As soon as they heard me enter the room they sprang apart but there was nothing bashful or guilty about Jane’s reaction to my arrival. She leapt to her feet crying, ‘Lord Jasper, you are back!’ before bending swiftly to scoop up the little boy and bring him to greet me. ‘Look who is here, Harri; it is your uncle, home again.’
She offered the baby’s smooth cheek for a kiss but Harri took fright at the dust-streaked, bearded man in brigandine and breastplate and his face crumpled. Over the loud wail that ensued I saw Lewys roll up the manuscript and stow it away in his capacious scrip before rising and favouring me with an awkward bow, hugging the bag protectively before him.
‘Oh, do you not remember your uncle, poppet?’ Jane gave the little boy a consoling hug and attempted to make excuses for him. ‘Three months is a long time in a baby’s life, my lord. Never mind, Harri, you go back to your toys. It is nearly bedtime.’
When he had been returned to the rug and his pile of coloured bricks the infant wails subsided. ‘At least you do not cry at the sight of a returning soldier, Jane,’ I said, deterred from giving her the usual friendly kiss by the presence of another. ‘But you have company I see.’ I swung my gaze to the poet, who was hovering between the table and the door. ‘How are you, Lewys? Still able to place yourself in the way of a meal I see,’ I added dryly, gesturing to the unfinished bowl of bread and milk on the other end of the table, which I deduced was actually Harri’s unfinished supper.
Lewys shook his head in denial. Though only in his thirties the beard that brushed the front of his old-fashioned brown côte was already threaded with silver. ‘I am grateful for all hospitality, my lord,’ he said. ‘Yours in particular. I hope your stay in London was fruitful.’
‘Time will tell – but I think not. What were you doing when I came in?’
Jane and Lewys exchanged glances and it was she who spoke. ‘I was helping Lewys to translate a poem from Welsh into English. He has written a brwd to Lord Edmund but it is not yet ready for you to hear.’
‘Ah. I am glad someone praises Edmund. There was little mention of him at court. It is almost as if he never existed.’
‘That is not how it will be in Wales,’ said Lewys. ‘The name Tudor finds favour in many houses.’
‘Well let us drink to that at least,’ I said, crossing to a sideboard where I had spotted a flagon and cups. ‘What is in here, Jane?’ I asked, touching the jug.
‘Some of your Rennish wine, my lord. Let me pour you a measure and then I will take Harri off to bed.’
As she poured I told her I had bidden Maredudd to sup with us, which seemed to please her. She picked Harri up again and a few dark curls were revealed where his coif had slipped. ‘He has his father’s hair,’ I remarked. ‘Do you remember Edmund’s dark mane, Jane?’
‘Of course, my lord, I remember everything about the time your father brought you and your brother to Tŷ Cerrig.’ Her expression was bland, unreadable, as she added, ‘One of you was handsome and the other was kind.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you thought? Which one was I?’
She gave me an enigmatic smile and turned towards the door. Over her shoulder she threw a parting reply. ‘You cannot expect me to answer that, my lord.’
Harri waved a chubby hand at me and I waved back. ‘Good night, Harri,’ I said, grateful for his change of mood. Perhaps I was not entirely the ogre-soldier after all. The door closed behind them and the poet and I raised our cups in salute and drank. ‘What do you say of Edmund in your song, Lewys? Handsome or kind?’
Lewys wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I only present his deeds and reputation, my lord. I call him fearless but many people spoke of him as handsome.’
I took another gulp of wine and sat down in Jane’s vacated chair, gesturing Lewys back to the other. ‘So Jane must think I am kind,’ I sighed, stretching out my legs and feeling the wine’s effect flowing into my weary limbs. ‘I do not know many earls who would welcome that description.’
‘There are worse words,’ remarked Lewys. ‘For instance, tyrannous, or lecherous …’
‘You would not use such words in a praise-song though, surely?’
‘There are other types of poetry, my lord – but they are not the sort that earn food and drink.’ Lewys had shed his anxious look and his eyes were now twinkling. ‘And I get hungry.’
I laughed and slapped my thigh. ‘You are always hungry, Lewys. And by God now I am too. Where is Maredudd with the supper? And I need him to help me out of this armour.’
By the time Jane returned, having settled her charge in his cot, no doubt with a nursemaid to rock him to sleep, Maredudd had ushered in a procession of kitchen varlets with all the elements of a substantial evening meal, relieved me of my breastplate and heavy brigandine and provided a clean doublet in which to take my ease. Meanwhile Lewys and I had quaffed another cup of wine and I had picked his brains for local political developments. In his wanderings from house to house, reciting his poems and filling his purse and belly, he seemed able to absorb an abundance of useful information and, encouraged by the knowledge that he had written a praise-song to Edmund, I began to consider luring him onto my confidential payroll. However, along with his talent as a bard, I knew Lewys had also acquired a reputation for womanizing and before I did so I needed to discover if there was more to his relationship with Jane Hywel than getting a little help with translation.
19
Jane
Pembroke Castle
LORD JASPER SAT WITH Harri on the floor of the nursery building a castle with shaped wooden bricks. The little boy was watching him patiently, blue eyes glued to the growing pile, waiting for his uncle to give him a sign. The earl smiled and slipped the last brick onto the battlements. ‘There you are, Harri, now you can attack!’
With a shout his nephew swept his arm across the castle and sent its walls tumbling to the ground. ‘Ha! Ha!’ he cried triumphantly, his four baby front teeth bared in a delighted grin.
‘Yes, Harri, good boy, you knocked it down!’ Jasper looked at me and winked. ‘If only it were so easy in real life,’ he remarked, beginning to gather up the scattered bricks to start again. ‘You seem very friendly with Lewys, Jane. Are you?’
I bent to collect a wayward brick from under my chair, nonplussed.
‘Well, are you going to tell me?’
‘Tell you what, my lord?’
‘How friendly you are with Lewys Glyn Cothi?’ He began to build a new wall.
I turned the wooden brick in my fingers, feeling its smooth surfaces. It was shaped for the battlements, in a line of crenellations. The set had been made from scrap oak by one of the carpenters who had worked on the panelling in the hall and painted red, green and blue with vegetable dyes that had no poisons in them. Margaret had been delighted when Jasper presented them to Harri, but that was before she knew Jasper had custody of her son. I resented Lord Jasper’s inquisition but at length I said, ‘He has been to Pembroke a few times on his travels.’
‘A few times? As far as I know he has only been twice.’
‘Oh no, he has a regular route around the county. He visits St David’s and all the lordships – Wiston and Picton, Haverford and Carew. Sometimes even goes as far as Dale, he tells me. But he always calls in here and stays a night or two to sing us his latest compositions. You are away a good deal but the steward says you like to encourage the bards.’
‘Does he indeed? I shall have a word with Steward Dŵnn. I also hear that Lewys likes the ladies. He has quite a reputation. Did you know that, Jane?’
The bricks had reached enough height to add the battlements and I handed over the one I had rescued. ‘We talk only of poetry and stories,’ I said. ‘I do not ask about his love life.’
Harri could wait no longer and jabbed his fist at the unfinished walls, causing a collapse. Lord Jasper raised a fist in salute. ‘Aha! You sent in the sappers, Harri! Good strategy.’ He turned his gaze back to me. ‘But is Lewys a harmless wandering minstrel
or is he a roving rogue? You should be careful, Jane. He is hardly the marrying kind and you do not want him boasting of his conquest at Pembroke Castle.’
I was incredulous. If anyone was not the marrying kind it was Jasper Tudor. Had he not told me so outright? Yet he thought he had the right to lecture me on preserving my reputation. I stood up. ‘I crave your pardon, my lord. I thought you only employed me in your household. I did not realize that included the right to appoint yourself my moral guardian.’
He was still sitting cross-legged on the blanket, hardly a position of dominance, but he glared up at me, eyes blazing. ‘You are my nephew’s governess, Jane, and as such I demand a certain moral standard.’
My regrettable temper flared. ‘You have no need to worry on that score, my lord. I would never do anything to harm my charge – and that includes upsetting him in any way.’
Harri was sensitive to atmosphere and I could see his chin beginning to tremble. I bent to gather him up and give him a reassuring hug, feeling dampness around his nether regions that demanded attention. ‘Come on, Harri,’ I said, adjusting my voice to a soothing tone. ‘It is time we got some fresh air. Shall we change your napkin, find your warm jacket and go and visit the horses? Say goodbye to your Uncle Jasper.’
The earl scrambled to his feet, as anxious as I was to forestall any baby tears. ‘No, we will all go to the stables,’ he said, smiling beguilingly at his nephew and squeezing his little hand. ‘I need to speak to my Master of Horse and you can stroke my big friendly courser, Harri. You would like that, would you not?’ Too young to understand what his uncle had said, the little boy had nevertheless gauged the gentler tone of his voice his chin stopped trembling; he gurgled happily, meaning yes he would.
Over Harri’s head Lord Jasper and I exchanged glances. The moment of conflict had passed. Any unfinished business would have to be resolved at some other time. However, no early opportunity offered itself because, no matter what he thought of the poet’s attitude towards the ladies, a few days later the earl set off with Lewys as his guide to visit one of the farthest-flung Pembroke manors.
Dale was a remote coastal lordship at the mouth of the great Milford Haven estuary. Getting there involved a complicated journey with many rivers and streams to cross and since Lord Jasper could hardly be expected to walk, Lewys was required to ride. I could not help laughing as Harri and I watched the small band of horsemen set off on their journey. Lewys sat his mount with tense deliberation, holding the reins like a basket of eggs and giving the impression that he was unlikely to remain in contact with the saddle much beyond the Pembroke River. I recalled that he had been less than keen when Jasper had proposed the expedition over supper on the night of his return.
‘Why would you want to go there?’ the poet had protested. ‘Dale Castle is a grim place in the direct path of every gale that sweeps in from the Western Ocean and its lord is a cantankerous old bastard for whom I will never compose a praise poem.’
Lord Jasper had dismissed his objections. ‘Never mind your bardish sensitivities, Lewys. Pembroke is a royal domain and I need to inspect Dale’s capacity to confront an enemy landing. I will pay you well to guide me to this wind-blasted corner of my territory. Has this cantankerous chieftain adopted the English tongue, or will I have to bribe you further to interpret as well?’ It was at that moment I realized that the two men were developing an unlikely friendship whatever the earl’s opinion of the poet’s lax morals.
Lord Jasper returned from his foray to the western edge a week later, having left the poet en route to make his way on foot towards Gruffydd ap Nicholas’s territory, no doubt with a mission to gather information for his new patron. Then Geoffrey and Edith Pole had joined the earl’s retinue at the Milford ferry and brought along their own baby son, Richard.
Rich was only a few weeks older than Harri and the two little boys quickly reestablished a relationship they had begun as babies, when Rich took away any toy Harri was playing with and Harri devised distraction tactics to get it back. I thought this very clever of Harri. He did not get angry as my little brothers always had in such circumstances and I hoped such a carrot-rather-than-stick strategy might prove useful to him throughout life.
Edith had seen nothing of Margaret while in England.
‘No, she has not left Maxstoke since her wedding. I believe her mother-in-law, the Duchess of Buckingham, is rather a dragon – but do not tell anyone I said so. I just hope she is being kind to Margaret.’
I could imagine Margaret tip-toeing around the duchess while working out the quickest way of getting free of her. I wondered how much support she would get from her new husband, but Edith had only met him at the wedding and then they did not speak much. ‘It will be good when he and Margaret can set up their own household but the duchess apparently thinks Margaret is too young yet.’
‘And what the duchess says goes as far as her son is concerned, is that it?’
Edith shrugged, more concerned to stay her own son’s threatening advance on Harri’s building work. ‘No, Rich – do not knock the wall down!’
I assured her that Lord Jasper encouraged Harri to do exactly that. ‘And he says that the Duchess of Buckingham is a favourite of Queen Marguerite’s,’ I added. ‘Perhaps she will soon be called back to court and the newlyweds will be able to take flight.’ I caught Edith’s eye and we both erupted into giggles at this prospect just at the moment Lord Jasper and Geoffrey entered the nursery, having concluded their business.
I had last encountered Geoffrey Pole during the tense post-Christmas gathering at Haverford when Margaret had handed Harri over. I thought him a shrewd man, tall and dark, with a high brow and a thin face with twinkling hazel eyes, which I discovered indicated a ready sense of humour.
‘Hello, what gossip amuses the ladies while the babies do battle on the floor?’ he asked. Swooping on his son who was waving a toy mangonel perilously close to Harri’s face, he told the boy, ‘That is meant for hurling missiles at castle walls, my boisterous son, not for battering your little friend’s brains out!’ He swung Rich up above his head and tossed him in the air, causing the boy to shriek with laughter. ‘You will not be invited again if you damage your cousin’s good looks.’
‘They have been playing together beautifully, have they not, Jane?’ Edith declared, defending her son’s behaviour. ‘And we were laughing at Jane’s idea that Margaret and Sir Henry might be able to escape from under his mother’s thumb if the queen were to call the duchess to court.’
I squirmed slightly at her frank admission that we had been discussing Lady Margaret and glanced at Lord Jasper to gauge his reaction. He was instantly alert at the mention of her name, asking, ‘Why? Is Margaret not happy in her marriage?’
Edith hastened to reassure him. ‘Oh yes, she is full of praise for Sir Henry. It is his mother she finds difficult to please. She complains that she escaped our own mother’s authority only to encounter one even more restricting in her mother-in-law. Margaret may be young but she has a strong independent streak, as you know, my lord.’
The earl pursed his lips. ‘Hmm. I expect the duchess means well but I suppose I might seek the queen’s help to loosen the chains a little. It is Sir Henry Margaret should answer to, not his mother.’
‘Indeed,’ Geoffrey said, casting a teasing glance at his wife, ‘just as Edith is entirely answerable to me, of course.’ He ignored her indignant ‘Huh!’ and squatted down to put his son back on the floor. ‘Play nicely now, Rich. Here is your mangonel, Harri. Your uncle is going to hold an eisteddfod, is that not a splendid idea?’
Harri took back his siege weapon with alacrity and Lord Jasper hastily interjected, ‘Not exactly an eisteddfod, just a gathering of some of the local bards and their patrons. I thought it might provide an opportunity to combine negotiation with entertainment. Lewys Glyn Cothi is arranging it for me, starting with Gruffydd ap Nicholas and his sons. They all compose a little I am told. What do you think, Jane?’
Flustered by his direc
t appeal for my opinion, I could not instantly summon a suitable reply. ‘I ask you because you know the Welsh mind,’ he persisted. ‘Will the chiefs of the local lordships find it acceptable to come to Pembroke for poetry, feasting and talking or will they be suspicious of an English conspiracy? I thought I would get my father to help things along. He could perfect a bardic battle he started with Lewys at Caldicot during our hunting party.’
‘I believe all Welshmen love a bardic battle, my lord,’ I said cautiously, ‘nearly as much as a real one. I am sure they will flock to the gates of Pembroke.’
In due course they did not exactly flock but about a dozen Welsh chiefs and chieftains attended the festival, along with their wives and sons, to feast and frolic at the earl’s expense and perhaps lured as well by the opportunity to air their grievances. Owen Tudor was first to arrive, accompanied by a small posse of armed companions and several packhorses with a selection of harps among the baggage. Lord Jasper had allocated his father to the guest accommodation in his new mansion and showed him proudly around it, including a visit to Harri’s nursery, where Owen presented one of the instruments – a suitably junior version – to his grandson.
‘He is Welsh enough to have music in his blood,’ said Owen, ruffling Harri’s hair. ‘This will give him a chance to discover it.’
‘It is very generous of you to think of Harri,’ said Lord Jasper, who then remarked, ‘I wondered why you had brought four harps, it seemed a little excessive.’
‘I am as competitive as the next bard,’ his father declared. ‘I do not want my sound to be drowned out by larger instruments. Also I have a duty to show the king how much I appreciate the annual pension he has awarded me – not before time,’ he added under his breath. ‘So at last I can afford a gift for my grandson.’
First of the Tudors Page 18