Jasper (3 page)

Jasper frowned as he recalled the cruel way Holland tortured his prisoners on the rack when he became constable of the Tower. Everyone knew the confessions he extracted confirmed whatever Holland wished to hear. Henry Holland was also married to Anne of York, Edward’s elder sister. Good money changed hands betting he would be first to desert the House of Lancaster to join York’s cause, yet until now no one questioned his leadership or military ability.

‘How is the king?’ Jasper resisted a creeping suspicion their defeat at Mortimer’s Cross could be for nothing. They had set out to join Queen Margaret’s army and free the king from Warwick’s clutches, yet now it seemed she had done it without him.

Sir John smiled and took another sip of the brandy, which seemed to be restoring his old self a little. ‘I heard they found him sat under a tree, singing songs with the men trusted with guarding him, Lord Bonville and Sir Thomas Kyriell. Apparently they offered no resistance, but it’s what happened next that everyone’s talking about.’

Jasper crossed the room and poured them both a second tot of brandy. He was starting to realise his mistake in hiding himself away in Tenby at such a crucial time for the country. ‘I’ve not heard, John,’ he handed him the brandy, ‘tell me what happened?’

‘It’s impossible to know gossip from truth these days, but I heard Queen Margaret asked her son to decide if the York lords should be spared.’

‘He can’t be more than seven years old?’ Jasper frowned.

‘They were both executed—on the boy’s order.’

Sir John’s words hung in the air like an ominous black cloud on their horizon. Young Edward, Prince of Wales, would one day succeed King Henry. It was a bad omen for the future of the Lancastrian cause, and the future of the country.

‘That’s an outrage!’ Jasper swore at the madness of it all. He stared into the blazing fire as he remembered how Lady Eleanor’s father, Edmund Beaufort, always detested Sir Thomas Kyriell. All the same, Kyriell fought at Agincourt at the side of King Henry V and deserved better.

Sir John clearly thought the same. ‘Queen Margaret should know this gives York the excuse he needs to do the same with his prisoners.’ He shook his head.

‘She came to this country as a fifteen-year-old girl, hardly able to speak English. You’ve seen King Henry. He barely recognised me last time we met, so Queen Margaret needs to show the people her son will become a strong, decisive king.’ He frowned. ‘Where will this end?’ Jasper’s question required no answer. He was thinking of his father and knew Sir John would be remembering his son.

They sat in silence, then a thought occurred to Jasper. ‘Will the king and queen return to London?’

‘I fear we’ve lost too many men. I suspect the mood in London has changed since the general pardon.’

‘York is persuading our followers to turn their coats?’

‘An order has been issued. All who are prepared to swear allegiance to York are to be pardoned.’ He looked sharply at Jasper. ‘You and I are, of course, excluded.’

‘I will never swear allegiance to York. There was a time...’

The sense of loss overwhelmed him. First his mother and sister, then Edmund, now his father, all gone. He tried to live a good life, say his prayers, look for the best in people, yet everyone he loved had been taken from him. Deep grief welled up in his chest. The slow-burning yew log crackled as flames reached fresh sap, snapping him out of his self-pity.

He studied his old friend John Scudamore, a good loyal man, once the heart and soul of any banquet with his jokes and often bawdy songs, his spirit now crushed by the cruel murder of his son. As they sat together in silence, each lost in thoughts of what might have been, Jasper sensed a new purpose.

Lady Margaret said he’d been spared for a reason. He would dedicate his life to bringing peace to his troubled country and do whatever it took to protect the few who remained dear to him. His half-brother, little David Owen, his sister-in-law, Lady Margaret, and most important of all, her son Henry Tudor.

Flakes of late snow drifted from a dove-grey sky as Jasper took a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote a new letter to his loyal friends holding Denbigh Castle for Lancaster in North Wales. Before Sir John’s visit his shame at defeat made it impossible to find the words yet now his quill flew across the page:

To the right trusty Roger Puleston, we greet you well and suppose you have well in you remembrance of the great dishonour we now have by traitors March, Herbert, the Dunns and their affinities, as well as letting us of our journey to the king, as in putting my father your kinsman to the death...

Jasper’s chair creaked as he sat back heavily, staring at the truth of the stark words he’d written. William Herbert, the Dunns and their kinsmen, good Welshmen, from old families, conspired with York and murdered his father. His anger flared, Lady Margaret’s words forgotten, as he wondered who he could now rely on to support his cause.

The clanging bell of St Mary’s church sounded across the otherwise silent town, marking the hour. He had woken early, his head full of plans for the future. His father had known great loss and would have understood his need to hide from the world in his grief, yet now he felt a new sense of urgency. He took his sharpest knife and trimmed the point of his quill before continuing:
...we purpose with the might of the Lord, and assistance of you and other our kinsmen and friends, within short time to avenge.

He read the letter several times as the black ink dried then signed it.
Written at our town of Tenby the twenty-fifth day of February. Pembroke.
Even as he did so, he knew it would be better to risk the journey to North Wales in person, rather than entrust such a message to even the most loyal follower. The letter would be exactly the sort of evidence York would use to condemn him as a traitor.

The thought made Jasper curse Edward of York out loud. The young boy he’d once thought of as a friend now put at risk everything he cared about. Sir John warned him about York’s patrols, pressing deeper into Wales in a determined search for those who escaped their deadly trap. It could only be a matter of time before they reached as far as Pembroke Castle and threatened the safety of Lady Margaret and little Henry.

A plan began to form in his mind of a way to throw them off the scent. He took a fresh sheet of parchment and began to compose another letter, to Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter. He could no longer afford the luxury of liking those he must rely upon. In such dangerous times, who better to appeal to than the most dangerous man still loyal to the king?

The Wheel of Fortune turned yet again when Sir Henry Stafford arrived with news of the crushing defeat of Queen Margaret’s army. The son of the influential Duke of Buckingham, Henry Stafford was Jasper’s choice of husband for Lady Margaret. Eighteen years older than her, he had no fortune, although hers would be more than enough for them both. They married shortly before Margaret’s fifteenth birthday, and she remained at Pembroke with her son when Henry Stafford left to fight for the king.

Sir Henry sent a herald ahead to give notice of his arrival, so Lady Margaret waited with Jasper at the castle gate as he arrived. Her well-fitting emerald green dress made her look older and, Jasper thought, not unattractive. Sir Henry’s right arm was bound in a bloodstained sling and he needed two men to help him dismount. Several of his retinue had bandaged wounds and one man seemed as if he needed urgent attention.

Lady Margaret greeted her husband cordially, offering him her hand to kiss. ‘We give grateful thanks to God to see you safe, Henry, after so long with no news.’

‘I regret I bring the worst news, Margaret.’ He could not manage a smile for her. ‘Let us find somewhere private.’

Jasper noted the dark shadows under Sir Henry’s red-rimmed eyes, and how the fur of his fine bearskin cape was soaked and matted with mud. ‘I shall arrange for your men to be served hot soup in the kitchens, Sir Henry. Will you join me after in the great hall and tell me your news?’

‘I must caution you, my lord, what I need to tell you is not good, for Lancaster, at least.’

Jasper sensed the shadow of a sense of foreboding. ‘Then the sooner I hear it the better, Henry.’

He watched with unexpected jealousy as Margaret took her husband’s good arm and led him towards her rooms. Although Henry Stafford was only a little older than him, he walked stiffly, like a much older man. Jasper thought they seemed more like a father with his daughter than husband and wife. If the news was not good for Lancaster it could mean York had taken King Henry again, or worse.

Rebuilt at considerable expense, the great hall of Pembroke Castle had a splendid new hammer-beam roof and windows of precious leaded glass. Striking Flemish tapestries of hunting scenes decorated the walls, one of the few clues to Jasper’s great wealth. The antlers of a large stag proudly decorated the wall above the impressive stone hearth, where a fire of blazing logs roared.

Platters of roast beef and trenchers, hot from the kitchens with the appetising aroma of freshly baked bread, sat on the scrubbed oak table. Jasper waited while his serving girl filled a silver tankard with ale for Sir Henry, who drank from it appreciatively.

‘We met York’s army on the old London road near a village called Towton in Yorkshire. Outnumbered them, we did, but their archers had the wind in their favour, while ours fell short. York’s men started using our own arrows against us.’ He nursed his bandaged arm as he took a trencher of bread and beef and ate hungrily.

‘Is Baron Welles dead?’ Jasper guessed Sir Henry’s bad news for Margaret concerned her stepfather, who’d fought in the north with Sir Henry.

‘He is. Margaret was fond of him, a good man and a great loss.’

‘What of the king?’ Jasper held his breath.

‘Escaped to Scotland, by all accounts.’ Sir Henry watched as the serving-maid refilled his tankard of beer, then drank deeply before continuing. ‘It started snowing and our men lost heart.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘They turned and ran like a herd of frightened deer. It wasn’t a battle, Jasper, it was a bloody massacre.’

Jasper regarded Henry Stafford with new respect. He had never been in good health and as the second son carved out his own place in the world. He could have found reasons to stay with Margaret at her manor house in Bourne, which they made their home. Instead, he rode to fight for the king and now must turn his coat or be outlawed by York with a price on his head.

‘How is your arm, Henry?’ Jasper glanced at the fresh bandage of white linen Margaret insisted on.

‘Broke it when my horse fell on top of me. Lost his footing on the ice and I thought it was the end of me. In truth he probably saved my life, as York’s army passed me by.’

‘Has the break been set and splinted?’

‘They did the best they could—and I shall count myself fortunate not to lose it.’

Jasper stared at the tankard of ale sitting untouched before him. ‘What are your plans now, Henry?’

‘I must tell you, Jasper, that the cause of Lancaster is lost. I shall take Lady Margaret back to Lincolnshire and rest a while.’

‘You intend to take York’s offer of a pardon?’ Jasper’s words echoed in the great hall, the question that had rattled in his mind from the moment Sir Henry returned.

‘If he will, but I’ve no wish to become your enemy, Jasper.’

‘It will never come to that.’

Sir Henry raised his tankard. ‘Here’s to lasting peace in England.’

‘And in Wales.’ Jasper raised his tankard and drank the bitter tasting ale.

He doubled the guards and gave orders to be alerted at the first sign of York patrols, day or night. The small band of recruits shivered in the cold as they practised weapon drills within the castle’s outer ward. Some seemed too young to grow a beard. Others, their best years behind them, knew their best hope was to stay within the impregnable walls of the great fortress.

Sir John Scudamore, now appointed Constable of Pembroke, limped over to where Jasper watched. He was followed by a well-built man with a grin on his face, wide enough to make Jasper call out in welcome.

‘Gabriel! By God it’s good to see you again.’ He clasped the Irishman’s hand. ‘I see you have your sword back?’

Gabriel dropped his hand to the pommel. ‘I didn’t doubt you for a moment, my lord.’

‘Your shoulder is healed?’

‘The wound was deep, but I’m pleased with how well I’ve recovered.’ He sounded serious. ‘I’m grateful for what you did for me, my lord, and am in your debt.’

Jasper smiled. ‘Well, now I’ve important work for you. Sir John will show you round. I expect you are hungry after your long ride?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘You will find me in my study after you’ve had something to eat. We’ve much to discuss.’

He watched the Irishman follow Sir John to the castle kitchens, relieved to see Gabriel arrive, and glad he had recovered well from his wound, as there was more to it now. Jasper’s ambitious plans for the future could depend on what the Irishman knew.

Jasper’s study overlooked the muddy, meandering River Cleddau. Small and sparsely furnished, with no rushes on the bare stone floor, it seemed more like a servant’s room than the office of one of the wealthiest men in Wales. As he entered he caught a breath of woodsmoke from the fire in the hearth and reminded himself to tell his servants to check the chimney, a favourite nesting place for rooks.

He tidied his dark oak table, sorting papers and letters to be answered, then crossed to the window and stared down at a boat bringing much needed supplies. The tide fell quickly on the river, so the crew hurried as they moored at the castle wharf. He watched them throw ropes and call out to the men waiting on the quayside. Sometimes he wished he could live a simpler life, with only the tides to worry about. A confident knock sounded at his door and he opened it to see Gabriel.

‘Come in. I’d like your help on a plan I’ve been thinking about, but first, have you seen anything of York’s patrols?’

Gabriel sat in one of Jasper’s comfortable chairs. ‘That’s why it took so long to reach here, my lord.’ He glanced at the parchment map of Wales on the wall, the main castles featured as prominent, larger-than-life landmarks. ‘York’s men are in Carmarthen, so it won’t be long before they are at our door.’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Jasper lowered his voice, although they couldn’t be overheard. ‘They know I’m here. We’re preparing the castle for a siege, but I lost my best men at Mortimer’s Cross.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your father, sir.’

Jasper nodded in acknowledgement. He still found it difficult to think about his father’s fate, yet he brightened at a memory. ‘He used to sit in that chair you’re in now and tell me I should marry.’

‘He was a good man, my lord.’

‘You met him?’

‘The first night we camped on the march, he came to talk to us, thanked us for our support for King Henry.’ Gabriel smiled. ‘He knew we were mercenaries, but his words meant a lot.’

‘I had no idea.’ Jasper recalled how he’d been so preoccupied during the march he had hardly spared any time for his father, squandering their precious last days together, something he would regret for the rest of his life.

‘This plan, sir. How can I be of help?’

‘It’s me they’re looking for, Gabriel, so I must draw York’s men away from Pembroke. I intend to leave Sir John in charge here and take the fight to North Wales.’

‘You want me to stay here, help defend the castle?’

‘No. I need you to come with me—but there’s an important job I must ask you to do before we leave.’

‘I’m at your service, sir.’

‘Good. I need you to ride to Tenby this evening and visit as many taverns as you can. York has spies in the town, so I need them to hear that I’m off to North Wales at dawn to rebuild my army there.’

‘So they divert their patrols north?’

‘Exactly. The thing is...’ He studied the Irishman for a moment, making a judgement, ‘I’ve no intention of riding into another of York’s traps.’

‘You’ll travel by sea?’

‘I will, but not directly to North Wales. I’ve asked the Duke of Exeter to cause York sympathisers there as much distress as he is able, and let it be known I’m behind it.’

‘Where are we sailing to, my lord?’

‘Ireland, Gabriel.’ Jasper smiled. ‘I’m taking you home—and I’ll be needing your help to raise an army.’

Their little fat-bellied ship rolled in the relentless waves of the Atlantic, challenging the crew to hold a steady course as the dark coast of Wales slipped into the distance. An ageing hulk, she was clinker built all the way to the keel. Her wedge shaped hull made the ship more seaworthy than the flat-bottomed cogs, and helped prevent her from making as much leeway.

Her captain and crew seemed unaware of their passenger’s true purpose or identity. Jasper allowed his dark beard to grow thicker and a rakish cap with a black hunting cloak completed the disguise. He could easily be mistaken for a merchant and told Gabriel to call him sir in public. He leaned on the taffrail, watching graceful gulls dipping in their wake.

Word of Edward’s coronation had spread through Wales like fleas on a dog, passed by word of mouth in markets and taverns faster than a man could ride. Jasper knew the reason. The people tired of the civil war and Edward promised peace and prosperity. They had seen their menfolk march off in King Henry’s name and not return. The price of loyalty to the cause of Lancaster was too great.

Jasper recalled his farewell meeting with Lady Margaret, the only person other than Thomas White and Gabriel to know the truth of his plan. She had needed to leave Pembroke for the long journey to her home in Lincolnshire and urged him to be on his guard.

‘I wonder if anywhere is safe from the reach of York, now he has made himself king.’

Jasper heard a rare note of bitterness in her voice. ‘Your husband will be pardoned by Edward, and your son will be safe here.’ He tried to sound more confident than he felt. ‘My plan will mean Pembroke Castle will be left in peace, for now at least.’