Beneath her palm, she felt his skin twitch. He opened his eyes. For a moment they were opaque, as blind as stones, then they cleared and showed a sea-grey spark of life.
'Catrin? he said hoarsely, and a mirthless smile twisted his lips. 'Holy Christ, now I know that I am truly out of my wits.
'No, I'm here. She touched his hand. 'Never mind why. That can be told when you have recovered. 'You think I'm going to recover?
'Of course! Catrin cried with indignation and a touch of fear. 'I will not deny that you have made a mess of yourself, but nothing that time cannot heal. I have treated worse injuries.
'Ah, time the healer. He grimaced at her. 'First Godard, then you. Have you not done enough already? Is there no mercy in you to let me die in peace?
Catrin bit her lip. A single tear rolled down her cheek. 'No, there isn't, she said brutally. 'Not when you have so much left to live for. Not when I need you. Not when your worst enemy is your own self-pity!
His eyes sparked again and colour flooded across the sharpness of his cheekbones. 'My worst enemy is my tender heart, he said. 'Ripped out and impaled for the «needs» of others. Small wonder if my body desires to follow it into death… my lady. He turned his head from her and closed his eyes.
Catrin tightened her grip on his hand. 'The gulf between us is already too wide, she said desperately. 'I do not want death to stretch that distance for ever. Oliver, please!
His eyes remained shut.
'I'm not with Louis any more, she ventured. 'I came to find you. I thought that if you… if you still…' She could not continue as her throat closed and she choked on tears.
Oliver gave no sign that he had heard. He was waxen pale, the last flare of emotion having drained his strength. Catrin dashed at the tears spilling down her cheeks and swallowed hard. If she was going to nurse him back to health then she had to detach herself. A few more exchanges like the last one and he likely would die, but she had to give him the will to live.
Godard returned with the hot water and shears and Catrin set about cutting the garments from Oliver's body. The gambeson was the worst, for it was made of two layers of thick linen packed with felted fleece and quilted with heavy stitches. Her thumb was throbbing by the time she had slit it up the middle. Oliver lay silent and unresponding throughout the operation and she did not know if he was aware or not.
When finally she exposed his torso to the air, she sat back with a gasp of horrified pity. There was no torn flesh, no wounds to be stitched, but his entire chest and ribs were covered in purplish-red impact bruises. From the shallowness of his breathing and the way he groaned as she gently laid her hand on him, she could tell that he had sustained broken ribs. Beneath her fingers she felt the swellings of damaged bone. The pattern of the bruising led her to inspect his collar-bone and discover that it too was broken on the shield arm side.
'Regular injury, Godard said, watching her examination. 'If you can disable a man in the shoulder so that he cannot hold his shield, then you can move in closer and do what you like with him.
Catrin winced. It was not a detail that she particularly wanted to know. 'The ribs will need to be bound in swaddling bands for support and a sling will deal with both the shoulder and the arm, she said briskly.
'He is going to live then?
Catrin looked at Oliver. She could not be sure if his closed eyes meant that he was shunning her, or that he was just out of his senses with exhaustion and pain. The latter she thought, but in case he could hear said, 'Yes, I think so, although it is as much a matter of his spirit as his body. The arm wound is the thing that bothers me the most. It will have to be opened and stitched again, and from the damage done I do not know how much use will remain in it.
'I did my best, mistress, Godard said anxiously.
She nodded and found a wan smile. 'I know you did. Like as not you saved his life at the time.
'Is there anything else I can do?
'Pray, she said grimly. 'Pray as you have never done before.
Steeling herself, she set about the task of cutting open and restitching his arm wound. The pain revived the injured man and Godard had to hold him down. Catrin bit her lip and concentrated upon keeping her hand steady while Oliver railed at her and cursed.
'At least he still has the will and the strength to fight, Godard said wryly.
Catrin looked dubiously at the wound she had just re-stitched. Oliver was insensible again and breathing swiftly. 'Then let us pray he keeps it, she murmured. 'You will have to raise him up so that I can bind his ribs. If we do this all at once then we can leave him to rest. She blinked fiercely.
Mistaking her emotion, Godard said brusquely, 'He does not mean the things he says. They are only the ramblings of a man with wound-sickness.
'Oh he means them at the moment, I am sure. Catrin smiled through a new welling of tears. 'If I am weeping, it is for the pain I have to inflict in the name of healing. Come, the sooner done, the sooner finished. She picked up the yards of swaddling band.
Binding Oliver's broken ribs was swiftly accomplished. The closeness, the pungency of his body, the terrible bruising made Catrin feel nauseous and faint. Nursing was easier with a detached mind. Once she had run her hands over his lean, unblemished skin in the act of love, had been as close to him as now, touching with pleasure instead of anxious pity.
'Mistress, are you all right? Godard asked in concern as they gently lowered Oliver back down on to the rope stretcher.
Catrin shook her head. 'No, but I can manage. Raising her head she gave him a fierce stare. 'I would not have anyone else take my place. He is mine now.
Godard nodded gravely and reached to the pouch at his waist. 'He was before, he said. 'You'll be wanting this. He gave her the knot of hair that Ethel had woven in what now seemed like another life.
Catrin took it from him and noticed the charring on one edge.
'It fell in the fire, Godard said with a dismissive shrug. 'My lord was not disposed to keep it, but I thought that one day he would regret its loss, so I took it upon myself to be a guardian.
She rubbed her thumb over the intertwined pattern. 'You see a great deal, don't you?
Godard shrugged again and looked uncomfortable. 'I'm a simple man, mistress. I only see what's in front of my nose.
Catrin flashed him a sad smile. 'That's what I mean. I… She broke off and turned, her words curtailed by the peremptory arrival of a stocky child with flaming red hair and brilliant, pale grey eyes. He wore a somewhat dusty tunic with a torn hem, but the embroidery on it was of gold thread and his cloak clasp was set with gems.
'Where's Oliver, what's happened to him? the boy demanded imperiously. He pushed forward to the side of the stretcher and gazed at the wounded knight.
'He was attacked by mercenaries — sire, Catrin said, adding the last word with the diplomacy of guesswork. This could be none other than the precocious Prince Henry. 'He's sore-wounded, but not unto death.
The boy grunted and put his hands on his hips. They were square with grubby fingernails. Reddish freckles dusted their backs. 'Who are you?
His stare was as sharp and clear as glass, and Catrin could physically feel the vibration of his personality. 'My name is Catrin of Chepstow, sire. I am a healer and Sir Oliver is known to me.
The boy frowned. 'I have heard about you. 'For the good I hope, sire, Catrin smiled, but her eyes were wary.
Henry shrugged as if the remark was of no consequence. Later she was to learn that having been weaned on gossip and rumour, he was largely immune to it, preferring to make up his own mind. 'When will he be well?
'It is hard to tell, sire. The broken bones will take several weeks to mend, but they should not prevent him from being up and around within a few days. He has a difficult injury to his left arm, though, which may take a long time to heal, and he may not retain all the use that he had before.
The boy accepted the information with a nod. The frown remained, creating two deep creases between his brows. 'But he will have recovered enough to leave with me when I go back to my father in Anjou. It was more of a statement, than a question. The clear grey eyes fixed Catrin with a gimlet stare.
On the stretcher, Oliver stirred. 'I will be well enough, sire, he said without opening his eyes, his lips barely
