The Love Knot

Chapter 30

Oliver too was wondering where he was. Certainly not York, as had been the grand plan. That remained securely in King Stephen's hand. News of Henry's approach from Lancaster had flown ahead and the citizens of York had sent for aid. It had arrived far more rapidly than anyone had anticipated, in the form of Stephen himself at the head of a large band of mercenaries.

Faced with a pitched battle which he was not yet ready to fight, Henry had chosen discretion over valour and retreated. At sixteen years old he had all the time that the fifty-three-year-old Stephen did not. He dispersed his army. King David returned to Carlisle, Rannulf of Chester retreated into his marcher heartlands and Henry headed for the Angevin strongholds in the south-west; for Gloucester, Bristol and Devizes.

The journey was a game of catch-as-catch-can, for Stephen had sent out patrols to intercept Henry's troops. Although the ride was not desperate, it still gave Oliver uncomfortable memories of the retreat from Winchester eight years before. He had a recurring nightmare of being apprehended on the road by a smirking, dark-eyed faun of a man wearing the blood-crimson tunic of a noble. In his dream, instead of surrendering Oliver drew his sword and attacked Louis de Grosmont. But at the moment when he struck, the face became Catrin's, her expression bewildered and accusing, and he jerked out of the imagining with thudding heart and clammy palms.

They rode in the dark, kindling their way with pine pitch flares. When it rained, they rested until daylight within a wood, the rain dripping from the leaves of the great elms and rolling down their necks. Chain-mail shone, slick and silver, patterned with streaks of rust-red. Horse-hide gleamed with damp. The smell of the forest was heavy and green with a combined aroma of growth and rot.

Bearing down the marches, they took the lesser roads, some of them no more than sheep trails, although once they found a stretch of road which Henry said had been built by the Romans and which, even now, was more sound and solid than recently shod surfaces. They swam rivers rather than risk the bridges where Stephen's troops might be waiting, and until they were in the south-west did not attempt to spend the night at any destination more conspicuous than a hamlet or barn.

They took a day's respite at Hereford, which was loyal to the Prince, and then moved on towards Bristol. Henry still had to exercise caution for Stephen's heir, Eustace, had swept into Gloucestershire with an army of Middlesex men, intent on crushing Henry's challenge before it could begin.

Within a day's march of Bristol, Henry stopped to spend the night at Dursley Castle near Stroud. He was red-eyed from lack of sleep, but there was very little evidence that the setbacks had sapped his seemingly bottomless reserve of vitality. All Oliver wanted to do was curl up in a corner and sleep without dreaming for a year at least. His left arm was aching from constantly gripping a bridle, his collar-bone too from the weight of his shield strap.

'My head feels like a gambeson, he said, as Richard cheerfully thrust a cup of hot wine beneath his nose. 'So stuffed with wool that whatever strikes it is just absorbed without result.

Richard grinned. 'At least we'll reach Bristol tomorrow, he said cheerfully.

Oliver took a sip of the steaming wine. It was sour but he didn't care as long as it revived him. 'Then what? He glanced at Henry who was prowling confidently around the room talking to his commanders, his short, stubby hands gesturing eloquently as he spoke. Even now, at the end of a long, harrowing day, he was still on his feet with a bounce in his stride. In a moment Oliver knew with awful certainty that the Prince was going to ask him a preposterous question about their supplies and expect him to have the answer.

Richard shrugged. 'Then we eat an enormous meal safe behind huge walls where Stephen cannot reach us, and in the morning we start planning again.

Oliver groaned. Actually the planning did not bother him too much. He was quick and efficient at working out logistics, and supplies were always easier to come by in the summer months. What he disliked were the fits and starts of campaigning, the furtive hiding, sleeping in full mail, a horse beneath him. Although still very young, Henry was a competent commander, but Stephen was competent too and also battle-wise. To best him, Henry needed the luck of the devil, who was said to be his ancestor, and thus far it had not been forthcoming.

'Very soon I will have spent half my life on the battlefield. My bones, including the broken ones, are too weary to do anything now but lie down.

Richard tilted his head on one side. 'Catrin and Rosamund are in Bristol, he said. 'We'll reach them tomorrow too, and Geoff FitzMar.

Oliver nodded to humour the young man and wondered if Richard's resilience was the result of being a full fifteen years younger or whether it was a derangement of the royal bloodline. While Oliver was indeed looking forward to seeing Catrin and Rosamund, he was too bone-weary to make the effort of conversation. The last decent night's sleep he remembered was in Carlisle before setting out for Lancaster, and even that had been marred by Henry's propensity for rising three hours before the lark. He had never known anyone need so little rest.

Giving up on Oliver's tepid response, Richard drifted away to join Thomas FitzRainald who was spreading his saddle-roll near the hearth to air out the damp. With a quick glance in Henry's direction, Oliver took his own saddle-roll outside, deciding to find a quiet, sheltered spot in the bailey where he could sleep in peace. The Prince needed to know nothing from him at the moment. Let him bedevil some other poor individual for his intellectual stimulation.

It was a quiet night, thick with stars. Sentries paced the wall-walks, their boots scraping softly on the wooden planks. Sheep bleated to each other in the fields beyond the walls and danger seemed so far away that it had no meaning. Oliver found an animal shelter supported on two strong ash poles. It smelt faintly of goat, but there was no sign of an occupant and the straw on the floor was clean and dry. He spread his cloak, lay down upon it and wrapped it over like a blanket. Within moments he was sound asleep.

It seemed only seconds later, but was more than three hours judging from the position of the stars, when he was woken by the sound of someone crying for admittance at the keep gates. There was urgency in the voice and as Oliver threw off his cloak and sat up, he saw guards hastening by torchlight to raise the bar and admit a rider. As the horse clattered into the bailey, Oliver recognised one of Henry's Welsh scouts.

The man tethered his blowing mount to a ring in the wall and headed towards the darkened keep. Starlight glittered, casting blue light beyond the red of the guards' torches.

'Math? Oliver called.

The Welshman turned, his hand by instinct already on his dagger, then he relaxed. 'Oh, it's you, the pet Saeson, he said in his broad, sing-song accent. 'What are you doing out here?

'Trying to sleep without being disturbed, Oliver said with a shrug. 'I should have known it was a lost cause.

'Aye, well, the entire cause of yon lad will be lost if you don't put spurs to your mounts and ride for Bristol, Math said. 'Eustace has an army not twenty miles away and he's headed straight here. He knows that Henry's inside. Math gazed around at the walls, his mouth turned down at the corners. 'Not fit for a siege, this one. I'd sooner be attacking it from without than hiding within, see.

Oliver followed Math into the keep to raise the alarm and bade farewell to sleep.

The next hour was complete hell as men were roused from their slumber and forced to don armour and weapons which they had but recently removed. The horses were tired. Some just hung their heads and patiently allowed themselves to be saddled — which did not bode well for swiftness on the road. Others, with more spirit, kicked and snapped as the harassed grooms and squires tried to harness them by the poor light of guttering pitch flares.

The Prince was one of the first to leave Dursley, riding on a fresh horse borrowed from the castellan. His capture could not be risked with Eustace and his army so close. Stephen's eldest son was neither generous nor amenable and Henry was his bitter rival.

' Oliver rode out with Henry's rearguard. Hero was seventeen years old and beginning to show his age. He did not have the kick or spark of the younger mounts, nor their stamina any more. Still, he responded gamely to Oliver's urgency and broke into a trot. Only a madman or someone completely desperate would have galloped his mount in the dark, and so Oliver was able to keep pace with the rest of the troop.

There was a prickling between his shoulder blades as he rode, and his sleep-starved imagination fed him a waking dream of being pursued not by Eustace but by Louis de Grosmont. Closer and closer the spectre came, his sword raised and his dark eyes reflecting the glow from the travelling torches like hell-fire. No matter how much Oliver spurred Hero, Grosmont continued to close on them.

'She's mine! Grosmont snarled at Oliver. 'Mine until death!

'You can't have her! Oliver sobbed and drew his sword. The sound shivered the night and brought him awake with a huge surge of breath like a man too long submerged. His sword was in his hand, braced and ready.

'What is it? Beside him, Richard's own sword was half out of the scabbard. 'Have you seen something? The youngster's eye whites gleamed with fear.

'No. Oliver passed his hand across his eyes. 'I was saddle-sleeping, he admitted sheepishly. 'I thought we were being hard-pursued.

Richard glanced over his shoulder into the darkness, his expression intent. Then, with a sigh, he slotted his weapon home. 'Nothing, he said. 'Jesu, you frightened me yelling like that and drawing your blade. Despite himself, he looked over his shoulder again. There was silence except for the thud of their own horses on the baked mud road, and the soft creak and clink of leather and harness. 'Sorry. I'll try and stay awake.

'Be light soon. Richard cast a glance at the sky. There was a milky opacity in the east and the stars no longer burned as brightly. 'Eustace won't dare pursue us as far as Bristol.

Oliver shrugged. 'You never can tell with Eustace. He's half wolf at least.

'Was he in your dream? Richard asked curiously.

Oliver shook his head. 'No, but another wolf was — one in sheep's clothing.

The milkiness in the east took on an opalescent quality. A dawn chorus of birds filled the air from every coppice and field; trees and grass turned from grey to summer-green as the daylight brightened. The men doused their torches and began to speak in less hushed tones as the strengthening light and the rising sun increased their confidence.

It was just after daybreak when Oliver felt the change in Hero's gait. The smooth lope had given way a while back to a shorter stride as the horse grew tired, but now there was a definite lurch. With a soft curse, Oliver dismounted and ran his hand down the stallion's foreleg. There was a hot, tender swelling on the knee, puffy to the touch, and the horse stamped and tossed his head at the pressure of Oliver's hand.

Richard circled his mount and returned to Oliver and Hero, his blue eyes troubled. 'Do you want to ride double with me?

Oliver gazed round. The landmarks were familiar now. Although they still wanted several miles to Bristol and safety, there was another haven closer to hand. 'No, lad, go on with the others. Godard and Edith live close by. I'll rest Hero with them and borrow a horse, if they have one. Tell Catrin for me.

'Are you sure? Richard glanced behind at the powdery dust settling in the troop's wake as if expecting to see an army of vengeful mercenaries bearing down on them at full gallop.

'It's all right. Eustace isn't that close. Go on with you.

With reluctance, Richard rode away to rejoin the rest of the rearguard, by now a furlong in front of him.

The silence of summer birdsong and the hissing of the wind in the grass filled Oliver's ears with its tranquil immensity. He wrapped his hand around the bridle and led a limping Hero through the army's dust until they came to the branch in the road that led to Ashbury.

'By all the saints, Lord Oliver! Godard put down the curry comb he had been using on the old brown cob and strode to greet his former master. A grin broke across his face, parting the luxuriant beard. "Tis right good to see you!

"Tis right good to see you too, Oliver responded, as they clasped hands. 'Hero went lame a mile back and the troop couldn't afford to wait. I need rest and shelter… and a place to hide.

Godard's dark gaze sharpened. 'They are all yours, you know that, he said. 'Bring the horse into the barn and we'll see him comfortable.

Oliver clicked his tongue, encouraging Hero to take a few more steps on his swollen foreleg, and followed Godard, noting as he did that a transformation had taken place. What had been a cosy village alehouse and a couple of storage sheds had been enlarged to the status of a hostelry, with a small barn and substantial stores.

'You have prospered, Oliver said, with a nod at all the alterations.

'Aye. I built most of it myself with a little help from the village carpenter and his sons. We're used by folk heading for Bristol who get caught out by the dusk, although trade really became brisk when a hermit settled over by Three Oak Hill. We get pilgrims and wisdom seekers coming through all spring and summer, war or no war. He rubbed the side of his nose. 'Of course, some folk come out of their way especially to sample Edith's brew. She's taken to making bread and cheese too.

'I'm pleased for you.

Godard cleared his throat. 'I'm indebted to you, my lord.

If you had not gone to Ashbury on that day, I would never have met my Edith and found a place to settle down.

'It's an ill wind, Oliver agreed as Godard led him into the barn and indicated a couple of stalls partitioned off from the main portion of the building by withy fences.

'You said a place to hide? Godard raised his brows. 'I could put you in the understore, but who is it you are hiding from and how urgent is your need?

Oliver told him about Prince Henry's army and how it was probable, but not certain, that Eustace was in pursuit. 'He'll stop long before the gates of Bristol, but here might be as likely a place as any to take refreshment before he turns back. Oliver stroked the grey's sweaty flank. 'I could have ridden double with Richard and cut Hero loose, but I owe the old lad better than that. Besides, two men to one horse makes for slow progress. Eustace will be on the lookout for stragglers, but I would rather hide my armour and weapons in the understore than myself.

Godard gave a considering frown, then nodded. 'Best unarm then, he said, 'and I'll lend you one of my tunics. Humour creased his eye corners. 'You speak English. If anyone comes, you're my Saxon labourer and the horse was left by a pilgrim when it went badly lame.

Oliver unhitched his swordbelt. He still felt bone-weary but, despite the danger, his mood was lighter than it had been for several weeks. He was among true friends and Godard's twinkle imbued the whole situation with a sense of adventure. The heir to the throne was safely on his way to Bristol. For the nonce, Oliver's only responsibility was to himself.

Edith greeted him with open arms and smacking kisses on both cheeks. She was as round and ruddy as ever and obviously flourishing on their increased custom. The evergreen ale-stake, which traditionally signified to customers that a fresh brew was available, had been replaced by a smart, permanent board that swung on wrought-iron fixings from the gable end. On it, in bold colours, was painted an exuberant green bush. There were new trestles in the main room, and the old byre, where Oliver and Catrin had spent the night of Godard's wedding, had been converted into a dormitory for travellers.

Oliver found himself envying Godard and Edith their settled prosperity. No stumbling about in the middle of the night for them with enemy troops on their tail. No parting from loved ones. No uncertainty. Hard work and simple routine. Oliver felt a great yearning within him.

Edith sat him at one of the trestles and brought a huge bowl of chicken stew and half a freshly baked loaf. Then she stood over him and watched him eat like a mother with a finicky child. She need not have bothered for Oliver was ravenous. The pickings of the last few days had been unappetising to say the least, and Edith was as good a cook as any who served the Prince.

'So Mistress Catrin and the lass are in Bristol, she said, as she removed his scraped bowl and set down another one containing an apple dumpling. A jug of thick yellow cream and a pot of honey joined it on the side.

Nodding, Oliver picked up his spoon and prepared to tackle the dish. 'I saw them off from Lancaster with an escort. Catrin didn't want to stay in the north, and I did not want her with me on the road to York lest anything happened. He grimaced. 'As you can see, I was wise. I'll join them on the morrow, God willing.

Edith watched him in silence for a while. 'How's your arm? she asked at length.

Oliver stopped eating and pushed up the loose left sleeve of Godard's tunic to show her the knotted white scar. 'It aches in the winter, he said, 'and it tires more swiftly than my right, but there are days when I do not think of it even once.

'When I first saw you, I thought you would die.

'I thought it too. He smiled at her. 'Catrin wouldn't let me, and I'm glad now, although I cursed her for it at the time.

'Do you think that…" Edith broke off and looked round as Godard flung open the door.

'Soldiers, he said without preamble. 'It will look suspicious if you hide. Go out and be ready to take the leaders' horses if they decide to stay.

Oliver spooned up a last mouthful of the apple dumpling and Edith whisked away his bowl. 'My name's Osmund, he said to Godard. 'I've been working here for the past two years ever since my village was destroyed. I'm your second cousin, so you felt a duty to give me house room.

Godard nodded brusquely. 'That should satisfy them, although I doubt they'll ask.

Oliver went out into the road. Other folk from the hamlet were poking their noses out of doors to watch the troops ride through. While people were wary, there were no signs of panic. Their settlement owed its rents and dues to the Abbey at Malmesbury and although church lands were not immune from attack, soldiers tended to think twice before jeopardising their souls.

Godard shaded his eyes against the sun and watched their approach. Oliver stood a little way back, his expression calm, almost bovine, but his heart thumping like a drum. In the alehouse, he could hear Edith singing as she tipped fresh water in the cauldron and filled the jugs with new ale.

As the soldiers came closer, Oliver recognised the man who led them. 'It's Prince Eustace, he muttered from the side of his mouth. 'Have a care with him. His nature's as sour as spoiled wine.

Prince Eustace drew rein under the sign of The Bush. His complexion was almost purple with frustration and heat. 'God's arse, is there no one here who can do anything but stare like a half-wit! he snarled. He was wearing a very fine hauberk of lammelar-mail, the kind favoured by the Byzantines. Each overlapping scale collected the heat and Eustace was literally cooking inside his armour. His horse was creamed with sweat and blowing hard, its nostrils distended and its sides heaving like smithy bellows.

'Surely, my lord, Godard answered in French, his manner polite but not servile. 'But we're more used to pilgrims for the hermitage than soldiers. He snapped his fingers at Oliver, who moved forward to act the part of groom. 'You're welcome to water your mounts and yourselves if you've a mind. Turning to Oliver, he told him in English to take the horses round to the trough. 'He speaks no French, sir, Godard added, as he translated the instruction for Eustace's benefit.

Eustace grunted. 'I wouldn't expect him to. He looks a brainless dolt.

Oliver lowered his head and cultivated a vapid expression. Eustace decided not to trust him with his horse and gave it to his squire instead. Oliver showed the soldiers the trough and the haystore, then, on the receiving end of several cuffs and kicks, returned to the alehouse to help Edith and Godard serve.

'So you have seen neither hide nor hair of an army pass this way? Eustace demanded as he drank down the first cup of Edith's ale in several fast swallows. He had complained loudly about the lack of wine but was embracing the alternative with gusto.

'No, my lord, Edith replied, refilling Eustace's cup. 'There's only pilgrims that come through here, and sometimes the troops from Ashbury. Odinel the Fleming holds the village there, she added, without looking at Oliver. 'He's a man loyal to your father.

Oliver spoke rapidly in English.

Eustace glowered at him. 'What does he say? he demanded. 'Jesu, it's small wonder that they were defeated on Hastings field.

Godard cleared his throat. 'Sire, he says that he saw troops riding on the Bristol road before dawn this morning when he was out bird-nesting. Says that they rode right past our fork in the road, going swift with torches to light the way. He wonders if you belong to them.

'Before dawn? Eustace repeated with a scowl.

'Aye, my lord. He spoke over his shoulder to Oliver who grunted a reply, one forefinger held up. 'About an hour before, so Osmund says.

'How far is Bristol from here?

'Four hours' ride, my lord, on horses like yours. Takes me five on my old horses and half a day with my cart.

Eustace calculated and threw back his second cup of ale with an angry tilt of his head. 'Then we've lost them, he growled. 'I'd give my soul for just one fingernail of the bastard Angevin's luck. He slammed the cup down on the trestle. 'So close, he said bitterly, and held up his forefinger and thumb. 'I might as well be a hundred miles away! He made a sound of pure disgust and glared at Godard. 'Let him skulk in Bristol. He'll have to emerge at some time, and when he does I'll crack him open like a flea. He closed his finger and thumb, clicking the nails together.

'Yes, sir, Godard said diplomatically. 'Would you like to try a bite of my wife's chicken stew?

Eustace declined. 'We have work to do. He thrust to his feet. 'The Angevin whoreson might have escaped by the skin of his teeth, but I can yet singe his tail. He tossed two silver pennies from his pouch on to the trestle. 'Fortunate for you that you entertained the right army, he said, and strode out.

The troop mounted up and rode away. A hot silence descended on the village as the dust began to settle.

'Jesu. Legs suddenly weak, Oliver collapsed at one of the trestles and ran his hands through his hair. He poured himself some of Edith's ale, took a long drink and then laughed with relief and dark amusement.

'What's so funny? Edith's tone was waspish. She had half-expected the alehouse to go up in flames.

'I told him that Henry had gone through three hours since, but it's much nearer to one. If Eustace ran his horses ragged, he might just catch him.

'Well, what was all that about singeing Henry's tail? Godard asked. He took the ale jug from Oliver and poured himself a cup.

The laughter died from Oliver's eyes. 'I wager that he intends to burn and ravage villages beholden to the Earldom of Gloucester. He's fuming with choler and desperate to strike out. He'll loot and torch and then retreat to Oxford to await his next opportunity.

Edith tightened her lips and busied herself clearing the trestles. 'Who cares who rules the country as long as all this wanton waste and destruction stops, she snapped. 'Time and again it is the innocent who suffer for the ambitions of men who dare to call themselves "noble".

Godard cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable.

'I agree, Oliver said, 'but I am caught up in it for good or ill. What would you do if another ale-wife appeared and took your home for herself? Would you just walk away with a shrug?

Edith wrinkled her nose and took his point, but she was still none too happy. 'Well, I still say they should compromise their differences. Let Stephen keep the throne, let Henry have it after him and let everyone have the land which was theirs at the time when old King Henry died.

'And beggars might ride, Godard snorted.

'They well might, Oliver said less sceptically. 'Henry has spoken of such a move before. He wants his grandfather's crown but, if necessary, he's willing to outlive Stephen to get it.

'And what about Eustace?

'If you saw Henry and Eustace together, you would know that there is no comparison. Eustace may have blood as royal as Henry's but the similarity ends there. I'd give my life for Henry Plantagenet, but I'd not even consider giving my oath of loyalty to such as Eustace. Neither would most of the barons in the country if the truth were known. Men who are loyal to Stephen will not remain loyal to his son.

'Well, as long as it doesn't touch us here, I'm not bothered. Edith hitched her vast bosom. 'Can't say as I liked him much myself, but with good fortune he won't happen this way again. She stumped off to continue with her tasks.

'Women, Godard said, a trifle uneasily.

Oliver could see him wondering if offence had been taken. He smiled to set him at ease. 'They live by different codes, he said, 'and who can blame them. Often as not when a pot is broken, they are the ones who are left to either mend or sweep up the shards.

'Often as not the pot was thrown at a man's head in the first place, Godard said with a roll of his eyes.

Grinning, very pleased with themselves at having outwitted Eustace, and bonded together in masculine camaraderie, the men went off to inspect the state of Hero's foreleg.

Although improved a little, it was obvious that the stallion would not be fit to be ridden for several days, if not a full week, and then but lightly. Godard offered Oliver the use of his brown cob to reach Bristol and Oliver accepted, intending to set out on the morrow when Eustace would be well out of the vicinity.

He was cleaning his hauberk with a mixture of sand and vinegar and inspecting the rivets for any weak or broken links, when he heard the thud of horse hooves and the jingle of harness. It was too late to bundle up his equipment and thrust it back into the understore. He grabbed an armful of hay, tossed it over the hauberk and went swiftly outside, adopting a crabwise, servile gait, his back slightly stooped.

Catrin stared at him in astonishment from the back of her brown mare. Beside her, Geoffrey FitzMar stared too.

'God's bones, Oliver, what in Christ's name are you doing!

Equally astonished, Oliver straightened and gaped at Catrin and Geoffrey. 'Lying low and keeping my hide intact, he responded, when he could find his voice. 'But I might ask you what in Christ's name you are doing!

Catrin flushed. 'Richard told us Hero was lame and you had taken refuge with Godard. Prince Henry's sent you a re-mount. She indicated the handsome blue-roan stallion that Geoffrey was holding on a lead-rein and, kicking her feet from the stirrups, jumped down from the mare.

Oliver clenched and unclenched his fists, the colour draining from his face to leave him ashen with rage. 'Don't you know how foolish it is to be abroad just now — a lone woman, a single knight and three good horses? he choked. 'You could have been set upon and killed!

She shook her head. 'We saw no one on the road, our worry was for you.

'But you knew I'd be safe with Godard. He jerked his arm in an angry gesture.

'I knew no such thing! Running to him, she set her arms around his neck. Her nails dug into the flesh at his nape. 'You don't understand. I had to know that you were whole.

'Of course I'm whole, he snapped. He was still furious, but the fierceness of her embrace and the tears in her eyes compelled him to put his own arms around her.

She buried her face in the old, hay-burred tunic. 'Twice Louis rode away and left me, she said, her voice muffled by the scratchy wool. 'Then when I sought you in Bristol, you were brought to me at death's door. I don't want to be told by others that you are safe, I need to see it for myself.

She raised her face, uncaring that they were in full public view, and kissed him. Oliver kissed her back, hard, with considerable exasperation, but was aware of a treacherous tenderness overtaking his anger.

'That "seeing for yourself could have meant your own life, he said, giving her a little shake. 'Eustace and his mercenaries are ravaging and burning hereabouts. If they had come upon you and Geoffrey, you'd be butchered corpses by now!

'But they didn't and we're not, she said practically. 'You cannot live your life by the code of "what if. Besides, Eustace would not harm someone who has tended his own father's sickbed.

Oliver shook his head. 'You do not know Eustace. He scowled at Geoffrey. 'Could you not have stopped her?

'Short of binding her hand and foot and bolting her in the cells, no, the knight snorted. 'I tried to reason her out of it, but it was as if I was talking a different language. He gave Oliver a sudden shrewd look from his light blue eyes. 'It was like the time at Wareham when we assaulted the town. Do you remember? You did not care whether I was at your side or not, you were determined to plunge into the thick of the fray?

Oliver glowered but had the grace to nod in acceptance of the point. 'I remember, he said tersely, 'although I would rather forget.

'Are you not pleased to see me and a fine new horse? Catrin gave a little sniff and forced a smile.

'Of course I am, he growled, and gave her another little shake. 'But I'm terrified too. You do not want to lose me, love, but by the same code I do not want to lose you.

They embraced again, this time with more gentleness. He stopped short of asking her to promise that she would not do the like of pursuing him again, for he knew that she would refuse, they would quarrel and both of them would lose. Breaking the embrace, he went to look at the horse that Henry had given to him.

'Where's Rosamund? he asked, as he ran his hands down the animal's sound young legs.

'I left her in Edon's care. She's struck up quite a friendship with her brood.

'Her brood? There was something in Catrin's tone which suggested there were more than the two boys Oliver recalled.

'She's got five, and another one due in the autumn, Catrin said neutrally.

Geoffrey grinned and shrugged. 'I never was much good at pulling up before the finishing line. 'Then you should practise, Catrin said. 'I do, all the time. Another grin.

Catrin tightened her lips and turning her shoulder on him gave her attention to Oliver. 'What do you think of him?

'He's a fine animal. What I cannot understand is why Henry should give him to me.

'His name is Lucifer, Geoffrey said drily. 'All the journey he has been as docile as a lamb, but I seem to remember one of the grooms muttering something about him becoming frisky under a saddle.

Oliver nodded without surprise. He had learned literally never to look gift horses in the mouth when Henry was the benefactor. The Prince liked to appear generous but would not spend good money unless forced. Still, if the stallion was saddle-shy he could be schooled and Oliver was no impatient novice with horses, to be thrown at the first obstacle.

'What's he like without a saddle? Answering his own question, Oliver grabbed the headstall and swung smoothly astride. Lucifer back-kicked and plunged a few times, but once the reins were drawn in tight he settled down. Oliver trotted him around the open space in front of the alehouse. An interested crowd of villagers collected to watch.

Catrin watched too for a while, then quietly disappeared.

Going out to toss scraps into the pig-pen, Edith found her retching into the midden pit, her complexion a gaunt, greenish-white. With an exclamation of concern, Edith put a maternal arm around Catrin's quivering shoulders. 'What's the matter, lass?

'I'm all right, I'm not ill, Catrin gasped, clutching her stomach. 'It's passing now. Tentatively she straightened.

'You're not ill, Edith repeated with scepticism, and placed her large, firm palm on Catrin's brow. 'A mite clammy, but there's no fever, she said with cautious optimism. 'Shall

I fetch that man of yours from his love affair with his new horse?

'No! Catrin said, more sharply than she had intended. Edith eyed her curiously.

'No, she said in a calmer voice. 'I am not ill, but if he thinks I am he will worry. God knows, he was ready to burst because I rode out to find him instead of staying in Bristol.

'Well, it was foolish, you must admit. Taking her arm, Edith drew her towards the alehouse. 'Lord Eustace and his troops wouldn't have stopped to ask questions if they had come across you, and they're not the only brigands on the road by any manner of means. Here, sit you down. She pushed Catrin gently on to a wall-bench and fetched her a small cup of strong, sweet mead. 'Drink this; it will settle your belly.

Catrin took the mead and gratefully sipped. The sweetness was what she needed now. Not only would it settle her stomach, it would help the sudden feeling of weariness in her limbs. She stifled a huge yawn.

Edith studied her thoughtfully. Her shrewd gaze dropped to the hand that Catrin had tucked against her belly. The gesture in itself was protective and the outline showed a slight roundness.

'You are with child! Edith said like an accusation.

Catrin immediately lifted her hand and smoothed her gown so that the gentle swell of her womb was not so obvious. 'I think I might be, she prevaricated, 'but nothing is certain yet.

'And you a midwife! Edith snorted. 'I know only as much as the next woman about child-bearing, but I can see that you're beyond the "might be" stage.

Catrin reddened beneath Edith's forthright stare. 'You are right. She shook her head. 'Fortunately it is much easier to conceal from men than it is from women. I am due to bear a child at Christmastide.

Edith's lips moved in silent calculation. 'Then you're almost four months along, she said, and then frowned. 'Do I understand from what you have just said that Oliver doesn't yet know?

'I don't intend telling him until I must. Catrin sat upright and squared her shoulders.

'Why ever not? 'His first wife died in childbirth after a prolonged labour. My anxiety for his well-being on campaign will be as nothing compared with his anxiety for me once he finds out.

Edith gave her a troubled look. 'But you cannot just leave it. Sooner or later he is bound to notice, and he will be wounded that you have not trusted him enough to tell him. Catrin gave her a wry and weary smile. 'Yes, but the real enemy is that neither one trusts the other to keep on living against the daily odds.