'I suppose you are right, she said thoughtfully. 'The men ride out from Ashbury on occasion to drink and whore. My brew ensures their goodwill, but they would not turn a blind eye to such as this. She gestured at Oliver's prone form. 'How far do you intend taking him?
'Bristol. There are chirurgeons there, and he is deeply regarded by young Prince Henry himself.
Edith put her hands on her hips. 'You did not tell me you were the servants of a prince!
'A future king, Godard said in a preoccupied way, as he brought out the flask of usquebaugh and removed the stopper. 'Does it make a difference?
She cocked her head. 'It does to the hearth tales that people come to tell and have told over their ale, she answered, then continued in a brisk, practical tone, 'You will never get him to Bristol on horseback. I'll lend you my cart, providing you promise to return it within the week.
Godard nodded acceptance and, for a while, all conversation ceased as he poured the raw usquebaugh over Oliver's wound, and the injured man screamed and went rigid. 'Hold him for me, Godard commanded, his own teeth gritted. Edith moved into position, although it was difficult to know where to grip since there was scarcely a part of the knight's upper torso that was not damaged. His muscles bunched against her for an instant and then slackened as once again he sank into the mercy of oblivion.
'Lady Catrin used to say that it helped to clean out the badness, Godard said, as he began to stitch. 'But I reckon as the cure's almost as bad as the wounding. 'Who's Lady Catrin?
'A healer. My lord was once betrothed to her, but they were parted before they could wed.
'She belonged to him then, not to you, Edith said slowly and clearly.
'No, not to me, said Godard, with a masculine lack of comprehension.
Edith nodded, a gleam in her eyes. When she saw that the lord would not require further holding, she went to hardness Godard's gelding to her cart, tethering the grey stallion behind.
Godard did what he could for Oliver, which was not much beyond stitching and binding the gashed arm, and then wrapping him tightly in two blankets like a swaddled infant to keep his limbs immobile for the journey ahead.
Edith backed the horse and cart up to the alehouse door and Godard tenderly bore Oliver out and placed him on the piled bed of straw which she had made in the back.
'God speed you and bring you safely to Bristol. She presented Godard with a pig's bladder full of ale, some bread and two hard-boiled eggs wrapped in a kerchief.
Godard took them from her, and cleared his throat. 'I do not know how to thank you, he said gruffly. 'If I offered you silver, I know you would be insulted.
'Indeed I would, she sniffed and folded her arms. 'It will be thanks enough if you return the cart to me yourself when you can.
Godard cleared his throat again. 'Assuredly I will, mistress, he said and, with sudden bravado, leaned forward and kissed the soft expanse of her cheek.
She stood in the road and watched until the darkness swallowed up the sight of the pale horse attached to the back of the cart, and the rumbling noise of the wheels on the track had faded. Then, touching her cheek, she went slowly back to the alehouse and barred the door.
In some ways, Catrin thought, it was as if she had never left Bristol. If not for Rosamund and a collection of fevered memories, the time she had spent with Louis might never have existed. Countess Mabile accepted her back amongst her women with the minimum of questions, admired Rosamund, and then set Catrin to work making a batch of Ethel's famous green hand salve.
Catrin did not particularly like sleeping in the bower. As always, she felt stifled by its atmosphere, but it was a haven until she could find her feet and speak with Oliver. So much depended on their meeting and his response. She chewed her lip and tried to avoid the treadmill of imagining the encounter. She had lived it so often in her mind, had conjured every scenario from falling into his arms to being totally rejected and ignored, that there was no new ground, no wisdom to be gleaned.
She pounded lily of the valley, lemon balm, sage and plantain in a mortar, and when it was sufficiently macerated, added it to a blend of goose grease and almond oil. It worked better if the herbs were fresh, but in mid-winter the dried 'substitutes had to suffice.
Chin propped on her hands, Edon watched her work. She was supposed to be weaving a length of braid, but had reached no further than the first six inches before putting the wooden tablets aside.
'Did you really have glass in the windows? she asked, with a shivering glance at the oiled linen that let scanty light and a deal of cold into the bower.
Catrin smiled and sighed at the same time. 'Yes, we had glass. Yes, it was a luxury and one that I miss, but I hated it too. Louis thought people would admire him for it, that they would look up to him, but instead it made them jealous and contemptuous. They blamed me for being a demanding wife, not him for his delusions of rank and grandeur. 'What will happen to him now?
Catrin shrugged. 'I have no doubt that he will make his way in the world. Losing Wickham will set him back, but not for long. He will change his name, his allegiance, whatever is necessary to secure his own comfort. Her eyelids tensed. 'Edon, I do not care, except with anger. She used a horn spoon to scoop a dollop of the unguent into a small clay pot, her movements jerky. 'I want to forget.
'If it was me… Edon began, but broke off as one of the other women entered the bower and hurried directly over to them.
'Oliver Pascal is back, she announced breathlessly. 'His manservant's just brought him in on a cart, sore- wounded! Edon put her hand to her throat. 'Sore-wounded?
The woman nodded. 'Leastways he wasn't in his senses.
Catrin had whitened at the news. Wiping her hands on a scrap of linen, she grabbed the maid's arm. 'Where is he?
'Down in the bailey when I left. They had gone looking for a stretcher and a priest.
'A priest! Edon looked at Catrin with stricken eyes. 'Jesu forfend!
'Look after Rosamund for me, Catrin said, and with compressed lips grabbed her satchel and sped from the room. Such was her haste that she stumbled on the stairs, wrenched her ankle and burned her hand on the support rope, injuries that she was not to notice until much later. The only thought in her mind was reaching Oliver and protecting him from death.
By the time she burst into the great hall, Godard and another man were bearing Oliver in on a stretcher of laced ropes. They carried him to a side aisle where the roof supports formed a natural alcove and gently set him down.
'Godard, what has happened to him? Catrin demanded on the same breath as she arrived.
The servant turned to look at her out of eyes that were dark-ringed with exhaustion. 'Sword fight, he said succinctly. 'Broken bones and a mangled shield arm. I don't know how bad.
Catrin dropped to her knees at Oliver's side. His face was flushed and he was running a slight fever. Very carefully she began to peel away the blankets. He twitched and moaned but his eyes remained shut.
'I do not know what you are doing here, mistress, Godard said, 'but I'm right glad. If anyone can help him, it is you.
'It's not a tale for the telling now, Catrin said without looking round, all her attention for the wounded man. 'Were you with him when it happened?
'No, mistress. Briefly Godard gave her the gist as he knew it.
'I hope Randal de Mohun fries in hell for ever, she said viciously, and with extreme gentleness unfastened the final binding of the blanket. Beneath it, Oliver still wore his gambeson, tunic and shirt, although all three had been cut away on his left arm. She gasped at the sight of the wound that had scored and torn his flesh.
'I had to stitch his arm, Godard said with a worried frown. 'I know it's badly cobbled, but I poured usquebaugh over the wound like you and Ethel showed me. 'You did your best, Catrin said unsteadily. She wanted to cry but bit back the tears, knowing that she needed clear vision and a steady hand. Later she would weep. For now she had to be strong. 'I need hot water and a strong pair of shears.
Godard disappeared to fetch them. Catrin laid her hand against Oliver's brow and felt the heat of fever. Knowing that this would probably never have happened if she had stayed at Bristol filled her with guilt. It was not fair that one wrong choice could have such far-reaching consequences. But when had life ever been fair?
