Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

I know the truth of Nathaniel’s words. We are fortunate to be of no interest to the dangerous gangs that roam the wards, as I see one man being beaten half to death before being robbed. The keepers turn a blind eye to such acts of violence and although my instinct is to help, there is nothing we can do. At best, it would earn me a beating and make me a target for the bored thugs.

  My teeth feel loose due to the poor diet of pottage and stale crusts, and I find a small white bone in my stew but know any complaint will only bring a beating. Fortunately Thomas helps to improve our rations by hearing confessions and praying for those facing death sentences. Despite my friend’s efforts I am becoming concerned at how all three of us are losing weight.

  For four long months we simply survive from one day to the next. A virulent illness sweeps through the wards and the stench of vomit and worse becomes overpowering. Nathaniel is the first to succumb. Thomas tries to nurture him through his sickness but Nathaniel’s strength is waning as surely as a candle burns to the end of its wick.

  I can see the sweat glistening on my sleeping friend’s brow as the fever takes its deadly hold. ‘What can we do, Thomas?’

  ‘Pray—and trust that God still has some use for him.’

  ‘He needs to get out of here. Can you persuade the keepers to have him moved?’

  Thomas shakes his head. ‘It’s no use. Before we escaped, perhaps, but now we are marked men.’

  ‘I’ll give him half my ration until he’s better, it’s the least I can do.’

  I wait for Thomas to reply but he sits in silence and stares into space, his sense of humour gone. I feel my protruding ribs and wonder how long we have to wait for the council to make their deliberations. I curse Duke Humphrey, as I suspect he is content to leave me to rot in Newgate, if he thinks of me at all.

  There is a shout as someone raises his voice over the constant murmuring and groaning. I realise they are calling out my name. I shout back and a belligerent keeper produces a key and unlocks my iron shackle. I massage my dirty, swollen ankle, which has grown calloused where the shackle rubs against my skin.

  ‘You Owen Tudor?’ The keeper looks at me doubtfully.

  ‘I am.’

  I fear my former keepers are going to take their revenge on me for escaping. I am in no condition to take a beating and remember how Master Griffin threatened that no one would know or care if they killed me.

  ‘You’re transferred to Windsor.’ The keeper gestures for me to follow.

  I can hardly believe my luck. ‘What about my companions?’

  The keeper shakes his head. ‘The order is only for you.’

  I turn to my friends. Nathaniel is sleeping but Thomas has been listening to every word. ‘It seems the Duke of Suffolk finally got my message.’ I manage a smile. ‘Take care of Nathaniel. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.’

  ‘God bless you, Owen.’ Thomas seems close to tears. ‘We’ll be here waiting.’

  * * *

  Even though returning as a prisoner under escort, I feel an increasing thrill of anticipation as I enter the gates at Windsor after so many years. It is now the middle of July and the sun dazzles my eyes, the long, cold winter already a distant memory. The castle looks magnificent, with exotic blue-green peacocks strutting in the perfectly tended gardens. If I must be imprisoned, I can’t think of a better place.

  The last time I had been there was when Catherine went missing and I’d gone in search of her. A sad day when I thought our son Owen was dead. Now I know the boy lived after all I draw strength from the thought of returning to Westminster Abbey to see him. It is another reason to keep going, another reason to secure my freedom.

  My new cell would be considered palatial by the inmates at Newgate. In the Curfew Tower at the north-western corner of the castle, an iron-barred window looks out into the street and I pass the time watching the comings and goings of the people of Windsor. Built over two hundred years before, following the siege during the reign of King John, the tower has stone walls thirteen feet thick at the base and stands over a hundred feet high.

  A guardroom is located above my cell, and as I am their only prisoner my guards treat me well. I feel a pang of guilt as I tuck into a bowl of steaming stew, with chunks of beef and seasoning of herbs, washed down with a goblet of red wine. I have never tasted anything so good in my life and promise myself I will never complain about my food again.

  I ask to be visited by the constable, Sir Walter Hungerford, as soon as I arrive but several days pass without my request being granted. It crosses my mind that this is not a good omen but there could be many reasons for the delay. Sir Walter is close to sixty now and still a busy man.

  When at last Sir Walter appears his old face looks grim and lined with worry. ‘I wish it was under better circumstances that we meet again, Tudor.’ His voice, once so commanding, sounds frail.

  I am relieved to see the man who can free me. ‘Sir Walter... thank God you’ve come.’ I cross to the bars of my cell so my words cannot be overheard. ‘I need your help, my lord.’

  Sir Walter gestures for the guard to bring him a chair, which he pulls closer to the bars before sitting. I notice how Sir Walter groans like an old man as he sits and realise the years are catching up with him. I also see the guards discreetly return to the guardroom and guess it is on the constable’s orders.

  ‘What would you have me do, Tudor?’ There is a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  ‘I need an audience with the king, to present my case.’

  ‘Your case?’

  ‘The king granted me permission...’

  ‘This is a council matter,’ Sir Walter interrupts. ‘You are to be detained until the council has made a decision.’

  I study Sir Walter’s face for a clue as to what is going on. ‘All I ask is that you arrange for me to see the king, my lord.’

  ‘I regret... I cannot do that, Tudor.’

  ‘Why not, my lord?’

  Sir Walter regards me for a moment before answering. ‘Because... I am Duke Humphrey’s man. How did you imagine an old soldier like me became Treasurer of England when Bishop Beaufort resigned the great seal?’

  I understand. ‘Was it because of you the duke chose me as his man in the queen’s household?’

  ‘It was.’ He frowns. ‘We thought you were going to marry the queen’s maid, yet you chose to marry the queen instead. Surely you knew what that would mean?’

  ‘I did—and I would do it all again.’

  ‘Well, you are a fool, Tudor.’ Sir Walter stands, his chair scraping on the hard stone floor. ‘And now you are learning the consequences.’

  I have to think quickly before the constable leaves. ‘I was arrested with two travelling companions, my lord. Their names are Nathaniel Kemp and Thomas Lewis.’ I look him in the eye. ‘They are innocent but still held in Newgate Gaol.’

  Sir Walter sits down again and thinks for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you something, Tudor. I see something of myself as a younger man in you.’ He smiles for the first time. ‘I was amused when I heard you married Queen Catherine, if only to see Duke Humphrey so completely unable to do anything about it.’

  ‘Will you help to free my companions, my lord?’

  ‘I will do what I can—although I make no promises, as I doubt the duke will take kindly to it.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I am indebted to you.’

  Sir Walter stands again and turns as he is about to leave. ‘Trust in God, Tudor, and include me in your prayers.’

  After Sir Walter has gone I sit in the corner of my cell, thinking over what I have learned. Sir Walter is right. I have been a fool, not because I married Catherine but because I should have known I could not ask the old constable to help me. At least there is hope for my friends, if they are still alive. I recall how Nathaniel shivered with the fever and thank God I might have found a way to end his suffering.

  Another week passes without any word from the constable, so when my guard tells me I have a visitor I am relieved to
be seeing my former master again.

  ‘Owen Tudor...’

  I recognise the voice from my past immediately, although it is not Sir Walter. The trace of a French accent reminds me of Catherine, yet it is no ghost. The speaker steps from the shadows into a shaft of summer sunlight and I stand transfixed, my fingers tightening their grip on the iron bars of my cell.

  ‘Juliette.’ I say her name almost reverently. She wears an ornate coif over her braided hair, covered with a delicate mesh net. Her dress is made of dark blue damask and around her neck is a silver necklace with a jewelled pendant that sparkles as it catches the light.

  ‘Sir Walter told me you were here. I didn’t know what had... become of you.’ Her voice falters. She clasps her hands together. ‘There is something I have to tell you. Sir Walter has been relieved of his post.’

  I know it is my fault. Duke Humphrey has found another way to exact his revenge by punishing the elderly constable. It is an unexpected blow, as I had allowed myself to believe my friends were as good as free. I even started to hope Sir Walter Hungerford could arrange for me to be brought before the king, even if it meant risking the anger of the duke.

  ‘Do you know who is to replace him?’

  Juliette hesitates before answering. ‘The new constable is someone known to you, Owen. It is the Duke of Somerset, Sir Edmund Beaufort.’

  I lean against the cold metal bars of my cell and regard Juliette while I try to think through the implications. I remember my jealousy at how Edmund Beaufort planned to marry Catherine all those years ago. The appointment of a Beaufort meant Duke Humphrey’s influence at the council could be waning, but I have not forgotten how Cardinal Beaufort publicly mocked me when we last met. I see Juliette is waiting for me to say something.

  ‘You look... beautiful, Juliette.’ I say it without thinking.

  She smiles at the compliment. ‘You look like a vagrant, Owen.’

  I look down at my clothes. They are the same I wore when I last appeared before the council but are now ragged and soiled. I have no way to trim my beard and my hair, which is starting to turn grey, has grown long and is matted with dirt.

  ‘You are right. I have nothing now. My money has been confiscated. Even my sword was taken by Duke Humphrey’s men.’

  ‘I was sorry to hear what happened to Queen Catherine...’ Her voice is softer now and she glances over her shoulder to see if the guards are listening. She takes a step closer to the bars. ‘The first we knew was when her funeral was announced.’

  ‘You heard we were married?’

  ‘You kept your secret well, although... I guessed the truth long before the rumours began.’

  ‘When we last met you asked if I would come back to you.’

  ‘You remember—and do you remember what you said?’

  ‘You should find someone... more worthy.’

  ‘It seems you’ve done your best to make that easy for me, Owen.’ Her hand moves to the bars and rests on mine. ‘You know... I never found anyone?’

  I like the caress of her hand. ‘I lay in my cell in Newgate Gaol and I wondered about you, Juliette.’

  She backs away. ‘I must go before I am missed.’

  ‘You will come and see me again soon?’

  ‘I will.’ She smiles again. ‘And I shall have to find you some clean clothes!’

  She is gone before I can reply, leaving me with a strange sense of loss, mixed with new hope. I sit in the corner of my cell and try to make sense of it all. Sir Walter’s choice of Juliette as his messenger is not a coincidence. He could have sent anyone, yet I wonder if he has chosen her for a reason.

  Juliette must have an important position in the king’s household, as she no longer dresses as a maid and has the confidence that comes with authority. I remember how surprised I’d been when she was chosen to remain in the young king’s household. Now I realise Juliette would be the perfect spy for Duke Humphrey. With her privileged access she can tell him all he needs to know about the king and his visitors.

  I sleep fitfully that night, dreaming about how Juliette reached out and touched my hand with the easy familiarity of a lover. Something was rekindled in me at that moment. I dream how different my life would be if Juliette had stayed with Catherine. I might have expected awkwardness between us, even bitterness after everything that happened, yet it is as if we have never been parted.

  On her second visit she brings the promised parcel of clothes. ‘You must forgive people for treating you as a criminal while you have the appearance of one.’

  ‘All my other clothes were lost when I was arrested—as well as everything I owned.’ I shrug. ‘All I have is the shirt on my back.’

  ‘As you did when you first came to the royal household.’

  ‘You are right—except for something which is very precious to me.’ I reach inside my doublet and unfold the square of yellowing cloth to show her the embroidered red dragon.

  ‘My God... you kept it, all these years!’

  ‘I consider it my good luck charm.’ I grin at my own joke.

  Juliette wipes a tear from her eye. ‘I worried the other maids would see me sewing and guess who it was for.’

  ‘Well, now it is all I have.’ I see she still has tears in her eyes. ‘It may not have brought much luck but you should know it has been a comfort to me.’

  She doesn’t answer but hands the folded clothes through the bars. A clean linen shirt, a dark wool doublet, a pair of breeches and a good leather belt with a brass buckle. I thank her and turn my back while I strip off the old clothing I have worn for so long. The new clothes fit surprisingly well and make me feel human again.

  Juliette has regained her professional composure while she waits for me to change my clothes, and I realise I must do the same. ‘How can I arrange an audience with the king?’

  She seems uncertain. ‘The king is surrounded by his advisors at all times. After what happened to Sir Walter...’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to speak on my behalf—but I worry about the health of my companions in Newgate.’ I look into her eyes. ‘You remember Nathaniel?’

  ‘Of course. I liked Nathaniel.’ Her voice sounds sad. ‘I hate to think of him wrongly imprisoned.’

  ‘He is being cared for by a friend, a Welsh clergyman named Thomas Lewis, although I fear they will both die if they remain there any longer, Juliette.’

  ‘Do you think the king would order their release?’

  ‘If I can see the king he will pardon us all, God willing.’

  Juliette understands. ‘You will need the support of Edmund Beaufort before you see the king.’

  ‘What is he like these days?’

  ‘Well, he is married—to Lady Eleanor Beauchamp, a rich widow. They say her late husband, Baron de Ros, was thrown into the Seine and drowned. Lady Eleanor has his fortune, until his son comes of age. She seems to have failed to tame Edmund Beaufort though.’

  ‘He still has an eye for the ladies?’

  ‘Several of the maids have already complained to me, although I fail to see what I can do other than caution them to take care.’ She brightens as an idea occurs to her. ‘I could find an opportunity to ask Sir Edmund to come and see you?’

  ‘I should ask the guard commander first, Juliette. You have done enough for me already.’ I don’t like to think of the consequences of her asking favours of Sir Edmund Beaufort.

  ‘At least you look a little more presentable now.’ She raises a hand in a wave as she leaves.

  I feel a tingle of pleasure at her parting compliment and suspect that the barber who visited to trim my hair and beard had also been sent at Juliette’s instigation. Pride prevents me from asking her, although she said it is a good improvement.

  Edmund Beaufort is quite different from the young noble I knew all those years ago. Now he is wealthy and wears the sword and gold-braided uniform of a commander of the king’s army. His successes in France have given him a soldier’s swagger and he sounds a little arrogant.

&nb
sp; ‘I didn’t like what you did, Tudor.’ Sir Edmund looks at me as if I am a strange creature washed up on the foreshore. ‘Queen Catherine deserved better.’

  I know what I must do. ‘She always held you in great esteem, my lord. She named our first son Edmund in your memory.’

  He seems surprised and his attitude changes. ‘I was sorry to hear of her passing. Did she suffer?’

  ‘It was mercifully swift, thank God.’ I force the truth from my mind as there is no need for Edmund Beaufort to be told.

  ‘It may comfort you to know your sons are both well.’

  ‘Have you seen them?’

  ‘No—but the king has regular reports from the Abbess of Barking.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. Do you know if the king recognises them as his half-brothers?’

  ‘He does. I expect he will find a title for them when they are of age.’

  ‘I should like to see them—but not before my situation is... improved.’

  ‘I know you want to see the king, Tudor, to plead for your freedom.’ He shakes his head. ‘And I know you are concerned about your friends in Newgate. You could be useful to me. A loyal servant is hard to find. I am prepared to order your companions to be released—but I must ask something of you in return.’

  I am relieved and concerned in equal measure. ‘What can I do for you, my lord?’

  ‘My uncle,’ Edmund glances behind to see the guards are not listening. ‘Cardinal Beaufort has taken some satisfaction from the way you outsmarted Duke Humphrey—but he warned me not to let you out of here too soon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s all a matter of timing, Tudor. You are here as a punishment. If I had ended the siege of Calais earlier, they would all have thought it an easy victory.’

  I recall hearing how Edmund Beaufort relieved the Burgundian siege of Calais before Duke Humphrey arrived with his army. The victory marked the start of the duke’s declining reputation and boosted the Beaufort cause. ‘How long must I wait, my lord?’ It is becoming harder to show respect, but I know I must.

  ‘I need you to promise not to try to see the king until I say you can,’ he looks around the cell with distaste, ‘and also not to escape from this place.’