Chapter 16: The Journey and the Destination

They lay, Philip and Rosalind, cuddled together in a sweaty heap. Her head was pillowed on his chest, her hair damp near the scalp. Her arm lay over him, holding herself to him. Their legs were intertwined, their breathing slowly steadying. Turning her head, she planted several open-mouthed kisses on his chest before lapsing once again into immobility. His hand played across the base of her spine, his fingers trailing gently. She smiled against him and squirmed. "Tickles." When he didn't stop, she made a softly aggrieved noise. "I don't want to move. Stop it." He relented and laid his hand flat on the small of her back. He murmured, "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

She giggled. "You said something about that, I think, a while back." She briefly pressed her teeth into his skin. "Quite loudly."

Laughter bubbled up from his own throat. "You are a wicked, wicked girl."

"Correction. I am your wicked, wicked wife."

"You are indeed. My wife. Mine." His arm tightened convulsively around her.

After a while she said, "The second time was clearly the charm."

He hummed contentedly. The first time they had made love, the night before, had been…well. Not a disaster, certainly. But they had both been exhausted by the marriage festivities, which had lasted a full day. She had been nervous and unsure of what to do; he had been almost painfully aroused. These factors resulted in an experience that was uncomfortable for her and embarrassingly short for him. Thankfully, their awkwardness with each other afterward had quickly faded. They had both sensed that they needed rest and they had fallen asleep in each other's arms. When he had awoken early the next morning, her naked body pressed against his had sent his heart rate skyrocketing, but he had clamped down on his desire and had taken the time to wake her gently, and then to relax her, spoil her, and learn her, with much more satisfactory results for both of them.

Some indeterminate time later, Rosalind peeled herself off of him and found her dressing gown, carelessly crumpled on the floor by the side of the bed. As she drew it over one arm, he reached out sleepily and bunched one edge of the garment in his hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

She detached herself from his grip. "I'll be back in a moment. I have something for you." She disappeared in the direction of the privy and then emerged and bathed her face in the washbasin on a table near the window. She quickly wrapped her hair and pinned it into a loose bun. She then opened a chest that sat at the foot of the bed and dug around for a moment, emerging with a small rectangular package wrapped in velvet cloth. She returned and climbed into bed, sitting cross-legged in front of him, gripping the package tightly. She looked nervous, and that realization almost made him laugh out loud. She really had no idea how astonishingly grateful he was to have her, to be here in this room at this instant. After a few moments, she looked up to find him watching her, and she smiled tentatively. "I didn't know what to get you for a wedding gift. I mean…you're the king of France. You do not lack for very much."

He reached up and stroked her cheek. "You are my gift. I don't need anything else." Her smile was blinding and made his throat tighten with happiness. She gripped his hand and kissed it. "I know. I love you. But I wanted you to have something special to remember today. Or rather, yesterday." She pushed the package into his lap.

He sat up and propped himself against the pillows before reaching for it. He slowly unwound the cloth. Inside he found a book. Small in size but quite thick, it had a beautiful deep green leather cover that had been tooled in an intricate vine pattern. He cracked open the front cover and read the opening of the text, which was in French: "Carles li reis, nostre emperere magnes/Set anz tuz pleins ad estet en Espaigne." It rang a bell immediately, and after he scanned a few more lines, he recognized it. "This is Roland, isn't it?"

"Yes. The first book we ever discussed."

He smiled at her. "On that early morning ride. I remember. Where did you find this?"

"I copied it."

"You did?" He looked more carefully at the script and realized that he did indeed recognize her hand. "But that is wonderful. When did you have the time to do this?"

She took a deep breath. "I did it before I met you." He looked at her, puzzled. "I…I made this for Rob, about three years ago. After he died, before we left, I took it from his room. I wanted you to have it, but it was a bit worn from use." She reached out and touched it lightly. "Rob read it all the time. So I found an artisan here in Paris to do a new binding and I found a painter to add four leaves with miniatures. They just finished it a few days ago."

He was stunned. "You're giving me Rob's book?" She nodded, and he could see tears in her eyes. "Oh my love," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "I can't imagine anything better." He held her fiercely for a few moments before releasing her. Together they paged through the book, and he admired the script and the illuminations. At the end he found, on the final folium, a scribal explicit. He read, "Written by Rosalind of Northumberland, for her dear brother Robert, in Durham, 2 Ides May, the year of Our Lord 1197." Under this, she had written an addendum, apparently very recently: "Given to my beloved Philip on the occasion of our wedding, in Paris, on the Kalends of September, the year of Our Lord 1200." Placing the book aside, he cupped her face and kissed her gently, touching her forehead with his. "My dearest. Thank you."

Then, his mood shifting suddenly, he bounced up from the bed. "I have something for you, too!" Kneeling down, he retrieved a small, polished wooden box from the floor deep under the bed. He handed it to her and now it was his turn to sit, watching his love open a gift.

She stroked the outside of the box for a long time, until he began to drum his fingers on his thigh in impatience. She shot him a small smile and lifted the lid. Her lips parted as she reached out to touch what was revealed. It was a necklace: a chain of gold on which was suspended a large pendant shaped like a teardrop. The size of the stone was impressive but what gave her real pause was its appearance. It was the deepest and richest of blues, but rather than being transparent or crystalline, it was opaque, dappled with flecks of gold. "Philip, this is beautiful. It looks like…stars in the evening sky."

"It's lapis lazuli."

"I've never seen anything like it. I've never even heard of it."

"That's not surprising. It's from the east. Egypt, I think, and points beyond. I bought this in Acre when I was there. I thought you might enjoy having something from the land oversea."

She touched it with one hesitant finger. "You bought this so long ago?"

"I did. I thought it very beautiful. But I never found the right woman to give it to. Until now." While not entirely untrue, his words were deceptive. He had, in fact, conceived the idea the night before to bring her something from the lands she had so dreamed of visiting. So he had stepped into the TARDIS, piloted it to Acre, and gone to the market. He had almost immediately seen the necklace at a jewelry stall and thought—as she said—that it looked like the stars captured in stone. It seemed perfect, for Philip and Rosalind and for himself as well.

He lifted it from the box. "Let me put it on you." She turned and he draped the necklace over her head and clasped it, running his hands down over her shoulders to push off her dressing gown. She reached and caught the gown before it fell away entirely, but when she turned, her shoulders were bare and the necklace lay cradled in the hollow of her throat. He swallowed. "Clearly I was right to wait. It was meant to be around your neck."

"Thank you. I love it. I love you." She kissed him with a passion that left him breathless. He fought the urge simply to throw her down and make love to her again. Just a few minutes more. He said, "I have one more gift for you."

"But I only have one for you!"

"That is true. I suppose that puts you in my debt." He leant down and nibbled her neck, prompting a low moan from her. "And once I tell you about your second gift we shall discuss your payment." He grew distracted by the texture of her skin under his lips and continued to explore until she cleared her throat. "My present, please."

"Oh yes." He lifted his head and shifted back a bit, putting space between them so he could focus. "Well. I have been planning a fortress near one of my southern ports. The location is called Aigues Mortes, near the mouth of the Rhône, and it will allow for the protection of trade routes and serve as a launching point for crusades heading east. I need to visit and check on the progress of the initial phase of construction, and I will take the opportunity to visit various vassals along the way. It will be a long journey, probably six weeks. I shall leave in a few days so that I can return before the worst of winter."

She looked confused and a bit panicked. "You're leaving me so soon?"

"I hope not. Therein lies the gift. I thought you might like to accompany me."

Her jaw dropped. "You want me to travel with you?"

"Yes."

"To join you on your visits to vassals?"

"Yes."

"To see the Mediterranean?"

He grinned. "Yes."

She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth on the bed. When she dropped her hands again he saw that she was crying but also smiling her stunning wide grin. He clasped her fingers in his own. "I take it you are pleased?" She nodded, unable to speak. Finally she managed, "My father never…the idea that you would want me with you…" She took a deep breath. "You fulfill all my dreams, did you know that?"

He said, "Your father is a fool. He did not know what a treasure he had. I'm being selfish, really, bringing you along. I don't want to be away from you. Not ever."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes so soft and loving he thought his heart might break. Then slowly a mischievous smile curled the corners of her mouth. Before he could react, she surged forward, pushing him back onto the bed, pinning him against the sheets. He laughed. "What are you doing?"

She looked down at him. "I believe I have a debt to repay," she replied, before covering his mouth with her own.

Philip entered the bedchamber where she sat by the fire and sprawled in a chair. It was late evening, but she had waited up for him, wanting to hear about the outcome of his negotiations with the duke of Burgundy. They had been in Dijon for several days, longer than they had spent with any other vassal thus far, but appropriate for the power and influence of the Burgundian lords.

Without further ado, she asked, "Did you get your treaty?"

"I did. Eudes is a good and loyal man, albeit a bit stubborn in making any concessions whatsoever."

"I suppose that a lord as rich as he can afford to drive a hard bargain. Burgundy is remarkable. All these fairs and markets, all these vineyards."

"Yes, you're right. The dukes have always been challenging to deal with, whether allies or not. Eudes's father, Hugh, was emphatically not an ally; in fact, he was a major thorn in my father's side. And mine, for that matter. As if we didn't have enough problems in the west with the English, to have a threat on our eastern border…" He shook his head. "My father was no great soldier, so Hugh was able to win some victories that he should not have. Then he tried to take advantage of my youth, when I took the throne, to sway some of my vassals to his side. Fortunately, I was able to put a stop to it." He smiled grimly.

"Did you have to fight a war here?"

"A small one, yes. The major conflict was at Châtillon—we passed it on our way here. I besieged the town and captured it. Eudes was actually in charge of defending it for his father, and I took him as a hostage when I took the town. I was then able to force his father into line. Believe it or not, after all that hostility, Hugh agreed to go on crusade with me, although he stayed on with Richard when I left. He died at Acre, of disease."

She shivered and fingered the pendant she wore around her neck. "I am so glad you did not stay there longer."

"As am I, believe me. And now here we are, negotiating with Hugh's son, my former hostage."

"You are fortunate that Eudes does not seem to hold a grudge about that."

Philip shrugged. "It's just the way of things. Most eldest sons of great lords have probably been hostages at one point or another, to ensure their fathers' good behavior. In any case, Eudes is now amenable to my lordship."

"And why is that, do you think?"

"I think it's partly his personality. He is simply not as pugnacious or easily offended as his father was."

She thought for a few moments. "Isn't it funny to think…"

"Hmm?"

"Well, we think of states at war, or the interests of states clashing. As if it's something impersonal, you know? But they are ruled by people, who have a variety of personalities. And if those personalities clash, it might mean that states go to war, with all the consequences that arise from that."

"Yes, I suppose so. Conflicts are rarely just personality-based, but often it can be the deciding factor for or against."

"I think it was that way for my father and John. Not that I blame John; my father is so very prickly. But John just couldn't seem to figure out how to keep an alliance intact."

"I confess to being glad of that."

She rewarded him with a soft smile. "I suppose we both should be." After a moment she continued, "But you see what I mean. One man's quirks of temperament might change the world. It's a disturbing amount of power for one person to have. To change history."

He gave her an odd look, staring at her until she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it, and grinned. "I know it is late, but Eudes wondered if we might join him and Alice for dinner."

"Of course. I have not yet eaten." She paused. "Do you know when Alice's baby is due to arrive?"

"A matter of days, I think."

She was silent, gazing into the fireplace. He watched her. "What are you thinking, my love?"

Now it was her turn to startle back to awareness. She looked up at him. "What?"

"You looked miles away all of a sudden. I wondered what you were thinking."

She sighed. "I was thinking of having a baby."

"What about it?"

"That I want to. For you. With you." He couldn't help smiling at her when she said that, but her face remained solemn. "But it's frightening, too."

"Because of your mother." It was not a question.

"Yes."

He nodded. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you, you know that?"

She looked at him. "Is this you defying the fate of mankind again?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p'.

"Mmm. Well." She seemed to wish to leave the topic behind. She gave a slight shiver and then she asked, "Where will we be tomorrow?"

"Heading south from here. I thought we'd stop at Cluny."

"Oh, really? I was hoping we could go there. Isn't it the largest church in all of Europe?"

"I believe so. Perhaps the one in Constantinople is bigger? In any case, it is enormous. And beautiful. With an unparalleled library." Her eyes lit up and he laughed. "And I have written ahead, asking Abbot Hugh if we might have a tour."

That revelation earned him a tight embrace and a whispered promise that made his ears flush pink and his skin tingle. Moving away from him but still grinning saucily, she said, "Should we not go into dinner, my lord?"

"Indeed, my lady. The duke and duchess await us." He took her hand and spun her around, making her laugh. "You know, Eudes commented in particular on your beauty and wit. You have made a wonderful impression on him."

She chuckled. "Oh, Philip. Do you think he would have told you if he thought I was hideous and an idiot?" He frowned and she shook her head at him. "All queens are beautiful, didn't you know?"

He reached out for her and drew her to him, kissing her soundly. "But my queen is more beautiful and brilliant than any other."

"I am glad you think so," she murmured. "Now, shall we go?"

When he made love to her that night, his hands caressed her throat and hair as he whispered endearments in her ear. It was one of her greatest pleasures, the sound of his voice at these moments; although she didn't always understand what he said, his tone was so redolent with love and desire. This night, by chance, his fingers drifted across her temples. Suddenly she was torn from her pleasurable haze, buffeted by images she did not understand. She gasped and floundered slightly, clinging to his back like a drowning woman. A strange blue…guard post? Upright coffin? With small windows around the top quarter and words on it she could not read, although she recognized the letters. Strange flying things that shone like the steel of a sword. Was that her own face? Painted in an exaggerated fashion, and yet hers, surely? Images of fire and of destruction. And then her real self, looking like herself, in Durham, back in her homespun gown, bent over her manuscripts, then turning her head and smiling…

With a wrench the images fled and she was back on the bed. Philip had collapsed on top of her and his breath was still racing, his skin slick, his hands flat on the sheets on either side of her. It must have only lasted a few seconds. What had that been? What in the world were those things that she had seen?

He turned his head and kissed her cheek, near her ear. "Are you alright?" His breath was still coming in pants. He seemed unaware of what had occurred. "Of course, my love, wonderful," she replied. Should she tell him? How could she? She had no idea what had just happened. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, but the images did not return. Perhaps she was just tired from the stresses of the journey. Perhaps, she concluded uneasily, she simply needed sleep.

Rosalind stood on the last few inches of dry sand just above the waterline, her hand shading her eyes, looking south toward the horizon. They were at the last stop on their journey, the town of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, which sat on the coast near the mouth of the Rhône in a region Philip referred to as the Camargue. The day was hot and close; Philip's man at Aigues Mortes had told them that the autumn had been unusually warm that year. By almost any measure the weather was unpleasant, oppressive, and yet she relished it, having never experience heat like this. Certainly it could be warm in Northumberland, but never this intense, driving heat. The moisture in the air clung to her, making her sweat even under her light gown.

She parted her lips and tasted the salt tang of the air. She reached down and unlaced the soft shoes she wore; they fell on the sand next to her with soft plops. Stripping off her stockings, she moved forward, to a point where the sea lapped at her feet. She reflexively braced herself for the cold of the water, but it never came. Rather, the eddies caressing her toes were as warm as bathwater. She looked down, astonished. The sea near Durham was so cold it made her knees and hips ache when she stood in it ankle-deep. And the color of this water—not the black-blue of the northern waters but a luminous turquoise, spreading flat out before her as far as she could see. She shook her head. This was another world. She had seen things on these last days of the journey of which she had never even dreamed. Birds of tremendous size and colored a shocking shade of pink, with long attenuated legs and beaks like inverted smiles. Clusters of blackberry bushes so laden with fruit—in October—that they almost bent to meet the ground. Salt flats on which herds of tiny horses grazed, searching out the sparse vegetation. She thought, as she always did when she saw something new or remarkable, of her brother. "Rob, you should see this," she murmured. "The Mediterranean. I have come so very far. So far from you. I wish…oh, I wish you could be here."

She turned back and saw Philip, waiting for her a short distance away. She felt the surge of love she always experienced when she met his intense gaze. She brushed aside the haze of gold that was her hair, whipped across her face by the wind, and walked forward into his arms.

A week after they returned to Paris, on a Thursday evening, Philip sought out Rosalind at the end of the day. He found her in her chamber, standing at her favorite vantage point in her room, gazing down over the Seine and the north bank. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her neck. "Donna said you were feeling unwell today. Are you ill?"

She reached up and behind her, stroking the back of his head, holding him to her. "I was sick, but I am not ill."

He turned her around in his arms, looking down at her quizzically.

"Philip…I think I am pregnant."