very little of either from you!
'I'll give it where it's due! Catrin spat back, her cheek numb where he had struck her. With growing fear and anger, she watched him reach for his sword belt.
'No, my lord. Amfrid stepped forward, a look of horror on her round, homely face.
'Get out! Louis snarled, repeating the command on a full-throated bellow when she hesitated. With a frightened glance at her mistress, Amfrid ran from the room.
Catrin faced her husband, her breathing harsh and swift, her stomach so curdled that her throat made small retching motions as she struggled not to heave.
'Give me a single reason why I should not beat the venom out of you, he said, curling the leather through his slender fingers.
She tightened her lips. While she would not yield to save her own hide, there was more at stake now. She could give him all the reason in the world, if she could but manage the words. Cold sweat stood out on her brow, and the room tilted and swayed like the deck of a ship.
'Well, he queried with an arched brow, 'has the leather got your tongue?
She shook her head and swallowed. 'No, Louis. But before you mark me, you had best know that I am with child.
He coiled the tongue around his fist. 'You're what? His look changed from one of dominant, masculine challenge to delighted astonishment.
'With child, she repeated, and fell to her knees, dry-heaving into the rushes.
Louis threw the belt away from him as if it were a poisonous snake and knelt beside her, his expression suddenly full of concern and tenderness. 'Why didn't you tell me?
She shuddered and retched against the supporting strength of his arm, a strength that had almost struck her down for telling the truth. 'I have only just discovered it myself, she said. 'I wanted to be sure.
'I wondered what had made you so crotchety of late. Now I know, I can forgive you.
Catrin was too wretched to treat his reply as it deserved. Besides, she did not have the strength to continue the fight.
'A son, Louis said, his voice deep with exultation. 'I am going to have a son. His hand possessively on her arm, he looked into her green, wan face. 'When, Catty, when will he be born?
'It might be a girl, she said, with a last flicker of perversity.
'No, it will be a boy. Louis shook his head vigorously. 'My line always breeds sons. When?
'November, I think, around the feast of Saint Martin.
Gently, he raised her from the floor and bore her back to their bed. He took the damp, lavender-scented cloth from the bowl on the coffer and bathed her temples. 'I was hoping for such news, he said, 'what man would not? You did not quicken in the first year of our marriage and I thought that you might be barren.
'So now I am worth more to you than ever?
He did not hear the sarcasm in her tone. 'Beyond value, he said. 'You are carrying our son. I will hold a great celebration in your honour and I will send word to the King and William d'Ypres. They are bound to send christening gifts.
Catrin closed her eyes. She was suddenly so weary that even breathing was a burden. Instead of being cause to plan steadily for the future, the tiny seed growing within her was just another reason for Louis to scatter the largesse he did not have.
Chapter 22
'I wish I could give you the troops and leave to besiege Ashbury, but I do not have the resources, said Robert of Gloucester. 'And you are too valuable to me here.
Oliver looked at his lord with dismay, but he was not surprised. Ashbury was not a great or strategic keep. It was true that it guarded a minor crossing of the Thames to the far west of Oxford and that it had a thriving market, but its capture was not essential to the Empress's cause.
'It is mine, he said, 'and it has been my family's since the time of King Alfred. The waiting is hard.
Earl Robert sighed and fondled the brindle head of his mastiff bitch. 'I know that, I am not blind to your need. But it cannot be. Perhaps later in the year I will be able to spare you, but not now. The great keeps need to fall before we can take the small ones.
Oliver had been fed the 'perhaps later' speech so many times that it raised not a flicker of hope. Perhaps never was the more likely outcome. He would die a hearth knight, rolled in his cloak by the fire if he was fortunate, dead of his wounds on a battlefield if he was not.
'Yes, my lord, he said, and turned from the trestle to give the next petitioner his chance at being denied. They had lost Oxford in the winter, but since then had reclaimed Wilton, defeating Stephen in a pitched battle that had almost been a repeat of Lincoln. They had captured his steward, William Martel, and Stephen had paid with Sherborne Castle for his release. The King was being held in check, and Oliver had dared to hope that his chance to regain Ashbury had arrived.
There was an ocean of restlessness in him that could not wait for time to turn Henry Plantagenet into a man.
Geoffrey FitzMar was waiting for Oliver in the hall. His two-year-old son perched on his knee chewing a hard crust of bread. The infant had a fluff of blond hair as pale as Oliver's own, and eyes the violet-blue of gentians. Edon was expecting a second child in the spring. Geoffrey had his family to keep him sane. Being a hearth knight by trade, a younger son without hope of land from the start, he had no roots dying for want of soil to plant them. Looking at his friend, the small child in his lap, Oliver knew bitter envy.
Geoffrey glanced up at him and the smile left his open features. 'He refused you, he said.
'Ashbury's not strategic enough and I'm too experienced a soldier to be given leave. If I won, I wouldn't be a hearth knight any more, would I? He pushed the toe of his boot moodily through the floor rushes. 'I can understand his reasoning, but it riles me nevertheless.
Geoffrey shook his head and looked sympathetic. 'I wish I could help.
Oliver watched the infant offer his father the sucked, soggy crust of bread. If Emma and their child had lived, his daughter would be almost eight years old by now. No wife, no child, no land. He imagined himself in years to come. A grizzled, embittered old man with a frozen heart and charity for neither man nor woman. It was a frightening prospect.
'Da, said the little boy, and jumped up and down in his father's lap. 'Da, da, da.
Oliver went outside. The late September sun was setting over the bailey in tones of rich, burnished red, and the sky was a hollow, perfect blue. Prince Henry was receiving a jousting lesson from two of the Earl's knights. Richard and Thomas were with him, and their boyish trebles rang out over the greensward as each in turn took a shortened lance and attacked the quintain post on their ponies. Oliver watched their juvenile attempts to hit the swinging shield on the end of the rotating crossbar and found a smile, remembering his own first lessons in the art. Having no desire to be drawn into the circle of good-natured advice being shouted at the youngsters, he sidled quietly along the wall of a storage shed. It was to no avail for, almost immediately, he heard his name being called.
Reluctantly he turned, and found himself being ridden down by Richard. The boy clung to his grey pony like a centaur, his face flushed with the speed and pleasure of the sport.
'There's a messenger looking for you, he said.
'For me? Oliver raised his brows. 'I do not know anyone who would send me messages.
Richard shrugged. 'They were mostly for Lord Robert, but the man asked us in passing where he could find you. The boy tilted his head. 'Do you think it could be from Catrin?
Oliver's belly churned. 'I think not, he said. 'I told her that it was best if she severed all ties.
'Yes, but what if she's in trouble?
Oliver flicked his fingers. 'Go back to your sport before your imagination runs away with you, he said brusquely, while his own imagination gathered speed.
Looking doubtful, Richard wheeled his pony. 'Tell me, won't you? he said over his shoulder.
