The Love Knot

Chapter 35

Agatha the laundress deposited the basket of fresh linen on the trestle. 'All done, she declared. 'Since you've returned to Bristol, you've been one of my best customers.

Catrin gave her a rueful smile as she paid Agatha for her work. 'Some would say that I'm a dreadful spendthrift for washing chemises and shirts more than twice a year.

'Not me, Agatha chuckled, putting the coins in her pouch. 'And I'll tell you something else. The knights who pay me to wash their shirts and drawers the most often are the ones who have the success where women are concerned. Who wants to get close to someone who smells like a gong farmer? She glanced around the room. 'Fine house, she nodded. 'Ethel would have liked it here.

'We've rented it from Geoffrey FitzMar, Catrin said, joining Agatha in her admiration of the spacious proportions afforded by the cruck frame. 'Oliver's riding on soon, but I'm staying here with the children until the army returns. She offered Agatha a cup of wine. The laundress's eyes gleamed and she plumped down on a stool.

'Just a cup, she said, 'else I won't be fit to do my work. After all the sadness that Geoffrey FitzMar's had, it's good to see him back on his feet again.

They sat and talked for a while. Of Geoffrey, of the war, of women's things. Rosamund proudly showed Agatha her braid weaving and a scrap of wool embroidery she had been doing. The boys clamoured to be jiggled on her ample lap.

There was a knock at the door. Cup in hand, a smile on her lips, Catrin opened it upon a townsman — one of the poorer citizens who earned his living from holding horses, carrying baggage and running errands. She knew him vaguely, for on a couple of occasions he had been sent to fetch her to a childbirth.

'Eldred, isn't it? she said.

'Aye, mistress, that it is. His teeth were yellow and little more than worn-down stumps in the gum. He poked his head round the door. 'Morning, Mistress Agatha.

'Morning, Eldred, she replied, with obvious irritation.

'What can I do for you? Catrin asked.

Eldred eyed the wine but was not so foolish as to chance his luck. 'I been asked to find a midwife, one as knows her trade. I knew you was back in Bristol, word gets around. I said as I'd bring you straight away if I could. He sleeved a drip from his nose and sniffed loudly. An overpowering stink of midden heaps wafted from his garments. Another of his occupations was sorting through the town's rubbish for items still of use and Catrin suspected that his clothes were some of the finds. Her nose told her for a fact that he had never paid a laundress in his life.

'Now? The woman is labouring now? Catrin lifted her cloak from the peg in the wall.

Eldred shrugged and spread his grimy hands. 'I reckon so. J Didn't see her, only the husband, but he were trembling like a leaf. He pays well — be worth your while. |

'Agatha, will you look after Rosamund and the boys until myself or Oliver returns?

'Aye, mistress, go on with you. The older woman waved her hand. 'Where be you going in case we have to find you?

'Wharf Alley, Eldred said. 'In the middle, atween the cookshop and the bathhouse.

With that they were gone. Agatha frowned after the closed door and pursed her lips.

While Wharf Alley was not the worst area in Bristol, neither was it the most salubrious. In between the houses of the merchants and craftworkers, there were bakeries and cookshops. There were also taverns and bathhouses. A man could have a meal, get drunk and find a whore all without walking more than thirty yards. He could be robbed and tossed in the river within the same distance too.

'This house, said Eldred, halting before a dwelling that was squeezed in the middle of two larger establishments. Its daub and wattle walls had recently been limewashed and the thatch was also new.

'Belongs to the folk at the bathhouse, Eldred confided. 'They bought it off the widow who used to live there. Rent it out now, they do.

Catrin eyed the house as Eldred banged on the door. It was the sort of place that men used for assignations with their mistresses, rather than renting as a domestic home. Perhaps the mistress was in labour.

Eldred's knock was answered by the red-haired Welshman.

'I brought the midwife like your master wanted, he announced.

Catrin did not recognise Ewan at first, except to know that she had seen him somewhere before. By the time she did, she was over the threshold and putting down the hood of her cloak.

'Ewan? Her eyes widened.

So did the soldier's before he rounded on Eldred. 'What trickery is this? he snarled.

Eldred stared in bewilderment. 'No trickery, he said. 'You asked for a midwife, I said I could find you one and here she is. You owe me my fee. He extended his hand.

'You're owed nothing, Ewan growled.

Catrin felt weak and disoriented with shock. Ewan's master could only be Louis. Mother of God, after all these years. He flitted in and out of her life like a destructive spirit; wreaking havoc and leaving her to pick up the pieces, only to reappear and dash them to the ground again in ever more fragile shards. She laid her hand on Eldred's indignant sleeve.

'Escort me home, Eldred, she said, with as much calm as she could muster. 'I myself will pay your fee. She turned to the door.

'That will not be necessary, Louis said quietly, and barred her way. 'Master Eldred, I thank you. He gave the messenger a silver halfpenny and, setting his hand on Catrin's shoulder to detain her, stood aside to let the man depart. Then he closed the door.

But for the thought of the woman she had been brought to aid, Catrin would have thrust him off and hastened after Eldred. She glared at her husband. 'I was summoned to attend at a childbirth, she said. 'I suppose some other unfortunate woman has fallen victim to your charm.

Louis looked hurt. 'Why do you always think the worst of me, Catty?

'Because I know now that there is no better, she retorted. 'And my name is Catrin. What are you doing in Bristol, Lewis?

He shrugged and smiled, familiar gestures which had once sent a pang through her, but now filled her with distaste. They were affected, not charming. 'The same as everyone else. Paying court to Prince Henry, our future King.

'Why, do you think he might give you a castle to ruin?

A scowl marred his brow. 'You've still got the claws, I see.

'I don't suffer fools gladly. Show me to the woman in travail or else let me go. She set her hand on the door latch.

'There isn't a woman in travail, Louis said. 'The need for a midwife is my own. I did not know that the old beggar would bring you.

'What? Catrin gazed at him and wondered if he had lost his wits. 'Why should you want a midwife?

Louis flicked a glance at Ewan. 'Go next door and amuse yourself, he said, flipping the soldier a coin. 'I want to talk privately with my wife.

'I am not your wife, Catrin said coldly. 'You gave up that right when you rode out of Wickham and left me and a tiny baby to face the siege.

'You are mine in the eyes of the Church.

'But not in my own and that is all that matters.

Eyes lowered, Ewan opened the door and stepped out into the street. Catrin started after him, but Louis was quicker and leaped in front of her, his extended arm barring her way.

Filled with loathing and a spark of fear, Catrin drew herself up. 'Let me go, she hissed. 'For whatever purpose you want a midwife, find someone else. I owe you neither loyalty nor service.

'Then what about pity, Catrin? His voice softened and filled with pathos. 'Can you not find it within you to pity me?

'No, I can't, she answered savagely, but was aware of a betraying spark of uncertainty.

Louis perceived and sprang upon it immediately. 'I do not believe that. Your heart was always tender even if the shell was of steel. He bowed his head. 'I'm dying. That's why I sent Ewan away; he doesn't know. You'll be rid of me sooner than you know.

'Dying? Catrin did not know whether to laugh or be appalled, to believe or to doubt. 'I can see nothing wrong with you. She couldn't. He was lean and tanned, with all the vibrancy she remembered.

'Then look again.

She followed his gaze along the outstretched arm barring her from freedom and saw on the bare skin of his wrist a raw patch about the size of a brooch.

'Leprosy, he said, lowering his arm and turning it to show her the sore in more detail. 'The crusader's plague. I took the cross to atone for my sins and it took my life. Pity me, Catrin. Lie in your warm, adulterous bed and think of me at the roadside in beggar's rags with a clapper bell for my bedmate and the cry of "Unclean!" on my lips.

She shook her head and swallowed, her gaze drawn in fascination to the raw skin with its scummy, grey edges. She had often seen lepers before, had thrown them quarter and halfpennies for charity's sake, but always from a distance. They clothed themselves in voluminous robes to conceal the desecration wrought on their bodies by the disease, but she had seen enough sores to know the signs.

'Go if you want. He stood aside, leaving her way free to the wet street outside. 'Go back to your life and pretend that we were ships that passed in the night, that we never had this collision.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, she whispered. Handsome, vain Louis with his need for adulation, his delight in all things sensual. It was the cruellest end that fate could have devised. Although the doorway yawned, she found it impossible to walk out.

'So am I. He pulled his sleeve down over the sore. 'I understand that it creeps slowly; that it will be a while before it reaches my fingers and causes them to rot. For the present, at least, I can hide the sore, live among other men and make my way in the world. But soon enough that will change. He gave her a mocking look. 'Now do you pity me?

Catrin clenched her fists. She felt compassion and loathing in equal proportions. It was typical of Louis that he would rather infect others with the disease than sacrifice his own way of living. 'What good would it be to you if I did?

The mocking expression vanished and in its place came, a pleading look through which calculation glimmered. 'For pity's sake you might help me to live.

'Why should I do that when it would be of more benefit to me to have you dead?

His smile was more than half grimace as he shut the open door. 'Conscience, Catty, your bleeding conscience. I don't have one, but you always had enough for both of us. That's why you didn't walk out when I gave you the chance.

She bit her lip, knowing that he was right and as always he had found a weakness and exploited it. 'I know of no cure for leprosy, she said. 'There is nothing I can do for you.

'But there is. The physicians in the Holy Land are more learned than any here. They know of all manner of remedies that we have not even begun to comprehend. His eyes gleamed.

'I know that there is a great healing tradition among the peoples of Araby, Catrin answered. 'Ethel taught me many of their ways. But I know of none for leprosy. She wondered what his intention was. Why did he need a midwife when a physician was the more obvious choice? A niggling suspicion began to grow in her mind, but it was so preposterous that she did not allow it to surface.

'Then the wise-woman did not teach you everything; she was not as wise as she thought. Louis smiled and folded his arms, but she could see that it was a facade, that he was trembling with suppressed fear or excitement.

'What do you want? she demanded, suddenly impatient. 'Bleeding conscience or not, I swear I will leave. I have my man and my children waiting at home.

'Then you are fortunate. All I have is Ewan and my rotting flesh, he replied with a curl of his lip. 'How is my daughter?

'If you had stayed, you would know, Catrin said contemptuously. 'You can lay as little claim to her as you lay to me, and that is nothing.

He snorted, and looked away. 'I do not blame you for being bitter, Catty, but at least have a little charity.

'I'm not bitter; I'm happy, she retorted. 'Rosamund is flourishing and bids fair to be a beauty, and I have two fine sons. Oliver and I are greatly content. As to charity… If all you have is Ewan and your rotting flesh, then you have only yourself to blame. Now tell me what it is you want from me and let me go. She took a step towards the door to emphasise her point. From outside came the sound of hurrying footsteps in the rain. They faded away down the street. Next door the cook-stall owner was riddling out his brick oven.

'The cure for leprosy is an ointment made up of several ingredients, Louis said against the backdrop of the muted, familiar sound. 'All of them but one can be obtained by an apothecary…

'All but one? Catrin repeated, and the hair began to rise on the nape of her neck.

He unfolded his arms and braced them on the trestle. 'I need the fat rendered from a stillborn infant, he said. 'Only a midwife can obtain it for me.

'Jesu God! Catrin stared at him in utter revulsion. 'I knew that you loved yourself, but I did not realise that it was to the perdition of your very soul! The answer is no!

'I need it, Catty, I have to have it and I can pay — in gold. He waved his hand. 'Christ, don't look at me like that. What does it matter if the child's dead? It doesn't need its fat. Even if it's buried intact, the worms will feast on the flesh and leave only bones.

Catrin struggled not to retch, but it was no use. She staggered over to a corner and heaved. She had dwelt with the dark side of Louis's personality at Wickham, but never had she guessed its true depths. It was sacrilege but he gave it no more importance than the butchering of an animal. A lamb to the slaughter. She swallowed and swallowed again, her mind filled with the images of children she had delivered. Of Rosamund and the twins, red and bawling from her womb. Of Edon's slashed body and the grey, dead baby.

'I thought your stomach was stronger than that, he said behind her. 'All I am asking is that you procure me a dead new-born. Bring it to me and I will do the rest.

Catrin thought that she was going to faint. For a moment the world whirled and blackened. She clutched the wall and drew slow, deep breaths. 'Even to ask such a thing puts you on the road to hell, she said, hearing her own voice as if from a distance.

'If I do not find a cure, I will be in hell, he answered desperately. 'I will pay you in gold bezants, Catty.

'Not all the coin in the world would buy my services for such a deed.

There was a long silence behind her, then he said, 'What if I give you an annulment to our marriage so that you can wed Pascal? What if I obtained a dispensation from the Church?

There was an instant, the tiniest flash when, to her utter revulsion, Catrin felt herself respond, and because of that her abhorrence redoubled. He offered her what she wanted at a cost beyond paying. 'Perhaps you don't have leprosy, she said, gritting her teeth. 'Perhaps it is just your rotten soul bursting through your skin. She turned and faced him, her complexion ashen. 'I want neither your money nor your bribes nor any part of you.

They stared at each other. Then he lowered his eyes and shrugged. 'I thought you would have more compassion, but I see I was wrong. I can expect more from a stranger. His mouth twitched in a bitter smile. 'Never fret, Catty, I'll find someone less self-righteous who can be bought.

Catrin stepped to the door and set her hand on the latch. Although she was trembling inside, her movements were decisive. 'Not here, she said, 'not in Bristol. I will tell every other midwife about you, and then I will go and tell the sheriff. By that time you will be on board an Irish galley or as far away from here as your horse can gallop. Her gaze was cold and bright. 'If you are not, then you will hang.

'You wouldn't do that. His voice was uncertain.

'Watch me, she said, jerked the door open, and banged out into the rainy street.

Louis stared at the door and listened to the echoes of its slamming. His first emotion was disbelief that she had threatened him and then walked out, leaving him no time for the final word. Hard on the heels of disbelief came anger and then, because he was Louis, outrage. She was his wife, she had no right to gainsay his will. He should have forced her to her knees and beaten her into submission rather than offering her rewards and reason. He had not liked the way she said that she was going to warn the other midwives in the city and then seek out the sheriff. If she did that he would become a fugitive, no longer the hunter but the hunted, as much for the disease as his request for a cure. No one would tolerate a leper in their community.

'Bitch, Louis swore. He grabbed his sword belt from against the wall and flung open the door. She had to be stopped.

Catrin ran, uncaring of the puddles which soaked her feet and splashed the hem of her gown. Raindrops and tears mingled on her face. The wind was cold, but the chills that shook her body were of shock. To have encountered Louis under ordinary circumstances would have been difficult enough, but this last meeting had been hellish. Again and again she heard him describe what he wanted in that smiling, reasonable voice that suggested she was the one at fault. The details rolled around in her head. If she stopped running, she knew she would begin retching again. 'Catrin, wait!

She turned round, narrowing her eyes against the needle slant of the rain. Louis was waving at her and running up the thoroughfare. He wore no cloak, his dark head was bare but, despite having no time to dress for the weather, he had put on his sword belt.

That was enough warning. If she waited, she would be dead. Whirling, she began to run, at the same time drawing her satchel forward and groping inside it for the knife Oliver had given her. If he caught up with her, she would use it. Memories of Randal de Mohun swept through her mind. She saw herself cornered again, and felt the wind of the blade and then the fiery pain in her side. Louis would not kill her in full view of witnesses. He would catch her, drag her into some Shambles alley and silence her there. It was easily done. She had almost been a victim once before. She was not going to be a victim now.

Running in skirts was difficult. Heavy and wet, the hem slapped against her legs. People looked at her curiously. Even in these parts of the city, a running woman was a sight to be remarked upon. Behind her she could hear Louis panting in her wake and knew without looking round that he was gaining on her. He had always been fleet of foot and her own neighbourhood and the castle seemed impossibly far away. Before her, the church of Saint Nicholas rose against the fortified city wall and she redoubled her effort. If she could reach the sanctuary of its interior, she would be safe.

'Stop her, stop the whore! Louis's shout pursued her, nipping at her heels. 'Thieving bitch has stolen my pouch, stop her!

A man stepped out in front of Catrin, his arms outspread to do just that. Catrin sobbed and ducked. His fingers closed on her wimple and for a choking moment he yanked her back. Then the fabric gave, her black braids tumbled down, and she was free and running. But the check had given Louis precious yards and she knew that she was not going to reach the precincts of the church.

'She's gone to a birth in Wharf Alley, Agatha replied to Oliver's enquiry. 'Don't know how long she'll be. Eldred fetched her 'bout an hour ago. She tilted her head to one side and eyed him anxiously. 'Is there something amiss, my lord?

Oliver looked at the plump old woman, at his sons sharing her lap. Henry with Catrin's hazel eyes, Simon with grey like him. Rosamund sat at their feet, absorbed in braiding five loops of wool. She was dark and bright like Louis and Oliver had no intention of giving her up to him. Catrin neither. And he did not care what it cost. 'Yes, there is, he said. 'I need to see Catrin now. Will you stay and tend the children a while longer?

'Of course, my lord. There was naked curiosity in her gaze, and then fear as he took his sword from the coffer and laced it on to his belt.

'Wharf Alley you said?

Agatha swallowed. 'Yes, my lord. Halfway down next to the bathhouse.

With a last glance at the laundress and his children, Oliver went out. The rain whispered in the wind, soft as cobwebs, and the sky was a clinging grey. He turned down Corn Street and headed towards the river. As he strode, he rehearsed what he was going to say to Catrin. His initial impulse was born of instinct not reason. He only knew that Louis's presence was dangerous and that he needed to have Catrin at his side, as close as Adam's rib. He had to see her, hold and touch her and know that Louis was powerless.

Although he was sure of Catrin, he had a supernatural dread that Louis would still find some way of winning her back. The thought made him quicken his pace and swear softly under his breath. As he reached St Nicholas Street and turned right, his hand was on his sword hilt, and those who encountered him stepped rapidly out of his way.

'Stop her, stop the whore!

The cry pierced his concentration. His eyes flickered to the left and he saw a woman running, her stride desperate with no space for decorum. In the same instant, he realised it was Catrin and that she was being run down by Louis like a wolf after a doe. A man stepped out to bar her way, and her wimple tore off in his hand. Catrin's black braids streamed down her back. She ran, and then she whirled to face her pursuers, her knife at the ready.

Oliver drew his sword from his scabbard as he sprinted. 'Halt in the name of Prince Henry! he bellowed.

The citizen who had grabbed Catrin's wimple splashed to a halt just out of her knife range. His face was congested with excitement and exertion. 'It's this whore, sir, she's stole the man's pouch!

'Oliver! Catrin sobbed in relief, but kept her knife tilted. Louis jammed to a halt and looked at Oliver with feverish, glittering eyes. Oliver returned the stare implacably. His rage and fear had burned beyond heat and become a flame, ice-cold and steady.

'The lady is no whore but a gentlewoman held in great esteem by the Prince himself, he said, without taking his gaze from Louis. 'The man who makes the claim is faithless, mercenary scum.

'So says the adulterer, the stealer of another man's wife and child! Louis sneered.

'Do not prate to me of stealing, Oliver said tight-lipped. 'You have compromised your own honour so many times that not even a miracle would unstain its tarnish… or perhaps you were honourless to begin. The sword flickered suggestively.

Louis looked at the gesture and a sour smile crossed his face. He raised his own weapon.

'No! Catrin clutched Oliver's sleeve. 'He's not worth it. Let him go!

'To haunt us again and again? Oliver said grimly. 'In my esteem, he is definitely worth a shroud and six feet of earth.

'It doesn't matter, he's dying anyway, that's why he…

Before she could finish, Louis spun on his heel, pushed through the crowd which had gathered and ran back down the narrow street.

'It matters to me, Oliver said with soft intensity. 'When I have touched his corpse with my own hand then I will be content. Unlocking her grip from his arm, he sprinted after Louis.

'Oh, Jesus Christ in Heaven! Catrin snatched her wimple from the townsman and chased after the men. Whatever Louis had done; whatever he was, she did not want his blood on Oliver's hands.

Louis was fast. He had always been fleet of foot and possessed excellent stamina, but Oliver was fit and fast too. He was taller with a longer stride and he had not already run half-way through town. As they reached the bridge leading across to the open suburbs on the other side of the Avon, Oliver finally caught up with Louis and brought him crashing down.

The men rolled in the mud and dung. Louis was as fast and slippery as a Severn eel and, although Oliver had landed on top, succeeded in wriggling free.

'She'll always be mine, he panted, as he lunged to his feet. 'You can't change it whatever you do. He lashed out viciously with his boot.

Oliver ducked the blow and brought him down again by snatching his ankle. This time his knife was out of his belt.

Louis's eyes widened, not with fear but with feral excitement. 'Go on, kill me, he panted, daring Oliver with a broad, white grin. 'Have your will and then watch her cry for me.

Oliver gazed down into the hot brown eyes and revulsion burned his gullet. For a moment, he imagined the satisfaction of slitting Louis's throat. The triumph would be intense but last only as long as it took spilled blood to cool. In death, Louis would have won far more convincingly than in life.

Withdrawing the knife, he sat back on his heels. 'No, he said softly. 'You're not worth it. A clean, quick death is too easy for you.

The exultation died in Louis's eyes and, incongruously, Oliver saw a flicker of the fear that had been absent before.

'Perhaps I will just follow you, as you have followed me, Oliver murmured, turning the knife over in his hand. 'Dark corners, black winter nights will never be safe again.

Louis laughed with bitter humour. 'Such a threat might frighten a child, but not the damned, he mocked, still taunting, his eyes on the knife like a drunkard's on a fresh flagon of wine.

A crowd had started to gather. Catrin elbowed her way through and reached the scene. There was shouting now. A trader with a cart wanted to pass over the bridge before the gates closed for nightfall, and soldiers were strolling up from the other end, spears at the ready.

'Ask her, Louis said. 'Ask her what she wants. Backing away from the knife, he pulled himself up and smiled at Catrin. 'What should he do, Catty? Rip out my heart or set me free? He spread his hands. 'The choice is yours.

Catrin clenched her fists. She looked at her husband and then at Oliver, who was breathing swiftly. While her eyes were on him, Oliver sheathed the knife.

'The choice was mine. Going to Catrin's side, he slipped his arm around her waist. Then, turning to Louis, he said, 'I intended to kill you. Perhaps if you hadn't demanded it quite so hard I would have done it. Now it doesn't matter. There are always dark nights and quiet corners, Louis — for the damned as well as the innocent. He glanced towards the advancing guards. Louis did too, and then at the crowd blocking the town end of the bridge.

'Go on, Lewis of Chepstow, take your freedom. I won't stop you.

Louis swallowed. He opened and closed his fists. Catrin began to speak, but Oliver silenced her with a nudge.

'What's the trouble? one of the guards demanded, then touched his helmet to Oliver as he recognised him through the mud and the gathering gloom of dusk. 'Sir, he acknowledged.

'Nothing, Oliver replied, his gaze upon Catrin's husband. 'A confusion over name and identity.

The rain whispered down and the cart driver yelled at Louis to get out of his way.

Louis turned in a slow circle meeting the gaze of everyone, lingering upon Oliver with derision and finally closing on Catrin as if they were alone in a bedchamber. 'Do you remember Chepstow, Catty? he asked huskily, 'That first year?

She said nothing, but bit her lip and leaned into Oliver's body for protection, her knuckle-bones showing white where she clutched his mantle.

'Or Christmas at Rochester — that game of hunt-the-slipper? It wasn't all bad, was it?

Catrin's throat worked. 'It was false, she whispered.

His lips stretched in a mirthless smile. 'Was it? Then we were both duped. True or false, for what it is worth, I did love you, Catty. Remember that if you forget all else. Turning, he walked with light step to the side of the bridge, and just as lightly leaped off into the murky water of the Frome before anyone could move to stop him.

Catrin's cry of denial was swallowed up in the rush of the crowd to the side. There was nothing to see but churning brown water, flowing fast in spring spate. No head broke the surface, no string of bubbles showed where he had gone down.

Catrin covered her face with her hands and pressed herself into Oliver's cold, muddied breast. Expression grim, Oliver set his arm around her shoulders.

'Be washed up on the strand next tide, observed the cart driver with grim cheer. 'Last one did after the winter storms.

'Unless he survives, Oliver said. It was not logical that Louis could live — he had jumped in the water wearing his sword and a heavy quilted gambeson — but Oliver still had a nightmare vision of Louis crawling out of the water on to the riverbank and grinning at him like a demon while he wrung out his clothes.

'No. Catrin sniffed and raised her face, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her wimple. 'Living would mean a slow death as an outcast, and I know that his vanity could not bear it.

Oliver touched her wet cheek, his eyes questioning.

'He had leprosy. She swallowed, struggling again with nausea. 'He… he asked me for an ingredient for the cure, and when I refused because it involved a stillborn child, he lost his temper. The rest you know.

Oliver wrapped his arms around her, encompassing her in love and comfort, sharing her anger, absorbing her grief. Around them the crowd dispersed and the cart rumbled through on its way into the town. One guard returned to his post. The other went to report the incident and instigate a search.

'Home, Catrin said, clinging to Oliver. 'Take me home. 'You are home, he said, burying his face in her half-exposed hair. 'For ever.

On the eve before Henry's army marched out of Gloucester, the body of Lewis of Chepstow washed up on the estuary shore. Three days it had been in the water and now it was bloated, the skin heavy grey-white. There were tears and contusions where it had struck stones and driftwood. The brave blue colour had washed out of the tunic and one shoe was missing in parody of the time before when he had pretended death by drowning.

Oliver crouched by the corpse, his nostrils filled with the scent of the sea and the taint of decaying flesh. As the sheriff's men looked on, he made identification and then gently turned the right wrist. The lesion was where Catrin had said it would be; pale as the body was pale, but still evident.

'Poor bastard, one of the men muttered.

Oliver stood up and looked down at the remains. Gulls wheeled and cried. The sun slanted, filling his eyes with light. 'Bury him deep, he said. 'And let God be his judge.