that's all.
'Did you truly mean what you said about the eagle stone?
'Of course I did. Belief is the strongest power we have. Tell a wench that one of those things will ease her travail, and sure enough her pangs diminish.
'And what if the birth goes wrong?
The woman finished the wine in the cup and pinched her lips to wipe them. 'I sell hope, not miracles, she said. 'Sometimes a skilled midwife can rescue a mother and babe in difficulty, but if not, then it is God's will, and all the belief in the world will not change matters. She nodded sagely as she spoke, then gave Catrin a shrewd look. 'I thought you must be Lord Oliver's lass the moment I set eyes on you. 'Forthright and sharp of wit,' he says to me, 'looks so dainty, you'd never believe she was as stubborn as an ox.'
Catrin's face flamed as she was assailed by several emotions at once, not least among them embarrassment and anger that Oliver had seen fit to discuss her with another. She was bewildered too. 'I'm not his 'lass', she said frostily, 'and he has no right to talk about me behind my back.
'Oh, don't take on so. Etheldreda gave her a reproving look. 'You turned him upside-down and he had to talk to someone.
'But why you? I don't understand.
'I've known him since I delivered him into my apron back in the time when life was safe. Helped to birth his older brother too, God rest his soul. She crossed herself. 'Master Oliver's the last one now, and one of Stephen's godless mercenaries sits in the hall that should be his.
Catrin frowned, feeling more bewildered than ever. The woman patted her hand. 'In the winter, I had to flee my old home, so I came here to Bristol. There's always call for a wise-woman and midwife among the troops. Oliver's good word and my skill have granted me work in the keep as well as the camp. He makes sure I don't starve.
It was then that Catrin made the connection between the midwife and Oliver's mention of an 'Etheldreda'. She stared at the elderly woman sitting at her side, one age-spotted hand curled around a cup, the other lying in her lap and showing a slight tremor. The only features that might have belonged to the dark-haired temptress of Catrin's imagination were the snapping black eyes. Defensiveness and anger were replaced by chagrin and amusement.
'I thought you were his mistress, she laughed.
Ethel laughed too, a loud, throaty chuckle that caused the other women to cast censorious glances in their direction. 'His mistress, God save us! she whooped. 'Well, I admit to holding him naked in my arms, but he was new-born at the time, and I've never heard a yell so loud. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and coughed.
Her humour was infectious, and Catrin too found her eyes filling as she found release in laughter instead of tears. It was difficult to sober, but before she crossed the line between mirth and hysteria, she sought a scrap of spare linen from her sewing to wipe nose and eyes, and changed the subject.
'Oliver said that you would give me a sleeping potion for Richard.
'Yes, I've got it here. Etheldreda rummaged in her shoulder satchel and produced a small leather flask with a stopper. 'Four drops in a cup of wine is all you should need. Time and healing will do the rest.
Catrin removed the stopper and sniffed the contents. 'What's in it?
'Mainly white poppy. Master Oliver brought a store back from the Holy Land. In small amounts it induces sleep, calms and soothes, but too much can be dangerous.
Catrin nodded. 'I wish I knew more about herb-lore, she said wistfully. 'My mother taught me a little, but usually she sought out the castle's herb-wife or asked at the abbey if she had need of a cure.
The old woman watched her replace the stopper and set the flask carefully to one side. 'Would you truly like to learn? she asked, adding swiftly, 'It is not an idle question.
Catrin did not hesitate. 'You would teach me?
'As much as can be taught. Knowledge of the hands is inborn, and other things can only be learned by experience, but if you have the healing gift, then I could help you to make it grow and be of use to others.
Somewhat bemused by the turn that events had taken, Catrin wondered why the old midwife was giving her such attention. Surely she did not make such offers to her other clients. 'Did Oliver ask you to take me under your wing? she asked suspiciously.
'Hah! Etheldreda snorted. 'If he knew I'd offered to train you, he'd burst his hauberk. If I take you under my wing, 'tis as much for my sake as yours. She raised the recumbent left hand from her lap and laboriously waggled her fingers. 'Look at this. Hasn't been right since I suffered a seizure in last winter's cold. My body is weakening. I was born the year of the great battle on Hastings field, and by my reckoning, that makes me well beyond three score and ten. If I reach four score I predict 'twill be a miracle, and I've neither daughters nor kin to bequeath my knowledge. Unless I find someone soon, it will all die with me.
Catrin absorbed this and felt a little daunted. She had always been fascinated by the twin skills of midwifery and herb-lore. Perhaps it was because of their mystery, or the power that possessing knowledge conferred on their owner. Or perhaps it was the need to feel less vulnerable. 'Why would Oliver object?
Etheldreda snorted again. 'He's a man, and like all men he's wary of women's matters. Besides, he's afraid. 'Afraid? Catrin blinked.
'His wife died in childbed. Three days she was in labour, and nothing I nor anyone could do to save her. Mouth of her womb wouldn't open, so we couldn't even take the child out in pieces to save her life. Had to make Caesar's cut in the end when she was dead. The midwife shook her head. 'He took it mortal bad.
'I knew his wife died, Catrin said unsteadily, 'but I did not know the details.
'Well, now you do. Etheldreda raised a warning forefinger. 'And best keep it to yourself. I ain't a gossip, and it's not my habit to carry tales. A midwife should be as close-mouthed as a priest in the confessional except on rare occasions, and this be one of them. Master Oliver tolerates me out of family obligation and old affection, but he don't like midwives or women's business. He's better than he was in the early days, but he still fights shy.
'I won't say anything. Catrin thought about him comforting the dying Amice at Penfoss. How difficult that must have been for him in the light of what had happened to his wife.
'So, said Etheldreda briskly, 'do you still want to learn?
Catrin looked at the elderly midwife in her plain homespun gown and thought of the fear, respect and hostility that her trade engendered. Lives depended on her skill. She surmised that there must be great satisfaction on one side of the coin, despair and danger on the other.
'It is not for those with a weak stomach or heart, Etheldreda said as if reading her mind.
Catrin swallowed and seized the horns of fate. 'Yes, she heard herself say. 'I do want to learn. I need a sense of direction. She glanced around the Countess's bower. There was little sense of direction here. A morning's sewing with Edon for company had left her feeling cooped-up and frustrated. She had to have more. 'There is still my duty to the Countess, she felt honour-bound to murmur.
Etheldreda wagged her forefinger. 'If there are stones in your path, then you either cast them aside or find your way
around them. Otherwise, you might as well just stay where you are. I know the Countess Mabile. She'll see your learning as a boon. It'll suit her not to send all the way to the camp when she wants a calming tisane, or some rosewater cream to rub into her hands.
Catrin gave a doubtful nod, still not quite convinced. The midwife returned the cup to her and eased to her feet. 'Well, I'd best be on my way. I'll come and talk with you tomorrow, and if you're still of the same mind, we'll begin your training. Again she delved into her satchel, and brought forth a small, exquisitely fashioned piece of knotwork, the loops woven in red, black and white wool, and suspended from a red cord.
'Here, she said. 'Take this and wear it around your neck. All wise-women have a healing cord to remind them of the grace of the Trinity.
Catrin took the talisman. 'Father, Son and Holy Spirit, she said.
The old woman studied her narrowly. 'Maiden, Mother and Crone, she contradicted. 'Women's magic'
Catrin returned Etheldreda's stare, and a thrill of apprehension ran up her spine. 'Is that not dangerous?
'Only inasmuch as men choose it to be. Is not the Blessed Virgin Mary a maiden and mother? Was not John the Baptist's mother beyond child-bearing age when she bore him?
Catrin began to have more of an inkling why Oliver would 'burst his hauberk' if he knew what Etheldreda
