The Captal de Buch twirled the cup of wine that stood ever at his elbow and gave a great laugh. "Bluster, mon vieux," he said to Sir Guichard, "nothing but bluster. The Castilians can haggle as well as the Jews, you know."

"Then," broke in de la Pole hotly, "we must use a firm hand."

The Duke leaned forward. "Nay," he said in a tone of angry command. "Give them what they want. And the marriage may take place at Roquefort."

The captal, shrugging, buried his formidable beak in his cup. Sir Guichard bowed to the Duke and, beckoning to the clerks who waited with parchment spread at a smaller table, said, "Then we will draft a letter, my lord."

This business was proceeding when they were interrupted by a commotion near the door. The yeoman-on-guard expostulated with someone, until a shrill determined voice cried, "But it is vairy important, le duc will agree!"

John frowned and again raised his heavy lids. "By Our Lady, Nirac!" he called irritably, "what is it?"

The little Gascon slithered past the door and ran to his master. He knelt on the dais and gabbled very low, in the langue d'oc, "Brother William Appleton is here, 'e has something to tell you."

"In God's name - you little fool - do you burst in here to tell me that! - ah?" John stared down with startled question into Nirac's unwinking black eyes. The Gascon raised his brows slowly - with meaning.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," John said, rising. "A matter I must attend to."

"But Your Grace," cried Sir Thomas Felton, "there's grave trouble in the north, Bertrand du Guesclin-"

"I'll return shortly, Sir Thomas, but I think you forget I resigned full power here. 'Tis now in your hands to administer Aquitaine, you and the captal. No doubt you'll do far better than I have." He gave the two men a cold nod and, followed by Nirac, walked out of the Council room. The men stood up and bowed as he passed them, then reseated themselves in some consternation.

"Mauvaise humeur" said the captal, chuckling. "His temper grows as thorny as the poor Prince of Wales'. Norn de Dieu - these Plantagenets! They should laugh more - enjoy life. What that one needs," he jerked his plump chins towards the door, "is a woman!"

"So you keep saying," growled de la Pole. "He's getting one, isn't he?"

"A warm complaisant wench," said the captal imperturbably, "not a yellow bag of bones who thinks of naught but avenging her dead papa. I could find him a woman; - I know a little dancer, a Navarrese - round thighs - -breasts like pillows - lips juicy as mulberries." The captal, ticking off these attractions on stubby fingers, would have continued, but the Englishman snorted impatiently, and Sir Guichard interrupted with a smile.

"Enfin, captal - no doubt she's superb, your little Navarrese. But to a determined man, all cats are grey at night.

Also Costanza is proud - mon Dieu, how proud! And jealous too, I'll warrant. If the Castilians got wind of dalliance now, it might wreck the marriage."

"A plague on the marriage!" cried Sir Thomas Felton. "The question is what are we to do about du Guesclin?"

John stood by the empty fireplace in the antechamber of his private suite and heard the Grey Friar speak in a calm and sorrowful voice the incredible words, "And so, my lord, the poor knight is dead, God absolve his soul!"

"What-" said the Duke so low that it was scarcely a whisper. "What did you say?"

"I said, my lord, that Sir Hugh Swynford suffered a violent attack of dysentery and is dead."

"But he can't be - he was getting well. He can't be!"

This cry was uttered on so strange a note and the Duke turned his back on the friar so violently that Brother William took it for anger and said humbly, "Your Grace, forgive me. I did my best. I applied all the skill God has granted me, but it was not His Will that the knight should live."

Nirac stood unnoticed near the door, his arms crossed on his chest, now he hugged them tight around himself, for he could see his master's face though the friar could not. He saw the look of dazed incredulity give way to awe, and then the blue eyes blazed wide open. The Duke repeated, slowly and in a shaking voice, "It was not His Will that the knight should live!"

"The funeral arrangements, Your Grace-" persisted the friar, puzzled by the Duke's averted back and choked speech. "I can attend to all that, but 'tis a melancholy situation for the widow, and the squire. I thought perhaps you might wish to direct your chamberlain or some other of your household officers to call?"

"The widow," said the Duke. "Aye, the widow, you said, Brother. I shall attend to that myself," and now as the Duke turned, the astounded Grey Friar saw what Nirac had seen - the face of joy - the young, eager, tremulous face of joy.

Brother William started back, frowning. "My lord, what would you of her? She is in great grief, unprotected, and I believe a truly virtuous woman-"

"I know that. And I shall not forget. But there are things you do not know." The Duke smiled with a tenderness that astonished the Grey Friar and added softly, "God has heard my prayers and given me blessing. Nay, good Brother, don't look so sour, you're not my confessor. You've done all you need. Wipe out this matter from your mind. Here, take this." He opened the purse at his belt and thrust into the friar's unwilling hand a dozen gold nobles. "For the poor, for the sick, for the lepers, for anything you like. Now leave me alone!"

For the next three days the court was mystified by their ruler's behaviour, though the younger lords and ladies were delighted. Between one breath and the next, it seemed, the Duke had thrown off all the heavy brooding and ill temper he had shown for months.

Each day he rode out hawking by the river with a party of congenial courtiers and shouted triumph when his great white gerfalcon, Oriana, brought down wild duck and heron. Each day he took part in joustings and small deeds of arms with one or another of his knights. And there was dancing and singing in the Grande Salle at night.

Amongst the courtiers, only the Captal de Buch knew the reason for this volte-face on the part of the Duke, who had consulted him on a certain matter. The captal, of course, highly approved, chuckled often to himself, but kept his own counsel as he had been told to do.

On the fourth day after Hugh's death, the Duke sent word to the Princess Isabel that he would be absent for a while and that she and Edmund were to preside over the High Table in his place.

At dusk the Duke and Nirac left the palace by the privy stair, both of them enveloped in dark grey cloaks and hoods without insignia, and though John rode his strongest and favourite charger, Palamon, the horse's trappings were simple enough to befit a plain Bordelais burgher. They rode silently through the streets past the cathedral to the Swynford lodgings, where the frowsy courtyard was deserted except for a snuffling pig and some chickens that scratched at the manure pile.

Upstairs, Katherine sat by the empty bed, staring at the note from the Duke which she had received earlier that day. Nirac had brought it and waited for her answer. "I'll be here at vesper time and will receive my Lord Duke," she had said to Nirac. "But tell him that is all. It must be farewell."

After Nirac had bowed and gone, she had sat on, scarcely moving, forgetting food and drink, as she had for days. It seemed as though someone else inhabited her body while the real Katherine still slept under the opiate the friar had given her. Her body, swathed and veiled in black, had attended the

Requiem Mass and the brief ceremony when the coffin was consigned to the cathedral crypt to await transportation home. Her eyes had even wept as her hands took off the clumsy Swynford betrothal ring and placed it in the coffin. Later she had tended Ellis, who had passed through roaring drunkenness into stupor. But no special thought had accompanied any of these things.

Even the Duke's note had not awakened Katherine, though somewhere within her there had been a shivering. Like the distortions dimly heard and seen through that yellow plague fog at Bolingbroke, life came to her muffled.

When the noise of horses clattered up from the courtyard, Ellis had been burnishing Hugh's armour, rubbing off every fleck of rust. At times when he was less drunk than others, this occupation gave him some comfort. " 'Twill do for little Tom," he said to Katherine. "Little Tom'll soon grow to it, now he must fill his father's shoes."

She nodded, but her babies seemed as remote as everything else.

The courtyard sounds augmented, and Ellis peered out of the window. "There's two horsemen coming upstairs," he said, putting down Hugh's hauberk. "What can they want?" He opened the door, and Katherine stood up.

A tall man walked in, and threw back his hood.

"My Lord Duke!" cried Ellis, dropping to his knees. His bloodshot befuddled eyes squinted up uncertainly. Nirac hovered on the landing.

"I've come for you, Katrine," said John quietly, ignoring Ellis and looking over his head at the girl.

"No, my lord," she whispered, but some of the muffling veils around her dissolved, her breathing quickened. Ellis stumbled to his feet and stood, swaying a little, his jaw thrust out, peering from his lady to the Duke, who spoke again.

"Ay - dear heart. You're coming with me. There's nothing now to keep us apart." Lifting his arms, John took a step towards her as she stood mute and still by the bed.

"You dare not touch her!" shouted Ellis, his wits clearing. "You dare not touch my lady!" Lunging suddenly, his great hamlike fist shot out and blundered harmlessly past John's shoulder. The Duke stepped sideways, then with swift negligent motion hit Ellis squarely on the chin. The squire reeled, tottered over backward and lay gasping on the floor. Katherine gave a cry and would have run to the squire, but John forestalled her with another swift movement. He picked her up in his arms and held her so cruelly tight that she could not move. He laughed exultantly and kissed her on the mouth until she ceased to struggle; still holding her pinioned, he walked downstairs with her and, mounting Palamon, placed her in front of him on the saddle, half covered by the folds of his cloak. The horse jumped forward at the spur.

The saddle, which had been built for a man in full armour, easily held them both, and Katherine made no further protest. Her head fell on John's chest, where she heard the beating of his heart.

The horse cantered for many miles before it slackened, then John, looking down at the head on his breast, shifted her weight a little on his arm and said with a gentle laugh, "And do you sleep, Katrine?"

"No, my lord," she said looking up at him in the darkness. "I think I am happy. It's very strange."

He bent and kissed her. "You will be happy, and always."

A cool salt-laden wind sprang up, she felt it on her face,. and at the same time Palamon slowed to a walk while the sound of his great hooves grew dull and plodding. She roused herself and hearing the shrill cry of a gull said, "Are we near the sea, my lord?"

"Ay," he said, "we're in Les Landes, Katrine. We go to the captal's Chateau la Teste. Do you know where that is?"

"No," she said quietly. "I only know that from wherever it is that we're going there can be no turning back."

He tightened his arm around her, they rode on in silence.

Les Landes was the weirdest and most desert portion of France. On its sand and tufa wastes nothing grew except the stunted furze or bracken, and reeds in the salt marshes. Here the airs were thick with mist and the ever-encroaching ocean pushed the sand dunes back and back over the undetermined land.

There was one track marked by white stones across these marshes. It was maintained by the Captal de Buch, whose ancestors, centuries ago, had built themselves a secluded fortress on the Gulf of Arcachon. It was but thirty miles from Bordeaux, yet deep in an isolation desirable to a tribe of sea barons.

As they neared the castle, two of the captal's retainers, mounted men-at-arms holding torches, came down the road to meet them and guided them the rest of the way. They went beneath the raised portcullis through massive walk and stopped by the door of a round donjon tower. Katherine was so cramped and chilled that she could scarcely stand. John put his arm around her waist and they ascended the rough winding stairs to the Hall.

Here, though no servants were visible, the captal's varlets had ably followed his orders, as relayed from the Duke. An enormous driftwood fire blazed on the hearth, in the iron brackets a dozen perfumed candles burned. The mouldering stone walls had been covered with painted silk hangings and arras brought from Bordeaux, the floor was strewn with sweet rushes and rose petals, while the single small damask-covered table was banked with jasmine.