Elizabeth Chadwick - The Love Knot

Heads turned. The steward licked his lips. 'A moment, he said and, with his head on high, stalked away in the direction of the tower stairs.

'Conceited arsewipe, Oliver muttered. 'He thinks because he sees to the placing of the salt and the finger bowls in the Earl's hall that he has dominion over all else.

Catrin said nothing. The steward's attitude had only served to compound her fears about the kind of welcome she and Richard would receive from Earl Robert.

'Do you want to sit down? Oliver indicated the benches running along the side of the hall.

Catrin shook her head. 'If I do, I won't rise again — not for an earl or anyone else.

The steward returned, very much on his dignity, and his nose, although out of joint, still up in the air. 'It is your great good fortune that the Earl has agreed to see you, he said with obvious disapproval, and beckoned to a boy with a shining mop of chestnut hair and a peppering of sandy freckles across his snub nose. 'Thomas will conduct you to his chamber.

Hands behind his back in a manner of attentive respect,

the boy acknowledged the steward's command with a deep bow and addressed him as 'my lord.

Somewhat mollified, the steward departed to chivvy the servant who was setting the table on the high dais. The boy wrinkled his nose at the turned, blue back and, unclasping his hands, produced the chunk of bread he had been hiding.

'It's for Bran, my pony, he confided as he tucked it down inside his tunic. 'Old Bardolf will whip me if he finds out. He jerked his head in the steward's direction.

'Are you whipped often? Oliver asked with amusement.

Thomas shook his head. 'I'm too fast, he said confidently, and led them out of the hall and up the stairs to the private living-quarters on the floor above. Now and again he cast an inquisitive glance at Richard and Catrin. It was plain that he was bursting with a curiosity which manners made impossible to satisfy. Instead he told them about himself. His name was Thomas FitzRainald, and he was the bastard son of Rainald, Earl of Cornwall, who in his turn was the bastard son of the old king. He was cheerfully proud of his ancestry. 'And my Uncle Robert is fostering me in his household and teaching me to become a knight, he finished with a triumphant look at Richard as they halted before a solid oak door bound with wrought-iron bands and guarded by a soldier in full mail.

'Steward Bardolf said to bring these guests to my lord, he announced in a confident treble.

The guard thumped on the door with his fist. 'You are expected, he said to Oliver and, with a wink, wafted his spear at Thomas. 'Go on, shaveling, away to your dinner.

The boy wrinkled his nose again, but this time in play, no insult intended. He bowed beautifully to Oliver, Richard and Catrin, then ran off towards the stairs.

The guard hid a chuckle in his beard and, at a command from within, opened the door and ushered them inside.

To Catrin, it was like entering a page from an illuminated tale of romance. Embroideries clothed the walls in opulent shades of crimson, green and gold and, where there were no hangings, the walls were painted with exquisite murals of scenes from the four seasons. Dried river-reeds strewn with sweet-scented herbs and slivers of cinnamon bark carpeted the floor, while all the coffers and benches wore the melted-honey sheen of mellowing oak. Candles of the costliest beeswax had been lit to augment the light. Their scent stroked the air, mingling with that of the herbs as they were bruised by her footsteps.

The man who rose from his high-backed chair and approached them was a little above average height, his stocky build emphasised by his costly tunic of embroidered maroon wool. He had receding dark hair and pleasant, plain features. Had he been wearing ordinary clothes, no one would have given him a second look, but he was King Henry's first-born son, the man whom many said should have been king at his father's death despite the stigma of his illegitimacy. He had rejected the crown in support of his wedlock-born sister, Mathilda, and was now her staunchest supporter against Stephen of Blois, the man who had stolen her kingdom.

Catrin curtseyed and almost fell. Regaining her balance, she locked her knees. At her side Oliver bowed, and Richard copied his example, dipping quickly like a bird at a pond.

The Earl glanced between them with eyes deep set and shrewd. 'Best be seated before you fall down, he said to Catrin, and gestured to one of the carved benches which was strewn with beautifully embroidered cushions. 'Sander, bring wine. He summoned a squire who had been standing unobtrusively in a corner.

Catrin was furnished with a brimming cup in which the wine was the colour of blood. Its taste was rich and metallic and her stomach recoiled. She knew that if she drank more than a sip, she would be sick.

'Do I understand that Penfoss has been destroyed? demanded the Earl.

'Yes, my lord, said Oliver. 'Looted and burned. Myself and Gawin de Brionne came upon the aftermath on our way to the Severn ferry. Lady Catrin and Master Richard are the only survivors.

While Oliver relayed the close details of the happening in a voice succinct and devoid of emotion, Catrin stared at the wall, trying to immerse herself in the painted scene of two young women playing ball in a garden. One girl's gown was a vivid shade of blue and her hair was a loose tumble of gold that reminded Catrin of Amice. Her companion wore daffodil-yellow and her hair was black.

'You have no idea who did the deed? Earl Robert leaned forward, cutting off Catrin's contemplation. 'No one who wished your mistress or master ill?

'No, my lord. I am not aware that they had enemies. I recognised none of the soldiers. Some wore mail, others were clad in little more than rags, but they were enough to overrun us. They took what they wanted and torched the rest. In her own ears, her voice sounded as dispassionate as Oliver's, but that was not how she felt inside. Deep down, too far to be dug out, there was hurt and fury. She could have struck out at Robert de Caen just for asking the question, just for being a man, safe in his opulent chambers, guarded and served by men little different from the wolves who had destroyed Penfoss.

'Would you recognise any of them if you saw them again?

Catrin rubbed her forehead wearily. 'The reason I survived is that I saw the raid from the trees outside the compound. They were of a kind… it is hard to remember. Their leader, if you can call him that, rode a chestnut horse with four white legs and a white face.

'Was there a device on his shield?

Catrin shook her head. She did not want to draw her mind close to the horror. 'It was green, I think.

'With a red cross, Richard added, and outlined the shape on the palm of his hand. 'And his saddle-cloth was made of black and white cowhide.

Robert of Gloucester sighed. 'Lawless bands are multiplying like flies in a dungheap. Even in my own heartlands I constantly hear of atrocities like this. It is too easy for them. They raid, then slip across the border into Wales, or into another territory where my writ does not run. Three times in the last month I've had farms burned by Stephen's mercenaries raiding out from Malmesbury.

The war had made it too easy for them, Catrin thought. In King Henry's day, there had been peace, with few outlaws and the King's writ both feared and respected. Now, it was every man to his own gain, and devil take the hindmost. 'So you have small hope of capturing them? she asked.

'I will do what I can — increase patrols and alert all my vassals and tenants. Like as not they're Malmesbury men. He tightened his fists, and his gold rings gleamed. 'They will be brought to justice, I swear it.

Well, that was true if he was referring to judgement-day. 'Thank you, my lord. Once more she stared beyond him at the mural of the women in the garden. Oliver glanced at it too, but his gaze did not linger and he turned his shoulder so that the wall painting was not in his direct line of vision.