The Love Knot

Chapter 14

The remainder of the twelve days of Christmas passed in a blur of feasting and celebration. Earl Robert's court played boisterously, releasing tensions pent up by the winter confinement. Each table was set for twelve people and twelve courses were eaten, beginning with thin broth and dumplings and progressing through various elaborate fish and meat dishes, including the obligatory roast boar. The feast culminated in the presentation of a magnificent marchpane subtlety in the shape of Bristol Keep, the rivers Avonand Frome winding in blue almond paste around the edge of the serving-board.

Each night Oliver and Catrin ate until they could eat no more, then joined the rough and tumble of the games in the hall. Hoodman-blind, hunt-the-slipper, hot-cockles. They danced caroles around the apple wassail tree in the centre of the great room and laughed at the antics of the mummers and jugglers.

Sometimes they would slip away from the carousing — to be alone, to make love. Ethel's home gave them a haven, if she was absent. If not, there were hay lofts and byres to shelter them. They also took to riding out on the snowy roads beyond the city, and once they joined the court in a hunt but did not stay long with the jostle and noise of the dogs and horns. After the exhilaration of the first gallop had worn off, they turned aside for the untrammelled silence of other woodland paths, abandoning the loud belling of the dogs and the tantivy of the hunting horn.

Their breath rose in white puffs on the wintry air as they rode amongst the stark, black trunks. Oliver's cloak was a splash of blue brightness, Catrin's crimson gown and hose as rich as blood against the backdrop of crunching snow. The only signs that others had passed the same way were the tracks of wild animals: the narrow elegance of a fox, the dainty spoor of a lone roe deer.

Catrin and Oliver drew rein on a ridge overlooking the winding grey of the river. Fields stretched away on the other side, punctuated with coppices of hazel and hornbeam. It was a common enough view, but its very tranquillity in the winter cold made it beautiful. Catrin inhaled the crystalline air and sighed with pleasure.

Oliver tugged off his sheepskin mittens, and from the pouch beneath his cloak drew out a smaller drawstring bag. 'Hold out your right hand, he said.

Her eye on the bag, Catrin pulled off one of her own mittens and did as he bade.

'I spoke to a goldsmith a few days ago, he continued. 'A man well-versed in Irish knotwork. Although he was busy and it was the holiday season, I told him of my urgency and he fashioned me this. Into his palm, he tipped a gold ring worked in cunningly twisted gold wire to form the shape of a triple knot. 'I had it blessed by the Earl's chaplain. His tone was diffident. 'It's a betrothal ring, if you please, or a Twelfth-Night gift, if you don't. Taking it in his hand, he slipped it on her middle finger.

Catrin blinked, her eyes suddenly full. The only other rings she possessed were the ones that Lewis had given her on their wedding day, but they were hidden beneath the mitten on her left hand as well Oliver knew. 'It's beautiful, she whispered, touched to her core. 'And it fits perfectly.

Oliver grinned. 'Well, I confess to measuring your finger with a piece of string while you slept.

Catrin sniffed and turned her head to wipe her tears. The new gold shone in the winter sunlight. 'I can give you nothing so perfect in return, she said, her throat tight with emotion.

'You've already given me more than perfection, Oliver said. 'My pleasure is in your promise to be my wife. He leaned across his horse to kiss her. Their lips met, tingling with cold, and their breath mingled in a single cloud.

Her step so light that they scarcely heard her, a doe pattered through the trees and leaped past them on to the crown of the ridge. Her thick, winter coat was shot with glorious hues of red and gold. Beneath the thick pelt, her flanks heaved with effort. The noise of hounds in full cry belled the air and there was terror in the doe's huge brown eyes.

Catrin gasped and broke from Oliver to gaze at the deer. She loved the rich flavour of venison but, watching the animal flee for its life, she found herself willing it to escape.

The doe poised on the ridge, cloven hooves dancing, ears flickering, then she gathered her haunches and took off in a series of enormous bounds, her legs showering spangles of snow with each leap. At the foot she did not stop but sprang straight into the grey water and began swimming strongly.

Catrin clenched her fist upon her new ring and silently urged the doe on. Ripples arrowing her breast, head carried high, the deer reached the opposite bank, scrambled from the river, and shook the water from her coat. Then she was away, fleeting across the fields towards the bank of woodland in the distance.

'She's free. Oliver's taut expression relaxed and there was a sudden cloud of vapour as he let out the breath he had been holding. 'The hunters will never chance the hounds, or themselves, in that freezing water. He too was fond of venison, but today his soul was with the deer, not her flesh.

As the huntsmen and dogs swirled around them, then ranged the top of the ridge in frustration, Oliver and Catrin turned for home in the pleasure of their own company.

The only item that marred the joy of the season was the continuing absence of Rohese de Bayvel, who had not been seen since the early hours of Christmas morning. A search had proved fruitless. She had left her gowns and all her personal effects, even the double-thickness cloak that had been a Christmas gift from the Countess. The guards on duty had seen nothing. It was as if she had been swallowed off the face of the earth in a single gulp.

Gawin spent three days hiding in a drunken stupor, but when finally he sobered he was filled with guilt, if not remorse.

He confessed his sins to a priest, who gave him a penance of twenty days on bread and water and absolved him. But he remained ill-at-ease. He searched the town, the wharves, the leper hospital and convents, all to no avail.

'She cannot just vanish, someone must have seen her, he said, with a frustrated shake of his head. He was sitting in the hall with Oliver, a January wind whistling at the shutters and sending occasional gusts of chimney smoke belching into the room.

Oliver considered the younger man. There were dark circles of late nights and heavy drinking pouched beneath his eyes, and a slight tremor to his hands. 'No one in the keep or the city has seen her. Catrin has asked on all her rounds. I think you must accept that you are not going to find her.

'Say what you mean. You believe she's dead, don't you? Gawin picked up the flagon they had been sharing and tipped the dregs into his empty cup. It would be his fourth to Oliver's two.

Oliver rested his chin on his hand. 'I think it likely. All you can do now is pray.

'Pray! Gawin snorted. 'Do you think if I kneel down here and now that she'll walk back into the hall as if she had never left? He tipped the wine down his throat.

Oliver shook his head in disgust and started to rise from the table. 'You are drinking yourself into a state of idiocy, he said tightly.

'It gives me pleasure. Gawin filtered the sludgy dregs through his teeth. 'And it helps me forget how much more trouble the bitch has been than she is worth.

Oliver was saved another session of grabbing his adjutant by the scruff, as Richard appeared before the two knights, his dark blue eyes agleam. Lord Oliver, you're summoned to Earl Robert's presence immediately, he announced, hopping from foot to foot with excitement.

'Am I now? That was interesting news. A half-hour since, as he and Gawin were sitting down, Oliver had seen a messenger out of the corner of his eye. The man had looked hard-travelled with mud spattering his garments and eyes red with fatigue. After a lull, the game, it seemed, was afoot once more.

Gawin took his cup, and lurched off in pursuit of another flagon and the company of a group of knights around a dice game. He would not spend time alone if he could help it.

Oliver followed Richard above-stairs, taking the familiar route to the Earl's solar. He was keen to know what news the messenger had brought but he refrained from asking the lad. Part of the responsibility of being a squire was learning to keep a closed mouth, and he did not want to tempt or compromise Richard when the boy was so obviously trying not to burst.

The solar door was open and the guard gestured them to enter. The Earl was already surrounded by other adjutants and knights, and two scribes were frantically writing at a trestle set off to one side. Even as Oliver stepped over the threshold, an older squire left at a trot, a sealed parchment in his hand.

Oliver approached the group surrounding the Earl and heard the tail end of a conversation involving the words 'move fast' and 'catch him while he thinks he's safe'.

'My lord, you sent for me?

Earl Robert glanced up. His eyes were bright and his complexion flushed. 'Ah, Oliver. He beckoned vigorously. 'I need you to ride out and recruit men for me. Go into Wales and along the border. Offer whatever it takes to obtain them — within reason, he added, with a jerk of his brows. 'I want them sooner than now, whatever you can get. If they have mounts and weapons, all the better, but it is not necessary. You will leave immediately. Take de Mohun with you. He's got a good eye for a likely man.

'De Mohun? Oliver recoiled and then, seeing the look in the Earl's eye, said, 'Yes, sir. May I ask the purpose?

'My son-in-law has snatched Lincoln Castle out of Stephen's hands and garrisoned it with his own men. Malde is holding it for him while he recruits troops to strengthen his position. He has asked me for aid. Without it, he cannot hold Lincoln Keep, and by law it is rightfully his. I have said I will come to him with all haste. For all that Stephen is a chivalrous man, I will not make him the gift of my daughter as a pawn.

'No, my lord. Oliver knew that the Earl doted on his eldest daughter, Malde. She was married to Rannulf, Earl of Chester, whose power on the northern marches of Wales made him almost a prince. Thus far, Rannulf had been loyal to Stephen, but it was not a cloak that had ever fitted the power-hungry Lord of Chester particularly well. Robert and Rannulf had a healthy respect for each other but were not the fondest of in-laws. Malde, and the desire to extend their mutual influence along the Welsh borders, were the ties that bound them together. But Rannulf's defection to the Empress's cause would bind them closer still. 'How long do I have?

'Ten — twelve days at the most. Stephen has the town, Rannulf the keep. Or rather, Malde has the keep, he added, with a swift hiss of anxiety. 'Rannulf is in North Wales summoning levies to march on Lincoln. I have to muster troops with all possible haste. My exchequer will equip you with funds.

'My lord. Oliver bowed out of the room and hurried down the stairs into the hall, his mind working to the swift pace of his feet. Grabbing Gawin, he commanded him to run and pack a saddle roll.

'What for? Gawin looked at him slack-mouthed over the rim of his cup.

'We're going into Wales. Stop staring, we've to ride out now!

Gawin lurched to his feet and almost over-balanced. 'Wales? he repeated.

'Yes, to recruit troops. You can sober up in the saddle. Go!

Shaking his head in bemusement, Gawin steadied himself and reached for his cloak.

Oliver collected his spare tunic and cloak from his pallet, then went to tell Ethel that he had to ride out on the Earl's business. He could not make his farewells to Catrin for she was away in the city at a childbirth.

'Will you be gone long? Ethel asked. She was huddled by the fire in her new green mantle. The hands that poked out from beneath the garment to absorb the heat shook with palsy.

'No more than ten days, but then we'll all be marching north. He stooped to help himself to a flask of mead and several of Ethel's oatcakes. 'Give Catrin my love and tell her that I wish she was here, but I'll speak to her when I return.

'From your ten days or from the North? 'The first I hope, he answered with a grimace and, saluting Ethel, strode off in the direction of the stables.

Somewhat to Oliver's surprise, the recruiting went smoothly and well. Randal de Mohun might have been obnoxious in camp, but on campaign, with responsibility, he was efficient and professional. He was also a good judge of the quality of fighting men and, by a mixture of emotive words and material promises, attracted an excellent number of recruits to join Earl Robert's banner. His ebullience and boldness, the expansiveness of gesture and dress, were well-contrasted with Oliver's more reserved approach. Men saw that there was room for more than one sort of soldier in Earl Robert's ranks. Those who did not take to Randal de Mohun could talk quietly to Oliver and make their decision at a more measured pace.

'We've done well, grinned de Mohun, as they sat over a camp-fire on the last evening before their return to Bristol. 'The Earl will pay us a bonus for this lot.

Oliver nodded agreement, his jaws busy with a chunk of gristly mutton from their supper stew.

'Lincoln, eh? De Mohun rubbed the side of his beard with his thumb. 'It's a rich city, so I've heard. Plenty of pickings, and its citizens deserve no more than what they get for supporting Stephen. His eyes gleamed with relish.

Oliver gave up and spat the meat into the fire where it sizzled and hissed. 'I know it is the nature of war, he said, 'but I do not enjoy burning people out of their homes and taking away their livelihoods.

The mercenary gave him a sharp, sidelong look. 'To the victor, the rewards, he said. 'I could not afford a sword or tunic like this out of my own pay. I risk my life. It is only right that I be recompensed.

Oliver shook his head. 'In the end there will be nothing left. If you bleed the river dry, the landscape turns to desert.

'Oh yes, I agree. De Mohun smiled. 'But a little running-off now and again does no harm. You are too tender, Pascal.

Oliver shrugged. 'The more I see, the more tender I become, he said grimly, and thought that it was perhaps the opposite for some men. He suspected that his companion actually enjoyed the acts of looting and rapine. They were probably the urges that had driven him to be a mercenary in the first place.

De Mohun snorted and shook his head. 'You're a strange one, he said. 'If you came to me as one of these raw recruits, I'd leave you behind and tell you to tend your sheep.

Oliver smiled without humour. 'And I'd be glad of it, he said, and used the excuse of checking on his horse to quit the fireside and company that chafed him.

Catrin was returning to the keep from the market place, her basket full of Ethel's favourite eels to tempt the old lady's waning appetite, when she heard the riders bearing down on her from behind. Spinning round, she clutched her basket to her bosom and stepped aside.

The leading horse was a powerful bay, its rider clad in chain mail, his bright cloak blowing in the brisk wind. For the briefest instant, Catrin had the terrifying sense of standing in the woods at Penfoss watching just such a troop gallop through their gates, except the leading horse had been a chestnut, the shield had borne a different blazon and weapons had been bared. The sensation was gone in a flash, but it still seemed like a true memory rather than a trick of the imagination and it made her shiver.

A grey destrier swung out of the line and headed straight towards her. Again Catrin's heart swooped and plummeted, but in response to a different blend of emotions. 'Oliver! she cried.

His grin dazzled beneath the nasal bar of his helm. During ten days in the field, his jaw had sprouted an embryo beard of startling Viking-red. Riding up to her, he leaned from the saddle and extended his palm. She took it, set her foot over his and, in a flash of scarlet silk hose, straddled the stallion's rump. Lodging one hand in his belt, she clutched the basket of eels with the other.

'Have we not met somewhere before? Oliver jested, his eyes flickering from her face to the basket, to her red hose, as if he could not decide where to look first.

'I am sure I would remember if we had, Catrin retorted, her eyes dancing.

'And do you?

'I could be persuaded.

He laughed and twisted in the saddle to embrace her, then made a hasty grab for the reins as the horse jinked sideways. Catrin uttered a small scream and, laughing, gripped his belt more tightly.

Randal de Mohun watched the play with a half-smile on his lips and contempt in his eyes. 'I did not realise your «protection» extended that far, Pascal. There was an edge to the jesting tone of his voice.

Returning to the ranks, Oliver gave de Mohun a cool look. 'As of Twelfth-Night, we have been betrothed, he said. 'Catrin is my wife in all but the final blessing.

After one glance at de Mohun, Catrin lowered her eyes. There was something about the mercenary that caused her flesh to crawl. It was more than just the incident when he had tried to kiss her as she tended his hand.

'Then I congratulate both of you. De Mohun inclined his head in a mocking salute. 'I'll drink to your happiness the moment I'm free of my duty.

If he hoped for an invitation to do that drinking with Oliver's coin, he was disappointed. Oliver fixed a polite expression on his face and held it there, refusing to be drawn.

Just to be irritating, de Mohun needled them with his presence for a while longer, but finally he gave up and rode off down the line to snarl at the recruits.

Catrin's scalp prickled. She did not know whether she preferred him in her sight or out of it.

'Yes, Oliver murmured as if reading her mind. 'He is a wolf. A very fine wolf who will sit at your fire and save your life from other wolves, and then, because it is his nature, he will snap your hand off in his jaws. 'I thought he was your friend.

'Only in the days when I thought it was daring to have a wolf at my fire and I had nothing to care about.

'Well, you do now, she replied, 'so have a care to yourself too. She was not just speaking of de Mohun, although he was cause enough for concern. Now that the first joy of greeting was over, she had time to remember that Oliver's return was fleeting; that very soon he would be on the road again, this time to full war.

Oliver laughed. 'You need have no fear on that score, he said vehemently.

While they were dismounting in the castle bailey, Gawin approached them. 'Has there been any news, Mistress?

She dusted down her skirts and glanced at him. 'News?

'About Rohese? He bit his lip.

Catrin shook her head and could not help but feel pity for him. 'No, I'm sorry, she said. 'There has been no word in the town.

He nodded his thanks and, downcast, turned away. Oliver watched him and sighed. 'I would not usually say this, but setting out on campaign will be the best thing for him — clear his mind, help him find his balance. It's the first time that he's had to face the reaping of what he has sown.

Catrin nodded sombrely. 'It was probably the first time for Rohese too.

Oliver sighed heavily. 'God have mercy on them both. Which was the nearest he would come to saying that he thought Rohese was dead. Gathering Catrin into his arms, he kissed her. 'I have to go and make my report to the Earl and I don't know when I'll be free, but save some eel stew and a seat by the fire.

'I can think of warmer places, Catrin said mischievously, 'but only if you shave that stubble.

He cupped his jaw. 'I promise, if you promise.

Laughing, she pushed herself out of his arms and went to tend to the dinner.

Ethel was waiting for her. 'He's back then, the old woman said, and eased her stool away from the fire so that Catrin had room to cook the eels she had just put down.

'How do you know?

Ethel chuckled. 'Your face gives you away. Besides, I saw the horses in the bailey.

'There are always horses in the bailey these days, Catrin said with a small shrug. Sitting on her heels, she looked at Ethel. 'But he won't be staying for long. I don't want… Her voice betrayed her. In silence she donned a linen apron and picked up a sharp knife.

'You will not lose him, lass. The old midwife touched her breast. 'I know it in here.

'Lightning does not strike in the same place twice, you mean? She stripped the skin from an eel with a sharp, downward tug.

'I just know it. Time was when I could command the sight by scrying in a cauldron of simmering water. I ain't got the art any more, lost it when I had my first seizure, but I still have inklings at times. He'll come back to you, never you doubt.

Catrin finished preparing the eels in silence. Then she wiped her hands on the apron and looked intently at Ethel. 'Truly? You have truly seen? Her breathing was suddenly short.

Ethel made the sign of the cross. 'I swear it on the Heavenly Virgin. He was riding that grey of his in the midst of a victory procession. I could see a crown shining and there was great rejoicing. Her voice tailed off and her eyes grew dark and distant.

'What else did you see? When Ethel did not respond, Catrin gave her a little shake. 'Ethel?

The midwife came to with a start and shook her head. 'What else did I see? she repeated vaguely. 'I don't remember. It was confusing and I was tired. All I know is that you need not fear for Oliver's well-being on this march. She rummaged beneath her mantle. 'You could give him this though, as a talisman. She handed Catrin one of her famous knots, threaded on to a strip of leather. It was woven with three colours of hair — raven-black, flaxen-gold and dark, rich copper.

Catrin gave Ethel a questioning look. 'Mine and Oliver's I can see, she said, 'although I will not ask how you came by them, but whose is the red hair?

Ethel shuffled self-consciously on her stool. 'It is mine. Do you think I was always this dirty sheep colour?

'No… I…

'Time was when I could put autumn herself to shame. She leaned for her satchel and, with shaky fingers, unfastened the latch. Delving to the bottom, she drew forth a pouch of light green silk and from it produced a plait of hair, thick as a wrist and the colour of a copper beech leaf. 'I had it cut off when the first grey threads started to show. It was a hot summer and I didn't miss my hair — I had to wear a wimple anyway. Sometimes I use strands in weaving my knots, but not often. You can see how full and thick it still is. There was pride in her voice.

The sight of the plait filled Catrin with poignancy. She narrowed and blurred her eyes and tried to imagine Ethel as a young woman with glossy, auburn tresses and a spring in her step. 'You must have been beautiful.

Ethel made a preening gesture. 'I had my admirers, she said. 'I tell you something else too, something that I have never told anyone before. She lowered her voice. 'Oliver is my great-nephew.

Catrin raised her brows in startled question.

Ethel nodded. 'I am the bastard daughter of his great-grandsire. My mother conceived me at the midsummer festival in the fields beyond the bonfire. She gave me a one-sided smile. 'Old lord Osmund had the red hair but, fortunately, so did my mother. She was able to pass me off as her husband's, but I always knew that I was different to my brothers and sisters.

'So there is a family tie between you? Catrin looked down at the knot in her lap. 'Did Oliver's great-grandsire ever know?

Ethel shrugged. 'He never made a point of enquiring after me, but we never went short. Sometimes there would be gifts from the keep — a new goat when ours died, the end from a bolt of linen with enough on it to make me a chemise. He paid for my brother, Alberic, to be educated for the priesthood at Malmesbury. The bond was known but never acknowledged, and after he died it was forgotten. She stroked the plait and returned it to its pouch.

'Why tell me now? Catrin asked.

Ethel shrugged. 'Perhaps it is a secret that I don't want to take with me to the grave.

Catrin looked at her with dismay widening her eyes, and Ethel looked back serenely.

'I would be a fool not to realise how frail I have become, she said. 'I am a herb-wife. I know what can be healed and what has to be. Then she smiled and gently shook her head. 'That stew is not going to be ready before midnight.

Taking the hint, Catrin tucked the hair knot away and resumed chopping the eels. She did not want to think of Ethel dying, but she saw the truth as clearly as the old woman, and knowledge was a two-edged sword. She could not decide whether it was better to live in ignorance or know what the future held in store. Oliver was going to be all right. Ethel was going to die.

Gazing into the fire, Ethel watched the flames dance, but they did not speak to her again and she was glad. She did not have the energy to discern their meanings. They could be so ambiguous, and that troubled her. Behind the shining crown and Oliver's return, there were dark currents that threatened to ruin the future of those that Ethel loved best, and she knew that there was nothing she could do.