bank as both a threat and a promise. A horse panicked and flailed into one of its companions, creating mayhem. Bravado evaporating, Stephen's small band of sentries turned tail and fled to raise the alarm, leaving their post unguarded and the way free.
Oliver set his teeth and spurred Hero into the churning spate of the dyke. He had been prepared to be frozen but still the shock took his breath away as the water immersed the stallion to the saddle girth and spray flew up drenching Oliver through mail and padding. He heard Gawin cursing the icy tug of the current as his dun splashed and floundered. Any man who fell off his horse or failed to keep his feet would drown, dragged under in seconds by the weight of his mail and sodden gambeson.
The first troops to gain the opposite side set about securing a rope across the dyke for the infantry to grasp as their turn came to dare the chest-deep water. There were many Welshmen among them, accustomed to fording deep streams and plodding through inhospitable terrain as part of their daily existence. They took the crossing with such a flourish that they encouraged their less experienced English counterparts to do the same.
'Hell's mouth, I want double wages for this! declared Randal de Mohun as he rode past Oliver on his bay stallion, water spraying from the high-stepping hooves. 'No one said anything about being a fish!
'If we win, you'll doubtless get them.
De Mohun snorted and set about mustering his men. 'It will be us that will have to do the winning first.
Oliver shook his head and went to seek Earl Robert for orders.
It was Candlemas: the feast of the purification of the Virgin, the ceremony based on the Roman worship of the Goddess Juno Februata, and Catrin was attending another childbirth amongst the soap-makers of the city, where she and Ethel had made a reputation for themselves. It was Aline Saponier's seventh confinement, and the baby came swiftly and smoothly into the world and immediately began bawling with lungs like a set of smithy bellows.
'A fine boy, smiled Catrin, receiving him into the waiting sheet. 'You scarce needed a midwife at all, Mistress.
'I'm told your skills make for an easy delivery, Aline panted from the birthing stool. 'Has he got all his fingers and toes?
'Whole in every sense of the word. Catrin gently rubbed the infant in the towel then folded over the ends and gave him to his mother.
Aline's sweaty face creased with a surfeit of emotion as she peered into the baby's new-born, unprepossessing features. 'He's beautiful! she sniffed, and started to weep.
'He is that, Mistress, Catrin said diplomatically, as she knelt to cut the cord and competently delivered the afterbirth.
The other women of the household crowded round, cooing, touching and commenting. There were three aunts, a cousin, and a toothless grandmother, all present to help and bear witness, thus making the event a tremendous social occasion. Catrin was accustomed by now to such gatherings, but there had still been a couple of times when she could cheerfully have gagged the grandmother with a swaddling band.
One of the aunts trotted from the room to announce to the waiting household that a new son had been safely delivered. Catrin saw the mother cleaned up, made comfortable with linen pads and helped back into the freshly made family bed.
The grandmother mumbled into her gums and patted Catrin on the shoulder. 'You've not done so badly for one so young, who's never borne a babe herself, she allowed.
'Thank you, Catrin said sweetly.
'Heard about you from Mistress Hubert at the house on the end. She said as you and the old woman were competent.
Catrin gave a preoccupied smile and set about returning her midwife's tools to her satchel, of which only the oil and the sharp knife had been required.
'But you came alone, her assailant persisted.
'My companion is not well enough to make the journey into the city, Catrin replied. 'The winter and her years weigh heavily on her. She compressed her lips. Ethel had been sneezing all morning and, despite being crouched over the fire wrapped in both her green mantle and a cloak, had been shivering fit to slough the flesh from her bones.
'Aye, well, I'm nigh on three-score-and-ten winters myself and I've had a cough worse than a dog's bark, said the old woman, not to be outdone. 'I tell you, sometimes it is as much as I can do to ease myself from my bed in a morning.
Which Catrin took with a substantial pinch of salt. She glanced round. Two of the aunts were bathing the baby in a silver basin while the cousin aired its swaddling before the charcoal brazier. A serving maid went round the room lighting the candles from a long taper. Catrin noted that the light was provided not by spindly, tallow dips but proper, heavy wax candles, the kind that burned in the Countess's bower.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, the old woman went to an aumbry in the wall and returned with three more of the candles, their surfaces smooth and creamily glossed. 'Here, take these, she said, 'in honour of the blessed Virgin whose feast it is.
Catrin accepted them with pleasure. She knew how fond Ethel was of beeswax candles. The gifts and tokens that grateful householders presented were one of the more pleasant aspects of being a midwife.
Outside, the February daylight was dull grey, and the wind was sharp on Catrin's face. She tugged her hood up over her wimple and secured the clasp on her cloak, her teeth chattering with cold. The church of Saint Mary le Port rang out the hour of Nones and was joined by the bells of Saint Peter. She thought of Oliver and wondered what he was doing. Was he riding blue-fingered in the cold or had they reached their destination? Was there peace or bloodshed? Two weeks of silence on the matter had shredded her equilibrium. She had taken to biting her nails and, despite Ethel's assurances that he would return, she worried constantly.
Godard's dark shape loomed out of the shadows at the side of the Saponiers' dwelling and he fell into step beside her, as huge and solid as a walking wall. She was grateful for his presence and his taciturnity. Talk for talk's sake only set her teeth on edge, when all she longed for, and dreaded, was news of Earl Robert's army.
They walked along the path between the riverbank and the boundaries of Saint Peter's church. Fishing craft and galleys bobbed on the tide and seagulls wheeled like detached portions of cloud, their cries poignant and harsh.
A sea-going cog had docked at the castle's wharf to be unburdened of its cargo of casks and barrels. It was a scene re-enacted every day, and at first Catrin took small notice. But as she and Godard drew nearer, she saw that no one was working, that all the men were gathered around something on the ground. One of the younger labourers had staggered away and was vomiting into the water. Others had drawn cloaks and capes around their mouths.
Natural curiosity drew Catrin to go and look at what the men had found. She suspected that it was probably a porpoise or a whale. Such creatures were occasionally washed up along the river in the tidal flow and they were always a cause for wonder — and disgust if they were dead and their corpses had begun to rot. She craned her neck at the white thing she could see lying on the dock between the legs of the men. It seemed too small to be a porpoise, or even a baby whale — too insubstantial.
'Mistress, come away, Godard said suddenly and grasped her arm, but it was too late for she had already seen the gleam of bone through shredded flesh and realised that the form they were all looking at was — or had been — human. A length of hemp rope was snagged around what had been one of its legs, and twisted around the rope was a rag of pink cloth, embroidered with a darker pink flower motif. Strands of hair still adhered to its skull, which had broken away from the body as the men had lifted it free from where it had lain, caught in the mesh of a lost fishing net. The colour, streaming with water, was the same hue as the red hair woven into the knot that Catrin had given to Oliver, but when dry it would be a lighter, more chestnut shade. Catrin felt bile rise in her own throat. Now she knew what had happened to Rohese de Bayvel.
'It is the Countess's sempstress, she said jerkily to the gathered men. 'She vanished on Christmas Eve and no one knew what had become of her. Her throat was so tight that it was hard to speak. 'For decency's sake, cover her and fetch a priest.
