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.