"These men," said Raulin, indicating the sergeant and two soldiers behind him, "are your escort to Lincoln."

"By Saint Christopher, I'm glad to hear that!" exclaimed Hawise. She had begun to think Jankin far too slender a defence against the hazards of the road. She winked companion-ably at the sergeant, who winked back, grinning.

"Ay, we're glad of escort," said Katherine, but her irresolute heart was heavy again. He had kept his promise, nothing more. As it should be, of course.

Raulin dispatched the rest of his business quickly for he was weary of running about the country after my Lady Swynford.

He repeated the instructions to the sergeant, saw that he put the ducal letters for Lincoln safely inside his hauberk, and then agreed to take the deeply disappointed Jankin back to London with him. Raulin consigned Hugh's letter to Katherine's keeping and said, "There is vun more thing. His Grace send you this." He held out stolidly a triangle of parchment, smaller than the palm of his hand. Katherine took it and turned it over. It was the shield the Duke had drawn for her, her own blazon; the three Catherine wheels had now been painted gold against the field of scarlet.

Oh, what does it mean? she thought. Was it a special message to remind her of that contented moment when they had leaned together on the table and he had drawn this for her? Did it mean forgiveness? Or was it only that he wished to be rid of all thought of her?

She could not know, but after they had said farewell to Raulin and Jankin, and the two women rode with the soldiers on to Ware, she found opportunity to secretly kiss the shield and slipped it in the bosom of her gown.

It was on a fine sunny morning that they rode through the suburban village Wigford, then across the Witham on the High bridge and through the city walls under the great arch of Stonebow and so into Lincoln town.

"God's teeth, could they find no steeper hill to build on?" laughed Hawise, gazing up what seemed to be a perpendicular climb to the castle and the minster above. "Folk here must be goats!" All through the journey her town-bred scorn of the provinces had been leavened by a bright-eyed interest in new sights. "Bustling little place," she added approvingly. It was market day. The narrow streets were lined with booths, and thronged with chaffering goodwives, most of them dressed in the scarlet and green cloth for which Lincoln weavers were famous.

"No bustle like there used to be afore they took the staple away," said the sergeant, who had been to Lincoln before. "Couple years back there'd be a reg'lar Tower o' Babel here wi' heathen sailors from the German ocean an' traders from Flanders an' Florence all a jib-jabbering away like a hassel o' magpies. Tis quiet now."

"A deal better than those dreary fens, forsooth. Hark! There's music!" cried Hawise cocking her head. They had climbed up through the Poultry with its squawking tethered produce, past the skin market at Danesgate, and here in an open court the tanners' guild was rehearsing for its procession on St. Clement's Day. Fiddles, pipes and tabors had the tanners, and they scraped and whistled and drummed while one of their number, dressed in violet Papal robes to represent their patron saint, leaped up and down in rhythm and juggled with a large tin anchor which stood for the instrument of St. Clement's martyrdom.

At a fresh spurt from the fiddlers and a loud tattoo on the tabors, the juggler threw his anchor high and missed it as it fell. It rebounded on the paved courtyard and bounced into the fish market just ahead, clattering down beside a woman at a stall.

Doucette shied and, while Katherine quieted the mare, she heard a familiar voice raised in sharp protest. "Have care, you clumsy jackanapes! You nearly broke my toe!"

The juggler sheepishly retrieved his anchor, while Katherine leaned over the mare's head and called "Philippa!" and then seeing a tiny figure clutching at the woman's skirts, Katherine jumped off the horse. She scooped Blanchette up in her arms, and rained kisses on the little face that screwed up in protest.

The child started to cry, but as Katherine crooned love words to her, and laughed and held her close, the little pink lips stopped quivering. Blanchette put her arms around her mother's neck.

Philippa had been standing by the fish stall pinching a large glassy-eyed mackerel, while a Kettlethorpe lad teetered behind her with a wicker basket already filled with honeycombs, leeks, stone jars and leather shoes. Philippa flopped the mackerel into the basket, walked up to Katherine and said calmly, "By Sainte Marie, enfin te voila! I've been wondering when you'd get back. Don't start spoiling that child again, the instant you get here."

Katherine set Blanchette down and embraced her sister, seeing that the weeks she had been gone and lived through a lifetime of terror, death, anguish and despairing love, had been placid fast-flying routine for those at home. "And little Tom, Philippa," she said urgently, "is he all right?"

"Of course he's all right. Both babes grown fat and obedient, I've seen to that. Are all these people with you, Katherine?"

She pointed at the three soldiers and recognised Hawise with astonishment. "Why, it's the Pessoner lass!"

Katherine explained briefly that Hawise had come to be her servant for a while and that the Duke of Lancaster had sent escort, at which Philippa nodded with satisfaction, and turned to accompany Katherine and the others up to the castle. Katherine set her delighted little girl upon Doucette, and holding her in the saddle walked beside the mare.

"Hugh is in town today too," Philippa said, puffing hard, for the climb was steep and she had gained much weight now in her sixth month of pregnancy.

"How is Hugh?" asked Katherine quickly.

"Better in health, though grumpy and worried to death over the manor dues. He couldn't pay them at Michaelmas. He can't pay 'em yet. Twice he's been to Canon Bellers in the close to beg for time on Kettlethorpe, and now to the Duke's receiver in the castle about the Coleby rents." Philippa glanced at the men and Hawise, then lowered her voice. "Did you get something substantial from the Duke or Duchess - God rest her soul?"

Katherine shook her head and such a shut, chill expression of warning hardened her beautiful face that Philippa's disgusted expostulation died unspoken. Instead she gave a weary sigh and said after a moment, "Then I don't know what's to be done. Hugh's borrowed all he can from that Lombard in Danesgate. The Duke's receiver, here, John de Stafford, is a mean hard-bitten man who threatens seizure of your lands and chattels." She did not add that she herself had been helping all she could and that the money expended on these market-day purchases had come from her own pension, but Katherine heard the sigh and put her arm around her sister's shoulders. "I'm sorry, rn'amie,", she said sadly. "The sergeant there has some official letter to deliver to this Stafford. Perhaps I should go too and beg him for time."

"It might help," agreed Philippa, sighing again. "I believe he doesn't like Hugh. Bite your lips to make them red, and here" - she patted a coppery tendril of Katherine's blown hair into place.

They had reached the East Gate of the castle walls, and the gate-ward did not even look up as their party streamed through. The castle bailey contained a dozen buildings including the shire house arid the jail, the residence of the constable and the Duchy of Lancaster's offices; and there was a constant coming and going of people on business.

They inquired of a hurrying clerk and walked the horses over to a low building that stood between the ancient Lucy keep and the shire house. The Lancaster coat of arms was nailed above the door, and lolling on a bench beside two tethered horses sat Ellis de Thoresby, Hugh's squire. He greeted Katherine with some warmth, having conceived admiration for her courage in the time of plague at Bolingbroke. Katherine, though she concealed it, was startled at his unkemptness. His shock of greasy hair hung tangled to his shoulders beneath a moth-eaten felt cap. His rusty tunic was threadbare at the elbows and his once yellow hose were profusely patched. Katherine, used now to the sleek elegance of the Lancastrian retinue, was shocked into awareness of their own shabbiness.

Sir Hugh was inside, Ellis told them, had been there for some time, pleading his case with the Lancastrian receiver for Lincolnshire.

"Well, I'm going in too," said Katherine resolutely. The sergeant followed her, holding his letters stiffly in front of him.

One was for Oliver de Barton, the castle's constable, and had something to do with quarters for the sergeant and his men and an exchange of guards, but the content of the other letter to the receiver he did not know.

They walked through a roomful of scribbling clerks who stared at Katherine and made loud smacking noises behind their hands, and across to a door guarded by a page. While the page opened the door to announce them, Katherine heard an angry shouting voice within. "I'll not pay the Coleby rent because I haven't got it yet, and be damned to you! You know bloody well I've not been able to collect from the villeins since the crop failures."

"I know very well, Sir Hugh," interrupted a dry rasping voice, "that your Coleby manor is grossly mismanaged, but 'tis no concern of mine. Mine is to procure your feudal dues to the Duchy of Lancaster, which I shall do - we have several methods -" He turned irritably in his chair. "Well, what is it, what is it?" he said to the page and peered at Katherine and the sergeant in the doorway.

"Hugh," she said, running to him and putting her hand on his arm. She saw startled gladness soften his angry eyes. He made as though to kiss her, then drew back and said awkwardly, "How come you here, Katherine?"