‘That is bardic nonsense!’ I said, irritable from lack of sleep. ‘As far as I am concerned he is named for his grandfather.’
‘It does not matter if his name is Thomas, Dafydd or Harri,’ the poet persisted. ‘It is his lineage that matters and this little Owen has it.’
‘I still think his mother should have been consulted about the name, my lord,’ Jane said. I had invited her to join us although she was about as interested in her food as I was in mine.
‘His mother is at death’s door,’ I snapped. ‘Otherwise of course she could have named him herself.’
‘I am sorry I did not ask her for a name before she fell into a faint,’ Jane snapped back. ‘She was crying out to Saint Margaret to save her from the pain and suddenly she was unconscious.’
‘You have all suffered a momentous birth,’ said Lewys, pausing in his rapid consumption of a bowl of fish stew. He went on soothingly, ‘Some sleep will bring you peace, and you will recover, just as the babe’s mother will.’
As the eccentric bard had foretold, by the following day I felt considerably better, and more so when Alice came to say that her mistress was awake and had asked for me. I had no place in the lying-in chamber, I knew that, but I blundered in there like a charging bull, before any protective female could deny me entry. Margaret was no longer awake and the sleeping face that confronted me from the pillows was terrifyingly pale but the cowering nurse told me this was a good sign. ‘It means there is no fever,’ she said in a whisper. ‘My lady is very weak from loss of blood but if the fever stays at bay she will slowly recover her strength.’
‘And the baby?’ I asked, glancing at the cradle, set as close as was safe to the hearth. A young and rather bosomy lady dozed nearby – the wet nurse I deduced – but Jane was nowhere to be seen. I assumed she had retired somewhere to sleep off her exhaustion.
The nurse smiled. ‘Her son has been feeding well and seems strong.’
At the sound of voices Margaret stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Lord Jasper, he must be baptized,’ she said immediately, her voice weak but insistent.
I knelt down beside her. ‘God be praised you are recovering, Margaret. You must not worry, he has been baptized already.’
‘Yes, so I heard.’ Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow in agitation. ‘But he must be baptized again. His name is not Owen. Lord Edmund wished his son to be called after his brother the king. His name is to be Henry. Also Bishop de la Bere agreed to be a godfather but he will need a proxy.’ The effort of making even this short speech drained her strength and her eyes closed again.
I was not sure if the Church sanctioned second baptisms but rather than embarrass the chaplain who had performed the first one, I decided to ask Father Richard Warren, the vicar of St Mary’s church, which lay beside the castle gatehouse. I considered the first to have been an emergency baptism and the names I had spoken spontaneously given to ensure the child’s place in heaven and the priest made no objection. The baby was dressed once more in his beautiful chemise and baptismal coif and wrapped up against the snow-cold air. Once more I performed my role as godfather to Owen Tudor’s grandson and this time under the statue of the Virgin in the Pembroke church, with Steward Dŵnn standing proxy for Bishop de la Bere, Edmund’s wish for his child’s name to be Henry was fulfilled. As if in confirmation of the correct choice of name the baby gave a loud sneeze when the Holy Water ran off his brow, proclaiming that this time the Evil One had left him.
* * *
Later, when back at court in Kenilworth, I witnessed Henry’s delight on hearing that Edmund’s son had been named for him, and I regretted my initial instinct to call the babe Owen. While the Tudor connection might be important in Wales, in England the boy’s interests would depend on his connection to the Lancastrian throne. I must do my best for him.
I had been obliged to return to court as soon as the thaw came. I heard from Jane often, the baby thrived and Margaret’s health slowly improved. The letter I received towards the end of February informed me that at last Margaret had recovered enough strength to move from her bed to a chair but it would be well into March before she would be fit to emerge from her confinement.
I was pleased to see that in the peaceful and safe environment of Kenilworth my half-brother had recovered his physical health, although perhaps had not returned to full mental capacity. But I was able to discuss with him the appointment of a commission to enquire into Edmund’s death and the need to make arrangements for his widow and son.
The king announced at the next meeting of the Great Council that he would confer the vacant Richmond title, which was a royal honour, on his nephew Henry Tudor, our late and much-lamented brother’s son.
Then he went on, to my surprise, ‘However, the boy’s mother is still a minor, too young to have his custody. We will grant that to his uncle, the Earl of Pembroke, with an allowance for his keep from the Richmond estates and the bulk of their revenues reverting to the crown for the time being. The title Countess of Richmond will remain with Lady Margaret, as will the Somerset estates, and we will find her a suitable marriage as soon as the mourning period has elapsed so that they may be well supervised.’
Later the king explained his intentions further. ‘As matters stand in the realm at present, Jasper, I cannot grant you the full revenue from the Richmond estates during your wardship of young Henry, because it will stir resentment among certain of my nobles.’
‘I am sure his grace does not need to spell out which noble in particular,’ remarked Queen Marguerite tartly. Seldom far from her husband’s side, she seemed to have taken the place formerly filled by the king’s successive favourites, the Dukes of Suffolk and Somerset, whose deaths she had deeply mourned and blamed on one man alone, the man whose name did not pass her lips.
I nodded and observed casually, ‘We have not seen his grace of York at court since the Protectorate ended. Has he other business? Perhaps his duchess has produced yet another child to add to their plenteous family?’
Marguerite’s lip curled. ‘You are perceptive, Jasper, but at least it is another girl. I keep telling the king that he should send the duke back to Ireland. Children do not thrive there they tell me.’
I acknowledged her cold smile, knowing that her real hope was that one of Ireland’s notorious bogs would swallow up Richard, Duke of York completely. ‘And how is the Prince of Wales, your grace?’ I asked. ‘He must be three by now – practically a knight!’
‘Édouard is well, thank you. The Kenilworth air suits him.’ This time the queen was the one to choose an apparent non sequitur. ‘I find it interesting that your sister-in-law chose to call her son Henry, rather than Edmund after his sire.’
‘I believe it was his father’s greatest wish, if he had a son, to name him after his brother, Madame. Perhaps he thought it a small but enduring way of expressing his gratitude to the king.’
‘A small way as yet,’ Marguerite observed dryly, ‘but the boy will grow, if he is healthy. Is he?’
‘Yes, so I am told, but Lady Margaret and her son have yet to emerge from her confinement. It was a lengthy birth and fraught with danger for them both. I thank Almighty God daily for their deliverance.’
‘Lady Margaret is so very young,’ King Henry broke in, frowning. ‘We must find her someone wiser and less headstrong than Edmund for her next husband.’
I could not argue with that. Nevertheless the thought of Margaret re-marrying caused me pain I found hard to conceal.
‘What do you think of Buckingham’s younger son, Sir Henry Stafford?’ This bolt from the blue came from the queen. ‘His elder brother still suffers grievously from wounds he received defending the king at St Albans but at least he has a young son to inherit the dukedom. The Staffords are a powerful family and staunch Lancastrians and the king and I think Sir Henry would make a good husband for Lady Margaret. He is a kind and considerate man, still young enough to father a family and he would be a worthy lord of the Somerset estates. Do you know h
im?’
I had to clear my throat to release my strangled voice. ‘Yes, Madame, I too fought at St Albans, if you remember.’ Sir Henry was not a regular at court but I recalled him as a good reliable knight and a gentle, unassuming man who was unlikely to use marriage with the Somerset heiress to elbow him to the forefront of power, a situation that would clearly suit Queen Marguerite in her assumed role as the king’s mouthpiece.
‘I think you should consult with Buckingham before you return to Pembroke, Jasper.’ Queen Marguerite voiced this as an order rather than a suggestion. ‘Sir Henry and Lady Margaret are second cousins so a papal dispensation will be needed.’
‘I could not commit Lady Margaret without a meeting between them,’ I responded, bristling under her brusque tone. These days I found it hard to detect in Marguerite the alluring teenager who had married the king.
Henry roused himself to exert his authority. ‘Let them meet,’ he urged, ‘as soon as she is strong enough. I will have the Chancellor apply to the Holy Father for a dispensation. Nothing will be lost if it is not used.’
I had no choice but to comply. By the end of March Margaret was able to ride and we stayed at Caldicot for the promised meeting, which took place at the Buckingham manor of Ebbw, only a short distance away. Little Harri was left with Jane and his wet nurse at Pembroke and on the journey Margaret was constantly fretful about the separation and understandably nervous at the prospect of meeting Sir Henry Stafford.
‘I really do not wish to marry again,’ she declared more than once. ‘I would prefer to go back to my mother or stay with you at Pembroke.’
I hated having to deny her. ‘It is the king’s wish, Margaret, and your mother agrees with him. You know that a young lady like you needs to be married if she is not to take holy vows. It is to protect your estates, but I promise it does not have to be to Sir Henry Stafford if you do not like him. Whoever it is to be, I will make sure it is not until next year. Meanwhile you are very welcome to stay at Pembroke, both you and Harri.’
Although this seemed to mollify her a little, she was still peevish. ‘I do not like Henry being called Harri. I have told Jane but she still does it.’
‘It is the Welsh version of Henry and not a bad name to carry. Harri of Monmouth, the victor of Agincourt, was possibly the greatest Lancastrian of all. And it distinguishes your son from other English Henrys – like the king and your potential new husband for instance,’ I said. ‘When Harri is older he can use his grown-up name if he wishes.’
‘When he is older the world will call him Richmond,’ she said proudly. ‘I am grateful to the king for granting him his father’s title, if not his estates.’
‘They will come later, when he is older, I dare say.’
Margaret shrugged. ‘I expect you are right.’ Clearly unconvinced, she sat her palfrey as proudly as a princess, her back ramrod straight, but so soon after her confinement she was using a side-saddle for comfort.
I did not like to tell her at this stage that her marriage would not bring about a change in her son’s custody. When she went to live with her new husband, whether it was Sir Henry or another, she would not be taking Harri with her, for his care and upbringing had been assigned to me.
16
Jane
Pembroke Castle
‘WELL, WHAT DID YOU think of Sir Henry, my lady?’
Lord Jasper had made it clear to Lady Margaret that despite royal enthusiasm for the match with the Duke of Buckingham’s younger son, it was entirely reliant on her consent. I believed he might secretly have been hoping that she would refuse it. Having heard her praise Lord Edmund so highly I too thought she might have done so. Therefore, her answer to my question surprised me.
‘He is nothing like my dear Lord Edmund of course – a little older and not as handsome – but I liked him, Jane. At first he was very quiet and let his father do all the talking but while Jasper and his grace of Buckingham were discussing terms and contracts Sir Henry kept glancing at me and smiling, just a small twitch of the lips and twinkle of the eye, so that I found that I could not wait to talk to him and to hear what he had to say.’
‘And you liked what you heard?’
She looked a little sheepish, as if her memory of their conversation still surprised her. ‘Yes, I did. His voice is low and musical and he asked me what I liked to do, what entertainments and games I enjoyed and it turned out that his favourite pastimes are very similar to mine. He likes reading and hunting and hawking and even dancing, just as I do. And he is also devout, attending Mass daily and favouring St Catherine and St John the Baptist in his prayers. Although I am so much younger than him, I felt we might be kindred spirits – is that not astonishing?’
Privately I thought that the prospect of becoming lord of the Somerset estates would be good reason for any younger son to be charming, especially when the widowed heiress was lively and attractive, but I nodded agreement. ‘Yes, it certainly is. But you say he is not handsome?’
Margaret pursed her lips. ‘Not exactly, but he is pleasant looking and he dresses well – not extravagantly but elegantly, favouring muted colours, his doublet not too short and not too long.’
I laughed at this detail. ‘He sounds the perfect gentleman,’ I said.
She frowned a little. ‘Not completely perfect. I do not like his beard. It is dark, like his hair, but he wears it trimmed into forked points. It makes him look like the Duke of York.’
I sucked in my cheeks. ‘Not good on a Lancastrian. But still, perhaps a clever wife could effect a change.’
She gave me a sly smile. ‘Exactly what I thought.’
‘So have you agreed to marry him?’
The smile vanished in a solemn nod. ‘Yes I have, but not immediately. Lord Jasper told his grace of Buckingham that I needed time to mourn Lord Edmund and recover from Henry’s birth. The wedding will be at the beginning of next year. There will never be another for me like Lord Edmund but I understand that I must have the protection of a powerful family and the duke was very reassuring on that point. I think I have done the right thing.’
It was almost a question, and her eyes sought mine. I had not met Sir Henry Stafford so I could hardly make an informed comment but at the same time I had no wish to sow any seeds of doubt in her mind. ‘I expect you have prayed for guidance, my lady, and been led to make the right decision,’ I said. ‘You will have won the approval of the king and in the Council the Duke of Buckingham will be able to serve your interest.’
She sighed, her mask of self-assurance still slightly askew. ‘Yes, I think it will be all right. I hope it will. Anyway a lot can happen in a year.’
* * *
As Jasper put it, as he had no wife to act as chaperone and counsellor for Margaret, it would be ‘improper’ for him to remain at Pembroke while Margaret lived there. He said, ‘Now that she is betrothed to Henry Stafford there must be no hint of a stain on her character.’
‘But you are her legal guardian,’ I protested. ‘How can there be any scandal attached to you both living under the same roof? Also I am here as chaperone.’
He shook his head. ‘I mean no disparagement, Jane, but you are young and unmarried and do not have the status to be a guard against scandal. However, you are the best friend Margaret could have and an excellent governess for little Harri and I do not want to import a stranger into the household, a lady from court, for instance. Until the wedding, I will make my headquarters at Tenby. It is only a few miles away. I will not be abandoning you.’
I said nothing but thoughts raced in my head, the most pertinent being that it was not Lady Margaret who required protection from slander but Lord Jasper who needed removal from the object of his hopeless attachment.
He took my silence as evidence of affront. ‘Please do not take offence. I wish to confound the gossips, not to upset our friendship, Jane.’
I wondered how he would react if I blurted out that I did not want his friendship, I wanted what he felt for Lady Margaret, except that if he
gave it to me it would not be hopeless. Instead I merely asked, ‘Where will you live in Tenby, my lord? I believe the castle there is ruinous.’
He looked relieved at my acceptance. ‘Yes, it has been neglected for years and I am working with the Tenby Guilds to reinforce the town’s defences. I will be renting a house from the Mayor, Master White, who is also my vintner. He and his fellow merchants have made Tenby a flourishing port and feel the urgent need of increased fortification, especially against incursion from the sea – by pirates and the French.’
‘Well, before you leave us perhaps you would make arrangements with your Master of Hawking,’ I said. ‘If you remember you promised Lady Margaret that she could continue learning the skill and offered to let me join her lessons.’
Jasper smiled triumphantly. ‘I have not forgotten and Thomas Falconer has instructions to begin them, for you as well, whenever Margaret is ready. But I have a favour to ask you in return. I need to improve my grasp of Welsh if I am to have any chance of negotiating properly with Gruffydd ap Nicholas and his sons, as I will have to over the summer. You would make the ideal teacher, Jane, if you would spare me the time.’
As spring warmed and blossomed, Lady Margaret flew her own merlin, Elaine, resplendent with emerald bells, whilst I was allocated a bird from the castle collection. Elaine responded with alacrity to the sound of her owner’s voice, whereas my ‘hawk of the day’ was invariably temperamental and I began to yearn for one of my own. Lord Jasper rode over from Tenby regularly to attend to castle business and to get his tongue around some useful Welsh phrases. On one of these occasions we happened to meet in the mews when he came to visit his peregrine, Arthur, who was sitting out his moult.
First of the Tudors Page 15
