Doctor Who and the Crusaders (12 page)

‘Please continue,’ she said, ‘and seat yourself, for I wish to talk to you.’

‘I’m very grateful for your interest in my ward, Your Highness,’ the Doctor said when he had sat down.

‘I note your gratitude. I cannot ask you to repay me, but I have something to ask you. There’s something new in you, yet something older than the sky itself. You give me confidence and I value knowing you, sensing I can trust you. Yet all the while I am aware that we have exchanged but a few brief words, and known each other for hardly any time at all.’

‘Madam, your beauty alone earns my interest, if I may venture to say such a thing. Your mind commands my respect. Whatever I can do in your service, shall be done.’

Joanna smiled at the Doctor’s gallantry and composed her thoughts.

‘I am my brother’s favourite,’ she said, at length, ‘yet now I find I am excluded from his confidence. Oh, he smiles at me and talks of this and that; he pays me compliments and seems to listen so intently when I talk, I might, for all the world, be Socrates returned to gift him with a wise advice. Here at Richard’s court, I do not play at politics. All are Richard’s men, heart and soul, so there is no one to whom I can honestly go, nor any who will come to me in confidence.’

‘Are you sure you are not imagining this change of attitude?’ asked the Doctor, rather disturbed at the position into which he was being drawn. Richard had already exacted a promise from Ian, Vicki and himself to keep his secret of the marriage plan between Saphadin and Joanna. And now his sister had guessed that something was going on behind her back.

‘I sense Richard has made a plan of which I am a part,’ she said slowly, examining the Doctor’s face. He never moved a muscle, and met her gaze blankly.

‘I can hardly ask the King,’ he murmured.

‘But if you learn anything, you will tell me?’ She entreated him. The Doctor rose to his feet.

‘Madam, if I hear of anything that is in my power to repeat to you, I shall do so, I promise you.’

‘Then will you go to the King now? He is locked away with the Earl of Leicester, and again I sense that I am the subject of their conversation.’

‘Madam, I cannot burst in on your brother’s private councils,’ objected the Doctor.

‘But Richard wants you to be present. His messenger will arrive here to conduct you to his presence soon, for I heard him give the order. But when you have attended this meeting, will you come to me and tell me if my suspicions are correct, and what my brother’s planning holds in store for me?’

The Doctor almost felt inclined to break Richard’s confidence there and then, but he said nothing, sure that if he did he would regret it.

‘Do I have your friendship?’ she insisted, making a direct appeal.

‘Unless the King binds me to secrecy, I shall come to you and tell you anything which might endanger or distress you.’

He could see that Joanna wanted to press him further
and try to persuade him to go to even greater lengths for her, but at that moment there was a knock on the door and one of Richard’s personal servants bowed and announced that he had come to conduct the Doctor to the King. Joanna remained seated, smiling sadly as the Doctor bent over her hand and kissed it, and he carried the vision of her face as he followed the servant through the corridors. Somehow or other, he told himself, he must wriggle out of the net of court intrigue which seemed to be enmeshing him. His place at the court of King Richard, and Vicki’s, was tenuous enough already, without adding fresh difficulties. But he could see no way out for the present, and just had to hope that either Richard would make his plans public or that Joanna wouldn’t press him too much.

He was ushered into Richard’s council chamber, where the King waved him into the room. The Earl of Leicester stood listening as the King moved about the room talking.

‘… and when Sir Ian is with us again,’ he was saying rather loudly, ‘he’ll bring back William des Preaux and the answer to my several letters. News, my Lord of Leicester! And I have great hopes that it will favour us.’

The Doctor knew instinctively why he had been invited to attend this meeting between the King and his staunchest fighting leader. Richard was nervous. A fighter himself, rather than a politician, he had stepped into a world he did not understand, where pacts and clauses, bargains and words were the weapons, and he was already finding his new role a difficult one. To a man of action, the concentration of forces, manoeuvres on the field of battle and disposition of mounted men and archers were necessary arts. What mattered most was that there would have to be a distinct end in view – the conflict of arms, and the fight would either be lost or won. Richard knew the value of reserves, the art of thrust and
parry, a violent charge of mounted horse or a deliberate feint before a major blow. But in council or political strategy he was unhappily ill at ease and the Doctor could sense at once that even the simple task of explaining his plans to the Earl of Leicester was no easy matter. So Richard had brought in the Doctor to support him, the one objective person in all his court.

‘Tell me what you have in mind, Sire,’ Leicester said eagerly, his left hand gripping the hilt of his sword. ‘A new demand of Saladin? A new victory like Arsuf?’

Richard looked across at the Doctor who could plainly see something of the trepidation in his eyes.

‘Not this time, Leicester. I have had another thought.’

He began to walk again, as if it gave him confidence, one hand tucked into the ornamental belt around his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he made up his mind to escape the issue no longer, folded his arms and faced the puzzled Earl of Leicester.

‘I am going to give my sister’s hand in marriage to Saladin’s brother, Saphadin. It will make an end of this war, yet achieve our purpose all in one.’

The Earl stared back unbelievingly, the veins knotting in his throat, his chin hardening as he clamped his lips together. The Doctor moved forward slowly, feeling that he must support the King, and justify the reason for his presence.

‘An admirable scheme, Sire, and one deserving success.’

Richard looked at him gratefully. The Earl’s head turned from the one to the other, searching for the connexion between the stranger and the King he served, not liking this new alliance.

‘Your Majesty cannot have considered this,’ he muttered.

‘I think my words were plain enough.’

‘Has the Princess agreed to this?’

Richard obviously decided to ignore the aggressive manner the Earl was adopting.

‘She does not know of it yet. But how can she refuse? To know this bond will sheath the swords of half the world…? To stem the blood, bind up the wounds and heal a host of men, and give them lives and futures…? Now there’s a marriage contract which puts sacrifice to shame and makes a Saint of any woman.’

The Doctor was pleased at the force of Richard’s argument and nodded in agreement, avoiding the unpleasant look the Earl was directing at him.

‘Who gave you this idea, Sire?’ asked Leicester directly.

‘It came into my head.’

‘It’s utter madness!’

The King stared at him coldly, but this didn’t deter the bitter flow of words in any way.

‘Your Majesty, with all the strength at my command, I urge you to abandon this pretence of peace…’

‘Why?’ interrupted the Doctor.

‘Why?’ echoed Leicester angrily. ‘I’ll tell you why! Because we are here to fight these Saracens and destroy them, not marry with them and make them our friends and relations.’

‘This is an opportunity to save the lives of men. Why won’t you even consider it?’

Richard stood listening as his two companions quarrelled, thankful to be relieved of the difficulties. It wasn’t any fear of the Earl of Leicester which made the revelation of his plan a nervous business. Richard was afraid of no man. His great problem was that he knew the arguments Leicester would have on his side – for both were true fighting men – arguments for which he had, if the truth be told, a greater sympathy than the peaceful solution he was advocating.

‘I speak as a soldier!’ shouted Leicester, glaring at the
Doctor, his eyes nearly starting out of their sockets with rage. ‘Why are we here in this foreign land, if not to fight!’ He turned to the King, emphasizing his words with a clenched fist. ‘Sire, the Devil’s Horde, Saracen and Turk possess Jerusalem. Have you forgotten that? We won’t wrest that city from them with honeyed words, or smiles and artifice.’

The Doctor said, ‘With swords, I suppose.’

‘Aye, with swords, and lances – or the axe!’

A passion of fury overtook the Doctor, whose detestation for the slaughter of war overrode all his other emotions.

‘You stupid butcher,’ he stormed. ‘Don’t you know anything else but killing?’

‘Oh, you’re a man for a talk, I can see that,’ sneered Leicester. ‘You like a table and a ring of men. A parley here, arrangements there; documents, treaties… but when you men of State have stunned each other with your words, we… we, the fighting men, the soldiers, have to face it out. And some half started morning while you speakers lie abed, armies settle everything… giving sweat and sinew, bodies, aye! and life itself to right the confusion of the council rooms.’

‘I admire bravery, sir,’ murmured the Doctor mildly, ‘and bravery and courage are clearly in you in full measure. Unfortunately, you have no brains at all. I despise fools.’

Leicester pulled his sword free and advanced on the Doctor.

‘A fool can match a coward any day!’

Richard stepped across and smashed his clenched fist down on Leicester’s sword arm, numbing the muscles so that the fingers lost their strength and the weapon clattered to the stone floor.

‘Do you dare flourish arms before your King?’ He spat out, his body tense with anger. Leicester realized he had gone too far, muttered some words of apology and rubbed his arm.

‘We have decided on this marriage pact with Saladin,’ continued the King, in a clipped, formal voice. ‘If it fails, my Lord of Leicester, then, and only then, shall we have a trial of arms. You have my permission to withdraw.’

Leicester gave a short, curt bow and, brushing the Doctor to one side deliberately, strode towards the door.

‘And, Leicester,’ murmured the King after him, ‘my sister knows nothing of this. Remember that.’

As soon as they were alone, Richard gave a sigh and sat in a chair moodily.

‘Do you think he will accept the idea?’

‘He has no alternative, Sire,’ replied the Doctor. ‘It will rest easier with him if the plan succeeds, of course.’

‘And it must succeed! Saphadin desires it, and Joanna will do as I tell her. All rests with this strange enemy of mine, this Saladin, this mixture of friend and foe. I long to hear his decision.’ He smiled slightly at the Doctor, running a hand through his red hair. ‘I can embrace him as a brother, or meet him on the field as a dangerous rival. Neither of these I fear. But, oh, how I detest the weary business of waiting.’

The two brothers who opposed Richard were considering the proposition at that very moment in Ramlah. Saladin sat on his favourite couch, reading the parchment which contained the offer of the marriage, while Saphadin, who had already read it, stood beside him. Saladin laid the document beside him at last, smiling slightly.

‘A very entertaining proposition, brother.’

‘Why do you smile? Is it a trap?’

‘No, the English Malec Ric writes sincerely.’ Saladin suddenly laughed quietly. ‘It is so guileless, it can only be genuine.’

‘Think seriously about it,’ insisted Saphadin. ‘Alliance with
Joanna would give me title to much land, power over far-off countries… a glittering empire…’

‘I did not know,’ interrupted Saladin gently, ‘that you were so ambitious.’ Saphadin shifted his shoulders uneasily.

‘I would be the name… yours would be the voice.’

‘Ah!’

Saladin glanced at his brother quizzically for a second or two. ‘Do not look so troubled. See, I will humour you and let this proposition go ahead.’ Before his brother could open his mouth to thank him, Saladin tapped one finger into the palm of his other hand, dropping his voice so that his words were attended to carefully. ‘But listen to me well. I see this marriage plan as no more than the end of an uneasy peace. Malec Ric is, as I say, sincere. But his mind is like the shifting sands. If it goes ahead, I will support it, to the hilt. But, brother, I beg of you not to rely on it coming to this favourable end.’

‘Then you do think that Malec Ric is trying to make fools of us, or trick us?’

‘I think this. That war is a mixture of many things. How long the march, how short the battle. Strategy is worth a hundred lances. Think, brother. How does this offer help us?’

Saphadin sat down opposite his brother, giving him all his attention. Saladin spoke with considerable logic.

‘Have England, France and all the rest come here to cheer a love match? So many men-at-arms, ships, horses; with all the armaments of war? I say this is a gesture of peace from a weary man. But weary men can rest and rise invigorated… so you reply softly to the letter while I call sharply to our forces. Dress yourself in finery; I’ll see our men buckle on their swords. Practise your love words; I’ll have our armies rehearse their war cries. Then on the day of wedding or the day of war we’ll be prepared.’