The Love Knot

Chapter 4

Mabile FitzHamon, Countess of Gloucester, was tall and gaunt-boned, with an unfortunate resemblance to a plough-horse, made all the more cruel by her large, yellow teeth. Her eyes were her saving grace, being large and soft brown with thick, dark lashes. Just now they were fixed upon the washed body of Amice de Cormel, lying in state before the altar in the castle's small private chapel.

'What a waste, she murmured over her clasped hands. 'She could have led such a different life.

Kneeling beside her, Catrin inhaled the smell of incense on the cold chapel air and watched the candles fluttering in the darkness. The ache in her head was now no more than a dull pulse, but it had spread throughout her body. She was numb with exhaustion, her eyelids so hot that she felt as if someone had scattered their undersides with particles of burning grit.

Lady Mabile was kind in a brusque, impatient sort of way. She had welcomed Richard and Catrin into her household, found them sleeping space for the night amongst her women, and promised to give them fabric from her coffers to make new clothes. They had been given food and drink, their immediate needs tended, all with great practicality and small warmth. Now Richard was asleep on a narrow straw pallet squeezed into a corner of the maids' chamber, and Catrin was paying her respects to the dead.

'How well did you know her, child? asked the Countess.

'I served her for three years, my lady, and in all that time she was kind and generous to me.

'I am sure she was, but that was not my question.

Catrin turned to face the brown, equine gaze, and found its shrewdness disconcerting. 'I knew her very well, my lady.

Meaning passed between them without words. The Countess sighed. 'Then you will realise why my husband never sought to pin her to a husband for all that she was his ward. His own father, the king, took her virginity. When Henry's interest waned, she turned to other men for affection and it became a deep-rooted canker. She would have made a cuckold of any man she married, and in short order. The Countess dabbed a spot of moisture from her eye and looked at her wet fingertip. 'And yet, I was fond of her; she meant no harm. A waste. May the blessed Virgin look kindly on her soul.

So the waste was what Amice had made of her life, not what those vile soldiers had done to her, Catrin thought with a flash of anger.

'And you yourself are a widow? the Countess continued.

'Yes, my lady. Catrin kept her eyes on her clenched knuckles lest she reveal her irritation. Richard needed her and she could not afford to be dismissed. 'My husband was killed in a fight with a Welsh lord. I still mourn him deeply. She bit her lip.

There was silence for a moment, then the Countess gently touched Catrin's shoulder. 'That is a grievous pity, she said compassionately. 'Life is always difficult for a woman alone. You are welcome to remain in my household. Another pair of hands is always useful. Mabile crossed herself and rose to her feet. 'Come, child, it is late. She will sleep peacefully here with the priest until dawn.

Murmuring her thanks, Catrin rose and followed the Countess. She could raise no enthusiasm for the prospect of remaining in Mabile's household, but at least it was a roof over her head, and a relatively secure one at that. There was nowhere else to go.

If Amice's slumber in the chapel was deep and peaceful, the same could not be said of the Countess's ladies. In the blackest part of the night, when the single candle left burning had begun to gutter in a puddle of wax, Catrin and the other women were wakened by Richard's terrified shrieks. The sound tore across the room and was made all the more terrifying by sleep-fuddled wits and the depth of the hour.

With pounding heart, Catrin staggered up from the bed she had been sharing with three others and hastened to soothe him.

'Hush, Dickon, hush. It's all right, nothing but a bad dream. She stroked his damp brow. His eyes were wide open but unseeing, and his chest rose and fell in rapid gasps for air. Beneath her touch, his breathing calmed, and after a moment his lids drooped and he turned from her on to his side, sucking his knuckles in his sleep.

One of the women had kindled a fresh night light from the old one. She held it aloft, the cupped flame reflecting light on to her thick plait of dark red hair. Her name was Rohese. She was a skilled embroideress with a voice and skin like silk, and a nature as sharp as a tapestry needle.

'What's wrong with him? she demanded, her tone making it clear what she thought of the matter.

'What's wrong is that he saw people butchered and his mother raped by a dozen soldiers, Catrin retorted angrily. 'Wouldn't you have nightmares too?

Rohese sniffed and declined to answer. 'I hope he does not make it a habit, was all she said and, ramming the new candle down on the iron spike, stalked away to her pallet. The other women followed her example, some with sour looks, others more sympathetic, but all less than sanguine at having been roused from sleep in so frightening a fashion.

Twice more that night the Countess's women were disturbed by Richard's screams. Forewarned, Catrin was able to calm him more swiftly than the first time, but not before everyone had been thoroughly woken. If Rohese had been hostile at the outset, she was positively venomous by dawn.

Richard had no recollection of his nightmares and was bewildered by all the furious glares cast in his direction. Catrin protected him fiercely from the others. Yesterday's headache still throbbed behind her eyes and she felt almost as exhausted as when she had retired.

'It is not his fault, she said, as the women dressed and prepared to go down to the great hall to break their fast. 'He needs time to settle, that's all.

'Well, I refuse to have him sleep in our chamber another night! Rohese snapped.

'Surely that is for the Countess to say.

Rohese gave her a glittering look through narrowed lids. 'I doubt she will oppose my request when I tell her about the kind of night we have all passed.

Catrin returned Rohese's glare and was sorely tempted to slap the sneer from her haughty face. 'Then ask her and see what she says. I think that you forget this child is her husband's half-brother, and the old King's son.

'And his mother got herself banished for whoredom. Her nickname was Amice le Gorge-Colps — the sword swallower; we all know the story. She looked around at her companions tor support. A blonde-haired girl tittered, and an older woman sucked her teeth and nodded.

'As you choose to see it, without knowing Amice, Catrin said heatedly, and was appalled to feel tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. The urge to lash out was almost unbearable.

From the corner where she had been braiding her hair, a freckle-faced young woman spoke out. 'This all seems to me a storm in a pitkin, she said. 'Are we so feeble-minded that one disturbed night sours us beyond all charity?

'It is not my mind that is feeble, Rohese said with a pointed glare at Richard, as he emerged from the curtained-off latrine built into the angle of the wall. She terminated the conversation by stalking from the room, her nose in the air.

The young woman left her corner and approached Catrin. 'Pay no heed to Rohese, she murmured, laying a sympathetic hand on Catrin's sleeve. 'She likes to play queen, and your arrival has tilted her crown.

'Mine?

'Well, yours and the boy's. A son of the old King outranks an embroideress any day, no matter that she's a knight's daughter. I'm Edon FitzMar and my husband is one of the Earl's hearth knights. She clasped Catrin's hand. 'Never fret, you'll soon be at home here.

Catrin doubted that very much. The bower walls hemmed her in. She knew that this was the way many women of noble birth lived their lives — shut away in the castle's upper chambers, their days occupied by weaving, spinning and needlecraft. It was an enclosed world, seething with undercurrents and tensions that had few outlets. The occupants fed upon each other. Amice had spoken often of that kind of life, and never with longing or affection. But since Edon FitzMar had offered the hand of friendship, Catrin kept her misgivings to herself and returned the clasp with a smile and a palliative murmur.

'I suppose, Edon said to Richard, showing her kindness further by including him in the conversation, 'that you will become a page in my Lord's household. That's what happens to most of the boys fostered here.

Richard nodded and looked at his feet. 'I would like that, he mumbled.

'He's a good teacher, Lord Robert. Geoffrey — that's my husband — says that no squire could have a better start.

Richard mumbled again. His eyes flickered from the ground to the prominent swell of her belly. Seeing his glance, she laughed self-consciously and laid her hand across her midriff. 'My first, she said to Catrin. 'Due in the autumn. Geoffrey's that proud, he's been puffing out his chest and crowing to all the others like a cockerel. They're all sick to death of hearing about it.

'My mother was with child too, Richard said. 'Aimery crowed to all the other men, but he's dead now… and so is she. Whirling from a startled Edon, he ran to the door and banged out of the room.

'I'm sorry, I never thought. . Edon looked aghast. 'And after last night too, I should have known.

'It isn't your fault, Catrin said quickly, not wanting to lose the tentative friendship that had sprung up. 'He's liable to take off at the slightest thing just now. I have to go after him. Explain to the Countess if she asks for me. Gathering her skirts, Catrin ran from the bower in pursuit of Richard. Behind her, the women looked at each other, their expressions ranging from disapproval to sympathy for the afflicted.

It was difficult to run down a turret stair in a gown and by the time Catrin reached the foot, Richard had disappeared. Cursing to herself she asked around, but no one had seen him. A running child was of small consequence in a household as large as the Earl of Gloucester's. A running woman, however, was cause for raised eyebrows and more than one murmur about lack of propriety.

Catrin searched the hall then hastened outside. In the bailey she found the young squire, Thomas FitzRainald, breaking his fast on a large oatcake smeared with honey, whilst polishing a piece of harness with a soft cloth. He was only too happy to abandon his task and help her find Richard. While she headed for the outer bailey, Thomas went off to search the kennels and the mews.

A party of horsemen was preparing to ride out, among them a priest. Strapped behind his mule's saddle were a travelling chest and a small case made from boiled leather, shaped to hold and protect his mitre. At the head of the group, Oliver was swinging lightly astride the grey. His face wore the fresh gleam of a sound night's sleep, and he was smiling at something that Gawin had said to him.

Through her anxiety, Catrin was suddenly aware of her own slatternly appearance. The clothes of the last few days still itched on her back because they were the only ones she possessed — travel-smirched, smoky and dirty. She could not have smiled had she tried.

Oliver twisted in the saddle to adjust his shield strap, but when he saw her he stopped, and the residue of the grin faded from his lips. 'Mistress Catrin, what's wrong?

'Richard's run off. She told him what had happened in the bower.

His lips compressed. 'Poor little sod. Raising a forefinger to Gawin, bidding him wait, he dismounted. 'Come, I'll help you look. He won't have gone far.

'What about your journey?

'Another half candle-notch won't make any difference. The living matter more than the dead. He spoke the last sentence with a wry shrug, as if he did not quite believe in the words. Then he shook his head and grimaced. 'Rohese de Bayvel should be tied to that post yonder and whipped. It's not the first time that she's caused trouble in the bower.

'Then why doesn't the Countess stop her?

'Because Rohese is probably the best needlewoman in England, and when she tries she can be sweetness itself — and no, that is not a remark made from personal knowledge. I would rather kiss the hand of Medusa than become embroiled with that shrew. I'll go and investigate the guardrooms, shall I? You ask over there at the bread oven.

Earl Robert's favourite alaunt had given birth to a litter of four pups in the spring. Now, seven weeks later, they were energetic bundles of tawny fur, their coats wrinkling comically on their loose-knit bones. From his corner, Richard watched them tumble over each other and indulge in mock fights, already establishing an order of dominance. Their mother lay nearby, her limbs relaxed but her gaze watchful.

Richard made no attempt to touch any of the pups. It was enough just to observe. His mother had always been promising him a dog, but somehow the promise had always remained as 'next time', or 'another day'. Aimery de Sens had owned an alaunt, but it had been huge and black, with a snarl to threaten anyone who came within touching distance. When Aimery had wanted to lie with Amice, he made the beast guard the bedchamber door so that they wouldn't be disturbed.

Well, they were all dead now. There was a treacherous stinging sensation at the back of Richard's eyes. 'It's all my fault, he told one of the pups as it left the rough and tumble to investigate him. 'I wished them dead. He picked it up and cuddled it with a deep longing for the feel of something soft and warm against his skin. The pup wriggled and licked him with a swift, pink tongue. Richard buried his face in the tawny fur while the forces gathered inside him.

'Found you!

Richard jerked his head up, his eyes wet, the sob locked in his throat as he glared at Thomas FitzRainald. 'Go away! he snarled.

The other boy did exactly the opposite and came closer.

'They're looking for you. That nurse of yours, Catrin is it? She's running around like a scorched cat. Oliver Pascal's hunting too.

Richard inhaled the pup's fuzzy coat. 'I don't want to be found.

'You should have hidden better then. Thomas crouched down, and the young dog wriggled away from Richard to explore the newcomer. 'Why have you run away?

'I haven't, I just wanted to be on my own, that's all. Richard drew the back of his hand across his eyes, and challenged the other boy to remark on it with a brimming scowl.

Thomas raised his chin to avoid the pup's eager pink tongue. 'Is it true that you're the Earl's half-brother? 'Yes, what of it?

'Well, that makes you my uncle, because my papa is your half-brother too. Thomas giggled at the thought. 'Uncles are supposed to be older than their nephews.

'How old are you? Richard demanded, curiosity winning out over defensiveness.

'I was eleven at the feast of Saint John.

'I won't be eleven until Christmas. The puppy clambered back into his lap and he cuddled it again.

Thomas eyed him. 'We're more of an age to be brothers or cousins. Can I call you cousin?

Richard shrugged. 'If you like, he said indifferently, but he was pleased. Essentially he was a gregarious child, who had been forced by circumstances to dwell overmuch in his own company.

Thomas eyed him, as if trying to decide whether the response was an acceptance or rejection. 'You'll have to let them know where you are, he said. 'Otherwise they'll turn the place upside down and you'll be in worse trouble than ever.

Richard wriggled his shoulders. 'I don't want to go back to the women, he said. 'Most of them don't like me anyway' He gazed around the space surrounding him, the comfort of open sky and fresh air.

Thomas eyed him. 'You don't have to stay with them. Ask if you can sleep in the same dorter as the other squires.

'But I'm not a squire.

'You will be soon. What else is Lord Robert going to do with you?

Richard chewed his lip. He thought of the red-haired woman who had scowled at him, and the sympathetic pregnant one who had made him face something that he wanted to banish from his mind. 'What's the dorter like?

'I'll show you. Rising to his feet, Thomas wiped his pup-licked hand on his tunic. 'Come on. We'll tell your nurse you're found, and you can stay with me the rest of the day, if you like. I've a heap of saddlery to polish, and four hands are better than two.

Richard deliberated a moment longer. He was not accustomed to giving his trust, but time and again over the last two days he had been asked to do so by complete strangers. 'All right, he said, and he too rose, although with a lingering reticence. The pup rolled on its belly demanding to be tickled, and he stooped to oblige before tearing himself away to follow his 'cousin'. 'Catrin's not my nurse, I'm too old for one now, he added in a defensive tone. 'She was my mother's companion.

Catrin's anxiety for Richard's safety had almost reached fever pitch when she saw the two boys across the bailey. She had envisaged discovering him among the dregs of Earl Robert's army, his throat slit, or washed up on the estuary, drowned. Or not found at all. To see him unscathed filled her with relief and the rage of relief. She ran across the bailey, not knowing whether to shout at or cuddle him first.

In the event she did neither, for the look on his face brought her up short.

'I shouldn't have run off, he forestalled her quickly, 'but I couldn't stay. His eyes were wary and she could see that he was braced for a thorough scolding.

'I know you couldn't, she said in a gentler voice than she had first intended, 'and I know you were upset, but what you did was not only thoughtless, but dangerous. This camp is huge and you scarce know any of it. People have been looking for you, and I have been worrying myself sick!

Richard looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. 'I'm sorry, he muttered.

Catrin's anger melted. She wanted to grab him and fold him in her arms, but with Thomas looking on and the bailey full of witnesses, she abstained for the sake of his tender pride. 'If you need a moment alone, I expect you to go no farther than this bailey, understood?

Richard nodded, then raised his head. 'Thomas wants to show me the boys' dorter. Can I go?

Catrin pursed her lips.

'I'll look after him, I promise, Thomas said, his eyes wide and earnest. 'After that, he can stay with me, if he wants, and help me clean the Earl's harness.

Richard nodded again, this time vigorously, and looked pleadingly at Catrin. She had a protective impulse to tuck him under her wing, but that was caused by her own anxiety. It would be the worst thing she could do to take him back amongst the Countess's women. Better to let the friendship develop between the two boys. 'I don't see why not, she said, and was rewarded by one of Richard's rare smiles.

She watched the boys run off together and, between the worry and the relief, felt quite drained. Halfway across the bailey, they bumped into Oliver. He stopped and spoke to them. Catrin saw Richard gesture over his shoulder in her direction, and Oliver glance across. Sending the boys on their way, he walked over to her. His stride was long, she noticed, with a slight downward dip on the right side.

'You found him then? he said.

'No, Thomas did. She pulled a face. 'I feel foolish now for my panic, and I've held up your journey for nothing.

'It would not have been a nothing if he truly had taken to his heels. Oliver gazed across the bailey at Thomas and Richard, their heads close in conversation as they walked. 'But it seems to have worked for the best.

'Yes. She bit her lip.

'He'll be all right. He touched her arm in reassurance. 'You would not say that if you had heard him last night. 'It would be strange if he did not have nightmares. After Emma died, I did not sleep unbrokenly for more than a year.

He folded his arms. 'There are herbs he can be given to help him sleep without dreams.

'And you know them all? she said, thinking of the tisane he had made to ease her headache.

He smiled and shook his head. 'By no means, but I know someone who does.

'Oh yes, Etheldreda of the eel stew. She rubbed the stain on her gown. 'Did you enjoy it?

'It was delicious, he said gravely. 'Look, I'll ask her to make a sleeping potion for the lad in case he needs it.

Catrin thanked him, then frowned. 'But you'll be gone at least two nights and Richard needs it now.

'I'll have a word on the way out and tell her to bring it to you. She'll be curious to meet you.

The sentiment was mutual, Catrin thought. In her mind's eye a picture had formed of an alluring witch-woman, with an abundance of wild, dark hair and snapping black eyes set on the slant. 'So you told her all about me? It was a disquieting thought.

Oliver tilted his head. 'Not everything, he said with a slow smile.

Catrin's stomach leaped and her face grew hot. When Lewis had been alive, she had enjoyed flirting, the banter of voice and body language. It had kept his eyes from straying to pastures new. Three years later, with several hard life-lessons beneath her belt, the art had grown rusty. Nor, with memories of how easily her husband's eyes had wandered, was she inclined to play the game with another woman's man. 'I must go, she said. 'They'll be wondering about me in the bower.

'So must I, else it'll be nightfall before we arrive. Inclining his head in farewell, he turned from her and set off in the direction of the outer bailey. Catrin watched his retreating figure, the confidence of his stride, the way he spoke cheerfully to an acquaintance as he went on his way. In the three years since Lewis's death she had come to terms with her loss and it had diminished to a dull ache at the back of her mind. Now, once more, it was a clear, sharp pain that took her breath. She was aware of standing in the bailey, alone amongst all the vigour and bustle, her figure small and insignificant. She doubted that anyone would care deeply, or even notice, if she were suddenly to vanish.

Then Catrin clucked her tongue impatiently. What did it matter if no one cared, as long as she did herself? Relying on others was a dangerous way to live, and frequently a waste of time. Drawing herself up, she returned to the keep, prepared to face whatever the day held.