"Sir Hugh Swynford finds you appealing, it would seem," said Chaucer with grim amusement. "And so does the elegant young de Cheyne. Pica," he said on a lower note to his betrothed, "we shall have some ado to guard your little sister's maidenhead."

Now Katherine recognised the young man who sat beside Sir Hugh, for he smiled at her and kissed his hand when he at length caught her eye.

"Why, it's the squire who came last year with the message from you, Philippa," cried Katherine, delighted. She smiled and waved back. "He's changed a lot, his beard has grown."

"Katherine!" cried Philippa sharply. "Behave yourself! De Cheyne's no squire now, he's been knighted - and knights are no concern of yours. You'll get into trouble, my girl, if you encourage any of the courtiers, especially of the Duke's retinue. They're only after one thing. You should know that much, even at convent." Philippa gave an exasperated sigh, foreseeing many complications from Katherine's arrival which had not previously occurred to her. She herself did not think the girl's looks particularly striking, indeed she had not yet substituted this new Katherine for her memories of the scrawny, sickly child she had last seen. But Alice Perrers' detestable cooing voice had given one warning and it seemed now that Katherine was attracting an undue amount of attention for a humble little convent girl in an ill-fitting dress. Even Geoffrey, her own betrothed, had spent the whole supper-time answering the girl's silly questions and displaying undue warmth.

Philippa had no sentimental illusions about her betrothal, nor the temperament for sighings and moanings and courtly love games. Her marriage to Chaucer was eminently fitting. The Queen had suggested it, having in her maternal way considered various yeomen and squires in the royal entourage, picked out a handful of possibilities and given Philippa her choice of these and also the assurance of a dowry of ten marks yearly and continued patronage.

Philippa had preferred Geoffrey Chaucer to the other possibilities, though he was but the son of a vintner. Still, he had been attached to the royal family since childhood and was much liked by them. He was also educated as well as monk or clerk, and a sensible, good-humoured man, quite ready to marry and found a family, being already twenty-six. The betrothal pledge had been exchanged on Shrove Tuesday under the Queen's benign eye and the marriage planned for Whitsuntide.

It was all orderly and seemly as Philippa liked it, though during the last weeks of greater intimacy she had come to know some unexpected things about her betrothed. He spent a ridiculous amount of money on buying books and time on reading them and also on scribbling verses - these traits she intended to regulate after marriage. And she had discovered that he had a romantic attachment for the Duchess of Lancaster, which troubled Philippa not at all, though she thought it silly. Some great ladies might amuse themselves by dalliance with humble squires but not Lady Blanche, who had never spoken more than a dozen words to Geoffrey, for all that he had translated a devotional poem to the Holy Blessed Virgin and presented it to the Duchess. There was nothing disquieting in that to a sensible woman, which, thought Philippa, reverting to her worry, Katherine apparently was not. There was but one obvious course. Philippa decisively mopped up a dab of honey paste with the last morsel of her bread, and decided to approach the Queen tomorrow on the matter of Katherine's marriage, no matter how ill the poor lady might be. Symkyn-at-Woode, one of the sergeants-at-arms, would do. He was a bluff, hearty soul, widowered twice over, so would have experience enough to keep a giddy young wife in line.

Philippa's plans for Katherine were destined to be thwarted. No sooner had the royal family arisen and filed out to their own apartments, thus releasing the rest of the company, than the two young men from across the Hall darted over to present themselves. Geoffrey performed the introductions. "Sir Hugh Swynford, Sir Roger de Cheyne - the Damoiselle de Roet."

"Those beautiful eyes that slay me with cruel arrows I have seen once before," said Roger softly in French to Katherine. "More enchanting now even than in the little convent parlour. I've longed to see you again, ma tout belle"

Katherine felt a sharp pinch on her arm and heard Philippa give a warning cough, so that, though she flushed and her heart beat fast with pleasure, she lowered her lids and did not answer. He was more charming than ever, she thought, with his red lips and warm brown eyes. She contrived to look up at him through her lashes with an artless coquetry, seductive enough to the experienced Roger but entirely devastating to the other man, the florid, scowling Sir Hugh, at whom she had not even glanced.

Geoffrey had drawn back a little and was watching them all with a cocked eyebrow and his air of quiet amusement, but Philippa, aware of turgid currents that were quite out of place, was not amused at all.

"You speak gallantly to my sister, Sir Roger," she said, stonily. "You must not tease her, she's very ignorant." As Roger paid no attention to Philippa but continued to gaze amorously at Katherine, Philippa threw her betrothed a beseeching lock.

Geoffrey came to her rescue. "You have recently married, I think, Sir Knight," he said, bowing to Roger. "How do you leave your lady wife?"

"Oh," whispered Katherine involuntarily. She twisted her fingers tight in a fold of her velvet gown, feeling that her disappointment burned on her face like a brand.

"Why, she's well enough," said Roger lightly. "She stays on the manor, of course, since she is enceinte. Ma damoiselle" - he smiled at Katherine - ''will you not come out in the pleasaunce with me? There's a troupe of jugglers and a performing bear you might like to see."

Before Philippa could voice her sharp interdiction, Katherine raised her eyes and said quietly, "No, thank you, Sir Roger. I'm journey-tired. I've been travelling for days."

There was a sudden mature dignity in her low voice that startled all of them. Roger, who was accustomed to over-easy conquests, laughed good-humouredly and his melting eyes caressed her with added interest. Geoffrey thought, Good, the beautiful country mouse is not so simple after all. Philippa gave a relieved grunt and said briskly, "Well, then, let's go to bed. By your leave, sirs, may we pass."

But it was not Roger who blocked the way. It was the other knight, Hugh Swynford. "Damoiselle," he said, swaying a little and frowning at Katherine, "I shall escort you safely across the courtyard, by God."

His speech was thick, with a heavy pause between each word, and Katherine, despite her dismay over Roger and the repulsion she felt for this other knight, had a momentary desire to giggle. He must be drunk, she thought, this scowling lout with the ram's-wool hair.

"By all means, Sir Hugh," said Geoffrey. "Let's all see the ladies to their staircase."

"And sing as we go," laughed Roger. "Ma belle amie, que voit la rose" he carolled, taking Katherine's arm, while Hugh strode silently on the other side.

Chaucer and his betrothed followed behind, since the knight's rank must precede them from the Hall. "This is most interesting," he said to Philippa, watching the three figures ahead as they crossed the courtyard, which was illumined by both moon and torchlight. "Your little Katherine has le diable au corps. Both these noble knights wish to bed her."

"It's disgusting" snapped Philippa. "We must get her married at once. I think Symkyn-at-Woode, you know that sergeant, he wants a wife and - - "

"I think not, m'amie" said Geoffrey. "I think she may look higher than Symkyn. This Sir Hugh is not married and he devours her with his eyes. If Katherine is careful and chaste -"

"Oh, no," interrupted Philippa, "that's impossible! She has no dowry and the Swynfords are of old lineage, great landowners in Lincolnshire. Katherine wouldn't presume."

Geoffrey smiled a bit sadly to himself. He patted Philippa's plump little hand and said nothing, but he had heard the unconscious note of jealousy in the protesting voice. Ay, he thought, it would be hard to marry a simple squire, a tradesman's son and a scribbler, while one's little sister captured a landed knight. This had not happened yet, of course, but with Katherine, he thought, looking at the graceful violet figure moving ahead between the two knights, anything might happen. There was a mark of destiny on her, quite apart from her beauty. He wondered what her horoscope foretold, perhaps a conjunction of Venus and Neptune that explained the rare and subtle quality she emanated.

She made one think of hot, tumbling love and sensual sport, but she made one think of spiritual matters, too, like the mystic rose of tinted glass in St. Paul's window. A strangely fascinating young creature but not for him. His heart was laid at the feet of the lovely white Duchess and his practical future lay with Philippa, who suited him well enough.

CHAPTER III

During the next two days at Windsor, Hugh Swynford afforded much amusement to certain of the Duke's men. Roger de Cheyne had hastened to share the joke with his friends that Swynford, whom they privily called the Battling Saxon Ram, had at last been touched by a softer passion than hunting or fighting; that he had become infatuated with Philippa la Picarde's little sister from the convent.

Katherine herself was almost unaware of Sir Hugh. She saw him occasionally and knew that he stared at her a great deal, but so did other young men, and she was so much absorbed in the excitements presented to her that she had thought for nothing else.