Without answer, Oliver strode off in search of the messenger.
He found him breaking his fast in the kitchens with a beaker of milk and a heaped platter of new bread and curd cheese. The man was flirting with one of the kitchen maids, but broke off his teasing to present Oliver with a rolled-up strip of vellum secured with a length of braid. The seal bore the ubiquitous design of a warrior astride a horse, his sword raised on high. The letters around the outside of the seal were smudged and illegible.
'Who gave you this?
'A merchant from over Winchcomb way. He took a gulp of milk and sleeved his mouth. 'Brought it to Gloucester last night. Said he'd been paid to carry it by one of Stephen's lords.
Oliver gave the messenger a penny, broke the seal and went outside. The letter was slightly travel-stained at the edges and bore a late August date. It was a scribe's writing, fluid and precise, and it wasn't from Catrin. It was from her husband, informing him in triumphant detail about Catrin's new status as lady of a fine keep. He was maintaining her in the manner of a queen; they were both ecstatically happy and anticipating the birth of their first son.
Oliver stared until the words danced on the page and lost their meaning. He knew that this letter was not Catrin's doing. Probably she was unaware that her husband had even sent it. Louis de Grosmont possessed a nature that took pleasure in torment. A tweak here, a pull there, a subtle manipulation of the truth. Catrin would not care whether she was kept as a queen or not. Indeed, her spirit needed freedom to be whole. The thought of her bearing a child was sheer torment. Had it been his own child he would have been frightened enough, but the thought of her carrying and bearing Louis's offspring so distant from him numbed Oliver completely.
Returning to the kitchen, he approached the fire and the two huge cauldrons bubbling over the flames. Crumpling the letter, he tossed it into the blaze and watched the vellum blacken and curl, the red seal melt and sizzle, until his eyes were hot and dry and nothing was left.
Louis de Grosmont was going to have a son. Never had such a child been born before, if the expectant father was to be believed. All and sundry were made aware of the fact; from the poorest serf struggling on the demesne land to feed his family, to William d'Ypres and King Stephen.
'Twill be an easy labour, one of the midwives assured Catrin cheerfully. 'You're young and strong with good wide hips.
Two had been installed for her lying in, the best that Louis could not afford. They were skilled, sensible women, and Catrin liked them both, but she would have preferred just one and less of Louis's bragging. After the first months of utter sickness, her body had adjusted and her pregnancy had passed without incident. She was untroubled by swelling ankles or giddiness. Her appetite was excellent, and she slept moderately well. Now the first twinges of threatened labour had started, but as yet there was no real pain.
'The labour does not bother me. She stroked the taut mound of her belly. 'I know what to expect; I have delivered enough babies myself. But I don't want Louis to know until it is necessary.
'He is very keen, my lady, said the other midwife with an indulgent smile.
Catrin said nothing. She knew that her husband's fervour depended upon her producing a healthy son — to be named Stephen in honour of the King. He had refused to countenance the prospect of a daughter. It would be a boy because that was what he wanted. Fortune, he said, was running in his favour. But Catrin had her suspicions that it was not fortune which was running, but Louis, and as hard as he could to keep up.
Another pain, deeper than the last, tightened around her belly and squeezed.
Rising from the cushioned window seat, she paced the chamber restlessly. Walking helped. She counted her paces and breathed deeply, easing herself over the contraction.
Louis appeared an hour later, the news having leaked down to the hall where he was presiding over the quarter-day rents and exacting heavy fines from those who were not prompt to pay. He burst into the bedchamber where Catrin was still pacing and counting and pulled her into his arms, her swollen belly mounding between them.
'How long? he demanded, his eyes bright with impatience.
'How long have I been in travail, or how long will it continue to be? Catrin asked, and tried not to tense as her womb tightened.
'How long until I see my son, of course.
Stripped of its gilding by his eagerness, Louis's selfish nature was laid bare to the bone.
'It will be a while yet, my lord, the older midwife spoke out. 'First babes can take two or more days to show themselves to the world.
'Two days! Louis looked aghast.
'If waiting is all you have to do, then you are fortunate, Catrin said waspishly. 'Go and make yourself busy. The time will pass.
'No, it won't, it'll stand still. He looked at the women as though they were involved in a conspiracy.
'Of course, the midwife added quickly, 'it is frequently much sooner than that. Examining my lady, I would say that come eventide you will have cause to celebrate.
'Eventide, Louis said, grasping the word like a lifeline across a river in spate. He squeezed Catrin's hands in an echo of the muscular squeezing of her womb. 'Make haste, Catty. I'm eager to see my son.
'I will do my best, she replied, but her sarcastic tone was wasted on him as he bounced out of the door with the eagerness of a puppy.
The day progressed. Almost every hour, Louis sent to discover how the labour was advancing, and as dusk approached Louis himself took to haunting the landing outside the bedchamber door.
Panting upon the birthing stool, her body drenched with effort, her thighs streaked with blood and birthing fluid, Catrin gave the midwives a mirthless grin. 'Let him in, she panted. 'Let him see me. All men should witness this.
The women looked shocked and took her words as a jest. 'My lady, no man may enter a birthing chamber. It is not proper!
'No, of course not, she laughed savagely. 'But what kind of farmer sows the seed and then absconds the harvest?
'My lady, you are distraught, you do not know what you are saying.
'Yes, I do, Catrin retorted. The pain returned and seared so hard that it destroyed all coherent thought. The mid-wives had given her various nostrums to drink, but none that had had much effect. She knew that she must be in the final stage of labour, for with each pain there was an overbearing urge to push down. It was now that the truth would be known. If the child was lying the wrong way in her womb or her pelvis was too small, then both of them would die. She grasped the smooth wooden sides of the birthing stool and bore down with all her strength. It was like trying to move a mountain, but the women encouraged her.
'Almost there, my lady, I can see the head. He's got dark hair, so he has.
Catrin sobbed and, with the next contraction, pushed again. 'Oliver! she screamed, the name surfacing from nowhere and bouncing off the walls.
'Is that to be his name? one of the midwives enquired. 'I thought your husband had chosen Stephen.
Catrin shook her head, beyond speech, beyond anything but the final struggle to push the child from her body and have relief. She was not even aware of the name she had screamed, only that it had been a cry for help.
Another surge, and the baby slithered from her body into the waiting, warmed towel, and immediately began a lusty bawling.
The midwives cut the cord and gently rubbed mucus and fluid from the infant's tiny body. Its furious wails filled the room, but there was no other sound. The women looked at each other in silence.
'What is it, what's wrong? Catrin demanded with a sudden lurch of fear. 'Give me my baby, let me see.
'No, my lady, one of the women said quickly, 'nothing is wrong. See, you have a perfect little daughter. She handed the screeching bundle into Catrin's arms.
The baby waved irate little fists and roared as if she had been insulted. She had masses of thick black hair and tiny, snub features. For Catrin it was love at first sight and, mingled with that love, a great flood of protectiveness. 'I wanted a daughter, she whispered with a tearful smile.
Louis had been listening at the door and, as the raucous screams of the baby continued, his control snapped. Unable to wait any longer, he burst into the room. 'Let me see my son! he cried, and advanced on Catrin,
