The Love Knot

Chapter 31

The water in the bath-tub was a scummy dark grey, but at least the man dozing in its heat was now flesh-coloured and the lank, grimy hair had turned wheat-blond. He smelled much more presentable too.

It was Oliver's hauberk that caused it, Catrin thought as she warmed towels on the spit bar near the hearth. The mail had to be greased to keep out the elements; the grease picked up minute filaments of steel and these blackened whatever the hauberk touched. For the past month, Oliver had been on campaign with Henry and that meant living in the garment. The padded gambeson worn under the hauberk to act as a cushion against both the chafing of the rivets and enemy sword blows could have stood up on its own. She had rammed a broomstick pole through the sleeves and hooked it up outside the shelter to try to air out the pungent stink of sweat and smoke, but with little hope of success.

At least her stomach was not quite so swift to turn these days and there had only been a couple of mild nausea pangs as she dealt with the gambeson. She was almost into her fifth month of pregnancy. While carrying Rosamund, her belly had been scarcely noticeable until well into the seventh month, but this time she was showing much earlier. Oliver could not help but notice once the time came to undress for bed. He had been absent for four weeks; now the reckoning was at hand. But first she would let him rest.

She knew that she did not have him for long. Henry was being harried hither and yon throughout the West Country by Eustace and although the young prince always kept one step ahead of his enemy, and even managed to make some small gains, he was effectively pinned down and suffering. Oliver's arrival in Bristol was only to muster supplies for the garrisons at Marlborough and Devizes. The latter was Henry's base for the nonce. Catrin would have been there herself had it not been for Edon insisting that she stay for her lying-in. It was more obligation than willingness which caused Catrin to agree, but she would not have dreamed of refusing.

In the meantime, she did her best to control her fears for Oliver by keeping herself occupied. The bower was now very well supplied with unguents for plumping and softening the skin. There was enough cough syrup to cure an epidemic and so much staves-acre salve that no one in the keep had any excuse for being lousy.

Oliver slept on in the tub, his breathing becoming slow and deep. Catrin hated to wake him, but knew if she did not he would lie there until the water was stone cold. Taking a towel from the spit bar, she went to the tub and gently touched his shoulder.

He awoke with a jerk and a gasp of breath. Then his eyes slowly cleared from the smokiness of sleep and he reached for the towel. 'I don't know what a bed feels like any more, he said. 'The times we are not running from Eustace, we are running to targets of our own, and when we do manage to sleep, it isn't for long. Henry thinks that sleep is a waste of time. He doesn't even sit down to eat but prowls round the hall with his food in his hand attending to business.

'I thought you admired him for his energy, Catrin murmured.

'I do. But sometimes I wish it was from a distance. He stepped from the tub and glanced in distaste at the colour of the water.

'You're at a distance now.

'For a day and a night.

Taking the towel from him, she patted the droplets from his back, then lightly ran her fingertips over his skin. She was relieved to see that dirt and exhaustion were the only consequences of Prince Henry's regime. There were no new wounds over which to trouble. 'I've missed you, she said.

'Dear God, that's the worst of it, being parted. Turning, he caught her in his arms and kissed her. 'I was tired of fighting before, but now I am sick to the back teeth.

Catrin kissed him back, her fingers in his sleek, damp hair. 'I am sick of it too, she said, adding only half in jest; 'we could run away and open an alehouse like Godard and Edith.

'Don't tempt me.

They kissed again. His arm circled her waist and Catrin had to make a deliberate effort not to draw away. It was her guilt that made her think he would immediately detect her growing belly. 'As soon as Edon is delivered of her child, I will come to you at Devizes, she said . . Under proper escort of course. And do not say that Devizes is no place for a woman because I will not listen.

Oliver laughed ruefully. 'Do you remember when I first brought you to Bristol? You clung to my belt and stared around with frightened eyes? Now you think nothing of walking straight into the lion's mouth.

'I have learned there are fates far worse. She rubbed her face against his damp shoulder. Beneath her lips she felt the hard protrusion where the broken bone had healed. 'Listen, there is something I have to…

With equal feelings of relief and disappointment, she stopped speaking as Rosamund skipped through the door. The little girl was carrying the flask of wine that Catrin had asked her to fetch. Rosamund pulled a face at the colour of the bath water and, having handed over the wine, sat down on the bed to play with her straw doll, cradling it like a baby.

'You were saying? Oliver broke away to finish drying himself.

Catrin. shook her head. 'I'll tell you later.

Oliver glanced at the child and his lips twitched. 'Oh, he said. 'Hardened gossip not fit for big ears.

'My ears aren't big, Rosamund piped up immediately, her eyes flashing with indignation.

Oliver leaned over and lightly pinched one between his forefinger and thumb. 'They are when it comes to listening!

If Prince Henry had you among his troops, we'd know when Stephen was blowing his nose up in York!

'You wouldn't. It's not true. Mama, tell him!

Laughing despite herself, Catrin intervened. 'Your papa means that you sit very quietly and listen very hard. That's a good thing to do, but sometimes people have things to say to each other that are private.

Rosamund nodded, a serious frown between her eyes. She was a well-behaved child, easy to reason with but, by the same code, always needing a reason when sometimes there wasn't one. 'What's hardened gossip? she asked.

Oliver choked and busied himself putting on his clothes.

'Something that grown people talk about when they shouldn't, Catrin said, her face suffusing. 'And your papa is wrong. It's not gossip that I want to discuss with him.

Oliver looked at her. Catrin gave him a tight smile and a little shake of her head.

To his credit, he did not pursue the matter but finished dressing and swung Rosamund up in his arms. 'Do you want to go into the town and see the market? Perhaps find some ribbons for your hair and a new brooch for your mother?

Rosamund squealed with delight. Catrin smiled with pleasure, although there was a certain reserve in her expression. 'Do you not want to rest awhile? You fell sound asleep in the tub.

Oliver sighed. 'There is nothing I would like better, but I do not have the time. I'm not going into the town just for the purgatory of escorting my womenfolk around the stalls. There are things I have to do for Henry; people to see, supplies to secure. Don't worry, I'll rest well tonight.

With the news she had to give him, Catrin was not so sure of that, but she nodded and fetched her cloak.

The market place was heaving with people. As usual, the eel woman was crying her wares and, because it had become a kind of homecoming tradition, Oliver and Catrin bought a dozen while Rosamund looked on and pulled faces. Oliver went off to conduct his business leaving Catrin and Rosamund to browse among the stalls. Catrin bought some new needles and two wimple pins. For Rosamund there were some scarlet silk hair ribbons and a delicate little belt of silk braid woven with a traditional lozenge pattern. The sun beat down, but there was a fresh breeze off the river and everyone was in high good spirits. Rosamund danced from booth to booth with the eagle eye and indefatigable energy of a born bargain hunter. Catrin made a mental note to seek a man with a bottomless purse when the time came to find a mate for her daughter.

Oliver returned from his own excursion and bought Catrin a new cloak brooch of intricate Irish silver work, strong, but still delicate enough to be worn on a winter dress as well as a cloak. With much fluttering of her eyelashes, Rosamund managed to cozen a string of polished wooden beads out of him.

'I'm glad I won't be a languishing young man when you reach womanhood! he said ruefully. 'You'd empty my pouch and cut my heartstrings in very short order!

Rosamund gave him one of her grave, puzzled looks, but Catrin laughed and took his arm. 'I know exactly what you mean.

The three of them wandered among the booths until they came to a cook stall that Ethel had always favoured. Here they bought spicy lamb pasties and little cakes made with honey and figs. To wash it down there was cider bought from a nearby stall and buttermilk for Rosamund.

Catrin was licking the last sticky crumbs from her fingers and sighing with satisfaction at the pleasure of the day thus far, when Geoffrey came thrusting through the crowd, his expression agitated.

'Found you at last, he panted. 'Edon's in travail and calling for you. You must come quickly. The women say she's in much pain. There's a midwife with her, but it's you she wants.

Catrin wiped her hands together and nodded. The idyll was at an end sooner than she had thought. She could not refuse Geoffrey. Indeed, he looked as much in need of a soothing tisane as his wife.

'Go, Oliver said. 'I'll bring Rosamund home.

Catrin kissed him, stooped to hug Rosamund and then hurried away with Geoffrey.

Rosamund gazed up at Oliver, her top lip beaded with cake crumbs. 'Can we go and look at the stalls over there? she asked, pointing to the spice booths. 'Mama always lets me smell the things when we come to the market.

Thankful that she had not asked him what 'travail' meant or why Edon was in pain, Oliver let her lead him like a lamb to the slaughter.

Catrin arrived at Edon's bedside to find her being comforted by two of Mabile's women while the midwife gently examined her.

'Edon, I'm here, Catrin panted, out of breath from her dash. The women stood aside and Catrin stooped to take her friend's imploring outstretched hand. The fingers gripped with talon intensity. Edon's face was contorted with pain. She lay on a bed of birthing straw, her blond hair lank and wet, her belly a taut, distended mound.

The midwife already in attendance, Dame Sibell, was a thin, good-natured woman in early middle age with competent hands and humorous green eyes. Just now they were devoid of all sparkle. 'The afterbirth wants to come before the babe, she said, wiping blood and oil from her hands.

Her gaze met Catrin's and she gave an infinitesimal shake of the head. When an afterbirth came first, the chances for mother and child were poor, and there was nothing that even the most skilled midwife could do.

'Send for the priest, Catrin mouthed silently.

Dame Sibell signalled that it had already been done.

Catrin smoothed Edon's brow. Beneath her fingers the other woman's skin was clammy and grey.

'I'm glad you're here, Edon whispered, trying to smile. 'I'll be all right now.

'Yes, you'll be all right. Catrin's voice almost cracked.

'There's something wrong, isn't there?

Catrin swallowed. How could she tell Edon that her time was likely upon her? 'It is going to be a little difficult, she said. 'The baby's lying awkwardly.

Edon nodded. 'Like my first, she said with a gritted smile. 'He came out feet first, remember? You and Ethel saved us both. Her womb tightened and she arched with a cry of pain, her nails digging bloody little half moons into the back of Catrin's hand. Catrin bit her lip and prayed for God to be merciful and not let Edon suffer.

The contraction lessened, but Edon's womb remained hard. 'Thirsty, she muttered.

Catrin gave Edon a sip of watered wine from the cup by the bedside and, as she helped to raise her, felt the racing, thready pulse against her palm.

'How long before it's born? Edon asked.

'Not long. Catrin compressed her lips, but still her chin wobbled.

Edon gave her a pain-glazed smile. 'Are you thinking that you have all this to endure when your own time comes?

Catrin shook her head, too choked to speak. If the labour had been normal, she would have laughed and retorted that she had no intention of enduring any such thing, that Edon's labour was not hers. But how could she jest with a dying woman? She felt so helpless.

The priest arrived as another contraction shook Edon's body. Edon tried to scream as she saw him and realised what his presence meant, but she had no breath. Her blood gushed into the bedstraw. Dame Sibell exclaimed and grabbed a towel to stanch the flow, but it grew red and sodden in moments.

The priest flinched away in horror, but Catrin seized his wrist and dragged him forward to the bedside. 'Shrive her, she commanded, her voice biting with anger and grief. 'Shrive her now while her soul is still in her body.

His face contorted with shock and distaste, the priest set about his grim duty and, to his credit, did not linger over the rituals. 'Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censuris, et peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, he gabbled, imprinting Edon's brow with holy oil. She rose against him, her teeth clenched, her eyes staring, and every muscle in her body rigid. There was another surge of blood from between her thighs and she shuddered violently in Catrin's arms. Then her body slumped. Her head fell against Catrin's shoulder and the slightest breath whispered past Catrin's ear. When Catrin lowered her gently to the bed, Edon's eyes were half-open and blind.

'The child, Dame Sibell said. There was a sharp gutting knife in her hand.

Catrin glanced over her shoulder. 'Do what you must. She had to swallow her gorge to speak. Edon, finicky, fussy Edon with her love of French romance tales and pretty fripperies, had died in her own blood and was now about to be opened up like an ox in the town shambles.

It was a midwife's obligation to save a child if she could, even after the mother had died. There was always the chance, albeit a remote one, that the infant was still alive. Catrin had seen Ethel do it twice. Both times the child had been dead and Catrin had a sure knowledge that Dame Sibell's efforts would be in vain too. She turned her head and looked at the wall as the woman made her incision.

'A little girl, Dame Sibell announced, as she set aside the bloody knife and lifted the limp, bluish infant from Edon's torn body. 'There is no life in her. She rubbed the baby clean in a towel and placed her beside her mother.

Catrin stared numbly at Edon's still, grey face and thought of their friendship. It had been sporadic and filled with flaws, but nonetheless genuine and she was going to miss her terribly. Earlier, Catrin had been on the verge of tears, but now they refused to flow, remaining behind her eyes as a hot and tingling pressure.

'What about the husband? said Sibell. 'Who is going to tell him?

Catrin swallowed. 'I will, she said with a brief gesture.

'We'd best clean her up then. He can't see her like this.

Catrin almost asked why not. In part it was Geoffrey's fault that she was dead. Appalled at the bitterness of the thought, she took herself to task. It was only Geoffrey's fault as much as it was Edon's. Blame nature; blame God. She had seen what the burden of guilt could do to a man whose wife had died in childbirth. Some husbands were unlikely to care less, but others were scarred for life. It was that very reason which had prevented her from telling Oliver about her own pregnancy. Now how much more difficult was it going to be?

Together, she and Dame Sibell disposed of the bloody bedstraw and washed and composed Edon's body. It wasn't just Geoffrey who had to be told, Catrin thought, a cold lump in the pit of her belly; it was their children too. She combed and braided Edon's hair. Once thick and heavy with a curl in its depth, it was like old straw and threaded with silver. Exhausted at eight-and-twenty. There but for the grace of God and Holy Saint Margaret.

Catrin gently kissed Edon's moist, cold brow and went to find Geoffrey.

It was worse than she could have imagined. At first he refused to believe her, as if denying her words would make them untrue. Then he insisted on seeing Edon.

'She's just asleep, he said, his voice tight with precarious control as he looked at her on the bed, her hands clasped on her breast and her lids closed and smooth.

'I'm sorry, Geoffrey. The afterbirth came before the child. There was nothing we could do. Catrin laid a tentative hand on his sleeve. Although she and Sibell had cleaned and composed Edon as best they could, no one in their right wits would have mistaken the grey-white tones of death for those of normal slumber. One of Mabile's other women had taken charge of the children, and she was glad for Geoffrey could not cope with himself at the moment, let alone five offspring.

'She's still warm. He shook Edon's shoulder. 'Edon, wake up!

Edon's head flopped on the bolster like a child's badly stuffed straw doll. One arm lost its position and dangled awry, sprawling across the dead baby. Appalled, Catrin tried to pull him away, but he thrust her aside and, when she renewed her efforts, he gave an almighty shove that flung her to the ground. 'Leave us alone! he bellowed. 'What use is a midwife who doesn't know her trade!

Catrin landed hard, but fortunately her hip and flank took the brunt of the fall. She was bruised and winded but otherwise uninjured.

Geoffrey shook his wife again and, when she did not respond, dragged her up against him, commanding her to rouse. 'Edon! he howled.

'Geoffrey, for God's love she's dead! Catrin wept from the floor.

He turned on her such a look of grief-torn loathing that she flinched. 'She trusted you and you betrayed her, he said hoarsely. 'She thought no harm could come to her if you were at the birth. His hand cupped the back of his wife's head; his other arm was banded around her limp spine.

'I cannot work miracles! Catrin answered in a voice that shook with the effort of controlling her anger and grief. 'Her fate was sealed from the start; you're not being fair.

'Fair? What has fairness got to do with anything! he raged. 'Go away, leave us alone. We don't want you, we don't want anyone! He buried his face in Edon's lank blond hair.

Catrin struggled to her feet. Her hip was numb and her ribs sore. She looked at Geoffrey. Silent tremors were ripping through him. His hands grasped and flexed on Edon's unresponsive flesh. He did not want anyone, but certainly he needed someone. And yet, for her own safety she feared to approach him. For one so gentle of nature, the violence in him was wild and unstable. One wrong touch or word and he would strike out again, perhaps with his sword.

Without a word, she left the room. The priest was waiting outside and some of Mabile's women, their eyes red and swollen. She warned everyone but the priest to keep their distance — after all, it was his duty to comfort the bereaved — and rubbing her hip, limped down to the hall to discover if Oliver had returned. He at least had weathered the storm once. The timing could not be worse to ask him to guide Geoffrey through the turbulence to calmer waters, but there was no help for it.

It was so late when Oliver came to bed that the castle folk who worked in the bakehouse and kitchens were stirring to begin the day's work and the summer dawn was paling the eastern sky.

'Christ in heaven, may I never spend such a night again, Oliver murmured, as he sat down by the hearth and rubbed his face in his cupped hands. 'Is there any wine?

Catrin had slept very little herself. The threat of one of her headaches probed the back of her eyes and her stomach was tied in knots. 'Just what's left in the jug.

He reached across the hearth and picked up the small, glazed pitcher.

'How's Geoffrey? Keeping her voice low, mindful of Rosamund asleep on the bed-bench, she wrapped her cloak over her shift and sat beside him.

'Asleep. No, that's not right. You can't call a wine-stupor sleep. I left him lying in the hall covered by his cloak — put him on his side so that he won't choke if he vomits. My brother did as much for me when Emma died. He upended the pitcher to the dregs into a round-bellied cup and glanced at her in the dim dawn light. 'The only wisdom I had for him tonight was that of wine. What could I say? That after years of suffering it gradually eases? That he has their children? That I know how he feels? Where is the comfort in any of that?

Catrin shook her head. 'There isn't any.

'No, there isn't. He swallowed the wine straight down and then grimaced at the cup. 'It brings it all back, he said softly. 'I look at him and I see myself all those years ago. And I know that there is nothing I can do for him except ply him with drink and stop him from going out and picking a fight to ease his rage. Tomorrow it will be the same, and the day after that and the day after that. He will watch the soil drop on to her coffin and he will think about killing the grave diggers and dragging her out to try and waken her one final time. As he spoke, his expression grew progressively more bleak.

'Don't, Catrin said, a tremor in her voice. She brushed at her eyes.

'Friends and companions will surround him and he will curse them for keeping him away from her, Oliver continued, as if he had not heard. 'He will hate her for dying; he will hate his children for looking like her and, most of all, he will hate himself for sowing the seed that killed her. Very gently he put the cup down at the side of the hearth, but Catrin could tell that he had wanted desperately to throw it.

'One day he will begin to heal, Oliver added, looking down at his hands, 'but it will not be for a long time, and he will carry the scars until his dying day.

Catrin could bear the understated emotion and grief no more; she threw her arms around his neck and sat in his lap to be comforted. Oliver's arm tightened around her waist and he buried his face against her throat.

'Ah God, Catrin, why is it always so hard?

To which she had no answer for she was about to make it harder yet. For a moment she remained quiet on his knee, summoning up the courage and fighting several quite plausible procrastinations.

'Oliver, there is something I have to tell you. She cleared her throat. 'I have been trying to find the right moment. Indeed, I was going to tell you last night…

'What? He blinked. 'Oh yes, "the hardened gossip". His voice was dull. 'Can it not wait?

'I wish it could because now is not the time, but delay will only make things more difficult yet.

She felt him tense. 'Is it about Louis?

'No. Jesu, I don't even want to think of him, let alone talk. Licking her lips, she drew a deep breath. 'Oliver, I am with child.

He sat very still and the silence was deep, punctuated only by the soft sound of Rosamund's breathing.

'I was going to tell you sooner, but you were away with Prince Henry and I wanted to be sure that the signs were not false.

'When will you be brought to bed? he asked tightly.

The way he phrased the words was telling to Catrin. He did not mention the child, as most men would, but spoke instead in terms of the labour. 'I am not quite sure, she said. 'Some time in December I think.

There was another silence while he counted and then it was broken by his voice, fierce with anger but low-pitched to avoid waking the child. 'Then you are half-way through the carrying. Are you going to tell me that as a midwife you did not know?

'We have been apart for almost four weeks, she said defensively.

He pushed her off his lap and jerked to his feet. 'But still you must have known long before that.

'Not enough to be sure, she lied, but he turned round and outstared her.

'How much do you need to be sure? he demanded. 'I thought that you did not travel well from Rouen to Carlisle. It wasn't just seasickness, was it?

'I thought it was.

He made a disgusted sound and went to stare out of the shelter entrance. 'You thought I would force you to stay in Rouen if you told me.

'I swear on God's Holy Cross that I did not know for sure I was with child then. One missed flux does not make for a definite pregnancy, and there had been other times when my bleed was late. Catrin bit her lip. She had been dreading telling him and now that she had, it was as bad as she had imagined. 'I did not want to trouble you too soon.

'So you trouble me half-way through your term on the night that my friend's wife dies in childbirth, he said roughly.

She heard the grit in his voice and saw how stiffly he was holding himself, the outline of his body blocking the light that was growing outside.

'Should I have left it longer?

'Christ, you should have told me at the outset! He whirled round and faced her with tear-glittered eyes and an anguished expression. 'It's time I could have had that has been time squandered! Grabbing her arm, he drew her outside the shelter and stood her in the grey morning to look her up and down.

Instead of drawing herself up and sucking her stomach in, Catrin leaned back a little so that her belly showed against the folds of her gown. 'Not every woman dies in childbirth, else there would be few people in the world, she said forcefully. 'It's as much a hazard as going to war. Edon died because her body was worn out. If a woman bears one baby after another, year in, year out, she is bound to suffer. Your wife died because her hips were too narrow to allow the child's passage. She raised her palm to his face. 'I have neither of those difficulties; I am young and strong. You must have faith.

'Even when it has been betrayed? he said bitterly.

'What else is there to do?

He shook his head. 'You could have taken… He bit down on the end of the sentence and stared across the bailey.

But Catrin knew what he had been going to say. 'I could have taken a potion to bring on my flux? She suppressed the urge to slap him across the face. 'Yes, I could, and it would have been as dangerous as childbirth itself. I would have been sick until I vomited blood; I would have purged my bowels and while losing the child I would have bled heavily from my womb. Taking his hand, she pressed it against the mound of her belly. 'Yesterday I felt the first movement. This is our child, Oliver. It will live, I swear to you, and so will I.

She felt his fingers tense as if he would draw away, but she held him there a moment longer so that word and sight and touch were inextricably combined. 'I swear, she repeated firmly, fixing his gaze with her own.

With an inarticulate groan, Oliver pulled her into his arms and held her in a tight embrace. 'Then keep your oath, he said, his voice rough with emotion, 'for if you do not, I will follow you into the afterlife and neither of us will ever have peace.

'I will keep it, you'll see, she said and, with soothing murmurs, led him inside and lay down with him on the narrow bed. For what little remained of the night, they lay in each other's arms and neither of them slept.