The Love Knot

Chapter 8

Both of Oliver's petitions to Earl Robert were successful.

'I would have sent the lad to the boys' dorter myself, eventually, Robert said. 'If he is ready to go now, then it shows his resilience. He can take up his own squire's duties too, instead of doing half that rascal Thomas's work. His thin lips curved. 'I had noticed.

Once more Oliver was in the Earl's solar. He kept his back to the mural painting, but felt its presence like a pressure between his shoulder blades. 'Yes, my lord.

Robert tilted his head. 'You seem to have set yourself up as a guardian to him and the woman, he observed. 'I saw you sitting with her during the breaking of fast. His glance travelled from Oliver to the Countess who was sitting in the window embrasure, a piece of sewing in her lap and a small, silky dog sleeping at her side.

'She took me to see Amice de Cormel's grave, and I did promise that I would not abandon her and the lad once I had brought them to Bristol.

The Earl grunted. 'Commendable, he said.

The Countess spoke up from her corner. 'I suppose you had a hand in arranging for the midwife to take Catrin beneath her wing? Etheldreda used to be one of your family retainers, did she not?

Oliver stared. 'My lady?

Mabile's cow-brown eyes widened 'I assumed it was at your instigation. Was it not?

'My lady, I know nothing of what you speak. Completely baffled, Oliver spread his hands. 'All she said to me was that she had found "women's matters" to occupy her time, and I took it to mean of the sewing and weaving kind.

Mabile clucked her tongue. 'Then she did not tell you that she is to train as a midwife under the guidance of Dame Etheldreda? I have given Catrin leave to remain in the bower or sleep in the hall, as she chooses. I have also promised her that Etheldreda can have one of the permanent shelters against the bailey wall, instead of living under a linen canvas as she does now.

Oliver shook his head. 'She told me none of this, he heard himself say in a reasonable voice, whilst within him all reason was gathered up and cast aside by disbelief. Small wonder that she had looked at him sidelong and said, 'Women's matters.

'Ah, well, it was before she had petitioned me for my permission. Perhaps she wanted to keep it to herself until then.

'Yes, my lady, Oliver said, managing to be civil by the skin of his teeth.

'You like it not? The Countess looked at him askance. 'Dame Etheldreda saved the life of Edon FitzMar's son, and Catrin assisted her most competently. Catrin will make an excellent midwife — far better than she does a bower maid. And she is young and strong. With the best will in the world, Dame Etheldreda's health is failing.

'Yes, my lady, you are right, Oliver said courteously and made a conscious effort to unclench his fists. 'I am surprised, that is all. And he turned to the Earl before the full extent of his discomfort was betrayed. 'There is also the matter of the soldier I mentioned, and his troop — Randal de Mohun.

The Countess eyed Oliver from behind his back and then resumed her sewing, a thoughtful purse to her lips.

Earl Robert's own thoughtful look was in response to the subject that Oliver had now raised. 'You recommend him?

'Yes, my lord. I first knew him many years ago when we were pilgrims in the Holy Land. He is no half-trained Fleming or green boy in search of glory, but a warrior full-Hedged, the kind you have been seeking to recruit.

'Trustworthy?

Oliver hesitated. 'Yes, my lord, providing he receives his wages.

'I see. The Earl brushed his palm across the neat, dark beard on his jaw. 'Where did he come from?

'He did not say, except that it was further up the border and that he and his men had not been paid although, in truth, I believe that he was probably working for a baron of Stephen's faction.

'Hardly a reason for me to employ him.

'Perhaps he has information that will be of use to you, my lord, Oliver said, barely concealing his impatience. It was the final remark he was going to make in de Mohun's favour. While he owed the man a debt, he was not entirely at ease with the notion of sharing his proximity, and now he had concerns other than promoting an old and outgrown acquaintance.

Robert pondered for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

'Very well. Bring him to the battle-practice in the bailey at dusk and I will have a look at his skills. And if they are good, I will employ him.

'Yes, my lord, thank you. Dismissed, Oliver bowed and made his way down to the hall, his feet carrying him independent of his boiling thoughts. He could not believe that Catrin had apprenticed herself to Ethel, and that the Countess had sanctioned it. Ethel was always talking about finding a younger woman to replace her, but Oliver had largely ignored her hints and grumbles, knowing full well that what kept Etheldreda alive was her trade and her pride in her skills. While she was needed, her will had the dominance of her body. Never would he have guessed that she would choose Catrin when there were other midwives, already with a grounding of skill, to whom she could pass on her knowledge. And if he had guessed, he would have done his best to stop it, although it was easier to be angry than to examine why.

Burning with agitation, he went to find Ethel, but her fire was cold and no one had seen her since mid-morning. Nor had she taken up residence in any of the shelters clustered against the inner bailey wall. In a thoroughly bad temper, Oliver set about the first of his day's duties, which involved going down to the wharves to count and escort a cargo of wine back to the keep.

Gawin, in contrast to Oliver, was in high spirits, a whistle on his lips and a glint in his eyes. 'Women, he said with a grin. 'They spurn you until you turn away, and then suddenly they're interested.

'Women, Oliver said tersely, 'are more trouble than they are worth.

'Depends on the woman. The one I've got is trouble through and through. He grinned. 'But I'd count her worth an empty stable and an hour of my time any day!

Oliver snorted with disgust. 'That is how you count them all, he said. 'An empty stable and a willingness to lift their skirts.

Gawin shrugged. 'Better than not counting them at all and wearing a scowl like a thundercloud. He cocked his head on one side. 'It's the wench we rescued, isn't it? She's itching under your hauberk like a hair shirt.

When Oliver snarled at him, Gawin's grin deepened. 'There's only one cure when they've got you by the balls, he said cheerfully. 'You give them your prick as well.

Oliver closed his eyes and swallowed. To have struck his fellow knight in front of the citizenry of Bristol would be to cause unnecessary scandal and discomfort to the Earl, and Oliver's moral conscience was somewhat more polished than his companion's. Raising his lids, he fixed Gawin with an icy glare. 'A pity your brains dwell in your cods and you can't refrain from spilling them.

'My brains work perfectly, Gawin retorted, refusing to be set down and giving as good as he got. 'They haven't withered from lack of use.

Oliver withdrew from the exchange, aware that if he did not the tit-for-tat would continue, cutting closer to the bone each time. Whilst he did not mind about filleting Gawin, he had no intention of having the same treatment meted out to himself.

Catrin was indeed itching beneath his hauberk like a hair shirt, but that did not mean he wanted to throw her down on her back in the nearest stable. What he wanted was to talk to her, to see the changing agate glints in her eyes and watch her nose wrinkle as she smiled. He wanted to keep her from all harm, but at the same time for her to be free and unfettered, her chin jutting in defiance, and the crimson hose peeping from beneath the hem of her gown. He most certainly did not want her to become a midwife. A mass of contradictions churned within him, and he had to make an effort to ignore them and concentrate on the task in hand.

Having performed the escort duty and delivered the wine into Earl Robert's care, Oliver returned to the bailey and made his way to the wooden shelters built against its walls. The loud braying of a donkey drew him to the furthermost shack. Whereas this morning it had been occupied by a pile of straw and three sheep awaiting slaughter, it now housed Etheldreda and the motley contents of her canvas shelter. The old midwife was directing a young soldier to dig out a firepit, and Catrin was unloading a pallet and blankets from the donkey's back.

Oliver gnawed his lip. So it was true. He had been half hoping that he had misunderstood the morning's conversation, but the sight before his eyes saw it confirmed. Catrin staggered into the shelter with her unwieldy bundle, set it down and began smoothing it out. Ethel glanced up from supervising the digging of her firepit and her eyes met Oliver's. What might have been a smile twitched her lips but was concealed as she turned and murmured to Catrin. The younger woman straightened from her task and stared at Oliver. Then she laid her hand on Ethel's sleeve, said something, and left the shelter to meet him.

He planted his feet apart and squared his shoulders. The blue-green underdress clung to her body. There was still a slight mark on the breast where the eel liquor had soaked through her outer garment. Tendrils of black hair had escaped the kerchief she wore in place of the more decorous wimple and her cheekbones were flushed with exertion. The full lips, the glints of green in her eyes, the defiant jut of her chin; all were as he had imagined, and the effect was vastly unsettling.

'The Countess Mabile told me that you had embarked on a scapegrace scheme to become a midwife, he said without preamble. 'I did not want to believe her, but I see that I must.

She tilted her head to one side in that maddening way she had and considered him, her eyes narrowing slightly. 'I know that you like it not, she replied, 'but it is none of your concern, and nor is it a "scapegrace scheme". I have the Countess's sanction. I do not need yours.

'That much is obvious, since you disguised your intent to me this morning when we broke fast together.

Catrin glanced back towards the shelter. 'If you are going to shout and lose your temper, I ask you not to do it in front of Ethel. Her health is not robust and she has enough on her trencher already.

'I do not need you to tell me about Ethel, he said, throwing his own glance at the old midwife. She was going astutely about her business, but he knew that her ears were pinned. Whatever inroads age had made into her health, Ethel's hearing remained needle-sharp. Taking Catrin's arm, he led her not only out of earshot but out of sight, tugging her around the corner of a storeshed. The remark she had made about him shouting and losing his temper was probably an attempt to shame him into doing neither, but her suggestion that he lacked control only made him angrier still.

The moment they were out of Ethel's range, Catrin freed herself from his grip and rubbed her arm. 'And Ethel certainly does not need to be told about you. She said that when you heard, you would burst your hauberk, and to look at you she was right.

'Did she tell you why? His tone was full of angry contempt as he folded his arms, pressing his fingers against the cold metal rivets of his hauberk. To have Ethel, who knew more about him than any person living, discuss him with Catrin, was both a betrayal and an intrusion.

Colour flooded her face. 'Yes, but in confidence. She said that a midwife should be as close-mouthed as a priest in the confessional.

'A pity she seems not to practise what she preaches, he said angrily. 'What gems of wisdom did she impart, or is that too much of a «confidence» to break?

Catrin drew herself up. 'She had no intention to wound or harm you in telling me. It was to make me understand why you might prove difficult. She told me about your wife, and said that you had a dislike — a fear — of midwifery and women's business.

Catrin's eyes, full of battle-light, were a luminous tawny-green. There was anxiety in them, but it did not detract from the determination he saw too. He loomed over her, glaring down. 'After the way Emma died, it would be strange if I did not avoid conversation about matters of childbirth. His lip curled. 'Fear it is not. If I am at risk of bursting my hauberk, it is at the thought of the danger that you risk by taking up the trade.

She held his gaze with stubborn courage. 'No more danger than any other. I could prick myself on a sewing-needle in the bower tomorrow and die of a poisoned finger. Look what happened at Penfoss! But for a quirk of fate, you would have buried me yesterday with all the others.

'So I might, but there is no cause for you to go shortening the odds with this lunatic folly. Did Ethel also tell you how she came to Bristol? he asked brutally. 'How she was burned out of her cot for witchcraft? Did she tell you about journeys through the worst parts of the camp and the town in the middle of the night? Of the thieves and pimps to whom a young woman alone would be easy prey? Christ on the Cross, I didn't bring you to Bristol to see you squander your life down some stinking alley and wind up just another corpse in the river! Unfolding his arms, he took her by the shoulders to emphasise his point.

'Then for what purpose did you bring me? she spat. 'To sit among the Countess's women until the pettiness and boredom drives me to cast myself out of the bower window to a "clean death"! If I had known you were going to make a chattel of me, I'd have stayed amongst the cinders!

'If I had known you were going to be so foolish, I'd have left you there!

She glared at him. 'You do not own me. The choice is mine and freely made. If you had my welfare at heart, you would wish me well, not seek to strew stones in my path.

Now let me go. Ethel needs help to unpack her belongings. She shrugged him off, her frame bristling with anger. 'Face yourself, not me! Turning on her heel she stalked off, the red hose flashing with each step.

'Hellcat! Oliver choked in her wake, and kicked at the blameless storeshed wall. The action rebounded on him, for he stubbed his toe and thus felt all the more aggrieved. It was a long, long time since his control had been so precarious, but then it had been a long, long time since anyone had so thoroughly upset his equilibrium, and never before had it been a woman. Emma had been too gentle and obedient to criticise her adolescent husband, and his relationships since her death had been transitory and, for the most part, conducted between the sheets.

For a moment he almost strode after Catrin to continue the exchange, but when he did move it was in the opposite direction. As she said, the choice was hers and freely made. Well and good, let her stew in her own soup. His pace lengthened with determination as he set off to find Randal de Mohun and relay Earl Robert's message about the tiltyard.

'You were right, he did burst his hauberk, Catrin said ruefully, as she swept the beaten-earth floor of the shelter with a birch besom and then covered it with a thick layer of straw. 'I even feared that he was going to strike me.

'He didn't raise his hand against you? Ethel ceased feeding twigs to the first fire in her new hearth and looked at Catrin sharply.

'No, only his voice. And to my credit, or shame, I shouted straight back at him, told him to face himself instead of railing at me.

Ethel gave a small snort through her nose and, nodding to herself, continued to build up her fire. 'Aye, you're the one, she said with a note of satisfaction.

'What do you mean? Catrin demanded suspiciously. But Ethel only shook her head and chuckled softly to herself. When Catrin persisted, Ethel made her set up the iron tripod and cooking pot over the fire and put her off by showing her a recipe for building up a mother's strength in the days after the birth.

'Hah, double sixes, I win! Randal de Mohun clenched his fists in triumph and scooped the silver pennies off the table and into his pouch. If the dice had not belonged to someone else, Oliver would have sworn that they were loaded, for Randal's luck that evening had been phenomenal. But then the mercenary had been enjoying good fortune all day, and this drinking session in The Mermaid, a dockside alehouse of unsavoury repute, was to celebrate the hiring of his sword by Robert of Gloucester. Oliver would not usually have stayed in such a place beyond the obligatory first cup to toast Randal's success, but tonight a second cup had followed the first, and the third was well on its way to joining them.

Sharp edges of colour and noise grew comfortably blurred. Weak jests suddenly became hilarious, and the serving wenches seemed far more attractive than when he first entered the place. So much so, that one of them was soon sitting in his lap and helping him to finish his wine. She had a loose plait of greasy brown hair, and pale blue eyes. Her giggle was irritating, but her figure was ample, and she seemed thoroughly willing to share its delights with him. He ordered a fresh flagon. The dice rattled across the trestle and Randal's laugh rang out, huge and confident. Oliver laughed, echoing the sound, but it rang hollowly in his own ears, and he muffled it within the girl's abundant breasts. The flagon arrived, brimming with cool red oblivion, and Oliver sought it greedily.

He woke to a blinding headache and a stomach that was boiling like a dyer's vat. The sound of someone pissing nearby set up a fierce aching in the pit of his belly.

'Jesu, he groaned and, against his better judgement, opened his lids a crack. Daylight seared his eyeballs and for a moment he was insensible to anything but the pain. The noise of urination went on and on. Turning his head he saw Randal de Mohun taking a piss against the bailey wall. Oliver stared blankly. He had no recollection whatsoever of leaving The

Mermaid and returning here, but must have done so, although apparently he had not reached the hall, for his bed was a heap of stable straw pulled down from a wagon standing in the bailey. The last time he had been as drunk as this had been during his pilgrimage, when a chirurgeon had drawn an abscessed tooth. Back then he had not known which pain was worse; now he did.

Trying to ignore the clamour from his bladder, he dragged his cloak high around his shoulders, closed his eyes and rolled over. The straw rustled and there was a soft murmur of protest. Oliver's lids shot up again and he stared in dismay at the girl from The Mermaid. In the pitiless morning light, she was a sight less appetising than she had been the previous evening. Her hair straggled about her face and he could see the lice wandering amongst its strands. The stink of her breath almost made him gag, but he knew that his own must be no sweeter. Three quarts of Gascony's worst red and a pottage bowl full of leek and garlic stew were not ingredients for freshening the mouth.

The girl began to snore, a thin string of drool at the corner of her mouth. Oliver groaned and turned on his back. He could not remember lying with her. Surreptitiously he groped beneath his cloak. He was still wearing his braies and his hose were still attached, apart from one fastening. He was also sporting a magnificent, swollen erection. Of course that did not mean he had refrained from fornication last night, it was just a measure of how badly he needed to piss. The girl's gown was rucked and stained and her body stank of vigorous effort.

Struggling to his feet, he lurched over to the wall and joined de Mohun who was shaking the last drops from his organ.

'Rough night. De Mohun's broad grin and gleaming eyes revealed that he was in considerably better case than Oliver. 'I hazard you've a head as thick as a thundercloud after the amount of wine you sank.

Oliver gave an inarticulate murmur and Randal's grin became an outright guffaw. 'I had to carry you back, more or less. God's bones, you didn't even stir when I tupped the wench and she started screaming like a vixen on heat. Should have stayed sober, man, we could have shared. Not a beauty, I'll admit, but she's got a grip like a vice. He thrust his right forefinger expressively into the cupped fist of his left.

Trapped by the slow emptying of his overfull bladder, Oliver could only stand and wait. Like the wine, de Mohun's company had been considerably more acceptable the night before. 'I've forsworn women and drink, he said shortly. 'Have you paid the wench?

'Three times and then some, Randal said with a flash of his brows.

Oliver grimaced.

'Hah, knew you'd turn priest on me the moment you sobered up! Good Christ, man, there's nothing wrong with wenches and wine.

'There is when you can't remember either, except to know that they were both bad bargains, Oliver retorted. Relieved to have finished, he adjusted his clothing and walked away as fast as his pounding head would allow.

Randal watched him through narrowed lids, then walked back to the girl and seized her roughly by the elbow. 'Come on, slut, you've outlived your use, he growled, jerking her to her feet, and slapping her face when she was slow to waken and take her own weight. When she protested, he slapped her harder and, dragging her to the gates, threw her out.

She screamed invective at him and shook her fist, but when he lunged after her she took to her heels.

Randal returned to her sleeping place and stooped to pick up her purse from the straw. He lost the few silver coins it contained in his broad, scarred palm, and tossed the purse away. She had not been worth the payment and he considered himself owed a refund.

Walking across the bailey, he saw Oliver's young adjutant, Gawin, making his own fond farewells to his leman. A braid of chestnut-red hair peeped from beneath her wimple and her features were thin and fine. There were rings on the fingers that curved around her lover's neck, and the edge of her gown beneath her green woollen cloak was embroidered with silks. Envy curdled in Randal's gut as he contrasted this thoroughbred creature with his partner of the night before.

He watched her break away from Gawin, and hurry in the direction of the main household, her head down and cloak folded high around her face. A highborn woman seeking a little coarse cloth to make her silks less boring, he thought. She ought to know how it felt to have a real man hard up inside her instead of playing with boys like Gawin.

'A remedy, eh? Ethel peered at Oliver through a haze of woodsmoke. 'Would that be for a sot's head, or the more incurable disease of cracked wits?

'I'm here for your help, not to be sliced into little pieces by your tongue.

'Humph, Ethel said, and pointed to a low stool. 'Sit. Taking a cup, she set about mixing the same betony and feverfew tisane that Oliver had given to Catrin on the road.

Oliver watched her and nursed his thundering skull. It did not help matters that he had received orders from the Earl, and was expected to depart Bristol with letters for Gloucester as soon as he had saddled up. Even the thought of wearing a helm was beyond bearing. The only mercy was that he would not be riding with de Mohun who was being sent out in a different direction.

'Drink, Ethel commanded, and handed him the steaming cup.

Grimacing, he took it from her. She had closed her lips on further sour remarks, but her expression spoke instead. Avoiding her gimlet stare, he glanced around the neatly arranged shelter and the bed-bench at the back covered with a cosy woven rug. 'I thought Catrin might be here, he said.

'Well, you thought wrong. She's sleeping wi' the other women and keeping an eye on Edon FitzMar to save my old legs those stairs. Ethel cocked her head on one side. 'But if you want to apologise to the lass, it'll be worth the climb to fetch her.

'Apologise! Oliver choked, then clutched his bursting skull with his free hand. 'Good Christ, her tongue's sharper than yours!

'In self-defence, Ethel retorted, folding her arms. 'Your own ain't slow to clear the scabbard… my lord. She sucked her teeth and considered him, the look in her eyes softening. 'Think carefully about what you will say when you see her next. The lass can match you, word for word, but she is wounded as much as she wounds. You went out in the city, had three skins too many in bad company and bedded a whore for your comfort.

'What of it? he said defensively.

'The lass came down at dawn to report to me on Edon. Then she went across the ward to the bake house and saw you snoring in a sodden heap beside that slut from The Mermaid. If you angered her yesterday, then she has nothing but contempt for you this morn, and I cannot say I blame her.

Oliver cursed softly and sipped the hot brew. He could hardly say that it was Catrin's fault that he had drunk himself out of his senses. It might be true, but it was also a feeble excuse. It had been easier to set his back teeth awash with wine than 'face himself.

'I just want her to be safe, he said. 'And taking your place will put her in all manner of jeopardy.

'Aye, so it will, but a gilded cage is your desire, not hers. She has the gift and she has the need. If you want to keep her respect, let alone her friendship, then you have to accept that.

'I'm not sure I can. Oliver finished the brew, screwing up his face at the particles of herb in the dregs, and rose to his feet.

Ethel gave him a hard look. 'Try, she said, and turned her back on him to make herself busy with her pestle and mortar.

His head still pounding fit to burst, Oliver took his leave.