Jasper (4 page)

‘You must be careful who you choose to trust.’ Her sharp eyes had fixed on his. ‘Edward will be granting favours to those who helped put him on the throne, making outlaws of those who support the rightful king—even those once loyal to us will be putting their own interests first.’

‘There are still enough loyal to the cause, if I can rally them in time.’

For a moment he thought Margaret would embrace him. Instead, she regarded him with sadness in her eyes, then her impassive mask returned.

‘I shall remember you in my prayers, Jasper Tudor. God go with you.’ She left, without once looking back.

Now, as the last of Wales began to slip below the horizon, he recalled that final moment and said a prayer for her safety. They had sailed in secret before dawn, so there should be no reason for York to even think he had left for Ireland. Henry Holland would enjoy raising merry hell in North Wales in his name, yet Jasper worried about the castles at Harlech and Denbigh, held for the true king, as well as Pembroke.

Before they left Thomas White gave him the name of a merchant in Cork who could be relied on to pass a message. Other than that he must rely on visiting ships for news. The uncertainty troubled him, for all his life he had been at the centre of events, the king’s agent and the queen’s right-hand man in the Palace of Westminster. Lady Margaret had been right. York had made him an outlaw, and crowned himself king.

He heard boots clomping on the deck behind him and turned to see Gabriel looking a little worse for wear and without his cap. Gabriel gripped the rail with both hands and leaned out over the sea, heaving, before hauling himself upright and wavering unsteadily on his feet as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Jasper smiled at the sight. ‘I thought you always wanted to be a sailor?’

‘I did, sir, but there are plenty of taverns in Tenby and it turned into a long night.’

‘You managed to spread the word?’

‘It was easy, sir. When they found out I was from the castle, they all wanted to know what you are doing about Herbert.’

‘Well, let’s hope William Herbert takes the bait like the greedy codfish he is.’ Jasper peered back towards Wales, already out of sight.

‘The crew told me we’re bound for Cork. What’s our plan once we reach there, sir?’

Jasper glanced across the deck to see they would not be overheard, then pulled a purse from inside his doublet. It felt heavy in his hand and he opened it to show Gabriel a fortune in gold nobles. ‘I need your help to find men we can trust.’

Gabriel took a step back. ‘There’s enough there to pay for an army.’

‘An army is what we need,’ Jasper pocketed his purse, ‘a good ship, horses and men who will fight for the king.’

‘They’ll be loyal to the king’s coin.’

Jasper nodded. The Irish would find no other reason to favour the true king over the usurper Edward. ‘I’ve been thinking about York’s ambush. We didn’t stand a chance, as my horse fell from under me before I even saw their archers.’

‘I wish you luck, sir,’ Gabriel sounded dubious, ‘I may be wrong, but it’s not going to be easy to find skilled archers in Ireland.’

‘Not archers, crossbowmen. No more marching into traps, Gabriel. We will travel light and hit them hard, then be off before they know what’s happened.’

‘Skirmishers?’

‘That’s right. I want to put the fear of God into any men of York who think Wales is an easy target.’

Cork harbour bustled with activity despite the late hour as their little ship moored alongside the old stone quay. Shouting men loaded baskets of fish onto wagons, and gulls squabbled noisily for scraps as fishermen sorted their catch. The salty reek of fish fought with the stink of open sewers, which ran down shallow channels into the River Lea and on into the sea.

‘Enjoying the fresh air of Ireland, Gabriel?’ Jasper grinned, recalling their time at Llanthony Priory when his friend talked of the great beauty of his homeland.

‘It sure is good to be home again.’ His Irish accent already sounded richer. ‘One day we’ll ride to Waterford, and then you’ll see.’

‘First, we must find somewhere to stay, for the night, at least.’ Jasper stared up at the high city walls and made a mental note to build them higher at Tenby. The thought reminded him of those he had left behind. He said another silent prayer for the safety of Lady Margaret, now travelling to Lincolnshire, and her young son Henry, in Pembroke Castle.

Three entrances led into the prosperous walled city of Cork, the bridges at the north and south gates and the central Marine Gate at the east end of Castle Street. They slipped through this into the crowds and passed unchallenged down the cobbled main street, with its herringbone pattern of narrow side-alleys. Jasper was glad to use the raised wooden trackways to keep out of the foul-smelling slurry from overflowing drains.

After asking directions they found the two storey timber-framed house where Thomas White’s merchant friend lived. An elderly maidservant answered their knock and pulled her black woollen shawl around her shoulders, eyeing them suspiciously when they asked to see Master Conley. Jasper saw her hesitation and handed her Thomas White’s letter of introduction.

‘Would you kindly tell your master we wish to discuss his business interests in Wales?’

The woman invited them to wait in the dark hallway and shuffled off, muttering to herself. When she eventually returned she led them to Master Conley’s study. A large man with thick, greying hair, he gestured for them to take a seat, studying them both with interest before speaking with a strong Irish accent.

‘I am intrigued. Thomas White asked me to offer you every assistance, yet he neglects to say what brings you to this fair city.’ His voice carried a hint of irony.

‘We are here to recruit men to fight for the true king.’ Jasper saw how Master Conley’s eyebrow raised at the words.

‘Ah, yes. In England there is a new king, yet the old one is still alive and well in Scotland.’ He smiled with the easy good humour of one who can afford to. ‘Quite a predicament for those who live in Wales.’

‘More than a predicament, Master Conley.’ Jasper’s voice now had an edge. ‘Unless we act decisively, the country will be ravaged by a civil war.’

Conley studied Jasper with renewed interest. ‘I can help you find men, and I own a little property on the outskirts of the city where you are welcome to stay.’ His voice became conciliatory. ‘But may I offer you some advice?’

‘Of course.’

‘I think, sir, this particular ship has sailed. The new King Edward has pardoned most of those who would oppose him. He has promised a better future for the people than they enjoyed under King Henry’s rule.’

The housekeeper returned, carrying a jug of wine. Conley took a sip from the goblet she offered him, then nodded in approval, waiting while she served Jasper and Gabriel. ‘If you choose to fight him now I think,’ he took another sip, ‘you will find it a somewhat lonely and unrewarding venture.’

Jasper sipped his wine before replying. It tasted sweet and aromatic, with a rich earthy flavour. He glanced across at Gabriel, who had already drained his goblet. ‘Queen Margaret has an army in Scotland, and I’m sworn to support her.’

‘In that case, take care, my friend. While King Edward lives, he will remove the heads of those who threaten him.’

Jasper would never call himself a superstitious man yet Conley’s words rang out like a grim vision of the future. Again he recalled the vengeful knight in burnished armour, scything his way through the Lancastrian ranks. He had sworn to support Queen Margaret but he would not underestimate the challenge ahead of them while Edward of York lived.

The man-shaped target appeared from its hiding place as if by some magical force as Gabriel tugged at the end of a long rope. In a flash it bristled with crossbow bolts and fell to the ground as a cheer rang out from the men hidden in the bushes. Jasper watched, pleased with the progress they had made recruiting and training the fifty mercenaries he had chosen.

His skirmishers practised with their crossbows every day and soon learned how to shoot with accuracy. They would take years to build the muscle strength necessary to use the powerful longbow—years he couldn’t spare with York’s power and influence increasing each day.

Master Conley showed considerable modesty when he called this his little place on the outskirts of the city. Any English noble would be proud to own such a fine house, with woodlands well stocked with game. Most importantly for Jasper, Conley’s property offered privacy while he trained his men, despite its proximity to Cork.

So far the men took no interest in his true identity and even the curious merchants of Cork seemed easily satisfied by their cover story. The long history of the English recruiting Irishmen to fight their wars meant large numbers sailed to France and Normandy. Now they fought in England’s civil war, for whichever side paid the best.

Each week Jasper called at the house of Master Conley to see if visiting ships brought any messages from Wales. There were none so far, although he did learn of a merchant trader bound for Waterford. Gabriel had become restless and asked if he could sail on the voyage.

‘I would like to see Waterford again, track down my family there.’

‘You’ve worked hard and served me well, Gabriel. I think we both deserve a break from the delights of Cork.’

‘You won’t regret it, sir.’ Gabriel smiled in appreciation of the irony. ‘There’s no prettier place than County Waterford.’

 
The
St Helene
,
a strongly built carrack, was well suited to regular crossings of the channel between Ireland and Wales. Jasper smelt fresh tar as he crossed the gangplank and noted the scrubbed deck and neatly stowed ropes, an encouraging sign. Master Conley had bought half her cargo of bales of Welsh fleeces, and the remainder were destined for the wool-merchants of Dublin. Her captain, a stocky, long-bearded Welshmen, wore a fisherman’s cap and peered curiously at Jasper when they met.

‘Do I know you, sir?’ The challenge in his voice echoed his abrupt manner.

Jasper preferred to tell a half-truth to a lie. ‘I’m often in Tenby on business, you might have seen me there?’

‘Quite possibly.’ The captain’s eyes brightened at the sight of Jasper’s silver coins, payment for their passage north, which he slipped into a pocket. ‘There’s a fair wind, sir. If it turns we’ll rest awhile in the bay at Tramore, but I hope to make landfall before midnight.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’ Jasper led Gabriel to the bows, out of the way of the men loading the ship, before the captain could ask more questions. The longer he could divert York’s search for him to North Wales the better.

They watched as the men on the quay cast off the heavy mooring warps. Jasper turned at the sound of a loud splash, and saw men in the longboat had carried the anchor as far from the ship as possible and dropped it to the seabed. The master bellowed to men on the capstan to warp the ship out to it and the deck shuddered under their feet as the ship pulled away from the quay.

 
Once the anchor was hauled aboard they cleared the busy harbour and sailors began unfurling the sails and heaving on halyards. A light breeze soon billowed in the mainsail, and the ship lurched forward with the power of the wind. Sailing had always fascinated Jasper and he promised himself one day he would own a ship.

The dark, tranquil waters within the sheltered bay of Cork’s Lough Mahon gave little clue to conditions out at sea, although a cloudless, pastel sky offered the promise of good sailing as they picked their way down the River Lee. When they passed the outer islands Jasper saw the first white-crested waves and tasted the tang of salt in the air as the wind freshened.

‘What do you suggest we do in Waterford, Gabriel?’

‘We could buy some fine horses and ride back?’ His face lit up at the thought. ‘My father used to talk of the hobelars, the Irish cavalry.’ He saw Jasper’s puzzled look. ‘They called themselves the skirmishers, sir. Rode Irish hobbies, swift and light of foot and good in the bogs and woodlands of these parts.’

‘We can find them in Waterford?’

‘There’s a horse fair every month.’ Gabriel looked thoughtful. ‘They don’t breed true hobbies now, though, no call for it, but we might find a few crossbreeds if we’re lucky.’

Jasper agreed. ‘I still miss my old horse.’ A sharp memory of their defeat at Mortimer’s Cross caused his bitter anger against Edward of York to rise in his blood, darkening his thoughts. Jasper stared out to sea, east towards Wales, and wondered how Henry was in Pembroke. He’d heard no news of York’s men invading West Wales and said another silent prayer that his plan would work.

Waterford horse fair, a noisy celebration, seemed to involve most of the population of Ireland’s second city. Swearing Irishmen argued over horses and ponies of every size and temperament. Most of the men seemed drunk from the strong local beer, dispensed from wooden barrels at street corners.
Ragged, bare-footed urchins
squealed with delight as a juggler brandished brightly blazing torches, deftly throwing them high in the air and catching them.

Groups of musicians with drums and fiddles sang and played reels and jigs outside the taverns. People danced to the lively music and others clapped and cheered to encourage them. Gabriel stared at the women in colourful dresses, their long dark hair tied back and woven with silk ribbons. One called out to him and pulled her long dress provocatively up to her thigh to reveal a bare leg.

Jasper smiled at the sight. ‘Would she be one of your sisters, Gabriel?’

‘Fortunately not.’ Gabriel replied, without looking away from the women. ‘I told you there’s no prettier place than this, sir.’

The aroma of roasting meat drifted over to them and they followed it to the market square, where street vendors sold them trenchers of bread with thick slices of salty tasting pork. They washed it down with tankards of strong ale and began examining the horses for sale. Gabriel seemed to know exactly what he wanted and soon found a lively young stallion with large dark eyes.

‘This one has more than a bit of hobby in him.’ Gabriel patted the horse on the neck, running an expert hand over its flanks and back. ‘Good muscle, that’s what we’re looking for.’ He pulled open the horse’s mouth and nodded in approval as he checked its teeth. After some haggling with the owner they bought the horse and a lively black mare from the same breeder, together with saddles and bridles.

As they led the horses away the street began to be cleared by men shouting and ushering the crowds back. Jasper sensed the buzz of excitement, but couldn’t understand what they were saying.

‘What’s going on?’

‘They’re getting ready for the race, sir. Waterford fair is famous for its horse-racing.’

Now Jasper could see they were calling out for riders. ‘Do you think we would stand a chance against these local men?’

Gabriel grinned. ‘I am a local man, sir, and ready to prove the worth of this fine horse.’

They soon mounted up and joined the throng of riders already gathering at the start line. Some rode bareback, with simple rope bridles, others already pushing forward and jostling for the best position. One rider swayed unsteadily in his saddle, almost too drunk to ride. There seemed to be no rules and it seemed to Jasper as if too many riders hoped to compete in such a crowded place.

Gabriel reined in his lively horse and glanced across at him. ‘Take care on these cobbles, sir, and watch for the other riders, they don’t always play fair.’

‘What’s the prize for winning?’

‘A flagon of ale.’

Jasper glanced at the determined faces of the men around him and realised more was at stake than a flagon of ale. Reputations could be made or lost at these races, both for the horses and the tough Irishmen who rode them. An eager, shouting crowd jostled for a better view on either side of the cleared course. Men called out for bets to be placed and a scuffle broke out but was stopped before it could become a fight. An attractive young woman appeared from nowhere and reached up to tie a red silk ribbon around Jasper’s arm.

‘For good luck, sir.’ Her eyes shone with amusement as she spoke.

Gabriel called across to him. ‘She favours you, sir!’

Jasper raised a hand in thanks and saw her smile in acknowledgement. She reminded him a little of a woman he had known in North Wales so long ago. He had been so preoccupied with recruiting and training his skirmishers, he had almost forgotten about Mevanvy and the little dark-haired daughter Ellen, she claimed was his.

Myfanwy’s eyes sparkled with the same seductive sense of fun whenever she looked at him. He had no way of knowing if the child could be his but in his heart he knew it might be, so he provided her with a good house and enough money to live comfortably.

He smiled to himself as he recalled his father’s reaction when he learned he had a granddaughter. His father could hardly disapprove, as he had fathered a child with his maidservant Bethan. The boy, Jasper’s half-brother David Owen, now lived with Bethan at his father’s old house in Beaumaris. He wondered when he would next be able to see them and resolved to also visit Mevanvy and Ellen.

The crowd fell into a tense silence as a steward raised a flag high in the air. Jasper glanced across at Gabriel and saw the grim look of determination on his face. The man with the flag dropped it with a flourish and they raced from the line. Jasper soon found himself a good length behind the closest horse. Gabriel hadn’t made the same mistake and rode dangerously close to the horse in the front.

Hooves thundered on hard stone as they raced for the first corner, a sharp right-hand bend in the road. The crowd urged them on with cheers and shouts for favourites and Jasper started gaining ground, pulling ahead of several horses. Jasper knew they must complete two circuits of the course, and he could see the leading riders, so was still in with a chance.

As they crossed the start line for the second time he found himself scanning the crowd for the woman who’d given him the ribbon. She waved as he passed, and his neck tingled with an unexpected flush of pride that she had chosen him from all the riders. They reached the right-hand corner again, galloping as hard as they could. Another rider slammed into Jasper’s flank and his horse stumbled, pitching him into the air. The last thing he heard was a woman’s high-pitched scream.

Jasper woke in a strange room that smelt of woodsmoke and the sweet scent of lavender. He was lying in a comfortable wooden bed, covered with a thick woollen blanket. Bright sunlight streamed through the open shutters of a small window. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember what happened. Then he realised he was naked.

The sound of a woman singing as she worked drifted through the half-open door. Jasper studied his surroundings. Fresh rushes covered the floor and neatly tied bunches of lavender hung from thick wooden beams but he couldn’t see his clothes. Close to the side of his bed sat an old rocking-chair, draped with a woollen shawl which suggested someone slept there the previous night.

He remembered falling from his horse and being carried through the crowd by shouting men. He had brought a small fortune in gold and silver coins to Waterford, enough to buy two dozen horses, and now it was all gone.

‘Hello?’ He called out.

The singing stopped and a young woman appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on her cotton apron. He recognised the girl who gave him the ribbon. She seemed different with her dark hair loose over her shoulders, but he saw the mischief in her eyes as she stood looking at him.