First of the Tudors

by Joanna Hickson

  ‘Why, what have you heard?’ I asked. Strictly speaking, since Edmund had been sent to Wales, being a royal castle Carmarthen was no longer my responsibility and I had not intended to stop there on my journey to Caldicot Castle, where last-minute preparations had to be made for the hunting party I was planning for the end of May – its precise date timed to coincide with Margaret’s thirteenth birthday.

  As always, Pembroke’s outer court was busy. Geoffrey dodged around a courier’s horse being led off to the stables before replying. ‘If you remember, while he was Protector the Duke of York made himself Constable of Carmarthen Castle. Well, the appointment has never been reversed, and now York has instructed his ally, William Herbert of Raglan, to claim the castle on his behalf. Old Gruffydd ap Nicholas swears he will take it himself rather than see Herbert’s men in there, which leaves the present deputy constable in a cleft stick. He does not know who is his master, whether to defend the castle for the king or surrender it and if so, to whom.’

  I cogitated, pursing my lips before replying. ‘Strictly speaking it is Lord Edmund’s responsibility to exert royal authority and secure Carmarthen for the king, but as yet he has no army at his command.’

  Geoffrey sucked his teeth. ‘Even if Lord Edmund were to issue an array I do not think he would have much success recruiting men. He does not have the support in South Wales that you do.’

  An involuntary oath escaped me. ‘Jesu what a mess! If I raise a force to defend Carmarthen, York would be within his rights to accuse me of treason, considering his name is still on the statute roll as constable.’

  We had reached the south wall of the outer court and the site of my half-built new mansion nestling in the lee of the South Tower, and close to the Great Gatehouse. If Pembroke was to be my main home I needed somewhere more sheltered and comfortable in which to bring up the family I hoped to have. Previous earls had occupied the Solar Tower in the inner court, which was exposed to every wind that blew off the Pembroke estuary.

  I wanted to pick Geoffrey’s brains on the subject of local craftsmen for work on the interior, after the roof was on. But Geoffrey was still talking about Carmarthen, his voice lowered to a confidential level. ‘Perhaps I could suggest to Gruffydd privately that he move his men into Carmarthen before Herbert arrives. He will be only too keen to do so and then at least you would know that the castle was secure for Lancaster.’

  It was my turn to scowl. ‘Herbert will not stomach that surely! There will be war – or at least a siege.’

  ‘Yes inevitably, but by then Lord Edmund will have had time to acquire a commission of array from Westminster. If he recruits in England he will have more success. The process can be set in hand while we are at Caldicot.’

  I clapped my companion on the back. ‘That is a splendid idea, Geoffrey! You are a cunning politician and a superior tactician. Now, be so kind as to demonstrate your knowledge of the local craftsmen. Who shall I get to turn this house into a palace?’

  I intended that its main windows would overlook a private garden courtyard formed against the curtain wall, turning its back on the noise from the vast outer court and the cold winds from the north and east. Geoffrey laughed and scratched his head, surveying the empty shell of the new residence, the rising walls encased in their surcôte of scaffolding. ‘How long before you expect the roof to be on?’

  ‘They work fast,’ I said, drawing his attention to the network of wooden walks and rails where a team of masons could be seen laying ashlar; tramping the stones up on a great treadmill crane. A thatched shelter to our right was the workshop where apprentices were mixing mortar and the master mason was consulting a design scratched out on the clay floor. ‘Master John assures me it will be watertight by the end of the summer.’

  ‘So you will want the interior finished by next spring perhaps?’

  ‘Well, I would ideally like the house to be ready for Christmas but I do not expect miracles.’

  Geoffrey grimaced. ‘It sounds to me as if you do but I happen to know an excellent fresco artist who will travel far and fast for good money. I have no idea where he is at present but I can track him down for you.’

  Indeed, I had a hankering for bright murals above the warmth of panelled walls. I went on. ‘Do you also chance to know of any woodcarvers working in Wales?’

  ‘No but I know a man who does and coincidentally his name is Gruffydd ap Nicholas.’ Geoffrey rubbed his hands and grinned at me conspiratorially. ‘I think I might manage to kill two birds with one arrow.’

  I clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Well if you achieve that before coming to Caldicot, Master Pole, I will award you the first stag of the week!’

  * * *

  I decided to call at Lamphey Palace on my way to Caldicot, as I had done a couple of times since Edmund and Margaret’s wedding. On those occasions Edmund had not been present, off on some royal business, and I had enjoyed some time with Margaret and her young lady friends, girls from local gentry families who came and went and kept her amused through the long winter months. On this occasion I discovered that my brother was in fact in residence. I sent Maredudd with my horse to the stables while I made my way to the inner gatehouse, which led into the palace’s private domain. Beyond its arch was a garden, which in the balmy May weather was already verdant with spring growth. It ran under the wall of the impressive hall where Margaret had entertained me on previous visits. But before venturing further I stopped inside the arch to speak to the porter, who wore a monkish habit, although I knew him to be a lay member of the episcopal household.

  He recognized me and came out of his lodge to make me a bow. ‘My lord of Pembroke, welcome. I believe my lord and lady of Richmond are in the garden making the most of this fine weather. Would you like me to send someone to announce your arrival?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ I wagged a negative finger, put it to my lips and winked at him. ‘I will seek them out myself and surprise them. The garden is not that large after all.’

  The porter looked a little doubtful but said nothing and bowed himself back into his lodge. Stepping out into the bright sunlight I paused to get my bearings, blinking and temporarily blinded. On one side the garden was divided by straight gravel paths with tidy herb beds, and on the other side small trees and shrubs were arranged in clumps with winding walks between which visitors might wander and lose themselves. A green retreat, laid out for the bishop to take the air, commune with nature and pray. But the sounds emanating from within the bushes were not the sounds of prayer.

  I stood in the dappled shadow of a path where branches met overhead forming an emerald tunnel. Suddenly Margaret appeared in a brief flash of blue silk, running across the path a few yards ahead of me, too quickly to register my presence. In her wake she left the echo of laughter, then her voice sang out through the bushes. ‘Catch me if you can, sir, but you will not!’

  ‘Oh yes I will, my lady, and when I do – watch out!’ It was Edmund, striding across the path further along, clutching a jewelled cup and snatching a sip from it as he went. He, too, did not see me.

  I hesitated, uncertain what to do. A few seconds later I heard my brother’s voice again, raised in triumph. ‘Got you! You are a naughty girl, Margaret Richmond. What made you think I would let you read your book when I am here to play with you? Anyway, what are you reading? Whoops, it is heavy. Ah. The Romance of the Rose. Now why would you need to read about romance when it stands here in front of you, yours for the taking?’

  From the tone of his voice I suspected that Edmund was slightly tipsy but obviously not sufficiently to offend Margaret because the infectious giggle I had first heard erupted once again. ‘Be careful! It is borrowed from the bishop’s library, although I am not sure a priest should be reading such a work. There, I will put it down on the bench and you have my full attention. Mind you don’t sit on it!’

  Now I knew that Edmund had drunk freely, possibly of the strong Rennish wine I had provided as a wedding present, for there was a coaxing note in hi
s next words and I heard a slapping sound, as if he had sat down and patted his thigh. ‘You could sit on my knee and whisper words of love in my ear.’

  There was a rustle of silk as Margaret evidently complied and asked teasingly, ‘Which ear shall I speak to first, my lord? This one – or this one?’

  ‘Oh, my lovely lady, never mind my ears …’ Edmund said and for several long seconds there was silence.

  At this point I decided it was time for me to leave. Whether I liked it or not my brother and his wife had every right to behave as they wished, having reason to believe they were alone together in their own private garden. Whatever might be the outcome of this encounter, it was none of my business. I made the sign of the cross to dismiss the evil demon that sat on my shoulder, tempting me to announce myself and spoil their fun, but it was not without a sense of foreboding that I turned on my heel and crept from the shadows back into the sunshine. Anyway I would be seeing them shortly at Caldicot.

  11

  Jasper

  Caldicot Castle, Monmouthshire

  ALL HAD BEEN QUIET at Carmarthen when I passed through the town on my way to Caldicot to complete the arrangements for the hunting party. The gatehouse mansion had been renovated and I now considered it offered enough luxury to satisfy the most discerning taste. I intended to lodge the two married couples there: Margaret and Edmund and Geoffrey and Edith, while my father and I would take chambers in the East Tower, which flanked the other end of the Great Hall, where we would gather each evening after hunting to eat some of the product of our exertions and be entertained.

  Minstrels and mummers were already camped around the bailey. Soon Owen would arrive – he had promised to bring his harp – and so would the bard Lewys Glyn Cothi who was to sing some of his latest poems.

  Margaret and Edmund rode over from Lamphey along highways that foamed with hawthorn blossom, and it seemed to me, as Margaret emerged from the shadow of the gatehouse arch into the bright sunshine of the bailey, that she was the Spirit of Spring personified, in a vivid green riding kirtle with cream lace at the neck and wrists.

  She rode astride and I helped her dismount as the horses carrying the Richmond retinue continued to clatter over the drawbridge behind her and Edmund. As she swung her booted leg over the saddle and I smiled inwardly at the sight of a pale pink ribbon threaded through the lace trim on the hem of her chemise. Anyone who had not seen the pink ribbon would have put her age at fifteen or sixteen but I knew she remained a young girl underneath.

  ‘I am so looking forward to our week of sport, Lord Jasper,’ she enthused. ‘Edmund told me there is excellent wildfowling on the Severn marshes and I have brought my favourite merlin in the hope of seeing her bring down a snipe.’

  ‘All shall be done to make your stay perfect, my lady,’ I said, bowing over her hand.

  Edmund had left his horse to a groom and come up behind her. His first words were ominous. ‘You will have a task to make mine perfect, brother, thanks to that ruffian Gruffydd ap Nicholas. Have you heard his latest outrage?’

  ‘No. Has he made a move then?’ I asked, knowing he spoke of Carmarthen.

  ‘More than a move by Saint Michael! Only two days ago he actually managed to take Carmarthen Castle. He must have had inside help because his men just seemed to walk in unopposed. I need to talk to you about this, Jasper.’ Edmund made a grim face at me over Margaret’s head.

  I nodded agreement. ‘We will discuss it later. Geoffrey should be here soon with Edith; it will be helpful to hear what he has to say on the matter. But now I am sure Lady Margaret needs to rest after the journey. Let me show you to your chambers. They are in the gatehouse, where I have recently made alterations and refurbishments. I trust they will meet with your approval.’

  ‘It will be hard to match Lamphey Palace,’ remarked Edmund as he preceded me into the new covered stair that led to the apartments above the gate-arch. ‘Bishops certainly knew how to live in the old days.’

  Margaret called from higher up, ‘We are here for the sport, Edmund, not for the luxury of the furnishings.’

  Edmund rolled his eyes at me over his shoulder. ‘You wait until you are married, brother. A man must brook such female contradiction in the interests of marital peace!’

  I offered him no sympathy. ‘I cannot believe your lady wife makes any complaint against you, Edmund, no matter how much you vex her.’

  Margaret’s laughter floated down between us. ‘You are right, Jasper. My lips are raw from biting them!’

  The unmistakable affection in Edmund’s responding chuckle surprised me. I had never seen such an ardent expression on my brother’s face and with the incident I had overheard in the Lamphey garden still fresh in my memory it both delighted and troubled me because while I rejoiced that Margaret was happy, I still had this nagging dread of her falling pregnant too young.

  Nevertheless I had given them separate bedchambers and their quarters were divided from those allocated to Edith and Geoffrey by a shared solar. When I showed the other pair up a short time later Edith immediately ventured off to find her sister. Both ladies had brought female servants and Geoffrey jerked his head at Edith’s to make her disappear.

  ‘We came here via Carmarthen,’ he revealed immediately she had left, ‘and I found Gruffydd already installed in the castle without any exchange of fire. He had simply told the garrison that he would burn the villages of each and every one of them if they did not return to their wives and children. All thirty trooped out of the main gate and the deputy constable went with them. I cannot imagine how he will explain himself to the Duke of York but that is his problem.’

  ‘And what of William Herbert?’ I asked. ‘He will not take this lying down.’

  ‘No, I think not and according to my last report he was in Hereford with his brother and two thousand men. So he must be planning to make a move but before he does it seems likely that there will be a council of war with York at Ludlow.’ Geoffrey as always spoke like the strategist he was.

  At this point Edmund arrived and grasped Geoffrey’s shoulder in greeting. ‘Good to see you, Pole. I need your help.’

  Geoffrey grinned and made him a bow. ‘Always happy to be of service, my lord. I do not need to ask for what.’

  Edmund made an exasperated noise. ‘What am I to do with that bastard Gruffydd and his meddling sons? I cannot have them thumbing their noses at the crown like this. The next thing we know he will declare himself Prince of Wales and the queen will never let me hear the end of it.’

  ‘I should think not, now that Parliament has conferred that particular title on her son,’ Geoffrey agreed. ‘Why do you not send to her for instructions?’

  Edmund’s brows almost disappeared under the rim of his draped velvet hat. ‘What, deal with a female? Definitely not! I shall write to the king.’

  ‘It amounts to the same thing,’ I said with a shrug. ‘These days Queen Marguerite reads all his letters and deals with most of them. However, you might get a commission of array and then at least you can recruit an army. It will take a siege to get Carmarthen back.’

  ‘But that will take months,’ Edmund complained. ‘Has no one got the ear of the Gruffydd creature? I just need him out.’

  Geoffrey shook his head. ‘In my opinion you need do nothing, my lord. If you wait a month or so William Herbert will do the job for you. Even you do not hate Gruffydd more than Herbert does.’

  ‘But Herbert is York’s toady. He will not return Carmarthen to royal control will he?’

  I intervened again. ‘Now that the queen – I beg your pardon, I mean the king – has dismissed York from the Council, sooner or later the office of Constable of Carmarthen will go to someone else – probably you, Edmund. Then you can legally demand the withdrawal of whoever is in there.’

  My brother threw his hands in the air. ‘Yes but will they go? Holy Mary save me from Wales! Where nothing is straightforward and no one obeys the law.’

  I slapped him lightly on the back. ‘Never min
d that now – write to the king then let it go for a few days and enjoy the hunting. Wait and see what transpires.’

  He flashed his famous smile. ‘Good idea! What have you got planned for us tomorrow – boar or stag?’

  ‘I thought Margaret wanted to go hawking,’ I said, intrigued to get his reaction to this suggestion.

  For a moment Edmund hesitated, considering. Then he shook his head. ‘No, the falconer told me her merlin is not sharp. He needs to starve her for another day to be at her best. Besides, Margaret likes a good gallop as much as anyone. Let her follow us after the stag.’

  ‘As you like Edmund, but I must tell you that I promised Geoffrey the first kill.’

  He glowered at Geoffrey. ‘Hmm. I could pull rank of course.’

  I feared that good-natured Geoffrey was about to accommodate him when Edmund’s brow cleared and his smile shone out again. ‘But I find I cannot. Only make it a clean kill, Master Pole, if you please. My wife does not like a bloody mess.’

  Geoffrey swept him a bow. ‘Have no fear, my lord, my arrow will go straight to the heart of the hart.’

  Edmund groaned.

  The sound of a horn announced another arrival and so I left them. It was my father, who had encountered the bard Lewys a few miles up the road walking in the same direction and taken him up behind him on his palfrey.

  ‘This mendicant said he was coming here,’ Owen said as he drew rein. ‘I thought it unlikely but then he started spouting some lines in Welsh, singing your praises, so I decided he must be telling the truth.’

  Like a grey eel Lewys slid his skinny frame down from behind the high back of the saddle and adjusted his baldric before retaliating. ‘This ancient mercenary told me he was your father but it was only when I spotted the harp-bag slung from his saddle that I was forced to believe him. The damnable instrument has been bashing me in the backside ever since.’