Jasper - Book Two of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

  It seemed the duke’s health was not likely to improve and he would need men he could trust to help manage his affairs. It made sense to keep them both close to him, ostensibly under guard, if he wished. Jasper stared up at the vaulted ceiling above him, decorated with gilded plasterwork fit for a king. If he must be imprisoned, this was the grandest of prison cells.

  He said a prayer for the soul of Henry Holland, yet another victim of York’s cruel regime. When the time was right, he would try to find a way to free the Earl of Oxford and his brother from the prison fortress at Guisnes, if they still lived. Together with other Lancastrians taking refuge in France they would assemble an army, and with the support of Duke Francis, one day return to England.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  April 1483

  The rumour spread like a wildfire through the Château de l’Hermine and, although he hardly dared believe it, Jasper rushed to find Duke Francis. He found him in his study, wrapped in furs despite the spring sunshine. His illness had worsened in the years since Henry’s return, as the cough still troubled him and he had grown thinner. The duke also walked with a slight stoop, like a much older man, and his failing eyesight did little to help his often surly mood.

  ‘They are saying York is dead.’ Jasper searched the duke’s face for any sign of confirmation. ‘Is it true?’

  Duke Francis nodded. ‘I’ve yet to be informed officially but I have it from a reliable source. King Edward has finally paid the price for his excesses.’

  Jasper sat heavily in one of the duke’s comfortable chairs and tried to gather his thoughts, his mind a whirl of consequences and possibilities. Edward was some ten years younger than himself and had last been reported as being in good health, despite his life of debauchery. Word of his unpopular taxes and favouritism for the Woodville family reached as far as Brittany, and there were still bitter Lancastrians waiting for their chance.

  ‘Do you think it’s possible he might have been poisoned?’

  The duke grunted. ‘Anything is possible with the English. I heard he’d become so fat he could no longer ride a horse.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘A man’s deeds, good or bad, will repay him in kind, even if he is the King of England.’

  ‘If York is dead, his son Edward, Prince of Wales, is heir to the throne.’ He felt an old annoyance at the prince’s title.

  Duke Francis nodded. ‘He will be twelve years old now, a fine and upstanding lad by all accounts, yet with a few years before he comes of age.’

  ‘Richard, Duke of Gloucester, will be named Lord Protector.’

  ‘There are no other candidates, after what happened to his brother George.’

  Jasper recalled the rumours of Duke George’s punishment for daring to wish the throne for himself. It was said that when York signed his death warrant he allowed his brother the choice of execution, and George chose to be drowned in a barrel of wine. Although such tales had a habit of being embroidered on their way to Brittany, it seemed a sad end for the man who could have been king.

  ‘I’ve always suspected Duke Richard had a hand in the death of King Henry.’ His anger rose at the thought and he struggled to control it. ‘I know he’s married Warwick’s daughter Anne, and fought against us at Barnet and Tewkesbury.’

  ‘Richard of Gloucester is intelligent, ambitious and powerful, Sir Jasper, and is not a man to be underestimated.’

  ‘What does this mean for Brittany, or for Henry and myself?’

  Duke Francis sat back in his chair. ‘It means I am no longer bound by my promise to York.’ He regarded Jasper in silence for a moment. ‘You no doubt think my treatment of you a little harsh, but it has probably saved your lives.’

  ‘We will both be forever in your debt, Duke Francis.’

  The duke smiled. ‘You remember the first time we met, Jasper?’

  ‘I was a little in awe of you, to be honest.’ He smiled at the memory.

  ‘I thought you looked like a dangerous pirate, with your Irish skirmishers.’ The duke coughed into his folded cloth. ‘I understand if you wish to visit your cousin, King Louis. Perhaps you will convey my best regards?’

  Jasper felt unexpected pity for the once grand duke. ‘We would wish to remain at your side until the time is right, and you can rely on our loyal support whatever the future holds.’

  Henry fired questions like an archer loosing a quiver of arrows. ‘Will King Louis welcome us at his court? Do you think it’s safe to return to England? Will Duke Francis help us raise an army?’

  Jasper held up his hands. ‘Please, Henry, I don’t have all the answers. The first thing we need to do is write to your mother and see what she thinks is best.’

  ‘My mother?’ Henry sounded surprised. ‘Would she be able to visit us in Brittany?’

  ‘I’ve no idea of her circumstances but it’s bound to be an uncertain time for her. We must be careful with our choice of words in any letter and not put your mother in any risk.’

  ‘How shall we raise an army with no money?’ Henry frowned as he remembered. ‘All my possessions were lost when I escaped from St Malo. There was a chest with my best armour, as well as the fine yew longbow you gave me.’

  ‘Be glad you have your freedom, Henry. You still have your sword, and as for money, Duke Francis is a wealthy man. I think I can persuade him to pay for mercenaries, and we have King Louis if he will not.’ He looked out of the window into the bright sunshine and felt a new day dawning. ‘Henry Holland said there are plenty of Englishmen exiled in France, waiting for a leader to emerge, if only we can find them.’

  Duke Francis stifled a coughing fit as they waited for his servant to pour them each a goblet of his best red wine. Candles flickered in silver candlesticks on his cluttered desk, casting dancing shadows on the walls and lighting his face with a golden glow. The shutters were already latched over the windows and Jasper and Henry were intrigued to know why he summoned them to his private study at such a late hour.

  The duke sipped his wine and savoured the taste. ‘I had a visitor, Dr Thomas Hutton, a clerk of the English Parliament and a senior cleric. He brought grave, if not unexpected news. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, has been crowned King of England.’

  ‘What of the prince, young Edward?’

  ‘You remember Bishop Stillington, York’s ambassador?’

  ‘Not a man I will forget in a hurry.’ Henry shook his head at the memory.

  ‘It seems the bishop found a way to earn the gratitude of the Lord Protector of England.’ The duke’s tone was scathing. ‘He advised Richard of how he officiated at a betrothal between York and Lady Eleanor Talbot, widowed daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, before he married Elizabeth Woodville.’

  ‘Rendering the boys illegitimate.’ Jasper glanced at Henry.

  The duke took another sip of wine and fell silent, lost in his own thoughts for a moment before replying. ‘I’ve never truly understood the English, although I continue to be surprised by them.’ He smiled at Henry. ‘I’m sorry. I think of you as French yet you are half English.’

  ‘And one quarter Welsh.’ Henry returned the smile. ‘Did the cleric mention us, Duke Francis?’

  ‘He did, which was why I kept you from his sight. It seems the new king is no less keen to see you return.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Henry leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘I told him he must send me the four thousand archers I was promised.’

  ‘You would return us?’

  ‘Of course not. I saw no need to cross England’s new king, although I suspect he will find the price a little high in his present circumstances.’

  Jasper tasted his wine, recognising the rich flavour of the duke’s best claret, saved for special occasions. ‘You’ve bought us much needed time, although I suspect there is something else behind calling us to see you so late in the evening?’

  ‘Indeed there is.’ The duke signalled to his waiting servant, who slipped through the door and returned with a man Jasper had never seen before.
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  A little older than Henry, he wore a fur-trimmed robe over his doublet, and a short, silver handled dagger at his belt. He would have been handsome if not for his prominent brow, under which deep-set, intelligent brown eyes fixed on Jasper and Henry for a moment, as if taking in details to describe later.

  Duke Francis bid the man to sit and told his servant to bring wine for his new guest. ‘Monsieur, I present Sir Jasper Tudor and his nephew Henry Tudor.’

  The man bowed his head. ‘I am Hugh Conway, servant of Lady Margaret, sent here to deliver this letter.’ He spoke with a lilting accent Jasper recognised as from North Wales, and produced a folded parchment which he handed to Henry.

  Henry broke the seal and held the parchment to the candlelight to read the neat script, then handed it to Jasper. ‘My mother commends you to our service, Master Conway. Am I to infer you have some further information for us of such importance it could not be trusted to a letter?’

  Conway took a deep breath. ‘We fear, my lords, that the young princes Edward and Richard have been murdered.’

  Henry gasped and the duke shook his head, obviously already having been informed of the news. Jasper’s mind raced with questions. It seemed inconceivable events could move so quickly after York’s death, yet he saw Hugh Conway was no mere servant and spoke with certainty.

  ‘How did it happen? By whose hand?’

  ‘There is much speculation in London. A group of the late king’s servants tried to rescue the princes, and there were riots in the streets until the guards were brought in to enforce a curfew.’

  ‘How can you be sure the boys are dead?’

  ‘Lady Margaret has been close to their mother, sir. If she thought they were still alive, they would not share a common cause and she would not have agreed Lady Margaret’s plan.’

  ‘Which is?’ Jasper guessed their lives were about to change yet again.

  Hugh Conway turned to Henry. ‘Your mother plans for you to claim the throne, sir. She sent me to tell you to raise an army and overthrow the usurper—before it’s too late.’

  His words hung in the air like the wisps of smoke that come before the hungry flames of a forest fire, full of dangerous, irreversible consequences. Even the usually subdued Duke Francis looked startled at the suggestion. Jasper knew Lady Margaret would not send this messenger unless she was certain such an outrageous plan would find popular support. He watched for the duke’s reaction as he spoke.

  ‘You must inform Lady Margaret we’ll need time to raise the money for mercenaries and ships. It could be at least another year before we could be in any position to return to England.’

  ‘I’ve brought a fortune in gold, sir, as much as I could carry, raised by Lady Margaret through loans from your supporters in the city. I would say it’s enough for as many ships as you need.’ Conway smiled for the first time since he entered the room. ‘I should also tell you Lady Margaret has secured the support of the Woodville family through agreeing your betrothal to her daughter, Lady Elizabeth, and the Duke of Buckingham is preparing a revolt to coincide with your return to Wales.’

  Henry turned to Jasper. ‘You knew this could happen, Uncle?’

  ‘I did not, Henry. We’ve always known of your claim on your mother’s side, and talked of you one day becoming king, yet there were so many in line ahead of you it was hardly a consideration.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What about you, Henry. Could you see yourself as King of England?’

  ‘I hardly dare dream of such a thing, Uncle. You are right. Until this moment it has not been a serious consideration.’

  ‘You can count on my support.’ The duke’s eyes flashed in the candlelight. ‘Prince Edward was to have been betrothed to my daughter Anne. I can never forgive whoever has done this.’ He seemed to struggle to compose himself. ‘I’ve already spoken to Pierre Landais. You may use my château at Suscinio as a base, and you shall have as many men as can be spared—I don’t want you having to ask King Louis for ships.’

  ‘Thank you, Duke Francis. We must make contact with the men in France, and find a way to free those held prisoner in Guisnes?’

  Hugh Conway answered. ‘It is in hand, sir. Lady Margaret sent messengers to our supporters, telling them to make their way to Brittany.’

  Jasper raised his goblet of wine in the air. ‘A toast, gentlemen. To a new adventure, and may God be with us.’

  News of the sudden and unexpected death of King Louis at the end of August brought a new urgency to their preparations. Jasper mourned the loss of the well-intentioned and often misunderstood king who helped him through difficult times. He worried that King Louis’ young son and heir to the throne, Charles, would struggle to control France, despite the support of his elder sister, Anne, chosen to act as regent.

  Daydreaming of what might have been, if not for Henry, he wondered if he could have become an advisor to the princess and live out his days in luxury at the French court. The Duke of Burgundy, once the thorn in King Louis’ side, was long since dead, killed in a pointless war with the Swiss, his body so mutilated it could only be recognised by his valet. Duke Francis was ill and vulnerable to subjugation by France, yet Jasper would always remain loyal to him.

  Looking out of his window at a thunderous sky he saw there was no time to waste if they were to reach England before the winter storms. Henry was no sailor and it would be foolish to risk five thousand soldiers and their precious ships by making the crossing too late in the year. As if to remind him, the skies opened up with torrential rain which drummed and rattled at his window like a bad omen.

  Henry was in his makeshift study in one of the duke’s unused state rooms, counting the latest tally of their expenses. He had been tutored well by the duke’s financial controller, Pierre Landais, and developed a flair for understanding numbers. He dipped his quill in the silver ink pot and scratched some notes in the margin of the ledger he was working on, glancing up as Jasper entered.

  ‘The gold brought by Hugh Conway is fast running out.’

  Jasper’s brow furrowed in a frown. ‘More men arrived today, all needing food and lodgings. You might speak to Pierre about a loan from the duke? I will find the ships if you can raise more funds.’

  ‘What progress is there with the ships, Uncle?’

  ‘Good news, Henry. Duke Francis has provided five ships at his own expense, three of which are warships. The best is La Margarite, a good omen, I think. She will serve us well as a flagship.’

  ‘If each is able to carry three or four hundred soldiers...’ Henry made a quick calculation. ‘We will need another dozen at least.’

  Jasper was surprised at the change in Henry since his mother’s letter. No longer content to listen in the background, he seemed fired up with a new resolve and sense of purpose as they worked together on the plans. It was easier now to imagine him on the throne of England, regaining control of the vast treasury squandered so carelessly by York.

  Before he could answer they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and Hugh Conway entered and turned to Jasper. ‘You sent for me, sir?’

  ‘I would like you to repeat what you told me about the Duke of Buckingham.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Conway closed the door behind him and moved some papers to sit in the spare chair. ‘The Duke of Buckingham’s father and grandfather were both killed fighting for Lancaster, yet he married the queen’s sister and became a great favourite of the late King Edward. Now Richard has made him chief justice and constable of all the royal castles in Wales.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he cannot be trusted?’

  ‘I am not, sir. I felt obliged to point out to Sir Jasper that I was present when Lady Margaret secured his agreement to assist you. I feel he has his own ambitions, sir.’

  ‘What did he say to make you question his loyalty?’ There was an edge to Henry’s voice.

  Hugh Conway shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘The Duke of Buckingham is a powerful man, with influence enough to persuade others that Richard should be made king.
He told your mother his own claim to the throne is at least as good as yours, sir.’

  ‘Now it seems he is out of favour.’ He looked from Conway to Henry. ‘We would do well to be on our guard.’

  A cruel wind whipped at the rigging of their ships as Jasper and Henry waited to depart. Soldiers sought shelter wherever they could and raised voices carried from where some had started a fight in the harbourside tavern. Others, mostly mercenaries, deserted while they could, slinking away rather than taking their chances with the angry waters of the English Channel.

  The first day of November began with cold rain stinging their faces as if admonishing their failure to sail earlier. As Jasper feared, despite generous loans from Duke Francis, the necessary preparations took far too long. Only five ships were moored among the fishing boats in the tidal harbour of Paimpol, although they hoped many more would join them under the command of the Admiral of Brittany, Jean Dufou.

  ‘We’ve missed another tide, Henry.’ Jasper peered out to sea where his ships bobbed and tugged at their anchors. ‘We face a choice—to sail in the dark or wait until dawn.’

  Rainwater ran from the brim of Henry’s hat as he studied the ominous clouds. ‘There are dangerous rocks offshore. We sail at dawn, when we can see where we are going.’

  Jasper laughed. ‘You are beginning to sound like a sailor, Henry. How did you come by that information?’

  ‘I listen, Uncle. I hear the men’s concerns and learn what I can from them.’

  ‘You will make a good king, if we can ever get you across this infernal stretch of water.’

  The eerie autumn mist hovered over the sea as they made the most of a freshening breeze and trimmed the sails of La Margarite for a westerly heading. The plan was to meet the rest of the fleet in mid Channel but there was no telling if they also missed the tide or waited ahead in the glimmering dawn.