"Thank God, it's not Chateau la Teste," she whispered. "We paid for that, John - both of us - and others - -"

He was silent, his arms tight around her. The snow hissed and slapped on the horn windows; distantly from the castle ramparts the night-watch called out some challenge.

"Yet I believe you were no less my wife then, than you are tonight, Katrine," he said in a wondering voice.

CHAPTER XXXII

Katherine dined in the Great Hall at Windsor on the July night of the banquet to the French envoys who had come over to arrange final details of the meeting between the French and English kings.

In October, Richard would take formal possession of his eight-year-old bride, Princess Isabelle of France, and ratify the treaty of alliance at long last to be sealed with the ancient enemy - much to the fury of Gloucester and his warmongers.

Katherine sat on the dais to the right of the King's throne. She was encased in stiff cloth of gold so burdened with necklaces, bracelets, clasps, rings and the heavy jewelled coronet of Lancaster, that natural movement was impossible, even if the meticulous ceremony which Richard exacted had not made any impulsive action unwise. Richard reserved the right of impulse for himself.

The King was dressed in a new tunic of white brocade peppered with diamonds. His yellow hair was tightly curled and scented, his little tufted beard did not quite conceal the softness of his small pointed chin. At the moment he was idly toying with a jade butterfly the French nobles had brought as a gift from their King. The butterfly had originally come from the mysterious dragon land of Cathay, and as Richard's plump almond-white fingers caressed the soft jade and his polished pink fingernails ran along the exquisite lines of the carving, he smiled at the butterfly as though it were a loved child. He ignored a dish of roast larks and ginger fritters which a kneeling squire presented to him. The squire continued to kneel, and the King to caress his bauble.

On Katherine's other side sat her Duke, imperturbably, frigidly courteous, while he made small talk with Eleanor de Bohun, his sister-in-law. But the Duchess of Gloucester was far too angry to be civil in return, though from fear - of the King, whose sparkling malicious eyes darted her way now and then, of Lancaster who had that very morning corrected her behaviour towards Katherine with a controlled but menacing wrath - she managed to grunt, and say "Ay so" and "No doubt" occasionally.

When news of the Duke of Lancaster's extraordinary marriage had burst on England, it had caused a furore as great as John had expected, though the outcry was not all hostile. From cot to castle the news had been mouthed voluptuously, but many of the commons and middle class had been amused, even pleased. Their hatred of the Duke had gradually given place to hatred of Richard and his favourites. They had come to consider Lancaster as the only sage restraining hand on his nephew's headlong rush into mad extravagance and contempt for his people. Moreover, the Duke's elevation of a woman who was born a commoner appealed to popular sentiment, while most feminine hearts were touched by the romantic apotheosis of a fallen sister.

The noble ladies at court were not so tolerant; while Eleanor, upon realising the magnitude and implications of the news, had gone into an actual frenzy, beating her breast, tearing her hair and shouting for all to hear that her heart would burst with grief and shame if she were asked to give precedence to such a lewd baseborn Duchess! Which had delighted Richard, who detested his aunt nearly as much as he hated and feared his domineering Uncle Thomas. By all means, let Eleanor's heart burst, he said, and so much the better, but until it did she would have to witness the exaltation of the new Duchess of Lancaster. Not only here in England, either, but in France, where Katherine was soon to travel with the King and court and, as first lady of England, take official charge of the new little Queen.

The night was warm, the banquet tedious, the minstrels played listlessly. Richard yawned, put down the jade butterfly, and said to the quiet gold-clad figure on his right, "Why do you continually glance down the Hall towards that table near the door?"

Katherine started, then smiled. She answered frankly in her low sweet voice. "I am seeing there, Your Grace, a dazzled little convent girl of fifteen who wears an ill-fitting borrowed gown, and stares up at this High Table and its line of glittering Plantagenets as though they were the Holy Angels ranged beside God's throne."

"Ah yes," Richard smiled, after a puzzled moment. "And now you're one of them. It must be very strange."

"I pinch myself and still can't believe it! 'Tis thanks to you, Your Grace, and to my dear lord - -" She looked at John's averted head, seeing that he had given up struggling with Eleanor and was talking around her stiff back to Mowbray, the Earl Marshal, who was an enemy. Or had been. Mowbray had lately made his peace with John, whom he had consistently denounced during John's absence in Aquitaine.

With the exception of Gloucester, who had refused to come to this banquet and remained at his castle of Plashy, pleading ill health, the court had taken its tone from Richard and welcomed Lancaster with ostensible rejoicing. But beneath the scent of costly perfumes and strewn flowers in this Hall, the air was thick with hidden enmity. One had but to look at the King's ever-present bodyguard ranged along the walls, enormous armed ruffians imported from Cheshire, whose white hart badges apparently gave them unlimited licence to rape, steal and murder, unchecked. All England was afraid of them, and no King before Richard had thought such protection necessary. God shield us, Katherine thought.

But in time the banquet would finish, and she and John would be alone. She anticipated each night when they were freed from court duties as eagerly as she had long ago. Now it was not for bodily passion that she yearned, though they were still tenderly responsive to each other. A different bond had become more satisfying. He might be discouraged, irritable, tired - and sometimes she thought with fear that he seemed to be losing strength, sudden lassitude would overpower him - but yet, when the door of the great Lancastrian state suite was closed at last, a warm deep content came to them. There was no need for talk or love-making, they were at rest.

Richard, while he played with his golden fork and nibbled a slice of porcupine seethed in almond milk, had been considering Katherine's explanation of her glances down the Hall. It was charming as a variant of the old tale of the prince and the beggar maid; and pleasing as an example of the omnipotence of anointed kings.

And those who dared challenge that divine power would bitterly repent their folly! His lids drooped as he glanced down the Hall towards the ranks of helmeted heads - his Cheshire archers. Two thousand of them in here and outside in the court, waiting, always ready. Had I had them sooner, he thought - his hand trembled on his fork, the two tines rattled on the golden plate.

Now and again fears swooped down like vampires in the night, especially since Anne had died. She had held them at bay. The vampires must be fought alone now and exterminated cunningly, one by one, Gloucester, Arundel, and there were others - who had thought themselves strong enough to defy a king. And had succeeded for a time. They had exiled the one beloved friend, de Vere, who died over there alone in France; they had exiled good old Michael de la Pole, who also died; they had actually murdered Simon Burley, the kind tutor of his childhood. By the Blood of Christ, who was to know for sure that they had not murdered Anne? Plague could be caused by witchcraft, poison could counterfeit plague - -

Be careful, said a voice in Richard's mind. Don't let them guess what you are thinking. Remember those suave watchful Frenchmen over there. Wait until after the marriage with little Isabelle, until we are at peace with France - and then - -

He turned suddenly to Katherine, mustering all his eager boyish charm. "I'm much interested in what you said of that night here thirty, it is, years ago. Ay - a year before I was born. Whom were you sitting with?"

Katherine was startled, unpredictable as a cat, one never knew where he would pounce next. "Why," she said, "it was with my sister Philippa, Your Grace, and her betrothed, Geoffrey Chaucer."

"Chaucer?" said the King raising his plucked golden brows, and twirling the stem of his goblet. "Have you seen the scurrilous verses he dared to write to me?"

Katherine had seen them. Geoffrey had imprudently taken it upon himself to chide the King for "lack of steadfastness" and it was no wonder that he had been reduced to a penury that she had immediately relieved, with John's help, when she became Duchess.

"Geoffrey's getting old," she said uncomfortably, "and is in poor health. He served His Grace, your grandfather, most loyally."

Richard laughed and took a sip of iced wine. "Oh, I forgive him, because of the pleasure some of his poems have brought me." And he shrugged, dismissing Chaucer. "Tell me," he said smoothly, "that day in Essex when I was putting down the revolt and you were on pilgrimage, what was the vow you made?"

This was so unexpected that she coloured. Jesu, he forgets nothing, she thought, every detail, every smallest thing. Every slight too, Christ pity him. For there was pathos in Richard, one felt the misery of his distrusts and deep uncertainties; sometimes there was a plaintive frightened sweetness about him. She had come to see this in the last months. But he was undisciplined, childish, vengeful - and dangerous. John was in high favour now, but if - - She dismissed these rushing thoughts and answered with the only part of the truth it was safe to tell him. "I had a daughter, Your Grace, Blanchette - you remember I asked of her that day? She was injured, disappeared when the rebels fired the Savoy. I took the pilgrimage in hope that Our Lady of Walsingham would find her for me."