Jasper - Book Two of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

  A shower of rain formed puddles in the courtyard of Château Josselin and Jasper wore his woollen cloak as he ran his fingers over the gouges marking the months on his window sill. He’d carved six more neat lines with his knife since Duke Francis ordered his return. The duke said he would be sent for when required but there had been no word.

  Jasper felt in a different mood than before he left on his risky excursion to Vannes. He stood at his window watching the people of the town coming and going and no longer felt the overpowering sense of helplessness, which had gnawed at his mind like a hungry rat. Now there was more than a glimmer of hope, and it was simply a matter of waiting, as patiently as he could, until the right moment.

  He had not expected to meet Henry Holland as York’s unlikely ambassador, or to learn of the plan to replace York with his younger brother. The whole idea was deeply flawed, and Jasper scowled at the thought of the sort of king George would make, if he ever had the chance.

  Jasper continually questioned his guards and the captain for news but there was no further talk of an English invasion. He hoped Holland had been as good as his word and managed to delay Henry’s return to England. Despite whatever assurances and promises the duke was offered, it would be all too easy for his nephew to fall victim to those jealous of his slender claim to the throne.

  He’d asked permission to visit Henry at the Château de Largoet and the duke seemed to be considering his request, but had not yet granted it. He wrote another letter to Henry, telling him of his visit to Vannes and the meeting with Henry Holland. He paid one of his guards, an insolent man, who cursed every time he opened his mouth, his last silver coin to see his letter was delivered.

  Although he no longer expected any reply he took some comfort from the simple act of doing something positive. If there was any chance of a letter reaching Henry he must take it, as to give up trying was to give up hope. He wondered if the duke’s illness had worsened, which would explain why his visits had ceased. The duke had no heir, so there could be unrest in Brittany if his condition didn’t improve.

  The rasp of the iron bolt on his door being slid open interrupted his thoughts and he turned as the door opened. Rainwater dripped from the brim of the captain’s hat and he had a grim look on his face as he entered.

  ‘You are to prepare for a ride, Sir Jasper. I have orders to escort you back to the Château de l’Hermine.’

  ‘Do you know the reason, Captain?’

  ‘I do.’ The captain seemed to be enjoying his moment of power over Jasper. ‘Duke Francis has been visited by another English ambassador and wishes to consult you about your nephew.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  January 1476

  Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells, York’s ambassador to Brittany and France, filled the chair he sat in. The crimson and purple chasuble worn over his robes was trimmed with glittering cloth of gold and around his neck a heavy, bejewelled crucifix looked more like a symbol of his status than a badge of his religion. The bishop’s shrewd eyes shone with self-importance as he repeated King Edward’s offer.

  ‘His Highness wishes the Earl of Richmond, Henry Tudor, to accept his most generous offer of betrothal to Lady Elizabeth.’ He spoke in a faintly patronising tone, as if giving a sermon in church, and his voice boomed in the duke’s stateroom.

  ‘His eldest daughter?’ The duke sounded surprised.

  ‘Indeed, Duke Francis.’ The bishop leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘A fine young girl, with her mother’s beauty and her father’s brains.’ He chuckled at his own wit.

  The duke raised an eyebrow in disapproval. ‘Forgive me, Bishop. Do I not recall that the Dauphin Charles of France was to be betrothed to King Edward's eldest daughter?’

  Bishop Stillington seemed momentarily flustered then regained his composure. ‘There are many who seek the hand of the king’s daughter, my lord.’ He waved a podgy, gold-ringed hand in the air to emphasise his point. ‘King Edward seeks to unite the Houses of York and Lancaster, which is why I’ve travelled here in person to see the matter resolved.’

  Duke Francis glanced at Jasper, called in to witness the bishop’s proposal. ‘And why is the king so eager for such a marriage?’ He barely concealed his distaste.

  ‘King Edward wishes you to work with him to ensure a lasting peace, to which end he will provide a thousand of our best English archers to help defend your borders.’

  The duke held a folded cloth to his mouth and coughed into it before continuing. ‘I will need time to consider King Edward’s proposal, Bishop.’ He cast a glance at Jasper. ‘You will appreciate why I don’t share your sense of urgency. Having given my word to protect Henry Tudor, I would need to be sure it was in his best interests before I could transfer him to you.’

  ‘What if we made it four thousand archers?’ He leaned closer to the duke and lowered his voice. ‘Perhaps we should discuss the sum of gold coin that would ease your conscience, my lord?’

  ‘You insult me, Bishop?’ The duke’s weak voice had an acidic edge. A log on the fire crackled and spat, as if in agreement.

  The bishop reddened. ‘I have the king’s authority to add that as well as his title of Earl of Richmond, Henry will be granted permission to inherit his mother’s considerable fortune, including her Beaufort estates.’

  ‘And if Henry Tudor does not return to England?’

  ‘Then I am afraid, my lord, as the king’s ambassador I must inform you he will lose his title—and inherit nothing.’

  Jasper glanced at Duke Francis and saw he was seriously considering his options. It pained him to see the once powerful man reduced to a coughing, hunched figure, particularly when his own future depended so heavily on the duke’s good health. He hoped the duke’s illness would not affect his judgement.

  Before their meeting with the bishop the duke told him King Louis was also keen to discuss conditions under which both he and Henry could be transferred to France. Jasper knew if he could find a way to buy more time, this could be an ideal solution to all their problems. Although Duke Francis protected them better than King Louis ever did, there was no real future for them in Brittany, while France offered a wealth of possibilities. An idea occurred to him and he turned to the bishop.

  ‘It would be helpful, Your Grace, if you could arrange for Lady Elizabeth to visit us here in Brittany, so that Duke Francis might make her acquaintance?’

  ‘I regret that is not possible, Sir Jasper. Henry Tudor must return to England.’ His voice sounded dismissive, more strident now. He turned to Duke Francis. ‘I need your answer, my lord. I have a ship waiting to sail in St Malo and must return to England.’

  Duke Francis looked tired and pale. ‘You will have your answer tomorrow, Bishop. Now I must rest and recover my health.’

  Bishop Stillington stood with some effort and bowed to the duke. ‘I thank you for your time, my lord.’ He gave Jasper a forced smile. ‘With God’s good grace and favour we will soon have an outcome that is satisfactory to all.’

  Jasper waited alone in the duke’s stateroom, his mind troubled by the turn of events. He threw another log onto the duke’s fire and stared into the flames, doubting if anything would change the duke’s mind. He’d taken an instinctive dislike to the corpulent Bishop Stillington, although he understood why Duke Francis would be tempted by his offer of military support. Less easy to accept were the bishop’s assurances that Henry would be well treated and his Beaufort inheritance restored.

  Jasper imagined Lady Margaret was working hard on her son’s behalf to ensure he could retain his title and might even be behind the proposed marriage. She would have found it easy enough to gain access to the king through her new husband Sir Thomas Stanley, Lord Steward of York’s household. Once at court Lady Margaret could become one of Queen Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting, and even carry her train, if it meant she could protect the future of her son.

  The doors opened and Duke Francis entered the room, still carrying a cloth, which he held to his mout
h when he coughed. Jasper noted how the duke shivered and pulled a woollen cloak around his shoulders as he sat at the other side of the hearth, warming his hands. He decided to try again, this time to appeal to the duke’s sense of honour.

  ‘I urge you to reject York’s offer, for Henry’s sake, Duke Francis. I swore an oath to his mother to watch over him, so I am bound to do what I can to prevent his return to England until we are certain it’s safe.’

  ‘Bishop Stillington assures me his proposal is supported by Lady Margaret.’ The duke glanced across at Jasper with red-rimmed eyes. ‘Henry is no longer a boy. I cannot hold him here in Brittany indefinitely.’ He sounded apologetic.

  ‘You have been as good as your word, Duke Francis, but once Henry sails there will be nothing either of us can do to protect him.’

  The duke coughed, a dry, hacking sound, muffled by the cloth he held to his mouth. ‘King Edward needs Brittany as an ally. He would be foolish to risk our treaty by allowing any harm to come to your nephew.’

  ‘It’s not something I would wish to risk.’ Jasper saw the duke’s mind was made up and it was time to produce his trump card. ‘England is about to become a dangerous place. Sir Henry Holland informed me of a plan to replace York with his younger brother George.’ He watched the duke’s reaction and saw his frown.

  ‘I am afraid Bishop Stillington told me Henry Holland fell overboard, returning to England on the king’s flagship. I thought it odd.’

  ‘He was drowned?’ Jasper felt the chill wind of impending disaster as another of his chances slipped through his fingers. He’d not liked Henry Holland but he had been so full of life and eager to rid England of York, even if it meant the hapless George becoming king.

  The duke nodded. ‘The Bishop said no one saw it happen but he was not aboard the ship when it docked.’

  ‘This is how York works.’

  The light of understanding dawned in the duke’s tired eyes. ‘You think Holland’s plan was discovered?’

  ‘I am certain of it. We must rescue Henry before he meets the same fate.’

  The duke held out a cautionary, gold-ringed hand. ‘It is too late. He is already on his way to St Malo.’

  ‘Will you let me ride with some of your men to see if I can bring him back?’

  ‘I cannot allow you, of all people, to confront York’s ambassadors.’ He shook his head. ‘I gave them my word you were not in a position to threaten anyone.’

  The familiar frustration of powerlessness returned. ‘Could you send one of your own men, Duke Francis?’ He heard the pleading in his voice. ‘The bishop will be keen to sail without delay.’

  Jasper hardly recognised the hooded figure who rode into the château with the duke’s personal guard. He watched the rider dismount and hand the bridle of his horse to the waiting groom. Pulling back his hood, the man scanned the courtyard as if looking for someone. Clean-shaven with long brown hair, he dressed like a French nobleman, with a black damask tunic. He carried a fine sword on a low belt and had an athletic, fighter’s poise. His searching eyes met Jasper’s and his face lit up in a broad grin.

  ‘Henry!’ Jasper stepped forward and shook him by the hand. ‘By God, I thought we were too late.’

  ‘So did I, Uncle.’ Henry glanced back at his escort. ‘The duke’s envoy arrived just in time.’ His voice sounded deeper and he spoke in English with the accent of one who has used only French for many years.

  ‘Come with me. The duke has provided me with a fine room here. You must be tired and hungry after your journey, and I want to hear what you’ve been up to.’

  Jasper didn’t mention how they had been some of the most anxious days he could remember since the siege of Bamburgh Castle. Duke Francis finally agreed to send his most trusted advisor, Pierre Landais, to see if he could negotiate Henry’s return, although it seemed an unlikely prospect, despite the heavy casket of gold he carried in recompense. Bishop Stillington had been worryingly keen not to return to England without Henry.

  The same age as Jasper, Pierre Landais was good looking and successful. The son of a wealthy Breton cloth merchant, his relentless ambition saw him rise from being the duke’s valet to become his treasurer and Prime Minister of Brittany. Charming and persuasive, he seemed the perfect choice for the challenging task and had experience of negotiation with the English.

  St Malo was over a hundred miles away, a two-day ride with an overnight stop in Rennes. Landais left within the hour with the duke’s personal guard but there was nothing Jasper could do but wait for news. As Henry had more than a day’s start on them, he could already have sailed, and Jasper urged the duke to authorise Pierre Landais to pursue them at sea in a fast ship. Duke Francis refused, pointing out such action would be seen as an act of war against England.

  Jasper felt overwhelming relief as he led Henry to the duke’s sumptuous great hall, where servants brought steaming onion soup, fresh crusty loaves and salted butter, as well as a jug of strong Breton cider. Henry ate hungrily, and watching him Jasper found himself remembering his older brother Edmund, whose life was cut so cruelly short in Carmarthen Castle twenty years before.

  Edmund had the same lithe build and engaging smile, but there the resemblance ended. Edmund also had a selfish streak, and hadn’t hesitated to secure his inheritance by fathering a child with his new bride, even though she was barely twelve years old. Jasper could never forget the anguish of Henry’s birth on a wintry night in Pembroke Castle. Although she bore it with Beaufort courage, the dangerous delivery nearly killed Lady Margaret and she told him she could never have another child.

  Jasper looked across at Henry and saw Lady Margaret’s sharp eyes looking back at him. He hoped Henry also inherited something of her Beaufort steel, for he was going to need it. York would not take kindly to having been outwitted at the last minute and could even declare war on Brittany. Duke Francis was a sick man, no longer capable of leading an army as he had in the past, and Jasper was certain the self-serving Bishop Stillington would soon inform York of their vulnerability.

  He calculated Henry must be nineteen years old and would be twenty in January. Duke Francis had been right when he said Henry was no longer a boy. He had been well tutored under the care of the Lord of Rieux during his captivity at the Château de Largoet and had a modest air of confidence that made him seem older than his years.

  Henry finished his meal and studied Jasper. ‘I remembered the advice you gave me all that time ago at Suscinio. You told me to find a way to escape before I was on board a ship.’

  ‘As after that it would be too late.’

  ‘You were right, but it wasn’t easy. I remembered how superstitious sailors are about having anyone with fever aboard. I was able to convince them I suffered from a sweating sickness by pouring water over my shirt when they weren’t looking.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘The thing was, although they kept me ashore, I was placed under armed guard, so escape was impossible.’

  ‘Yet it bought you time until the duke’s envoy arrived?’

  Henry nodded. ‘I was able to talk to Pierre Landais in Breton without my guards understanding, and tell him what was going on. He did try his best to negotiate my release but Bishop Stillington would have none of it.’

  ‘So how did you escape?’

  ‘Landais came up with a plan to distract the guards and told me to make a run for it to the cathedral.’ He took a drink of the sharp-tasting cider. ‘I was spotted and they chased me through the streets. I didn’t know the way but I darted through a side street and kept heading for the spire. I’ve never run so fast in my life.’

  ‘You claimed the right of sanctuary?’ Jasper smiled as he recalled the stories his father told him of how claiming sanctuary in Westminster Abbey once saved his life. ‘When the guards caught up with you they couldn’t take you back.’

  ‘Pierre Landais stirred up the locals, telling them the English were trying to violate the sanctity of their cathedral. In no time he had a small army of men with scythes and pitc
hforks, standing guard at the doors.’

  ‘York is not going to forgive us. I hope he doesn’t use this as an excuse to invade Brittany, as Duke Francis is in no condition to defend us.’

  ‘That’s the thing. Bishop Stillington forced his way into the cathedral. They couldn’t stop him, as a man of the church. I thought he might try to threaten me but he thanked God for my recovery and promised to do what he could to explain to the king.’

  ‘It seems I misjudged the man,’ Jasper recalled his dislike of Robert Stillington, ‘but I think we can rely on the bishop to concoct a version of events that will appease York, if only to preserve his own reputation.’

  Henry placed his empty tankard on the table. ‘I wrote letters to you from the Château de Largoet, Uncle, but they wouldn’t let me send them.’

  ‘I thought as much. Our host Duke Francis is a good man, and honours his word. He must have promised not to allow communication between us. I wrote to you as well. Twice before I realised,’ Jasper smiled, ‘it helped to pass the time.’

  ‘Have you any word from Gabriel?’

  ‘No. I haven’t seen or heard from him since we saw him off. The duke was adamant about replacing my servants with his own, which is a pity. Gabriel would have been good company over those long years at Château Josselin.’

  Henry sat in silence for a moment. ‘What’s our plan, Uncle?’

  ‘Good question, Henry. We can’t return to England, that’s for sure.’

  Jasper lay awake in the darkness, listening to the gentle patter of rain on the windows and pondering the answer to Henry’s question. From the age of five, Henry had effectively been held prisoner against his will. Now Duke Francis seemed in a more favourable mood and might be persuaded to allow them both more freedom. He resolved to propose to the duke that the risk of either of them being abducted was reduced if they stayed at the Château de l’Hermine.