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
