Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

  ‘What is that, my lord?’

  ‘I am responsible for safeguarding the young king. It will be a long time before he reaches his majority.’ His tone becomes conspiratorial. ‘And I have to spend most of my time in London. I need someone to act as my eyes and ears, here in Windsor and at the other royal residences, particularly when the queen is travelling. I need to be certain everything is as it should be—behind closed doors.’

  I must think quickly, as to agree will put me in an impossible position. ‘You are asking me... to spy on the queen, my lord?’

  The duke’s eyes narrow. ‘You will simply tell me who visits her and when. There are... factions who will seek to influence the queen for their own ends. This matter must stay between us. You are to mention it to no one. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do, my lord.’

  Duke Humphrey looks pleased. ‘I will send a man every two weeks to receive your reports. If there is a problem I expect you to send a message to me.’

  I watch from the grand entrance of Windsor Castle as the duke rides away and make one of the hardest decisions since I arrived at Windsor. Returning to the queen’s apartments, I ask to see her alone, on a confidential matter concerning the royal household. The queen looks at me in surprise and dismisses her ladies-in-waiting a second time. This is the first time I am alone with Queen Catherine since I arrived—and possibly the last.

  The queen looks at me. ‘What is this mysterious matter, Master Tudor, that is so confidential?’

  ‘Your visitor, Duke Humphrey...’ I must explain, if I am to stand any chance of winning the queen’s trust and confidence. ‘He asked me to keep him informed of everyone who visits you, my lady.’

  ‘And what was your answer?’ There is a sharp edge to her voice.

  ‘If I refused he would have found someone else to do his work. At least now you are aware of this, you can decide what he is to be told.’

  The queen looks deep in thought. ‘You are right. It is better this way. I am sure the duke is only interested in protecting my son.’

  ‘From what I know of him, Duke Humphrey takes his responsibilities very seriously.’

  ‘The duke has overstepped his duty. My guardian is Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester.’

  ‘I understand...’ I know the two men are fierce rivals and it seems Duke Humphrey has a talent for making enemies. As well as openly opposing the Bishop Beaufort, the most powerful man in the parliament and council, the duke is also engaged in a bitter dispute with his elder brother, John Duke of Bedford, now Regent of France.

  The queen’s diamond necklace sparkles as it catches the light. ‘I am grateful you told me this. Did he offer you payment?’

  ‘No, he did not, my lady.’

  A flicker of concern crosses her face. ‘You must take care, Master Tudor. The duke will make a dangerous enemy if you cross him.’ Queen Catherine looks at me with wide blue eyes. ‘Let us hope you never have to.’

  Chapter Two

  Christmas at Windsor Castle is a great disruption to my well-ordered routine. The queen’s invited guests descend on the castle at short notice, expecting to be fed and found lodgings in keeping with their status. I note Duke Humphrey is not amongst them and has yet to send his man to question me about the queen’s visitors.

  After discussion with Queen Catherine, I engage a clerk, a monkish young man named Nathaniel Kemp, to record the details of everyone visiting for the Christmas and New Year celebrations. Nathaniel has been told to be discreet, although as far as he knows the records are only for housekeeping. There are now so many on his list it fills the sheet of yellow parchment, which will serve its purpose in showing Duke Humphrey he made the right choice of informer.

  Although I am celebrating my first New Year’s Eve at Windsor I decide not to join the servants’ drinking party. It is important to maintain my reputation and I don’t relish the prospect of dealing with drunken subordinates. As keeper of the household I still keep my distance from the servants and staff. This doesn’t trouble me though, as I enjoy my role at Windsor and am glad to loosen my tunic and warm my feet by the fire.

  I like having my own room, despite the low ceiling and sparse furniture. The bunk is comfortable, with thick woollen blankets to keep out the winter chill. The wash stand has a pewter bowl I looted from a deserted farmhouse in Normandy, as well as an earthenware jug of clean water, a luxury I will never take for granted. My sturdy oak table is functional enough and I have two old chairs of padded leather, one each side of the stone hearth. The room is my home now and reminds me of a captain’s sea cabin, with its single oval window looking out over the green expanse of Windsor Park.

  There is a tentative knock at my door as I settle in front of the fire and I groan as I prepare to deal with another minor emergency. Fastening my tunic I open the door to find Juliette carrying a folded white cloth.

  ‘This is for you.’ Juliette hesitates, then hands me the cloth. ‘It’s a New Year’s gift,’ she explains.

  ‘Thank you.’ I’d not thought of giving anyone a New Year’s gift, even Juliette, who has become indispensable, as she always seems to know what the queen would wish. Over the past month there has been a subtle shift in our relationship, as she no longer calls me ‘sir’ although Juliette has yet to call me by my name.

  ‘Are you going to ask me to come in?’

  I hesitate to agree, as the household staff and servants already presume there is a deeper reason for my choice of the young French maid to act as my assistant. Tongues will wag if anyone sees her entering or leaving my room. At least this is one evening of the year when they have better things to do than note who visits me.

  ‘It is New Year’s Eve. Perhaps you’ll join me in a goblet of mulled wine?’

  Juliette enters, closing the door behind her. She sits in the chair on the opposite side of the fire to me and I am glad my room is tidy and my bed made. A substantial log crackles in the flames, providing plenty of heat on the cold winter night.

  She pulls off her headscarf and shakes loose her dark auburn hair. It reaches to her shoulders, attractively framing her face. I am surprised at the transformation in her. Without her headscarf Juliette is more beautiful than I imagined and I feel an unexpected frisson of desire.

  Pouring spiced wine into an earthenware bowl I place it in the hearth to warm, then return to the chair opposite her and unfold her gift. She has made me a linen handkerchief, embroidered with a red dragon.

  ‘Thank you, Juliette.’ I am touched by her gesture and lost for words, as I can’t remember the last time anyone has taken so much trouble for me.

  ‘It is only... a keepsake.’ Juliette plays with a long strand of her hair.

  I can tell she has put a great deal of thought into her gift. It must have been difficult to find a picture of the emblem of the Welsh, even in this castle with its library of magnificent illuminated books. The embroidery must have taken her many hours, working in poor candlelight.

  I take the warmed bowl of mulled wine and fill two pewter goblets. The heady aroma of precious cloves and cinnamon drifts in the air like an exotic promise. Handing one to Juliette I realise it is over filled. It feels good to hear her laugh as I nearly spill wine on her dress and I am glad not to be spending New Year’s Eve alone.

  I raise my goblet. ‘Here’s to a successful New Year.’ The wine is good and the spices give it an intoxicating flavour. I am enjoying her company and feel a tingle of anticipation as I wonder where it will lead. After all, she has chosen to come knocking on my door at this late hour and could have given me her gift on New Year’s Day.

  Juliette raises her goblet in the air. ‘To 1423!’ She takes a drink. ‘This wine is strong... I can feel it going to my head. It reminds me of Christmas. When I was a girl we called it vin chaud and used the cheapest red wines, with lemons.’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of drinking alone in my room. This wine is a gift from the queen.’

  ‘Well, thank you for sharing it with me.’ Juliet
te looks across at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘You know Queen Catherine thinks highly of you?’

  ‘She hides her opinions well.’

  Juliette takes another sip of her wine. ‘I think... she hides her feelings about everything.’ She leans forward conspiratorially. ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She wasn’t like this before the death of the king. It is as if she has... shut out the world.’

  I am intrigued, as the better I understand the queen the more I can be of use and earn her trust. ‘I forget you have known the queen longer than most of us.’ I take the iron poker and prod the log on the fire. It crackles and spits glowing sparks into the air. ‘When did you first enter her service?’

  Juliette looks into the flames. ‘My parents were killed in the war. I was a girl when I first went to work for the royal family.’

  ‘I’m sorry. My own father died when I was a boy.’ I refill both goblets, not bothering to warm the mulled wine this time. ‘He survived all the battles for Welsh freedom... only to be killed in a brawl in London.’

  Juliette is silent for a moment. ‘Do you have any other family?’

  ‘My mother was the daughter of a lord and lived in Beaumaris, on the island of Ynys Môn on the north coast of Wales, which is where she met and married my father. He came from a nearby village and was descended from the princes of North Wales.’ I smile as I remember my father. ‘As a fourth son, he had to make his own way in the world.’

  ‘What work did your father do?’

  I hold up my goblet. ‘He told me once he was a master brewer of the finest ales in Ynys Môn. Then he became squire to the Bishop of Bangor. That’s what I could have been doing now, except somehow... he killed a man.’

  ‘In a fight?’

  ‘All I know is a man died. We had to run to the mountains of Snowdonia. My father lived as an outlaw there, fighting the English with his cousin, Owain Glyndur.’

  ‘Is your mother still alive?’

  ‘We were overrun by the English. My father and I had to flee for our lives—and leave my mother and family behind in Wales.’

  ‘You were a child at the time though?’

  ‘Yes. I went back there when I could... they were all gone.’

  ‘Did anyone know where?’

  I watch the dancing flames for a moment, remembering. ‘Our house was burned to the ground by the English soldiers. I expect they took what they could first. Even the stones of the walls were robbed. I doubt if I will ever learn what became of my family.’

  This is the first time I have spoken of my past to anyone and doing so brings bitter memories. ‘Defeat by the English meant our lands were confiscated and my father died leaving me with little more than the clothes on my back. My first stroke of luck was when I found a place as a royal page. I was seven years old—but it was the making of me.’

  ‘Well, I for one am glad you survived it all—and ended up in Windsor Castle, Owen Tudor.’

  I smile at her compliment, the first time she has used my name. She has shown her hand first and is good company on a winter evening. Most importantly, Juliette is available. For a second I feel regret Queen Catherine is so far out of reach, and then dismiss the ridiculous thought.

  The bells in the castle chapel sound in the distance, interrupting my thoughts. They are marking the midnight hour, celebrating a special mass for the dawn of the New Year. I look across at Juliette. She reminds me now of a girl I knew in Normandy, the closest I have ever been to falling in love. I lost her to another through my indecision, only realising too late. I am not going to make that mistake again.

  Juliette sets down her empty goblet on the flagstone of the hearth and crosses over to me, taking my hand and pulling me over to the bed. I obey as if entranced, as she embraces me, slowly undresses me, then kisses me. The first of many kisses that winter night.

  * * *

  I wake alone, my mind a whirl of powerful, sensual images and serious consequences. I am sure it hasn’t been a dream. The fire in the hearth has long since turned to a pile of grey ash, yet there on the flagstones stand two goblets. On the table is the folded square of white linen with its proud red dragon, so carefully sewn. I pick it up and take it to the window to study it in the bright winter dawn. The craftsmanship is impressive. Juliette used red silk, with stitches so neat they are hard to see.

  I have to think about what I will say to Juliette when I see her next. I smile as I recall how I thought her so prim and proper, like a nun in the pristine white headscarf she wears in the nursery. I could not have been more wrong. Juliette planned the whole thing, knocking at my door at the perfect time. I have never been seduced before.

  I dress in my riding clothes and walk to the stables. Although I don’t own a horse, the late king’s horses are kept here at Windsor. They are officially the property of the new King Henry, although at barely one year old he has little use for them. I ride them as often as I wish, as the horses need regular exercise. I choose my favourite, a fine black gelding, and fit it with a bridle and saddle.

  The horse’s powerful hooves crunch rhythmically on the frosty turf as I canter across the open pastures of Windsor Park. The brisk ride helps clear my head. There are important decisions to be made, choices which could change my life for better or worse. The most pressing of these is to come to terms with what happened the previous night.

  There are no rules against relationships between household servants, as long as it does not compromise their work. That is the problem. As one of only two maids the queen chose to bring to England with her from France, some servants envy Juliette’s status within the royal household. It would be easier if she were older and less attractive. People like to make mischief and will imply I have abused my position to take advantage of a vulnerable young maiden.

  The other problem on my mind is the need to visit Duke Humphrey. I look up, trying to recall what snow clouds look like. The winter sky is clear and bright, a good omen, and I decide not to wait until he summons me. It has been some months since my last visit to London, twenty-five miles from Windsor. It is a cold ride in the middle of winter, yet it will show good faith.

  My clerk, Nathaniel, has drawn up a comprehensive list of visitors, detailing when they arrived and how long they stayed. The clerk has made a good impression with his attention to detail and understated manner. I showed his list of visitors to the queen, who agreed it should satisfy the duke’s curiosity.

  I slow my pace and ride around the perimeter of the castle, noting things that need repairing or attending to. Even though this is my morning off, I have so little life outside the household I am always working or thinking about work. My attention is drawn to two men with a wagon at the rear entrance to the castle kitchens. I keep my distance and see they are busy loading something into the back of the wagon, rather than unloading supplies.

  There is a furtive look about them which suggests they are up to no good. At last, it seems I could have the evidence to be rid of the bullying Samuel Cleaver. The trouble is it will be my word against that of the head cook, who would deny any involvement. Rather than let the men know I am on to them, I curse and ride away with yet another thing to think about.

  Returning to the stables I hand my horse over to a stable lad who appears more than a little worse for wear. I have a fair idea Nathaniel will be already working, even on New Year’s morning, and soon spot the thin figure of the clerk. He is stooped over his writing desk in the castle library, which also serves as a scriptorium where scribes copy important documents.

  The servants have yet to light a fire in the grate and the library is chilly. I am warm from my ride but the young clerk is seemingly unconcerned at the coldness of the room.

  ‘Happy New Year, Nathaniel!’

  The clerk looks up from his work, apparently unsurprised to see me so early in the morning. ‘And to you, sir.’

  I try to make a judgement about how much to tell him. Nathaniel has dealt with the
list of visitors with quiet efficiency, missing nothing, yet never raising questions by his actions. He is something of a loner, with a talent for blending into the background which is useful to me now.

  ‘Did you join in with the festivities last night?’

  ‘No, sir,’ he grimaces at the thought. ‘Those household celebrations are not to my taste. I prefer an early night.’

  ‘Me too.’ My answer is only half a lie. That had been my intention. ‘I have another task for you, Nathaniel, one which requires your usual discretion.’

  ‘I am happy to be of service, sir.’

  ‘Good. This concerns a serious matter. I suspect there might be thieves within the household, stealing supplies from the kitchens.’

  The clerk raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I need proof, Nathaniel. It must be good enough to stand the test of a court, if necessary. I need you to look at the records of what should be in the stores—and what is actually there.’

  ‘So we can see if there is anything that can’t be accounted for?’

  ‘That’s right, and keep your wits about you, Nathaniel. The head cook has a reputation for dealing harshly with his staff. It would not be wise to anger him.’

  Nathaniel nods. ‘I understand. They must not suspect my real purpose. I will make a start today, sir.’

  ‘Good—and remember to take care.’ I recall the men with the wagon I saw earlier that morning. ‘Let me know if you see or hear anything I need to be aware of. Is that understood?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  I leave in search of Juliette, satisfied at least one of my problems is on the way to being addressed. I worry about how Cleaver will react to Nathaniel’s task, but the work is clerical and Nathaniel is, after all, a clerk. As I approach the nursery I realise I will be lucky to find Juliette there alone. The prince’s nursemaid seems to live in the nursery and there are always other maids coming and going.