‘He likes what they might be able to give him,’ she said, sniffing at the child’s bottom and sighing. ‘He needs changing again. Got the squits.’ She saw the incomprehension on my face. ‘Duke Robert wants a finger-hold in England, which is why he tolerates those English princes.’
Why was no one content with what they had? Idris had wanted Rhain’s crown, Seisyll had taken my father’s first then my husband’s, Wulfstan had wanted a piece of Wales and any piece would do I guessed, and now the Duke of Normandy was not content with his own extensive lands but had his gaze turned towards England if this woman was to be believed. Even the common folk were at it. Take Arlette for instance, and her ambitious search for a crown at any price. The only one I felt sorry for was Edward – at least he craved what was rightfully his.
‘How do you know all this?’ I asked, wondering how a woman like her could have the ear of a duke.
‘Everyone knows,’ she replied airily. ‘The duke doesn’t keep it a secret. He’ll stop at nothing, that one.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the keep. ‘It is rumoured he killed his own brother to become Duke of Normandy, and as well as England, he’d like to get his hands on Flanders too.’ She gave a sigh. ‘If someone don’t come out and take this basket off me soon, I’m going to the market to sell it.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘The duke don’t let commoners into the donjon. Not unless they’re wearing his colours. I have an agreement with him.’ She saw my look and added, ‘Not with him exactly, with his castellan, Sir Benoit. I bring him truffles.’
‘Truffles?’ I’d never heard of them.
Shifting the baby’s weight further onto her hip, she pulled aside the cloth covering the basket, revealing small brown lumps. They looked like dried, fibrous balls of animal excrement. I wrinkled my nose.
‘Delicacies, these are. Gotta eat them fresh mind you, they don’t keep.’
‘Why not simply hand them over to the kitchens?’ I asked. The smell from the child’s dirty clouts was growing rank.
‘Huh! Do you know how much these can fetch?’
I had no idea, and really did not care. My only concern was to catch a glimpse of Duke Robert. I would have to enter as a cat if I wanted to breach this fortress. The thought of turning back into a woman once inside filled me with dread. Would I find somewhere private? What if I got caught mid-change? They would hang me, drown me, or burn me for a witch. I did not fancy any of the options, least of all being put to the flames.
I had to get away. I could not do this. The risk was too great. I took one step, then another, waiting for Herleva to pin me to the spot, to demand I carry out my task.
To my surprise she let me leave, and as I passed the chapel I saw why. Lord Robert emerged, blinking in the sun, one hand shielding his eyes. A man handed him a sword and he slipped it into the scabbard on his hip. I knew that man.
‘Prince Alfred,’ I called, hurrying forward to greet him, my skirts tangling about my ankles and threatening to trip me in my haste.
An arm blocked my path. I bounced off it.
‘Piss off.’ The soldier was twice my size and three times as ugly.
I drew myself up to my full height and gave him a haughty glare. ‘I am Lady Caitlyn, Queen of Deheubarth and Gwynedd,’ I said. ‘I wish to speak to Prince Alfred. Let me pass.’
‘Aye, and I’m King of Hades and I’ve got an appointment with Satan. So will you, if you don’t fuck off.’
‘Evart, let her be.’ Alfred’s laughter carried above the noise. ‘She is who she says she is, though you would not think it to look at her.’
Evart stepped back and dropped his arm. ‘Beg pardon, my lady.’ He performed a half bow, using the action to rake me up and down with his eyes. What he saw made his lips twitch. Was he scowling or trying to suppress a laugh?
Alfred pushed through the crowd which was gathered about the duke until he reached my side. Evart moved away, trying not to let me see the speculative look he shot in my direction.
‘How is Arlette?’ The prince’s face softened.
Poor man, he really did believe he loved her. Hopefully the spell would wear off soon and he could return to his whoring ways.
‘She is pining for you. You have not been to visit her lately, my lord.’ It was not my place to tell him she had moved her sights to a more elevated suitor.
‘I have been at Rouen with Robert. He has had some trouble with his uncle, the Archbishop of Rouen.’
‘I hope all is resolved?’
‘Most certainly. Robert exiled him. Of course, there are consequences to that particular action. All of Normandy is now excommunicated. It is a small matter, but the duke felt the people needed to see him taking mass.’ He turned to the duke. ‘Come, let me introduce you.’
Self-consciously I smoothed my hands down the front of my drab, homespun dress. I had hoped to meet him when I looked more like a queen and less like a pauper.
For the briefest of moments, I debated throwing myself on Lord Robert’s mercy, playing the conversation over in my mind. I would explain who I was and how I had been treated and beg for a place at his court. Surely he would sympathise with my plight. I was a queen, and no one of royal blood should fall so low. He would understand, I was certain. Of course, I could not tell him what Herleva had done. If anyone knew I had been ensorcelled there was a good chance I would be killed. A witch’s familiar could not be allowed to live, however reluctant she might be to play the part.
In my fantasy, I even went so far as to have him fall in love with me. I would make an excellent duchess…
Alfred took me by the arm, propelling me forward. Duke Robert had yet to notice us. I studied him swiftly whilst his attention was elsewhere, thankful to see that close up he was indeed handsome. It would make bedding him so much easier.
He had the makings of a beard, the closely cropped whiskers covering a firm chin. With nicely shaped lips and patrician nose he was well-featured. His regal bearing helped with the handsomeness. Every inch a king, he exuded authority in spite of his ready smile. Like the sun, men turned their faces to him and basked in his warmth.
Arlette would be pleased.
‘My lord, let me present Lady Caitlyn,’ Alfred said.
I curtsied deep and low, before rising to meet the duke’s speculative gaze.
‘You are the Welsh woman,’ he said. I noticed he did not say “queen”.
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You have found sanctuary in Normandy?’
I wanted to tell him everything. The urge to blurt out all the hurts and woes of the past few months was strong, the urge to throw myself on his mercy and beg a place at his court was even stronger.
But when I opened my mouth the only words to emerge from it were, ‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’
I did not sense Herleva. She was not overseeing me, was not privy to this conversation. My lack of ability to speak my mind was the machinations of the spell. It must have known what I had been about to say and made certain I did not say it.
Duke Robert nodded. His gaze had already wandered, his attention turning to more important matters.
Alfred took my arm and drew me to the side. ‘I am glad you have found a home,’ he said. ‘A little voice told me Arlette would welcome you.’
A little voice? Ha!
I cried, ‘I cannot remain with Herleva.’
‘Arlette’s step-mother? Why not? She seems personable enough, and Arlette tells me Fulbert has flourished since he married her. He has even expanded into the embalming business, she says. Wise man – there is always money to be made from the dead.’
‘She… I… Not all is as it seems. She has-’ The words stuck in my throat, closing up my airway. I choked, their suffocating truths wedged firmer than a stubborn lump of gristle.
I could not say them, could not tell him what she had done to me, what I had become in her hands. My mouth opened and closed, gasping for air, and I had no relief until I let them go and admitted defeat. The
spell would not allow me to betray Herleva.
‘She is a good woman,’ I said, after sucking in a few deep breaths. ‘I do not like taking advantage of her generosity.’
‘Fear not,’ Alfred was oblivious to my suffering, ‘I am sure she will claim her dues. I hear you have been helping Arlette in the tanning pits.’
Oh, if only he knew – I had repaid her a hundredfold already and she would continue to collect on this particular debt for as long as she lived.
Told you. You should listen to your mistress. The hated voice gloated, exulting in my failure.
You will never be my mistress, I wanted to shout at her. That those words also remained in my throat made little difference, she heard them anyway.
Oh, but I am already, missy. Have you learned nothing?
I had learned plenty, and the most lasting lesson had been how to hate.
Her laughter followed me all the way home.
Chapter 25
‘Here.’ Herleva thrust a small pouch in my direction. I took it, almost dropping it when I saw how delicate the leather was. Please, God, don’t let this be the skin of another baby.
‘Stop being so squeamish. Inside you will find a glass bottle. Be very, very careful with it. It is older than your grandmother.’
‘My grandmother is dead,’ I replied, taking the pouch out of her hand, opening the drawstring and peering inside. The bottle was the length of my little finger, round at one end with a slender stem and stoppered with a cork. I thought it might be a blueish colour but it was difficult to tell in the candlelight.
‘How am I supposed to catch his seed in this?’ I asked, visions of trying to stuff the end of an engorged manhood into the bottle’s narrow opening. He would have to be very poorly endowed for that method to work. I wiggled my little finger into the neck. It almost became stuck.
‘I don’t want his seed. I want his blood.’
‘His blood?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘Arlette told me if a love spell contains a man’s seed it becomes twice as powerful. Surely that is better than blood?’
I most definitely did not fancy having to milk the Duke of Normandy like a cow, but it was an infinitely safer option than trying to open one of his veins. He would not take kindly to a woman slicing him with a knife.
Herleva was busy, pulling the innards of her latest corpse out through the incision she had made below the wrinkled bellybutton. The deceased had been sent to Herleva because the nun who usually prepared all the sisters’ bodies for burial was the one lying on the table. I almost smiled at the irony. The nun in question would be hovering four foot off that slab of wood if she knew what her embalmer really was, and what had occurred on that very table.
‘I have no intention of making a love spell,’ Herleva said. ‘The spell I am going to weave will bind them together for all eternity, his blood with hers. This will be no half-hearted charm for a lovesick maid.’ She reached inside the depleted cavity with both hands and drew forth a red-brown, glistening slab of meat. Liver. The smell of blood grew stronger.
‘Why did you not use such a spell on Alfred?’ I asked, trying to ignore it. I wanted to leave but was not prepared to show any weakness in front of my self-styled mistress.
‘Because I saw what will happen to him.’
I cocked my head, waiting for an explanation.
She gave a grunt. The skin of the corpse’s empty belly undulated as she delved inside. The breasts, two flat sacks, drooped either side of the nun’s skinny breastbone. ‘It is true Edward will sit on the English throne. Alfred, however, will die well before he reaches three score years and ten. His will be an ignominious and painful death.’
‘You saw that before you read the bones?’ I might hate her but her skills were still impressive.
She nodded and looked away, and I could tell she did not want to speak of the matter any further. I presumed she was wary of what lay beyond those carved and painted pieces of skull. Ironic to think that three bloody pieces had turned my world on its head, and seventy-eight tiny fragments of a baby’s skull ruled hers.
‘I still do not understand,’ I said. ‘Why bother bespelling Alfred at all?’
‘He would have married her and given her status and more gold than she has now, and that must be better than wading up to her thighs in the tanning pits every day, even if he does not get to live to a ripe old age,’ she agreed.
She clearly cared for Arlette, more than she let on, though she rarely showed it.
‘Arlette is my chosen successor,’ she continued. ‘I will pass on as much of my knowledge and skill as she can absorb.’
I thought about Arlette’s self-centred ways and lack of wisdom, and my thoughts must have shown on my face for Herleva said, ‘She is young and flighty, but do not mistake her youth for stupidity. She has depths she is unaware of and it is my intention to sound them. Enough talking. Go and perform your task.’
I eyed the pouch. ‘How am I supposed to obtain Duke Robert’s blood? I can hardly walk up to him and stick a knife in him.’
‘Use this,’ she said, moving over to one of her shelves and plucking something from it. She threw it, and I caught it with a cat-quick snatch.
‘What is it?’ I asked, examining the twist of parchment securely tied with thread.
‘A sleeping-draught. Sprinkle it into his drink.’
‘That is the plan – sprinkle some powder or another in his wine, and prick him with a dagger? No mention of how to get close enough to do such a thing, or how I am to get away afterwards.’
She stopped mixing herbs into a bucket and gave me a level stare. The heady smell of thyme did little to obscure the stench of blood and death.
‘Sometimes I wonder if you have enough wits to shit and breathe at the same time.’
Taken aback by her coarse language, I could only frown at her.
She returned to her task, tutting. ‘Do I have to draw a picture in the dirt? Are you really so stupid?’
Bristling at her sarcasm, I slid off the bench and stalked to the door. ‘Of course not. I know I have to be a cat, but,’ I paused for effect, ‘cats cannot wield a knife.’
‘They do have claws,’ she said, as I put my hand on the knob. The tips of my rounded fingers, with their short nails mocked me.
‘Remember what I told you about clothes,’ she added, before I slammed the door shut.
‘Remember what I told you about clothes,’ I sing-songed under my breath. Easy for her to say, she was not the poor bitch who was forced to turn into a damned cat.
Placing the bottle in one pocket, the twist of parchment in the other, and checking the little dagger on my belt, was all the preparation I needed.
Not wanting to risk being seen by Fulbert or his sons, I debated whether to return to the embalming room and perform the change there, but the memory of Herleva’s disbelieving stare made my mind up. I would do it here, and bugger the consequences. If I was seen, then Herleva could sort the mess out. I was sure she had a potion she could squirt in their eyes, or wave a hazel stick in front of their faces, or some such, to make them forget.
Taking a quick look around, inside and out, and confident Herleva was the only other person nearby, I sat on the floor and endured several moments of pain so agonising I wished death would put me out of my misery.
My temper was not improved by having four legs instead of two, and grey fur instead of smooth pale skin. Spitting and growling I slunk out of the house, my belly almost dragging on the ground.
The town, the river, and everything else looked different from the perspective of a cat. What appeared innocuous in woman-form, contained hidden dangers in this one. A barrel could topple, crushing me; a foot could tread on me; a cart could break my fragile little bones with one turn of a wheel. It was a strange sensation, feeling both vulnerable and strong at the same time. The muscles under my skin rode fluidly, without any effort, as I skimmed through the narrow streets. I was fast and sleek, yet so very aware of how small I now was. I might have my own weap
ons, but they were no match for the giants surrounding me.
Dodging feet, wheels, and the hooves of a rather noisy goat, I wound my way to the castle, eager to transform back to my normal self. I did not enjoy being a cat.
Oh dear, and now there was another one. Larger than me, the feline crouched over a dead sparrow, her eyes spitting darts of pure hatred, her tail swishing. You have nothing to fear from me, I tried to tell her, but it seemed I did not yet speak cat, for she hissed and bared her teeth.
Ah, it was not that she feared me per se, it was that she feared I would try to take her supper. No thank you, Mistress Tabby, I have already had mine and it was far more appetising than yours. Then I recalled what I had eaten and gave a snorting purr. Pidgeon. Not much different to sparrow, although Herleva had roasted it and presented it in a garlic sauce made of its own blood.
As I passed by, careful to remain out of reach, the scent of the little body intrigued me, and to my disgust saliva flooded my mouth. My claws half-unsheathed themselves, and for an instant I imagined them sinking into the bird’s flesh, tearing and gripping.
The strange cat hissed again, louder and more violently. Her threatening growls followed me down the street, and straight into the jaws of a mangy, flea-ridden dog.
Startled, I leapt into the air, all four paws leaving the ground, back arched, ears flattened. I was running before I landed, and sped away, quickly leaving him behind. I risked a look back. He had not moved, except for his lolling tongue. The white on his muzzle gave away his age. Chasing cats was beyond him now, I surmised.
Unnerved, and eager to be me once more, even with the pain and risk of being seen, I did not slow until I had raced through the postern gate and into the bailey.
Using the buildings for cover, I slunk from one to another, working closer to my goal. Herleva was right. No one noticed a cat, though other animals were aware of me, especially rodents. They squeaked and pattered, running for cover whenever I approached. Birds took to the air, chirping their alarm, and a black and white tom halted, his stare following me until I was out of sight.
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