delight.
The marriage feast was an embarrassment. The
bride would not speak to her handsome young groom. She tossed her head whenever
he tried to tempt her with some morsel from the high table and she wouldn't
share a loving cup with him before they rose for the dancing.
‘Her mother,’ whispered Juliana, ‘would
whip her. It's a little too late to play hard to get and everyone has gone to
such trouble with the pastries!’
Katherine should have led the dancing
with her husband. Instead, she took the hand of Thomas's young esquire. Sixteen
and rather exquisite, with lint blond hair and green eyes, Nicholas Durvassal
was growing up. He made her laugh a lot. Thomas scowled from the sidelines and
drank too much wine.
‘What is the matter with the pair of
them?’ moaned John Durvassal. ‘I'd like to bang their heads together, I really
would.’
‘The marriage bed will mend all,’ said
Will Lucy practically and with more conviction than he felt. ‘The sooner we
pack them off upstairs the better for all of us. Have a word with the
trumpeters and the flower-girls. Let's get the bride's procession going.’ So,
with drum and pipe they led Katherine up to her husband's chamber and disrobed
her and left her naked in his bed. Thomas and the groom's procession arrived a
discreet while later but he wouldn't allow them further than his dressing-room
where they stripped him and thrust him through the doorway with much laughter
and many a ribald comment. Thomas bolted the door and turned, splendidly naked,
to face his bride.
Katherine was wrapped in his fur-edged
bed gown, bundled up like a turnip sack. She looked him up and down, aimed low
and hurled the bedside candlestick. Thomas deflected it adroitly and ducked as
a pewter cup followed after and then a drinking horn.
‘Girl, stop this! At least let's talk.’
‘Talk!’ shrieked the White Wolf's
daughter. ‘What about? Here I am - the brood mare. The woman good for nothing
but to father your children upon - preferably in the dark. Come and try it, My
Lord!’ She hurled the bolster next and a pair of his boots, darting from corner
to corner, tripping over the hem of his robe. Not everything missed its target,
Thomas was marked red where she had struck home.
‘Yesterday, you enjoyed it!’ he bellowed.
‘Yesterday, I didn't know you were my
husband,’ said she illogically.
‘So I was to get a bad bargain? How many
other men did you bed with in the woods? There are a lot of woods round Ludlow.’
‘You were the first, you know you were.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Then you're an insensitive clod.’
‘And you were playing the hot little
harlot!’ This time she found a book of hours, beautifully illustrated. It had
belonged to Black Guy; it was priceless. ‘Put that down!’ thundered Thomas. ‘If
you throw that I'll...’
‘What will you do?’ Katherine halted,
hand half raised and he was across the room. She fled towards the window,
jumping up onto the sill. The shutter hung from one hinge. He backed away in
case she meant to jump but she sprang down again and ran into the Z-shaped
passage that led to the garderobe, but there was no escape that way; it was a
dead-end though she managed to build a barricade with a curtain pole and a
packing case.
Thomas left her and went to bed. If she
wanted to spend the night in the privy she was welcome to it. He lay awake for
two hours, imagining the scene next morning when the assembled company arrived
to waken the bride and groom and found the room in disarray, one shutter
hanging off and the bride barricaded in the garderobe passage. It could not be
allowed to happen. He got purposefully out of bed, donned his boots and his
shirt and, tearing down the curtain pole, leapt the packing case and stood over
his wife. Katherine sat on the floor, huddled in his robe, face tear-stained,
shivering. He scooped her up, swung her over his shoulder and tossed her onto
the bed. She lay on her
The marriage feast was an embarrassment. The
bride would not speak to her handsome young groom. She tossed her head whenever
he tried to tempt her with some morsel from the high table and she wouldn't
share a loving cup with him before they rose for the dancing.
‘Her mother,’ whispered Juliana, ‘would
whip her. It's a little too late to play hard to get and everyone has gone to
such trouble with the pastries!’
Katherine should have led the dancing
with her husband. Instead, she took the hand of Thomas's young esquire. Sixteen
and rather exquisite, with lint blond hair and green eyes, Nicholas Durvassal
was growing up. He made her laugh a lot. Thomas scowled from the sidelines and
drank too much wine.
‘What is the matter with the pair of
them?’ moaned John Durvassal. ‘I'd like to bang their heads together, I really
would.’
‘The marriage bed will mend all,’ said
Will Lucy practically and with more conviction than he felt. ‘The sooner we
pack them off upstairs the better for all of us. Have a word with the
trumpeters and the flower-girls. Let's get the bride's procession going.’ So,
with drum and pipe they led Katherine up to her husband's chamber and disrobed
her and left her naked in his bed. Thomas and the groom's procession arrived a
discreet while later but he wouldn't allow them further than his dressing-room
where they stripped him and thrust him through the doorway with much laughter
and many a ribald comment. Thomas bolted the door and turned, splendidly naked,
to face his bride.
Katherine was wrapped in his fur-edged
bed gown, bundled up like a turnip sack. She looked him up and down, aimed low
and hurled the bedside candlestick. Thomas deflected it adroitly and ducked as
a pewter cup followed after and then a drinking horn.
‘Girl, stop this! At least let's talk.’
‘Talk!’ shrieked the White Wolf's
daughter. ‘What about? Here I am - the brood mare. The woman good for nothing
but to father your children upon - preferably in the dark. Come and try it, My
Lord!’ She hurled the bolster next and a pair of his boots, darting from corner
to corner, tripping over the hem of his robe. Not everything missed its target,
Thomas was marked red where she had struck home.
‘Yesterday, you enjoyed it!’ he bellowed.
‘Yesterday, I didn't know you were my
husband,’ said she illogically.
‘So I was to get a bad bargain? How many
other men did you bed with in the woods? There are a lot of woods round Ludlow.’
‘You were the first, you know you were.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Then you're an insensitive clod.’
‘And you were playing the hot little
harlot!’ This time she found a book of hours, beautifully illustrated. It had
belonged to Black Guy; it was priceless. ‘Put that down!’ thundered Thomas. ‘If
you throw that I'll...’
‘What will you do?’ Katherine halted,
hand half raised and he was across the room. She fled towards the window,
jumping up onto the sill. The shutter hung from one hinge. He backed away in
case she meant to jump but she sprang down again and ran into the Z-shaped
passage that led to the garderobe, but there was no escape that way; it was a
dead-end though she managed to build a barricade with a curtain pole and a
packing case.
Thomas left her and went to bed. If she
wanted to spend the night in the privy she was welcome to it. He lay awake for
two hours, imagining the scene next morning when the assembled company arrived
to waken the bride and groom and found the room in disarray, one shutter
hanging off and the bride barricaded in the garderobe passage. It could not be
allowed to happen. He got purposefully out of bed, donned his boots and his
shirt and, tearing down the curtain pole, leapt the packing case and stood over
his wife. Katherine sat on the floor, huddled in his robe, face tear-stained,
shivering. He scooped her up, swung her over his shoulder and tossed her onto
the bed. She lay on her
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