He did not want to leave England. He hated leaving Catherine for the more they were together, the greater was his need of her.
Then news came to him that among those who had been wounded in the force which had been left to stand against the French was Hugh Swynford. He would tell her the news when she came to his bedchamber. She came to him openly now, for it was impossible to keep their relationship a secret. However much they had tried there were certain to be some who noticed it; and it seemed to them both that it was better to be an open fact than a clandestine one to be whispered about and giggled over in corners.
They both told each other that they were neither of them ashamed. So it was common knowledge throughout the Court that Catherine Swynford was the mistress of John of Gaunt.
Well, the King was sporting with Alice Perrers, but the Black Prince upheld the honour of the family. He was the faithful husband, the hero of the people and he had a son to follow him. Now and then the people had a glimpse of the fair-haired boy who was growing up to be tall and handsome; and when they did they cheered him wildly.
Everything would be all right, said the people, while the Black Prince was with them.
When Catherine was alone with him John immediately told her of the news about Hugh.
‘He is lying sick and in need of nursing close to Bordeaux.’
‘Poor Hugh,’ she said. ‘He will be most unhappy. He is not the sort of man who is blessed with patience. He cannot occupy himself unless it is with horses and fighting.’
‘He is very badly wounded indeed, I believe,’ said John. ‘An idea has come to me. Perhaps you should go out to nurse him.’
‘You … you would send me to him. Does that mean …?’
‘It means that if you were in France, so should I be and the sea would not separate us.’ He had become excited. ‘Listen, my love. I shall have to leave England soon. I have little heart for this coming campaign, but I must go since my father cannot go, nor can my brother. Even he must realise he is too sick for more campaigns. I must leave for France. My spirits would be lifted indeed if when I arrived there I should find you … waiting for me.’
She shared his excitement. She must go. She must nurse Hugh. Often she suffered great remorse on his account. She had something to tell John. She had not wished to mention it until she was sure, but now there could be no doubt.
‘I am going to have your child,’ she said.
A wild joy came over him. It was a delight which he had not felt at the prospect of Constanza’s legitimate child.
‘I am so happy,’ she told him. ‘I had always feared the day would come when you would no longer be with me. I could not hope that you would go on loving me.’
‘You talk nonsense, Catherine, and that is not like you. I shall love you till the day I die.’
‘Perhaps,’ she answered. ‘And I shall have your child. How I shall love it. How I shall cherish it.’
‘I too,’ he replied fervently. ‘Now let us plan. You will go on ahead of me. It is impossible for you to travel with the armies. Oh, my Catherine, this has changed everything. I dreaded journeying to France. Now there is all the difference in the world for when I arrive there I shall find you awaiting me.’
John, assiduous in his care for Catherine, had arranged for her to travel almost royally. She had women to attend her and one of these was a midwife, for John was very anxious, even though it was some months before the child was due, that nothing should go wrong.
Philippa and Elizabeth had been aware that there was some unusual relationship between their father and their governess, and that this gave an importance to Catherine. They were very fond of her; and Elizabeth, who was more precocious although four years younger than her sister, was adept at listening to the gossip of serving men and women. Catherine was a sort of wife of their father she gathered, though not a real one. They had a stepmother, the Queen of Castile, of whom they saw very little; they much preferred Catherine.
And now they heard that she was going away from them. She had a husband it seemed, who was the father of young Thomas and Blanche whom they had seen now and then. And now Catherine was going away and someone else would teach them and be constantly in their company. It was rather mysterious and disturbing. Henry was reduced to tears at the prospect. But nothing they did could keep her; and in due course Catherine was ready to depart.
Now they must say goodbye to their father for he was going away too. He was going to fight the wicked French who would not give their grandfather the crown which really belonged to him.
It was all somewhat mystifying but as the weeks passed they became accustomed to being without Catherine and soon Henry could not remember what she looked like.
It was a long and tortuous journey across France. In the first place it had been necessary to wait for a favourable wind; and then they must be very careful not to venture near those places where there might be danger of meeting the French.
Catherine began to realise that it had not been over zealous of John to send a midwife with them.
She was far gone in pregnancy when they reached Bordeaux and she wondered what she would say to Hugh when she came face to face with him. He might well have heard of her relationship with the Duke of Lancaster in which case he might not be surprised to see her so heavily pregnant.
Poor Hugh! Did he regret their marriage? If he recovered perhaps John would advance him in some way. She would ask him. Not that that would compensate him for the wrong they had done him. It was possible that he had had a few mistresses, for he was not the sort of man to resist the call of the flesh. A sorry business, she thought; and but for the existence of Thomas and Blanche she would have wished the marriage had never taken place. The children always stirred feelings of guilt in her but this wild all-consuming passion between herself and John had been such as to set aside all other considerations.
By the time she reached Bordeaux Hugh was dead, and she could not help feeling relieved, dreading their meeting as she had. His servant told her that he had suffered greatly from his wounds and finally they had become so inflamed that his flesh began to mortify.
He had been buried hastily because of his putrefying flesh and it was feared that her journey had been in vain. Orders had been received from the Duke of Lancaster that her child should be born in Beaufort Castle in Anjou where preparations had been made for her, so there was nothing to do but continue her journey which she did.
She arrived at Beaufort Castle in time for her child to be born.
It was a boy and she called him John after his father.
It was not long after the birth that John came to the castle. His delight in their son was great. A perfect boy, he said. How like her to give him a boy. Constanza’s child was a girl. She had called the child Catherine, which seemed a little ironical since it was the name of her husband’s mistress.
‘It must mean that she does not revile me for taking your love,’ said Catherine.
‘It means that she is quite indifferent to what happens to me … or to you. She wanted me to fight for her crown. She still does and she is hoping that I shall win it for her one day. That is her only concern.’
It was a comfort to Catherine. She had no desire to live in anything but peace with her lover’s wife.
So they were together again if only briefly and they must make the most of the time; he visited her whenever it was possible. It had been a piece of good fortune that had given her a reason for coming to France.
But he must tear himself away from her for he had been appointed Captain General of the armies with three thousand men at arms and eight thousand archers as well as other troops under his command.