The following afternoon, Lord Mortimer's great hall began to fill once more with his distinguished guests. The atmosphere was much less formal. People sat in groups drinking wine and sharing stories. Hotspur stood in the doorway surveying the room. Many of the knights looked forward to these brief periods away from the fighting, but Hotspur was not one of them. He grew restless with nothing to plan and nothing to do. Most of the men assembled he found foppish, witless, obnoxiously pious, or simply dull. As a man announced he wished to read a poem to the assembly, Hotspur moved from his place in the doorway and took a seat next to Lady Kate, the only person who looked as bored as he felt. The man began to recite the poem about his beloved.
Her hair is the sun, golden and bright
Her skin in the snow, pure and white
"Pardon me," Harry whispered to Kate, "For I am but a simple soldier, but if her hair be the sun and her skin be snow, how does she not melt?"
"I confess, I know not," said Kate. "It seems perhaps the gentleman's love is destined to be a puddle."
"Aye, and the puddle shall dry up and leave him with nothing."
This is how the evening went between the two of them. More men came to offer poems and sonnets, and Kate and Hotspur determined that each man was more foolish than the last. They declared that they felt very sorry for the poor women admired by men who composed such idiotic verses, and therefore could not help but chuckle when one poet revealed his lover was dead. Kate declared she had died of boredom while Hotspur was convinced that she had killed herself by stabbing herself in the throat with is pen. He wished she had stabbed him instead. T'would have been a noble service to all mankind. Kate declared that Hotspur was a most wicked man, and Hotspur responded that if he were truly wicked he would stand up and subject them all to some hideous concoction of words. Their pleasant discourse was interrupted when Lord Blackwood stood up to offer his own hideous concoction.
"My dear friends," said the lord, "I wish to share with you a piece of poesy that I have composed in honor of the lovely daughter of our gracious host, the beautiful and virtuous Kate Mortimer."
"Beauty is a curse and virtue a plague," Kate whispered believing no one could hear her. "I'll cut off my nose and sell my virtue to the highest bidder rather than listen to this man spout sonnets to me."
"Do be sure to sell thy virtue before thou hast disfigured thy face. Thou shall fetch a far better price," Harry whispered in her ear. Kate's jaw dropped and she was about to shout that he was a weasel sent from hell when he turned to Lord Blackwood and shouted, "Sit thyself down, cur. We'll have none of your verse." Lord Blackwood cleared his throat defiantly, having decided to ignore Lord Percy. However, Hotspur was not the only one who had grown tried of the recitations.
"Yes my Lord, save thy sonnet for another time," said Sir Thomas Grey politely. We are no longer in the mood for poems."
"T'will be far more beneficial to share it with the lady in private!" shouted a drunk man at the back of the room. "Then perhaps she shall reward thee!"
"But you'll get no shut reward from us!" said another man, stumbling towards Blackwood with his sword. Hotspur chuckled. Kate looked for a way to make an inconspicuous exit but found none.
"Enough of this," said Sir Grey. "Come, come, let's have a song."
Hotspur turned to Kate with a roguish glint in his eye. "Yes, Lady Mortimer, let's have a song."
Kate, having not yet forgiven him for his earlier remark to her, was in no mood to oblige. "Nay sir, I shall not sing" she said stiffly.
"Why? Dost thou croak like a frog?" Kate ignored him. "Dost thou squeal like a pig? Dost thou squawk like a chicken?"
"Thou shalt never know," said Kate with great satisfaction.
"Come lady, I will hear thee sing," insisted Harry.
"I am not one of your men that you may command me to do thy will. I have no desire to sing for thee."
"Dear Kate, why dost thou refuse to sing for this gentleman?" came a familiar voice from the doorway.
"Edmund!" Kate exclaimed, and rushed to greet her elder brother. He had spent the past four months abroad in Ireland and she had missed him terribly.
"Sing for us dear sister," said Edmund. Kate could not refuse her brother's request, but she was not about to let Lord Percy triumph. The clever girl began a popular war song, and before she had finished the first line the rest of the assembly had joined, allowing her to drop out of the song and take a seat beside her brother.
"Oh Edmund I wish to hear everything about Ireland. Are the Celtic warriors as fierce as they say?"
"More fierce than any I have ever seen," replied Edmund. "What Lord Percy? Art thou leaving?" he asked as Hotspur walked past him. "Has my sister's slight upon thee driven thee from our assembly to sulk?"
"Nay sir," said Hotspur. "Tis thy presence which drives me from hence."
Edmund laughed. "I am sorry to have offended thee so. Adieu then, old friend." He then turned to Kate, knowing full well his next statement would halt Hotspur's retreat.
"In Ireland I was forced to battle a giant. Thou wouldst have fainted at his sight dear Kate. The man was taller than any I have every seen. Why he was twice the height of Percy here at least."
"Treacherous knave, who taught thy tongue to spin such vile lies?" said Hotspur walking back to where the brother and sister sat and taking a seat beside Edmund.
"Tis not a lie!" said Edmund, feigning offense. "I faced such a man!"
"As he was twice the height as me, how couldst thou look him in the face?" asked Harry.
For the rest of the evening the two men argued this way, with one telling tales of his exploits and the other declaring the story could not possibly be true. Kate enjoyed listening to them, occasionally chiming in to tease one of them. Twas a pleasant evening after all.