Doctor Who and the Crusaders

by David Whitaker

  The Doctor, who was enjoying a meal with Vicki, looked up with a faint air of annoyance at being disturbed. He heard the Chamberlain order the servant from the room, watched him close the door himself and lean against it. Ben Daheer bowed nervously, realizing he wasn’t in the presence of Royalty and wondering where he had met the white-haired man before.

  ‘What is the meaning of this intrusion?’ asked the Doctor. The Chamberlain advanced into the room, bringing Ben Daheer with him.

  ‘Have you ever seen this man before?’

  ‘Yes, I was trying to remember when,’ replied the shopkeeper.

  ‘He came to your shop?’

  ‘Yes. Ah, yes, now I remember. He searched among my cloth but found nothing that suited him.’

  The Doctor’s eyes narrowed and he regarded the Chamberlain carefully. It was quite clear where the man aiming, but the Doctor kept his peace for the moment was and signalled to Vicki to keep well in the background, although he could see she was bursting with questions. ‘Did you miss any of your possessions after this man had visited you?’

  ‘Why, yes. Some clothes had gone.’ Ben Daheer glanced about him nervously, remembering that the things he had missed had been stolen clothes he had acquired from Thatcher, the Palace servant. ‘Just a few miserable garments, Your Eminence,’ he said indifferently. The Chamberlain walked across to the Doctor, plucked at the sleeve nearest to him and held it out.

  ‘Clothes like this?’

  The Doctor pulled his arm away sharply and stood up so rapidly that his chair crashed backwards to the floor.

  ‘This is quite insufferable!’ he raged. ‘How dare you burst in here with these insulting accusations.’

  ‘Clothes like these were stolen from the Palace...’

  ‘But how,’ interrupted the Doctor, ‘do you know these are the same? I mean exactly. They may resemble yours.’

  ‘I am quite certain the clothes you are wearing belong to the Palace wardrobe. We keep a large supply here, for travellers may not be able to transport wearing apparel. It is my duty to see those who have audience with the King are properly attired.’

  ‘So you carry a large stock of clothes, do you? How large? How many items?’

  ‘That is beside the point,’ replied the Chamberlain angrily. The Doctor darted out a finger, pointing it straight into the Chamberlain’s face.

  ‘It is just the point, my friend. You have in your Palace wardrobe shoes, buckles, stockings, cloaks, belts, hats, caps, coats, tunics, leggings, vestments, capes – all in different colours, sizes and designs. You dare to stand here and tell me you’re certain these garments belong to you!’

  The Chamberlain nodded but the Doctor had seen the momentary indecision on his face and followed up his advantage.

  ‘Where is the mark on these clothes proving they are yours?’ he said sharply. ‘Where is your bill of sale?’ The Chamberlain opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, realizing he was on unsure ground. The Doctor’s manner softened suddenly. He was an eminently fair man and knew perfectly well he was in the wrong, even if the present difficulties had been brought about by Barbara’s abduction.

  ‘I will tell you what happened,’ murmured the Doctor, ushering the Chamberlain to a chair. ‘My... page and I met a rough fellow in Jaffa firm whom we bought them simple garments. Our own clothes were in a terrible state. Now whether this uncouth man had stolen the clothes from you first is another matter. Have you been missing things from the wardrobe?’

  ‘Yes, without a doubt,’ agreed the Chamberlain.

  ‘Then someone in your service at the Palace is a pilferer. Someone who has access to the wardrobe. Of course, if you are certain these clothes I am wearing belong to you, I shall see they are returned to you immediately.’

  Vicki breathed an inward sigh of relief as the Chamberlain’s manner became much wanner, mentally blessing the Doctor for wriggling out of the awkward situation. ‘Of course, my page and I have no clothes here,’ the Doctor went on, ‘and also, it seems to we, this honest merchant has been involved without much proper cause. Or profit.’

  Ben Daheer, who had been following the conversation with increasing nervousness, terrified he would be revealed as a buyer of stolen goods, perked up his head at the sound of the word profit and his face brightened visibly.

  ‘Since we need clothes,’ the Doctor continued per-suasively, ‘couldn’t we employ the merchant to make us outfits?’

  The Chamberlain, also conscious he had brought Ben Daheer to the Palace on a false pretext, immediately agreed. The Doctor smiled.

  ‘And what do you think he should be paid?’ he asked pleasantly. The Chamberlain rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘Well, well,’ said the Doctor, before he could reply, ‘I’ll leave it to you. You pay him whatever you think.’

  The Chamberlain stared at the Doctor.

  ‘I? Pay the merchant?’

  ‘You are the Keeper of the Household Purse, are you not?’

  Once again, the Doctor produced a battery of argument to support his plan, and eventually the Chamberlain held up his hands wearily then drew out a pouch from his belt. The Doctor took it from his hand, extracted six gold pieces from it and handed them to Ben Daheer; returning the half-empty purse to the defeated Chamberlain. Ben Daheer rubbed his hands over the coins in glee and was just about to launch into a long speech of gratitude when the Doctor cut him short.

  ‘Let us not say anything more until you have cut and stitched our clothes. There! This tiresome business has come to a happy conclusion for all of us.’

  He turned and grinned at the Chamberlain’s long face. ‘I know, I know. You think that six gold pieces are too much for a single outfit each for my page and myself. But be contented, my dear sir. A man in my position needs all kinds of things to wear. I shall see your six gold pieces are used in the proper way. Besides costumes for our immediate use, this honest fellow and I will see that I am dressed for any occasion.’

  ‘My Lord, it is obvious to me that you are extremely important,’ said Ben Daheer, ‘but to do you justice I might well exceed the six gold pieces you have generously showered on me.’

  The Doctor waved a hand grandly and Vicki turned away to hide her smile.

  ‘Whatever the sum is, my good man,’ he said airily, ‘the Chamberlain will meet it.’

  Before the Chamberlain could argue, servants in the corridors started up a cry of his name. A servant knocked at the door and hurried in. Ben Daheer turned and then gasped in surprise.

  ‘It was him! He is your thief. His name is Thatcher.’

  Thatcher, the culprit, gave a shout of terror as the Chamberlain ran after him. The Doctor put his arm around the shopkeeper’s shoulders.

  ‘Well, well. Now that we have that little matter settled, let us discuss the clothes you shall make for my page and myself.’ None of them saw the Princess Joan walk past the door, hesitate for a second and then stand in the doorway.

  ‘You will make us some fine clothes, my friend,’ the Doctor was saying. Vicki made a face.

  ‘Must I go on pretending to be a page, Doctor? Can’t I be a girl again? The dresses are so attractive.’

  ‘A pretty deception,’ murmured the Princess.

  In the silence that followed she walked nearer to them, as all three bowed, looking at the Doctor seriously.

  ‘Why have you deceived us all?’

  ‘Your Highness, this is a dangerous land, and my ward is as young as I am old. I beg of you to remember that of the four in our party only one was young and virile and capable of any trial of strength. It is, I confess, a trick – but one intended for the protection of a young and innocent person, not to gain profit or favour.’

  The Doctor bowed as he completed his speech and Joanna smiled at him, half in admiration and half in reproof. ‘You are a good advocate, sir, and I shall not persist in this matter. But see that the merchant here dresses your ward in more of a feminine fashion. Her style of clothes,’ she added ironically, ‘might upset the even tenor
of our way of life if it became known the boy was a girl. Legs as slim and straight were meant to be covered, not emphasized.’

  Vicki restrained any ideas that sprang into her head of describing other fashions which occurred to her, in times long after the Princess lived. She simply kissed the hand that Joanna held out in affection, glad to be rid of a costume she detested.

  ‘Go with this trader,’ said Joanna gently, ‘and see that he designs good fashions for you. You shall be company for me, sing and learn to play an instrument.’

  Joanna watched Vicki and Ben Daheer as they bowed and left the room, then she moved to a chair and sat down. The Doctor gestured to some wine and a platter of fruit, and when she refused asked if she would object if he poured himself some of the wine.

  ‘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 out 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 mired 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 en-treated 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 to, 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 most 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, manœuvres 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 it’ll 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 marriage contract which puts sacrifice to shame and makes a 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