The boy's face was ashen. 'Get away from her, he spat. 'Get away from my mother!
'Your mother? Oliver dared not take his eyes from the lad to look at Amice. This then must be the son she had borne to King Henry. 'I know Lady Amice, lad, she's an old friend. He made a calming gesture. 'I'll take you both to safety, I swear.
The boy's arm trembled. In a moment he was going to release that arrow, and in all likelihood this time he would kill. Oliver took his chance and charged, weaving from side to side as he ran. The arrow shot from the bow and whined past his ear like a hornet. The next shaft was already nocked as Oliver struck. Man and boy rolled over in the dust and Oliver discovered that he was wrestling with an adversary as slippery as a Severn eel. A sharp elbow jabbed his ribs, drawing a grunt of pain; a fist flailed in his face and connected with his eye socket. The fingers uncurled and gouged. Oliver ceased being gentle, hit the lad with his fist, forced him down and sat on him.
'God's teeth! he panted. 'The only safety you need is a cage!
The boy lay rigid beneath him. Gingerly Oliver relaxed his grip, but remained alert to tighten it again if needful. 'I spoke the truth, he said in a breathless but less fraught tone. 'I do know your mother and I can help.
The stiffness remained a moment longer, then the battle-light left the boy's eyes which filled with the glitter of unshed tears. A lump was swelling on his temple where Oliver had cuffed him.
'I was out hunting squirrels with my bow, he said jerkily, 'and I saw the knights in the forest riding away from here with bloody swords. I ran home and I found… I found…' His throat worked and the words strangled.
'All right, all right, go gently, lad. With a feeling of guilt for his own violence, Oliver rose off the boy. Small wonder that the child had reacted as he had. Great wonder that he was not reduced to a cowering huddle.
Gawin came up to them, the boy's arrow now in his hand.
'Are you hurt? Oliver looked from the flight to Gawin's white face.
'Stung more than anything, thanks to decent mail, Gawin said with a grimace. 'It's not a full-grown man's barb or I'd be dead, but it's still made a nasty nick. The repair to my hauberk will cost the best part of half a mark. He pressed the upper edge of his quilted gambeson against the wound to stanch it and gave the boy a jaundiced look. 'I told you we should have ridden on.
'Put your morals before your mouth for once, Oliver snapped. He jerked his head at the blond woman lying in the dust, alive but lifeless. 'That's his mother. Look around you. What would you have done in his place?
Before Gawin could respond, the boy leaped to his feet and sprinted across the compound towards the other, younger woman who had stopped in mid-flight when he attacked the knights. 'Catrin, he sobbed and she swept her arms around him and hugged him desperately, burying her cheek in his hair.
Gawin looked puzzled. 'I thought you said yonder was his mother.
'She is. Thoughtfully Oliver returned to Amice and, removing his cloak, laid it gently over her. Her eyes were now clear, and this time they widened in recognition.
'You missed the festivities, Oliver, she whispered with a bitter half-smile.
'I missed them more than ten years ago, Amice. Look, we have horses; we'll take you to tending and shelter.
The sinews tightened in her throat and she folded her knees towards her belly and clutched with rigid hands. 'It is too late for that! she gasped.
The other woman hastened over, the boy in pursuit. 'I knew this would happen, she said grimly as she flung herself down beside Amice. 'It's been threatening for days now, and after what they did to her…
'Knew what would happen? Oliver demanded.
'She's with child, but not carrying well. For the last month she's been spotting blood. That's the father over by the gate, Aimery de Sens. They slaughtered him like a Martinmas hog and raped her as he died — one after the other, turn upon turn. Richard, go and bring me some water. She gave the boy the wooden bowl and spared Oliver a look from clear, amber-green eyes. 'I thought you were scavengers come to pick over the bones.
Oliver watched the boy trot away to the well and shook his head. 'We were on our way to the Severn ferry when the smoke guided us to you from the main track. He looked at her curiously, for her French accent bore a lilting inflection. The boy had called her Catrin, which he thought might be Welsh. 'How came you to escape this carnage? He gestured around.
'I was in the woods gathering oak bark for dyeing, but close enough to hear the commotion — and see what the whoresons did. She leaned over Amice. 'What quarrel did we have with anyone?
'We have to get her to safety. Oliver's gut was queasy. He would rather face the entire hoards of hell single-handed than deal with a woman in childbirth. It was worrying too that a band of raiders should be abroad in the heart of Gloucester's territory.
'No. If she is moved, she will bleed to death. I have only a little knowledge, but that much is certain. She sat back on her heels and regarded him sombrely. 'Her only chance is to remain completely still.
'Is there no midwife nearby?
'Dead, she said with a grim gesture at the bodies strewing the compound. 'And the nearest settlement is more than ten miles away.
He swore beneath his breath. Jesu, Gawin was right. They should have tarnished their consciences and left well alone.
Walking carefully so as not to spill a drop, the boy returned with the bowl of water. Catrin took it from him and gently raised Amice enough to drink.
'I'll go and make camp, Oliver said abruptly. He felt as helpless as a straw cast upon the surface of a raging flood. 'Come, lad, you can help me.
The boy hesitated, but at Catrin's nod and his mother's forced smile followed Oliver.
It was a little beyond full dark when Amice's child came still-born into the world, drenched in its mother's blood which continued to trickle and seep despite all Catrin's efforts. The afterbirth that followed the baby was torn, and Catrin knew that when such a thing happened the mother either bled to death or died within a few days of a suppurating fever.
Sitting at Amice's side, her hands red to the wrists, Catrin uttered a small sound of frustration. The fair- haired knight had given them his own portable shelter for the night and had built an open fire before it. Then he had made another camp across the compound for himself, his companion and Richard, giving the women a modicum of privacy. For much of the time Catrin had been aware of his presence in the corner of her vision as he moved among the dead, straightening and composing, murmuring prayers. Between the labour pangs, Amice had told her his name and a little about him. What she had said had made Catrin even more aware of his quiet, deliberate movements.
'It is no use, Catrin, Amice said in a reed-thin voice. 'There comes a time when death will not be cheated.
'My lady, I…
'Be quiet, there is no time to argue. Amice licked her parched lips and Catrin helped her to sip from the bowl of water. 'Bring me Oliver Pascal. I need to speak with him — hurry.
Catrin rinsed her hands and, drying them on her gown as she walked, approached the men's fire. Richard was staring into the flames, his hands wrapped around his upraised knees. He raised his eyes to her face, then slid his gaze over her bloodied clothes. Catrin wanted to cry. Instead, her voice wooden with control, she delivered Amice's summons to Oliver.
'How is she? The knight rose swiftly to his feet, his expression full of question and anxiety.
Catrin compressed her lips and shook her head. 'There is nothing that anyone but God can do. She has lost the baby and there is too much blood.
He flinched, but Catrin was too busy containing her own emotions to notice. Sinking to her knees beside Richard, she drew him into her embrace.
Oliver crossed the compound. Behind him, a pattern of glowing embers marked the place where half a day since buildings had stood. From what the child had told him, Oliver understood that Aimery de Sens was a man of few ambitions beyond the bedchamber and even fewer personal enemies. Penfoss had simply fallen foul of a random raid. It was destruction for destruction's sake, and someone had derived warped pleasure from the deed. Oliver shivered at the thought and wondered how men managed to live with themselves.
