The Love Knot (63 page)

'It was my fault that she died,' Geoffrey said bleakly.

'It was the will of God.'

His smile was grim. 'I tried telling myself that, but it led me down the path to heresy. I asked a priest why it was God's will, and he said that it was ours not to reason why. So are we not to think for ourselves but to follow in blind faith?' He shook his head. 'It's easier to blame myself for lust than God for failing.'

'Geoffrey . . .' She touched his arm, unsure what to say. 'I can live with it,' he said. 'When it becomes too dark for me to bear alone, Miriel is there, and I have my children.'

Catrin bit her lip. 'And supposing Miriel quickens with child. How long have you been wed?'

'A six-month,' he replied. 'She looks young, does she not, but she's eight-and-twenty. Since the age of fifteen she has been widowed once and cast aside once.'

'Cast aside?' Catrin regarded Geoffrey's new wife with a spark of sympathy having herself been abandoned twice by the same man. 'Whatever for?'

'Being barren,' Geoffrey said expressionlessly. 'Her first, widowed, marriage lasted five years without children and her second match bore no fruit either. Barren soil rather than barren seed. Whatever I sow cannot grow and destroy the place where it was planted.'

Catrin felt both sorry for him and relieved. 'I wish you both well,' she murmured. 'With all my heart I do.'

The sunset was a striking silver-streaked pink, overlaid by streamers of charcoal and rust. Oliver paused in his examination of a pack horse to watch it and thought about stopping to eat. Henry was preparing to ride on to Gloucester to hold his Easter court. There was so much to do and so little time to accomplish it all.

'Fine evening,' greeted Humfrey de Glanville, pausing on his way across the bailey. He was one of Henry's recruiting masters, and Oliver knew and liked him well. They had frequently worked together, their respective positions in Henry's household making them allies and fellow sufferers.

Oliver nodded agreement and for a moment the two men watched the sunset flame and darken over the estuary. Oliver told his companion that he was inspecting the pack ponies before he sent them off to an outlying manor to collect supplies.

'It's like feeding a bottomless pit,' he said with a grimace. The weather creases at Humfrey's eye corners deepened. 'Aye, I know what you mean.'

'Hire any new men worth their salt today?' Oliver asked.

Having recruited in the past, he knew how difficult the task was. The dross came anyway, lured by the promise of plunder and pay. Finding steady soldiers of good calibre, who would not break at the first testing, was somewhat more difficult.

Humfrey shrugged and rubbed his grey-salted beard. 'Most were of the usual sort. Welsh youngsters in search of adventure and scarce old enough to grow a beard between them. Men with mouths to feed and no other way of doing it. Others who think that Prince Henry's footsteps are printed in gold.'

Oliver grunted in sympathy.

'There were a couple who intrigued me though.' Humfrey scratched his nose. 'Adventurers I'd say, after plunder and prestige, but they'd got a sharper edge than the others. A knight and his servant.'

'Oh?'

'Claimed to be returned crusaders and it's likely true. The knight had a red cross sewn on his cloak and they were both as brown as nuts.'

Oliver raised his brows with interest. 'Did they say for whom they fought before their crusade?'

Humfrey grinned and shook his head. 'No, they avoided that one with more agility than a pair of maypole dancers. I suspect that they've always sold their swords where it has been to their best advantage. No shame in that I know, but I am not entirely sure that they will honour their part of the bargain with loyalty. It could be that if it comes to a fight, they will break as easily as a couple of raw Welsh lads.'

'But you hired them anyway?'

'Yes, I hired them, but if you asked me why, I could not tell you.' A puzzled, slightly irritated, look crossed Humfrey's face. 'This is the first time in my life that I've been persuaded to ignore my doubts by a silver tongue., Louis le Pelerin will bear watching.'

Oliver took his eyes off the sunset. 'Louis le Pelerin?' he repeated, feeling the familiar wrench in his gut as he heard the first name.

'That was what he said.' Humfrey looked at him curiously. 'Why, do you know him?'

Oliver shook his head. 'I hope not. Describe him to me -and his companion too.'

'Not above average height, lean and wiry,' Humfrey said in the manner of someone accustomed to summing up the points of men and horses both. 'Black hair, black eyes, scar on the cheekbone. Dresses like an earl - far better garments than either you or I possess. No common soldier could afford to wear a tunic of dark blue wool beneath his armour.'

Oliver began to feel sick. He clenched his fists. 'And the other one? Let me guess. Is he a red-haired Welshman called Ewan?'

Humfrey's eyes widened. 'You know them?'

Oliver swallowed jerkily. 'Yes, I know them. Christ Jesu, Humfrey, do not take them into the Prince's employ. Louis le Pelerin as he calls himself is worth only six feet of fresh soil to bury his perfidious corpse.'

Humfrey continued to stare.

Oliver cleared his throat and spat. 'His true name is Lewis of Chepstow, and if he comes within range of my blade, I will kill him.' His voice quivered with rage, but beneath that rage was a terrible fear made all the more potent for the length of time it had been brewing. At some dark, unconscious level of his mind, he had always known that Louis would return and try to claim what was his by law even though he had no right.

'What has he done?'

Oliver shut his eyes and forced control upon himself. When he opened them on Humfrey, they were expressionless storm-grey. 'It is a personal matter,' he said woodenly. 'Of honour and common decency. Suffice to say that he is faithless. You would do better to put your trust in quicksand.'

Humfrey stirred his toe in the dust and sucked his teeth. 'Very well, I will dismiss him on the morrow, and the Welshman too, but I would still like to know your reason. It is not enough to say that he is faithless when we are so short of men.'

Oliver drew a deep breath. 'He was one of Stephen's mercenaries at the time of the battle of Winchester.'

'So much he told me,' Humfrey nodded. 'He said that he had grown sick of the war and joined the crusade instead because it had more point.'

'He joined the crusade,' Oliver bit out, 'because Stephen had entrusted him with a keep that he did not have the backbone to hold. He abandoned it under siege — rode out and left his wife and baby daughter to face the consequences. When he left he told them he was going for aid, but he had no intention of returning.'

Humfrey eyed him keenly. 'You know a great deal of the matter.'

'That is because his wife and daughter are now with me.'

Humfrey's jaw dropped. 'Catrin and Rosamund. I thought that they belonged to y—'

'Everyone thinks that,' Oliver cut across him savagely. 'Even those who know the truth have almost forgotten. They think us husband and wife, as close as this!' He raised two crossed fingers before Humfrey's startled eyes. 'If you only knew the heartache and suffering he has caused. So help me God, I will run a sword through his heart rather than march at his side.'

'All right, I have said I will dismiss him. Calm yourself.' Humfrey held up a placatory hand. 'Come, we'll go to the hall and eat.'

Oliver breathed out hard and scooped his hands through his hair. He was no longer ravenous. All he felt was sick and angry and afraid. 'No, I have to go home to Catrin and Rosamund.'

Humfrey nodded reluctantly. 'Do you want me to come with you?'

'No,' Oliver said tersely, then, with an effort, forced himself to be civil. 'My thanks, Humfrey, but you attend to your concerns and I will attend to mine.'

'Don't do anything rash,' the knight warned with troubled eyes. 'A sword through this man's heart will be as much your death as his.'

'You think so?' Oliver raised his brows. 'He put a sword through mine ten years ago. Wouldn't you say that the reckoning is long overdue?'

'Oliver

'But if I seek him out and kill him, his dishonour will become mine.' His mouth was bitter. 'Either way, I pay the price.'

Agatha the laundress deposited the basket of fresh linen on the trestle. 'All done,' she declared. 'Since you've returned to Bristol, you've been one of my best customers.'

Catrin gave her a rueful smile as she paid Agatha for her work. 'Some would say that I'm a dreadful spendthrift for washing chemises and shirts more than twice a year.'

'Not me,' Agatha chuckled, putting the coins in her pouch. 'And I'll tell you something else. The knights who pay me to wash their shirts and drawers the most often are the ones who have the success where women are concerned. Who wants to get close to someone who smells like a gong farmer?' She glanced around the room. 'Fine house,' she nodded. 'Ethel would have liked it here.'

'We've rented it from Geoffrey FitzMar,' Catrin said, joining Agatha in her admiration of the spacious proportions afforded by the cruck frame. 'Oliver's riding on soon, but I'm staying here with the children until the army returns.' She offered Agatha a cup of wine. The laundress's eyes gleamed and she plumped down on a stool.

'Just a cup,' she said, 'else I won't be fit to do my work. After all the sadness that Geoffrey FitzMar's had, it's good to see him back on his feet again.'

They sat and talked for a while. Of Geoffrey, of the war, of women's things. Rosamund proudly showed Agatha her braid weaving and a scrap of wool embroidery she had been doing. The boys clamoured to be jiggled on her ample lap.

There was a knock at the door. Cup in hand, a smile on her lips, Catrin opened it upon a townsman - one of the poorer citizens who earned his living from holding horses, carrying baggage and running errands. She knew him vaguely, for on a couple of occasions he had been sent to fetch her to a childbirth.

'Eldred, isn't it?' she said.

'Aye, mistress, that it is.' His teeth were yellow and little more than worn-down stumps in the gum. He poked his head round the door. 'Morning, Mistress Agatha.'

'Morning, Eldred,' she replied, with obvious irritation.

'What can I do for you?' Catrin asked.

Eldred eyed the wine but was not so foolish as to chance his luck. 'I been asked to find a midwife, one as knows her trade. I knew you was back in Bristol, word gets around. I said as I'd bring you straight away if I could.' He sleeved a drip from his nose and sniffed loudly. An overpowering stink of midden heaps wafted from his garments. Another of his occupations was sorting through the town's rubbish for items still of use and Catrin suspected that his clothes were some of the finds. Her nose told her for a fact that he had never paid a laundress in his life.

'Now? The woman is labouring now?' Catrin lifted her cloak from the peg in the wall.

Eldred shrugged and spread his grimy hands. 'I reckon so. J Didn't see her, only the husband, but he were trembling like a leaf. He pays well — be worth your while.' |

'Agatha, will you look after Rosamund and the boys until myself or Oliver returns?'

'Aye, mistress, go on with you.' The older woman waved her hand. 'Where be you going in case we have to find you?'

'Wharf Alley,' Eldred said. 'In the middle, atween the cookshop and the bathhouse.'

With that they were gone. Agatha frowned after the closed door and pursed her lips.

While Wharf Alley was not the worst area in Bristol, neither was it the most salubrious. In between the houses of the merchants and craftworkers, there were bakeries and cookshops. There were also taverns and bathhouses. A man could have a meal, get drunk and find a whore all without walking more than thirty yards. He could be robbed and tossed in the river within the same distance too.

'This house,' said Eldred, halting before a dwelling that was squeezed in the middle of two larger establishments. Its daub and wattle walls had recently been limewashed and the thatch was also new.

'Belongs to the folk at the bathhouse,' Eldred confided. 'They bought it off the widow who used to live there. Rent it out now, they do.'

Catrin eyed the house as Eldred banged on the door. It was the sort of place that men used for assignations with their mistresses, rather than renting as a domestic home. Perhaps the mistress was in labour.