who it is. I asked Geoffrey, but he said he had no truck with women's gossip.'
'No,' Catrin said drily.
'I wonder who it could be.' Edon caught her full lower lip in her teeth. 'She was betrothed until last year, but he changed allegiance and married someone from Stephen's party. For all her airs and graces, she has but a small dowry.'
Catrin was disgusted to find herself enjoying these details at Rohese's expense. The atmosphere of the bower, the pleasure in gossip was insidious and harmful. 'Finished,' she said with a last smoothing stroke of the comb, and handed it back to Edon in a manner that was almost brusque.
Edon seemed not to notice. She stowed the comb in her small personal coffer of carved beech wood. 'Did you see old Etheldreda give her that flask? Any guess that it's a love philtre. Ethel must have sold one to nearly every woman in the keep by now.'
Catrin shook her head. 'I would not want a man if I had to resort to love potions to make him desire me.'
Edon reddened slightly, making Catrin suspect that her companion had not been above slipping a little persuasion into Geoffrey the Wonderful's wine. Involuntarily she raised her hand to touch the cord at her throat. Women's magic. Maiden, Mother and Crone.
'I'm tired,' Edon said querulously, and then arched her spine. 'Jesu, but my back aches tonight. It must have been all that sewing earlier. I should not have sat for so long.'
'Best retire to bed then,' Catrin said solicitously, managing to keep the irritation from her voice. 'I am grateful for the help you gave me today.' Which she was, but thought it unfair that Edon should blame it for her aching back. All women in the last month of pregnancy suffered thus. Catrin did not have to be a skilled midwife to know that; it was common female knowledge.
Edon gave her a smile, her mouth corners tight and, still rubbing her back, went to her pallet. Catrin raised the covers on her own mattress and lay down beneath them. The linen was scratchy against her bare shins, and the pillow had a musty smell, threaded through with the scent of dried lavender. This wasn't home, she thought dismally; she could never belong here, and yet, as she closed her eyes and courted sleep, she could not think of anywhere else that she had belonged, except perhaps Penfoss which, like the rest of her past life, no longer existed.
Once more, screams tore the night and roused everyone from sleep. This time the culprit was not Richard but Edon, her mouth open in a square wail of pain, and her chemise drenched in birthing fluid.
'God save us, she's started early with her pains,' said Dame Aldgith, the most senior of the women. The Countess was abed with her husband and therefore beyond summoning.
'I don't want to have a baby!' Edon screeched. 'It hurts, it hurts!' The final word ended on a hair-raising note of pure hysteria, and she threw herself back on her pallet, clutching at her taut belly and drumming her heels.
'Want or not, you're in travail, my girl,' said Aldgith, and swung round to the other women who were gathered round the bed, eyes huge with shock. 'Don't all stand there like sheep. Poke up the fire, set the cauldron over the hearth and find some old linen.'
Rohese gave the older woman a murderous look before sweeping away in a cloud of red-chestnut hair.
'I'll fetch Mistress Etheldreda,' Catrin murmured, and quickly set about dressing again. Borrowing a cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and, draping a scarf over her hair, hurried from the room.
Running down to the great hall, she realised that she did not know where to find the elderly midwife. Somewhere in the camp was her vague notion. None of the other women would know either, so it was pointless turning back to ask. No respectable lady would step beyond the forebuilding door unescorted. The thought of venturing amongst the soldiers and camp followers made her baulk, but Etheldreda had to be, summoned.
In the hall, she approached the guard on duty and
'No,' Catrin said drily.
'I wonder who it could be.' Edon caught her full lower lip in her teeth. 'She was betrothed until last year, but he changed allegiance and married someone from Stephen's party. For all her airs and graces, she has but a small dowry.'
Catrin was disgusted to find herself enjoying these details at Rohese's expense. The atmosphere of the bower, the pleasure in gossip was insidious and harmful. 'Finished,' she said with a last smoothing stroke of the comb, and handed it back to Edon in a manner that was almost brusque.
Edon seemed not to notice. She stowed the comb in her small personal coffer of carved beech wood. 'Did you see old Etheldreda give her that flask? Any guess that it's a love philtre. Ethel must have sold one to nearly every woman in the keep by now.'
Catrin shook her head. 'I would not want a man if I had to resort to love potions to make him desire me.'
Edon reddened slightly, making Catrin suspect that her companion had not been above slipping a little persuasion into Geoffrey the Wonderful's wine. Involuntarily she raised her hand to touch the cord at her throat. Women's magic. Maiden, Mother and Crone.
'I'm tired,' Edon said querulously, and then arched her spine. 'Jesu, but my back aches tonight. It must have been all that sewing earlier. I should not have sat for so long.'
'Best retire to bed then,' Catrin said solicitously, managing to keep the irritation from her voice. 'I am grateful for the help you gave me today.' Which she was, but thought it unfair that Edon should blame it for her aching back. All women in the last month of pregnancy suffered thus. Catrin did not have to be a skilled midwife to know that; it was common female knowledge.
Edon gave her a smile, her mouth corners tight and, still rubbing her back, went to her pallet. Catrin raised the covers on her own mattress and lay down beneath them. The linen was scratchy against her bare shins, and the pillow had a musty smell, threaded through with the scent of dried lavender. This wasn't home, she thought dismally; she could never belong here, and yet, as she closed her eyes and courted sleep, she could not think of anywhere else that she had belonged, except perhaps Penfoss which, like the rest of her past life, no longer existed.
Once more, screams tore the night and roused everyone from sleep. This time the culprit was not Richard but Edon, her mouth open in a square wail of pain, and her chemise drenched in birthing fluid.
'God save us, she's started early with her pains,' said Dame Aldgith, the most senior of the women. The Countess was abed with her husband and therefore beyond summoning.
'I don't want to have a baby!' Edon screeched. 'It hurts, it hurts!' The final word ended on a hair-raising note of pure hysteria, and she threw herself back on her pallet, clutching at her taut belly and drumming her heels.
'Want or not, you're in travail, my girl,' said Aldgith, and swung round to the other women who were gathered round the bed, eyes huge with shock. 'Don't all stand there like sheep. Poke up the fire, set the cauldron over the hearth and find some old linen.'
Rohese gave the older woman a murderous look before sweeping away in a cloud of red-chestnut hair.
'I'll fetch Mistress Etheldreda,' Catrin murmured, and quickly set about dressing again. Borrowing a cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and, draping a scarf over her hair, hurried from the room.
Running down to the great hall, she realised that she did not know where to find the elderly midwife. Somewhere in the camp was her vague notion. None of the other women would know either, so it was pointless turning back to ask. No respectable lady would step beyond the forebuilding door unescorted. The thought of venturing amongst the soldiers and camp followers made her baulk, but Etheldreda had to be, summoned.
In the hall, she approached the guard on duty and
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