The Love Knot

Chapter 32

Catrin gradually grew accustomed to Devizes. She missed Bristol for the river, the salt tang of the sea and the great array of trading vessels which had made purchase of every conceivable commodity a simple matter of going down to the wharves. She missed the familiarity of place and people, but she was not sorry to have left.

The women's bower in the castle had become a dolorous place since Edon's death, everyone cast into shocked mourning. Since the household was still grieving Earl Robert's death, the atmosphere had been unbearable.

Devizes was completely different. Here there was vast energy and bustle created by the red-haired young man in search of a crown. Henry was never still. Even if he physically stopped, his mind was whirling like a top. Those who surrounded him became charged with his vigour. They needed to be for Stephen and Eustace were like terriers after a rat, determined to seize Henry by the back of the neck and shake him until he was dead. They chased him hither and yon across the south-west, burning the harvests in the fields and slaughtering the livestock as they went.

Fortunately for Henry, if not the suffering people, allies such as Rannulf of Chester and Hugh of Norfolk created various diversions to draw Stephen and Eustace away when they came too close to their goal. Stephen turned north to Lincolnshire; Eustace to East Anglia. But the feeling of danger still crackled around Devizes like the air in a thunderstorm.

'Devon, Oliver announced to Catrin, with a bemused shake of his head. 'In two days' time. He sat on the bench that ran along the sidewall of their dwelling. They were renting a house owned by the monks at Reading. It had belonged to a merchant who, feeling his years, had exchanged it for a pension and care at the abbey.

'Henry is going to Devon? Catrin turned from the cauldron, a ladle of stew poised over a bowl. She saw his eyes flicker over her body and then determinedly look away.

Despite the looseness of her robe, her pregnancy was unmistakable now. Privately, Catrin thought that if she grew any larger she would burst, but did not say as much to Oliver. He was so ridden by his fear that one word out of place was enough to tip him over the edge. She was not unduly bothered by her size for she felt healthy and strong. There was only a slight swelling of her ankles at the end of the day and the baby's kicks were so vigorous that she had no qualms about its well-being. Securing a good midwife was proving difficult, but she was not going to mention that to Oliver either. With Henry's army based in Devizes and so many camp followers and wives in the town, midwives were in great demand and short supply. Until she grew too large, Catrin had attended at several births herself and was still receiving enquiries which she had been forced to turn away.

'With Stephen and Eustace out of the way, Henry has plans of his own; while the terriers are away, the rat intends making some inroads of his own, Oliver said. 'We're going to make a sally against Bridport.

Catrin ladled the stew into the bowl and set it down in front of him. His gambeson, once cream, was a dirty charcoal grey from the constant wearing of his steel hauberk. A summer in the saddle had left him wire-thin. His hair was almost white and his skin was so sun-bronzed that the greyness of fatigue was undetectable. Nevertheless she knew that it was there. Prince Henry drove men so hard that the path behind him was littered with their broken debris.

'Is that wise?

Oliver shrugged. 'We can likely take it, and there's a useful harbour. If matters go well, then we'll look to take other places. He rubbed his eyes. 'But provisioning the men is hard. The grass has almost stopped growing in the fields so we have to transport fodder for the horses or commandeer it from the nearest friendly castle. Half the time they haven't got enough for themselves because of the wrecked harvests. He dipped his spoon, stared at the stew, then ate it, but without relish. 'It's not going to win us a kingdom. 'Then what is it going to do?

'Prove to Stephen and Eustace that Henry's a thorn who refuses to be plucked from their sides. Prove to all witnesses that he can command men and go on the offensive even in the throes of being the underdog — and you know how much popular opinion loves an underdog. Henry milks that one for all it is worth.

Catrin nodded. 'I can see the sense in that. But if it still is not going to win him a kingdom, what is the point?

'It's laying the ground. It does not take a seer to foretell that we'll have to return to Normandy sooner or later. Henry needs more troops, more backing, more maturity.

She went to the door and looked out on the narrow street. A group of children, Rosamund among them, were floating twigs in a puddle, thoroughly absorbed in their game. She called her daughter to come and eat, and as she watched Rosamund come skipping felt a lump in her throat. Six years old. In another six she would be growing into a woman and the baby in Catrin's womb would be the child that Rosamund was now. She could not bear to think that they might still be at war when that time came.

'I wish I did not have to leave you, Oliver said, as she turned back into the room to ladle out a smaller bowl of stew for her daughter.

'And I wish you did not have to go, but there's no profit to be had in wishing. She forced herself to smile. 'Perhaps it is for the best. If you stay, you will only spend your time worrying and demanding to know if I'm all right. With Prince Henry's supplies to look after, you'll have no leisure for anxiety.

He echoed her smile but with less success. 'I don't need leisure for anxiety, he said. 'It will hound me whether I am occupied or not.

'I swear on Ethel's love knot that no harm will come to

me, Catrin said steadily. 'I promised you a strong child and. a healthy wife and mother to care for it, did I not? Just look to yourself. It will need a father too.

Rosamund danced into the room, her gown soaked, her face and hands muddy. Her arrival ended the conversation as Catrin attended to her and Oliver resumed eating, but Catrin could still sense the currents of fear and anxiety as a tangible presence within the room. It didn't matter how many assurances each gave the other, the feeling of naked vulnerability remained.

'Twins, no doubt about it, said Dame Sibell. 'I can feel a head here and here. She laid her hand on Catrin's mountainous belly. 'Won't be long before your time either.

The midwife was travelling to her niece's wedding in Ludgershall and was spending a week with her sister in Devizes before the two of them went to join the celebrations.

Catrin thought of her promise to Oliver. Bearing twins would make it more difficult to keep, but not impossible. Most women who bore two babies survived the experience, but there was a significant minority who did not. 'I am not surprised, she said. 'I knew I was too large for my time just to be carrying the one, unless it was a giant. Indeed, in a way she was relieved. She looked at Sibell. 'Can you stay for my confinement?

The midwife pursed her lips, causing the fine spider lines surrounding them to deepen and pucker. 'I can be back here in a three-week, she said, 'but I don't know as you'll last that long.

'But will you come?

'Aye, lass, if that's what you want.

'It is. Catrin struggled off the pallet. Her belly began under her breasts and was as round as a full moon. She had to lean over it to view her feet, and putting on shoes was a nightmare. She offered the midwife a cup of mead and listened politely to Dame Sibell's recounting of the family business that brought her away from Bristol. Then she asked after Geoffrey and his children.

'He's bearing it well to the world, but not within himself,

Sibell said sombrely. 'The children have gone to stay with his cousin in Gloucester and he visits them when he can, but I think he finds more solace in the bottom of a cup just now. 'Will it pass, do you think?

'Only time and God can say. Sibell crossed herself. 'At least he isn't hiding the grief away like some men. I keep thinking about the poor lass. There was nothing any of us could have done.

'No. Catrin laid her hand upon her belly and told herself fiercely that she was going to keep her promise to Oliver. For her sake, for his and Rosamund's. And Edon's memory.

Sibell finished the mead and took her leave, promising to return from Ludgershall as soon as she could.

The thought of twins in her mind, Catrin began sorting through her swaddling bands and linens to decide how much more she was going to need.

There was a sea-mist at dawn. Coughing, Oliver rose from sleep and found the entire camp bedewed in hoar. Soldiers faded in and out of the cloud like wraiths. The fires were damp and reluctant to burn, and everything had an other-worldly aspect. They were, after all, on the verge of King Arthur's old kingdom. Southwards lay Cornwall and the ruins of Tintagel that some said was once called Camelot.

Oliver was grateful for the fleece lining to his cloak for there was a biting chill in the air. Although full winter had yet to arrive, campaigning on its threshold was far from pleasant. His left arm ached and his fingertips were numb. Everything made of steel was streaked with rust.

For their pains they had taken Bridport as Henry had hoped, but other success had been elusive. Stephen's commander, de Tracy, had retreated behind his castle walls at Barnstaple, refusing to be drawn into open battle. Henry had pursued him doggedly but did not have the resources to crack open such a stronghold at one attempt. In retreating, de Tracy had burned everything in his path, leaving nothing for Henry's army to forage.

All that the cooking pot contained for breakfast was thin gruel. Being in command of supplies, Oliver was acutely sensitive about not taking more than his due. If there was no abuse, there could be no crime. He ladled some of the unappetising mixture into his bowl and thought with longing of Catrin's hearty stews, of hot hearth bricks, glowing logs, and the pleasure of a warm, dry bed.

The wistful pleasure of his thoughts was curtailed by a vision of Catrin stretched upon the rack of childbirth, her body arched, her belly mountainous with the child that she was unable to bear. The image was so vivid that he hissed through his teeth and, bowl in hand, went to kick awake the other men at his fire so that he was not alone with his fears.

After breaking his fast, he tended to Lucifer and went to find Henry. The mist was slowly clearing and men were gathered around the fires, warming their hands, spitting and coughing the winter damp from their lungs.

Henry was breaking his own fast with his cousin, Philip of Gloucester, and Roger, Earl of Hereford. Gruel was their fare too, but enriched with milk and sweetened with honey. To one side, a pretty young woman was daintily dipping a spoon into a bowl. She had silvery hair and a pink and cream complexion. Henry's cloak was wrapped around her body, keeping out the morning chill. Oliver marvelled anew at the Prince's ability to find attractive bed mates even in the middle of nowhere. A pity he could not conjure up oats, stockfish and wine while he was about it.

Oliver swept them a bow but before he could open his mouth, Henry pre-empted him with a wave of his horn spoon. 'Yes, Pascal, I know. We're short of everything but mist and rain; there are no friendly keeps within foraging distance, and nothing left to take from the land because de Tracy has burned it all. He gestured Oliver to sit down. Henry himself remained standing, his shoulder pushed against the tent post. 'If we could take Barnstaple of course… His grey eyes gleamed.

For one dreadful moment, Oliver thought that Henry might seriously be intending such a move, but the Prince gave a regretful shrug of his shoulders and sighed.

'Unfortunately, I don't have the force to do it — not this time at least. But I've sunk my teeth in and I will do so again.

'So we're turning back? Oliver asked, with a feeling of relief.

'Aye, said Philip of Gloucester, and gave Henry a wry look. 'Although not without due consideration. Despite being cousins there was no family resemblance. Philip had inherited Mabile's cow-brown eyes and he had Earl Robert's fine, dark hair and receding hair-line. He was an accomplished soldier but, like his father before him, not inclined to take risks unless pushed. His experience informed and balanced Henry's opinions and decisions. Roger of Hereford said nothing, but that was usual. His character was dour and quiet. Getting him to say anything at all was like prising open the jaws of a bull-baiting dog with a wooden spoon.

Henry set his bowl aside. 'You could obtain supplies if I wanted to keep up the campaign, couldn't you? he asked Oliver.

'Only by sending to Bristol by coastal trader, sire. There is nothing here except what we carry. You could put the men on half rations and hope to find a few farms that have escaped the torch, but it makes for poor morale.

'So you agree with the decision to turn back?

'Yes, sire, I do.

'Then you can escort the vanguard. Move out as soon as you can strike camp. Henry ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. 'I need not tell you that it falls to your duty as the commander of the van to find us a safe place to rest for the night and provender for man and beast.

'No, sire, Oliver said, managing to keep a blank expression. 'You need not tell me.

Catrin winced at the amount that the cloth-trader was demanding for a loom length of plain, unbleached linen with which to make swaddling bands.

'Bad harvest, he said, spreading his hands. 'Too much sun and rain at the wrong time. Add that to the burning of war and it don't leave a sight for weaving. He rubbed the side of his nose and looked at her. 'Tell you what, since you're in need, mistress, I'll cut my own wrists and offer you the length for two shillings.

Catrin shook her head. 'We have to eat, she said, with a gesture at Rosamund who was wearing her oldest gown — one that was almost too short and had a patched hem. It was her playing gown, she had two others that were far better, but Catrin knew that traders always based their amount of profit on the customer's personal appearance. Of course, she did not want him to think that she was not worth the bother, so she had dressed herself neatly but plainly; a respectable townswoman who was prepared to buy but not to be fleeced.

'Can't sell it to you for less, but what about this bolt end? He produced a fine piece of tawny wool with a thread of darker weave running through it. 'Make a dress for the little lass. Colour suits her a treat. I'll give it to you free of charge.

Catrin pondered. It was his first offer and she could probably improve on it if she was prepared to bargain hard. Seeing a sale in the offing, the trader gave her his stool to rest upon. 'Take the weight off your feet, he said with a kindly wink.

Catrin thanked him and offered him one and a half shillings. He shook his head and sucked his teeth, finally declaring that she was robbing him but he would accept one shilling and nine pennies.

'With the tawny wool thrown in? Catrin said.

He laughed and scratched his head beneath his woollen hood. 'With the tawny wool thrown in, he said. 'It's a good thing not all my customers drive such hard bargains. I have to eat too.

Catrin took his complaint with a very large pinch of salt. Traders might have different ways of selling and their own line of banter, but some phrases were common to all. She paid over the coins and waited while he tied the linen and the wool into a bundle with a length of hemp twine. Rosamund was looking at the silks on the end of his stall and wistfully fingering a length of shimmering sea-green.

'Good taste for one so young, the trader commented with a nod.

'Expensive tastes, Catrin said, thinking that Rosamund had more than a touch of her father's love of luxury. Louis, whatever his failings, had also possessed an excellent sense of style and Rosamund had inherited this too.

'May she marry a rich husband and revisit my stall often, the trader said, clasping his hands as if in prayer. There was a twinkle in his small brown eyes.

Catrin smiled in reply and went to drag Rosamund away from the silks. Now that she had her linen, she wanted to go home and rest her aching feet.

It was then that they heard the commotion and turned to see an agitated horseman riding among the market crowds, shouting at the top of his voice. His mount was lathered and its nostrils showed a crimson lining.

'Eustace! the man bellowed, his voice raw and hoarse. 'Eustace is coming, save yourselves!

Catrin and the cloth-trader looked at each other in stunned shock. 'Eustace is putting down a rising in East Anglia, Catrin said faintly.

'He ain't if he's here. The trader began to pack up his stall with rapid efficiency. 'Be a regular feather in his cap if he takes this place.

The horseman rode closer to the cloth stall, still bellowing the alarm. 'Eustace and his army, not five miles away, hide while you can!

'Not five miles means closer to three, the trader said grimly. 'He's almost killed his horse getting here to warn us, but Eustace won't be travelling slow either. He looked at Catrin. 'Where's your home and husband, mistress?

'My home's near the castle, my husband's with Prince Henry, Catrin answered in a distracted voice, and grabbed hold of Rosamund's hand.

'Do you want a ride there on my cart? You'll not be wanting to run anywhere. He indicated her swollen belly.

Catrin thanked him gratefully and set about helping to pack up his bales. All around them other traders were hastily throwing their wares on to carts and across pack ponies, while the townspeople fled towards the safety of church and castle.

'God curse this damned war, the trader muttered, as he backed his old cob up to the cart. 'My father was a cloth merchant in the days of old King Henry. You could travel from one end of the country to the other and know that you were not in danger. I've a son of my own at home — twelve years old. I dare not bring him into the towns for fear of happenings like this.

Catrin lifted Rosamund on to the cart. Her belly felt tight and there was a low ache in the small of her spine. She pushed the sensations to the back of her mind. They might be a warning of the onset of labour, but by her reckoning she was not due for two more weeks at least and her first priority was getting herself and Rosamund to safety.

She clambered up beside Rosamund on to the bales of fabric. The trader sat on the front board and shook the reins. The cob took the weight and the cart rumbled forward on the road. The bumping of the wheels sent a squeezing sensation through Catrin's belly. She put her hand across it and found that her womb was as tight as a drum. The pain niggled in the small of her back. All around there were people running, stumbling, crying out in fear.

Rosamund was stroking one of the fabric bolts as if taking comfort from the slippery feel of silk beneath her small fingers. 'Prince Eustace won't catch us, will he, Mama?

'No, of course not, Catrin said rather too brightly. 'We'll be safe at the castle.

'If they let us in, the trader muttered under his breath.

Reaching the keep, however, was their first problem; every other citizen had had the same idea, and the way was blocked by carts, by people running with armfuls of belongings, by panicking horses and their frantic owners. The trader cursed and laid around with his whip, but to no avail.

Catrin picked up her bundle and beckoned to Rosamund. 'It's quicker to walk. Laboriously, she clambered down off the cart. 'I wish you luck, she said to the trader.

He shook his head grimly. "Tis either my life, or my livelihood. One's no use without the other.

Catrin left him struggling to inch his cart through the tide and joined the smaller flotsam of running people. They were jostled, bumped and buffeted. Rosamund began to cry. The dull ache in the small of Catrin's spine grew sharper and the tightness across her belly became pain. Despite her anxiety, her need to reach the haven of the castle, she had to rest against a house wall to wait out the contraction.

'Mama, what's wrong? Rosamund's voice was high and frightened. 'I don't like it. I don't want Prince Eustace to come and get me! She clutched Catrin's hand and began to wail.

Catrin bit her lip to stifle her gasp of pain. 'It's all right, no one's going to hurt you, she panted when she could speak. 'I won't let anything happen, I promise. She forced herself away from the wall and rejoined the crowd of running townspeople.

As they approached the castle's outer works, another contraction seized her in its grip and brought her up short with a bitten-off cry.

'Mama! Rosamund screamed, her dark eyes wild with fear.

Catrin struggled with the pain. When she had borne Rosamund she had been in labour for a full day and the first spasms had been far apart and irregular. These assaulting her now were close together and much stronger. The labour looked as if it was going to be vigorous and short.

With relief, she saw a neighbour making her way towards the keep, her three children clinging to her skirts. The two boys and a girl were Rosamund's playmates and their father was a cook at the castle. Goda, their mother, wove braid and sold it to make belts and straps.

Catrin called out and Goda turned. A deeper look of concern crossed the woman's already anxious features.

'Catrin?

'Will you take Rosamund with you? Catrin panted 'I cannot run and I want her to be safe if anything should happen.

The woman looked at the way Catrin's hand was pressed against her belly. 'God save you, mistress, she said, 'of course I will.

Catrin gave Rosamund a kiss and a swift hug. 'Go with Goda, she commanded. 'I'll find you later.

Rosamund's lower lip quivered, but she was an obedient child and had no reason to doubt her mother's word. Besides, Goda's daughter Alfreda was her best friend.

'You will be all right? Goda asked, lingering but wanting to be gone.

Catrin made a small gesture and nodded. She could feel another contraction gathering and tightening. 'Yes, go. I'll follow you up.

Goda told Rosamund to hold Alfreda's hand, and set off, tugging the children at a pace that was a half-run. Rosamund looked back over her shoulder and waved. Returning the wave, Catrin looked at the sweet oval of her daughter's face, the black hair curling round her cheeks where it had escaped its braid, and wondered if it was the last time she was ever going to see her.

Taking herself to task for such a negative thought, she forced her legs to move. When the contraction grew too fierce, she stopped to try and breathe through it. As the pain eased, she heard the first scream and, turning round, saw the plumes of smoke rising from the houses behind her.

There were more people running and screaming now. Those who had been in their homes, those who had not heard the warnings, now fled before the looters and the flames.

Catrin swallowed, tasting smoke as the wind drove the stink of burning thatch into her face. The castle was less than two furlongs away but unless she reached the safety of its walls, she would die. Terror drove her onwards step by staggering step, while behind her the sounds of destruction grew.

There was a sudden hot gush of liquid between her thighs as her waters broke, drenching her undergown and shoes. The contractions sharpened, growing hard and deep, doubling her over as she reached the outer ditch. As she screamed with the pain and dropped to her knees, the first soldiers rode up to the outerworks, their weapons red in their hands.

People scattered, wailing and screaming. Some fell beneath the chop of sword and mace. The contraction passed, but instead of struggling to her feet and trying to run, Catrin slumped to the ground and closed her eyes. It was freezing and wet, it was dangerous, but still safer than attempting to outrun the savagery of Eustace's troops. Her mind's eye filled with a vision of Penfoss burning under a lazy summer sky;

the rape and butchery; the stench of blood and eyes blank of mercy. Amice miscarrying. Oliver.

Another spasm hit her and she dug her fingernails into her palms and stifled her scream against the moist ground. The taste of mud was in her mouth, the crackle of flame and the brutal, metallic thud of warfare filled her ears. She was part of it, her body seared and torn by shattering pain. The roar of battle grew with the intensity of the contraction. A horse thundered past so close that mud sprayed from its hooves and spattered her face. She lifted her lids and saw feathered black hocks and heavy steel shoes. Swords clashed. There were grunts of effort, and then a dull thump followed by a gasp of pain. She raised her eyes and saw spurs dig into the black's flanks as the man astride wheeled him and rode out of her vision.

For a far too brief and grateful moment, Catrin was free of labour pains. She dared not move for fear of being struck down, so her vision was limited and what she saw confused her. The mounted soldiers had ceased to attack the fleeing townspeople and were fighting among themselves. She was so dazed that even when one of the men yelled 'Le Roi Henri! at the top of his lungs, she did not understand at first.

It was only when she saw the distinctive brown and white patches of Richard FitzRoy's skewbald destrier and the red shield with its gold lion blazon that she realised their own troops had returned. Richard was staring round, his sword in his hand, his jaw with its edging of new black beard clenched and grim.

Catrin forced herself to her feet and screamed his name, but he didn't hear her. He was seeking Eustace's mercenaries, not a hysterical woman dripping with mud.

'Richard, for God's love help me! she shrieked, but he was gone, spurring along the top of the ditch.

The next contraction hit, and an uncontrollable urge to push swelled down through Catrin's loins.

She lurched towards the outer wall, needing to brace herself. Another wave of mounted men ploughed into those already fighting amongst the outer works. There were more belligerent shouts of 'Le Roi Henri! If she had not been in so much pain,

Catrin would have laughed. At least she had a guard while she gave birth.

Another red shield flashed, this one emblazoned with a gold cross. It was smaller and lighter than the great kite shields of his companions and he held it at a tilted angle as if his arm was tired. The horse was a steel grey, its coat made light silver by a thickening of winter hair.

'Oliver! she screamed, putting the last of her voice and all of her will into the cry.

He turned his head. His eyes wandered as if he had heard something but was not sure what or from where. Then he saw her. His fist came up on the bridle and he tore the horse out of line. In one movement, scarcely before the animal had stopped, he was out of the saddle, shield and sword discarded as he gathered her in his arms.

'Christ, Catrin, what are you doing here?

Her fingers dug into the cold, steel hauberk rivets. 'Bearing a child! she panted.

'What!

'No, that's a lie. Bearing two! Grasping him for support, she rode out the next contraction. 'Oliver, I'm in travail!

He stared frantically round. 'We'll get you inside the keep. He started to lift her but she thrust him off.

'No time. Too late. Spread your horse blanket on the ground.

'Christ, Catrin, you can't! He gaped at her in sheer horror.

'Tell that to your offspring! she gasped. 'Quickly, you'll have to help me, there's no one else!

'I don't know what to do! His voice rose and cracked.

'I'll show you. She curled her fingers in his hauberk and pressed her forehead into his chest. The urge to push was unbearable.

With a gasp like a drowning man, Oliver left her to run to his horse and tug the blanket off the crupper. At the same time he yelled at the wide-eyed Richard to go and find some female help.

He spread the blanket against the palisade fence lining the ditch. Catrin propped herself against the stakes, her legs drawn high and wide and her skirts soaked with mud and birthing fluid.

'Jesu, Oliver said hoarsely. His face was ashen.

'Tell me when the head is there. You will need to support it as it is born.

Oliver swallowed. He felt sick. He wanted to run and hide. The nearest he had been to a birth was pacing up and down outside a closed bedchamber door while behind it Emma died. Now Catrin was demanding that he play midwife. He glanced over his shoulder in the forlorn hope that help might be at hand, but there were only more soldiers going brutally about the business of securing the keep's outerworks and driving Eustace's troops from the town. Smoke billowed and there was a sting of rain in the wind.

'Oliver! she screamed, her spine rammed up against the wood of the palisade.

Her cry brought him reeling to his senses. With no one else to help them, he had no choice.

'It's all right, I'm here, he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, and knew that he would rather face heavy battle with his injured hand a hundred times over than crouch here now and watch Catrin suffer.

She grunted and strained, putting all her breath, all her will and effort, into pushing the baby into the world. Wet and dark, the head crowned at the birth entrance.

'It's here, Oliver said and reached out. Catrin was biting her lip and her face was flushed with exertion, but her eyes were lucid and fierce on his, demanding his attention.

'Is the cord clear?

'It's not around the neck. Sweet Christ, its eyes are open!

'Wouldn't yours be? Catrin panted. 'Now the shoulders, take the shoulders. Don't pull on the cord.

Once the shoulders were out, the rest of the baby followed in a slippery rush and Oliver only just kept hold of his offspring. 'A boy, he said, on a note full of stunned surprise at the swiftness with which matters had progressed. The baby regarded him, a similar, if more myopic, expression on its face, then yelled lustily and waved its tiny arms. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around the infant and laid it beside

Catrin. The cord still pulsed between her thighs. Her belly looked little smaller than it had done before. Blood smeared her flesh and welled around the birth passage but the flow was not copious.

'You see, I promised you, she said, with a tremulous smile.

'Jesu God, I don't want any more promises in this fashion! Oliver retorted, a quiver in his voice. His eyes went from her to the crying baby. He could feel his limbs weakening. In a moment he was going to collapse.

'Wait, it's not finished yet, she said sharply as she saw him waver. 'Did you not hear me say that there were two of them?

Oliver licked his lips. 'Two? he said hoarsely.

She nodded, unable to speak, and braced herself against the palisade. 'Pull gently on the cord, the first afterbirth's coming.

By the time two women from the castle finally arrived, so had Oliver and Catrin's second son. He was a little smaller than his older brother but just as loud. Hands trembling with shock and relief, Oliver wrapped him with the first one and gazed at their two crumpled little faces side by side.

'Twins, he said numbly. 'Jesu, Catrin. Even to deliver one would have been a baptism by fire.

'So now you are thoroughly scoured. Through the weariness, her voice held a note of triumph. 'You need never fear again.

He rubbed his hands over his face. 'I wouldn't say that. I tell you, if men had to bear children the human race would quickly come to an end. But there was a gleam of satisfaction in his grey eyes. The very fact that he had been able to do something, instead of standing helplessly outside a locked door, had been a catharsis.

Crying and exclaiming over Catrin's state, the women bundled her into warm blankets and gave her wine to drink. Richard had possessed the foresight to send out two men with a rope stretcher and, in no time, Catrin was lifted up and borne with her new sons into the keep.

Prince Henry, still in his mail, his red hair rumpled from wearing a coif, came striding across the hall to look as mother and babies were carried through. 'Born against the palisade wall in the pouring rain and delivered by their father; that marks them out as unusual from the beginning. He smiled at Oliver. 'Name the eldest Henry, and I'll stand godfather to them both.

It was not an offer that Oliver was about to refuse. A royal godfather was a giant step up fortune's ladder. 'I was going to do as much, sire, he said gracefully, and bowed.

'Just as long as you don't name the second one Eustace. Henry's smile became a grin, although there was a hint of a snarl at its edges. Eustace had almost seized Devizes. Although he had been thwarted and his mercenaries had taken a battering from Henry's troops, houses and livelihoods had been destroyed and Eustace had proved that he could strike right at the heart of Henry's defences.

'My wife has the gift of his naming, sire, Oliver replied, with a tender look at Catrin.

'Then what say you, mistress?

'Simon, Catrin said immediately. 'For Oliver's brother, killed in the first years of the strife.

Henry nodded and looked pleased. Across the hall Roger of Hereford beckoned his attention and, with a parting murmur of congratulation, he strode off.

Catrin was conducted to a small wall-chamber where she was cleaned, tended and left to rest with her new-born sons.

On his way out to find Rosamund and bring her to see her new brothers, Oliver paused on the threshold and gazed at Catrin and the babies, one either side of her on the pallet.

'What? She raised heavy lids to look at him.

Oliver shook his head and smiled. 'I was just thinking that once I had nothing but dregs in my cup and now it's full to the brim.

She smiled back at him. 'So is mine, she said.