‘And a squire and two servants, I notice,’ commented his son.
But Owen had retrieved the little harp from Harri, in such a way that he plucked a little sweet tune from it as he took it away, to try and avoid any squall of protest. The trick worked and Owen was able to return his attention to Jasper, who was saying, ‘… there is accommodation in the house for you but I am afraid your retinue will have to sleep in the Old Hall, unless you want a pile of pallets in your chamber.’
Owen reacted with a grimace. ‘Perish that thought! Ah, I must tell you my news, I have taken a lovely lady to my home and hearth. She told me over and again we were destined to be together and so in the end I relented. Her name is Myfanwy and I cannot think what took me so long, she is the comeliest and most spirited little widow.’
A quick movement of his head, caught out of the corner of my eye, told me Lord Jasper had glanced in my direction before responding.
‘Well, I wish you joy, Father, and I will make a point of coming to Denbigh to meet your Myfanwy. Will you be taking her before the priest?’
Owen gave a bark of laughter. ‘Oh no, my lord earl, have no fear that I will shame you in that way. Besides, Myfanwy may be the prettiest woman in North Wales and she loves me well but she cannot compare to my queen. In my heart I will always be your royal mother’s husband and true lover but we men abhor a cold bed, Jasper, do we not?’
There was such an evident desire for understanding in the question that I glanced round to see the wistful smile that accompanied it. Owen’s silver hair clustered in thick curls around the brim of his soft felt hat and I felt a surge of sympathy for this still handsome man, who held on to his virility and defiantly challenged the inexorable march of time to shrivel him in spirit.
Lord Jasper’s reply intrigued me. ‘If the lady is content with your arrangement then you are a lucky man, Father; a clear conscience can make a cold bedfellow, that is certainly true.’
To free up guest accommodation, Lord Jasper had moved into the new mansion for the first time and with him came the bustle of servants and squires rendering service to their Tudor master; confidential meetings were held in the hall.
I found myself with a dual role as governess to the Tudor heir and the earl’s interpreter both at the meetings in the mansion and in the Great Hall where I sat behind his chair to assist conversation with chieftains. My position was not understood at first, I was an object of curiosity and even suspicion for many attending the gathering, but after I had brought Harri to the hall to show him off, my duties became clear and the novelty waned. The female guests in particular became friendlier to me once they had beheld Harri’s big blue eyes and heard his few charmingly lisped words of Welsh.
Up to that time I had been ignorant of how lavishly the nobility entertained; I was shocked at the number and quantity of the dishes Lord Jasper ordered and the copious supplies of ale, wine and more exotic liquors he provided to lubricate the feasting. Luckily Edith was there to entertain the ladies in the style expected, although several were, like me, over-awed by the scale of the festivities and a few drank too much and became quarrelsome or sick. All the meals went on for hours but the final banquet lasted from noon until after midnight and included the presentation of prizes for the most admired songs and poems and the announcement of the festival’s prime objective, which was an alliance sworn between most of the chiefs. The few who felt unable to swear had slipped away by the time a closing joust was held the following day but crucially the Gruffydd clan had stood solidly in allegiance, bringing most others with them.
‘I never thought there would come a day when I would be able to raise a toast to the brother of an English king on Welsh soil!’ bellowed the elderly Gruffydd, white-headed now but even at the end of an energetic joust and mounted on his prancing charger, he was still able to raise his cup and make his voice echo around the vast outer ward. Having eaten and drunk his way through seven days of feasting and argument, passed judgement on a dozen bards and broken several lances on less expert jousters, the ‘old rascal’ was finally conceding victory to his host, whose team had scored two more points than his.
‘I speak for all the Welsh clans represented here when I thank Lord Jasper for opening his gates and his purse to us and achieving the impossible – that is to say peace between chieftains who have been feuding for years. May the devil take those who have slunk away without swearing but those of us here can all return to our lordships secure in the knowledge of who will stand firmly beside us against our enemies. But before we go, let us drink to Lord Jasper – a true leader of men. As long as he holds the king’s castles in South West Wales, we know our lands are safe. May God support his cause!’
Gruffydd’s two sons, Owain and Thomas, led the cheering that followed this speech and I watched Lord Jasper remove his helm and acknowledge the shouts with raised sword and pride-flushed cheeks. Seeing him receive this acclaim, like a knight from my mother’s illuminated book of romances, stirred feelings of admiration in me that had lately been lying dormant and lit a fresh spark of courage.
‘A clear conscience makes a cold bedfellow,’ he had said when Owen first revealed the existence of his Myfanwy. Did that mean he now regretted putting honour before inclination? If I made a new effort to break through his stifling sense of obligation to his royal brother, would he abandon his scruples of betraying the king and admit that he longed for the warmth of human flesh and the joy of love and companionship? I resolved to take a cue from the bold Myfanwy and try again. But I told myself that if I was rejected this time I would no longer remain at Pembroke to care for Lady Margaret’s son and feign indifference to the man I loved. I would go home to Tŷ Cerrig and run my father’s house and look after my stepmother and her children.
20
Jasper
Pembroke Castle
THE SUCCESS OF MY Easter festival meant I now had a substantial alliance of tenants and landholders on whom I could rely for advice, assistance and military support. What is more I had won important friends for the Lancastrian throne. However, with the Duke of York and his allies still controlling most of the crucial March lordships between England and Wales, there remained an awkward swathe of hostile territory separating us from the Lancastrian heartland and I did not doubt that sooner or later I would be called on to do something about it.
When most of the Welsh guests had ridden off home and the Great Hall had become an echoing void, I was able to relax over dinner in the mansion with my father, Lewys Glyn Cothi, and Thomas ap Gruffydd, the ‘old rascal’s’ son who remained as a guest in the castle. I wished to quiz him about the ever-present threat from his aggressive neighbour William Herbert of Raglan, the Duke of York’s main man in South Wales. Before sitting down at table the four of us gathered around the hearth in the oak-panelled hall, beneath the painted ceiling depicting the heraldic symbols of my extended family.
Thomas was gazing upwards, in imminent danger of tipping his cup of wine over the expensive Turkish hearthrug. ‘No mistaking whose side you are on, is there, Lord Jasper,’ he observed.
I reached out to straighten his cup for him. ‘I will not be on your side, my friend, if you tip wine over my expensive Ottoman import.’
‘We are not used to treading on wool this side of Offa’s Dyke, Jasper,’ my father remarked, his foot tapping the thick pile of the carpet. ‘Perhaps you should hang it on the wall.’
Thomas took a large gulp from the offending cup, lowering the risk of a spill, then immediately raised it again in making me an effusive bow. ‘Pray accept my humble apologies, my lord. The decor of this hall is such a feast for the eyes it is hard to know whether to look up or down. You have shown us all how to live like lords.’
Thomas was the youngest of Gruffydd’s sons, born to his third wife some twenty years after the eldest, Owain had been born to his first. Of about my age, Thomas was dark haired, broad-shouldered and stocky, a fine archer and swordsman and a competent jouster. Like many Welshmen he spilled words rather
than spoke them, often without giving sufficient thought to their order and meaning, but I could easily forgive him this because of his willingness to stand up for his friends and fight as hard for their causes as for his own. I knew he would be among the first I would look to for support in time of need.
‘My pleasure in it so far has mostly been to provide a comfortable refuge for my bereaved sister-in-law until her re-marriage earlier this year,’ I said.
‘Yes, your brother’s death was very unfortunate. The plague I understand.’
Thomas knew that the true cause of Edmund’s demise was uncertain and looked uncomfortable as he spoke of it. ‘So William Herbert would have us believe,’ I responded. ‘And my royal brother’s commission of enquiry hit a Yorkist wall of silence. Another reason to strengthen our mutual defences. However, I am now at liberty to use my new house for its intended purpose – entertaining my friends and neighbours; or at least those I can trust.’
‘That is all very well but it lacks the feminine touch,’ Owen interjected. ‘I have never been one for exclusively male company. Why do you not invite that cousin of ours to join us? The one who is looking after Harri – Jane, is it not? She is a lovely girl and holds her own in conversation. Go on, lad, call her in.’
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. ‘I will not,’ I said. ‘You are the one for the ladies, Father. You call her if you want to.’
Owen made an impatient noise. ‘Bah! It is not an old man she wants it is you, you blind mole. Who would have thought that I could sire such a lame goose?’ He laid a gnarled hand on Lewys’s shoulder. ‘If you are not careful, Jasper, this skirt-lifting poet here will talk his way into her favour and you will regret it for the rest of your life – well, for a few months anyway!’
‘I have no intention of doing anything of the kind,’ protested Lewys, shrugging off my father’s hand.
‘Because you see as well as I do that she only has eyes for Jasper,’ Owen retorted with a chuckle. ‘Like me, Lewys, you woo where you know you can win.’
‘Perhaps the bard could pen a few lines on Lord Jasper’s behalf that might win the lady’s approval,’ suggested Thomas raising an eyebrow in my direction. ‘All females are susceptible to verse are they not?’
‘Stop this, all of you!’ I cried, relieved to see the hall door open to admit a posse of kitchen porters carrying an array of dishes, which they began to lay out on the table. ‘I am hungry, even if you are not. Come, my friends, take your places and let us talk of more important things. Which of you will join me at the hunt tomorrow for instance? The Pembroke parks are loaded with game.’
The smell of roasted meat and steaming puddings drew them to the board. Pages arrived with bowls of warm water and we washed our hands, the rush of blood subsiding from my cheeks as I wielded a crisp white napkin, meantime distracting my tormentors with descriptions of the various covers that were available to us for sport on the following day. But as the meal progressed I could not entirely erase their teasing comments from my mind. A blind mole. A lame goose. Was that me? Often I longed for the softness of a woman and the thrill of a warm embrace, but I still woke in the night from dreams of Margaret bent low over her galloping palfrey’s neck, skirts flying and a smile of exaltation on her Madonna face. Could Jane – could any woman – match that vision?
The question lingered with me after the dishes were emptied and the wine jugs ran dry and four tipsy comrades bade each other goodnight, swaying from the hall, lit to their quarters by yawning servants. My own duty squire helped me out of my doublet and hose, showed me the piss pot and left me to get myself into bed.
I seemed hardly to have laid my head on the pillow when I was woken by a thunderous rapping on the chamber door. ‘Lord Japer, Lord Jasper, come quickly! It is Harri. He has fallen from his cot and I cannot rouse him.’ Jane’s voice was shrill with panic. I fought to clear the fog of sleep and wine, rolled from my bed, snatched up my chamber robe and staggered to the door. When I pulled it open Jane stood wild-eyed, on the other side, clad only in her chemise. Despite her knocking and shouting, the young squire who had been sleeping in the anteroom had not stirred. Small use he was as a guard, I thought.
‘I am sorry to wake you, my lord, but I did not know what else to do.’ Jane’s tangled brown hair was tumbling around her chalk-white face. ‘Please come to Harri. I think he is dead!’
She held a lantern in a violently shaking hand and immediately turned to retrace her steps. I followed the swinging light, half running through the solar and up the spiral stair to the nursery. Harri was lying on the rush floor in a crumpled heap, next to the new cot-bed he had been so excited to move into only a few days before. One of the moveable side-rails was still in place but the higher rail, the one that should have stopped him falling out, was missing from its slots, partly visible on the floor beneath his out-flung body. I threw myself down beside him, putting my ear to his face. Relief flooded through me when I heard the faint sound of snuffling breaths.
‘He is not dead,’ I said, laying my hand against his neck. ‘But he is very cold. How long has he lain here?’ I tugged a blanket from the cot and tucked it around him, taking care not to move his head.
Jane shook her head. ‘I do not know. Not long I think.’ She waved her hand in the direction of a snivelling girl who stood in the shadows, wringing her hands. ‘Cerys here was sleeping in his chamber. She said she heard a bang but thought it was a door slamming somewhere. It was a few minutes before she got up to check on Harri and came straight to wake me.’
I glanced at the girl and wondered how few those minutes had really been, for the little boy was very cold. ‘Perhaps she could go and find a hot brick. There may be one beside the hall fire, or in the kitchen.’
Jane nodded and sent Cerys off on her errand. ‘She is a good girl,’ she said, putting the lantern down on a chest before returning to my side. ‘But obviously a sound sleeper.’ The light settled into a steady pool.
‘Many are, when young and hard-worked,’ I remarked, thinking of my slumbering squire. ‘We need to get Harri warm. I think he may wake up then and we can find out if any bones are broken.’
I heard Jane’s gasp of anguish. ‘Oh dear God, I pray not!’
‘Amen to that,’ I said and we both made the sign of the cross. Feeling suddenly dizzy, I put a hand to my forehead and felt the cold sweat on my brow. ‘Is there any water here in the nursery?’ I asked.
Beside the lantern stood a covered jug and a horn cup. ‘We keep spring water here for Harri.’ Jane brought me a cupful and watched me gulp it down. ‘That will clear your head. I heard you carousing with your friends.’
I began to protest indignantly, ‘We were not carousing –’ but broke off. Harri was stirring and making little moaning sounds.
Soon Jane was kneeling beside him, her soft voice calling ‘Harri. Harri. Can you hear me, sweetheart?’ The little boy’s eyes slowly opened and tried to focus, then he gave a groan, beginning to cry. ‘Sssh. You are all right, Harri,’ Jane told him and I marvelled at the calm tone she managed to summon in such a crisis. Gently she held him still, saying, ‘Do not move, Harri. You have fallen out of bed. Just lie still and try not to cry. It will make your head hurt.’ She placed her hand on his forehead and stroked the hair back, crooning a little tune. It must have been familiar to him because the crying stopped and Harri’s blue eyes fixed intently on Jane’s face.
She stopped singing and glanced up at me then began probing carefully around his neck and shoulders. ‘I think he is not badly hurt, my lord. Surely if he had cracked his skull his gaze would not be so intense.’ Harri did not wince as she probed and I felt the fear in me subsiding.
Cerys returned with something heavy wrapped in a thick cloth. ‘A firestone,’ she said. ‘The cooks use them to balance the big cauldrons. But the fire is banked and so the stone is not too hot now.’
‘Put it in the cot,’ Jane instructed. ‘I think we can risk lifting him back to bed.’
When she g
lanced at me for confirmation I nodded and she gathered Harri up, cradling him against her breast and supporting his head in her hand. Caught in the halo of the lantern-light the pair reminded me vividly of the wall painting of the Madonna and Child in St Mary’s Church at the castle gate. It was not an image of groomed and coiffed nobility but of natural, tousled, maternal care; not Margaret but Jane.
My fingers circled her upper arm as I helped her to rise. She had rushed to Harri’s aid without thought for herself and through the thin fabric of her linen shift I could feel the deep chill of her flesh. As she laid the little boy gently in the cot I pulled off my chamber robe and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘You are freezing, Jane. You will catch an ague.’
‘Let us hope Harri has not caught one,’ she said, pulling the robe gratefully around her body. When I saw the garment on her I realized how small she was, almost swamped. She bent to tuck the covers around her charge, saying, ‘I thank the Virgin and St Nicholas for protecting you.’ Harri’s eyes closed. ‘Look, the warmth comforts already. He is almost asleep.’ She busied herself placing the rails in their slots to prevent another fall and called the nursemaid over to point out how important it was to make sure they were properly fixed under their swivelling security-pegs. ‘We have been very lucky, Cerys,’ she said sternly. ‘There must be no repetition of this accident.’ She had recovered her practical self now that her charge was apparently unharmed. Turning to me she said, ‘I will fetch my cloak before you catch an ague yourself, my lord.’
Her chamber was a small one off the passage that led to the nursery. I waited outside until she returned, wrapped in her own cloak, and handed me my robe. We had left the lantern with Cerys and the only light came now from the first rays of dawn filtering through an unshuttered arrow-slit. Jane watched me shrug on my robe. We were both shivering, whether from cold or delayed reaction to the shock we had felt seeing Harri lying apparently lifeless on the floor.
First of the Tudors Page 19