Jasper - Book Two of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

  Gabriel seemed pleased at the news. ‘We’ll need a ship, sir, big enough to take all the men and horses?’

  ‘Master Conley has offered me a ship, at a price.’

  ‘When do we sail?’

  ‘Ready the men, Gabriel. I shall ride to Cork to arrange our passage.’ He turned to Máiréad. ‘Will you come with me? We’ll need provisions and I’ll bet you can strike a fair price?’

  ‘I will, my lord,’ she gave Gabriel a brief look of triumph and smiled at Jasper, ‘I must change into my riding clothes.’

  Gabriel waited until Máiréad was out of earshot. ‘Will you be thinking of taking her to Scotland, sir?’

  Jasper drained his tankard of ale. ‘If she wishes. Scotland is no more dangerous for her than here.’

  Autumn mists wreathed Linlithgow Palace, rising from the loch like ancient ghosts and making the rooms damp and musty, despite fires kept blazing in the hearths. Jasper pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders and wished he could return home to Wales. He rode around the tranquil loch each morning, despite the uneven, muddy path, to gather his thoughts for the future.

  The king had remembered him, but appeared older than his forty years, his hair and beard already turning grey. He had a distant look in his eyes and dressed in simple clothes, more like a priest than the King of England. Queen Margaret also seemed tired, but far from defeated. Still an attractive woman, she seemed pleased to see him and ordered a banquet to celebrate his safe arrival from Ireland.

  Privately, she confided to Jasper she struggled to pay her soldiers and many were deserting to York. ‘King Louis will lend me the money.’ Her voice sounded defiant, her French accent returned now there was no need for her to pretend to be English.

  Jasper reined in his horse and turned to look back at the rambling palace, reflected in the untroubled waters of the loch. Queen Margaret wished for him to negotiate with the devious King Louis of France on her behalf, and he could see why. It was not for her bewildered husband or even for herself.

  Her only interest was in the future of her son, Prince Edward of Westminster. His horse snorted with impatience and stamped a hoof on the hard ground, snapping him out of his reverie. He spurred it on and cantered back around the loch to the palace, his mind still full of concerns. The mists were already lifting in the autumn sunshine and there was much to be done.

  The banquet proved a modest affair compared with the extravagance Jasper once witnessed at Westminster Palace. The guests were Scottish nobles, few of whom he could recall meeting before. Several of their whispering ladies openly cast admiring glances at Jasper, who dressed in a fine black velvet doublet and hose and wore his gold chain of the Order of the Garter with his badge of St George.

  The great hall of Linlithgow Palace, rebuilt regardless of expense by King James II, seemed wasted on his successor, the ten-year-old James III, who had little use for it. He remained with his mother, Queen Mary, still in mourning at Ravenscraig Castle after her husband was killed by his own cannon, which exploded and shattered his legs at the siege of Roxburgh the previous year.

  Jasper recognised several of King Henry’s Flemish tapestries, brightly coloured religious themes, fixed to the walls of the great hall with hooks and cord. The priceless hangings were creased from being folded for their journey to Scotland, a sign of the hasty retreat of the royal family from England after the bloody defeat at Towton.

  An usher called all present to stand as Queen Margaret made her grand entrance, followed by young Prince Edward. She wore a gold coronet over a gossamer veil, with a gown of burgundy silk brocade. Diamonds and rubies sparkled at her white powdered neck, and Jasper understood she could not miss this opportunity to remind the Scottish nobility she was still the Queen of England.

  A group of minstrels began to sing muted French ballads of courtly love to the accompaniment of a lute and flageolet. Once the guests were seated liveried servants brought wine in silver cups and gilded platters of salted venison and loin of veal. King Henry’s high-backed chair at the side of the queen stood empty and she invited Jasper to take it.

  ‘The king chooses to spend long hours praying on his knees in that cold chapel,’ she explained. ‘It’s not unknown for him to miss his meals or forget even a banquet in honour of his half-brother.’

  ‘How frequent are his lapses, Your Highness?’

  The queen’s forehead furrowed in a look of concern. ‘He retreats into his own private world. It has been worse since that murderous son of York held him like a commoner.’ The bitterness in her words caused several heads to turn in their direction.

  She waved a gold-ringed hand to summon a servant to bring wine and studied Jasper’s face for a moment before speaking. ‘I was sorry to learn of the death of your father.’

  Jasper watched as the servant poured a generous measure of the rich red wine into his cup. ‘He wanted me to head north, to meet you, my lady. If I had listened to him we might have escaped York’s trap.’

  Queen Margaret put her hand on his arm. ‘You must not blame yourself for York’s treachery. Your father came to Normandy to escort me when I first travelled to England. I remember being intrigued to meet the servant who married a queen.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I was young, barely fifteen years old, and he showed me great kindness.’

  ‘My father was always most loyal to you, my lady, as am I.’ Jasper tasted his wine, noting the flicker of pleasure in the queen’s eyes at his words. Even now, the thought of how he abandoned his father made him descend into a dark place, but the intense flavour of the wine helped brighten his mood a little.

  Prince Edward, seated on the other side of the queen, clapped his hands and called in his reedy voice for sugared plums. Again, Jasper wondered if the boy had the makings of a king, and if it was too late for him to learn his manners.

  The queen’s expression hardened at Jasper’s momentary look of disapproval. ‘Edward, tell the Earl of Pembroke how well you are doing with your archery.’

  ‘I shot a deer. Killed it dead with my arrow!’ He acted out the scene, reminding Jasper a little of himself at the same age.

  ‘We will make a warrior of you yet,’ Jasper smiled, ‘my father taught me to use a bow when I was a boy, but we only used targets of straw.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Would you like to watch my Irishmen practice with crossbows tomorrow, Prince Edward?’

  ‘I would, sir.’ Edward tugged at his mother’s sleeve. ‘I should like a crossbow of my own.’

  Queen Margaret smiled adoringly at her son. ‘So you shall. Sir Jasper will choose one for you.’ She smiled at Jasper, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘And I will also see your Irishmen. How many do you bring to Scotland?’

  ‘Fifty, Your Highness.’

  ‘I hoped for more,’ she shook her head, ‘York has an army of thousands.’

  ‘My men are trained as skirmishers.’ Jasper realised he sounded defensive. ‘You are right, my lady, York has thousands to fight for him, yet that brings its own problems.’

  Queen Margaret waited while her servant refilled her cup. ‘Indeed it does. Our army lost the support of the people after our victory at St Albans. They looted every village and town we passed through, and at one point I feared for my own safety.’

  ‘Rest assured we will move fast, my lady. Strike hard when York least expects it and be gone like ghosts, to fight another day.’ Jasper leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Can we rely on these Scots to ensure the safety of the king?’

  Queen Margaret glanced at her guests, who seemed more interested in their drink than anything she said. ‘Queen Mary has been good to us, offering her Scottish soldiers, giving us sanctuary in this fine palace, but I understand from a trusted source she would consider marriage to York, if the opportunity presents itself.’

  Jasper sat back in his chair, realising their situation in Scotland could be more precarious than he had thought. ‘May I ask, who is your source, my lady?’

  ‘The good Bishop of St Andrews, John Ken
nedy. He is a trusted advisor to Queen Mary and loyal to our cause,’ she moved closer to Jasper, ‘and has proposed a solution to our problem.’

  ‘What is he suggesting?’

  ‘Queen Mary wants the town and castle of Berwick, which I am willing to concede, and we hope to arrange the betrothal of my son to her eldest daughter Margaret.’

  Jasper glanced at Prince Edward, happily gorging himself on a dish of sugared plums. ‘Then she would do all in her power to see him one day inherit the throne.’

  ‘It is a high price, but her daughter is only six years old, and what is marriage if not a means to achieve an end?’

  Again, he heard the bitterness in her voice and Jasper realised how difficult it must have been for her, to come to England as a girl and cope with Henry’s frequent lapses. Once the most powerful woman in the land, it must now take all her resolve to make such concessions to Queen Mary, a dowager regent from a lesser noble family. He recalled that Margaret’s father was the proud King René of Anjou, and saw more than a little of his renegade spirit in her.

  ‘We cannot allow York to take control of Scotland, my lady, so perhaps the price is a fair one.’

  The queen lowered her voice. ‘You think we can win this war?’

  ‘I do, my lady.’ He drank deeply from the intoxicating wine, already feeling less reserved, and looked into Margaret’s sapphire-blue eyes. A year older than him at thirty-one, he admired her strength and courage. ‘Together.’

  ‘It’s good to know there is at least one man I can rely on in these troubled times.’ The suggestive note in her voice was not lost on Jasper.

  He smiled at her flirtatiousness. ‘At your service, my lady.’ Once her words would surprise him in such a public place, but now everything had changed, thanks to York and his followers.

  This time he could not mistake the look which passed between them. It might be the consequences of too much good wine, but Jasper found himself wondering about new possibilities. Her high-necked gown revealed little, but she had a shapely figure and he had a good imagination.

  ‘We must discuss this further.’ Her hand returned to his arm, and remained there, a sign of her regard for him.

  His reply was interrupted by servants bringing the silver dishes of the next course yet he had seen acknowledgement in her eyes. The minstrels began playing a lively tune and Jasper’s spirits began to improve for the first time since arriving in Scotland.

  He picked at a plate of sturgeon, ruined with the spicy sweetness of too much powdered ginger, his mind on other things than food. Jasper pushed the plate to one side and pulled morsels of breast meat from small wild birds, also sprinkled with exotic spices.

  Some of the younger guests joined in a boisterous dance in the open area of the hall, forming pairs, calling out and clapping in time to the music. He saw Queen Margaret laugh at their antics and realised the banquet must be a welcome respite from the strain of life in exile. Her alliance with the Scots could only be described as fragile and, for all they knew, York already plotted to surround Linlithgow Palace with his army of thousands.

  A trumpeter sounded a fanfare, and servants bore the centrepiece of the banquet in amidst cheering, unruly guests. A whole wild boar, glazed with sugar, lay prostrated upon a bed of bright marigolds, the queen’s personal emblem. The enormous platter thudded down before Jasper. He glanced at the happy Queen Margaret, becoming ever more conscious of occupying the king’s chair.

  Later that night Jasper lay awake, recalling his conversation with the queen. His door creaked as a shadowy figure slipped in and dropped her gown to the floor. He had the briefest glimpse of naked breasts before she climbed into his bed and embraced him. Jasper held her in his arms and wondered how she would take his news.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’ She kissed him with renewed passion, pulling him closer.

  He returned her kiss and stroked her silken hair. The scent of lavender reminded him of their first time together in Ireland. ‘I’ve secured you a position as a handmaiden in the queen’s household.’

  Máiréad sat up. ‘She has more than enough servants?’ There was an edge to her voice, although she didn’t sound displeased.

  ‘A queen can never have too many beautiful ladies to wait upon her.’

  ‘Or too many gallant knights?’

  Jasper pulled her back down and held her close, choosing to ignore her remark.

  ‘I saw you, at the banquet.’ Máiréad persisted. ‘You didn’t notice me, as you had more important company.’

  ‘You’re not jealous?’

  ‘Perhaps I am. I know you well, Sir Jasper Tudor. I know that look in your eyes.’

  He gave her a kiss to silence her, then decided his news could wait no longer. ‘I need to travel to Normandy, to raise money for our cause.’

  ‘And you wish me to remain here, with these Scotsmen?’

  ‘For now, although the queen will also make the journey, once I let her know it’s safe.’

  ‘Is France not safe? She is a Frenchwoman?’

  ‘They call King Louis of France Le Rusé, the cunning king—the spider. He is not beyond siding with York, if he sees advantage in it.’

  ‘Do you think the King of France will listen to you?’ Máiréad sounded doubtful.

  Jasper smiled at her. ‘The King of France is my uncle, on my mother’s side. I may no longer own a fortune to bribe him with, but I am a son of the House of Valois, which should count for something.’

  She remained silent for a moment as the information sank in. ‘The queen, she will travel with her household?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Máiréad lay back in his bed. ‘I should like to see Normandy. Will you teach me to speak French?’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘Je t'aime.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means I love you.’

  Freezing rain lashed the deck and the dark North Sea churned in a turbulent mood as they set sail from Edinburgh, waves slapping the hull and splashing salty spray high into the air. Jasper sheltered in the damp cabin and braced his boot against a wooden post as the ship heeled heavily to starboard. They had brought four of the best Irish skirmishers, which meant persuading their lively horses to board the ship.

  Despite blinkers and their recent passage from Ireland by sea, the precious horses became a concern as they whinnied and kicked in the confines of the rat-infested hold. Jasper ordered his skirmishers to take turns to act as groom and keep watch over the horses day and night. Gabriel kept himself busy checking on them every hour and returned dripping wet, clutching a steaming bowl.

  ‘Pottage for you, my lord.’ He grinned as he handed it to Jasper. ‘I spilt some on the way from the galley, but it’s wet and warm—and tastes better than it looks, sir.’

  ‘I’m grateful to you, Gabriel. We’ve a long trip ahead and I fear the seas are worsening.’

  Gabriel pulled off his wet cloak and twisted it to wring out the rain and seawater. ‘The horses seem to be settling down a little, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Tough breed, you see. Good Irish stock.’

  Jasper tasted the pottage, a greasy soup thickened with crushed oats yet oddly satisfying after the over-spiced food at Linlithgow Palace. As he ate he recalled his farewells. Queen Margaret seemed grateful for his offer to pave the way for her visit, although she confessed concern for the king, who had succumbed to the cold and taken to his bed. Jasper visited him before he left, and found the king in a sombre mood.

  ‘I will pray for your return with good news.’ The king’s voice rasped and he shivered with his cold despite thick furs and a good log fire. ‘I would like to travel with you,’ his eyes fixed on Jasper, ‘I’ve never been to France, although Margaret speaks of it with great fondness.’

  Jasper knelt at the king’s bedside and studied the king’s pale features, remembering their first meeting, on his return from the care of the nuns at Barking Abbey. He’d been in awe of King Henry then, the richest and most powerful man in the land, chosen by
God to rule, yet now the king seemed a mere shadow of his younger self.

  ‘I remember you in my prayers, Your Highness, and wish you soon recover good health.’

  ‘Take care, my brother, and God go with you, for you are the last of my family.’

  ‘You have Prince Edward, a good strong son, Your Highness.’

  Henry shook his head in bewilderment and for a moment Jasper thought he’d forgotten he even had a son, then he brightened and gave him a rare smile. ‘Yes, my son, heir to the House of Lancaster.’

  ‘And, of course, Queen Margaret.’

  ‘She is a pillar of strength to me,’ the king interrupted, as if remembering he had family after all. ‘I give thanks in my prayers for her love and support.’

  ‘The queen needs you at her side in these troubled times, Your Highness.’

  King Henry crossed himself. ‘God help us all.’

  At last Jasper heard the cry he’d been waiting for, ‘Land Ho!’

  The plunging and heaving of their ship had prevented him from sleeping for three long nights since they left Scotland and he rubbed his tired eyes to study the horizon. The flat, featureless outline of the Flanders coastline emerged from the relentless expanse of water like a dark sea-monster, rising from the depths.

  He hoped to avoid encountering Philip, Duke of Burgundy, and chief rival to the King of France. To do so could waste precious time and compromise his delicate negotiations with King Louis, although as part of the Valois family he provided an option of last resort. Gabriel joined him at the rail, also looking tired from their long voyage yet relieved at having arrived safely.

  ‘The horses made the voyage in good shape, sir, although they will be glad to be back on dry land, as will I, by God.’

  ‘Good.’ Jasper peered out at the still ominous share of the land growing ever closer and felt a new sense of purpose. ‘Tell the men we will find somewhere in Flanders to rest—we have a long ride ahead to Normandy.’