The Love Knot

Chapter 29

It was May when Henry Plantagenet set sail for his Uncle David's court in Scotland where he was to receive his knighthood and plan the claiming of a kingdom.

Although the crossing was moderately gentle, Catrin was wretchedly sick throughout. She hung over the wash strake, the cold, green water striking and bursting in silver bubbles mere inches from her face. She had tried sucking ginger root which was usually very effective at stemming nausea, but to no avail. Six years ago she had been seasick on the journey across the Narrow Sea, although not with this appalling ferocity. But then on that occasion, she had not been pregnant.

She was sure now. The time of her second flux had come and gone four days' since without so much as a spot of blood. Her breasts were full and tender, she felt bloated, and the sickness had begun with a vengeance. Fortunately, Oliver thought it was due to the sea-crossing, which in part it was, or else he would never have allowed her on board ship. Catrin endured as best she could, telling herself that it would pass as soon as she quickened.

Rosamund was completely unaffected by the rolling of the ship, and as brightly unsympathetic as only a six-year-old could be. 'It doesn't make me sick, Mama, she announced, peering over the side, then leaned over the gunwale trying to reach the water and trail a hand. Catrin struggled upright and, with aching stomach, dragged her daughter from harm's way. 'No, but you might drown, she said crossly. Rosamund pouted. 'I only want to see if the water's green in my hand.

'No, it isn't, it's just water-coloured, Catrin said shortly. Nausea surged. She clutched the side and closed her eyes. 'Then why does it look green?

'Because of the way the light shines through it, because of the way that darkness is never really black but many different colours, Oliver said, coming to Catrin's rescue. Sweeping Rosamund up, he tucked her under his right arm so that she squealed. 'I could always throw you overboard to find out, he teased.

Rosamund pummelled him but to no avail, he had her fast. 'Feeling no better? he said to Catrin.

She shook her head. It was beyond her to speak. If she opened her mouth she would be sick.

'I came to say that we'll be making landfall in a few hours. The lookout has sighted the Scottish coast in the distance.

'Where, where, let me see! Rosamund demanded.

Catrin leaned over the side again and felt the salt spray tingle on her face. Oliver took Rosamund to the prow of the vessel and pointed out the distant smudge of coastline. Other vessels ploughed alongside theirs, each of them bearing a cargo of men and supplies. Prince Henry's ship fluttered a red and gold banner bearing a device of three lions, a blazon adopted from his father. On board with Henry was Roger, Earl of Hereford, who was also to be knighted at the ceremony on Pentecost Sunday. The bright colours of tunics and cloaks glowed against the brown and white of the ship.

Henry had left Belle and baby William in Normandy. For all her earlier determination to follow Oliver, Catrin found herself wishing that at this precise moment she was back in Normandy too, lying on a bed that did not move.

Even when Henry's entourage disembarked from their ships, Catrin's nightmare was not over. The journey by sea had to be continued by land to Carlisle. Riding in a baggage wain meant that she could lie down with a lavender-scented cloth across her forehead, but the lurching of the cart over successive potholes in the road made it almost as bad as being at sea. She sucked more ginger root and fought her rebellious stomach. Rosamund sat with the driver and chattered nineteen to the dozen about all the things they saw along their way. The border country was wild and green whereas Normandy's greenness was lush and padded. The Scots lowlands hinted at the bones of rock beneath the soil. Among the fields of corn there were as many fields of oats, and the cows were smaller and tougher than the great slab-sided cattle of Normandy.

Catrin watched all of this from a detached distance. She was aware of Oliver riding beside the wain and peering anxiously inside. She managed to give him a wan smile and, turning on her side, fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Carlisle was a grey border town with a fine new keep defending the approach to Galloway and standing proud against Cumbria. To honour its king and greet Prince Henry, his nephew, the castle had been decked with horn lanterns and the barbaric splendour of pine pitch torches. A fanfare of trumpets welcomed the arrival of Henry and his entourage and they were escorted into the castle by King David and his knights in the full splendour of court dress. A great feast was set out in the hall with glistening roasts, whole tender sucking pigs, and pies made with chopped venison and spices. Banners and weapons gilded the walls and a fortune in gold plate was laid out upon an embroidered cloth on the high table.

Catrin ignored all the rich, fatty meat. The sight of it made her ravenous and sick at the same time and she knew that if she ate it, she would only purge it back later. While Rosamund gorged herself, her small face shiny with grease, Catrin made do with plain bread and oatcakes, washed down with a little wine. Luckily Oliver had too many duties to spend much time with her, but Catrin knew that eventually he would notice, and if she continued to be ill she no longer had the excuse of a brisk sea crossing.

Fortunately, by the end of the week Catrin was slightly better. Although she was still being sick, especially in the mornings, she could at least eat plain food during the day without vomiting, and she was still managing to conceal her indisposition from Oliver. He was too preoccupied with Henry's intended strike at Stephen's positions in northern England to notice her lethargy and pallor and she did her best not to call it to his attention. She would pile her trencher in the hall, eat some, leave some for the alms basket and slip the rest to the dogs which always lurked under the tables ready to snap up offerings.

To put more colour in her cheeks, she sat close to the hearth, or dabbed her cheeks with the merest hint of red powder. The latter was the resort of older women trying to recapture their youth and younger ones who were advertising their attractions, so she had to be very careful.

She soon came to the conclusion that she need not have bothered, for all the notice that Oliver took. Henry, now a fully fledged knight, was planning to advance to Lancaster to meet Earl Rannulf of Chester, and from there to march upon York, one of the major strongholds of the north country. Henry's designs had to be supported by supplies and Oliver was kept busy from dawn to dusk securing the wherewithal to march an army.

'There are to be no camp followers, he said to Catrin on their last evening in Carlisle. They were lying side by side in the hall, Rosamund cocooned in her cloak beside them. 'Henry intends to move with all haste — and that means with the minimum of baggage. Once we reach Lancaster, you must either stay there or continue to Bristol if you prefer familiar territory.

'You are saying that I cannot go with you? Catrin half-raised her head. In the grainy light cast by the night candle, she could see the pale gleam of his hair and the thin line of his nose.

'Not to York. He slipped his arm around her waist, softening the blow. 'Much as I want you by my side, I would find you and Rosamund a hindrance too. I would be fearing for your safety instead of concentrating on the task at hand.

His fingers moved back and forth at her waist and Catrin sucked in her stomach and wondered if he would notice the thickening there.

'Stay in Carlisle, if you want, he added. 'As soon as he has the victory, Henry will advance his full household.

Catrin folded one of her hands over his and stilled his motion. She felt the curve of his knuckles, the length of bone, the shortness of nail. He had argued for her and

Rosamund to stay in Normandy; now he was preventing them from following him to York. But this time she was more disposed to listen. There would be distance between them, but less than the Narrow Sea, and now that her pregnancy was fact, not speculation, she had the baby's welfare to consider. The fight for York was only the beginning. If Henry was successful, his army would push on to the next city and the next. If Henry lost, then he would have to retreat to one of the loyal strongholds — Carlisle, Bristol, Devizes.

The truly logical step was to remain in Carlisle, but the place did not call to her in the way of home. People had been kind, but there was a reserve in them, a cool buffer which they set up between themselves and what they saw as 'Norman' strangers. If Catrin was going to build a nest, then she wanted to build it in Bristol where there was familiarity and a kinder climate.

'No, she said. 'I will go to Bristol. Although I hate to be parted from you, I can see the sense in what you say.

'Well, there's a miracle, he muttered against her hair. She pinched him and he recoiled with a muffled yelp.

'In Bristol, she said in a firm tone, overriding his sarcasm, 'I know the people and the surroundings. It will be good to see Edon again.

'And you enjoy your gossip.

Catrin used her elbow this time. 'Besides, Henry is bound to bring his army to Bristol sooner or later, although why I should cite that as a reason I do not begin to know. She sniffed at him.

'Of course you do. For the joy and pleasure of having me in your arms. He tightened his hold to prevent her from attacking him again and pressed his lips over hers. Catrin put up a mock fight and then softened her mouth beneath his.

'Don't let it be too long.

'I think you need have no fear on that score, he murmured against her lips.

Catrin arrived in Bristol during the first week of June. The weather was balmy and so saturated with the scent of bursting green growth that it seemed about to split asunder.

Full summer heat had. yet to smother the land and the scents and stenches of the city were merely ripe and evocative rather than overpowering. The same fishwife, more wizened and leathery with the passage of years, offered Catrin and Rosamund a basket of eels using the same words: 'Fresh caught, not an hour old!

Rosamund recoiled, her little face screwing up in disgust as Catrin bought a dozen, a misty smile on her face.

'Mama! There was a wealth of meaning in the single word and the look that Rosamund cast. She was a hearty eater but she had a marked dislike of fish in any form.

'I bought them in memory, Catrin said. 'You don't have to eat them.

'I'm not going to. Her nose still wrinkled, Rosamund turned where she sat pillion on her mother's small brown mare and pointed to the large white building rising among the houses. 'Is that where we're going?

'The castle, yes. With good fortune, you'll be sleeping there tonight. Catrin looked down at the eels writhing in the basket. Her stomach was queasy, but she was not in immediate danger of being sick. She was becoming accustomed to feeling permanently tired and nauseous and, having accepted it as a fact of life, it had less effect on her now. Besides, she was at the end of her third month, and she knew from her experience as a midwife that the sickness would probably abate soon.

It had been a long journey from Lancaster to Bristol. She could have travelled by sea, but even the thought of lurching down the coast on a trading vessel had sent her dashing for the privy. The gentlest way had been on horseback with an escort of two mercenaries and her baggage carried by a pack pony. They had travelled by quiet roads and avoided the major towns unless they were held in Henry's name.

'It's a bit like Rouen, Rosamund said, as they drew closer to the castle. Gulls wheeled over the estuary and the river glittered like a strip of silver braid. Ships' masts forested the skyline. 'Not as big, though.

'No, not as big, Catrin said with a smile. 'But it's home.

Although Catrin had been away for several years, there were

still people at the castle who recognised her and called out greetings as she dismounted in the bailey. There was Alain the blacksmith, whose wife she and Ethel had delivered of their first son. The lad, now a sturdy nine-year-old, stood pumping the bellows at his father's forge while his two little sisters watched. There was Wulfrune, now a charcoal burner's wife, who had sought love philtres from Ethel to capture her husband's heart. Catrin had always suspected that her wheat-blond hair and bright blue eyes had had more of an effect than a mere tincture of rose petals, the main ingredient in Ethel's philtres. And there was Agatha, the laundry maid, who had been Ethel's particular friend and living proof of the efficacy of the hand lotion that Ethel made from purified goose fat and scented herbs.

Almost toothless now, her skin as weathered and shiny as cowhide, Agatha was still a large, robust woman with enormous forearms developed by a lifetime of pummelling linen sheets, bolster cases, shirts and chemises. She threw her arms around Catrin and gave her a ferocious hug that left Catrin gasping and Rosamund recoiling warily lest the same greeting be meted out to her.

'God bless you, lass, where you been a-wandering this time! Agatha demanded in her broad, Bristol accent.

'I've been in Normandy with Oliver, mostly in a town called Rouen. It's a port, a bit like Bristol.

'You're still with him then. Agatha set her hands on her hips. 'That's good, she nodded. 'You should never have gone off with that other wastrel like you did. Ethel would have told you that, God bless her soul.

'She did, Catrin said ruefully. 'She told me to beware of a man on a bay horse, but I took her to mean someone else.

Agatha sucked her gums. 'Folks can't always see woods for trees. Her eyes lit on the little girl. 'And this must be your daughter. By the Virgin, you've grown! She bent towards her. 'Last I saw you, you was a tiny babe at your mother's breast. Now you're almost a woman!

Rosamund gave her a severe look from her large, dark eyes. 'I'm six, she said.

'Then you're sixty years short o' me. Agatha smiled at

Catrin. 'She bids fair to break some hearts when she's older.

'Plenty of time for that later, Catrin said. 'The years are too precious to think them away.

'Aye, and that they are. Don't seem a moment since I was six years old myself. Mind you, I was never so pretty. Agatha looked wistfully at the slender black-haired child. 'Where's Lord Oliver?

Catrin sighed. 'Somewhere between Lancaster and York with Prince Henry. We've come to Bristol for «safekeeping». It's closer than Rouen. She glanced round at the limewashed stone and the banners fluttering from the square battlements. 'And it's home, she added with a smile and, reaching down, took Rosamund's hand. 'We're on our way to see Edon. Is she still here?

Agatha sucked her teeth again and the furrows seaming her brow deepened. 'Aye, she is that, Mistress Catrin, and mighty glad she will be to see you as well. Her large hands kneaded her apron.

'Is there something wrong?

'No, said Agatha slowly, without relinquishing her frown, 'not really. 'Tis just that she's with child again and not carrying it as well as she did the last one. The Earl's death struck Lady Mabile hard, and a household in mourning ain't done much for her spirits either. She forced a smile. 'They'll all be right glad to see you, especially if you've fresh news. A good cheering is what they need.

Unsure of what she was going to find, Catrin made her way into the hall and was escorted to the Countess's rooms by a young squire. The steps seemed interminable to her growing body, and she was gasping for breath by the time he led her along a walkway and banged on the heavy oak door.

It was opened by Beatrice, one of the older maids. Her eyes grew round as she stared at Catrin and Rosamund. The little girl quickly hid behind her mother lest another session of hearty embracing was in order but, after the woman had cried out in surprise, she made do with kissing Catrin on both cheeks before ushering her into the room.

Mabile's maids sat at their embroidery. One of them played a harp and another was reading aloud from a leather-bound book of French tales. The appearance of Catrin and Rosamund was a welcome diversion and the story book was immediately abandoned in favour of news from the outside world. Catrin was viewed by the women as a form of walking tale herself. They spent their lives enclosed within the bower walls, their most daring exploits confined to a day out with the hawks or a visit to the Michaelmas fair. Catrin's nomadic existence, with its tidal sweeps of danger, heartache and fortune, was seized upon and devoured in one hungry gulp.

Rosamund was petted and given sweetmeats from the Countess's own supply, which the little girl considered far more appetising than the basket of eels that her mother had left in the kitchens with one of the cooks. There were other children in the bower too — two boys slightly older than Rosamund and three fair-haired little girls in stepped heights of about a year's difference. All of them proved to be Edon's.

'And my belly's big again, Edon said later, when Catrin had emptied her budget of news and the excitement of her arrival had calmed down. The women returned to their embroidery and the harp music rippled softly through the room.

Catrin looked at Edon's swollen stomach which made a nothing of her own thickening waistline.

'It will be my seventh, Edon said. 'I lost one a year and a half ago in my third month. She gave a little grimace. 'Geoffrey and I try our best, but you can't go without all the time unless you're a monk or a nun. She looked sidelong. 'How do you and Oliver manage?

Catrin patted her belly. 'As it happens, I too am with child, although less further along than you, she confided. 'Oliver would have left me in Rouen if he had known, so it's going to be a surprise when he sees me. There was sudden apprehension in her voice.

'You mean a shock, Edon said shrewdly.

'Yes, that too. But as soon as he knows, he will start to fret. The longer I can keep it from him, the better for his well-being, no matter that he will be hurt that I did not tell him before.

'You know best, Edon said dubiously, as if she thought the opposite.

Catrin tightened her lips but did not argue because she had a sneaking suspicion Edon was right. 'How many months of carrying have you left?

'The child is due at Michaelmas, Edon said.

Catrin stared, unable to equate Edon's words with the evidence of her eyes. Edon was already enormous. Successive pregnancies had slackened her muscles and laid pads of fat upon what had once been the toned, slender body of a girl. Edon could be no more than eight-and-twenty now, but she looked ten years older. There were puffy shadows beneath her eyes and her fingers were so swollen that her rings were half-buried in flesh. Catrin had come across such signs before and knew that the labour often went hard for women who displayed them.

'I'm pleased you're here. Edon pressed Catrin's arm. 'You'll stay for my confinement, won't you? I will never forget how you and Ethel saved my first one's life.

Catrin gave a warm smile of response, although her heart dropped. 'If I can, I will, she said.

Rosamund had settled in a corner with the other three children to play a puzzle game with a loop of wool. Catrin looked at the bent heads, the absorbed faces, the dextrous little hands.

'You should drink plenty of raspberry leaf tea and rest with your feet above the level of your body to adjust the balance of your humours, she told Edon. 'The birth will go easier then.

'You are saying it will not be an easy birth?

'No, no, Catrin said quickly, knowing Edon's propensity for panic. 'What I mean is that whatever the church says about women bringing forth children in pain to pay for Eve's sin, the less pain involved the better. I suggest these remedies to all women once they have quickened. Indeed, I shall take my own advice. She was aware of how rapidly she was speaking, rushing with words to make her defence more plausible.

Edon gave her a level stare, then chose to believe her and relaxed with a little sigh. 'I shall tell you the easiest way of all, she said, 'and that is to be a man. You plant the seed and then go on your way.

Catrin nodded. 'But men have their own set of dangers too, she murmured, thinking of Oliver and wondering where he was.