her health, Ethel's hearing remained needle-sharp. Taking Catrin's arm, he led her not only out of earshot but out of sight, tugging her around the corner of a storeshed. The remark she had made about him shouting and losing his temper was probably an attempt to shame him into doing neither, but her suggestion that he lacked control only made him angrier still.
The moment they were out of Ethel's range, Catrin freed herself from his grip and rubbed her arm. 'And Ethel certainly does not need to be told about you. She said that when you heard, you would burst your hauberk, and to look at you she was right.
'Did she tell you why? His tone was full of angry contempt as he folded his arms, pressing his fingers against the cold metal rivets of his hauberk. To have Ethel, who knew more about him than any person living, discuss him with Catrin, was both a betrayal and an intrusion.
Colour flooded her face. 'Yes, but in confidence. She said that a midwife should be as close-mouthed as a priest in the confessional.
'A pity she seems not to practise what she preaches, he said angrily. 'What gems of wisdom did she impart, or is that too much of a «confidence» to break?
Catrin drew herself up. 'She had no intention to wound or harm you in telling me. It was to make me understand why you might prove difficult. She told me about your wife, and said that you had a dislike — a fear — of midwifery and women's business.
Catrin's eyes, full of battle-light, were a luminous tawny-green. There was anxiety in them, but it did not detract from the determination he saw too. He loomed over her, glaring down. 'After the way Emma died, it would be strange if I did not avoid conversation about matters of childbirth. His lip curled. 'Fear it is not. If I am at risk of bursting my hauberk, it is at the thought of the danger that you risk by taking up the trade.
She held his gaze with stubborn courage. 'No more danger than any other. I could prick myself on a sewing-needle in the bower tomorrow and die of a poisoned finger. Look what happened at Penfoss! But for a quirk of fate, you would have buried me yesterday with all the others.
'So I might, but there is no cause for you to go shortening the odds with this lunatic folly. Did Ethel also tell you how she came to Bristol? he asked brutally. 'How she was burned out of her cot for witchcraft? Did she tell you about journeys through the worst parts of the camp and the town in the middle of the night? Of the thieves and pimps to whom a young woman alone would be easy prey? Christ on the Cross, I didn't bring you to Bristol to see you squander your life down some stinking alley and wind up just another corpse in the river! Unfolding his arms, he took her by the shoulders to emphasise his point.
'Then for what purpose did you bring me? she spat. 'To sit among the Countess's women until the pettiness and boredom drives me to cast myself out of the bower window to a 'clean death'! If I had known you were going to make a chattel of me, I'd have stayed amongst the cinders!
'If I had known you were going to be so foolish, I'd have left you there!
She glared at him. 'You do not own me. The choice is mine and freely made. If you had my welfare at heart, you would wish me well, not seek to strew stones in my path.
Now let me go. Ethel needs help to unpack her belongings. She shrugged him off, her frame bristling with anger. 'Face yourself, not me! Turning on her heel she stalked off, the red hose flashing with each step.
'Hellcat! Oliver choked in her wake, and kicked at the blameless storeshed wall. The action rebounded on him, for he stubbed his toe and thus felt all the more aggrieved. It was a long, long time since his control had been so precarious, but then it had been a long, long time since anyone had so thoroughly upset his equilibrium, and never before had it been a woman. Emma had been too gentle and obedient to criticise her adolescent husband, and his relationships since her death had been transitory and, for the most part, conducted between the sheets.
For a moment he almost strode after Catrin to continue the exchange, but when he did move it was in the opposite direction. As she said, the choice was hers and freely made. Well and good, let her stew in her own soup. His pace lengthened with determination as he set off to find Randal de Mohun and relay Earl Robert's message about the tiltyard.
'You were right, he did burst his hauberk, Catrin said ruefully, as she swept the beaten-earth floor of the shelter with a birch besom and then covered it with a thick layer of straw. 'I even feared that he was going to strike me.
'He didn't raise his hand against you? Ethel ceased feeding twigs to the first fire in her new hearth and looked at Catrin sharply.
'No, only his voice. And to my credit, or shame, I shouted straight back at him, told him to face himself instead of railing at me.
Ethel gave a small snort through her nose and, nodding to herself, continued to build up her fire. 'Aye, you're the one, she said with a note of satisfaction.
'What do you mean? Catrin demanded suspiciously. But Ethel only shook her head and chuckled softly to herself. When Catrin persisted, Ethel made her set up the iron tripod and cooking pot over the fire and put her off by showing her a recipe for building up a mother's strength in the days after the birth.
'Hah, double sixes, I win! Randal de Mohun clenched his fists in triumph and scooped the silver pennies off the table and into his pouch. If the dice had not belonged to someone else, Oliver would have sworn that they were loaded, for Randal's luck that evening had been phenomenal. But then the mercenary had been enjoying good fortune all day, and this drinking session in The Mermaid, a dockside alehouse of unsavoury repute, was to celebrate the hiring of his sword by Robert of Gloucester. Oliver would not usually have stayed in such a place beyond the obligatory first cup to toast Randal's success, but tonight a second cup had followed the first, and the third was well on its way to joining them.
Sharp edges of colour and noise grew comfortably blurred. Weak jests suddenly became hilarious, and the serving wenches seemed far more attractive than when he first entered the place. So much so, that one of them was soon sitting in his lap and helping him to finish his wine. She had a loose plait of greasy brown hair, and pale blue eyes. Her giggle was irritating, but her figure was ample, and she seemed thoroughly willing to share its delights with him. He ordered a fresh flagon. The dice rattled across the trestle and Randal's laugh rang out, huge and confident. Oliver laughed, echoing the sound, but it rang hollowly in his own ears, and he muffled it within the girl's abundant breasts. The flagon arrived, brimming with cool red oblivion, and Oliver sought it greedily.
He woke to a blinding headache and a stomach that was boiling like a dyer's vat. The sound of someone pissing nearby set up a fierce aching in the pit of his belly.
'Jesu, he groaned and, against his better judgement, opened his lids a crack. Daylight seared his eyeballs and for a moment he was insensible to anything but the pain. The noise of urination went on and on. Turning his head he saw Randal de Mohun taking a piss against the bailey wall. Oliver stared blankly. He had no recollection whatsoever of leaving The
Mermaid and returning here, but must have done so, although apparently he had not reached the hall, for his bed was a heap of stable straw pulled down from a wagon standing in the bailey. The last time he had been as drunk as this had been during his pilgrimage, when a chirurgeon had drawn an abscessed tooth. Back then he had not known which pain was worse; now he did.
Trying to ignore the clamour from his bladder, he dragged his cloak high around his shoulders, closed his eyes and rolled over. The straw rustled and there was a soft murmur of protest. Oliver's lids shot up again and he stared in dismay at the girl from The Mermaid. In the pitiless morning light, she was a sight less appetising than she had been the previous evening. Her hair straggled about her face and he could see the lice wandering amongst its strands. The stink of her breath almost made him gag, but he knew that his own must be no sweeter. Three quarts of Gascony's worst red and a pottage bowl full of leek and garlic stew were not ingredients for freshening the mouth.
The girl began to snore, a thin string of drool at the corner of her mouth. Oliver groaned and turned on his back. He could not remember lying with her. Surreptitiously he groped beneath his cloak. He was still wearing his braies and his hose were still attached, apart from one fastening. He was also sporting a magnificent, swollen erection. Of course that did not mean he had refrained from fornication last night, it was just a measure of how badly he needed to piss. The girl's gown was rucked and stained and her body stank of vigorous effort.
Struggling to his feet, he lurched over to the wall and joined de Mohun who was shaking the last drops from
