woven hanging that acted as a screen, but it was tied up out of the way.
'Don't scowl, it's bad for custom, Catrin said tartly, and indicated that he should be seated again. 'I need the light to see what I'm doing, she added, as if reading his mind.
The fresh air was cool on his naked skin and soothed the hot itchiness of the rash. He heard Catrin cluck her tongue as she looked at the patch which his gambeson had inflamed. 'If you're riding out again, you'll need to keep it bandaged, but otherwise you must leave it open to the air as much as you can.
'You mean walk around shirtless?
'Yes.
He heard a glimmer of amusement in her voice. Her hand on the back of his neck was cool and sent a small shiver through him, but not of cold.
'This will hurt, she murmured, 'but only for a moment.
'I knew you were going to say that. He braced himself, but still hissed in pain as she cleaned the affected area with a cloth soaked in astringent lotion.
'Salt water with scabious, she told him. 'Then I'll put on a light smearing of comfrey ointment to soothe the itching. After you have bathed, you must anoint yourself again or, if you cannot reach, get someone to do it for you.
The stinging pain of the first lotion was replaced by the soothing cool of the balm. He felt the gentle touch of her fingertips, and sensed her closeness behind him. 'You have learned a great deal in a very short space of time, he said, probing gently at the subject which had caused their quarrel, seeking an opening.
'I am keen to learn and Ethel is a good teacher. Her voice was suddenly wary.
Keeping his own voice quiet and reasonable, he said, 'I know that it is your chosen path and I have no doubt that in time you will make a worthy successor to Ethel, but I meant what I said before.
'Which part? Hostility had joined the wariness now.
He turned on the stool to face her so that she could see his expression was open and candid. 'The part about midwifery and herb-lore being dangerous trades. No, hear me out. He raised his hand as she drew breath to argue. 'I admit, I would far rather that you stayed in the bower or took up ale-brewing or spinning to support your widowhood, but it's not worth the quarrel. Trying to change you would be like warping a loom out of true, and I doubt I would like the end result. He glanced down at her feet, prepared to make a humorous comment concerning her scarlet hose, but she wasn't wearing any at all.
'But you don't like the one presented to you either, Catrin said, eyeing him narrowly.
'Only part of it, and I would rather learn to live with it than without the whole.
Colour flooded Catrin's face. She moved behind him again and continued smearing the salve. 'And if I say like it all or nothing?
'Then you also would be warping a loom out of true.
There was a long silence. Catrin attended to her task with a thoroughness that insulated her. He felt the touch of her fingers, but not of her mind.
'If it is not enough, then I am sorry. There is no more I can say to mend the rift between us. He tensed, preparing to rise, but the pressure of her fingers increased, bidding him stay.
'Then say nothing more. If not all, then it is indeed enough.
He turned again to look up at her. Her colour was still high and the wariness had not entirely left her expression, but there was a gleam in her eyes and the hint of a curve to her lips. 'And is it not said that enough is as good as a feast to a starving man?
She snorted with reluctant amusement and gave him a gentle push. 'Go and take your bath. Even if we are to be friends again, I don't want to share your lice!
'Scold, he grinned.
'I give as good as I get, she retorted, laughter dancing in her eyes.
Oliver was enchanted. He wanted to grab her waist and swing her round in his arms, but wisely forbore. Their relationship was on an even keel again and he was not about to rock the boat. 'Well, may all your «gettings» be fortunate ones, he answered mischievously for the pleasure of seeing her blush. 'Just one question. What happened to your red hose? Have you suddenly become a staid and respectable matron?
'I have always been a staid and respectable matron, Catrin said flippantly, then shook her head with a regretful sigh. 'The Countess's lap dog took a fancy to chew them when I left them on my pallet, and they're beyond repair. The Countess gave me a pair of her own, but they're brown wool and they wrinkle and fall down unless I add yards of leg binding. I have never considered myself a vain woman — how could I and wear a dress like this? But until the cold weather bites, I would rather go without. You need not laugh, she added, setting her hands on her hips.
'I wasn't. Oliver swallowed so hard that he almost choked. 'I count it a great tragedy.
'Your bath, she said sternly, and made a shooing motion. Oliver leaned back into the shelter to grab another of Ethel's oatcakes, and made off with a spring in his stride that had not been present before.
Shaking her head, Catrin took an oatcake herself and stooped to revive the fire with the bellows, her own movements light and joyful.
Chapter 10
The summer months ripened into autumn, and autumn in its turn yielded to the fallow season of winter. Catrin spent less time with the Countess and her women, and more in Ethel's shelter, absorbing knowledge about herbs and simples, and attending births with the elderly midwife. Catrin did not care that Ethel made her work her hands and brain to the bone, for she was learning and she was happy. The world of the bower was a stultifying cage of petty jealousies. Ethel might be grouchy and irascible on occasion, but whatever she had to say was said and then forgotten, not whispered behind her hand or left to fester.
Measuring Catrin's progress, Ethel began to delegate responsibility. In late August, Catrin delivered her first infant under Ethel's supervision. A month later, she attended the birth of one of the soldier's women on her own.
From diagnosing and treating simple ailments, she moved on to those which required more complex remedies, blending the herbs and mixing the potions under Ethel's watchful but uninterfering eye.
Oliver supped at their fire when his duties did not take him away from Bristol. Catrin warmed to his companionship and found herself missing him on the nights when he did not come by. Sometimes Ethel would retire to her bed-bench, grumbling about her old bones and late hours, leaving Catrin and Oliver talking softly over the dying fire. Other nights, they would stay in the keep, listening to the minstrels and playing at dice and tafel.
One bitter evening in late November, they were sitting over
Oliver's wooden tafel board in the great hall. The wind could not pierce the thick stonework of the castle, but it whistled in at the window embrasures with a vengeance and thrust icy fingers beneath the door at the hall's far end. The huge fireplace gave off little heat except to those sitting almost on top of the flames and belched smoke at them for the privilege.
'Emma used to hate the winter, Oliver said with a glance around the barn-like hugeness of the room. 'If she had had her way, we would all have hibernated like squirrels or hedge-pigs until April.
He occasionally spoke of his dead wife these days. Catrin had noted that when he did, it was always with a slight narrowing of his eyes, as if he were seeing her from a distance. He ought to let Emma vanish over the horizon rather than try to draw her closer, Catrin thought, but did not say so. She felt the same way about Lewis and it was easier said than done to let go of the past.
'I mislike the chilblains and the way that the days are over before they can begin, she said. 'But there is much to enjoy as well — the Christmas feast, the beauty of snow seen from within a room lit by a roaring fire, with the comfort of mulled wine. Lewis and I used to… She bit off the rest of the sentence and gave a short laugh, realising how easy it was to fall into the trap of 'once upon a time'.
'Used to what? He looked at her with a poignant half smile on his lips.
She shook her head self-consciously. 'Nothing, it doesn't matter.
