Catrin smoothed the dark hair from his brow. 'You seem to have made a friend in him, don't you? she murmured.
'He's going to teach me to throw a spear tomorrow. There was relish in Richard's voice which did nothing to soothe the alarm his statement had roused in Catrin.
'On your own?
'Oh no, with the other squires and one of the Earl's serjeants. I can go, can't I? Alarm filled Richard's own voice. 'I don't have to stay here with all these women?
Catrin did not know whether to be annoyed or amused. A typical male, she thought, wishing that she was one too and could abandon the bower for the freedom of a grassy field and a lesson in spear throwing. At least he would be occupied and benefiting from the experience. 'No, she said with a smile, 'you don't have to stay.
'And I can sleep in the dorter?
'The Earl will have to be asked about that, and the Countess too, but I cannot see that they will object. On the morrow, I will ask them. Time for rest now. She arranged the blanket over his shoulder and gave his hair a final smooth. Then she went to prepare herself for bed. By the time she had removed her wimple and gown, he was sound asleep.
'Bless him, said Edon, glancing his way with a soft look. 'Let us hope he sleeps sound tonight.
'Etheldreda said that her potion would ease his slumber.
'Then it will. She might look like a hag, but she knows her nostrums. Do you want me to comb out your hair?
It was on the tip of Catrin's tongue to say that she could manage. Since Lewis had died, no one had touched her hair. Lewis had loved to comb it and then spread it over his lean, brown hands. In those days she had scented it with rosemary and jasmine, and dressed her braids with bright ribbons and bindings. 'If you wish, she said. At least it was clean. Before Amice's funeral that afternoon, she had begged a small container of the Countess's scented soap, purloined a pail of warm water from the kitchens, and scrubbed herself from crown to toe. A mark of respect to the dead, she had told the others when they looked at her askance, but it had been more than that, the cleansing almost a self-baptism as she began another life.
Unfastening the strip of leather at the tail of her plait, she pulled her fingers through her braid to loosen the twists, then sat still for Edon to do the rest.
'Your hair's quite pretty to say that it's black, Edon remarked as she began to draw the comb down through Catrin's tresses. 'I wish mine was as shiny. She fingered one of her own locks. 'Still, I should not complain. Mine is fair, and that's the sort that all the troubadours worship. Geoffrey says it reminds him of a cornfield rippling in the wind. She gave her head a small toss.
Catrin remembered Lewis saying that her hair put him in mind of black silk, but she kept her silence. She had no intention of using her dead husband to compete with the paragon Geoffrey. Besides, it was true that to conform to the romantic ideal of beauty, a woman needed hair the colour of a parsnip, eyes of insipid pale blue, and a nature as sweet as a nectar-filled flower. Possessing none of these traits, Catrin had long since learned to live with what she had, and good luck to those more fortunate.
Still, it was pleasant to have someone dress her hair, and when Edon finished Catrin reciprocated gladly.
At the far end of the room, Rohese de Bayvel and another young woman were performing the same task for each other, whispering and giggling.
Edon cast a glance in their direction. 'Rumour has it that Rohese has a lover among the castle knights, she murmured, leaning back at the tug of the comb, 'but no one knows who it is. I asked Geoffrey, but he said he had no truck with women's gossip.
'No, Catrin said drily.
'I wonder who it could be. Edon caught her full lower lip in her teeth. 'She was betrothed until last year, but he changed allegiance and married someone from Stephen's party. For all her airs and graces, she has but a small dowry.
Catrin was disgusted to find herself enjoying these details at Rohese's expense. The atmosphere of the bower, the pleasure in gossip was insidious and harmful. 'Finished, she said with a last smoothing stroke of the comb, and handed it back to Edon in a manner that was almost brusque.
Edon seemed not to notice. She stowed the comb in her small personal coffer of carved beech wood. 'Did you see old Etheldreda give her that flask? Any guess that it's a love philtre. Ethel must have sold one to nearly every woman in the keep by now.
Catrin shook her head. 'I would not want a man if I had to resort to love potions to make him desire me.
Edon reddened slightly, making Catrin suspect that her companion had not been above slipping a little persuasion into Geoffrey the Wonderful's wine. Involuntarily she raised her hand to touch the cord at her throat. Women's magic. Maiden, Mother and Crone.
'I'm tired, Edon said querulously, and then arched her spine. 'Jesu, but my back aches tonight. It must have been all that sewing earlier. I should not have sat for so long.
'Best retire to bed then, Catrin said solicitously, managing to keep the irritation from her voice. 'I am grateful for the help you gave me today. Which she was, but thought it unfair that Edon should blame it for her aching back. All women in the last month of pregnancy suffered thus. Catrin did not have to be a skilled midwife to know that; it was common female knowledge.
Edon gave her a smile, her mouth corners tight and, still rubbing her back, went to her pallet. Catrin raised the covers on her own mattress and lay down beneath them. The linen was scratchy against her bare shins, and the pillow had a musty smell, threaded through with the scent of dried lavender. This wasn't home, she thought dismally; she could never belong here, and yet, as she closed her eyes and courted sleep, she could not think of anywhere else that she had belonged, except perhaps Penfoss which, like the rest of her past life, no longer existed.
Once more, screams tore the night and roused everyone from sleep. This time the culprit was not Richard but Edon, her mouth open in a square wail of pain, and her chemise drenched in birthing fluid.
'God save us, she's started early with her pains, said Dame Aldgith, the most senior of the women. The Countess was abed with her husband and therefore beyond summoning.
'I don't want to have a baby! Edon screeched. 'It hurts, it hurts! The final word ended on a hair-raising note of pure hysteria, and she threw herself back on her pallet, clutching at her taut belly and drumming her heels.
'Want or not, you're in travail, my girl, said Aldgith, and swung round to the other women who were gathered round the bed, eyes huge with shock. 'Don't all stand there like sheep. Poke up the fire, set the cauldron over the hearth and find some old linen.
Rohese gave the older woman a murderous look before sweeping away in a cloud of red-chestnut hair.
'I'll fetch Mistress Etheldreda, Catrin murmured, and quickly set about dressing again. Borrowing a cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and, draping a scarf over her hair, hurried from the room.
Running down to the great hall, she realised that she did not know where to find the elderly midwife. Somewhere in the camp was her vague notion. None of the other women would know either, so it was pointless turning back to ask. No respectable lady would step beyond the forebuilding door unescorted. The thought of venturing amongst the soldiers and camp followers made her baulk, but Etheldreda had to be, summoned.
In the hall, she approached the guard on duty and told him of her difficulty.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked her up and down, then strode from his post to kick one of the knights who was rolled in his cloak near the fire. 'Hoi, Geoff, that little wife of yours has started with the babe. Take this lass and find the midwife.
A young man sat up, yawning and knuckling his eyes. He had a mass of sleep-mussed curly blond hair and regular, but plain, features. When he stood up, he was a little below average height and stockily built, the hint of a bow to his short legs. Catrin warmed to him immediately. Edon's paragon was an ordinary man, his Adonis-like appearance a figment of his wife's over-fertile imagination.
'Edon, is she all right? he demanded anxiously as he stumbled over the other sleepers and, latching his swordbelt, arrived at Catrin's side.
