First of the Tudors

  And he is not the only one, I thought. Keeping my face straight while Louis continued his polemic was not easy.

  ‘That fact has not changed. He will not stomach further disparagement by the king he once considered his puppet. He will not tolerate being outranked by the boy Richard of Gloucester. Believe me, it will not be long before Warwick and Clarence return to the fray and however great Lord Warwick thinks himself, he still needs allies. I predict that he will be knocking at my door within weeks.’ In his element, the king’s smile was smug.

  I responded with an upward twist of my eyebrow. ‘And how will you react, your grace?’

  I could swear that Louis’s long, warty Valois nose actually twitched, but he stilled it by laying his forefinger against it, gazing at me through narrowed bloodshot eyes. ‘I will send him to Queen Marguerite.’

  I blew air noisily from my cheeks. ‘I would suggest that you prepare the ground first, sire, or she will never receive him. There is no love between those two.’

  He waved his hand airily. ‘Perhaps not but Marguerite wants her son on the throne of England and Warwick wants his daughter as queen. Having failed with the elder daughter Isabel’s marriage to the dissolute Clarence, he will embrace the prospect of succeeding with the younger, little Anne Neville – for whom we will arrange a betrothal. A good dynastic marriage will always seal an alliance and I am very impressed with young Édouard of Lancaster, a fierce lion cub.’

  ‘Unlike his father, who lives yet,’ I reminded him. ‘I hope you do not expect King Henry to make way for his son?’

  ‘No, no,’ Louis said impatiently, as if his English cousin were a mere inconvenience. ‘It will happen, all in God’s good time. And fortunately Édouard takes after his mother, who is a formidable woman. She and Warwick will make sparks enough to light a conflagration, from which, God willing, a phoenix will arise.’

  ‘Or a dragon,’ I suggested dryly. ‘After all Édouard is the Prince of Wales.’

  Clearly irritated by this mild pleasantry King Louis paused and stroked his chin, his full lips pursed in thought. ‘We made a mistake sending you to Wales last year, Jasper,’ he observed. ‘It achieved nothing and cost too much – and it led to the loss of that dragon’s lair of yours with the unpronounceable name – Ar-leck is it?’

  It was not the first time he had brought up the subject of my recent attempt to bolster Lancaster’s Welsh standing by re-capturing Denbigh, an expedition badly under-funded at the last minute by Louis’s Exchequer. My siege on the castle had failed as a result but I had followed it with a devastating chevauchée through the Yorkist Vale of Clwyd and a furious William Herbert had taken revenge for this by throwing a vast siege army at Harlech Castle. Lancaster had lost its last toehold in Wales and Herbert had been granted my earldom of Pembroke as a reward, both humiliating events for me.

  ‘At least Herbert will not be staging any more revenge raids. We have Warwick to thank for that,’ I reminded him.’

  ‘Yes, so we do. The earl is rather prone to cutting off heads is he not?’ Louis observed tartly.

  ‘Does that bother you?’ I asked in surprise.

  ‘No, but I thought it might concern you, or will you hope to return to England on good terms with Monsieur le “Kingmaker”?’

  I made an ambivalent gesture. ‘I share his scorn for the men whose heads he removed but I am not sure I think him any more honourable than them. I wonder if he would have sent them to the scaffold had they been old nobility, as he considers himself, instead of what you French call arrivistes. However, there is no doubt that Warwick has done us a favour by removing a few Herberts and Woodvilles from the political scene.’

  Louis raised an eyebrow. ‘Hm. You consider yourself a match for Lord Warwick then?’

  I recalled my series of contentious meetings in Anjou with the exiled Marguerite and shot him a thin smile. ‘Whether I am or not, I can assure you of one thing your grace; Queen Marguerite definitely is!’

  38

  Jasper

  Chateau Angers, Anjou, France

  LOCATED IN THE WEST of Northern France, close to the border with Brittany, Angers was known as the Black City due to the sombre colour of its roofs, tiled with slate from the quarries that surrounded it. It was also a city built on two thousand years of history; in its walls and cobbled streets were signs of the ancient Celts, Roman settlers and Germanic invaders, while above me loomed the legacy of the Christian missionaries, the twin spires of the cathedral of St Maurice and the massive bell-tower of the Benedictine Abbey of St Aubin. Dropping down to the banks of the River Maine, I stared up at the vast bulk of Angers Castle and could almost count the civilizations layered in the rock on which it stood. It was a fortress buttressed by no less than seventeen towers, each startlingly banded with alternating rows of black and white stone, defended by the fast-flowing river and, to landward, by a deep dry moat inhabited by a menagerie of man-eating lions and tigers. It was both spectacular and daunting, an awesome castle, not one that extended a visual welcome or the promise of comfort and luxury.

  I was there at the behest of King Louis but also as a guest of Queen Marguerite’s ageing father, King René. Cynics dubbed him ‘the king with many crowns but no kingdom’, for René clung to his long-defunct ancestral claim to the kingdom of Jerusalem, and had bankrupted himself trying to regain his father’s kingdom of Naples and Sicily, lost to his rival claimant, King Alfonso of Aragon. In a way, he might be compared to my brother Henry who had also lost two kingdoms, but at least King René still presided over vast swathes of rich French territory in the form of his duchy of Anjou and his counties of Provence and Piedmont.

  As he grew older people had started calling him ‘Good King René’ and whenever I was invited into his company I greatly enjoyed it, for he was a cultured man, a poet and painter of miniatures and, to my delight, a great enthusiast for chivalry in all its manifestations. He had even written a book on the subject, which on this visit I had been encouraged to borrow, whiling away a few fascinating hours absorbing his detailed instructions on the staging of a tournament; the ceremonial, the weapons and armour and the layout of the lists, even the costumes of the heralds and judges and the prizes to be awarded. Time which I might otherwise have found tedious as I waited for developments in the matter I had really come to Angers to pursue, namely the return of my brother to the throne of England.

  I had been there for a week before letters caught up with me, of which the most welcome was from Jane, which told me of her shameful eviction from Lady Anne’s presence with the children, and her precarious journey to Tenby. My relief at knowing they were safe was intense. Lady Margaret had sent thirty crowns to Jane when she learned of her plight and for this she had my gratitude. I hoped they would find a safe home among the folk of Tenby, many of who remained among my greatest supporters.

  Lady Margaret’s epistle, the latest of many that had reached me during my sojourn in France, was without preamble, crudely encoded and considerably shorter than Jane’s but in contrast to her last anxious and dejected communication, it left me in no doubt of her renewed determination not only to regain control of her son’s birthright but also to restore the Lancastrian throne.

  It is time to strike. E is back in action but R is still in the hands of the widow and I despair of ever reclaiming him while E remains in power. My own people have suffered his deadly wrath following a failed uprising in Lincolnshire, which W secretly backed. Now he too fears for his head and has taken ship to Calais with his entire family, including C. You must summon all your diplomatic skills, because my sources tell me that L is prepared to help W to reinstate H through an alliance with M. To secure L’s help, it is more than ever your task to bring W and M together and force them to collaborate. If you can turn the Wheel of Fortune to achieve this, we can end E’s bloodthirsty regime and restore H to his rightful status. As soon as I hear positive news I will send funds. MR

  I had heard of the Lincolnshire rebellion she referred to; news had spread th
rough Europe of its violent suppression by King Edward. Margaret’s stepbrother, Lord Richard Welles, had been arrested for a breach of the peace over a property dispute, which had infuriated his only son Sir Robert, prompting him to offer Warwick and Clarence help by raising a rebellion in his Lincolnshire lands. Believing Warwick to be loyal, Edward had commissioned him to put down the rising but when he realized that the army Warwick had raised had been handed over to Sir Robert’s command and was actually moving against his smaller royal force, Edward had Lord Welles brought to the battlefield and gave Sir Robert an ultimatum to lay down his arms or see his father executed. Believing it an empty threat, Sir Robert refused to surrender and he and his rebel army had watched in horror as Lord Welles’s head was immediately lopped from his body. His anguished son launched an instant attack but at the first barrage of royal cannon fire he was abandoned by most of his troops. Captured in the rout, he was executed a week later. Clearly Lady Margaret was enraged by this ferocious Yorkist revenge on her mother’s kin and anti-Yorkist feeling in England needed only to find a leader. Warwick was perfectly fitted for this role but he needed French ships and men and King Louis would only grant them if his Lancastrian cousins were returned to power. The Spider wished to extend his web across the Channel.

  No sooner had I absorbed the content of this letter than a page knocked on my chamber door with an urgent summons to attend King René in his chamber. He greeted me graciously, bending down from his throne to raise me from my knees. Even in private His Highness displayed the trappings of royalty, sitting beneath a blue brocade canopy hung with silver tassels and wearing one of his many gem-encrusted crowns – a gold circlet with trefoils, which admirably set off his thick silver hair. Beneath it his bulldog countenance was relieved by a genial expression, his dark brown eyes twinkling conspiratorially while his thin lips curved deeply downwards into ample jowls. I liked him and I believed he liked me.

  ‘There is news from Louis, Lord Jasper,’ he said, cutting straight to the point. ‘He has had word from the Earl of Warwick. The Calais garrison remained loyal to Edward’s crown and prevented Warwick’s ships from entering harbour, even in a fierce storm, so they were blown around Cap Griz Nez. Voilá – the Warwick is in France, whether he likes it or not.’ He gave me the briefest of smiles, revealing brown-streaked teeth. ‘He has his whole family with him and Louis wishes you to go to Boulogne and greet them. It seems there was some drama on board during the voyage and they need help.’

  I frowned, wondering what was behind this request. Louis’s ‘wishes’ were never straightforward and I doubted if Warwick had specifically asked for me because I knew he considered me to have been among the first of the ‘arrivistes’ at Henry’s court, even before it had disintegrated entirely into factions. ‘It will take me a week to get to Boulogne,’ I pointed out, ‘so I hope their need is not urgent. Would it not have been quicker for his grace to send someone from Paris?’

  King René looked sardonically down his nose at me. ‘Perhaps you would like to call at the French court on your way and say that to Louis’s face?’ he suggested.

  I shrugged. ‘I think I will take a shorter route,’ I said. When The Spider gave an order there was little point in querying it.

  ‘Will you leave at once?’

  It was not really a question but an assumption. I tugged gently at my Lancastrian SS collar. ‘As soon as I have packed away the court finery and had my horse saddled, sire.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. I wish you a safe journey.’ It sounded like a dismissal and I made to leave but King René held up a restraining hand. ‘You are to bring Warwick and his family here to Angers, Jasper,’ he added. ‘Louis will also be here by then. He and Marguerite are to meet next week for what he called “consultations”.’

  I immediately understood King Louis’s reason for sending me to meet Warwick. He intended to start working on the stubborn Marguerite and the quicker I got to the earl, the sooner I could begin a campaign of persuasion with him. Predictably neither of them would readily stomach the idea of an alliance and it would take all the pressure and arm-twisting we could each employ.

  I made my well-practised court bow but King René was still not quite finished with me. ‘One more thing, Jasper – Boulogne is dangerously close to the Flemish border. Take care you do not stray over it. I know you reckon to travel faster with just your squire but on this occasion you are to take six of my men as an escort. King Louis and Duke Charles of Burgundy are arguing over a question of homage and the duke might consider you a very useful hostage.’

  39

  Jasper

  Chateau Angers, Anjou, France

  QUEEN MARGUERITE CAST A scornful eye over my well-worn court doublet. Undeniably its once-glossy fur trimming was matted in places and the silver lace showed signs of tarnish but I stared pointedly back at the faded ribbons tying the crimson satin sleeves to the bodice of her pink gown and the ragged patch of embroidered swans on its skirt. She had asked to see me prior to her crucial meeting with the Earl of Warwick.

  ‘Royalty and poverty do not fit comfortably together, do they, Jasper?’ she observed, her lips curling in a thin smile. ‘I imagine Lord Warwick’s apparel is immaculate.’

  I shrugged. ‘A little salt-stained, your grace. Their crossing from England was perilous.’

  Her smile widened and her deep violet eyes flashed wickedly. ‘So I heard. How unfortunate.’

  Her gleeful expression belied the sympathy of her words. Unsurprisingly, after eight years in exile she had become cynical. We had been born in the same year, but if my mirror did not lie, Marguerite showed her age more than I did. She had suffered much tribulation since my brother had been forced from his throne and was living in relative penury. Fine lines traced the contours of her face and there were no funds for costly new gowns to draw attention away from them.

  ‘Unfortunate indeed,’ I echoed, ‘especially for the young Duchess of Clarence, who lost her first child at sea, during the height of the storm. It must have been a terrifying experience for her.’

  Marguerite’s face fell. ‘King Louis did not tell me that,’ she said, creditably shamefaced and making the sign of the cross. ‘Poor Isabel, may God sustain her.

  ‘Has Louis convinced you to make a deal then?’ I asked.

  The queen bridled. ‘I have agreed to hear Warwick’s proposal, that is all. And he will have to crawl to me on his knees to make it.’

  This statement startled me into incredulous laughter. ‘Ha! You cannot mean to humiliate the man so?’

  ‘Can I not?’ she responded coldly. ‘Watch me.’

  * * *

  At high noon the great hall of Chateau Angers was bright with sunlight, streaming in through the parade of long, mullioned windows that afforded a panoramic view over the River Maine. Alive with dust motes, the sunbeams brilliantly illuminated the spectacular scenes on the hangings, which lined two of the other three walls. When he had heard where the meeting between Queen Marguerite and the Earl of Warwick was to take place, King René had ordered a section of his father’s famous Apocalypse Tapestry to be brought from storage in the cathedral crypt and hastily hung where it might act as a backdrop to the crucial encounter. Under the warmth of the sun it exuded a musty aroma of damp canvas, which mingled with the earthy scent rising from the new rush matting covering the uneven stones of the hall floor and the flowery herbs strewn about to disguise it.

  In its entirety the one hundred and sixty foot length of the complete tapestry was far too much even for the considerable capacity of the great hall walls, so René had selected only the last of its six panels, which showed the concluding triumph of Good over Evil, progressing from left to right in a double row of fourteen framed scenes of unfolding narrative. Predominant colours of blue, red and gold glowed in the sunlight and caused the fantastic figures of angels, beasts, dragons and saints almost to leap from the canvas. The crowd of courtiers attending this historic occasion could hardly fail to draw sense and significance from such v
ivid imagery.

  As I waited for the arrival of the two main parties, I took the opportunity of examining the tapestry in detail and formed the fanciful notion that King René might be seen as the scholarly observer depicted reading from St John’s gospel at the start of the panel, whereas secretly and probably heretically, I compared King Louis to the figure in the final scenes where God in his Heaven, previously invisible, ultimately revealed his face to the Christian Elect as they received their reward of admittance to Paradise in the New Jerusalem. At the final trump Good did prevail over Evil but I could not help noticing that the weavers had not made the Righteous look very joyful about it. I wondered how favourable a portent it offered for the outcome of the day’s events.

  Queen Marguerite arrived first, accompanied by her entourage, which included her loyal and venerable counsellor and Chancellor, Sir John Fortescue, a number of her other faithful courtiers and ladies and her beloved son, Prince Édouard. During the six years that the young prince had been in exile in France he had matured from a skinny boy into a muscular youth, obviously well acquainted with the arms practice-yard. Whether Sir John, as his governor, had managed to develop his intellect to a similar extent had yet to be demonstrated but as he took his place behind his mother’s throne the arrogant expression on his beardless face did not give me substantial grounds for hope.

  Warwick timed his arrival perfectly to allow Marguerite to settle herself in her father’s velvet-draped throne and exchange greetings with Louis’s representative and me. The French king had made a point of departing Angers the previous day, leaving one of his closest advisers to witness and report on the meeting. I assumed that by absenting himself he hoped to ensure that if necessary the French crown could deny all involvement in any resulting English insurgency. With similar intent, I made a point of moving some distance away from Marguerite as a flurry of activity at the hall entrance indicated the approach of her protagonist.