whoredom. Her nickname was Amice le Gorge-Colps - the sword swallower; we all know the story.' She looked around at her companions tor support. A blonde-haired girl tittered, and an older woman sucked her teeth and nodded.
'As you choose to see it, without knowing Amice,' Catrin said heatedly, and was appalled to feel tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. The urge to lash out was almost unbearable.
From the corner where she had been braiding her hair, a freckle-faced young woman spoke out. 'This all seems to me a storm in a pitkin,' she said. 'Are we so feeble-minded that one disturbed night sours us beyond all charity?'
'It is not my mind that is feeble,' Rohese said with a pointed glare at Richard, as he emerged from the curtained-off latrine built into the angle of the wall. She terminated the conversation by stalking from the room, her nose in the air.
The young woman left her corner and approached Catrin. 'Pay no heed to Rohese,' she murmured, laying a sympathetic hand on Catrin's sleeve. 'She likes to play queen, and your arrival has tilted her crown.'
'Mine?'
'Well, yours and the boy's. A son of the old King outranks an embroideress any day, no matter that she's a knight's daughter. I'm Edon FitzMar and my husband is one of the Earl's hearth knights.' She clasped Catrin's hand. 'Never fret, you'll soon be at home here.'
Catrin doubted that very much. The bower walls hemmed her in. She knew that this was the way many women of noble birth lived their lives - shut away in the castle's upper chambers, their days occupied by weaving, spinning and needlecraft. It was an enclosed world, seething with undercurrents and tensions that had few outlets. The occupants fed upon each other. Amice had spoken often of that kind of life, and never with longing or affection. But since Edon FitzMar had offered the hand of friendship, Catrin kept her misgivings to herself and returned the clasp with a smile and a palliative murmur.
'I suppose,' Edon said to Richard, showing her kindness further by including him in the conversation, 'that you will become a page in my Lord's household. That's what happens to most of the boys fostered here.'
Richard nodded and looked at his feet. 'I would like that,' he mumbled.
'He's a good teacher, Lord Robert. Geoffrey - that's my husband - says that no squire could have a better start.'
Richard mumbled again. His eyes flickered from the ground to the prominent swell of her belly. Seeing his glance, she laughed self-consciously and laid her hand across her midriff. 'My first,' she said to Catrin. 'Due in the autumn. Geoffrey's that proud, he's been puffing out his chest and crowing to all the others like a cockerel. They're all sick to death of hearing about it.'
'My mother was with child too,' Richard said. 'Aimery crowed to all the other men, but he's dead now . . . and so is she.' Whirling from a startled Edon, he ran to the door and banged out of the room.
'I'm sorry, I never thought. . .' Edon looked aghast. 'And after last night too, I should have known.'
'It isn't your fault,' Catrin said quickly, not wanting to lose the tentative friendship that had sprung up. 'He's liable to take off at the slightest thing just now. I have to go after him. Explain to the Countess if she asks for me.' Gathering her skirts, Catrin ran from the bower in pursuit of Richard. Behind her, the women looked at each other, their expressions ranging from disapproval to sympathy for the afflicted.
It was difficult to run down a turret stair in a gown and by the time Catrin reached the foot, Richard had disappeared. Cursing to herself she asked around, but no one had seen him. A running child was of small consequence in a household as large as the Earl of Gloucester's. A running woman, however, was cause for raised eyebrows and more than one murmur about lack of propriety.
Catrin searched the hall then hastened outside. In the bailey she found the young squire, Thomas FitzRainald, breaking his fast on a
'As you choose to see it, without knowing Amice,' Catrin said heatedly, and was appalled to feel tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. The urge to lash out was almost unbearable.
From the corner where she had been braiding her hair, a freckle-faced young woman spoke out. 'This all seems to me a storm in a pitkin,' she said. 'Are we so feeble-minded that one disturbed night sours us beyond all charity?'
'It is not my mind that is feeble,' Rohese said with a pointed glare at Richard, as he emerged from the curtained-off latrine built into the angle of the wall. She terminated the conversation by stalking from the room, her nose in the air.
The young woman left her corner and approached Catrin. 'Pay no heed to Rohese,' she murmured, laying a sympathetic hand on Catrin's sleeve. 'She likes to play queen, and your arrival has tilted her crown.'
'Mine?'
'Well, yours and the boy's. A son of the old King outranks an embroideress any day, no matter that she's a knight's daughter. I'm Edon FitzMar and my husband is one of the Earl's hearth knights.' She clasped Catrin's hand. 'Never fret, you'll soon be at home here.'
Catrin doubted that very much. The bower walls hemmed her in. She knew that this was the way many women of noble birth lived their lives - shut away in the castle's upper chambers, their days occupied by weaving, spinning and needlecraft. It was an enclosed world, seething with undercurrents and tensions that had few outlets. The occupants fed upon each other. Amice had spoken often of that kind of life, and never with longing or affection. But since Edon FitzMar had offered the hand of friendship, Catrin kept her misgivings to herself and returned the clasp with a smile and a palliative murmur.
'I suppose,' Edon said to Richard, showing her kindness further by including him in the conversation, 'that you will become a page in my Lord's household. That's what happens to most of the boys fostered here.'
Richard nodded and looked at his feet. 'I would like that,' he mumbled.
'He's a good teacher, Lord Robert. Geoffrey - that's my husband - says that no squire could have a better start.'
Richard mumbled again. His eyes flickered from the ground to the prominent swell of her belly. Seeing his glance, she laughed self-consciously and laid her hand across her midriff. 'My first,' she said to Catrin. 'Due in the autumn. Geoffrey's that proud, he's been puffing out his chest and crowing to all the others like a cockerel. They're all sick to death of hearing about it.'
'My mother was with child too,' Richard said. 'Aimery crowed to all the other men, but he's dead now . . . and so is she.' Whirling from a startled Edon, he ran to the door and banged out of the room.
'I'm sorry, I never thought. . .' Edon looked aghast. 'And after last night too, I should have known.'
'It isn't your fault,' Catrin said quickly, not wanting to lose the tentative friendship that had sprung up. 'He's liable to take off at the slightest thing just now. I have to go after him. Explain to the Countess if she asks for me.' Gathering her skirts, Catrin ran from the bower in pursuit of Richard. Behind her, the women looked at each other, their expressions ranging from disapproval to sympathy for the afflicted.
It was difficult to run down a turret stair in a gown and by the time Catrin reached the foot, Richard had disappeared. Cursing to herself she asked around, but no one had seen him. A running child was of small consequence in a household as large as the Earl of Gloucester's. A running woman, however, was cause for raised eyebrows and more than one murmur about lack of propriety.
Catrin searched the hall then hastened outside. In the bailey she found the young squire, Thomas FitzRainald, breaking his fast on a
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