But Katherine's eyes filled. She was hungry and tired and she felt an amazing pang of homesickness for Sheppey.

Philippa opened a stout oak door and ushered Katherine into the lady-in-waiting's solar. Here in this small low-vaulted room lived six of the Queen's damoiselles when they were in residence at Windsor. The two who were closest to the Queen - Matilda Fisher and Elizabeth Pershore - were now in constant attendance since the illness, and slept on the other side of the wing in the ante-room near their mistress, while the others slept here in three beds; except Alice Perrers, and there was little doubt unfortunately as to where she slept, though in theory she shared a bed in this solar.

Alice was here now, however, when Philippa and Katherine came in. All of the Queen's damoiselles were primping for supper. They hovered near the fire, and held candles for each other as they searched for finery in open coffers which dotted the rush-strewn floor. Only Alice Perrers sat alone, away from the, others, and she was tended by the two tiring maids who were assigned to all of them. One maid held a candle and the other a looking-glass while Alice rubbed cochineal paste into her high cheek-bones and hid her wiry black hair in a net of seed pearls.

She turned her pointed cat face towards Philippa and Katherine, widened her shrewd dark eyes and called, in the caressing voice for which she was famous, "Ah, Pica, my sweet, so is this the little sister, at last?"

Philippa stiffened, made the barest noise of assent and pulled Katherine to the other side of the fire as far as possible from Alice, who gave a laugh like chiming bells, and holding out her perfumed hand admired the sparkle of her new ring. It was of Saracen make, two rubies set in heavy worked gold, and had belonged to the King's mother, Isabella of France.

Katherine was puzzled, but had not time to wonder why Philippa was so rude, for the other ladies closed around them, greeting and exclaiming. They were solid young women and accustomed to work. They were not nobly born, except for Agnes de Saxilby, because the Queen sensibly chose her ladies for the embodiment of the Flemish housewifely virtues, and their positions were in no wise honorary. They gave active service. The wives of great noblemen would not do menial chores, even for the Queen. So these were the daughters or wives of gentry and they welcomed Katherine with rough kindness.

"Oh, so dirty! What frightful clothes! God's nails, but they must be lousy. Burn them!" The ladies summarily stripped Katherine and threw her clothes into the fire while the girl stood naked and shivering trying not to cry as Philippa brought water and a coarse towel and scrubbed her little sister until the beautiful skin turned fiery red and Katherine shrank and tried to protect her delicate round breasts from Philippa's determined scourings. Johanna Cosin unbraided and combed the burnished masses of Katherine's hair; they put on her a spare shift of Philippa's which was much too short, and Matilda Radscroft, carried away by the concerted undertaking, actually pulled her third-best gown from a coffer and slipped it over Katherine's head. The gown was of coarse and .rather shabby velvet, trimmed with narrow bands of rabbit fur, and it hung loosely on Katherine's far more slender body, but its colour was violet, and above it the girl's long neck glowed white as pearls and her still unbound hair, rippling below her knees, caught violet lights from the dress and gold ones from the fire.

"So much hair to make neat and to hold up in the cauls," Philippa grumbled, "and she hasn't even a proper girdle or a surcote for warmth."

"She has something else - a great deal else," said Alice Perrers' soft laughing voice from the corner, "and if you ladies are too stupid to see it, the men won't be. Thanks to God that the King is short-sighted, I can fill his entire vision - and shall."

Philippa stiffened, the other women's heads jerked back. "The bawdy slut," whispered Johanna. They sent Alice looks of hatred but they dared say nothing. Mysterious punishments afflicted those who engaged the creature in open warfare. Agnes de Saxilby had last month spoken her mind to Alice, calling her whore and witch - for it must be witchcraft that would make the King so forget all his former duty and affection for the Queen. Alice, saying nothing, had smiled her sleepy smile, but only yesterday poor Agnes had heard that the King had authorised a ruinous new levy on her father's manor.

The ladies finished with Katherine and put the last touches to their own toilets; they gave her a drink of wine which much revived her, before they all flocked down the steps towards the Great Hall for supper. "Stay near me," whispered Philippa. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

Katherine needed none of these admonitions, which simply echoed her convent training, and she clung to her sister, feeling very nervous and wishing that she were not so tall and might hide in that plump little person's shadow.

The Great Hall with its stone vaulting and tinted windows was large enough to have contained the entire convent of Sheppey. Katherine was dazzled by the light from a hundred candles and torches, enchanted by the gay music of the minstrels and amazed by the sweet scent that vanquished the usual aroma of sweat, smoke and food. The floor was strewn with aromatic herbs and a cartload of violets had been mingled with them. At the far end of the Hall on a dais, a line of glittering, gorgeously jewelled men and women sat at the high table and Katherine at once saw the King under the central canopy before she politely lowered her eyes. He looks so old, she thought, startled by the straggling white hair and thin beard and shrunken shoulders. Edward was actually fifty-four but he had the lean Plantagenet frame and years of campaigning and intermittent fever had aged him.

The Queen not being present, the chamberlain waved Philippa and the other ladies-in-waiting towards a side-table with scant ceremony, and Katherine sat on the bench beside her sister.

Suddenly a head was thrust between the sisters and a quick voice said, "So there you are, my fair Pica. I've been searching for you."

Philippa looked up and blushed. Her serious little face was lightened by a smile almost coquettish. "Good even, sir," she said. "I was afraid you might be serving the King tonight. Katherine, this is my betrothed, Geoffrey Chaucer, esquire."

"Betrothed!" echoed Katherine amazed. "You didn't tell me - God's greetings to you, sir," she added hastily, remembering her manners.

Geoffrey smiled, clambering over the bench and wedging himself between the two girls. "Her betrothed is perhaps a matter of small importance to Pica," he said in a tone of faint mockery. "You're the little sister from the convent, of course." He motioned to a servant, who brought him a bowl and cup.

"There was no time to tell her," protested Philippa, "so much to do, receiving her and the nuns and getting her ready to appear here. You can't imagine the condition she was in and-"

"To be sure," interrupted Geoffrey smiling. "I know you were busy as a little wren." He patted Philippa's hand and his hazel eyes twinkled as at some private joke.

Katherine decided that she liked him, though he was by no means the romantic figure she hoped would fall to her own lot. He was short, not much taller than Philippa herself and though he was only twenty-six, already inclined towards stoutness. He was more soberly dressed than the King's other squires; his tunic of a clerical, mouse-grey wool was scantily furred, and his belt and dagger were of simple silver. His fingers were ink-stained and there was a spot on his long sleeve. His stubby brown beard was neither creamed nor perfumed and his hair was cut unfashionably short above his ears; but there were sweetness and humour in his firm lips and a quiet amusement behind his alert gaze. Katherine felt instinctively, as had her betters before her from the King down, "Here is someone trustworthy and intelligent, a man truly debonair."

"You do not eat, ma belle?" Geoffrey said presently to Katherine, wiping his mouth on a napkin and taking a long draught of wine. "The goose patty's excellent."

"I can't," she said, "it's all so bewitching and strange." Her eyes flew back to the royal table. Philippa, used to this sight, did not understand how like a summer dream it was, how impossible to believe that one was actually beholding them in their golds and scarlets, their ermines and coronets, their gauzy veils and jewels; the Plantagenets, a dozen or more of them, laughing, talking, eating, just like all the lesser folk along the side of the Hall.

But Geoffrey understood. "Yes, they're real," he said smiling. He put down his spoon. "You see the King-"

Katherine nodded. The King wore a small gold-pointed crown and the Queen's great empty throne was next to him. The King was half turned from the table and talking to someone a little behind him, someone with a small black head bound by a pearl fillet. "Why, it's Alice Perrers!" cried Katherine. "She's sitting on the arm of the Queen's chair."

"Hush!" whispered Philippa angrily. "You little ninny!"

Geoffrey chuckled. "There are some things we don't say out loud at court. We but whisper them to each other, my dear. But your natural curiosity about your rulers shall be gratified. Look now - see the dark overblown lady in gold with the smouldering gaze which she keeps fixed on her liege lord next her?"

Katherine nodded.

"That is the Princess Isabel and her husband, Lord Enguerrand de Coucy. She dotes on him, having captured him late, and being perhaps none too sure of his affection. She is just up from childbed, a daughter, alas, another Philippa. There's profusion of Philippas named for the good Queen - that's why we call this one 'Pica.'" He smiled at his betrothed.