by Tony Riches
‘I must return to Scotland, to ensure the king’s safety.’
‘What of the queen’s safety?’
‘The queen will be safe enough here in Brittany until I return.’
‘And me?’ She took his hand in hers. ‘I travelled all this way to Brittany to be with you, and now you talk of returning to Scotland?’
‘It’s my duty to safeguard the king. I promise to return as soon as I can, Máiréad, and while I’m away the queen will need you.’
Máiréad ran her finger slowly down his bare chest and pulled him back onto the bed. ‘I need you, Jasper Tudor.’
Chapter Seven
September 1462
Jasper rubbed grime from the thick leaded glass of the window in Edinburgh Castle and peered down at the maze of narrow streets in the sprawling city below. A few cobwebs needed to be brushed away and the old furniture was past its best, but the room felt warm and comfortable. He suspected he’d arrived at Linlithgow Palace just in time to prevent King Henry being handed over to York. As a precaution, he had moved him to the capital, where a sizeable garrison could be relied on, for now at least.
The king seemed content in Edinburgh with a priest of Jasper’s choosing to replace Bishop Kennedy, who was now effectively Regent of Scotland, as Queen Mary had fallen gravely ill. The priest, John Blacman, spent a year as a Carthusian monk and still wore undyed woollen robes, with the pale scapular which earned them the name of the white monks.
Once Jasper’s tutor, Blacman was now responsible for the education of Prince Edward. Discreet and loyal, Blacman persuaded the king his Carthusian routine offered a better way to follow his faith than long hours of solitary prayer. He rose at first light for Angelus, followed by mass in the chapel and Lectio Divina, a meditative reading of the Bible. The rest of his day was spent as if he had become a monk, and although his health seemed to be improving, Jasper worried Henry had become detached from his responsibilities in the real world.
He asked the priest to see him in the young prince’s private study, formerly a library. Still lined with shelves of obscure old books, mostly in Latin, it had the advantage of being far enough from the king’s room for them to talk without being overheard.
‘You’ve done well, Master Blacman. The king has suffered none of his lapses since you returned to his service?’
The softly spoken priest nodded in acknowledgement. ‘He has not, my lord.’
‘Thank God! I feared he might not recover but your company seems to rekindle his spirit.’
‘I am grateful, my lord, to be in the service of the king once more, and to be appointed tutor to his son.’
‘I hope Prince Edward will learn how to conduct himself for the day he must become king?’
‘He is a spirited boy.’ The priest nodded knowingly, a shrewd look in his eye. ‘He reminds me more than a little of yourself at the same age.’
Jasper smiled at the thought. ‘We are related, of course, through my mother.’ He decided it was time to raise his concern. ‘I wonder, Master Blacman, if it’s right for the king to live like a monk?’
‘King Henry is most devout, with great humility and knowledge of the scriptures.’ He sounded like a tutor again, his tone firm, as if he was speaking to a boy. ‘He needs the discipline of an ordered life.’
Jasper recalled a time, long ago in Windsor, when John Blacman had shown great patience yet been a hard taskmaster as they struggled with his Latin texts. He and his brother Edmund once lived in awe of him, one of the wisest men they knew. Master Blacman could have become an eminent scholar or turned his hand to politics, yet he had chosen the simple life of faith.
‘As the true anointed king, he needs to understand our situation.’
Blacman held up a hand as he had when Jasper was his pupil. ‘Nos in diem vivimus, we live day by day. One step at a time, my lord.’
‘It’s good he listens to you.’ Jasper looked directly at Blacman. ‘I wish you to remind him of his duties as king, when you judge the moment to be right.’
Blacman fidgeted with the silver crucifix on a chain around his neck as he replied. ‘I must tell you, my lord, the king shows no interest in worldly matters.’
‘He must.’ Jasper tried to keep the irritation from his voice. ‘We all make sacrifices for the House of Lancaster, Master Blacman. Good men gave their lives, others risk everything in King Henry’s name.’
Blacman stared at the rushes on the floor, avoiding Jasper’s eye. ‘He acts more as the servant of me, a poor priest, than the King of England.’
‘Well, he is still King of England, and one day I will see him back on the throne.’
Jasper had regretfully advised Queen Margaret of the dangers of sending letters or even trusted messengers who might fall into York’s grasping hands. This meant no news came from Brittany and he couldn’t reassure the queen that Henry was recovering well. In the absence of any information he hoped the queen would wait for his return and not compromise negotiations with King Louis by taking matters into her own hands.
Their isolation in Edinburgh Castle also meant news from England was slow to arrive, so Jasper sent Gabriel south to learn what he could of York’s plans. The Irishman proved to be a good listener, although the news he returned with was not good. Gabriel showed none of his usual humour as he described what he had learned.
‘There is no sign yet of York’s army, sir, although I heard the Earl of Worcester, Sir John Tiptoft, has been made Lord High Constable of England. His men are hunting down Lancastrians to charge with treason.’
Jasper shook his head. ‘I knew Tiptoft when he served the king as Lord Treasurer. He is a devious, ambitious man, Gabriel, a dangerous combination. I never trusted him but can see why York chose him to do his dirty work.’
‘They say there are pardons to any who swear allegiance to York. They are executing any who do not, calling them traitors, on Tiptoft’s orders, regardless of rank or position.’
‘We will avenge those who suffer at Tiptoft’s hands one day soon, Gabriel, you can be certain of that.’
‘I also heard a rumour there is to be a truce between York and Scotland. Will we soon be taking the king back with us to France, sir?’
‘I wish we could but the dangers are too great. He will be able to add little to the negotiations, so it’s better for our cause that King Henry is not exiled to France until we have no other choice. This castle is well defended, so for now he is as safe here as anywhere.’
They took the risk of sailing on a merchant ship returning to Harfleur with a cargo of precious sea coal, gathered by women from the seams exposed on beaches and valued for its use in smelting iron. Jasper could easily pass for an Irish adventurer, leaving Gabriel to do most of the talking for them. He had allowed his dark hair and beard to grow unkempt and wore an old leather jerkin with a sailor’s cap.
The voyage began well and they made good time with favourable winds and fair weather. One of the French crew, a weather-beaten sailor, his face still blackened from loading coal, pointed to a fast-moving ship on the horizon as they left the vast expanse of the North Sea and entered the English Channel.
‘Warwick!’
Jasper squinted towards the distant ship but couldn’t make out any flag. ‘How do you know that’s Warwick’s ship?’ He spoke in French, trying to conceal his mastery of the language.
The man pointed again. ‘See the guns, there on the quarter-deck?’ Warwick says he’s keeping the Channel safe from piracy.’ He gave a rasping laugh. ‘But he is the greatest pirate of them all.’
Now they saw the dark barrels of the cannons jutting from the approaching ship. It flew no flag, yet it was likely to belong to the Earl of Warwick, now made Captain of Calais. Ambitious and determined, Warwick knew Jasper from his time at Parliament in Westminster. If he boarded their ship there was a real danger of being recognised.
He turned to the sailor. ‘Do the patrols usually board us?’
‘There is nothing we can do to stop these thievin
g English,’ the Frenchman spat over the side, ‘last time they seized our cargo.’
Warwick’s ship continued to sail on a heading that would take it directly into their path. Jasper saw Gabriel’s frown of concern and an idea occurred to him. ‘We must find the bosun and ask him to put us to work, the dirtier the better.’
They worked busily in the dark, dusty hold, loading canvas sacks with the loose coal, their hands and faces already black from the task. A shouted challenge came from the deck of the patrol ship and the master of the merchantman called back in reply. Warwick’s ship drew alongside and they heard ropes being thrown, soon followed by a commotion of boots on the deck above them as Warwick’s men boarded, shouting orders at the crew.
Daylight flooded the hold as the top hatch banged open. Jasper stared up to see York’s greatest supporter, Sir Richard Neville, looking down at him, armed men to each side. The Earl of Warwick was a flamboyant figure, like a Roman centurion in a flowing, scarlet cape. Jasper felt a shiver of dread as he saw the greed and contempt in Warwick’s dark eyes. One word from him and all would be lost.
‘Is this all there is?’ Warwick spoke in perfect French, an arrogant edge to his voice.
For a moment Jasper thought the question was meant for him, then heard the captain answer.
‘Sea coal, my lord, bound for Normandy.’
‘Nothing else?’
The captain shook his head. ‘I give you my word, my lord.’
‘Your word?’ Warwick scowled at the captain. ‘I will take half for my trouble. Have it loaded to my ship—and don’t try to deceive me, or we will find out how well you can swim!’
The captain began shouting orders, calling for men to help. Warwick left as briskly as he’d come and Jasper realised he had been holding his breath. After the cargo hatch banged closed Gabriel joked about their close shave, yet if Warwick had seen through his disguise he would surely have followed the Earl of Oxford to the executioner’s block on Tower Hill.
As Jasper feared, Queen Margaret had soon tired of the grudging hospitality of Duke Francis and left to visit her father at Angers, some seventy miles inland. It took them two days to reach Duke René’s castle, a magnificent fortified château on the banks of the River Maine, with seventeen high towers, each crowned with distinctive conical tiled roofs.
Duke René greeted them in person when they announced themselves at the buttressed gatehouse. A jovial, portly man, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, Duke René had known both poverty and enormous wealth. As well as Duke of Anjou, he was the Duke of Bar, the Count of Provence and, more controversially, also used the title of King of Jerusalem.
The duke spoke quickly in French, keen to learn of developments in England.
‘Tell me, Sir Jasper, how is my son-in-law?’
‘King Henry is safe in Edinburgh Castle, and I’m pleased to say he is in good health, Duke René, as is Prince Edward.’
‘Ah, a fine boy, do you not think so?’
‘Prince Edward certainly shows spirit.’ Jasper looked around for the queen. ‘I trust your daughter Queen Margaret has arrived safe and well?’
The duke beamed with pride. ‘Indeed she has, and her cousin, King Louis, is already on his way to meet with her.’
He led them through his well-kept rose gardens to the great hall, where Queen Margaret sat surrounded by finely dressed French ladies. Jasper couldn’t see Máiréad, but his attention was caught by an attractive young woman in a richly embroidered gown and a necklace of glittering diamonds, who smiled as their eyes met.
‘Welcome to Angers, Sir Jasper.’ Queen Margaret glanced at the young woman to her side. ‘May I introduce Duchess Jeanne de Laval, my stepmother?’
Jasper knew the wily old duke remarried after the death of Margaret’s mother, although no one told him it was to a woman younger than his own daughter. ‘I am charmed to meet you, my lady.’ Jasper saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes and nodded to Queen Margaret. ‘I wish to meet in private, Your Highness, as there are important matters to discuss.’
‘Of course, Sir Jasper, once you have been able to clean the dust of your journey.’
Jasper realised in his enthusiasm to reach the château he’d not stopped to wash off the traces of black sea coal since arriving in France. His disguise as a mercenary and unkempt beard had become so familiar he had forgotten the strange impression he must make on the duke and his attractive wife.
He was a different man by the time he saw the queen next, having washed off the dirt, trimmed his beard and changed into his best doublet and hose. He also wore his gold livery collar, the royal badge of the House of Lancaster, with his Order of the Garter star, his few remaining possessions of value.
The queen had also changed into a striking gown of a purple satin so dark it appeared black until she moved in the light. A gold coronet on her headdress made her look regal and she seemed happier than Jasper remembered seeing her for a long time.
‘My apologies, Your Highness.’ Jasper bowed deferentially. ‘I overlooked my appearance in my desire to see you again.’
She smiled. ‘I thought you made a rather splendid mercenary, Sir Jasper. Now tell me, truly, how is the health of the king, and how is my son?’
‘The king is much recovered, and has given me letters of credence for King Louis. He asked me to tell you he prays each day for your safe return.’
‘That is good news.’ Her voice softened a little and she put her hand on his arm. ‘I thought I would never see the day.’
‘Prince Edward also has a new tutor, Your Highness, a Master Blacman.’
‘I miss my son,’ her eyes misted with tears, ‘but you are right, Sir Jasper. He is safer in Scotland. I trust his tutor treats him kindly?’
‘Of course, Your Highness, and you may rest assured they are well out of the reach of York’s men.’
‘What is the news of York?’ The tenderness vanished from her voice.
‘I heard the Earl of Worcester has been made Lord Constable of England. He persecutes our supporters with contrived charges of treason.’
She made the sign of the cross. ‘It grieves me to know good men are dying for our cause.’ The queen studied his face, her eyes full of resolve. ‘King Louis has agreed to a meeting, and we must agree whatever it takes to return to England with an army.’
‘Calais?’ Even as he said the word he felt a stab of regret they would be forced to agree the transfer of Calais. There would be consequences when the people of England learned the price paid for freedom from Yorkist rule.
Queen Margaret seemed to be reading his mind. ‘Whatever it takes, Sir Jasper. We no longer have any choice.’
Máiréad sat in the window-seat of Jasper’s room in the grand château of Chinon, overlooking the peaceful River Vienne, combing her long dark hair in the bright autumn sunshine. The summer residence of King Louis, Chinon was a short journey from Angers and, so far, at least, the meetings had gone well.
Jasper rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms. The banquet had been a lively if somewhat over long affair, with lengthy speeches and far too many courses. Although he had refrained from drinking too much wine, the hour was late before he’d been able to slip away to his rooms to meet Máiréad.
Their host, King Louis, seemed in a jovial mood, happy to entertain them with his tales of hunting wild boar at his country estate and seemingly unconcerned about the situation in England. Behind the bluster Jasper noted that Duke Francis’ warning had been right, he was not a man to be underestimated. King Louis chose not to mention he had declared war on England, soon after taking the throne of France, or that his great rival Duke Philip of Burgundy had prevented his attempt to seize Calais by force.
Máiréad noticed Jasper was awake and smiled at him. ‘I was thinking... my little cottage in Waterford seems so far away from here.’ She stared out of the window to the tranquil river below. ‘When I was young I used to dream of seeing the world, but never imagined being in such a grand palace with kings and que
ens.’
‘And knights,’ Jasper added.
‘Yes—I did wish for a handsome knight to sweep me off my feet and save me,’ she laughed, ‘although I think I saved you.’
‘For which I am most grateful, my lady.’
‘At your service, sir, as ever.’
She finished combing her lustrous hair then crossed the room to sit on the side of his bed. As he watched her, Jasper realised Máiréad had learned much from Queen Margaret’s ladies. Although her pale lilac dress was simply made, she had altered the waist with silk ribbons so it fitted her well, giving her an elegance she lacked when he first met her. She could easily pass for a lady-in-waiting now, rather than a maidservant.
‘You look beautiful, Máiréad.’
She smiled at his compliment and took his hand in hers. ‘And what did you dream of, as a boy?’
‘I used to dream of being a lord, with a castle of my own, in Wales, where I could live with my family, my father and brother, away from the noise and dirt of London.’
‘Which is what you did?’
‘I was able to escape the politics of the court and Parliament, for a while, at least,’ he smiled at the memory, ‘they were happy times in Pembroke and in Tenby, where I have a house overlooking the sea.’
‘Was there a woman in your life then?’ The faintest trace of jealousy added an edge to her question.
With a jolt Jasper realised he had been so preoccupied with supporting Queen Margaret he’d hardly given a thought to Lady Margaret or her young son Henry, and hadn’t been able to write to her without putting her in danger. Máiréad stared at him, waiting for his answer.
‘There was a woman once... but when my brother Edmund died I promised to care for his widow and her infant son.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘She lives with her new husband, Sir Henry Stafford, in Lincolnshire.’ He frowned as painful memories rose to the surface. ‘Her son Henry was taken by York’s men after I escaped to Ireland—I couldn’t stay to protect him.’