by Tony Riches
‘Do not blame yourself.’ He felt her squeeze his hand. ‘We have a saying in Ireland. No matter how long the day, the evening will come.’
He sat up, his darkening mood overtaken by a new sense of purpose. ‘It will, Máiréad. I promised his mother I would take care of him and I will find him, when we regain control of England.’
‘How long do you think we’ll be here for?’
It was a good question. ‘King Louis has agreed to a loan. Not as much as we wished for but twenty-thousand pounds is enough to pay for a fleet of ships and an army, so all that remains is for the queen to sign a treaty.’
‘Then we will return to Scotland, to Edinburgh?’
‘It will take time to recruit and train enough men, but every day we delay could tip the balance in York’s favour.’
‘I see that worries you.’ Máiréad leaned across and kissed him. ‘You know the queen has great faith in you. When all this is over you will be well rewarded, and then you will forget me?’
He playfully pulled her onto the bed as his answer, his concern for Henry, the tension of the negotiations and even his worries about Calais forgotten.
Chapter Eight
November 1462
Jasper galloped across the deserted beach, his heart pounding and his horse’s hooves leaving a deep, pock-marked trail across the hard-packed sand. He rode dangerously fast, partly to vent his frustration with his situation, yet also for the sheer, reckless thrill of it. He reined in his horse and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the dazzling late autumn sunrise.
In front of him the distinctive, silhouetted shape of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne rose like a leviathan from stormy, white-crested breakers. The old priory on the island was accessible to pilgrims at low tide by a stone causeway, now deep under the cold grey waters of the North Sea. He worried about Queen Margaret and her invasion fleet, which would be making the risky voyage to Scotland, despite the dangerous conditions.
Jasper had seen the king safely aboard the queen’s flagship then sailed ahead of the fleet with his Irishmen to secure the Northumberland castle at Bamburgh. One of the last Lancastrian strongholds in England, Bamburgh’s garrison of three hundred men served under Sir William Tunstall, who readily handed them over to Jasper once he learned of the approaching fleet. The high fortress, overlooking the sea and a natural, drying harbour, meant plenty of warning if York decided to attack. The ten-foot thick walls of the keep also hid a secret well, dug deep into the rock.
Loyal Lancastrians, including Lady Margaret’s nephew, Sir Henry Beaufort, soon rallied to the queen’s call for support. They met the queen’s fleet of more than forty ships, which left France carrying up to eight hundred men, under the command of the queen’s supporter in France, Captain Pierre de Brézé. They had embarked as many soldiers as Scotland could muster, before sailing back down the coast to Bamburgh.
The new Lancastrian army had risen again from their cruel defeat at Mortimer’s Cross, and the massacre of loyal men at Towton. Jasper allowed himself a wry smile as he imagined how surprised York would be. He watched the violent waves growing ever larger in a freshening wind, and prayed for the safe arrival of the overdue fleet. He had achieved what he’d set out to do. Bamburgh Castle was secure, and once they gained control of the castles at Alnwick and Dunstanburgh it would be time to confront Edward of York, the self-appointed king, and hold him to account.
The forest of masts appeared through the mists a week later than expected, to a cheer from the men waiting in Bamburgh. The fleet took time to set anchor and Jasper counted forty-three ships of assorted age and size. He recognised the flagship, a high-masted French caravel, rigged as a man-of-war, belonging to Captain Pierre de Brézé. The rest of the invasion fleet included round-bellied carracks, able to carry troops and horses in their cavernous holds, several old high-sided cogs and even a few tan-sailed fishing boats.
Voices carried well across the water as sailors called out to each other and lowered longboats for those going ashore. Soldiers crowded the decks, some wearing armour, others carrying bows, long halberds and pikes. French and Flemish voices and the distinctive curses of Scotsmen rang out as they jostled for a view of the shore.
For the first time, Jasper realised this was in truth a foreign invasion of England, as the Frenchmen on the ships far outnumbered the English troops and even his own skirmishers came from Ireland. He wished the loyal Lancastrians in Wales could join them but they needed to hold Harlech Castle for the king. One day soon, he hoped, the Welsh would be able to join forces with the queen’s new army.
Sir Henry Beaufort, in the first boat to arrive, sat next to a hunched figure, his head hidden under a large black hat. The man raised a hand in greeting and Jasper recognised him as King Henry, returned to England at last. Queen Margaret sat behind the king, huddled in a woollen shawl and accompanied by a tall, athletic man with a fine sword, who Jasper guessed must be the French captain, Pierre de Brézé.
‘Welcome to Bamburgh!’ Jasper called out.
Henry Beaufort recognised him, and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Jasper Tudor!’
Jasper watched as Henry Beaufort helped the king ashore and Captain de Brézé assisted the queen from the longboat. It was impossible to step ashore without getting their feet wet so the captain lifted the queen in his arms before setting her down on the dry sand. Jasper saw the queen beaming with relief after what must have been a long and difficult sea voyage.
He bowed. ‘It’s good to see you safe in England, Your Highnesses.’
‘And you, Sir Jasper.’ Queen Margaret glanced at the Frenchman. ‘My loyal friend Captain Pierre de Brézé.’
Although they had never met, Jasper knew de Brézé by reputation. An experienced soldier, he led the fight against the English in Normandy and his son was married to the illegitimate half-sister of King Louis, Charlotte de Valois. Jasper appreciated the importance of his involvement and had already noted the familiarity with which the Frenchmen treated the queen. The captain’s grey eyes belied his smile of welcome, and Jasper’s instinct told him he was being judged.
‘It is my pleasure to meet you at last, sir.’ He spoke in French.
Captain de Brézé replied in perfect English. ‘I am honoured to meet you, my lord.’ He bowed briefly.
‘I’ve posted scouts to warn us if York’s army is sighted,’ Jasper studied the fleet, visible for several miles along the exposed coast. ‘There isn’t a moment to lose if we are to take advantage of our surprise.’
Captain de Brézé glanced at the longboat with its waiting oarsmen. ‘I shall return to the ship and ensure the men disembark without delay.’
As they watched the longboat return, the men rowing hard against the waves of the incoming tide, Jasper spotted Máiréad in one of the approaching boats, sitting with the queen’s servants. She smiled happily when their eyes met. He raised a hand and waved, relieved to see her again.
When at last he could speak to her in private he sensed she was excited about something. He led her up narrow, spiral steps to the small room in a high tower he had chosen for himself, away from the royal apartments, with their watchful guards, then closed the door and took her in his arms.
‘What is it, Máiréad, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing’s wrong, or at least I hope you don’t think so.’ She embraced him and lay her head against his chest. ‘I am with child, Jasper.’
Ominous clouds filled a dark sky as they marched down the coast to the great castle at Dunstanburgh, the largest of the northern fortresses, less than ten miles south of Bamburgh. Jasper was deep in thought about the news Máiréad shared with him the previous night. He remembered Mevanvy in North Wales and her pretty, dark-haired daughter Ellen. He had been attracted by her wild spirit yet found it hard to believe he could truly be the only man in her life.
It felt different with Máiréad. He loved her, and was certain the baby must be his, but in such dangerous times the prospect of fatherhood became one more thing to worr
y about. York would send his army as soon as he learned of the invasion and a battlefield was no place for a woman carrying a child. Jasper decided he must find a way to send her back to the safety of Waterford, at least until the civil war in England was over.
He rode at the side of Captain Pierre de Brézé, followed by a division of Irish, French and English soldiers, while Sir Henry Beaufort headed for Alnwick Castle with his Scottish troops. Jasper thought the Scots an ill-disciplined bunch, recruited in haste with no time for training, yet Henry Beaufort laughed when he shared his concern and seemed confident he could make an army of them.
The French captain pulled his fur-lined cape around his shoulders as it started to spit with rain and cursed the English weather. He glanced back at the straggling line of men marching behind them, then turned to Jasper.
‘This castle, it has a garrison, Sir Jasper?’
‘Enough to hold it in a siege, and the constable of Dunstanburgh is Sir Ralph Percy, a good man, loyal to the king.’ He decided the captain needed to know the rest. ‘I should tell you he surrendered the castle once to York, and many of his men deserted or turned their coats.’
‘So, can we trust him?’ The Frenchman sounded doubtful.
‘Sir Ralph comes from one of the oldest Lancastrian families in the north. We have to trust him, and I’ve sent a man ahead to warn him of our arrival.’
The rain eased and unexpected sunshine warmed them as the jagged outline of Dunstanburgh Castle appeared on the skyline. Jasper called the men to a halt as they approached the massive three-storey gatehouse, and rode up to the gate alone to announce himself. Although he didn’t know Sir Ralph Percy well, he recognised the stocky, grey-haired knight who greeted him like a long lost friend in a loud northern accent.
‘Tudor!’ Sir Ralph examined the waiting men with the eye of an experienced campaigner. ‘The king has returned with an army of Frenchmen and mercenaries?’
Jasper smiled at Sir Ralph’s bluff manner. ‘More Englishmen are on the way, as well as the Scots—and I’ve enough men to reinforce your garrison.’
‘You are most welcome, Tudor, as I’ll wager we’ll be needing them, whatever country they come from!’
Jasper gestured towards the captain, who rode forward and dismounted. ‘This is Captain Pierre de Brézé, commander of the queen’s fleet.’
Sir Ralph nodded. ‘I’ve heard of you, Captain. You saw us out of Normandy?’ There was a challenge in his voice.
‘Only doing my duty, Sir Ralph.’
‘Well, if you’ve brought the king back to England, you are welcome here, Captain.’ Sir Ralph gestured for them to enter. ‘Your men must be wanting a jug of ale!’
Despite feeling a little worse for wear after a late night as Sir Ralph’s guest, Jasper left Pierre de Brézé to organise the reinforced garrison and set out on the eight mile ride south-west to the siege of Alnwick Castle the next day. Riding with Gabriel and a dozen of his Irish skirmishers for company, he had an important message for Henry Beaufort, who was leading the siege.
Behind Sir Ralph’s bluff exterior was a well-informed and shrewd campaigner of many years. He’d heard from a good source that Edward of York was ill and had taken to his sickbed in Durham. Jasper smiled to himself as he recalled the colourful language as Sir Ralph cursed York and all he stood for. More serious was the news that Warwick had already returned from Calais to personally take command of York’s army.
Jasper remembered what he’d seen when he stared into Warwick’s eyes that day in the Channel. The people called Warwick ‘the Kingmaker’ for a reason. As Edward’s right-hand man, he had swayed the loyalties of many English nobles in York’s favour. He was also one of the richest men in the country, yet despite his fortune and success, still ruthlessly ambitious.
They had been riding for an hour when Gabriel pointed to the horizon.
‘Something burning, my lord.’
Jasper found it hard at first to see the smoke against the late autumn clouds, then spotted the grey smudge rising into the sky.
‘It could be a bonfire, or farmers burning stubble, but have the men keep on their guard.’
They travelled warily, keeping from the main roads and always watching the sky. As they drew closer they saw the smoke must be from a sizeable fire and the familiar tang of burning wood drifted on the damp air.
‘Should we return to Dunstanburgh, sir?’ Gabriel glanced back the way they had come. ‘We could warn them and return tomorrow with more men?’
‘There is no urgency to reach Alnwick, Gabriel, but we must find out first if this is York’s army.’
‘Let me ride ahead, sir? I’ll keep my head down.’
‘We’ll stay together,’ he smiled, ‘we are skirmishers, after all.’ Jasper faced the men listening behind him. ‘Keep your wits about you. York’s army could be as many as ten thousand men, so even if we did go back for reinforcements we could still find ourselves outnumbered.’
As they cleared the brow of a hill they saw the burned cottages ahead, the thatched roof of one still billowing smoke. Jasper approached the man trying to salvage what he could from his ruined home.
‘What happened here?’
‘Scots, sir.’ The man wiped his brow with a blackened rag. ‘The Scottish rebels came looting whatever they could carry.’
‘Have you seen York’s men?’
The man shook his head. ‘Only those thieving heathens, sir.’
Jasper gave the man one of the last of his silver coins and led his Irishmen towards the castle. Gabriel rode at his side and glanced back at the ruined cottage.
‘It seems Sir Henry lost control of his Scottish army.’
‘I feared as much—we have enemies enough, without turning the local people against us.’
Once in sight of the castle they could see the drawbridge raised high over the wide moat, and the entrance sealed with a heavy iron portcullis. There was no sign of activity in the castle but a group of French mercenaries blocked the road and stopped a wagon. Jasper spotted Henry Beaufort, who grinned in welcome.
‘Trouble with your Scotsmen, Henry?’ Jasper rode up to him and dismounted.
‘They went foraging for supplies.’ Henry Beaufort glanced back to where a thickening trail of smoke continued to rise into the air, like a pointing, accusing finger. ‘I think the Scots have deserted, and we’ve hardly begun the siege.’
‘At least we still have the French. What’s the strength of the garrison?’
‘We think there’s a token force but when we arrived they were already barricaded in, so it might take some time.’
‘We may not have long. Sir Ralph Percy told me Warwick has already mustered an army. I fear he’ll soon be sending reinforcements for the garrison.’
Henry Beaufort swore an oath as he studied the raised drawbridge. ‘I will follow York’s example and offer any who side with us a pardon, then execute the rest.’
Jasper agreed, although he found Beaufort’s joke too close to the truth. ‘I’ll take my skirmishers and scout ahead for Warwick’s army. I wish you luck, Henry.’
They rode for a further two days before tell-tale noises carried in the still morning air, alerting them to the presence of men preparing for battle. The sharp clink of hammers on metal, raised voices as commanders barked orders and the ominous thud of axes on wood. Jasper gave the signal and his men left the track and found cover in the trees, crossbows at the ready. He gestured for Gabriel to come forward.
‘Tell the men to lie low while we take a look.’
They moved silently, making use of the trees and undergrowth for cover, before the enemy camp came into view. Canvas tents laid out in ragged rows covered several meadows. Warwick had brought an army of thousands to the north. Gabriel whispered a curse and pointed to a row of wheeled artillery, several of which were larger than any Jasper had ever seen.
‘We’ll be no match for them, sir.’
‘We must return to Bamburgh and warn the queen. Send riders to tell Sir Henry
and Sir Ralph what we’ve seen. It only took days for us to reach here and they look ready to move at any time.’ Jasper studied the fields of men in front of them. ‘We’ll need more experienced men from Scotland. In the meantime our only hope is to hold the castles until they arrive.’
Queen Margaret listened in silence to Jasper’s account of Warwick’s army. The only good news he could bring her was that the garrison at Alnwick surrendered without a fight. More men had marched to support Sir Henry Beaufort, with heavy cannons, laboriously hauled by oxen all the way to the castle.
The queen crossed to the window and stared out to sea, where her fleet waited at anchor, then turned to Jasper. ‘I must return to Scotland.’
‘I will go, Your Highness. If I take your fastest ship and the best crew I’ll make good time.’
The queen shook her head. ‘They will never send more men unless I ask for them in person.’
‘What about the king?’
‘He will return with me to Scotland.’ She lowered her voice. ‘His lapses have returned and although I pray for his recovery...’ Her eyes revealed her doubts.
‘The king will be safer back in Scotland, Your Highness, and if Warwick realises there is no longer a great prize for him here, he might decide to hold back until the spring. There’s no more miserable work for a soldier than a winter siege, and he knows how harsh the winters can be in Northumberland.’
‘I must tell my ladies to prepare for the voyage right away, Sir Jasper, as the risk increases with every passing moment.’
That night Jasper held Máiréad tightly in his arms and caressed the barely discernible bulge of the next generation of Tudors, his little son or daughter. Although only a week, so much had happened it felt longer since they had been able to spend time together.