Be careful, said a voice in Richard's mind. Don't let them guess what you are thinking. Remember those suave watchful Frenchmen over there. Wait until after the marriage with little Isabelle, until we are at peace with France - and then - -
He turned suddenly to Katherine, mustering all his eager boyish charm. "I'm much interested in what you said of that night here thirty, it is, years ago. Ay - a year before I was born. Whom were you sitting with?"
Katherine was startled, unpredictable as a cat, one never knew where he would pounce next. "Why," she said, "it was with my sister Philippa, Your Grace, and her betrothed, Geoffrey Chaucer."
"Chaucer?" said the King raising his plucked golden brows, and twirling the stem of his goblet. "Have you seen the scurrilous verses he dared to write to me?"
Katherine had seen them. Geoffrey had imprudently taken it upon himself to chide the King for "lack of steadfastness" and it was no wonder that he had been reduced to a penury that she had immediately relieved, with John's help, when she became Duchess.
"Geoffrey's getting old," she said uncomfortably, "and is in poor health. He served His Grace, your grandfather, most loyally."
Richard laughed and took a sip of iced wine. "Oh, I forgive him, because of the pleasure some of his poems have brought me." And he shrugged, dismissing Chaucer. "Tell me," he said smoothly, "that day in Essex when I was putting down the revolt and you were on pilgrimage, what was the vow you made?"
This was so unexpected that she coloured. Jesu, he forgets nothing, she thought, every detail, every smallest thing. Every slight too, Christ pity him. For there was pathos in Richard, one felt the misery of his distrusts and deep uncertainties; sometimes there was a plaintive frightened sweetness about him. She had come to see this in the last months. But he was undisciplined, childish, vengeful - and dangerous. John was in high favour now, but if - - She dismissed these rushing thoughts and answered with the only part of the truth it was safe to tell him. "I had a daughter, Your Grace, Blanchette - you remember I asked of her that day? She was injured, disappeared when the rebels fired the Savoy. I took the pilgrimage in hope that Our Lady of Walsingham would find her for me."
"Ah," cried Richard, his eyes lighting, "those whoreson serfs. I soon dealt with them, didn't I? Well, did Our Lady send you Blanchette?"
"No," said Katherine slowly. "I've never heard what happened to her."
"And there's pain still, after all these years?" asked Richard curiously.
"Time never entirely heals the loss of a child, Your Grace," said Katherine incautiously. The King's round pink and white face hardened. The Plantagenet glint flashed in his pale blue eyes.
Richard's failure to produce an heir, and the choice of his new Queen, whose age made it impossible that she could even be bedded for years, was the common whisper of England. Anything that Richard might construe as the obliquest reference to his peculiarities was unwise.
He paid her back at once by smiling his small purse-lipped smile and saying, "Alas, I have as yet no way of knowing these parental sensibilities, have I, my lady? Young Mortimer is still my heir. 'Tis pity indeed," he said softly, watching her closely, "that your new husband's good and prolific Henry of Bolingbroke may not succeed."
Blessed Mother, thought Katherine. The sudden claws, the threat that jumped out when all was most charming. She cast about for politic answers and instinctively rejected them for frankness.
"Henry has never coveted the throne, Your Grace, any more than has my dear lord his father, and this you know right well by long years of proof."
Richard stared at her, astonished by positive rebuttal. Of late, and barely recognised, for he was fond of his Uncle John, there had been growing in Richard a dislike of Henry: so solid and masculine a man, so excellent a soldier and jouster - and so popular with the people. "I've never doubted my Uncle of Lancaster's loyalty, no matter what they said," he murmured half to himself, looking beyond her to the Duke.
"Nor need you doubt his son's, Your Grace." Katherine smiled, still a lovely warm smile, with white teeth and a hint of her youthful dimple. In both the smile and her sincere voice, there was for Richard something maternal and reassuring.
She was nearly of the age at which he best remembered his mother, the Princess Joan, and that memory brought ease.
With one of his characteristic volte-faces, Richard laughed and patted Katherine's hand. "I shall believe you, my fair new aunt," he said mischievously. "At least for tonight! God's blood, but the minstrels play badly. This banquet bores me." He stood up, shoving his plate away. like released bowstrings, the two hundred diners jumped to their feet and waited. The Cheshire guard sprang to attention.
Richard airily waved the Flemish lace handkerchief he always carried. "Clear the Hall. There shall be dancing now!"
The half-eaten food was whisked away. The subtleties not yet presented were returned to the kitchens.
Richard looked up at Katherine, who topped him by some inches, crying loudly, "My first dance of course will be with the Duchess of Lancaster." He winked at the Duke, as Eleanor gave an unmistakable anguished choke.
On the day after the banquet, the Lancasters travelled back to Kenilworth to enjoy a few days of privacy before leaving for Calais and the state meeting there with the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy - more preliminaries to peace with France.
As the ducal retinue cantered along the side of the mere towards Kenilworth, Katherine looked ahead at the red sandstone battlements with fervent relief. This was the castle which in the old days had always been home to her, its warm ruddy fabric was interwoven with memories of her children's babyhood, and of the more peaceful stretches of her love.
The watch had seen them. The trumpets blew a salute, and the Lancaster pennant ran hastily up on the Mortimer Tower. The Duke's retinue pulled their horses down to a walk, and Katherine presently said to John, "Oh my dear lord - how delicious it will be to rest here a few days."
He placed his hand on the jewelled pommel to turn and smile at her. "Your new duties are exacting, lovedy! And I fear it won't be all rest now. There's Saint Pol to be entertained. The tenants have planned celebrations for you, and all the chancery officials are here, since we have much business to discuss before going abroad."
"Oh well - I know - but that's all simple compared to court life. Sainte Marie, but these last few days at Windsor were gruelling. 'Be gracious to the Sieur de Vertain, but remember that he's outranked by Saint Pol Remember that Lady Arundel will repeat everything I say to Gloucester, and Lady Salisbury to her husband, who will tell the King, and above all be careful what you say to the King.' I never knew how hard it was to be a great lady - -"
"You do it superbly, Katrine," said John with sudden seriousness. "I've been very proud of you and of the way you ignore malice and slander."
She blushed and said quietly, "Malice and slander are accustomed things to both of us, darling. One learns to live without their hurting overmuch."
"Ay," he said, "they never disturbed me but once - that foolish changeling story. Ah, Katrine - never during the long time of our separation did I quite forget what your love did for me then."
They both fell silent as they rode through the two gates and under the raised portcullises of Mortimer's Tower into the base court, where they were greeted by the usual confusion of scurrying stable-boys, barking dogs and children. It was a different set of children now who ran in great excitement down from the inner court, escaping from nurses and governesses to precipitate themselves perilously near the rearing, snorting horses. These were John's grandchildren, Henry's brood, who summered at Kenilworth. Little Henry of Monmouth, nine years old, did not wait for the Duke to dismount, but swarmed up the flank of his grandfather's great charger, and sure of indulgence, wedged himself between the pommel and the Duke crying, "Grandsir, Grandsir, did you bring me the peregrine you promised? Did you, my lord?"