"Of course," he said instantly, and dismissed Nirac, though John was faintly surprised. He had thought that his choice of servitor was the precise one which would save her all embarrassment. "You don't dislike Nirac, do you?" he asked when they were alone.

She shook her head, not knowing herself what had caused the shrinking. "A whim, my dearest lord," she said. "Women have them-" Suddenly across the table she gave him her tenderly wistful and seductive smile. "Will you be gentle with my whims?"

She was all beauty as she sat there in her white dress. Her hair fell nearly to the rushes and glistened like the carnelians he had once compared it to, her red lips were parted, her grey eyes dark with love. He trembled, and going to her knelt beside her.

"I shall not always be gentle, Katrine," he said looking up into her face. "But by the soul of my mother, I shall love you until I die."

She bent over and opening her arms drew his head against her breasts. A gull mewed again outside the fortress, the fresh tang of the sea crept through the windows to mingle with the warmth of jasmine.

He raised his head from her breast and they looked without fear or striving, but quietly; deep into each other's eyes.

They stayed three days at the captal's old fortress in Les Landes and during that time they never left the Hall and the bedchamber.

The ecstasy of their union brought to each of them a wondering awe. Katherine had nothing but dreams with which to compare this sweet agony of passion, unslaked even by the bliss of fulfilment, and the total merging of herself into another, so that even for the moments they were away from each other's arms she felt him as much part of her flesh as its throbbing veins.

John had known love before, but not like this. How palely gentle and courteous now seemed that far-off time with Blanche! Then there had been reticences and dignity, and quietly maternal indulgence, and always, on his part, gratitude.

Now there was no need for reticence or gratitude. Here in the sea-scented bedchamber were a man and a woman who came together naked and unashamed, proudly bestowing on each other the beauty of their bodies and thereby finding ineffable joy.

On the third evening they sat on piled cushions before the fire, drinking wine from a single cup, laughing at nothing and whispering little words such as lovers have always used.

Then John reached out his arm for the lute which hung by a red velvet ribbon from a hearth peg and said, "Lovedy, listen. Now I think I have the tune for the song I wished to sing you - -"

She drew a little from his arms that he might play unencumbered, and they smiled at each other as he rippled his fingers tentatively across the strings. "You, my Katrine, are all love-some things,'' he said softly, "and I am the man who says -

She is coral of goodness, ruby of tightness.

She is crystal of cleanness, and banner of beauty.

Site is lily of largesse, periwinkle of prowess.

She is marigold of sweetness, and lady of loyalty.

For her love I cork and care,

For her love I droop and dare,

For her love my bliss is bare

And I wax all wan. For her love in sleep I slake,

For her love all night I wake,

For her love I'd mourning make

More than any man."

He sang the old English words to a haunting melody that had come to him, and when he repeated the chorus she joined him, changing only the pronoun to, "For his love I cark and care, for his love I droop and dare," singing in her rich golden voice.

So lovely was their duet that the Captal de Buch who had paused, panting from the stairs, outside the door of the Hall, turned with startled emotion to Nirac who had followed him. "Norn de Vierge! Can that be the Duke? They sing like angels in there together. Are they then so happy?"

Nirac shrugged and answered with harshness, "No doubt they are, captal. I've not seen them in three days. The tiring-woman waits on them."

The captal raised his bushy eyebrows and laughed. "Oh la belle chose, hein?" he said winking at Nirac. "One forgets all else!" He thumped with his fist on the door, but they were finishing their song and did not hear him, so he opened the door. Earthy libertine though he was, the captal's roguish greeting died in his throat when he saw them.

The two on the cushions seemed to be bathed in light. The girl was but half clothed yet so pure was the beauty of her arms and breasts gleaming like alabaster between strands of long auburn hair, and so adoring the expression on the Duke's face, that the captal saw no lewdness, but felt instead a bitter stab of nostalgia. Thirty years ago there had been a moment almost like this for him too, but it had lasted only a little while, when the woman had died.

"Your pardon, my lord - lady - -" he stammered, backing off. He saw the measure of the entrancement which held the Duke, in that he did not flash with fury at this interruption. Instead he put his arm around the girl and held her against him in a gesture so tender and protective that the captal swallowed hard.

"What is it, my good de Grailly?" John said. "Have you come to be thanked for your wondrous hospitality?" He smiled and bending his head laid his cheek for a moment against Katherine's hair. "We will not need paradise, I think, my Katrine, after Chateau la Teste."

The girl raised her brilliant eyes and moved in her lover's arm, as though she nestled closer.

The captal cleared his throat. "I came, my lord, because you told me to. It - it is now Thursday night. There are - are many urgent matters awaiting you at Bordeaux." He saw the wincing that passed over the girl's face and added uncomfortably, "May I have a few words with you, my lord?"

The Duke started to refuse, but Katherine, clutching her white robe around her, slipped from his arm, and giving the captal a proud tremulous smile, walked back into the bedchamber.

"She's of a great beauty, your little Swynford, mon duc," said the captal, recovering his aplomb now that Katherine was gone. "I congratulate you on a delicious interlude. I deeply regret to wrest you out of it."

The Duke looked at him strangely, and said, "She is my heart's blood. My life. I want nothing but her."

"Doux Jesu!" murmured the captal He walked to the wine flagon and pouring himself a goblet full, drank it hastily. "The Castilian commissioners have returned with the signed contracts and ring, Your Grace. You are now formally betrothed to the Queen of Castile. The marriage is set for the Feast of Saint Matthew in the church at Roquefort as you commanded."

The Duke said nothing. Lines drew themselves around his mouth. His eyes grew harsh, the face which had been glowing and young as Katherine's showed all of his thirty-one years.

"Yesterday," pursued the captal, "John Holland of Kent arrived from England with wedding presents and letters from the King's Grace, your father, and the Prince of Wales. I have brought them to you - I had," he added, "a bad time hiding your whereabouts. At last I told them you were fulfilling a secret vow. It is a vow to Saint Venus, pardieu!" He chuckled and slapped his thigh, then sobered at the look in the Duke's eyes.

The captal opened his pouch and extracting two folded parchments, each impressed with red ribbon and large royal seals, held them out to the Duke, who stared at them in silence without taking them.

The man is bewitched, thought the captal, uneasily. "Be reasonable, my lord. One must never let one's little pleasures interfere with the really important affairs of life. Nor have I ever known you do so before. John Holland says that in England they buzz with excitement about your marriage. The people seem much pleased at the alliance."

"The devil take the commons - what care I for them? And the devil take my marriage," said the Duke. He looked towards the arras which covered the door of their bedchamber. "The thought of Costanza sickens me!"

The captal was shocked. He gulped the rest of his wine while wishing passionately that some eloquent man like Guichard d'Angle or even de la Pole could deal with this dangerous frame of mind.

"Costanza is but means to an end, mon duc" he said at last. "She means Castile. You will be King." Aha touche, thought the captal as he saw the blue eyes flicker. He belched with relief, settled his girdle over his paunch and continued. "Once married and in England, you may naturally do as you please. The little Swynford need not leave you. It isn't as though she were someone you might marry."

The Duke's tall body slumped. He flung himself in a chair and gazed down at the fresh jasmine petals which were strewn amongst the rushes. "You speak twofold truth, captal," he said after a silence. "I could never marry her and she must never leave me."

"Ah bon, so all will arrange itself," laughed the captal. He tore the leg off a raisin-stuffed capon that stood untouched on the table, amused to see that little of the excellent food his cook had sent up to the lovers had been eaten. "We'll set out for Bordeaux, then, at daybreak? Your Council will be waiting you at nine."

"No," said the Duke. "I'll not go to Bordeaux tomorrow. Nor for a fortnight."

The captal put down his capon leg. "But my lord-"

"For two more weeks, Katrine and I shall be alone together. I'm going to take her to the Pyrenees."

"Pitie de Dieu! But you can't!" stammered the captal. "What would people say? And there's no time, the wedding arrangements - this is folly!"