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.

Chapter 9

Over the following weeks, Catrin threw herself into learning her new trade. She assisted at births and was told which prayers to recite and which saints to invoke. Ethel showed her how to perform external examinations to gauge the position of the child within the womb. The old woman took her around the market place and the dockside in search of herbs and remedies, and together they sought among the fields for fresh plants and herbs to make unguents and poultices.

When she was not busy with Ethel, Catrin served the Countess. There were always errands to run and tasks to perform, from simple pieces of sewing to strewing the rushes with toadflax after a sudden plague of fleas. Catrin's days were so full that she had small time to think beyond her physical duties. When she fell into bed at night, it was to deep and dreamless sleep. In the morning, she would awaken refreshed and hungry for the experiences of a new day.

Occasionally the thought of Oliver crossed her mind, but she had no time to dwell on him. The sight of him sprawled beside the whore in a heap of straw had filled her with contempt, but no great degree of surprise. She had told him to face himself and he had chosen a wine cup as his mirror and a slut to aid his forgetfulness. Still, she had been disappointed, for she had thought better of him. She had half expected him to seek her out before he left on the Earl's business, but he had not and she had put him aside for more worthwhile concerns.

The thought of Oliver made one of its brief, troublesome appearances now as she attended the Countess in Earl

Robert's solar. Thomas and Richard were present in their capacity as pages to pour the wine and run errands, should the need arise. Richard was self-consciously resplendent in a new tunic of holly-green wool with scarlet braid. Although he tried to keep a straight face, a grin kept threatening his mouth corners whenever he looked at Catrin. She had not seen a great deal of him since he had migrated to the squires' dorter, but enough to know that he was happy in his new position and making rapid progress.

He served her wine, and the grin split all the way across his face. Catrin yearned to give him a big hug, but made do with complimenting him on his fine new clothes and the polished manners he was acquiring.

'He's learned all that he knows from me, Thomas interrupted cheekily as he returned his own flagon to the enormous carved sideboard.

'Well, that's a mixed blessing, Catrin said dryly.

Richard was summoned away to put fresh logs on the fire. Catrin's gaze drifted to the garden mural of the two young women. Some of the paint had begun to flake. The dark girl's yellow dress was in need of refurbishment, and the blond one had lost part of her hand, but still their vibrancy dominated the room.

Richard went the rounds with the flagon, returning to her last. 'That's my mother, he said, seeing the direction of her gaze.

Catrin was startled. 'How do you know?

'Earl Robert told me. He said he had it painted when she lived here as his ward.

'Truly? Catrin stared at the mural with new eyes. Apart from the swirling blond hair, there was a slight resemblance to Amice, although it was more of essence than actual physical feature.

'Truly, nodded the boy. 'The Earl says that I can come and look whenever I want.

Behind Amice the second girl danced, a chaplet of flowers in her winding, dark tresses. Her features were thin and sharp, and she had the darting quality of a bird in flight. 'Who is her companion? Catrin asked, and thought that she already knew.