'Yes, Catrin said dubiously, but more to agree with him than out of any conviction of her own. 'Yet she did tell me that you would return, and with a crown shining above you, and she was right. When I saw you ride into the bailey, you were part of the guard escorting King Stephen, and because he is a captive, Mathilda will be Queen.
He gave a non-committal grunt. 'I can remember that when I was a child, some of the women would ask her to scry for them, but I always thought that it was nonsense — like her weaving of the knots. I'm sure that she gave good advice, but I think it was wisdom rather than premonition. He angled his head to look at her. 'What else did she see?
'That is the quandary: I do not know. Frowning, Catrin told him about Ethel's warning concerning a bay horse, darkness and water. 'But what she saw, she did not say… could not, for she was dying.
He stroked her arm and was silent for a time. 'More than half the soldiers in Earl Robert's pay ride bay horses — Geoffrey FitzMar for a start. I cannot imagine him being a threat to you.
Catrin pressed close to him, absorbing the comfort of his smell, the warmth of his body. 'No, she murmured against his skin. 'My mind tells me that I am being foolish, but there has been so much death and wanton destruction of late that I cannot help but jump at shadows. She tightened her fingers in his chest hair until he flinched and hissed.
'The only wanton destruction here is what you are doing to me, he said. His tone was tender rather than playful, and he lifted her hand from his breast and kissed the fingertips. 'Sometimes good can come out of the worst happenings. If not for the raid that destroyed Penfoss, we would not be lying together now, would we?
'No, Catrin admitted, and nuzzled him. 'But I cannot see the good in losing Ethel, or in what happened to Rohese and Gawin.
Oliver was silent for a moment, pondering. Then he sighed. 'As to Ethel, it was her time, I think, he said. 'I can count upon the fingers of one hand the people I know who have reached three score and ten, and she was older than that. Rohese and Gawin… well, perhaps you are right. Only time will tell and, if it doesn't, at least it will heal.
Catrin tasted the salt on his skin with the tip of her tongue and thought how much she had missed him. 'Yes, perhaps, she conceded, and thrust from her mind the image of the white, rotting body on the wharfside.
'It doesn't matter what Ethel saw, or at least it doesn't matter now, immediately… does it? He circled her palm with the forefinger of his other hand and stroked a slow trail up the soft flesh of her inner arm.
'No, Catrin replied with a sensuous shiver, adding with forced determination, 'You are right, it doesn't matter now.
'Will your family lands soon be restored? Catrin asked. They were still in bed, sharing a cup of mead while the dawn brightened in the East.
Oliver raised himself up on his elbows to take the cup from her. 'I hope so, but I do not believe that it will be much before the summer. Despite Stephen's capture, the Fleming who holds Ashbury has not submitted to the Empress. It may be that I will have to fight for them yet.
'But with Stephen a prisoner, surely the war is almost at an end? Catrin protested.
He sighed. 'I would hope so, but it is not as simple as it first appears. Stephen might be a prisoner, but that does not mean that his supporters will kneel to the Empress. If they yield, they stand to lose the lands and the powers that they have enjoyed under his rule. Mathilda does not know the meaning of forgiveness or compromise. She will not let men submit with their pride intact; she will expect nothing less than abject surrender.
Hearing the censure and distaste in his voice, Catrin was moved to ask, 'Then why do you support her at all?
'Not her, but her cause. My family swore allegiance to the Empress as King Henry's heir, and I gave my oath of my own free will to Robert of Gloucester. I am bound by my honour to serve them.
'Bound in knots by the sound of matters, Catrin said a trifle acidly, having no bias either way. She wished both sides to perdition.
'When my brother rebelled against Stephen, his lands were taken by force of arms. I own nothing, except by Earl Robert's grace. If that be a knot, then I unravel it to my own impoverishment.
'But still I…
Their conversation was curtailed by a knock on the doorpost of the shelter, and Richard poked his head around the screen to peer in at them. 'Catrin, the Earl wants you. He says that you're to come to his solar and bring your satchel.
'Is he ill? Oliver demanded sharply, and reached for his shirt.
The boy shook his head. His hair was in need of barbering and fell forward over his eyes, giving him the aspect of a shaggy dog. 'No, but Stephen is. It's the manacles. One of them has a sharp edge and it has made his wrist all raw.
Turning her back on the boy for modesty's sake, Catrin tugged on her undershift and donned her ordinary brown hose. Oliver eyed Richard in consternation.
'Manacles? he queried. 'I thought Stephen was to be kept under honourable house arrest?
'Empress Mathilda says that it is not enough — that he might escape. His word's not to be trusted. She says that he deserves the weight of chains for stealing her birthright.
Oliver groaned, and rubbed his hands over his face. Catrin thought he muttered 'stupid bitch' but could not be sure.
Hastily she donned her remaining garments and grabbed her satchel from the corner. Into it, she put a pot of Ethel's goose-grease unguent and several strips of linen bandage. Kissing Oliver in farewell, she followed Richard across the bailey and into the keep.
Stephen was being held in a small, but pleasantly appointed, wall-chamber with painted murals and a sturdy charcoal brazier to keep the damp at bay. The iron ring bolted into the wall detracted incongruously from such comforts. Looped through it was a length of stout iron bear-chain which was attached at either end to the wrist manacles cuffing the prisoner. There were chains on his feet too, although only fashioned ankle to ankle rather than to the wall.
King Stephen was in early middle age, with a fleece of hair only a little darker than Oliver's. His beard was fair too, with a single badger-stripe of grey mid-chin. Stephen's eyes were weathered blue, framed in attractive creases which revealed that despite all the troubles visited upon him since his accession to the throne, he was a man accustomed to laughter. Catrin could not help thinking that Empress Mathilda was a termagant and a very foolish woman to issue the command to bind him thus. For all that he had snatched her throne, he was yet an anointed king and her cousin into the bargain.
'Ah, Catrin. Earl Robert beckoned her into the room. His colour was high and he appeared ill at ease. She swept him a curtsey and gave one to Stephen too. King or not, he was still a man of rank. The gesture earned her a thin smile from the captive.
'I have sent for you to look at a wound on Lord Stephen's wrist, Robert announced, and gestured to one of the guards.
The soldier produced a key and unlocked the right manacle.
'Not afraid that I'll make a bid for freedom, are you? Stephen mocked, a twist to his mouth.
Robert looked uncomfortable, and his eyes flickered away from his captive. 'No, I am not, but it is my sister's wish, and I abide by her ruling.
'Ah, Robert, would you jump over a cliff if she so desired? Stephen opened and closed his fist in relief at being free of the iron, no matter how briefly. 'But perhaps you already have, he added.
Robert wriggled his shoulders as if at an actual, physical discomfort. 'I will not bandy words with you, he said. 'I am sorry for your chains, but you will not otherwise have reason for complaint at my hands. He nodded to Catrin, who had been observing the interplay between the two men, noting all that went unsaid between their words. 'Tend to Lord Stephen, Catrin, and see that you are thorough.
Catrin inclined her head in deference but was stung to retort, 'I know of no other way, my lord.
Stephen snorted with amusement. Robert turned abruptly to the window embrasure, his hands tapping behind his back in nervous impatience. Catrin took Stephen's wrist to examine the abrasion. It was raw and cruel where the sharp iron edge had gouged, and she shook her head over the wound. Now she was closer to him, she could see other marks on his body — those of the battle of Lincoln, she surmised. Even his most vehement detractors respected him for his bravery and prowess on the field. There was a fading bruise on his cheekbone in
