'Well, yours and the boy's. A son of the old King outranks an embroideress any day, no matter that she's a knight's daughter. I'm Edon FitzMar and my husband is one of the Earl's hearth knights. She clasped Catrin's hand. 'Never fret, you'll soon be at home here.
Catrin doubted that very much. The bower walls hemmed her in. She knew that this was the way many women of noble birth lived their lives — shut away in the castle's upper chambers, their days occupied by weaving, spinning and needlecraft. It was an enclosed world, seething with undercurrents and tensions that had few outlets. The occupants fed upon each other. Amice had spoken often of that kind of life, and never with longing or affection. But since Edon FitzMar had offered the hand of friendship, Catrin kept her misgivings to herself and returned the clasp with a smile and a palliative murmur.
'I suppose, Edon said to Richard, showing her kindness further by including him in the conversation, 'that you will become a page in my Lord's household. That's what happens to most of the boys fostered here.
Richard nodded and looked at his feet. 'I would like that, he mumbled.
'He's a good teacher, Lord Robert. Geoffrey — that's my husband — says that no squire could have a better start.
Richard mumbled again. His eyes flickered from the ground to the prominent swell of her belly. Seeing his glance, she laughed self-consciously and laid her hand across her midriff. 'My first, she said to Catrin. 'Due in the autumn. Geoffrey's that proud, he's been puffing out his chest and crowing to all the others like a cockerel. They're all sick to death of hearing about it.
'My mother was with child too, Richard said. 'Aimery crowed to all the other men, but he's dead now… and so is she. Whirling from a startled Edon, he ran to the door and banged out of the room.
'I'm sorry, I never thought. . Edon looked aghast. 'And after last night too, I should have known.
'It isn't your fault, Catrin said quickly, not wanting to lose the tentative friendship that had sprung up. 'He's liable to take off at the slightest thing just now. I have to go after him. Explain to the Countess if she asks for me. Gathering her skirts, Catrin ran from the bower in pursuit of Richard. Behind her, the women looked at each other, their expressions ranging from disapproval to sympathy for the afflicted.
It was difficult to run down a turret stair in a gown and by the time Catrin reached the foot, Richard had disappeared. Cursing to herself she asked around, but no one had seen him. A running child was of small consequence in a household as large as the Earl of Gloucester's. A running woman, however, was cause for raised eyebrows and more than one murmur about lack of propriety.
Catrin searched the hall then hastened outside. In the bailey she found the young squire, Thomas FitzRainald, breaking his fast on a large oatcake smeared with honey, whilst polishing a piece of harness with a soft cloth. He was only too happy to abandon his task and help her find Richard. While she headed for the outer bailey, Thomas went off to search the kennels and the mews.
A party of horsemen was preparing to ride out, among them a priest. Strapped behind his mule's saddle were a travelling chest and a small case made from boiled leather, shaped to hold and protect his mitre. At the head of the group, Oliver was swinging lightly astride the grey. His face wore the fresh gleam of a sound night's sleep, and he was smiling at something that Gawin had said to him.
Through her anxiety, Catrin was suddenly aware of her own slatternly appearance. The clothes of the last few days still itched on her back because they were the only ones she possessed — travel-smirched, smoky and dirty. She could not have smiled had she tried.
Oliver twisted in the saddle to adjust his shield strap, but when he saw her he stopped, and the residue of the grin faded from his lips. 'Mistress Catrin, what's wrong?
'Richard's run off. She told him what had happened in the bower.
His lips compressed. 'Poor little sod. Raising a forefinger to Gawin, bidding him wait, he dismounted. 'Come, I'll help you look. He won't have gone far.
'What about your journey?
'Another half candle-notch won't make any difference. The living matter more than the dead. He spoke the last sentence with a wry shrug, as if he did not quite believe in the words. Then he shook his head and grimaced. 'Rohese de Bayvel should be tied to that post yonder and whipped. It's not the first time that she's caused trouble in the bower.
'Then why doesn't the Countess stop her?
'Because Rohese is probably the best needlewoman in England, and when she tries she can be sweetness itself — and no, that is not a remark made from personal knowledge. I would rather kiss the hand of Medusa than become embroiled with that shrew. I'll go and investigate the guardrooms, shall I? You ask over there at the bread oven.
Earl Robert's favourite alaunt had given birth to a litter of four pups in the spring. Now, seven weeks later, they were energetic bundles of tawny fur, their coats wrinkling comically on their loose-knit bones. From his corner, Richard watched them tumble over each other and indulge in mock fights, already establishing an order of dominance. Their mother lay nearby, her limbs relaxed but her gaze watchful.
Richard made no attempt to touch any of the pups. It was enough just to observe. His mother had always been promising him a dog, but somehow the promise had always remained as 'next time', or 'another day'. Aimery de Sens had owned an alaunt, but it had been huge and black, with a snarl to threaten anyone who came within touching distance. When Aimery had wanted to lie with Amice, he made the beast guard the bedchamber door so that they wouldn't be disturbed.
Well, they were all dead now. There was a treacherous stinging sensation at the back of Richard's eyes. 'It's all my fault, he told one of the pups as it left the rough and tumble to investigate him. 'I wished them dead. He picked it up and cuddled it with a deep longing for the feel of something soft and warm against his skin. The pup wriggled and licked him with a swift, pink tongue. Richard buried his face in the tawny fur while the forces gathered inside him.
'Found you!
Richard jerked his head up, his eyes wet, the sob locked in his throat as he glared at Thomas FitzRainald. 'Go away! he snarled.
The other boy did exactly the opposite and came closer.
'They're looking for you. That nurse of yours, Catrin is it? She's running around like a scorched cat. Oliver Pascal's hunting too.
Richard inhaled the pup's fuzzy coat. 'I don't want to be found.
'You should have hidden better then. Thomas crouched down, and the young dog wriggled away from Richard to explore the newcomer. 'Why have you run away?
'I haven't, I just wanted to be on my own, that's all. Richard drew the back of his hand across his eyes, and challenged the other boy to remark on it with a brimming scowl.
Thomas raised his chin to avoid the pup's eager pink tongue. 'Is it true that you're the Earl's half-brother? 'Yes, what of it?
'Well, that makes you my uncle, because my papa is your half-brother too. Thomas giggled at the thought. 'Uncles are supposed to be older than their nephews.
'How old are you? Richard demanded, curiosity winning out over defensiveness.
'I was eleven at the feast of Saint John.
'I won't be eleven until Christmas. The puppy clambered back into his lap and he cuddled it again.
Thomas eyed him. 'We're more of an age to be brothers or cousins. Can I call you cousin?
Richard shrugged. 'If you like, he said indifferently, but he was pleased. Essentially he was a gregarious child, who had been forced by circumstances to dwell overmuch in his own company.
Thomas eyed him, as if trying to decide whether the response was an acceptance or rejection. 'You'll have to let them know where you are, he said. 'Otherwise they'll turn the place upside down and you'll be in worse trouble than ever.
Richard wriggled his shoulders. 'I don't want to go back to the women, he said. 'Most of them don't like me anyway' He gazed around the space surrounding him, the comfort of open sky and fresh air.
Thomas eyed him. 'You don't have to stay with them. Ask if you can sleep in the same dorter as the other squires.
'But I'm not a squire.
