'Come back to Pleshy without delay,' commanded Eleanor. *We will talk of this matter. We will put our heads together and decide what is best for you.'

She wrote back and asked Eleanor to come to Arundel. She was so caught up with the arrangements for the wedding that she could not travel. Eleanor would have recovered from the birth of dear little Joan now. But perhaps she would rather wait and join the celebrations at the Savoy.

Eleanor was not one to give up. Mary must come back. Out of gratitude she must come. The Abbess was desolate. She was sure it was wTong for M-ary to marry so hastily and while she was so young. Let her return to Pleshy. Let her talk with her sister. Let her remember all that Eleanor and her brother-in-law Thomas had done for her.

Mary showed Eleanor's letters to Henry. She wanted there to be no secrets between them, she said.

Henry read the letters and said: 'There is an angry woman. Sister though she may be to you, I would not let you go near her. Why she might lock you up and starve you into submission.'

*Oh she is not such an ogre as that.'

7 am protecting you from now on, Mary.'

She was consoled. She was always so happy with Henry; she had even ceased to worry about the matter of the marriage bed.

A few days before they were due to leave for the Savoy Mary's mother the Countess of Hereford arrived at Arundel.

She had of course been informed of the coming marriage of her younger daughter and she was somewhat uneasy about it.

She would have preferred Mary to have remained in her

care but in accordance with the custom, as Mary was a great heiress, she must become a ward of some person of high standing. There was no one of higher standing under the King than John of Gaunt and as Eleanor was already married to his brother Thomas of Woodstock, the Countess had no alternative but to let her daughter go.

She could not of course complain about the husband selected for her. The eldest son of John of Gaunt, heir to the Lancastrian estates, a few years older than Mary, healthy, already a Knight of the Garter—there could not have been a more satisfactory match. But what concerned the Countess was the youth of her daughter.

Mary was a child, as yet unready for marriage in the Countess's view, and she should not marry until she was at least fourteen.

She embraced her daughter warmly and looked searchingly into her face.

She was certain there had been no coercion. The child looked very happy.

She sought an early opportunity of speaking with the Duke of Lancaster.

1 am happy about the marriage,' she said, 'apart from one aspect of it.*

The Duke looked haughty as though wondering what aspect could possibly be displeasing about a marriage with his son.

'It is the youth of my daughter/ 'She is just eleven years old.' 'It is too young for marriage.' 'They are both young.'

'Too young, my lord. Let them be betrothed and many ... say in two years' time.'

Lancaster appeared to consider that although he had no intention of doing so. Wait two years? Let Thomas and his harridan of a wife get to work on the girl? They would have her packed into a convent by some devious means in no time.

'Poor Mary,' he said, 'she would be so unhappy. Wait until you see them together. They are so delighted to be in each other's company. No I could not allow that. They shall live together ... naturally like two children ...'

'I do not think girls of that age should have children.* 'Children! They won't have children for years. They are

so innocent. You should hear them singing in harmony. They ride; they dance; they play chess. It is such a joy to see them. No, my dear Countess, they must marry. I understand a mother's feelings, but let me assure you that there is no need for the slightest apprehension.'

'I will have a talk with my daughter,' said the Countess.

John of Gaunt was uneasy. He wished the Countess had not come to Arundel but it had naturally been necessary to tell her what was planned for her daughter. She was a shrewd woman. She would understand why Eleanor was trying to force the girl into a convent. But at the same time she would do all she could to keep Mary unmarried until she reached what she would consider a suitable age.

The Countess talked to Mary.

'My dear child,' she said, 'you are very young for marriage.'

'Others have said that, my lady,' replied her daughter. 'But Henry and I love each other and are so happy together. He does not mind that I am young.*

'You must understand that there are obligations.'

*I know what you mean. It is the marriage bed, is it not?'

The Countess was a little taken aback.

'What do you know of these matters?'

'That there is nothing to fear ... if one loves.'

She was quoting Henry. The Countess guessed that. There was no doubt that John of Gaunt was right when he said they loved each other.

'I have asked the Duke to put off the wedding. At least for a year. Then we could consider again when it should be.'

Mary looked very woebegone.

'And will he do that?'

The Countess put an arm about her daughter and held her firmly against her. She thought: No, he will not. He wants your fortune for his son. Dear child, what did she know of the ways of the world?

At least she could console herself. The child was happy. So many girls in her position were forced into marriages which were distasteful to them. None could say that of Mary.

The Countess knew the determination of John of Gaunt. No matter how she protested, the marriage would take place.

She must resign herself to the fact that it was what Mary wanted.

So they were married and there was great rejoicing in John of Gaunt's Palace of the Savoy, which was to be expected as this was the marriage of his son and heir. Mary was made to feel that she was marrying into the greatest family in the land and that her marriage was even more brilliant than that of Eleanor. Eleanor was not present. She had declined the invitation from her false sister; and Thomas was still in France.

This breach created a mild sadness in the bride's heart but she did not dwell on it. Henry had made her see that Eleanor was in fact more interested in the de Bohun fortune than the happiness of her younger sister, and Mary was beginning to look to Henry and to accept what interpretation he put on all matters, and as Henry was always only too delighted to tell her and she to listen, they grew fonder of each other every day.

Now she was the Countess of Derby, and the imposing man who sat at the head of the table was her new father-in-law and there in the great hall of the Savoy Palace tables had been set up on their trestles, for all the nobility of the land must be present at the marriage of John of Gaunt's son. Mary herself on the right hand of the great Duke with Henry beside her was at the high table. Her mother was there so were her new sisters-in-law Philippa and Elizabeth. Also present was a very beautiful woman whose presence caused a few titters among the guests. It was characteristic of the great Duke that he should insist that his mistress not only be present but be treated with all the deference which would normally be bestowed on his Duchess.

Henry pressed Mary's hand and she smiled at him. It was comforting to believe that while he was at her side all would be well.

He selected the best parts of the food and fed them to her and happily she munched the delicate morsels, although she was not really hungry. But the guests revelled in the banquet, declared that they had rarely seen such large boars' heads, such joints of beef and mutton, such pestles of pork, such sucking pigs which made the mouth water to behold. There was mallard, pheasant, chicken, teals, woodcocks, snipes, peacocks and partridges, as well as that delectable dish called the leche which was made of pounded raw pork, eggs, sugar, raisins and dates all mixed with spices and put in a bladder to