalind's wracked body. She had seen grief like this once before, when her father died and she had tried to look after her mother. She knew there was little she could do for Rosalind at this point besides keep hold of her and wait. The girl sobbed wrenchingly for at least half an hour, and Donna stayed in place, even though her leg began to cramp. When the worst was over, Donna found a cloth and a basin of water and returned to where Rosalind lay, now limp on the pillows. She gently washed the girl's ravaged face, wiping off the mucus and saliva and bathing her swollen eyes and sore lip.

Rosalind focused her full attention on her caregiver for the first time. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't try to talk, love. Just rest. Do you want something to eat or drink?"

"A drink, please."

"You ought to eat too."

"I don't think I could keep anything down." This was said with a wan smile. "I can't stop seeing it on my hands. His blood and…"

"Hush, now. You are clean."

Rosalind gave a little choked laugh, then asked, "What is your name?"

"Donna."

"You came with the king?"

"Yes. And the Lady Blanche."

Rosalind gasped and raised her hand to her cheek. "Blanche! I hadn't thought…what will she do now?" She began to cry again.

"Shhh. It will be all right. Blanche will be fine. Her brother will take care of her." As soon as the words were out of her mouth Donna wished them back. Horrified, she saw Rosalind's face crumple even as she tried to acknowledge Donna's attempt at comfort with a nod. Donna could think of nothing else to do but gather her back into her arms and offer the consolation of physical closeness. It seemed to be what was needed, as Rosalind clung to her until she fell asleep again.

The next morning Rosalind's face was appallingly pale, her eyes were red, and her movements as stiff as if she had been beaten, or had fallen from a horse herself. Her lip was swollen and her cheek bruised where her father had clouted her. And yet she insisted, with a quiet dignity that Donna found more shattering than the sobs of the night before, on being dressed and having her hair arranged. Donna, having had a crash course over the last week in dressing medieval noble women, helped her. Rosalind garbed herself more elegantly than Donna had ever seen her, with the possible exception of the night she had danced with Will. Could that only be three days ago? Donna then brought a basin of hot water and a cloth and gently cleaned Rosalind's palms, which were scraped and raw where she had fallen to the cobblestones the morning before.

Donna was afraid all their effort would be for naught when Will appeared at the door soon after Rosalind finished dressing. At the sight of him, Rosalind seemed ready to cry again. She reached out her arms and Will swept her into a crushing embrace. But if it were possible to cry oneself out, it appeared Rosalind had done so, as her cheeks were dry when she raised her head from Will's shoulder. Donna offered to withdraw but Rosalind rejected the idea with a touch of panic in her voice, so she retreated to a chair in the corner of the room, trying to give the two some privacy. The foster siblings sat side-by-side on the chaise near the window, holding hands and seemingly feeling no need to speak.

After a long while, Will sighed heavily and said, "I need to see your father, Rosie."

"Yes." She didn't let go of his hands immediately, but after a moment she gathered herself and stood. He rose beside her and touched her face, gently.

"It wasn't your fault."

"No?"

"No. I can't imagine why the horse refused that jump, or what happened with Rob. There's no reason why he shouldn't have made it. It was just…a terrible accident."

She nodded. "Don't make me cry again, Will."

He hesitated. "Do you want me to say anything to your father?"

"What's the use? He has always blamed me for my mother's death, and now Rob…"

Will seemed to find nothing to say in response to this. He kissed her hard on the forehead and left quickly. Donna thought she saw tears on his face as he ducked out of the room. She turned to find that Rosalind's back was to her. She was at the window, her knuckles white on the stone of the frame. Donna burst out, "He's wrong!"

Rosalind turned. "I'm sorry?"

"Your father. He's wrong. He shouldn't blame you for your mother or your brother." Donna realized she was probably stepping over countless boundaries of social custom in speaking so frankly but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had very quickly become deeply protective of the younger woman.

Rosalind smiled, the first genuine smile Donna had seen since the accident. "You know, Donna, you are a remarkably comforting person."

Donna snorted. "I'm nothing special."

Rosalind moved to her and put a hand on her arm. "No, I am in earnest. Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done last night without you."

"Don't you worry about it, love."

There was a knock at the door and the two women paused for a moment. Rosalind closed her eyes and sighed. Donna said, "Whoever it is, I can send them away. You don't need to entertain people today."

"No. Let them in, it's fine." Rosalind squared her shoulders.

Donna went to the door and opened it to reveal Blanche and Philip. Donna stood back and let them cross the threshold. The Doctor allowed Blanche to enter first, and she crossed immediately to where Rosalind stood. Rosalind tried to maintain her poise, but her nervousness at facing her brother's bereaved fiancée was evident in her face. The Doctor and Donna were also on edge, and they both felt a rush of gratitude to Blanche when she reached out without preamble and pulled the younger girl into an embrace. They clung to each other for a long moment before Blanche stepped back and spoke. "Lady Rosalind, my loss is great, but yours is greater. I am so sorry."

"You are gracious to say so. I…I don't know what to say. Your marriage, the alliance…" her voice trailed away.

Blanche lowered her voice so that her words were for Rosalind alone. "There is no reason to think the alliance will fail. It is still in the interests of my brother and your father. And my brother will find another marriage for me. Those are rarely lacking for a royal woman. But…I doubt that whoever he finds for me will be as kind and as gentle as your brother."

Rosalind bent her head and a tear escaped down her cheek. Blanche grasped her hands and spoke directly to the girl's fears. "I do not blame you, Rosalind. My brother told me what happened. It was an accident."

"Yes." Rosalind snuffled and tried to bring herself under control.

"And your father…he did not behave gallantly toward you." This was, for Blanche, clearly the highest of insults. Rosalind laughed, finding her phrasing comical even as she appreciated the sentiment. "No, he did not. Thank you, my lady."

They sat in silence for a moment, until both of their gazes were drawn to Philip and Donna, standing in the opposite corner of the large room, their heads bent together. Blanche said, "I hope Donna has been helpful to you? I have found her company diverting."

"Yes, she has been wonderful."

"My brother is usually so discreet about his mistresses; he must be fond of her indeed to consort with her so openly. But I admit, I don't mind it in this case."

Rosalind was suddenly very still. "Donna is…the king's mistress?"

"Oh yes, didn't you know?"

She shook her head, but quickly strove to recover herself. What did it matter, really? "I suppose I didn't really think about it. I should have assumed." She changed the subject, not wanting to discuss the issue further with Blanche. "How long will you stay?"

"We will of course remain for your brother's funeral. Philip has told me so. After that, I have no idea. My brother will go to see your father shortly, and I imagine they will determine that."

As the two young women sat, their heads bent together, on the chaise near the window, the Doctor and Donna conferred near the door.

"How is she?"

"A trouper. Unbelievable."

"Has her father been here?"

Donna snorted. "No. Just Will Forster, and now you two. Blanche seems well."

"She is holding up admirably. I think she is genuinely sad, but after all, she didn't really know the lad well. And she has been trained to behave courteously. Unlike some." He paused. "Speaking of which, I need to go and see the earl. I'm trying to figure out what to say."

"I've got some ideas, if you want."

His mouth quirked. "To save the alliance, Donna, not to rip a strip off him."

Donna harrumphed.

"Look, Philip set up this marriage to make this alliance. I wasn't able to prevent the marriage from…not happening, but I can try to save the alliance."

"Did you ever figure out what happened to Robert?"

"I think so. I found a piece of alien tech on the ground near where the horse reared. I think it startled him."

"Alien tech? Put there intentionally? Did it…go off, or something?"

"No, no, no. Just left behind. Probably by accident. It's technology from a peaceful race of time- and space-travelers, most likely on a reconnaissance mission. The sunlight flashed off it and startled the horse, so he refused the jump."

Donna stared at him. "You mean to say that this whole terrible business, with all the people who have been hurt and with repercussions down the centuries, was caused by some Martians showing up and dropping some litter?"

"Well, Donna, not Martians—why do you always call all of us Martians, anyway? And 'litter' implies they intentionally left it here, which I don't think is right…" He was in mid-ramble when he saw the look on her face, and he shut his mouth with a click, opening it again to say only, "Yes, basically."

Donna was still processing this revelation, shaking her head in disbelief, when Blanche and Rosalind stood and approached them. Donna could sense that the Doctor wanted a moment alone with Rosalind so she diverted Blanche with a question and the Doctor took Rosalind's arm, guiding her back toward the window. He touched her bruised cheek gently. "I won't ask how you're feeling. I can only imagine."

She nodded. "Can it be only two days ago that we were talking about Acre and voyages in the Mediterranean? If only we could travel back in time and never go on that damned ride."

He clasped her hands, speechless.

"Thank you, my lord, for what you did yesterday. Staying with me and Rob, and…oh, everything."

He inclined his head, noticing that the formality of her address was back in place. "I wish I could have done more. I wish…I wish I could fix this for you."

She gave a small smile. "Even the king of France cannot fix this." After a moment, she asked, "Did you find anything to indicate why Rob's horse behaved as it did?"

"What?"

"When we were waiting for the litter, I saw you go to the place that the horse reared. Did you find anything?"

He had not been aware that she had noticed that. Sharp girl, to be so observant even in the midst of such a terrible situation. "No. The ground was rocky, so perhaps his hoof hit a stone and it hurt him. I'm not sure we'll ever know, Rosalind. It was just an accident. No one's fault. Not Robert's and not yours."

Her breath caught on a small sob, but she shook her head viciously and regained her composure. "You should tell my father that," she said, with a watery attempt at humor.

"I shall. I'm about to go and meet with him." It'll be all I can do not to punch the man for laying a hand on you, he thought to himself.

"I imagine you will be leaving before too very long."

Was that regret he heard in her voice, or only wishful thinking on his part? "We will stay for some time, for the funeral and so on." He paused. "I don't want to distress you, my lady, but can I ask you a question? Your father…he called you 'bad wolf'. What did that signify?"

"Hmm? Oh. Just a nickname he coined for me once, when he was angry with me about something. Do you know, I can't even remember what it was any more. Our family crest is the black wolf, as you may have seen."

"Ah."

She gave him a formal smile and began to move away. He stopped her and said, "Lady Rosalind, I want to say…I only knew your brother for a few days, but I have rarely met a man I liked more readily. He was intelligent and honorable. He loved you very much. I was happy to leave my sister in his care. I…I am so sorry he is gone."

Her eyes had gone wide as she listened to his short speech. When he finished, she reached out her hand to him. He took it. She said, "You cannot imagine what that means to me. Thank you."

He kissed her hand, and with a nod at Donna, left to find the earl.

Walking in the direction of the earl's quarters, the Doctor gathered his thoughts. He had an explanation now for the "bad wolf" comment, which, even amidst all the horror of yesterday, had unsettled him. A perfectly natural explanation; in fact, it made a lot more sense for Rosalind to be a "bad wolf", given her family's crest, than for Rose to be. And yet… He could not shake his unease at the parallels that kept arising between Rosalind and Rose. It seemed…more than accidental.

He knew he was in dangerous emotional territory. He knew it. He had been deeply affected by Rosalind before the accident, his mind drawn to her intelligence and independence, his body reacting to her beauty. Now that the worst had happened, a fierce protectiveness toward her was added. A potent mix indeed. When Edward had struck her across the face in the courtyard of the castle the day before, it had taken every bit of discipline he had not to leap on the man. He had ground down on his anger, reminding himself that for Philip of France, seeing a man strike his daughter or wife would not have been unusual. He knew from dipping into Philip's feelings at that moment that the king would have found the earl's behavior deeply distasteful, even outrageous, but Philip would not have seen it as his duty to interfere, at least not in public. And Edward had just lost his son and heir. The Doctor had managed to recover his equilibrium when he watched Donna take charge of Rosalind and lead her from the prying eyes of the crowd. He had not seen her again until this morning, when Blanche had insisted that they pay a visit. Rosalind had looked so weary, so grief-stricken, and her face was bruised from her father's blow. The urge to take her into his arms, to ease her hurt, to make things better, was so strong…

And yet. He was a Time Lord. His responsibility was to preserve the history of France. The obvious way to do that—to ensure the success of the marriage between Blanche and Robert—was no longer possible. So now, what to do?

These musings brought him to the door of Edward's quarters. The guard outside bowed and disappeared in order to announce him, returning a moment later to shepherd him inside. When he entered, he found that Edward was not alone. In a chair in the corner was Will Forster, whom the Doctor acknowledged with a nod and small smile. Sitting across from the earl at a long table that dominated the outer room of his living quarters was a small man with gray cropped hair, richly dressed in clerical garb, with an ornate gold ring on his left ring finger. Edward did not bother to rise when the Doctor entered, but this other man did so, fixing the newcomer with an interested gaze. Edward spoke, "My lord Philip, this is Hugh of Puiset, the bishop of Durham, lately returned from London. Hugh, this is the king of France."

Aha, the Doctor thought as he bowed in greeting. The bishop who supports John. The one who, according to Rosalind, had previously excommunicated Edward and Robert as a political move. The Frenchman who was now an English bishop, feuding with his local English lord. The man who had refused to officiate at the marriage mass of Robert and Blanche. Why then was he here, in the earl's private chamber?

"I came," the bishop stated in a cultivated and silky voice, "to offer pastoral comfort to the lord Edward at this tragic time."

A slight smirk on the earl's face spoke volumes about his opinion on the comfort being provided.

"For you too, my lord king, it is a terrible day. The marriage, the alliance with your country, ruined…"

The Doctor felt a spike of annoyance at the man's opportunism, but opened his mind to Philip's within him, drawing on the king's ability in politics and negotiation. Philip, as usual, opted for blandness at the outset while he assessed his opponent's aims. "So kind of you, my lord bishop. I'm sure your comfort is most welcome. The loss of Robert is indeed a tragedy for all concerned."

"I also came to discuss the funeral arrangements with Lord Edward…"

Here the earl interrupted. "My boy will be buried in the cathedral. I'll have no more discussion of this."

The bishop spread his hands. "To have a former excommunicate buried in the church of holy Cuthbert seems hardly proper…"

Will sprang from his chair in the corner. "You ordered that excommunication strictly to please John. Rob did nothing wrong!"

"Will." Edward's tone was one of command. The boy slumped back into his seat. The earl eyed the bishop. "Hugh, that excommunication was overturned by the pope himself. You know, and I know, why you did it in the first place. Will's absolutely right. So what do you really want?"

It was, the Doctor thought, the first time he had seen the earl in full command of his position and his faculties. It was a bitter irony that only now, with Robert dead, could he see the son in the father.

"Give up the alliance with France. Return your full loyalty to your king. I have brought with me from the south a letter from King John. Should you agree to the terms he proposes, he will hold you in his heart as a loyal vassal. And I will bury your son in a place of honor in the cathedral before the week is out. The saints will guard your son's soul in the next life, and you can be at peace."

The earl shook his head. "I knew John would be behind this, you toady. He fears this alliance between Northumberland and France. It is but another blow to his shaky throne."

The bishop's tone was cold. "It is neither John nor I who have shown our disapproval of this alliance, but rather God. Your son, an accomplished rider, is dead in a freak riding accident. What other interpretation can you put on the events of yesterday?"

The Doctor thought that this was probably not the company in which to bring up the Salmarian blaster. Instead, he stepped forward and spoke. "My lord Hugh, I know you speak as the representative of your king. You are only doing your duty in presenting this choice to my lord of Northumberland." The bishop bowed his head in acknowledgment but said nothing. "Even if," Philip continued, "it would be distasteful in the eyes of some to use a man's dead son as a bargaining chip. But such tactics have rarely troubled John." Hugh's eyes narrowed but still he did not speak.

Philip met and held the bishop's gaze. "Now you might complete your duty by communicating this to your king, when next you write to him." His voice did not rise or betray any emotion, but all eyes in the room were fixed on him as he paused for effect. "France stands with Northumberland. The tragic accident," he put the emphasis on the last word, "of yesterday changes nothing. The alliance will hold. And if John threatens my ally, he will have the force of the French army to reckon with—an army against which, as you know, he has had singularly little success. What is more, Robert will be buried in the cathedral. With you officiating at the funeral mass. And if either you or John find that your conscience objects to this, I suggest you seek reassurance from the pope. I feel confident that he will allay your fears. He is, as you know, a close ally of mine as well."

The bishop remained silent for a long moment. He was not a stupid man and he understood both the spoken and unspoken threats Philip had just uttered. The Doctor watched him work through the problem in his head, sort through the various scenarios, and come to a decision. He turned to the earl. "My lord Edward, would two days hence suit you for the funeral? As it happens, there is a place of honor in the south aisle of the cathedral. It would be my privilege if your son were to join the community of saints and great men buried in my church."

The earl gave a tight smile of assent. The bishop nodded crisply and, with a gesture of farewell to the three men, left the room.

Will stared at Philip in open-mouthed admiration. The earl's expression was harder to read, but he stood and clasped the king's hand. "My lord, I thank you."

"It was my pleasure. I meant what I said. I wish for this alliance to stand." The earl relaxed visibly, but Philip was not finished. "We will discuss the details at more length at another time, when your grief is not so raw. But I have one condition you should know about now, my lord earl. It is non-negotiable."

"And what is that?"

"You will never lay a finger on the Lady Rosalind again."