But the common people, though not specifically invited, were welcome, too. For these, five hundred oxen were roasting at charcoal fires dotted around the fields, vats of beer had been . set up, and a thousand loaves of barley bread already baked for distribution.

While Long Will expertly wormed his way through the streets of Windsor towards the castle gate they were jostled by prosperous merchants, beggars, palmers with cockleshells in their broad hats, whores in hoods of scarlet ray, respectable goodwives with their children, mummers and gleemen, all clamorous with holiday mood.

Katherine was a little frightened by the noise and confusion, and Dame Cicily was in tears as usual. Her habit had been caught by the gold spur of a passing knight as he shoved his horse impatiently through the press and now a jagged rip divided the black wool and shamefully exposed her skinny leg, fumble as she might to hide it. Even Long Will was disconcerted as he manoeuvred his charges, and said, "God's bones, ladies, I don't know where they'll lodge you for I swear there'll not be a cranny vacant in the castle."

Only the little prioress was imperturbable. "We will wait inside the gates," she said majestically, "until you make known our arrival to the Damoiselle de Roet's sister, who will doubtless have made provision for us."

So they rode through the portcullis to the lower ward and huddled in a corner by the curfew tower near a black-gowned clerk who fidgeted impatiently while he also awaited answer to some message he had sent.

Long Will dismounted, threw his reins to a stable urchin and disappeared.

This great paved courtyard was as full of confusion as the streets. Mounted knights and squires continually came and went, servants ran panting from building to building, a noble lady arrived in a gilt and blazoned chariot, was received by a blowing chamberlain and vanished through one of the myriad doors. Suddenly there was a greater flurry and a flourish of trumpets. Two boys in white livery marched through the gate, one bearing a jewelled mitre and the other a crozier.

They were followed by a plump, red-faced man in gold-embroidered robes, riding on a large grey horse. The Prioress Godeleva uttered an exclamation. She slid down off Bayard, pulling Katherine with her. " 'Tis the Bishop of Lincoln," she whispered and knelt on the paving-stones. Dame Cicily copied her prioress while tugging frantically at her torn habit.

Here and there throughout the courtyard others knelt too. John Buckingham, the bishop, smiled vaguely around, raising two fingers in blessing. Then his eye caught sight of the nuns and he looked startled. He rode over to them.

"Whence come you, Reverend Mother?" he asked Godeleva sharply, having noted her ring of office. "Are you of my flock?"

"No, my lord," said Godeleva. "We come from Sheppey Priory in Kent."

"Oh, the south-" said the bishop, losing interest. Had they come from his own diocese it would be necessary to inquire into the appearance of two nuns in such worldly surroundings, but he was relieved that no steps need be taken, for he was hungry and impatient to be housed.

"We have permission, my lord," said Godeleva. "I bring this girl here at the Queen's command."

"Ah." The bishop glanced down at Katherine, of whom he could see nothing but a cheap green woollen hood, for her head was properly bowed. But he noted her hands, which were very dirty and ringless.

"Some charity wench of the good Queen's no doubt," he said with a condescending laugh, dismissing them all. He murmured "Benedicite," and rode back to his waiting coterie.

Katherine flushed. There was enough truth in the bishop's careless statement to sting. I'm not a charity wench; my father was knighted, she thought hotly and she rose from her knees, staring after the bishop with no proper Christian humility. There were lesser priests around him, all fluttering and fawning except one, who stood apart. This priest wore doctoral robes and a four-cornered hat, and his brooding eyes, deep-set above a huge, hooked nose, were fixed on the magnificent Lord Bishop of Lincoln with a certain irony, visible even to Katherine, who therefore felt sudden interest.

"I wonder who that is?" she said to Godeleva, pointing discreetly; but before the prioress, who did not know, could answer, the clerk behind them spoke.

" 'Tis Master John Wyclif, that was King's chaplain."

"Blessed Virgin!" cried the prioress crossing herself. "Not that priest who's dared defy His Holiness the Pope? Katherine, don't look at him! He's tainted with vile heresy. By Sainte Marie, I've even heard that he wishes to English the Gospels - is't true, Sir Clerk?"

The clerk laughed. "I've heard so. His Lollards, the poor preachers, make all manner of shocking statements to the people."

"Deus misereatur! 'Tis no matter for laughing!" The prioress frowned at the clerk's amused face. She drew Katherine and Dame Cicily away from him, and lectured Katherine apprehensively on the many dangers that must be guarded against in the world. And they continued to wait.

During the next half-hour the girl had ample time to compare her own appearance with that of court ladies who flitted by to become increasingly uncomfortable. The chambress at Sheppey had done the best she could for Katherine, considering that there was no money forthcoming, but the hood and cape were now deplorably travel-stained, and the girl's brown serge kirtle hung loose and baggy like the nuns' habits and was unredeemed by lacings of fur or embroidery. Katherine's courage ebbed very low as time went on. The great folk passed by without even a glance in their direction, and she began inwardly to echo Dame Cicily's lamentations.

"Oh, Reverend Mother, they've forgotten us! Perhaps it was all a jest or a mistake! We were never meant to come! Would that we were safe back at Sheppey! O Merciful Blessed Lady and kind Saint Sexburga, don't desert us!"

"Hush," said the prioress sharply. "Here is Long Will now."

Long Will loped down the ward and behind him there hurried a small .plump girl with a worried smile. She was dressed in a blue robe trimmed with squirrel and her dark hair was looped in tight braids on either side of her round earnest face.

She curtsied to the prioress, then peered at Katherine. "Est-ce vraiment toi, ma soeur?" she said uncertainly.

Katherine leaned down, threw her arms around her sister's neck and burst into tears.

The two girls clung to each other murmuring little choked French endearments while Long Will looked on with sentimental approval, Dame Cicily sniffed in sympathy and even the prioress' controlled face softened.

Philippa drew away first and returned to practical problems. "I fear we've no suitable accommodation up here for you, Reverend Mother," she said apologetically, "but Long Will can guide you to respectable night's lodgings in the town, unless you wish to ride on to Ankerwyck Priory, perhaps?"

Godeleva flushed. "But surely I was to see the Queen. I understood I might have audience with the Queen." In spite of herself her voice trembled, for it was easy to read dismissal in the girl's proposal, and then where were all the golden hopes of royal favour and tardy gratitude for the care of Katherine? Where hopes of picking up new novices?

"The Queen, Our Lady be merciful, is ill, Reverend Mother," answered Philippa uncomfortably for she was used to supplicants at court and quite understood what the prioress wanted. "The dropsy which plagues her is very bad and she keeps to her bed, tended only by two of her ladies. I myself

have not seen her for a week - as soon as she's better, perhaps."

"But she sent for Katherine," protested the prioress. "She must have known I could not let the girl travel alone with a messenger!"

Philippa sighed, knowing that the Queen had given no thought to the matter at all, once she had assented to Philippa's timid request for an Easter boon.

"We will stay in the town then," said the prioress with recaptured calm, "until the Queen is well enough to receive me. Katherine-" She looked at the girl and paused, with a smile which did not quite hide the anxious question in her eyes.

Katherine responded to the unspoken plea with a rush of warmth, and astonishment that the austere little ruler of Sheppey days should be pleading and in need.

"I won't forget, Reverend Mother," she said gently, kneeling and kissing the plump white hand. "Not all you've done for me, nor your wish for audience with the Queen. I won't forget."

The prioress murmured a blessing. "You've been a good girl," she said, turning away. "Continue to be." She mounted Bayard, Dame Cicily clambered up on her horse, and Long Will shrugged, catching Bayard's bridle. He led the two nuns towards the gate.

"Well," said Philippa briskly, "now we must hurry. Tis near the hour for supper. Holy Michael and his angels, but we'll have to clean you up first and find you something fit to wear. You're not a slattern, I trust!" Philippa, hustling her sister past the Round Tower to the upper ward and into the passage that led to the Queen's apartments, had just taken a startled survey of Katherine.

"I trust not," said Katherine trying to laugh, "but we've been on the road since dawn and I've no change of clothes. I'm sorry-"

Philippa made an impatient clucking noise. "We must borrow a decent gown; only Matilda Radscroft is tall enough and she's not over-generous, but if you offer to do something for her . . . She's behind with her tapestry - can you embroider?"

"A little," answered Katherine humbly, stumbling up steep stone stairs after her sister. She understood that Philippa loved her of course, but that the moment of sentiment had passed. She understood too that Philippa would do her efficient duty no matter how she might dislike a disruption of her well-ordered-life.