three figures ahead as they crossed the courtyard, which was illumined by both moon and torchlight. "Your little Katherine has le diable au corps. Both these noble knights wish to bed her."
"It's disgusting" snapped Philippa. "We must get her married at once. I think Symkyn-at-Woode, you know that sergeant, he wants a wife and - - "
"I think not, m'amie" said Geoffrey. "I think she may look higher than Symkyn. This Sir Hugh is not married and he devours her with his eyes. If Katherine is careful and chaste -"
"Oh, no," interrupted Philippa, "that's impossible! She has no dowry and the Swynfords are of old lineage, great landowners in Lincolnshire. Katherine wouldn't presume."
Geoffrey smiled a bit sadly to himself. He patted Philippa's plump little hand and said nothing, but he had heard the unconscious note of jealousy in the protesting voice. Ay, he thought, it would be hard to marry a simple squire, a tradesman's son and a scribbler, while one's little sister captured a landed knight. This had not happened yet, of course, but with Katherine, he thought, looking at the graceful violet figure moving ahead between the two knights, anything might happen. There was a mark of destiny on her, quite apart from her beauty. He wondered what her horoscope foretold, perhaps a conjunction of Venus and Neptune that explained the rare and subtle quality she emanated.
She made one think of hot, tumbling love and sensual sport, but she made one think of spiritual matters, too, like the mystic rose of tinted glass in St. Paul's window. A strangely fascinating young creature but not for him. His heart was laid at the feet of the lovely white Duchess and his practical future lay with Philippa, who suited him well enough.
CHAPTER III
During the next two days at Windsor, Hugh Swynford afforded much amusement to certain of the Duke's men. Roger de Cheyne had hastened to share the joke with his friends that Swynford, whom they privily called the Battling Saxon Ram, had at last been touched by a softer passion than hunting or fighting; that he had become infatuated with Philippa la Picarde's little sister from the convent.
Katherine herself was almost unaware of Sir Hugh. She saw him occasionally and knew that he stared at her a great deal, but so did other young men, and she was so much absorbed in the excitements presented to her that she had thought for nothing else.
Philippa kept strict watch over her sister and saw to it that she herself or another of the Queen's women should always be with the girl, but even Philippa had relaxed into the general atmosphere of gaiety.
She discharged her duties every morning at six when she marshalled the pantry maids: tallied loaves of bread, unlocked and portioned out the day's allotment of the precious spices which would be used in the Queen's apartments, but after that, the Queen being still abed, Philippa was free. She noted that Katherine behaved modestly in public, that Roger de Cheyne did not press his attentions and that Hugh Swynford made no further attempt to speak to Katherine. So she felt that her fears had been unjustified and decided to wait until after the holiday to broach the girl's marriage to Symkyn-at-Woode.
Hugh, however, was awaiting opportunity. He was obsessed by Katherine, and dismally confused by this new sensation. Heretofore his occasional quick lusts had been as quickly satisfied, by whore or peasant, and had certainly never disturbed the tenor of his life.
But this girl, though she had no strong male protector, was yet a knight's daughter and attached, however nebulously, to the Queen. She might not be tumbled in a haymow or tavern, and in the face of her obvious indifference he did not know how to approach her. He watched for chances to see her alone, but there were none, and for the first time in his life he felt diffidence and regret that he was ugly.
On Wednesday evening his fate relented. There had been showers all afternoon, but after vespers the dying sun
"It's disgusting" snapped Philippa. "We must get her married at once. I think Symkyn-at-Woode, you know that sergeant, he wants a wife and - - "
"I think not, m'amie" said Geoffrey. "I think she may look higher than Symkyn. This Sir Hugh is not married and he devours her with his eyes. If Katherine is careful and chaste -"
"Oh, no," interrupted Philippa, "that's impossible! She has no dowry and the Swynfords are of old lineage, great landowners in Lincolnshire. Katherine wouldn't presume."
Geoffrey smiled a bit sadly to himself. He patted Philippa's plump little hand and said nothing, but he had heard the unconscious note of jealousy in the protesting voice. Ay, he thought, it would be hard to marry a simple squire, a tradesman's son and a scribbler, while one's little sister captured a landed knight. This had not happened yet, of course, but with Katherine, he thought, looking at the graceful violet figure moving ahead between the two knights, anything might happen. There was a mark of destiny on her, quite apart from her beauty. He wondered what her horoscope foretold, perhaps a conjunction of Venus and Neptune that explained the rare and subtle quality she emanated.
She made one think of hot, tumbling love and sensual sport, but she made one think of spiritual matters, too, like the mystic rose of tinted glass in St. Paul's window. A strangely fascinating young creature but not for him. His heart was laid at the feet of the lovely white Duchess and his practical future lay with Philippa, who suited him well enough.
CHAPTER III
During the next two days at Windsor, Hugh Swynford afforded much amusement to certain of the Duke's men. Roger de Cheyne had hastened to share the joke with his friends that Swynford, whom they privily called the Battling Saxon Ram, had at last been touched by a softer passion than hunting or fighting; that he had become infatuated with Philippa la Picarde's little sister from the convent.
Katherine herself was almost unaware of Sir Hugh. She saw him occasionally and knew that he stared at her a great deal, but so did other young men, and she was so much absorbed in the excitements presented to her that she had thought for nothing else.
Philippa kept strict watch over her sister and saw to it that she herself or another of the Queen's women should always be with the girl, but even Philippa had relaxed into the general atmosphere of gaiety.
She discharged her duties every morning at six when she marshalled the pantry maids: tallied loaves of bread, unlocked and portioned out the day's allotment of the precious spices which would be used in the Queen's apartments, but after that, the Queen being still abed, Philippa was free. She noted that Katherine behaved modestly in public, that Roger de Cheyne did not press his attentions and that Hugh Swynford made no further attempt to speak to Katherine. So she felt that her fears had been unjustified and decided to wait until after the holiday to broach the girl's marriage to Symkyn-at-Woode.
Hugh, however, was awaiting opportunity. He was obsessed by Katherine, and dismally confused by this new sensation. Heretofore his occasional quick lusts had been as quickly satisfied, by whore or peasant, and had certainly never disturbed the tenor of his life.
But this girl, though she had no strong male protector, was yet a knight's daughter and attached, however nebulously, to the Queen. She might not be tumbled in a haymow or tavern, and in the face of her obvious indifference he did not know how to approach her. He watched for chances to see her alone, but there were none, and for the first time in his life he felt diffidence and regret that he was ugly.
On Wednesday evening his fate relented. There had been showers all afternoon, but after vespers the dying sun
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