I laughed. ‘This sounds like good ammunition for a bardic battle. I will start you off after dinner, Harper versus Poet. I am glad you have had an opportunity to get to know one another.’
Lewys hunched his bony shoulders. ‘Well, I am familiar with the back of his head anyway.’
Owen dismounted and as ever I admired his nimbleness, being generally of the belief that a man past fifty should be old and weak of knee. ‘And I will know this sing-song bard’s voice anywhere,’ he retorted, ‘and take evasive action.’
‘You can start right now then,’ I declared, detecting the start of a love-hate acquaintance. ‘Lewys you are in the West Tower with the squires – over there.’ I pointed to my right. ‘And you, my honoured father, are with me in the East Tower – all the way over there.’ I indicated the far end of the building that held the Great Hall. ‘Is that far enough apart? Refresh yourselves and come to the Great Hall when the dinner horn sounds. Oh, and I would ask you to speak English while you are here, for the benefit of Lady Margaret, our guest of honour, whose birthday we are celebrating.’
* * *
Our first evening began quietly with the aim of conserving our energy for the chase the following day. Owen and Lewys made their first attempt at a bardic battle but surprisingly both managed to agree that their efforts needed further work. A more polished performance was promised for later in the week. Music from the minstrels kept us cheerful through the meal and then Margaret and Edith retired early, leaving the men to gather round the hall fire and bemoan the state of the country over another flagon drawn from the cask of Breton wine I had acquired from my new vintner.
As is the way of the world we did not stop at one flagon and cloudy heads the next day meant the men of our party were quite relieved that the hounds took a good hour to flush out a stag. However, when the horn finally sounded the chase I was astonished at Margaret’s horsemanship. Eager for the scent, she rode her small dapple-grey palfrey in the same way that she danced; lightly, with delicate touches of her heels on the mare’s flanks and soft, coaxing hands on the reins. I kept a close eye on her and she did not falter or fall behind. I had assumed that she would have more desire for the chase than for the kill but she stuck with the pack, keeping her nimble little horse in the wake of our larger, stronger steeds by taking a more direct line through the trees and undergrowth. She reminded me of a woodland hawk after its prey, swooping under low branches and between close tree-trunks where heavier, bulkier creatures could not go. When the hounds eventually held the stag at bay against a steep rock face she was a close witness to the despatch of our first quarry.
It was a fine, mature animal, velvet still soft on its half-grown antlers, which it lowered and flicked menacingly at the baying and snarling pack of hounds surrounding it. The huntsmen stood well back as Geoffrey Pole quietly dismounted, unslung his bow and walked forward, gravely saluting the panting stag, whose attention was concentrated on the dogs rather than the calm man with the long bent stick. Sunlight shining through the wind-tossed canopy dappled the scene in a moving pattern of light and shade, distracting to any marksman, but I watched in admiration as the capable squire nocked a barbed arrow, took slow and careful aim and shot the beast straight through the heart as he had promised. Edith caught up with us just in time to view the kill, hand over mouth and eyes wide, then she dismounted as the stag sagged to its knees and hit the ground. Walking proudly up to Geoffrey she kissed him on the lips, an embrace he returned with victorious gusto. At this Margaret smiled and dropped her reins to put her hands together in delight.
The sounding of the hounds rose in a crescendo as huntsmen beat their way through to the stag, sliced out its entrails and tossed them away for the dogs to fight over. I turned to check Margaret’s reaction to the bloodiest part of the proceedings, and found that Edmund had already urged his mount alongside hers and they were both clapping, he with slow applause and she with childish enthusiasm.
‘Oh, that was well done, Master Pole!’ the girl cried. ‘A deft and swift dispatch.’
‘Praise from the expert, Geoffrey,’ Edmund told him. ‘You may not be aware that my lady has witnessed more kills than she has years. She is truly a Diana.’
Margaret giggled, a sound that was to become a familiar accompaniment to the week’s activities. ‘Only in some respects, my lord,’ she said, reaching out to lay an affectionate hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Diana was a virgin goddess and I am a married woman. Besides, I would never turn Master Pole into a stag, even if he did find me bathing naked in the woods.’
I was too stunned at the implication of Margaret’s denial of virginity to be surprised at her knowledge of Roman mythology and I squirmed as I detected a note of lust in Edmund’s responding chuckle. ‘If he did I would set the dogs on him myself,’ he declared, leaning from his horse to slide his arm around his wife’s waist and whisper something in her ear that made her blush.
I realized then with intense regret that I had allocated too many chambers to Margaret and Edmund. I turned my face away, for rage though I might against my libidinous brother, there was nothing I could do except pray for a substantial delay to any pregnancy.
The hounds found scent twice more that day and I thanked the rules of etiquette that I could not assume the honour of the kill because I was bound to cede it to Edmund and Owen as my guests. Had I been obliged to aim an arrow at a cowering stag my anger might have caused my aim to wander unforgivably.
I did not speak with Edmund alone for several days. I kept busy with my duties as host, which I could have delegated to Maredudd, who was more than capable of taking some of the responsibilities off my shoulders, but I was grateful to be occupied arranging minstrels and huntsmen for the pleasure of my guests. Had I found myself alone with Edmund before I had simmered down, I feared I might have said something I would regret, something that might also have lost me the friendship and respect of Margaret. Finally I confronted him as he emerged from the mews in the hour before Margaret’s birthday feast, the final event of our hunting party.
Edmund was grinning broadly and eager to confide the reason for his being there. ‘Come and see what I ordered from London, Jas. My falconer has just attached them to Margaret’s favourite merlin.’ He put his arm around my shoulders and led me back into the wooden lean-to, which served as a mews for the hawks. Margaret’s little merlin Elaine was dozing on her perch, tired after bringing down a variety of birds during the day. ‘Take a good look at her, Jas. Do you notice anything different?’
I inspected the little hook-beaked raptor that had earlier stooped so magnificently on partridge, snipe and redshank. Only a blind man could have failed to notice the new jewelled bells attached to her legs; even in the dim light of the mews they glowed with the viridescent gleam peculiar to large emeralds, the birthstone of those born in May. I gave a low whistle and Elaine lifted her hooded head, suddenly alert. Her feet shifted and the bells jingled. ‘Phew! That is a costly sound, my lord of Richmond. Are we to assume that you have come into some money?’
He pressed his finger to his nose, nodding. ‘Those Somerset estates are yielding good revenues, so why should their lady not enjoy the benefits? The bells are Margaret’s birthday present. I am having the bird brought to the dais later.’
Edmund did not notice my silence; he had barely stopped smiling since we entered the mews and now he grinned from ear to ear. He was happy because, now he had taken her virginity, he had got his hands on her money!
‘How much in debt are you that you could not wait to seduce the child?’ I demanded to know bitterly.
My blunt accusation wiped the grin from my brother’s face. He grabbed my arm above the elbow and marched me out of the door, his voice harsh with ire. ‘Jesu, what kind of a question is that? A man cannot seduce his wife, Jas. Just as he cannot rape her, in case that is what you are going to accuse me of next.’
‘It may not be called rape but it amounts to the same thing,’ I hissed, wrenching my arm free.
We were both trying to keep our voices down but our faces were only inches apart in open confrontation. I could feel his spittle on my cheeks as he enunciated his words with furious emphasis. ‘There is – was – no question of force, God damn you! It was Margaret’s decision; she came to me willingly and has done so a dozen times since. She loves me as you have observed and it is patently obvious that you are green with envy. But do not allow your jealousy to lead you into thinking that an evil deed has been done here. This is married love, Jas. Get over it and go and seek your own.’
I, too, was irate beyond maintaining any semblance of calm. ‘Perhaps you did not force her but you are responsible for her, Edmund. If she dies in childbirth it will be your fault. You are her lord and husband and you have acted like a beardless youth who has no control over his base instincts.’
‘Why should she die? I hope she does become pregnant!’ he retorted.
I gasped. ‘I cannot believe I am hearing this! Look at the size of her – she is tiny. Not only Margaret but the child could die as well.’
He shook his head violently. ‘I do not believe that. Girls are made to have babies. However, you are right in one respect and one respect only, it is my responsibility and not yours. It is you who are acting like an interfering old woman. I told you before – stop meddling in my life and get on with your own!’
Just as he had done a hundred times during our youth, Edmund ended the argument by shoving me in the chest and striding off, determined to have the last word. And as I had always done on those occasions I let him go, but this time I vowed I would do exactly as he had demanded. When they left Caldicot the next day I would wave them goodbye and from then on I would leave Edmund to sort out his own life – and forget Margaret Beaufort.
12
Jane
Tŷ Cerrig & Pembroke Castle
I HAD NEVER RECEIVED a letter from anyone before and I held the folded square of paper in trembling fingers. I did not recognize the smudged imprint of a bird in the wax seal. ‘Who is it from, Maredudd?’
Maredudd had just arrived, alone, and was busy unhitching a pannier from his sumpter. ‘Who do you think? Lord Jasper of course. I do not play the courier for anyone else.’ He slung down the heavy basket. ‘There are gifts in here and I have gold for our father in a body purse. I do not know how much but I tell you, it has been uncomfortable riding and sleeping with it wrapped around my waist.’
‘He will be glad of it,’ I said. ‘It has not been a good year on the land.’
‘I suppose it is further “compensation” for me being away from here as Lord Jasper’s squire,’ said my brother. ‘I will give it to him at supper, when I have changed – is there a fresh chemise I can wear, Sian? I stink of crowded hospice dorters.’
‘I will leave one of father’s by the cistern. Make sure you wash before you put it on – and in case you have forgotten, let me remind you to use a pail, the cistern water must remain clean.’
Of course he knew the house rules and I smiled at the rude hand signal he made at me under his horse’s neck. His last visit had been at harvest time. Since then Gwyladus, Bethan’s widowed mother, had come to live with us, and my father had taken on two farm workers, which meant two more hearty appetites to feed. It was only early December and I was already worried that our stores of grain and salted meat would not last until next summer. Not forgetting the three infants (so far!) my stepmother had borne. Housekeeping did not get any easier at Tŷ Cerrig.
I held off opening the letter until I had unpacked the pannier – a cone of sugar, crocks of honey, a wineskin (mead, I later discovered), and packets of dried fruit, rice and spices. Exulting in this sudden and delicious plenty, I placed the empty pannier and a clean chemise beside the dairy cistern downstairs. Back in the hall, I still resisted reading the letter; I stirred up the fire, swung the pottage cauldron over it, lit a lamp, and only then sat down in my father’s carved black oak armchair with the letter in my hands, my fingers cracking the wax of the smudged bird seal. The writing was spidery but at the same time words were cramped closely together to fit on the page. I made slow progress but as I read my heart was wrenched, first one way and then another.
To Jane Hywel of Tŷ Cerrig in the county of Gwynedd, North Wales
I write to share with you the dreadful news that my brother Edmund died in Carmarthen Castle a few days ago. We had heard only lately that he had been held prisoner there since August, when he was captured leading an attempt to regain it for the king. As Earl of Richmond, Edmund should have been ransomed immediately but news of his capture was kept from us, and from Margaret, who is now his widow. For he lies in Greyfriars Church at Carmarthen and I know you will join me in praying for his soul.
William Herbert, who holds Carmarthen illegally, claims Edmund was taken by the plague but my agents report no evidence of plague in the town. I am determined to discover the truth of his untimely demise.
His countess is bereaved and alone at Lamphey Palace. I write from Kenilworth where King Henry has made me her guardian and ordered me to take her to the safety of Pembroke and so I have entrusted this letter to Maredudd in the hope that you may agree to ride with him and join us there as soon as possible. Lady Margaret, although mature beyond her tender years, will have need of a sympathetic female companion to advise and comfort her and I can think of no better person than you for such a sensitive position. Maredudd also carries a letter to your father requesting his permission to let you leave as soon as possible. I feel sure that in the circumstances he will find it in his heart to allow you to come to Lady Margaret’s aid, if only for a few months.
Written in haste and in the hope of greeting you soon at Pembroke, I am your faithful friend and cousin,
Jasper.
I was still reeling from the import of this letter when feet sounded on the ladder stair and my father’s voice reached me, calling my name. Hywel entered the hall, closely followed by Maredudd carrying a full wineskin. He wore the clean chemise but the grubby body purse he had unwound from his person and draped over his shoulder spoilt the effect. I stood up, relinquishing the armchair in which my father always sat, unless outranked. ‘Ah yes, Maredudd said you also had a letter.’ He thrust another letter at me, similar in shape and seal to the one I had just read. ‘What does this one say?’
My father’s patience, to say nothing of his eyesight, was not up to deciphering Jasper’s scrawl. I took the letter across to the window and opened the shutter, allowing sufficient light for me to read without the aid of the lamp.
Again I read the tragic account of Edmund’s death, this time aloud but it was told in words meant for my father and therefore less emotional in their effect on me. The last paragraph was cunningly aimed at neutralizing two of my father’s chief anxieties, money and the smooth running of his house. I felt the blood rise in my cheeks as I read it.
‘I am conscious that you will be reluctant to lose the loving help and presence in your household of your daughter but I can think of no other person to match her as a source of comfort, advice and protection for a lonely and bereaved young lady. In recognition of this I have entrusted Maredudd with the pension I agreed when he took service with me and a supplement which I hope may serve as some compensation for the temporary absence of Jane from your house, so that she may use the skills she has learned at Tŷ Cerrig to care for young Lady Margaret and help her through this terrible time of grief. I beg you to pray for my brother’s soul. In haste and with high regard, your bereaved cousin Jasper.’
A tense silence pervaded the room as I turned to close the shutter against the chill wind. In his chair, chin propped on fist, my father was deep in thought. Maredudd hoisted the heavy linen purse from his shoulder and dropped it over the arm of Hywel’s chair not occupied by his elbow. The outlines of a series of coins were visible along its sweat-stained length.
‘There is the Earl of Pembroke’s gold,’ my brother said. ‘I have not counted it but it feels like a tidy sum.’
‘It feels
like selling my soul,’ growled Hywel, fingering the purse. ‘He is buying my children.’
‘No, Father,’ I said hastily. ‘Lord Jasper is kin and mourning his brother and the lady is in great need at this time. As he says, it is fair compensation. I will not be gone forever.’
‘And you and Bethan are not doing a bad job of replacing us,’ observed Maredudd bluntly. ‘Little Nesta is only five but she already milks the goats and feeds the hens. And Gwyladus can run a house just as well as Sian. She and I will leave in the morning.’
Hywel glared at us from under beetled brows. ‘The day I take orders from you Maredudd will be the day your great lord knights you – which I would guess is never. Both of you, put out the board and hold your tongues until I have counted the coin.’
When we had placed the board on the trestles, he upended the purse and the gold coins cascaded onto the polished wood. Then began the counting with King Henry’s head moving, coin by coin, from one pile into another, Father calling out the tally as he did so.
‘… eighteen, nineteen, twenty.’ He looked up at us, eyes wide in undisguised amazement. ‘Twenty crowns – that is two knight’s fees! Lord Jasper values your services very highly it seems.’
‘Could it be the value he puts on his sister-in-law’s health and happiness?’ I suggested slyly. ‘The Countess of Richmond is young at present but she is an important lady, a cousin of the king. It may not be wise to refuse this opportunity to be of help to her.’
Hywel grunted, his fingers playing with one of the coins; then he piled them up into four columns and shoved them to one side. ‘Let us eat,’ he said, glancing across at the sideboard where Maredudd had put the wineskin ‘When I have broached the contents of that, I will make my decision.’
Jasper had judged the compensation and the content of the wineskin shrewdly and Maredudd and I were on the road to Pembroke at dawn the following day. The excitement I felt at the prospect of finally seeing something of the world alternated with my dread of meeting the person I would be serving.
First of the Tudors Page 12