A gilded Maypole had been set up in the river gardens on a square of turf which was enclosed by the famous Provencal rose bushes, already tipped with coral buds. Each afternoon of May week, there was dancing around the great shaft, while the multi-coloured ribbons wove up and down against a drift of pear blossoms.
There were May Day games - the younger lords and ladies played at Hide-and-Seek in the maze, or at Hoodman Blind, and Hot Cockles. At night there were bonfires built along the river-bank, and the Duke's barges, festooned with streamers and lit by torches, raced across the river when wagers were placed on each contestant.
No one could be melancholy during these days of Maytime brightness, and the Duke shut his mind to impending problems and enjoyed himself wholeheartedly with Katherine.
On May 12, he was to set forth for Scotland again. The King's Council, much pleased with his handling of earlier Scottish- disorders, had commissioned him to ride north and negotiate for a prolongation of the truce and cessation of the new hostilities. Percy's touchy sensibilities would have to be soothed. The Lord of Northumberland felt that Border matters were his own exclusive concern, and passionately resented interference from Westminster. But a combination of tact, flattery, and sternness would doubtless pacify the Border lord as they had before.
Everything contributed to the optimism born of Nature's own gaiety.
Parliament had finally voted an appropriation, and the poll tax was being raised, albeit there had been some trouble. The first collectors, through laziness or venality, had failed miserably to hand over the average shilling a head that was required. In March the system had been tightened and a fresh staff of collectors commissioned. The chancellor, who was now old Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, had been scolded for his slackness; and a new treasurer, Robert Hales, Prior of St. John's, put in charge of the dilatory revenues.
The common folk might grumble - to be sure, taxes always caused grumbling - but a democratic effort had been made to distribute this tax fairly, "with the strong to help the weak." It was true that the levy of a shilling might wreak some hardship amongst labourers and servants since their wages seldom reached fourteen shillings a year; but on the other hand, the glorious prospects of eventual victory in France and Castile should certainly move the people to patriotic sacrifice. Besides, this new tax, for the first time, spared no one over fifteen years of age, even a baron or a bishop was assessed at a pound a head.
What could be fairer than that thought the Peers, while the Royal Council and Parliament agreed.
Katherine had been a trifle uneasy since she had heard John Ball preaching at Leicester, until the Duke told her that Ball had been imprisoned in Kent by Archbishop Sudbury.
"No need to fret, lovedy," said the Duke gaily. "With that ranting little firebrand quenched in jail, the people'll quiet down. They've no real cause for grievance, anyway."
Katherine was reassured. Yet she did say hesitatingly, "But the villeins aren't reasonable. My steward writes that at Kettlethorpe Cob o' Fenton has run off again! Though I freed him from the stocks and gave him back his land."
John shrugged. "No doubt they'll catch him, Katrine. Tis always hard to judge when leniency be wise. Some serfs would have shown you greater gratitude."
She had accepted this and ceased to think of it. Each lovely day must be enjoyed to the full especially as she and John would so soon be separated. Yet she had little fear for him on this march to Scotland which he anticipated with pleasure, nor should it take more than a month or so. She was to await him at Kenilworth with their children, and Kenilworth was a happy summer-time castle.
On Sunday she would leave the Savoy with the Duke, who would drop her and her household off at Kenilworth while he continued north. But before they left there was a small private matter to be attended to.
Sir Ralph Hastings would accompany his lord to Scotland, and Blanchette's betrothal should be solemnised. It had been delayed after Katherine's decision at Leicester because Sir Ralph had been at Pontefract, but now he had arrived at the Savoy, eager to claim the girl.
This was on Wednesday, the 8th of May. The Duke and Katherine were sitting in the rose garden watching a troupe of Cornish tumblers and gleemaidens who were cavorting on the lawn.
Sir Ralph strode through the garlanded archway into the garden, and walking to the Duke's chair knelt and kissed his hand. "God's greeting, my lord," he said, and bowed to Katherine. "I'm here a day before I thought to be, but love is a sharp spur, by Peter!" He chuckled and swaggered in his violet brocaded cote-hardie. A well-made man was Sir Ralph, and had spared no expense in clothing himself as finely as any young dandy at Richard's court. Blanchette's aversion to him he had assured himself sprang from charming modesty, being quite certain of his attraction. He was thirty-five and looked younger. He was an excellent horseman and jouster, and had been forbearing to the old wife he had been married to for twelve barren years until her lung complaint released him.
Blanchette had no excuse whatsoever for her behaviour, thought Katherine, smiling at Sir Ralph, who was asking after the girl.
"I'll get her," said Katherine rising. "In truth, Sir Ralph, you must have patience with her. Woo her gently. I confess she's sometimes of a heavy spirit."
The knight frowned a trifle but he spoke confidently. "Oh I'll soon gentle the little burde, once she's mine. 'Tis natural she should be shy."
''Natural, maybe," said the Duke smiling. "But she's played the coy long enough. We'll have the betrothal tomorrow, a merry climax to May revelry. Here in the arbour - and some jousting to follow. Blanchette shall be May Queen for the day."
Katherine bestowed a loving glance on John as she hurried from the gardens in search of Blanchette.
The girl lodged in a chamber in the Monmouth Wing, and could seldom be persuaded to leave it. Here she carried on many little occupations of her own. She had wooden puppets that she dressed in scraps of silk and velvet and played some secret game with, though she was well past the age for such toys. She strummed her lute and sang melodies of her own devising that were hushed at once if anyone came to the door.
And there were her birds. Almost daily Blanchette sent the page who waited on her to the market. He fetched her singing birds - linnets, thrushes, skylarks and sometimes nightingales that had been netted by fowlers and were offered for sale. She had a ritual with these. She left them in their cages only one night; while she talked to them softly as though they were Christian souls. At the dawning she would free them through her window and God-speed them as they winged out of sight.
A harmless enough pastime, but while Katherine stood at the girl's door she heard the low voice inside singing a plaintive tune, and the twittering of a bird. As she put her hand on the latch, Katherine's throat constricted while a memory assailed her - of the Lady Nichola in the tower-room at Kettlethorpe. Nay, but the child is in nothing like Nichola, Katherine thought with vehemence. She pushed the door and found it locked.
"Let me in!" she called sharply." 'Tis your mother." After a moment the door opened slowly and Blanchette stood as though to bar the way, her hands clenched together between her breasts. Her copper-gold hair cascaded in loose ringlets down her back. She wore a dove-grey chamber robe, unadorned. Never would she willingly wear any of the costly trinkets that the Duke or Katherine gave her. She was still shorter than her mother but her slight body showed the curves of womanhood, though her face had not lost its baby roundness and a few freckles still peppered her nose.