The Love Knot (64 page)

Eldred's knock was answered by the red-haired Welshman.

'I brought the midwife like your master wanted,' he announced.

Catrin did not recognise Ewan at first, except to know that she had seen him somewhere before. By the time she did, she was over the threshold and putting down the hood of her cloak.

'Ewan?' Her eyes widened.

So did the soldier's before he rounded on Eldred. 'What trickery is this?' he snarled.

Eldred stared in bewilderment. 'No trickery,' he said. 'You asked for a midwife, I said I could find you one and here she is. You owe me my fee.' He extended his hand.

'You're owed nothing,' Ewan growled.

Catrin felt weak and disoriented with shock. Ewan's master could only be Louis. Mother of God, after all these years. He flitted in and out of her life like a destructive spirit; wreaking havoc and leaving her to pick up the pieces, only to reappear and dash them to the ground again in ever more fragile shards. She laid her hand on Eldred's indignant sleeve.

'Escort me home, Eldred,' she said, with as much calm as she could muster. 'I myself will pay your fee.' She turned to the door.

'That will not be necessary,' Louis said quietly, and barred her way. 'Master Eldred, I thank you.' He gave the messenger a silver halfpenny and, setting his hand on Catrin's shoulder to detain her, stood aside to let the man depart. Then he closed the door.

But for the thought of the woman she had been brought to aid, Catrin would have thrust him off and hastened after Eldred. She glared at her husband. 'I was summoned to attend at a childbirth,' she said. 'I suppose some other unfortunate woman has fallen victim to your charm.'

Louis looked hurt. 'Why do you always think the worst of me, Catty?'

'Because I know now that there is no better,' she retorted. 'And my name is Catrin. What are you doing in Bristol, Lewis?'

He shrugged and smiled, familiar gestures which had once sent a pang through her, but now filled her with distaste. They were affected, not charming. 'The same as everyone else. Paying court to Prince Henry, our future King.'

'Why, do you think he might give you a castle to ruin?'

A scowl marred his brow. 'You've still got the claws, I see.'

'I don't suffer fools gladly. Show me to the woman in travail or else let me go.' She set her hand on the door latch.

'There isn't a woman in travail,' Louis said. 'The need for a midwife is my own. I did not know that the old beggar would bring you.'

'What?' Catrin gazed at him and wondered if he had lost his wits. 'Why should you want a midwife?'

Louis flicked a glance at Ewan. 'Go next door and amuse yourself,' he said, flipping the soldier a coin. 'I want to talk privately with my wife.'

'I am not your wife,' Catrin said coldly. 'You gave up that right when you rode out of Wickham and left me and a tiny baby to face the siege.'

'You are mine in the eyes of the Church.'

'But not in my own and that is all that matters.'

Eyes lowered, Ewan opened the door and stepped out into the street. Catrin started after him, but Louis was quicker and leaped in front of her, his extended arm barring her way.

Filled with loathing and a spark of fear, Catrin drew herself up. 'Let me go,' she hissed. 'For whatever purpose you want a midwife, find someone else. I owe you neither loyalty nor service.'

'Then what about pity, Catrin?' His voice softened and filled with pathos. 'Can you not find it within you to pity me?'

'No, I can't,' she answered savagely, but was aware of a betraying spark of uncertainty.

Louis perceived and sprang upon it immediately. 'I do not believe that. Your heart was always tender even if the shell was of steel.' He bowed his head. 'I'm dying. That's why I sent Ewan away; he doesn't know. You'll be rid of me sooner than you know.'

'Dying?' Catrin did not know whether to laugh or be appalled, to believe or to doubt. 'I can see nothing wrong with you.' She couldn't. He was lean and tanned, with all the vibrancy she remembered.

'Then look again.'

She followed his gaze along the outstretched arm barring her from freedom and saw on the bare skin of his wrist a raw patch about the size of a brooch.

'Leprosy,' he said, lowering his arm and turning it to show her the sore in more detail. 'The crusader's plague. I took the cross to atone for my sins and it took my life. Pity me, Catrin. Lie in your warm, adulterous bed and think of me at the roadside in beggar's rags with a clapper bell for my bedmate and the cry of "Unclean!" on my lips.'

She shook her head and swallowed, her gaze drawn in fascination to the raw skin with its scummy, grey edges. She had often seen lepers before, had thrown them quarter and halfpennies for charity's sake, but always from a distance. They clothed themselves in voluminous robes to conceal the desecration wrought on their bodies by the disease, but she had seen enough sores to know the signs.

'Go if you want.' He stood aside, leaving her way free to the wet street outside. 'Go back to your life and pretend that we were ships that passed in the night, that we never had this collision.'

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' she whispered. Handsome, vain Louis with his need for adulation, his delight in all things sensual. It was the cruellest end that fate could have devised. Although the doorway yawned, she found it impossible to walk out.

'So am I.' He pulled his sleeve down over the sore. 'I understand that it creeps slowly; that it will be a while before it reaches my fingers and causes them to rot. For the present, at least, I can hide the sore, live among other men and make my way in the world. But soon enough that will change.' He gave her a mocking look. 'Now do you pity me?'

Catrin clenched her fists. She felt compassion and loathing in equal proportions. It was typical of Louis that he would rather infect others with the disease than sacrifice his own way of living. 'What good would it be to you if I did?'

The mocking expression vanished and in its place came, a pleading look through which calculation glimmered. 'For pity's sake you might help me to live.'

'Why should I do that when it would be of more benefit to me to have you dead?'

His smile was more than half grimace as he shut the open door. 'Conscience, Catty, your bleeding conscience. I don't have one, but you always had enough for both of us. That's why you didn't walk out when I gave you the chance.'

She bit her lip, knowing that he was right and as always he had found a weakness and exploited it. 'I know of no cure for leprosy,' she said. 'There is nothing I can do for you.'

'But there is. The physicians in the Holy Land are more learned than any here. They know of all manner of remedies that we have not even begun to comprehend.' His eyes gleamed.

'I know that there is a great healing tradition among the peoples of Araby,' Catrin answered. 'Ethel taught me many of their ways. But I know of none for leprosy.' She wondered what his intention was. Why did he need a midwife when a physician was the more obvious choice? A niggling suspicion began to grow in her mind, but it was so preposterous that she did not allow it to surface.

'Then the wise-woman did not teach you everything; she was not as wise as she thought.' Louis smiled and folded his arms, but she could see that it was a facade, that he was trembling with suppressed fear or excitement.

'What do you want?' she demanded, suddenly impatient. 'Bleeding conscience or not, I swear I will leave. I have my man and my children waiting at home.'

'Then you are fortunate. All I have is Ewan and my rotting flesh,' he replied with a curl of his lip. 'How is my daughter?'

'If you had stayed, you would know,' Catrin said contemptuously. 'You can lay as little claim to her as you lay to me, and that is nothing.'

He snorted, and looked away. 'I do not blame you for being bitter, Catty, but at least have a little charity.'

'I'm not bitter; I'm happy,' she retorted. 'Rosamund is flourishing and bids fair to be a beauty, and I have two fine sons. Oliver and I are greatly content. As to charity ... If all you have is Ewan and your rotting flesh, then you have only yourself to blame. Now tell me what it is you want from me and let me go.' She took a step towards the door to emphasise her point. From outside came the sound of hurrying footsteps in the rain. They faded away down the street. Next door the cook-stall owner was riddling out his brick oven.

'The cure for leprosy is an ointment made up of several ingredients,' Louis said against the backdrop of the muted, familiar sound. 'All of them but one can be obtained by an apothecary . . .'

'All but one?' Catrin repeated, and the hair began to rise on the nape of her neck.

He unfolded his arms and braced them on the trestle. 'I need the fat rendered from a stillborn infant,' he said. 'Only a midwife can obtain it for me.'

'Jesu God!' Catrin stared at him in utter revulsion. 'I knew that you loved yourself, but I did not realise that it was to the perdition of your very soul! The answer is no!'

'I need it, Catty, I have to have it and I can pay - in gold.' He waved his hand. 'Christ, don't look at me like that. What does it matter if the child's dead? It doesn't need its fat. Even if it's buried intact, the worms will feast on the flesh and leave only bones.'

Catrin struggled not to retch, but it was no use. She staggered over to a corner and heaved. She had dwelt with the dark side of Louis's personality at Wickham, but never had she guessed its true depths. It was sacrilege but he gave it no more importance than the butchering of an animal. A lamb to the slaughter. She swallowed and swallowed again, her mind filled with the images of children she had delivered. Of Rosamund and the twins, red and bawling from her womb. Of Edon's slashed body and the grey, dead baby.

'I thought your stomach was stronger than that,' he said behind her. 'All I am asking is that you procure me a dead new-born. Bring it to me and I will do the rest.'

Catrin thought that she was going to faint. For a moment the world whirled and blackened. She clutched the wall and drew slow, deep breaths. 'Even to ask such a thing puts you on the road to hell,' she said, hearing her own voice as if from a distance.

'If I do not find a cure, I will be in hell,' he answered desperately. 'I will pay you in gold bezants, Catty.'

'Not all the coin in the world would buy my services for such a deed.'

There was a long silence behind her, then he said, 'What if I give you an annulment to our marriage so that you can wed Pascal? What if I obtained a dispensation from the Church?'

There was an instant, the tiniest flash when, to her utter revulsion, Catrin felt herself respond, and because of that her abhorrence redoubled. He offered her what she wanted at a cost beyond paying. 'Perhaps you don't have leprosy,' she said, gritting her teeth. 'Perhaps it is just your rotten soul bursting through your skin.' She turned and faced him, her complexion ashen. 'I want neither your money nor your bribes nor any part of you.'

They stared at each other. Then he lowered his eyes and shrugged. 'I thought you would have more compassion, but I see I was wrong. I can expect more from a stranger.' His mouth twitched in a bitter smile. 'Never fret, Catty, I'll find someone less self-righteous who can be bought.'

Catrin stepped to the door and set her hand on the latch. Although she was trembling inside, her movements were decisive. 'Not here,' she said, 'not in Bristol. I will tell every other midwife about you, and then I will go and tell the sheriff. By that time you will be on board an Irish galley or as far away from here as your horse can gallop.' Her gaze was cold and bright. 'If you are not, then you will hang.'

'You wouldn't do that.' His voice was uncertain.

'Watch me,' she said, jerked the door open, and banged out into the rainy street.

Louis stared at the door and listened to the echoes of its slamming. His first emotion was disbelief that she had threatened him and then walked out, leaving him no time for the final word. Hard on the heels of disbelief came anger and then, because he was Louis, outrage. She was his wife, she had no right to gainsay his will. He should have forced her to her knees and beaten her into submission rather than offering her rewards and reason. He had not liked the way she said that she was going to warn the other midwives in the city and then seek out the sheriff. If she did that he would become a fugitive, no longer the hunter but the hunted, as much for the disease as his request for a cure. No one would tolerate a leper in their community.

'Bitch,' Louis swore. He grabbed his sword belt from against the wall and flung open the door. She had to be stopped.

Catrin ran, uncaring of the puddles which soaked her feet and splashed the hem of her gown. Raindrops and tears mingled on her face. The wind was cold, but the chills that shook her body were of shock. To have encountered Louis under ordinary circumstances would have been difficult enough, but this last meeting had been hellish. Again and again she heard him describe what he wanted in that smiling, reasonable voice that suggested she was the one at fault. The details rolled around in her head. If she stopped running, she knew she would begin retching again. 'Catrin, wait!'

She turned round, narrowing her eyes against the needle slant of the rain. Louis was waving at her and running up the thoroughfare. He wore no cloak, his dark head was bare but, despite having no time to dress for the weather, he had put on his sword belt.