Katherine blinked, still thinking that these two whom she had not seen for so long were part of her dream - a short plump young couple, both dressed in black, both gazing at her with, surprise - then she scrambled to her feet with a glad cry and rushing to her sister threw her arms around her neck. Philippa returned the kiss, but Geoffrey, who knew the signs, saw what his wife's next words would be like, and, himself kissing Katherine on each cheek, said quickly, "By God's mercy, my dear - you're fairer than ever - and these are the babes? La petite Blanche, wake up, poppet! Your uncle has brought you trinkets from London! And there's a fine fat boy! We'll have one just like him, eh, Pica?" and he pinched his wife's round cheek.
"With Christ's grace," said Philippa glancing at the babies, but not to be diverted. "Katherine, is this the way you keep your state as lady of the manor - what example do you give your servants? And-" She glanced frowning around the littered courtyard and at the small building and one low tower; her sharp eyes noted the crumblings between the aged stones, the mouldering thatch on the roof, the general air of dilapidation, and she finished more feebly," 'Tis not what I thought."
Katherine smiled at her sister, even welcoming the old atmosphere of reproof and admonition which took her back to childhood. "Kettlethorpe is small," she said temperately, "but we did well enough until this summer. We had a fearful flood and all our crops washed away. Our flocks too. Were it not for produce from our holdings at Coleby, which is on higher ground, I don't know where we'd turn. Hugh is hunting in the forest, but game is hard to find, the wild things were all driven out by the waters."
"Ah, yes," said Geoffrey sadly, "throughout England there's the smell of doom. We saw as we came north fires, famine - but here at least you've no plague - -"
Katherine glanced in sudden fear at her babies. Tom slept on, but Blanchette hid behind her mother and peered round at the strangers. "I've heard of none," she said, and crossed herself. "Is it so bad in the south - you - you haven't lost -"
She faltered, glancing at their mourning clothes which were of rich sable wool trimmed with velvet and strips of black fox. Philippa's tightly coiled dark braids were bound with an onyx and silver fillet, and beneath it her earnest face was round and neat as a penny.
"Oh, no," said Philippa, "we wear this for the Queen, God assoil her gentle soul. The suits were given us by the King's orders," She spoke with a certain complacence, though she sighed. She had been devoted to the Queen and now had no idea where her next permanent home would be, since Geoffrey was away so much on King's business and even now must return to Dover, then report to the Duke of Lancaster at Calais.
She was fond of Katherine, but in view of what she had already seen of Kettlethorpe, she could not but be doubtful about the protracted visit Geoffrey had planned for her. The Queen had left her a pension of a hundred shillings yearly, and Philippa suspected with natural annoyance that she might have to pay board instead of living in the luxurious elegance she had imagined, while saving her income for the benefit of her long-awaited baby.
"We had the Queen's Requiem Mass today - you hear the passing bell," said Katherine diffidently. "You mustn't think we don't sorrow for her here, though we are so far away."
Geoffrey's bright hazel eyes glanced at the girl and softened. Ever quick to catch human overtones, he heard the wistfulness in her voice, thought that she was more unhappy than she knew and bore herself with a rather touching gallantry. It was true that she was more beautiful than ever, her cheeks like red and white daisies, her lustrous eyes grey and soft as vair; she glowed with bright health though she was slender as a birch. Despite the two children and despite her eighteen years, there was still something virginal about her.
He reflected that it was not thus he had expected Katherine to be now, when he had first seen her at court three years ago, when he had said that she had le diable au corps and thought her a flame to light man's lust. He had thought that there was the mark of destiny upon her. And he had been wrong. The stars had held for her, it seemed, only the fate shared by thousands of other women; motherhood, housewifery, struggle and - as he at once discovered when Hugh returned - the endurance of a difficult, ailing husband.
By the time Hugh came in from hunting, the Chaucers had been settled in Lady Nichola's old tower-room and were in the Hall awaiting supper.
Hugh made an effort to greet his guests cordially. He sent Cob to broach the last keg of ale. Little Cob, the erstwhile spit-boy, was now nineteen and had been promoted to servitor, though he was still flax-haired and undersized, also sulky, for he liked farming and loathed his kitchen duties. He brought up a flagon of ale to the Hall and spilled some, at which Hugh gave him a savage kick on the shins.
Then Hugh filled the wooden mazer, said "Wassail," drank and passed it to Philippa as hospitality demanded. She answered "Drinkhail" uncertainly before she sipped. These Saxon customs were seldom seen at court, and Philippa tightened her lips. The ale was inferior and besides, she was used to wine. If it weren't for the plague - she thought unhappily - but there was no other place for her to go, and anyway she dared travel no farther in her condition
The wassail cup passed from Katherine to Geoffrey and back to Hugh, who took a deep draught, and spat most of it out on the rushes. Swallowing started the gripes. "What news of the Duke in Picardy?" he said through his teeth to his brother-in-law. "How goes the war?"
Geoffrey shrugged. "A standstill, I believe. Our noble Duke makes alarums and excursions, but that wily Valois fox has run to earth and will not fight; his skulking faineantise serves France well. He has but to wait until the Prince of Wales has insulted the last of our Gascon allies, then the whole of Aquitaine will revolt against us."
"You speak thus of the Prince?" Hugh said, frowning.
"My dear Hugh - I speak truth. In Aquitaine they call Edward 'the Black Prince,' and not only from the colour of his armour. Since Castile he steeps himself in wrath, he plunders and kills without mercy One by one he estranges his barons there, demanding that they maintain his magnificent English court at Bordeaux and yet allowing them no positions of importance. They're proud, those Gascons, as proud as we are. Is it wonder that they turn to the honied soothing welcome of the French king?'
'Thaw!" said Hugh, "the Gascons are scurvy riffraff - like any cur, they do better for a flogging!"
Katherine had retired to a corner behind the table while she suckled little Tom, but she looked at her husband when he said this, and wondered if he thought of Nirac.
There had been a fearful scene with Nirac, after Hugh's return two years ago. The wounded reeve had lost no time in taking his grievance to his lord, and he had slandered Katherine too. Hugh had gone berserk, accusing her of whoredom with the Gascon. Her own house servants had reluctantly come to her defence, and they and poor Gibbon had finally convinced Hugh Of her innocence. But Hugh had struck Nirac a violent blow across the mouth the kicked him off the manor. Nirac had gone without saying anything except one soft aside to Katherine in French. "Adieu, madam, I obey the Duke - but I shall not forget your brave knight." And his black eyes had glittered like a lizard's.
Hugh had aged much since Geoffrey had seen him last. There were white threads amongst the woolly drabness of his hair and beard. He had grown thin and had lost the chunky look he used to have. His high-necked, loose-sleeved blue cote-hardie hung on him slackly; deep furrows ran from his sharpened nose down either side of his clamped-in lips; the scar on his cheek lumped purple against the pallor of his skin. He could not be over thirty, but a young man's vigour had seeped out of him. Poor Katherine, thought Geoffrey, as Hugh with a muttered oath clutched at his belly and, doubling over, stumbled out into the courtyard. The jest that Geoffrey might, at another time, have made about this most ludicrous of human ailments died as he thought of it, and instead he said, "Is it because of these attacks that Hugh has not gone to join the Duke in war service?"