and the Archbishop of Canterbury to perform the rites.
'I wasn't thinking of the splendour. They had been married during the negotiations for the peace treaty at Winchester, which meant that almost the entire baronage of England and the borders had been present to witness the ceremony.
'Then what?
Catrin looked at him through her lashes. 'I was thinking that that day was and this day is perfect and how much I love you. Conscious of the men behind him, she spoke quietly. Soft, bedchamber talk was not appropriate for the moment, but he had asked her.
Without bothering to look over his shoulder to see how many were watching, Oliver reached out and briefly squeezed his hand over hers. 'And set to become more perfect yet, he said. 'I love you too, wife.
They rode into Ashbury and the people gathered outside their houses to watch the troop ride past. Everywhere there were flashes of colour. Best garments had been donned. Hands and faces had been scrubbed and hair tidied. It was a mark of welcome and respect, but it was also anticipation. They knew that a feast of grand proportions was coming their way. Oliver grinned with pleasure and greeted many by name, reverting with ease to the English tongue. Rosamund stared
on wide-eyed. Henry clapped and shouted. Simon hid his face in Godard's tunic.
Instead of riding on to the keep, Oliver led the troop towards the small stone and timber church at the end of the main street and here dismounted. The villagers crowded behind, laughing, chattering, arguing.
Oliver lifted Catrin from her mare and led her to the church door. Then he turned her on his arm to face his troop and the people. 'I know we are already wed, he murmured, 'but would you consider tying the knot again at the church door in front of Father Alberic?
Catrin tilted her head to one side. 'Why? From the corner of her eye she saw an elderly man in dusty priest's robes hurrying from the direction of his cottage and almost tripping over his robe in his haste.
'It would mean a great deal to the old man, Oliver said. 'He wed my parents here and my brother. He's Ethel's half-brother, you know. My great-grandfather sent him to be educated for the priesthood at Malmesbury.
Catrin stared. She was lost for words by the turn events had taken.
'It would mean a great deal to me too, Oliver added softly, and took her hand, his thumb gently rubbing her knuckles. 'I want to set the seal on our new beginning.
The priest arrived and for a moment leaned against the church wall to regain his breath. His tonsure was in need of a trim and his habit looked as if it had been used as a dog bed, but his careworn face was kindly and Catrin could see a distinct resemblance to Ethel in his blunt features. He was clutching a wedding chaplet fashioned out of daffodils and primroses.
'Welcome, my lord, my lady, he wheezed.
Catrin eyed the chaplet narrowly. It had taken more than five minutes to make. 'You planned all this beforehand, didn't you? she asked Oliver, with a gesture at the grinning villagers in their best feast-day clothes.
'Was I wrong? His hand tightened over hers and his grey eyes were alight with love and humour… and perhaps the faintest trace of anxiety. Louis's shadow sulking in its corner.
Catrin gently took the chaplet from the recovering priest, removed her wimple and set the crown of flowers upon her braids. 'No, she murmured, 'and in any case, I forgive you.
They kissed to the accompaniment of cheers. As they entered the church, the scent of the flowers was joined by a poignant, herbal aroma and Catrin knew that this moment was special for Ethel too.
Author's Note
The author's note at the end of my novels is the place where I like to explain the threads of my research which have had an important bearing on the telling of the tale. I think this is because quite often the truth is stranger than fiction and I want to show that while the main characters in The Love Knot have come from my imagination, the roots from which they sprang are firmly grounded in fact.
The period of the civil war in England between Stephen and Mathilda is a complicated one with families and loyalties strained and sundered, sides swapped at the flick of a sword, and sudden shifts in the balance of power. I have tried to simplify the politics as much as possible so that they do not hold up the drive of Oliver and Catrin's story. Indeed, to have covered every switch and turn of the conflict would have made The Love Knot longer than The Lord of the Rings, more complicated than a tangled ball of knitting wool, and given my editor a nervous breakdown! Having said that, all the broad brushstrokes of the turbulence are in place.
Since leprosy made a sufferer an outcast from society, there were those prepared to take desperate measures to find a cure It was while researching the midwife's art in the Middle Ages that I came across the true case of a Frenchman stricken with leprosy who had inveigled an unscrupulous midwife into procuring a stillborn child for him in the belief that its fat was a certain cure for the disease.
It was also while researching the role of the herb-wife on more general terms that I turned up a wealth of information on knot magic, a lore which had been practised from the time of the Ancient Greeks. Even today, when people marry they are said to be 'tying the knot', a saying that goes back to the binding of two life threads by the Goddess Aphrodite. For anyone wanting to read further, I recommend the utterly fascinating Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets by Barbara G. Walker.
Although I have used the name Chepstow in the novel, during Stephen's time it was known by the earlier Welsh title of Striguil. As this is a name unfamiliar to the modern reader, I have changed it to the later rendition by which it is now known.
