First of the Tudors

by Joanna Hickson

  Although he spoke lucidly his voice was weak and hesitant and I took the liberty of tucking one hand in his elbow, lest his legs gave way. ‘Perhaps the Almighty will forgive us if we find somewhere to sit, your grace, so that we can converse more comfortably. May I hope you have had time to catch up with recent events? I have much to discuss with you.’

  He clutched my supporting hand and nodded. ‘Yes, yes. My chamber is only a short distance away and there is a fire. I get so cold, even though it is not yet winter.’

  ‘Perhaps you are not eating enough, sire. You must build up your strength so that you can take up the reins of government once more.’

  ‘Oh I shall need your help to rule, Jasper. I have lost touch with events in the outside world and no longer know whom to trust. But I can rely on you to tell me, can I not? I am so happy you have come. The Earl of Warwick frightens me; so forceful, so demanding.’

  We walked slowly down a stone-flagged passage to the bishop’s chamber where Henry had been accommodated since arriving in London. It was lavishly furnished with heavy embroidered hangings and tapestries, a large crimson-draped tester bed and comfortable cushioned seats and it occurred to me that probably no one wished that the newly returned king would move out to Westminster more than Bishop Thomas Kempe, who was forced meanwhile to use his summer palace at Fulham and travel miles in order to conduct Masses in St Paul’s Church.

  Henry took the large canopied armchair placed for him beside the hearth. It had been gloomy in the chapel and in the bright light streaming through the chamber windows I became even more alarmed at his frailty and ordered some bread and broth from the duty chamberlain. Had no one noticed my brother’s condition, that he was seriously undernourished? No wonder he was weak and confused.

  ‘What did Lord Warwick say to you before he left, sire?’ I asked him, placing a joint-stool close to his. ‘Now that Edward of York has fled and taken his household with him, have any arrangements been made regarding the administration of the country?’

  Henry’s usual frown deepened. ‘I am trying to remember. I think you should ask Sir Richard. He has been handling all that sort of thing. I need to attend to my prayers. There are so many wrongs in the world that need righting and God has given me the duty of bringing them to His notice.’

  ‘But He has also tasked you with ruling England, Henry. It is the duty of kings to exercise their divine right for the good of their subjects. If you do not then others will usurp your powers again.’

  Henry appeared to struggle to grasp my meaning. ‘No, no, Jasper, Marguerite always saw to all that. Where is she? She should be here beside me. Why did she not come with Warwick? I cannot rule without her.’ In the brighter light tears were visible flooding the faded blue of his eyes.

  I could see that any further pursuit of the subject was pointless, and though I had expected this, still I was disappointed. As I had feared, where the government of England was concerned, from now on Henry would merely be a figurehead. The real work of making official appointments, ordering commissions and administering the law would have to be done in his name but not according to his will. I foresaw battles ahead between Warwick and Queen Marguerite and did not relish my role as arbiter. Henry would need me more than ever. Yet Wales would also require my presence. I was going to be busy.

  Servants entered the room carrying the meal I had ordered for the king. I felt a sudden rush of emotion and reached out to press the fragile fingers that gripped the arm of his chair. ‘Do not worry, Henry,’ I murmured gently, as if comforting a child. ‘Marguerite will soon be back. Until then I will be here for you. Now you must eat something to regain your strength. Come, let me help you to the table.’

  43

  Jasper

  Westminster Palace & Coldharbour Inn

  BY THE THIRD WEEK of October, Warwick and I had assumed joint control of the kingdom, appointing ourselves King’s Lieutenants – effectively Regents for Henry – and the Earl of Oxford Constable of England and Steward of the King’s Household. Warwick had insisted on the appointment of his brother, George Neville, Archbishop of York, as Lord Chancellor. I had managed to persuade King Henry to move into Westminster Palace; meanwhile Warwick went north to reclaim his Yorkshire estates. He would return for an all-important pre-Christmas Parliament, when the attainders passed on us by Edward would be reversed and our revenues and titles reinvested. Lancastrians who had escaped attainder by taking Edward’s pardon and pledging him their loyalty began to gather at court, queuing up to reverse that vow and renew their oaths to Henry. Invitations were sent out for a re-coronation ceremony at Westminster Abbey, which was arranged for the end of the month.

  Lady Margaret was anxious to introduce her son to the king as the first step towards recovering his Richmond estates and I arranged an audience but warned them both that Henry’s state of mind was unpredictable and they should not expect too much from him. They travelled by barge from Coldharbour to Westminster and I met them on the palace quay. Margaret had excelled even herself in style and presentation and I barely recognized Harri, who seemed to have grown in stature and confidence, standing taller and prouder than I had ever seen him, possibly on account of the splendour of the apparel his mother had procured for him, which had transformed a sometimes-diffident youth into a gleaming figure of nobility on the cusp of manhood.

  Even in an audience chamber full of lords and ladies wearing their most sumptuous court dress, the arrival of mother and son caused a ripple of speculative murmuring, then a hush fell upon the assembly as the two made their way towards the throne. The only glaring anachronism was the spectacle of King Henry himself, whose voluminous ermine-trimmed mantle filled more than he did of a seat made to measure for someone of Edward’s muscular knight’s physique. Despite the crown on his head, he looked like a mad mendicant rather than a monarch and I vowed to have strong words privately with Sir Richard Tunstall, whose responsibility it was to keep the royal household, and particularly its regal head, in magnificent order. As Chamberlain he was hovering behind the throne and announced Lady Margaret as she sank into a curtsy.

  Remarkably, King Henry suddenly came to life and straightened up, pulling himself forward on his seat and smiling down at the lady at his feet. She gazed up at him in her turn with an expression of earnest sincerity.

  ‘My gracious sovereign, how good it is to see you here in your rightful place,’ she said. ‘All your loyal subjects must rejoice to find your standard flying over Westminster Palace, your grace, it has been too long absent.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ Henry replied, holding out his bony hand. On the middle finger a magnificent sapphire ring engraved with his personal seal hung precariously on the knuckle. ‘And I rejoice to see you back at my side.’

  Margaret looked somewhat puzzled by this remark but took his hand and made her declaration. ‘I humbly pledge my allegiance to your grace and to your son and heir, Édouard, Prince of Wales.’ She pressed her lips to the ring with a fervour that no one could doubt was genuine.

  King Henry nodded and shifted his gaze to the youth who knelt at her shoulder. ‘How good it is to welcome our admirable prince to court,’ he said with enthusiasm, extending his hand to Harri. ‘All must surely observe in him the qualities of a worthy successor to my throne.’

  There was a fraught silence when Margaret and I exchanged astonished glances, our eyes rolling at the distinct possibility that Henry was confusing Harri with Édouard. Did he actually believe the boy before him to be his own seventeen-year-old son? I considered it entirely possible. After all Harri was about the age Édouard had been when Henry had last seen him, before his mother took him to France for safety. It was quite likely that the years that had passed since had become blank to him, just as the traumatic events they contained had also been wiped from his memory. A swift glance about the room revealed that only a select few, closely gathered around the king, would have heard and construed his unfortunate remark, all of them ostensibly fiercely loyal Lancastrians. I ma
de a mental note of their names with a view to seeking their pledge of silence and thanked the Almighty that the Earl of Warwick was not among them. The question of the succession was a tender subject within Warwick’s close affinity, especially for his son-in-law George of Clarence whose loyalty to Lancaster I considered threadbare, and whom Warwick had once encouraged to consider himself a successor to his brother Edward as king.

  If Henry thought Harri was Édouard, was it also possible that he believed the woman kneeling before him was his wife, Queen Marguerite? Margaret must have come to this conclusion because after she had watched her son kiss the proffered ring and pledge his allegiance as he had been coached to do, she cast an eloquent glare at Sir Richard Tunstall, who gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement and leaned over to whisper something in his sovereign’s ear.

  Henry looked up at him in surprise. ‘Mass? Is it Sext already? Oh yes indeed, Sir Richard, we must leave immediately.’

  He instantly abandoned his throne and the two figures kneeling at his feet, almost stumbling over them in his haste to take his Chamberlain’s arm and shuffle on his square-toed shoes towards the privy door leading to the royal apartments and the chapel. Surplus courtiers bowed and backed away, making a passage for his exit and I hastened to make sure of the silence of those who had been standing close enough to notice the king’s confusion.

  After the audience Sir Richard Tunstall entertained us to dinner in his chamberlain’s quarters and apologized for King Henry’s unfortunate error. ‘His grace’s state of mind is unpredictable,’ he admitted. ‘One moment he can appear alert and rational and the next he loses all recognition of where he is and who is with him. Although he recovered years ago from his complete collapse, he frequently displays a total failure of memory.’

  ‘Even so, can nothing be done to improve his appearance?’ I asked impatiently. ‘His mantle and his crown were far too large and surely his apparel should be pristine. What are his squires of the body doing for him?’

  Sir Richard shook his head despairingly. ‘He will not permit anyone to dress him. He insists that God wishes him to attend to himself but of course he cannot. That is why he is so unkempt; his hair and his beard untrimmed. Short of tying him down I do not see what can be done.’

  ‘He cannot appear that way at his coronation!’ exclaimed Margaret with alarm. ‘He will be a laughing stock and you and his servants likewise.’

  ‘I think if we tell him God has ordained that he wear the garments he wore for his first coronation he may consent,’ I suggested. ‘Meanwhile we can have a tailor alter them to fit. Perhaps I should make a point of being at the robing. If I word it right he will listen to my advice.’

  Sir Richard made me what I took to be a grateful bow. ‘Your assistance would be greatly appreciated, my lord.’

  As we returned downriver to Coldharbour, Margaret remarked, keeping her voice low so that it would not carry to the oarsmen, ‘So our king is not fit to rule. You have a difficult task ahead, Jasper, at least until the queen arrives. Do Marguerite and Warwick get on now? I know their alliance was crucial in restoring the Lancastrian throne but I must tell you that it came as a great surprise.’

  ‘There is still no love lost between them and Queen Marguerite has declared that she will not risk her son’s life in England until Warwick can guarantee the throne is securely won. I must warn you that most of my time will have to be spent restoring order to Wales. Warwick will take the lead on English matters, and if you are determined to pursue the restoration of Harri’s lands before Parliament meets, it will be Warwick you have to deal with.’

  ‘Yes – the Earl of Warwick, father-in-law to the Duke of Clarence, the greedy turncoat brother to whom Edward granted all the Richmond lands and revenues.’ Margaret frowned and sighed. ‘What is the likelihood of us getting them back?’

  I gave her an encouraging smile. ‘For most people, nil – but for the shrewd and charming Countess of Richmond I should think there is every chance.’

  She shot me a sideways glance and a wry smile. ‘You flatter me, sir. I deduce that the courts of Europe have honed your diplomatic skills.’

  ‘Whereas yours need no sharpening, my lady.’ I noticed Harri was following our conversation with great interest and winked at him. ‘Listen and learn, young Harri. Listen and learn,’ I said.

  ‘Why must you keep calling him Harri?’ Margaret complained. ‘We are not in Wales now.’

  ‘Truly I do not mind, lady mother,’ Harri put in before I could reply. ‘I like the Welsh and I speak their language. Not fluently, but enough to converse with them. Besides, when my uncle calls me Harri you know he is not talking about the king.’

  ‘Well, as long as you remember that your name is Henry,’ his mother responded. ‘It was your father’s wish that you carry the name of the Lancastrian kings.’

  ‘I know.’ Harri nodded solemnly. ‘I will never forget. You need have no fear of that.’

  At Coldharbour Inn that evening Sir Henry Stafford joined us for supper and introduced me to his Steward and Receiver-General, a young man called Reginald Bray. I was immediately impressed by his polite manner and incisive grasp of England’s precarious political situation. Margaret and Sir Henry obviously rated him highly because they trusted him not only with the management of their numerous residences scattered about the country and their large household of servants but also as their Receiver General, the official who collected all the revenues from their widespread estates.

  ‘Reginald is my right-hand man,’ declared Sir Henry. ‘I really do not know what I would do without him, especially since I have been struck with my unfortunate malady.’

  At first this malady had been feared to be the dreaded leprosy but later it was diagnosed as St Anthony’s fire, which periodically spread a painful red rash over his face and arms. A sudden flare up of this affliction had prevented him coming to Westminster, its effects being only too visible; bearable in a family environment but causing him too much discomfort and embarrassment to expose to the critical eyes of the royal court.

  ‘While we were at court Sir Henry and Master Bray have been devising ways of providing a suitable income for my son, to tide him over until we win back his rightful lands,’ Margaret said, taking a seat at the head of the table, a place which her husband seemed perfectly content to concede to her. Turning to Sir Henry, she went on, ‘Lord Jasper believes I can persuade my lord of Warwick to agree to strip Clarence of his Richmond estates,’ she confided, ‘but personally I fear it might incur that young man’s easily-stirred wrath.’

  ‘Indeed, my lady.’ It was Reginald who spoke. ‘It might be more politic at this stage to make provision for Master Tudor from the Somerset estates, at least until he comes of age.’ He smiled encouragingly at Harri who sat beside him, washing his hands in a bowl of water held by a kneeling page. ‘By then I am sure he will have proved himself more than worthy of them.’

  ‘He is worthy of them simply by birth,’ Margaret corrected him, causing her steward’s cheeks to flush as red as her husband’s. ‘But I take your point,’ she added graciously. ‘And I agree, we should move carefully in these unpredictable times. For that very reason I have not pressed Lord Oxford for an invitation for my son to King Henry’s re-coronation at Westminster Abbey. Since at present, even though he is the king’s nephew, his noble status has not been confirmed by Parliament and it would mean him being seated on the wrong side of the rood screen, unable to see anything or be seen by anyone, making it hardly worth attending.’ Her displeasure at this situation was evident.

  I took the opportunity to make a suggestion I had been brooding on for several days. ‘In that case, as we will all be at the abbey, it might be an opportunity for Harri to visit his cousins. He has not been in their company since the Herberts ejected them from Weobley Castle over a year ago. I am sure you would like to see them all again, would you not, Harri?’

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, Uncle, I would! Are they in London?’

&nb
sp; At this point the servants began placing platters and dishes on the table and the conversation paused; fine wine was poured from chased silver flagons into matching cups. Sir Henry and Lady Margaret kept a generous table, even for such a small family gathering. I studied my hostess as these practicalities were completed and noted that her brow had knitted at the mention of Harri’s cousins.

  It being Friday the meal consisted mainly of fish dishes. I speared a portion of plump roasted eel to place it on my trencher and took a deep breath to pursue my proposal, aiming my remarks at Harri. ‘They are not here in the city but I have a house at Stepney Green, a mile or so outside the Aldgate. They are staying there with Mistress Jane and Davy Owen is with them. I know they all very much hope for a visit from you.’

  Harri tried not to look too eager as he turned to his mother. ‘That would be a good idea, would it not, my lady mother?’

  Her brooding expression indicated a negative response but Sir Henry intervened before she could speak. ‘That solves the other problem you were fretting about, does it not, Margaret? You were unhappy about leaving Harri to his own devices while we attend on the king. Now he does not need to languish alone but instead enjoy some company of his own age. It is a very good idea, my lord.’

  Had we not been at table I would have embraced him. I had always considered Sir Henry an amiable but rather weak character, subordinate to his dynamic and forceful wife but suddenly I found myself admiring his swift appreciation of the situation and his subtle way of ensuring a harmonious outcome.

  ‘Very well, sir.’ I beamed a warm smile at him. ‘That is settled then. I will return tomorrow and take Harri to Stepney and he can stay as long as you wish to spare him.’

  Outwitted, Margaret accepted defeat with commendable good grace. Moreover she had avoided saying anything detrimental about Jane or my family arrangements. Since returning to England and renewing my relationships, I was finding it hard to maintain a balance between the two women who were most important in my life. I badly needed to resolve how to remain close friends with a lady so important to the Lancastrian hierarchy, the mother of my nephew and whom I honoured greatly, while preserving the loyalty, attraction and affection I felt towards the mother of my children.