by Tony Riches
When I sit down again Jasper leans over and speaks in my ear. ‘Edmund told me he plans to have her with child tonight—if he can.’
I glance across at my eldest son, who is now drinking from a large silver goblet. ‘That is his right, I suppose, Jasper, although she is... a little young.’
‘She is twelve years old, half Edmund’s age.’
‘Well, she couldn’t have been more than six or seven when she first married the de la Pole boy.’
‘That marriage was never consummated, Father, and you know it.’ Jasper frowns. ‘I fear Lady Margaret is too feeble to have a child.’
‘I share your concern, Jasper—but don’t underestimate the new Countess of Richmond. She has Beaufort steel running through her veins.’ I smile as I wonder what Cardinal Henry Beaufort would have made of this marriage.
Jasper’s concern for the girl is touching, but I sense there is more to his anger. The king made Lady Margaret the ward of both my sons, so there could be a little jealousy that Edmund has secured such a prize. Edmund’s haste to risk his new wife in childbirth is no mystery to me. By common law, all Margaret’s lands and fortune pass to Edmund once she conceives a child.
‘And you, Jasper, what are your plans now?’
‘I intend to make Pembroke Castle my home. The building work has already started. You must visit and see for yourself when it is finished.’
I take another sip of red wine, appreciating the quality. ‘I will do that, Jasper. It will be good to see more of Wales—and you must come to Beaumaris, to see where your grandparents were born.’
‘Of course, although I must remain close to the king until the danger has passed.’ Jasper looks thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you will accompany me tomorrow to Greenwich?’
‘To visit the queen?’ I find I am wondering if I will see Juliette one last time.
‘Yes.’ Jasper glances up the table to where his brother is still drinking heavily. ‘I think, Father, it is time we Tudors showed our colours in this tussle between Lancaster and York.’
The long ride south to Greenwich provides an opportunity to catch up on developments in England. In Beaumaris I must rely on the occasional letter and the castle guards gossiping in the tavern for news. Jasper is one of the few people close to both the king and the Duke of York, who now governs the country through a parliament of his own supporters—and by the threat of force.
We leave Bletsoe Castle as a low sunrise turns the sky the colour of a ripe peach. My head throbs from the effects of too much rich food and wine, although the fresh morning air is already improving my mood. I am on my trusty Welsh Cob and Jasper rides at my side on his black stallion. He has an expensive fur cape over his doublet and wears his sword with the easy confidence of a man who knows how to use it.
When I asked Jasper about St Albans there were too many Beaufort servants listening at Bletsoe for us to speak freely. I look back down the road. We are followed by a dozen yeomen and a few servants of Jasper’s on a wagon with our baggage and supplies, all loyal, trusted men and far enough behind to be out of earshot.
‘So tell me what happened at St Albans, Jasper?’
My son frowns at a memory. ‘The Duke of York is an honourable man, Father. We nearly negotiated a truce with him.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘He demanded that the king surrender his advisors.’
‘Henry couldn’t allow it?’
‘It was the first time I have ever seen him angry. We knew what would happen to anyone we handed over, so we had no choice but to fight.’
‘I thought York attacked first?’
‘He did. We barricaded the roads leading into the town and were winning the day—but the Earl of Warwick took us by surprise. He sent his archers through the back gardens of the houses. Our men panicked when they were attacked from the rear and York’s men overwhelmed us before we could recover.’
‘How was Edmund Beaufort killed?’ I remember the handsome young man I had last seen in Windsor, the man who so nearly won Catherine’s hand.
‘I didn’t see—but they told me it wasn’t a fair fight. They say he was murdered by a gang of Warwick’s men as he came out of the tavern.’
‘And the king?’
Jasper has a distant look in his eyes as he recalls the events of that day. ‘I heard the bell ringing in the market square—our signal to rally round the king. Warwick’s archers were aiming at anyone near the Royal Standard and I saw good men die from a dozen arrows before they even had a chance to fight. Others threw down their swords in surrender and were cut down as they begged for mercy. Lord Clifford tried to reason with them, in the name of the king, but was dragged from his horse and hacked to death...’
‘I heard the king was hit in the neck?’
‘Thank God he was wearing his plate armour. There was a lot of blood, but it was only a flesh wound.’
‘From the sound of it you were lucky not to be wounded.’
‘I was lucky to be spared, Father. The Duke of York ordered me set free and I saw him on his knees before the king, begging his forgiveness.’
‘So it wasn’t quite the victory the Yorkist’s claim?’
‘It was, Father. They could have killed us all.’ He curses to himself. ‘They stripped the dead and despoiled their bodies, leaving them to have their eyes pecked out by the crows. They cut the throats of the wounded and ran riot, looting the town and raping any women they could find.’
I hadn’t realised how close I had been to losing my son and see from Jasper’s face that the horrors of the battle will live with him, just as my own memories of the siege of Rouen have kept me awake at nights. Now I understand why Jasper is so keen for us to visit the queen in Greenwich.
I would have thought any chance of him remaining loyal to York would have died that day at St Albans, yet I know Jasper spent many days with the duke after the battle, hoping to reconcile the opposing sides. His efforts have not been a complete waste of time, as the generous grants made by the king to my sons are the only ones not reversed by York’s parliament as the duke rewards those loyal to him and punishes those who are not.
* * *
The armed guards at the Palace of Placentia in Greenwich are vigilant and challenge us as we approach. It seems the queen is taking no risks and is expecting trouble from the Duke of York. It has taken us several days to make the journey from Bletsoe and I am weary from the long ride.
We are shown in to a sumptuous room in the royal apartments of the palace and told that the queen will see us shortly. High windows flood the room with light and provide views over the extensive gardens, where a high fountain in a classic Greek style is an impressive centrepiece. It feels strange to be in what was once the home of Duke Humphrey, who brought such hardship to me and my family. The room has been expensively redecorated since I was last here. Even the tiles on the floor have been replaced with new ones, alternating with the queen’s yellow-gold marguerite emblem and the fleur-de-lis of France.
‘Why is the king not here? Surely he should be with the queen and his son?’
Jasper shrugs. ‘The Duke of York sent them all to Hertford Castle and now Henry insists on staying there.’
I can understand why. The king would remember happier times at the old castle in Hertford from when he was a boy, and I know it is in keeping with the king’s austere taste. I can also see why the queen prefers the luxury of her palace at Greenwich. Easily defended, it has the advantage of quick access to the city by river. More than thirty miles north of London, Hertford Castle may suit the king but not Queen Margaret.
An usher arrives and leads us into the queen’s private room where she waits with her ladies-in-waiting. We bow and she invites us to be seated. Although Margaret is only a year older than Jasper, the strain of the ten years since her coronation has left its mark. The beautiful young girl has grown into a strong, but bitter woman. I see she has put on a little weight since the birth of her son, but then so have I.
‘I must congrat
ulate you, Master Tudor, on your son’s wedding.’ Margaret’s voice sounds strained.
‘Thank you, Your Highness. How is Prince Edward?’
‘He is well, considering our... situation.’
‘That is what we’ve come to discuss.’ Jasper glances at the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, who are pretending disinterest. ‘In private, if it pleases Your Highness?’
Queen Margaret dismisses her ladies-in-waiting. As they leave I note that Lady Alice is not among them, and realise I have not seen Juliette, although she is likely to be somewhere in the palace.
‘I am grateful that you take the time to visit me.’ Margaret smiles. ‘It is good to be reminded I have family here in England.’
Jasper returns her smile. ‘I have come to tell you we can no longer remain loyal to York, Your Highness. I wish to pledge my loyalty to my half-brother, the king and you, our queen.’
His words are no surprise to me, but I see they give comfort to Margaret. I recall the young girl I first met back in Rouen and the contempt of Richard, Duke of York. Jasper is right; it is time to show our colours. I know Catherine would have expected me to do what I can to protect her eldest son, his wife and their infant grandson Prince Edward.
‘We Tudors are your family, Your Highness, and you can rely on our support.’
Margaret looks pleased. ‘That means a lot to me. The king has so many enemies I no longer know who can be trusted.’
She turns to Jasper. ‘The king told me you defended him bravely at St Albans. He needs good men such as you around him now.’
‘Which is why we must bring him here from Hertford, Your Highness.’ Jasper glances at me. ‘We must raise an army to protect him from the Duke of York—and Richard, Duke of Warwick.’
Margaret tenses at the mention of Richard Neville. ‘Warwick whispers in the ears of my few remaining supporters. I fear he will not rest until my husband is dead and York is made king.’ She almost spits the words as she tries to control her anger.
Jasper seems taken back by the bitterness in her voice. ‘His father, the Earl of Salisbury, has been made Lord Chancellor by York, so parliament is now under his control. I regret I will no longer be able to attend meetings of the council in Westminster.’ He scowls. ‘York puts me in an impossible position.’
‘Your absence will be seen as a sign. They will try to take the lands Henry has granted you.’
‘Let them try.’ Jasper’s voice has a new edge. ‘I’ve been informed that one of York’s supporters, a man named William Herbert, is mustering an army to support his cause in Wales.’ He glances at me again. ‘We Tudors will make sure he fails—and build our own Welsh army to rid England of those disloyal to the king.’
‘I will pray to God every day that you succeed, Sir Jasper. Remind your men that my son, Edward, is the Prince of Wales and will one day reward those who protect his interests.’
‘There is no time to lose, Your Highness. Every day this York parliament grows stronger by gifts of lands that rightfully belong to the Crown.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
I sit back in my favourite chair and smile as I reread Edmund’s letter. The words are those of my eldest son, yet the hand is almost as perfect as Nathaniel’s monkish script. The clue is in the frequent thanks to God. The letter has been written by Edmund’s wife, Countess Margaret. I can picture Edmund dictating to her, while Margaret does her best to improve his sentiments.
I call Bethan and her mother. ‘Come quickly, I have an announcement to make!’
Bethan looks intrigued and her mother stands drying her hands on a linen cloth. Little enough has happened in Beaumaris since my arrival and I am keen to share my good news. ‘I am going to become a grandfather!’ I wave the letter in the air as proof of my claim. ‘My son Edmund is to become a father.’
Bethan laughs. ‘I’d like to be the first to congratulate you, sir.’ Her English is almost perfect now.
Her mother has practical concerns. ‘You’ll be travelling to see them when the baby is born, Master Tudor?’ She still speaks only in Welsh, despite my efforts to teach her some useful words and phrases.
‘I will. They are living in South Wales, in Lamphey Palace, one of the residences of the Bishop of St David’s.’
Bethan looks wistful. ‘Would you consider... letting me come with you, when you travel to see them sir?’
Her request surprises me. ‘We will see, Bethan, we will see.’
Her mother gives Bethan a warning glance to stop her embarrassing me further. Bethan has told me how she longs to see more of the world, and she listened in fascination as I repeated Jasper’s account of the battle of St Albans, gasping as I told her the York soldiers cut the throats of prisoners. Sometimes I am persuaded to tell her stories of my life in France when I was her age. Once I even described for her how Catherine’s sword saved me from being taken prisoner by the Admiral of France.
After they have gone I remember Jasper’s grim warning that Margaret is too young and frail to have a child. I know to my cost that childbirth is dangerous enough for a fully grown woman. Edmund’s wife is still no more than thirteen years old and when I last saw her she looked like she would snap like a twig in a breeze.
I already have enough to worry about with my sons, as Jasper remains at the side of the king in Greenwich. His last letter was little more than a note, explaining that Edmund has gone to South Wales at the request of the Duke of York to establish royal authority. The whole idea seems odd, as although Jasper has his castle in Pembroke, Edmund has no particular interests in Wales.
My sons play a dangerous game, still seeming to support Duke Richard while secretly strengthening the position of the king. Jasper’s note had been written so it would do them no harm if it fell into the hands of York sympathisers. I am reassured by news that the king has regained control of parliament, but I wonder how long Henry can preside over such an uneasy peace.
* * *
The yeomen arrive in the late evening and sit at my kitchen table devouring bowls of cawl as they do their best to answer my questions. I recognise them as Jasper’s trusted men, who had travelled with us to Greenwich the day after Edmund’s wedding at Bletsoe Castle. They brought a letter from Jasper and as I broke the dark wax seal I knew it must be something serious to justify them travelling all the way from London.
It still came as a shock when I read Jasper’s news. Edmund had been arrested by William Herbert and supporters of the Duke of York and imprisoned in the dungeons of Carmarthen Castle. Jasper was able to use his influence to have him released, but it had been a close thing and marks the beginning of a dangerous time for us all.
‘Tell me again, everything you know?’ Their story is confusing, as it is part fact and, I suspect, part speculation.
One of the yeomen finishes his cawl and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. ‘We heard Sir Edmund was doing well, sir.’ He holds up his empty tankard as a sign to Bethan that more ale would be welcome. ‘He took back the castle in Carmarthen for the king.’
The second yeoman drains his tankard. ‘Word has it that Sir William Herbert surprised him with an army of experienced men. Sir Edmund had no choice but to surrender.’
‘I know of Sir William Herbert. He is York’s man. Is he still in Carmarthen Castle?’
‘He is, sir—last time we heard.’ The yeoman waits as Bethan refills his tankard. ‘That’s why Sir Jasper has gone to Pembroke Castle and asks us to escort you there, if you will sir.’
‘Of course. It is a long ride, so get some sleep and we’ll leave at first light.’
I find I am unable to take my own advice, as I am kept awake by troubled thoughts. York has showed his hand and Fortune's Wheel has turned again. York is capable of overthrowing King Henry and I wonder what will become of my sons if there is a revolt. I look forward to seeing them both again and finally fall asleep with a new resolve. My life has lacked purpose on the peaceful island of Ynys Môn and now I have a new one.
I will fight to my last breath,
risk everything I have, to make the country a safer place for my new grandchild, because if I don’t we are lost. If that means taking on the powerful Duke of York and his self-aggrandising accomplices the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury, then so be it.
Bethan wakes me with a firm knock on my door and I realise I have overslept, although that is no bad thing. I am growing old and we have a long journey ahead. I remember agreeing she can ride with us. There are dangers, but we have two yeomen as escort and I am glad to have her company. Our journey will take us the length of Wales, so it is a rare opportunity for her to see more of the country. Bethan is already dressed in her riding clothes and her hair is tied back under a headscarf, reminding me a little of Juliette when I first met her.
‘The yeomen are ready when you are, Master Tudor.’ Her voice is cheerful and her eyes shine with anticipation.
‘Thank you, Bethan. Has your mother packed something for us on the journey?’
‘Mother has baked fresh loaves and wrapped a fine ham in muslin—and filled leather flasks with ale.’
‘Good. Tell the men I’ll soon be ready, if you will.’
After she leaves I dress in a warm doublet and riding breeches, with my cape to keep me dry if the weather changes. Peering from my small window I try to read the clouds. The late autumn sunshine is encouraging, but shrieking seagulls are heading inland and dark clouds gather on the far horizon. For once I refuse to see this as a bad omen for our journey as I am on the way to see my sons.
It takes us almost two weeks to reach Pembroke in South Wales. The weather remains fair, so we could have made better progress, but I decided to take the narrow, twisting pass through the mountains of Snowdonia. Although there is nothing there to mark the events of my youth, we stop at the foot of the highest mountain in Wales in memory of the men who fought so bravely for our country.
