"Ay - where is Hugh?" she murmured.
"Still in Castile, at Burgos with my army but unharmed. I'll send him back soon. I see you sorely need him."
"But you're here," she whispered smiling, drugged with the torpor of exhaustion and peace.
"Not for long - my ship waits for me at Plymouth. I came back because I have a son."
"Ah yes," she said. "I knew - I had forgot - how does my Lady Blanche - - "
"Fairly," he said and no more, seeing that Katherine was not fully awake and making an effort to be courteous. He dropped her hand and turned to the window.
Blanche was not churched yet. He had returned to find her very ill with milk fever and one of her legs so red and throbbing that she cried out when it was touched. But the blissful shock of his unexpected return had improved her at once.
She had been well enough for him to leave Bolingbroke and make this hasty trip to Lincoln to inspect its castle, which he owned. Conferences with the constable had taken little time and it had been on impulse that he decided this fine May Day morning to ride on to Kettlethorpe and see Katherine. In truth, he had not thought of her at all these last months - - months of triumph, culminating in the glorious victory at Najera on Saturday, April 3. The memory of that arid sunbaked Castilian plain gave him sharp joy.
With the always able help of Sir John Chandos, and his English bowmen, the Duke had led the shock troops in the vanguard of the Prince of Wales' army, and they had loosed a barrage of whirring arrows that turned the tide almost at once. The Castilians fell back, they disintegrated, they ran, and, forced into the flood - swollen river Najerilla, they drowned - twelve thousand of them. The rushing waters had turned red as wine. By noon the battle was over and King Pedro, sobbing with gratitude, had kissed his champions' hands, had knelt on the blood - soaked earth before the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster.
It was unfortunate that amongst the bodies of the Castilian slain they could not find that of the bastard Trastamare, but otherwise the victory had been complete even to the capture of the redoubtable Sir Bertrand du Guesclin. All the victors had held high feast in Burgos, Castile's fair capital. And there, when the messenger from Bolingbroke found him ten days later, John discovered that he had fresh cause for exultation. His son Henry had been born on the same day as the triumph at Najera, surely a most auspicious bit of fortune. He gave thanks in the cathedral and determined to make a quick trip home to see his son - and Blanche. But neither sentiment nor paternal pride alone could justify the time expended on such a voyage, for there were still angry matters to smooth out in Castile and his brother needed him. So John bore letters to the King at Westminster and, more important, had seized the opportunity to replenish his purse from funds held by his receiver - general at the Savoy. The campaign, however glorious, had been expensive.
These matters passed through his mind as he stood by the window and he almost regretted the impulse that he sent him here this morning; for he saw that he could not leave at once as he had planned, while Katherine lay helpless, at the mercy of her serfs and the mad woman Nichola. Yet he was sorely pressed for time and turned plans over in his mind which might best ensure her safety until he could send Hugh back.
He returned to the bed and saw that she had awakened, and was softly kissing the baby's head. "Your villeins must be punished, Katherine," he said, smiling at her. "I understand from your bailiff that you and he forbade their extraordinary rites last night and yet they left you here alone."
"That was my fault, my lord." Through this dreaming bliss she felt no anger towards anyone. "The midwife would have stayed with me but I wouldn't let Milburga fetch her."
The two listening women looked at each other. Molly whispered, "Our little mistress is kind." Milburga shrugged. They held their breaths.
John shook his head impatiently. "These serfs cannot be permitted to defy you - there's no strong arm on this manor, that I see well, nor can I forgive Swynford for leaving you in charge of such a bailiff - a dead man - it was dangerous folly - - " His anger rose at Hugh, though in Castile he had felt none, for Hugh had again proved himself a powerful fighter.
"Poor Gibbon does the best he can," said Katherine softly. "It's I who have been lax."
"Nonsense, child! It's only that you're far too young to have learned the arts of ruling and you must have help. I've decided what shall be done."
"Yes, my lord," said Katherine, humbly. Though he was but twenty - seven he seemed to her the embodiment of unquestioned authority as he stood there, his shining head thrown back, his eyes stern. He spoke to her as her father had used to long ago. There was no tension between them now, nor did she remember that there ever had been. He was but her overlord and her rescuer.
"I shall leave one of my men here to guard you. A Gascon named Nirac de Bayonne and - for a Gascon - trustworthy." John smiled suddenly. Nirac amused him with his quick tongue, nimble wits and sly humour. Nirac was a man of many parts, he could concoct licorice potions or spice hippocras; he could fight with the dagger and sail a ship, the latter accomplishment learned during years of smuggling and freebooting between Bayonne and Cornwall. Though Gascony and the rest of Aquitaine belonged to England, Nirac had not troubled himself about allegiance, until the Prince of Wales' officers caught him and pressed him into military service in the recent Castilian war. And that temporary allegiance would have dissolved as soon as he had been paid, except for the entirely fortuitous circumstances that John had saved his life at Najera.
This was no deed of chivalry - the Duke had simply interposed his well - armoured body between Nirac and a Castilian spear; but the fiery little Gascon had been passionately grateful and attached himself doggedly to the Duke.
John was a shrewd judge of those who served him and he knew that Nirac would obey his commands loyally, and he thought too that of the men with him today, Katherine would be safest with this one. Nirac belonged to that type of man who had but tepid interest in the love of women.
John glanced towards the courtyard window where the sun already slanted above the church spire and said, "Yes - I'll leave you Nirac. He'll keep your churls in order until Swynford gets home. And, Katherine - - "
She looked up at him and waited.
"Your baby must be christened! - now."
Katherine gasped and drew the baby closer. "Is there danger for her? The women said she was unharmed - does there seem something wrong to you?"
"No, no - there's nothing to fear. But we'll christen the babe at once, because I shall be its godfather."
"Oh - my sweet lord," whispered Katherine, flushing with delight. During the vague unreasoning months of her pregnancy she had wondered once or twice who might be found to sponsor the baby if it were actually born.
"It is a very great honour - -" she whispered.
"Yes," said the Duke, "and will help ensure your safety and the babe's." It was for this reason he had suggested it. The spiritual parentage of an infant was no light thing; it linked the sponsor with the real parents in bonds of compaternity, it incurred obligation for the infant's material as well as religious nurture and if, as in this case, the sponsor were of royal blood and the most powerful noble in the land, it endowed the baby with an exalted aura.
A child so honoured on earth and in heaven would be powerfully protected and even Katherine's unruly serfs should be intimidated.
The christening took place an hour later at the old Saxon font in the little church across the lane. The nave was crowded, because the Duke had sent his men to summon all the villagers, many of whom had been shaken and slapped from their drunken snorings. Parson's Molly held the baby and served as godmother since there was obviously no one else in the least suitable on the manor. At the baptismal questions, John took the baby from Molly and made the responses himself, though waiting with barely concealed impatience while the flustered Sir Robert tried to remember the Latin form, could not, and reverted to English.