First of the Tudors

by Joanna Hickson

  44

  Jane

  Le Garlek, Stepney Green & Coldharbour Inn, London

  ‘HARRI! OH, HARRI, IT is so good to see you! We have missed you so much.’ Elin rushed in front of us all and threw her arms around her cousin, while over their heads I exchanged rueful smiles with Jasper. I would never be able to suppress the natural affection and exuberance of our eldest daughter, no matter how hard I tried to instil in her the concept of ladylike grace.

  When Harri hugged Elin enthusiastically back, I wondered if he might be grateful for some spontaneity, having been treading on eggshells at his mother’s house. ‘I have missed you too, all of you,’ he said, turning to give Sian a warm kiss, which inspired a predictable blush. ‘Luckily we never said goodbye so it shall be as if we were never parted.’

  It had been raining during their ride from the city and when I removed our young visitor’s oiled cape from his shoulders it caused a shower of water.

  ‘Take Lord Jasper’s cloak, Davy,’ I told the boy, who eagerly complied.

  Harri cried, ‘God’s greeting, Mistress Jane!’ and for a moment I saw the essence of Lady Margaret in his well-executed bow and the correct swing of his arm as he removed his smart felt hat. But the upturned brim had filled with rainwater, which flew out in an arc and splashed my face and the front of my dress.

  ‘Oh!’ My exclamation was from surprise more than dismay and I quickly brushed the moisture from my face and laughed but Harri clutched at the offending hat and flushed a fiery red.

  ‘How stupid of me – your beautiful gown! I am so sorry, Mistress Jane.’ He leaned forward to brush the water from my skirt.

  ‘It is only water, Harri,’ I assured him, smiling. ‘But thank you for calling my gown beautiful.’ It was brown with darker brown collar and cuffs and a black belt with a pretty silver and speckled-agate buckle. I thought it not beautiful, like his mother’s unfailingly were, but smart and serviceable. I impulsively emulated my daughter and gave him a hug. ‘Now drink some ale and then you can all play an indoor game as you used to in wet weather – and do not let these rascals of ours beat you.’

  When rain stopped and the sun had dried the sandy area in the garden, which Davy grandly called his practice ground, Jasper and I wandered out to watch as the two boys squared up, wielding stout staves cut from peeled ash stems. I had insisted that they wear gloves and protective coifs, being unwilling to send Harri back to Lady Margaret with grazed knuckles or a split scalp.

  Jasper said nothing in front of the boys but murmured to me as the bout started, ‘The staves are quite light and smooth, Jane. It is more a question of tactics than heavy hitting. Anyway I expect Harri has had a few cuts and bruises in the past.’

  ‘No doubt,’ I retorted, ‘but I have no wish to give Lady Margaret any excuse for calling me a careless hostess. I daresay she is very protective of Harri now she has him back after all this time. I know I would be. It surprises me that she even let you bring him out of London.’

  ‘I have her husband to thank for that. Sir Henry spoke up in favour of the idea before she could think of an excuse to refuse.’ He fiddled thoughtfully with his beard, a habit I had noticed him displaying more and more lately as the pressure of his responsibilities increased. ‘I shall have to give some thought to Harri’s future. Look at him with Davy. He needs the company and rivalry of other boys to spar with. However much I detested the Herberts, they gave him companions of his own age and instruction in the use of arms as well as academic studies. He cannot develop knightly skills in the household of a childless couple. I fear Margaret would turn him into a cleric.’

  ‘Book learning has its points, though. I think you should ask him what he would like himself. He is old enough to know his own skills and preferences.’

  Jasper chewed his lip, pondering. ‘Yes, I believe I will. This is a good opportunity to let him express his opinion without worrying about hurting his mother’s feelings. He is just as protective of her as she is of him. He is so anxious to please her that he does not realize she loves him unconditionally. Whatever he expresses as his wish, I believe she will respect.’

  ‘Even if he says he wants to return to your custody? That is what you want, is it not?’ More and more I noticed Jasper had changed in the years he had been in exile. He had become cautious in his dealings with others but at the same time more sensitive to their ideas and opinions, I assumed as a result of the wide variety of people he had been obliged to deal with. Moving from one court to the next, one country to another, he had become more of a diplomat than a soldier.

  He beamed at me. ‘I believe you can read my mind better than my handwriting, Jane.’

  I laughed. ‘And it is no wonder! Your handwriting is like snail trails in a garden – all over the place. St Catherine be thanked you have scribes to write for you again now.’

  At that moment Davy gave a howl of frustration as his staff flew from his hands and Harri claimed victory by holding his weapon across his opponent’s throat. ‘My bout I think!’ he cried.

  Davy dropped to his knees. ‘Pace,’ he said, proving that he had learned something in the Raglan Latin lessons.

  ‘But you are very good, Davy Owen,’ Harri panted, pulling him to his feet. ‘You should put up a pell post here and get one of the girls to shout directions. It would hone your reactions.’

  Davy made a face. ‘I could not take orders from a girl, Harri. I can beat Will Gardiner easily but you are much better than him.’

  ‘Who is Will Gardiner?’

  Davy grinned and pointed at Elin. ‘You should ask Elin; she natters away to him for hours, when he is not sparring with me.’

  Elin was not abashed. ‘At least he has more to talk about than sword thrusts and vambraces, whatever they are!’ she shouted back.

  ‘Who is Will Gardiner?’ Jasper muttered in my ear.

  This was the first Jasper had heard of him but Will had very quickly become a regular in our house. ‘His mother brought a basket of eggs to welcome us to Stepney, which I thought very kind, and Will came with her, a pleasant boy who attends a guild grammar school in the city. He is the Gardiners’ only son, and Elin, being Elin, seems to think him her particular acquisition.’

  Will’s father was a Master of one of the city Companies and Jasper thought he would therefore almost certainly be a wealthy merchant. When I told him they had another house in the city but Philippa preferred to live in the fresh air of Stepney, Jasper raised an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Philippa? You are on first name terms then?’ He looked at me seriously. ‘I am very glad you have found a friend here, Jane. I need to go to Pembroke very soon but perhaps you will be content to remain here while I do? A Parliament has been summoned for the end of November so I will have to be back for that. Then I thought we might all spend Christmas in Wales.’

  ‘All?’ I echoed. ‘Are you expecting Harri to come as well?’

  He made a fluctuating motion with his hand. ‘We will have to wait and see. It depends on Harri. After the coronation Lady Margaret is taking him to stay at Woking. We could collect him from there on the way to Wales if he decides to come.’

  Will Gardiner arrived for his usual after-school visit but to Elin’s consternation her father contrived to engage him in conversation and the rest of the time he was doing archery target practice with Harri and Davy. Elin became ever more sulky and silent as the day wore on.

  ‘What a bright young man Will Gardiner is,’ declared Jasper at supper, after the boy had gone home. ‘Which of you lads carried the day at archery?’

  ‘He did,’ admitted Harri. ‘He is a very good shot.’

  ‘Well, he is a bit older than you and stronger. What age is he? Fifteen maybe? He says he is to be indented to his father’s business next year.’

  ‘Philippa told me he will be fifteen in January but he is tall for his age,’ I said. ‘Did you like him, Harri?’

  ‘Yes, I did, Mistress Jane. And he has read some of the books I have enjoyed so I would like to
discuss them with him if he comes again.’

  Jasper had to ride back into London in the evening. The next day he was required to help the king robe for his coronation ceremony at Westminster.

  ‘Is is true that the Constable, Lord Oxford, will ride into the Abbey on his horse, carrying the sword of state,’ Harri asked. ‘I would dearly like to see that!’

  Jasper smiled. ‘I will try and remember all the details to describe the day for you.’ He rose. ‘But before I leave, Harri, we have matters to discuss together, if you will spare me half an hour? Bring a cup of ale with you and we will go to the solar.’

  ‘And what was his preference?’ I asked Jasper before he left. ‘Mother or uncle?’

  ‘Both – after a fashion. He wants to become part of my household and prepare for knighthood under my aegis but he is also a loyal and considerate son who realizes that his mother was only about the age he is now and did not leave him willingly in my care to go to marriage with Sir Henry. So he is torn between filial love and a natural desire for the company and rivalry of other youngsters. He needs to test himself against boys of his own age.’

  I became impatient. ‘And what conclusion did you both come to?’

  ‘He decided that he would like to live in my household but with the proviso that he spend regular periods with his mother.’

  ‘So who will have the all-important custody?’

  ‘I will, because in the end it will be to King Henry and the Prince of Wales that he will owe his allegiance.’

  ‘Did Harri suggest it should be that way?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘No, I did. I cannot risk his mother’s husband playing the custody card if he should ever choose to turn his coat. Harri is the king’s nephew and should never again find himself on the wrong side on a battlefield, as he did at Banbury with Herbert.’

  ‘Is Sir Henry not a reliable Lancastrian then?’

  ‘Like so many noblemen who remained in England during Edward’s illegal reign, Sir Henry has shown that he bends with the wind and legally he can oblige his wife to bend with him. Besides, he is not in robust health and if he were to die she would inevitably take another husband. Harri will not come of age for another seven years. Anything can happen in that time.’

  ‘Did you explain all this to Harri?’

  ‘No. Clever though he is, he is still too young. We just left it that he would live with me and visit his mother frequently. He was happy with that.’ He paused and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. ‘The re-coronation tomorrow will put King Henry safely back on the throne but we have not yet secured the kingdom. Warwick and I need to show the people that England can be successfully and peacefully united under Lancaster. And more immediately, I have the unenviable job of telling Margaret that once again I will be taking her son away from her.’

  He rubbed at his forehead as if he would erase the lines of worry that were becoming etched there. ‘It is not a task I relish, Jane.’

  45

  Jasper

  Westminster Abbey & The House of the Vine, London

  ALTHOUGH TRUMPETS SOUNDED A shrill summons and heralds proclaimed the king’s approach in stentorian voices, only a sparse crowd gathered to line the coronation procession as it made its way from Westminster Palace to the abbey. The troop of liveried royal guards, who lined the route to keep control, seemed scarcely necessary.

  Being occupied in Wales, I had not been present when Warwick had paraded with King Henry through the city, on his release from the Tower of London but the Earl of Oxford had told me that the king had been unable to control the lively white warhorse on which he had first been mounted and so it had been necessary to put him on a rather placid bay palfrey, which had not impressed the spectators. At least on this, his re-coronation, the short procession from the palace to the abbey was primarily on foot and I had ensured that Henry looked the part in a gown of royal ermine and purple, adorned with gem-studded chains, a jewelled coronet and gold rings. However, although I tried to persuade him to wear a shoulder brace that would have helped straighten and support his back, he flatly refused and so the prematurely-aged king shuffled rather than strode out confidently to reclaim his throne. The ramrod-straight physique of the youthful and soldierly John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, as Constable of England, made a poignant contrast as, mounted on a prancing black destrier, he bore the great Sword of State before the king and drew most of what acclamation was to be heard. Walking at Henry’s shoulders, the Earl of Warwick and I also received our share of approbation and I even heard someone, whom I guessed might be a stray Welshman in London, cry out ‘Long live Lord Jasper!’ from the steps of the Wardrobe Tower.

  As we approached the abbey entrance we passed by St Peter’s Sanctuary tucked into the north corner of the precinct, a plain, square stone building with a single fortified door and tiny, shuttered windows piercing the upper floor. Here I imagined the former queen, Elizabeth Woodville, and her three little daughters, enclosed in their shadowy refuge, not knowing when or whether they would be able to emerge. It was certain they could hear the trumpets sounding and the drums beating out the steps of the sumptuously robed column of nobles and prelates escorting the true king back to the throne of St Edward the Confessor.

  The abbey church was full, the chancel crowded with barons and their wives who, when asked if they once again accepted Henry as their lawful king, dutifully made the rafters ring with their cheers. Compared to his first coronation the ceremony was brief; there was no need for an anointing because, according to Abbot Millyng who presided, a monarch once blessed with the holy oil remained divinely sanctioned until his death. Nobles and prelates present above the rank of baron renewed their vows of allegiance but those who still espoused the Yorkist cause were strategically absent and so the queue was not over long. As I knelt before my brother and bowed my head to kiss the ring, I feared the heavy crown might slip from his head as he bent to say, ‘May God guide me through your good advice, Jasper.’ Humbled though I was by his trust, I also felt the weight of responsibility settle like a heavy hauberk on my shoulders. It seemed ironic that the realm, once so firmly ruled by King Henry’s renowned and conquering father, should now be under the regency of his mother’s secret Tudor son.

  * * *

  My exile from England had not only separated me from Jane and my children; it had removed me from the orbit of my sister Meg and her family, including old Mette, the Frenchwoman who had so faithfully served my mother, Queen Catherine. News of Mette’s death had only reached me several months after it had occurred six years ago.

  I had been at Bamburgh Castle, where King Henry had been living in anticipation of marching south for another attempt to reclaim the throne. At that time the Lancastrian cause had plunged to one of its low ebbs and the castle was under a Yorkist siege but a letter from Meg found me, part of a bundle smuggled in for the king. In this particular dark hour God or our patron saints favoured us, for when Bamburgh finally surrendered to heavy bombardment from Edward’s formidable new cannons, King Henry and I were permitted to ride out of the gates with the rest of the garrison, under a safe passage back to the Scottish border. It seemed that Edward of York, who would gleefully have taken us both prisoner, had been struck down with measles and handed command to Warwick’s brother, Lord Montagu, a rare knight who still played by the rules of chivalry.

  However, our good fortune had ended at Berwick where we discovered that England had made a truce with Scotland and King Henry was no longer welcome there. I tried to persuade my brother to take ship with me to France where his wife and son had fled but his fear of the sea overcame him and he chose instead to accept refuge in Lancashire with one of his loyal household servants. A sad mistake as it turned out, because the following year he was betrayed into Edward’s hands and confined in the Tower of London.

  After the re-coronation ceremony, at the king’s request there was to be no grand banquet, with the result that the event I had devoted my life and soul to bringing about ended in a sad anti-c
limax and I found myself alone. I could have dined with Lady Margaret and Sir Henry at Coldharbour Inn but instead I thought of Mette, or more precisely Mette’s death, and I took the opportunity to fling off my court apparel, don some anonymous garb and ride to Tun Lane to see my Tudor sister and her family for the first time in many years.

  As I approached The House of the Vine I reflected on the people who had lived there. Even my royal mother had stayed there once, on the occasion of Mette’s wedding to Geoffrey Vintner, back in the days when she had run away from the antipathy of the court and lived a secret life with my father. Unexpected emotions surged to the surface as I dismounted beneath the pargetted vine which trailed its bright colours along the plastered frontage of the house. I had experienced war and exile, happiness and despair, love and enmity, while my blood relations who presently inhabited the house, had known nothing of any of it. How different had been their experience of the past ten years. They had not lived like a gypsy as I had done, swapping palaces and castles for ships and mountain hideouts then, across the Channel, riding from one strange European court to another. They had remained in this house, alongside their close neighbours, directing their lives according to the dictates of the Church and the laws of England. Had it mattered to them who sat on the throne or won a particular battle? In short, would we now have anything in common and would they greet me as friend or foe?

  In answer to my knock, the door was opened by a youth whose face was vaguely familiar to me but evidently mine was not known to him for he cocked his head on one side and said, ‘Give you good day, sir,’ with a quizzical look.