First of the Tudors

by Joanna Hickson

  Over the next night and day, with only a few hours’ rest, we pursued our quarry all the way to Penrhyn but, when we got there we found the harbour empty and the gates of the fortified manor house firmly barred against us. Owen questioned a boatman of his acquaintance who operated a ferry between the mainland and Anglesey and he confirmed that a small ship had sailed from Penrhyn that morning but claimed to be ignorant of its destination. I was satisfied that its passengers must have been the Duke of York and his group of retainers and decided that even if we crossed to Anglesey and commandeered a ship from the royal castle of Beaumaris it would be impossible to locate and board a lone vessel on the rolling expanse of the Irish Sea. I sent the trackers back to the king with a letter admitting our failure and Owen, Maredudd and I decided to pay a family visit to Tŷ Cerrig on our way back to Pembroke. Whatever treasonous schemes the Duke of York might hope to devise while trapped in the wilderness of Ireland, he remained at liberty to do so.

  24

  Jasper

  Pembroke Castle, Coventry & Northampton

  I WAS RELIEVED NOT to have witnessed the dreadful ravaging and ransacking that occurred at Ludlow after my departure in pursuit of York. The lust for plunder among the conscripted soldiers of the king’s army had inevitably led to the looting of the duke’s castle but it was the extent of pillaging and burning in the town and the dreadful violence inflicted on its women and children that horrified me when I learned of it in November.

  I was attending an emergency session of Parliament at Coventry, which was officially opened by the king. But Henry then immediately absented himself and all the subsequent legislation bore the hallmark of an implacable Queen Marguerite, whose comprehensive revenge on the Duke of York and his allies was pushed through the legislature by the young lords whose fathers had been killed at St Albans. York, Salisbury and Warwick were attainted for treason, to be beheaded without trial should they ever be apprehended on English soil, and their extensive properties, offices and revenues were all forfeit to the crown or granted to those who had supported the king. Among other titles, I and not the Duke of York was now the Constable of Denbigh Castle. Of greatest value to me though were grants of a substantial house in the London suburb of Stepney and the use of a tower in the palace of Westminster. These would provide much-needed bases from which to administer the daunting number of royal offices and lordships I now held.

  However, of more personal consequence during the Parliament was the fact that the queen had taken complete control of access to the king, preventing any private audiences with him, even for his brother. ‘He simply cannot take the stress at present, Jasper,’ Marguerite maintained when I questioned her fierce protection of her husband. ‘But I consult him about all policy-making and I will convey any private concerns you may have to him. I reminded him of your father’s efforts on behalf of the crown and it was his idea to invite Master Tudor to attend Council and be dubbed a knight bannaret. I hope you are content with his reward of an annuity of one hundred pounds. I suggested to his grace that the world thought it strange for his stepfather to be without title or income commensurate with his standing.’ She placed her ring-laden hand on my arm in a gesture of concern. ‘It was a – what is the English word? – a blunder, was it not, Jasper? That the son should be made an earl, a Privy Councillor and a Knight of the Garter, while the father remained common Master Tudor. But I want no thanks for righting a wrong that was due to oversight rather than intention.’

  Of course I thanked her profusely and she permitted the newly dubbed Sir Owen to lead her out to dance at that evening’s entertainment, after which she revealed that he had told her of his pride in recently fathering another son. ‘You did not tell me that you had a new brother, Jasper,’ she admonished me. ‘I think your father was a little surprised that you had kept the news to yourself.’

  I was so grateful that Owen had refrained from disclosing details of my own family affairs that I only managed some lame excuse that the king’s state of health had dismissed all other matters from my mind.

  Christmas was almost upon us by the time Parliament rose and Owen and I travelled hastily back to Pembroke. We discovered that Jane and Myfanwy had developed a close friendship and I agreed with their suggestion that Myfanwy should stay and take charge of the nursery during Jane’s spring confinement. In any case Owen would not be returning immediately to North Wales because the Duke of York’s deputy at Denbigh Castle refused to surrender the command and military action would be needed to oust him. My father now had the power as a knight banneret to command in battle, and he undertook to assist me in recruiting the necessary siege force. Despite his advance towards sixty, Owen still retained his youthful zest for the military life and we became quite a team, travelling together all over the southwest, collecting oaths of loyalty and promises of arms, artillery and men whenever the muster might be called.

  We rode back into Pembroke on the last day of March and my second daughter Sian, as we called her after her mother, arrived two days later. Proudly I arranged a special churching ceremony and Mass at St Mary’s and a subsequent feast, which was held in the Great Hall of the castle. In the presence of the entire household Jane was feted and praised, even in a poem by Lewys Glyn Cothi, and I sat at her side taking pleasure in her delight at being granted public recognition as the mother of my children. But only two weeks later, a letter came from Margaret that I was reluctant to show to Jane.

  To Jasper, Earl of Pembroke from Margaret, Countess of Richmond, greetings.

  I write to congratulate you on the birth of your second daughter, who Jane Hywel tells me has been baptized Sian. Jane intimated that had I still been living in the vicinity of Pembroke, she would have begged the honour of my standing at the font as the little girl’s godmother. But I wonder why you did not tell me yourself of your daughters’ existence and of your relationship with Jane Hywel? Could it be because you feared my disapproval? As you know, as nurse to my son I have always held Jane in high regard but had I still been at Pembroke I would certainly have advised you to seek the sanctity of marriage with someone of your own status. However, I find it difficult to deny the joy of children to anyone, and send a gift of silver cups for both your daughters, and my hopes for their future welfare. I am happy that Henry is not alone at this young age but shares his nursery with other children, whether true or baseborn. Jane tells me Henry has been using the wax tablet and stylus I sent. I am also content with the arrangement you have made for Henry to begin lessons with the monks at the Priory of St Mary and receive religious instruction.

  During the coming summer, if the kingdom remains peaceful, Sir Henry and I intend to tour our estates in Somerset and the southwest and I would greatly appreciate a meeting with you and Henry at Caldicot or somewhere convenient during that time. I feel the separation from my son acutely, especially since it seems it is unlikely I will conceive again. It is a special child you have in your care, my lord Jasper.

  I am, as ever, your friend and sister,

  Margaret, Countess of Richmond.

  Written at Colleyweston this twenty-fifth day of April 1460, the Feast of St Mark the Evangelist.

  I finished reading this letter from Margaret with mixed emotions, reflecting on its reproachful tone and the fact that my brother the king still knew nothing of the birth of my children while Margaret did. I felt had to show Jane the letter, even though it would point out her folly in revealing the existence of the children to a lady who, although not one of Queen Marguerite’s official ladies in waiting, was nevertheless becoming a regular visitor to court.

  ‘Lady Margaret will inevitably tell the queen,’ I said, having found Jane alone in the herb garden.

  ‘What if she does?’ she demanded. ‘I cannot see the problem in the birth of our children being public knowledge. It is known in Pembroke, why not in Kenilworth? I am not ashamed of them, even if you are.’

  ‘You know very well that I am not ashamed of them but I am concerned that the queen will tell King
Henry before I have been able to do so myself and he will not be pleased. It will not enhance the chances of our daughters receiving favourable royal treatment.’

  ‘This would not be so if you had written to tell the king of the girls’ births. Look at your father, who proudly tells the queen of Davy’s birth and receives a knighthood and an annuity for his honesty and candour.’

  She was steely-eyed and formidable in defence of her children but while I admired her for it, I could not let her think that I had deliberately withheld the information from the king.

  ‘I had every intention of telling Henry face to face, with my head held high, but Queen Marguerite prevented it. You took it upon yourself to tell the one woman most likely to reproach us.’

  Jane peered again at the letter. ‘Of course she has to reproach us for our “sins” because she is so pious, but we have not lost her support have we? She says she holds me in high regard and does not think his baseborn nursery companions will contaminate her precious son. How noble of her!’ Her tone had become scathing. ‘I know what is really troubling you, Jasper – losing Lady Margaret’s esteem. Because she is your ideal of womanhood, is that not the truth? What is it you really want, my lord? Is it genuine affection, the gift of children, or do you want the cold, sexless admiration of this perfect patron?’ She thrust the letter back into my hands and turned away, taking a few strides down the garden path before turning to deliver her parting shot. ‘You might note that Lady Margaret at least says she is sending our children silver cups. So far you have not offered them or me any form of security for our future. Have you thought where we would live if you were to die or be killed, Jasper? Am I supposed to go crawling back to my father, who I have more or less abandoned at your behest, to present him with two extra mouths to feed? While you think about this, I think it better that I sleep in the nursery with the children. At least that will please Lady Margaret!’

  I had thought this was just a brief display of female pique and that relations would be restored between us within hours but as her absence from my bed extended into days I began to give more serious consideration to her words. Did I truly see Margaret with her lofty titles and petite femininity as the ideal woman? So that others like Jane, more earthy and practical, with curves at hip and breast, who embodied motherhood and empathy over grace and intellect, were less admirable? Perhaps I did, or at least perhaps I had at one time held this view, but I did not believe it to be true now. I realized that I had never felt so content as when contemplating Jane with our two little maids and reflecting on the fulfilment their threefold presence gave me. After a week of pride-driven loneliness, during which I made a visit to Tenby, I sent Maredudd to call Jane officially to my business chamber, the room where I conducted my correspondence and met with petitioners. It was a summons, which out of fealty she could not refuse.

  When she arrived I dismissed my two clerks, one of whom had been working on a document, which now lay before me on the desk. Jane appeared, plainly dressed for the nursery and wearing a grim expression. She looked wary as she obeyed my signal to take a chair, perhaps anticipating reprimand, especially as I began by presenting a facade of business-like gravity.

  ‘Jane, you are right, I should before now have made provision for your and our children’s future security,’ I began. ‘Also, I realize that I have been taking your services too much for granted, the governess of a nursery such as Pembroke now boasts should command more recompense than you have received, for which I apologize. And aside from that, your extended absence from my bed has brought home to me how profoundly I would regret it should you wish to leave it permanently. With these factors in mind, I have had deeds to a house in Tenby drawn up in your name, to provide you with some independence.’ I pushed the document across the desk towards her. ‘Included in this deed is a pension for life from my Pembroke revenues, should you need or choose to take our children to live there.’

  She made no move to take the document and I thought that she could not have heard me. I said, ‘Please do not think for a moment that I want you to leave.’

  She looked up at me then and there was an expression of deep concern in her eyes. ‘I thought you were casting me off,’ she said. ‘I have been cursing my runaway tongue and now you confound me with this.’ She picked up the deed and stared down at it. ‘I have misjudged you. Forgive me.’

  I stood up and pulled her to her feet to kiss her on her lips. ‘Do not ask my forgiveness, Jane,’ I begged. ‘What you said was right, I have for many years placed Margaret on a pedestal but at least her letter showed me that I have not afforded you enough credit for the skill and kindness you show in your role as Harri’s governess. And now that we have our own two children I realize that our love is worth more than any ideal, more than gold coin.’

  Our visit to Tenby to view the house was the last day we spent together for several weeks. It was well furnished, tucked away in a quiet alley off the main thoroughfare and boasted two floors above a vaulted undercroft, which had previously been used as a workshop. There were even latrines on each of the upper floors, which made it one of the most luxurious houses in the town. I could see that Jane was impressed.

  We climbed up onto the roof turret and took in the view across the harbour and the sweep of sand where the fishing boats were pulled up. With a sideways glance, Jane commented, ‘There would be plenty of room here for more than just our present two children,’ which was when I knew I was forgiven. Our lovemaking that night was poignant – gentle and memorable.

  The following day Owen and I left for Carmarthen, where we had arranged to muster our siege army for Denbigh. He was as keen as I was to regain control of this particular castle and town, not only to fulfil our royal commission to do so but because Myfanwy wanted to return there.

  As far as I was concerned Denbigh was a Yorkist lair and I had for too long neglected my duty to bring it back under crown control. The name meant ‘rocky fortress’ in Welsh and it certainly lived up to it. The castle was perched high on a prominence and surrounded by the town, which made attacking its walls practically impossible, even with the guns I had managed to acquire from the Tower of London. I was relying on my father to use contacts acquired during his sojourn there to winkle out informants who might enable us to enter the castle by subterfuge and I was not disappointed. In his absence York’s local support was declining and towards the end of May we managed to get the gates opened to us and install a new deputy constable with a substantial garrison loyal to the king.

  However, jubilation at our achievement was short-lived. When we rode to Kenilworth to report to King Henry we discovered the royal family and their army had departed suddenly to confront a Yorkist invasion from Calais led by Warwick, Salisbury and York’s eighteen-year-old son Edward, Earl of March. First they seized and garrisoned the port of Sandwich; then, after recruiting substantial support in Kent, they moved on to a rousing welcome in London. We rode south to find that the royal army had dug defensive ditches on the banks of the River Nene at Northampton and were lying in wait for the invaders to make a move. A battle was inevitable. Meanwhile the queen and the prince had taken up residence at Northampton Castle with the constable, Duke Humphrey of Buckingham, but the king had taken refuge with the nuns of Delapré Abbey and, as usual was ‘not to be disturbed’.

  ‘Take your men back to Pembroke, Jasper,’ Buckingham ordered with his usual gruff authority. ‘Lord Grey of Ruthin brought a force from North Wales to join us a few days ago and we need you to keep watch on Herbert in the south. We do not want him creeping up on us without being confronted. The king will be delighted with your news about Denbigh and I will keep you informed of developments here. We will have no trouble trouncing these rebel Yorkists and if any survive the battle I have no doubt the rebel earls will soon be awaiting their trial for treason in the Tower.’

  Being outranked, I had no choice but to comply. Once again I was denied any personal contact with my brother and had no opportunity to assess his state of mind o
r confide my family news to him. Henry was becoming a phantom king; I sometimes wondered if he was still alive.

  We were back in Pembroke before news of the battle of Northampton caught up with us. Far from trouncing the Yorkist insurgents, the royal army had themselves been trounced, primarily due to the battlefield treachery of Lord Grey of Ruthin whose troops, by some devious arrangement, actually stood aside as Warwick’s men attacked, leaving the royal camp wide open to enemy incursion. The veteran Duke of Buckingham had been killed trying to protect his sovereign. King Henry had been taken captive and was now in the Tower of London. The queen and Prince Édouard had fled with the remnant of their army. Furious that I had not been there to defend my ailing brother, I railed against the turncoat Lord Grey but most of all I feared for the future of England.

  25

  Jasper

  Pembroke Castle & The Welsh Marches

  MYFANWY WOULD NOT BE moved. She was determined to follow Owen to war, even if he categorically forbade it, which he did during our last supper together in the mansion at Pembroke.

  ‘You cannot stop me,’ she retorted. ‘Fighting men need their women more than they think, especially women who have healing skills, like I do. I will ride with the baggage train and many a trooper may be glad of my salves and potions if it comes to a battle.’

  ‘There is not much if about it, Myfanwy,’ I told her, attempting to support my father’s ban. ‘We are marching to confront Edward of York. He is not recruiting in Hereford for a Holy Day picnic. He has revenge on his mind.’

  Edward’s father, Richard Duke of York, had crossed from Ireland following the Yorkist victory at Northampton and defiantly re-claimed his vast Mortimer estates around Ludlow and Hereford. After commissioning William Herbert to raise a Welsh force and hold the March, he and his duchess then made a quasi-regal progress through England to London where, and no doubt to his fury, the Lords had refused to acknowledge his attempt to claim the throne. However, a hastily summoned pro-York Parliament did eventually pass an Act of Accord, which reversed the previous session’s attainders and duly appointed the duke Lord Protector of the Realm and Prince of Wales, heir to King Henry. With my brother still confined in the Tower, by the end of October Richard of York had made himself ruler of England, in fact if not in name.