The day before I was due to leave Amos Carmen came back to the house. I came upon him with Father. They were standing by the stone parapet near the river in earnest conversation.

“Ah,” said my father. “Here is Damask. Come here, daughter.”

I looked from one to the other; I knew at once that they had something on their minds and I cried anxiously: “What is it?”

My father said: “You may trust this girl with your life.”

“Father,” I cried, “why do you say that?”

“My child,” he said, “we live in dangerous times. Tonight our guest will be on his way. When you are in the household of Lord Remus perhaps you should not mention that he visited us.”

“No, Father,” I said.

They were both smiling placidly, and I was so excited at the prospect of my visit to Kate that I forgot what their words might have implied.

The next day I set out. Father and Mother with Rupert and Simon Caseman came down to the privy stairs to wave me off. Mother asked me to take note of how the gardeners at Remus dealt with greenfly and what herbs they grew and to find out if there were any recipes of which she had not heard. Father held me against him and bade me come home soon and to remember that in Kate’s house I was not at home and to guard well my tongue. Rupert asked me to come home soon and Simon Caseman looked at me with a strange light in his eye as though he were half exasperated with me, half amused. But he implied at the same time that his great desire was to make me his wife.

I waved to them from the barge and I sent up a silent prayer that all would be well until my return.

Tom Skillen had changed; he was more subdued now that he had lost Keziah; skillfully he took the barge upriver; we passed several craft and I beguiled the time by asking Tom Skillen if he knew to whom they belonged. When we passed Hampton, the great mansion which was growing more and more grand every week, I thought often as I always did of the King’s sailing down the river with the Cardinal at his side.

Then I reflected how pleasant it would be to sail with the whole of the family on a barge like this which would carry us all miles away, right into the country where I believed people could be safe from the troubles which seemed to beset us all. I visualized a peaceful house, exactly like ours, but too far away to be involved in unhappy events.

Far away? But where was one safe? I remembered the men of Lincolnshire and Yorkshire who had risen against the reforms in the Church which the King and Thomas Cromwell had brought about. What had happened to them? I shuddered. I remembered the body of the monk outside the Abbey and that of Brother Ambrose, swinging on the gibbets. There was no peace anywhere. One could only pray that one was not caught up in danger. Had those men of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire known when they began their Pilgrimage of Grace that so many of them would end on a gibbet?

Death, Destruction, Murder. It was everywhere.

I prayed fervently that it would never come to that house by the river which had been my home. But as my father had often said: We lived in violent times and the disaster which befell anyone concerned us all. We were all involved. Death could point its finger at any one of us.

Was it so in the reign of the previous King? He had been a stern man and a miser; he had never been the people’s idol as the present King had been. He was not a man of passion. As the grandson of Owen Tudor and Queen Catherine, widow of Henry V, his claim to the throne was somewhat dubious; and some said the marriage between the Queen and the Tudor had never in fact taken place. But to substantiate his claim he had married Elizabeth, eldest daughter of Edward IV—and thus by one stroke he had strengthened the royal stem and united the houses of York and Lancaster. A clever King—devious and unlovable, but he had made England rich. No doubt there had been dangers in his day, but there had never been so many pitfalls as at this time. There had never been so willful a man whose passions must be satisfied and his conscience placated all at the same time.

But enough of fear. I would think of Kate and her marriage and of my own, which I suppose could not be long delayed.

I had a choice—Rupert or Simon—and I knew it could never be Simon. Good as he was—a clever lawyer, said my father, an asset to his business and his household—he somehow repelled me. It would be Rupert, good kind Rupert, of whom I was fond. But his mildness made me feel indifferent toward him. I suppose like all girls I dreamed of a strong man.

Then I was thinking of Bruno. How little one knew of Bruno! It was never possible to get close to him. But ever since I had heard the story of the child found in the Christmas crib he had represented an ideal for me. His very strangeness attracted me as I am sure it had Kate. We believed then that he was aloof from us all and in our different ways we loved him.

This was why I could not contemplate marriage with Rupert with any enthusiasm. It was because deep within me I had this strange, rather exalted emotion for Bruno.

The two serving girls, Alice and Jennet, were giggling together. They had been in a state of excitement ever since they had known they were going to accompany me. I knew they believed that life in Kate’s household would be far more exciting than in ours.

It was very pleasant on the river and in due course we arrived at that spot where we were to disembark and there were the servants in the unmistakable Remus livery waiting to help us and there were the pack mules to which our baggage was tied. We said good-bye to Tom Skillen and rode off in our little party and two hours’ ride brought us to Remus Castle.

It was of a much earlier period than our residence which had been built by my grandfather. Its solid gray-granite walls confirmed the fact that they had stood for two hundred years and would doubtless stand for five hundred more. The sun glinting on the walls picked out sharp pieces of flint so that they shone like rose diamonds. I gazed up at the machicolations of the keep as we crossed the drawbridge over the moat. We passed through the gateway with its portcullis and were in a courtyard in which a fountain played; as we clattered over the cobbles I heard Kate’s voice.

“Damask!” And I looked up and saw her at a window.

“So you’re here at last,” she cried. “You’re to come straight to me. Pray bring up Mistress Farland without delay,” she commanded.

A groom took my horse and a servant came out to conduct me into the castle. I said that I would first wish to go to my room that I might wash off the grime of my journey and I was led through a great hall up a stone staircase to a room which overlooked the courtyard. I guessed it was not far from Kate’s. I asked that water be brought to me and the maid ran off to do my bidding.

I was soon to discover what an imperious mistress of the household Kate was.

She came to my room. “I told them to bring you to me without delay,” she cried. “They shall hear of this.”

“ ’Twas my orders that I first rid myself of some of the dirt of the roads.”

“Oh, Damask, you have not changed a bit. How good it is to have you here! What do you think of Remus Castle?”

“It’s magnificent,” I said.

She grimaced.

“It is just what you always wanted, wasn’t it? A castle, a place at Court—and you to flit twixt one and the other.”

“And how much flitting dost think I do? Look at me!”

I looked at her and laughed. Elegant Kate, her body misshapen, her mouth discontented; nothing the satin gown edged with miniver could do could alter that.

“And soon to be a mother!” I cried.

“Not soon enough for me,” grumbled Kate. “I dread the ordeal but I yearn for it to be over. But you are here and that is good. Here is your water so remove the dust at once. And is that your traveling gown? My poor Damask, we must do something about that.”

“Your ladyship looks very grand, I swear.”

“No need to swear,” said Kate. “I’m well aware of how I look. I have been so ill, Damask, so sick. I would rather jump out of this window than go through the same again. And the worst is to come.”

“Women are having babies every day, Kate.”

“I am not. Nor shall there be another day.”

“And how fares my lord?”

“He is at Court. Does that not make it even harder to bear? Though they say the King is in ill humor and it takes very little to bring a frown of displeasure. Heads are very insecurely balanced on shoulders these days.”

“Then should you not be glad that yours is in a firm position?”

“Still the same old Damask, still counting your blessings. It is good to have you.”

And she was certainly the same old Kate. She asked questions about what was happening at home and when we talked of Keziah she was a little sad.

“And it is that man’s child,” she said. “I wonder how she will grow up. Conceived in such a way…born of such parents.” And she put her hands on her body and smiled.

Kate was impatient for my company. There was so much to talk of, she told me. If I had refused to come she would never have spoken to me again. When I said I would unpack my baggage she told me there was no need for that: a servant would do it. But I wished to do it myself, so I unpacked and showed her a little silk gown for her baby that had been made from the silk produced by my mother’s silkworms. Kate was indifferent to it; she preferred a little charm bracelet I had brought and which had been put on my wrist by my parents when I had been born.

“When the child can no longer wear it, it must be given back to me.”

“So that you can put it on your own child’s wrist? Well, Damask, when is that to be?”

I flushed slightly in spite of my determination not to betray my feelings. “I have no idea,” I said sharply.

“You’d best take Rupert, Damask. He will be a good kind husband—just the man for you. He will care for you and never cast eyes on another woman. He is young—not like my Remus. And although he is poor in worldly goods you have enough for both.”

“Thank you for settling my future so easily.”

“Poor Damask! Oh, let us be candid one with the other. You wanted Bruno. Are you mad, Damask? He would never have been the man for you.”

“Nor for you either, it seemed.”

“Sometimes I wish I had gone with him.”

“Gone?” I demanded. “Gone where?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. Then she hugged me and said: “I feel alive now you’ve come. This place stifles me. When I was at Court it was different. There’s an excitement there, Damask, that you couldn’t understand.”

“I know I’m an ignorant country girl in your estimation—though may I draw your attention to the fact that my home is nearer London than yours—but I can certainly imagine how exciting it must be to wonder from one moment to another when you make some remark, perform some action, whether it will send you to the Tower, there to live—oh, most excitingly—awaiting the order for release or decapitation.”

Kate laughed aloud. “Yes, it is good to have you here. Bless you, Damask, for coming.”

“Thank you. I suppose your blessings are preferable to the curses I could have expected had I refused.”

I felt my spirits rising. I suppose we belonged together in a way, and although I disapproved of almost everything Kate did, and she was contemptuous of me, although we sparred continuously, I felt alive when I was with her. I suppose because we had grown up together, she seemed like a part of myself.

We supped together that night alone in her room. She had a little table there on which she often took her meals.

“I dareswear you and your husband dine and sup here alone when he is in residence,” I said.

She laughed again, her eyes flashing scornfully.

“You don’t know Remus. What should we talk of, do you think? He is getting deaf too. I should throw a platter at him if I had to endure him alone. No, we eat in style when he is here. We use the hall which you noticed when you came—or perhaps you didn’t. All Remus’s relics of past wars—halberds, swords, armor—look at us while we eat; I at one end of the table—and by the grace of God—he at the other. Conversation is lively or dull depending on the guests. We often have people from the Court here—then it can be very amusing; but often it is dull country squires who talk endlessly of plowing their lands and salting their pigs until I feel I shall scream at them.”