Jasper (5 page)

‘How are you feeling?’ Her soft Irish accent had a note of concern.

‘I was knocked out?’

‘We thought you might be dead.’ She stepped closer. ‘I am glad you’re not, sir.’

‘How did I get here?’ Jasper felt confused but relieved to find he was otherwise uninjured.

‘They carried you here, sir. I said I would look after you.’

‘It seems you have,’ Jasper smiled, ‘where are my clothes?’

‘You fell in the dirt. I cleaned them for you and now they’re drying in the sun.’

‘How is my horse?’ He liked the fine Irish horse and hoped it wasn’t lame.

‘Your horse is fine, and your money is safe.’ She sat in the chair at the side of his bed. ‘Although I can’t imagine how a fellow such as yourself comes to be carrying such a fortune?’

He stared at her, trying to decide how much to tell. ‘I must thank you, but I don’t even know your name.’

‘Máiréad.’ She leaned forward. ‘And what would your name be now, sir?’

‘Jasper.’

She smiled. ‘I’ve not heard it before, but I’ve not travelled far. Your friend told me you sailed here from Cork, but I can tell from the way you talk that’s not where you’re from.’

‘I’m from Wales.’ He saw her quizzical look. ‘Although my mother was French. When I was a boy she told me Jasper was the name of one of the three wise men, and she had always liked it.’ He blurted it out, a half-forgotten memory he had never mentioned to anyone.

Máiréad reached out and caressed his bare chest with her hand. ‘I like it. I knew there was something... different about you, as soon as I saw you.’ Her voice sounded softer now and her eyes flashed with desire. He pulled her closer and kissed her, feeling her respond to his touch. Many years had passed since he’d held a woman in his arms. It felt good to forget his worries and surrender himself to this beautiful woman from Waterford.

Jasper lay back on the bed, watching as Máiréad dressed and combed her long dark hair in the early morning sunlight. As she fastened it with a ribbon he recalled how she tied a ribbon around his arm at the horse fair. Supposed to bring good luck, in a way it had, although not at all as he expected. It seemed as if he’d always known her, no awkwardness, no holding back. He had a sudden memory of her, naked on top of him, a look of rapture on her face.

She seemed to sense his eyes on her and smiled. ‘Your friend asked me to tell you he’s travelled to Kilkenny to see a horse-trader. He persuaded me to let him take your money. Was I right to do so?’

‘Yes,’ Jasper smiled, ‘he’s a good man. Did he say when he would be back?’

‘Tomorrow.’ She leaned over and kissed him. ‘That means we can spend the day together?’

‘I would like that.’

‘I could show you one of my favourite places, by the river, not far from here.’

He replied by kissing her, softly at first, then with a deep longing and urgency that revealed his true intentions.

Máiréad laughed and began unfastening her dress.

A skylark sang in a cerulean sky as she led him down the narrow track to a secluded grassy clearing overlooking the river. The path was already covered with fallen leaves, and Jasper knew he must soon return to Wales, ready or not, but for now the spectre of York seemed a distant memory.

Máiréad carried a wicker basket from which she produced a blanket for them to sit on, as well as a platter of rye bread and cheese with slices of cured ham and two small cups, which she filled with a rich red wine.

‘I’ve been saving this, for a special occasion.’

Jasper raised his cup in acknowledgement. ‘I am honoured, and grateful.’

‘Sláinte mhaith.’ She laughed at his questioning look. ‘Good health in Irish.’

‘Sláinte mhaith.’ He raised his glass again and tasted the wine, impressed at the quality. She had a talent for surprising him but he knew nothing about her. ‘Tell me, Máiréad, is there someone in your life?’

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the steadily flowing river before answering. ‘There was someone, once.’ A flicker of sadness showed in her eyes. ‘He drowned.’ Her voice sounded cold at the memory. ‘His boat was lost in a storm, two weeks before our wedding day.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Do you have someone? A wife?’ Her question hung in the air and he could see she was bracing herself for his answer.

‘No,’ he smiled at a memory of his father, ‘although there are plenty who tell me it’s time I did.’

‘What brought you here, Jasper?’

‘I sailed here, on a merchant ship.’

She smiled at his joke. ‘You don’t seem like a merchant.’ Her words sounded like an accusation.

He took another sip of wine before responding, already feeling it going to his head. ‘Why not?’

‘Merchants don’t race horses through the streets, for a start. Your sword looks well used, and all the merchants I’ve met are only concerned about money.’

‘And I am not?’

‘You didn’t even ask how much money your friend took.’

‘I trust him, and I know I can trust you, Máiréad.’

She blushed at his compliment. ‘But you’ll forget me soon enough when your friend returns.’

He was thrown by her unexpected challenge. ‘I must ride back to Cork and then...’

‘Take me with you.’

She deserved to know the truth. ‘You are right. I am no merchant. I came to Ireland to find men to help defend King Henry.’ He watched the river, busily making its way to the sea, the water sparkling in the late-summer sunshine. The idyllic surroundings had allowed him to forget his purpose in coming to Waterford.

For the first time, he was struck by the futility of his situation. The best he could hope for was to keep the king safe until the people tired of York’s promises. Queen Margaret would do whatever it took to restore her husband to the throne, but Jasper knew she was doing it for the sake of her son. The rot had set in too deeply and whatever the outcome of this civil war, his life would never be the same.

As a young man he had always known he must marry well, as his brother Edmund had done, an heiress from the royal line. Now he’d been made an outlaw he could marry for love, if he wished. He realised Máiréad was waiting patiently for his answer, hope in her bright eyes.

‘I would like to take you with me, but I cannot.’

She placed her hand on his arm. ‘I could ride with you to Cork. It would be an adventure.’

The pleading in her voice won him over. ‘If that’s what you would like.’ He placed his hand over hers. ‘When the time comes for me to return to Wales you must stay behind for your own safety, but for now...’

He was happy to live for the moment. She beamed with delight at his words, then leaned forward and kissed him. He let her push him back into the soft grass and they lay in each other’s arms, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the birds singing and the river rippling musically. For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t have a care in the world.

Gabriel appeared early next morning looking even more pleased with himself than usual. ‘I’ve found us a dozen good strong horses, sir, and a drover who’ll take them to Cork.’

‘That is good news.’ They needed twice that number but it was a start. ‘You’ve met Máiréad? She’ll be joining us on the ride back to Cork.’

Gabriel gave him a knowing look and smiled at Máiréad. ‘I’m grateful to you, for taking such good care of him.’

‘It was no trouble.’ Her eyes widened with anticipation. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing more of the country. I’ve never been far from Waterford.’

Jasper began fastening the silver buckle on his sword belt. ‘It’s a long ride, so we must leave soon.’

Gabriel understood. ‘I will ready the horses.’

When he’d gone Jasper took Máiréad in his arms and kissed her. ‘Thank you.’

‘I must thank you, for taking me with you.’ She pulled him close and kissed him again. ‘Because I think I’m falling in love with you, Sir Jasper.’ Her eyes shone with happiness and she sang as she fastened the shutters at the windows.

The ride took two days, travelling down the winding drover’s roads through sleepy villages and wild estuaries. They rested overnight at a tavern in the coastal town of Dungarvan, at the mouth of the Colligan River. By the time they reached Cork the setting, late-summer sun cast long shadows and washed the evening sky with a brilliant amber, streaked with gold.

Jasper’s servant looked relieved when he heard the horses and came out to greet them. ‘You had a visitor, sir. He left a message for you to call on him as soon as you return. He is staying at the house of Master Conley.’

‘Did he tell you his name?’ Jasper’s sense of foreboding returned. ‘When did he call here?’

‘His name is Thomas White, sir. He sailed from Tenby last week.’

Jasper told the others to find something to eat in the kitchens and rode into Cork alone and troubled. His friend was too busy a man to wait for his return without good reason. Thomas White met him in one of Master Conley’s private rooms and closed the door. Jasper sat in one of the chairs but Thomas remained standing at the window, the last of the sunset silhouetting him and making it hard for Jasper to see his eyes.

Always clean-shaven in a fine velvet tunic with a long surcoat, Thomas White could easily pass for a nobleman. Jasper knew he had started with next to nothing and worked his way up through his integrity and skill in business to become a wealthy man, as well as one of his most trusted friends. He spoke with the soft accent of West Wales and now he cleared his throat, as if unwilling to share his news.

‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, my lord, which is why I’ve come in person. William Herbert has taken Pembroke Castle.’

‘My God! Was Henry able to escape?’

‘I regret to say he was not. Herbert has him.’

Jasper sat back in shock. He had left more than enough men behind in Pembroke Castle to stand up to York’s entire army, at least until he was able to return with his Irishmen. It was too much to comprehend.

‘What of Sir John Scudamore?’

Thomas White shook his head. ‘I understand he surrendered the castle to Herbert’s men without a fight.’

Jasper cursed. He’d been a fool to trust Henry’s safety to Sir John, a broken man with nothing to lose. At the same time, if he had remained in Pembroke he would now be besieged by William Herbert, who had everything to gain by holding the siege for as long as it took.

‘What about Tenby?’

‘A fleet of York’s ships blockaded the harbour.’ Thomas White sounded apologetic. ‘It was hopeless, my lord. There was nothing anyone could do.’

‘Tenby is lost?’

Thomas White nodded grimly. ‘There is more, I’m afraid. It’s said that all your estates and titles are forfeit to the king.’

‘A false king!’ Jasper spat the words out in his anger.

Thomas White continued, ignoring the outburst. ‘York’s men wait at all the ports and harbours in South Wales to arrest you, my lord. There’s a price on your head, so it’s no longer safe for you to return.’

Jasper saw Thomas White had more to say, something so bad he could hardly bring himself to speak the words. ‘Go on. I need to know.’

‘I’m sorry to report that William Herbert claims you ran from his men at Mortimer’s Cross, and that it was he who captured your father.’

Jasper raised the heavy axe above his head and brought it down, cleaving the thick yew log in two and embedding the blade deep into the block. He’d been working at the woodpile since dawn after a sleepless night, worrying about the future. He worried for the safety of Henry, and the promise he had made to Lady Margaret to protect her son.

He also worried about the loss of his fortune from his estates in Wales. The income from them once made him wealthy, but now his concern was how he could fund an army to support the Lancastrian cause. It could only be a matter of time before he would be formally attainted by York and lose everything.

Jasper’s muscles tensed in a surge of anger at the harm William Herbert could do to his reputation. Herbert would brand him a coward, fleeing from Mortimer’s Cross and now running from West Wales at the sight of York’s soldiers. There would be no way to defend his good name and few would care to listen to the truth.

He swore loudly as he swung the axe, cursing York and all he stood for. At first, he imagined William Herbert’s neck on the block, then it was the turn of Edward of York to feel the blade of his axe. His anger and frustration eased, he could think clearly for the first time since his meeting with Thomas White.

He had never blamed William Herbert for his part in his brother’s death in Carmarthen but the thought always nagged at him. Now it seemed Herbert openly claimed responsibility for his father’s capture, if not his execution. Jasper tugged the axe free of the block and set up another heavy log. Again, he swung the axe and brought it down with such force the two halves of the log sprang into the air.

He stopped to gather his breath and wiped the sweat of his exertion from his brow. Gabriel and Máiréad had listened in silence as he told them the news from Wales. He kept nothing back, as they deserved to know and would find out soon enough. In a way it helped to say the words out loud, to share the bitter thoughts that buzzed in his head like angry hornets.

 
A plan began to form in his mind. It would not be easy, but circumstance had changed him into a man with nothing to lose. He must take risks to stand any chance of defeating York. He comforted himself with the knowledge that York had not won everything. Thomas White told him the great fortress castles of Harlech and Denbigh still held for Lancaster. King Henry and Queen Margaret were now safe in Scotland, rebuilding their Lancastrian army, and he had his Irish mercenaries, not enough in number, yet keen to fight.

Jasper left the axe buried in the chopping-block and went in search of Gabriel. He found him in the kitchens with Máiréad and sensed they had been talking about him.

‘We’re going to Scotland.’ He announced, gratefully taking the tankard of bitter tasting ale Máiréad poured for him, enjoying its refreshing coolness after his hot work.

Gabriel seemed pleased at the news. ‘We’ll need a ship, sir, big enough to take all the men and horses?’

‘Master Conley has offered me a ship, at a price.’

‘When do we sail?’

‘Ready the men, Gabriel. I shall ride to Cork to arrange our passage.’ He turned to Máiréad. ‘Will you come with me? We’ll need provisions and I’ll bet you can strike a fair price?’

‘I will, my lord,’ she gave Gabriel a brief look of triumph and smiled at Jasper, ‘I must change into my riding clothes.’

Gabriel waited until Máiréad was out of earshot. ‘Will you be thinking of taking her to Scotland, sir?’

Jasper drained his tankard of ale. ‘If she wishes. Scotland is no more dangerous for her than here.’

Autumn mists wreathed Linlithgow Palace, rising from the loch like ancient ghosts and making the rooms damp and musty, despite fires kept blazing in the hearths. Jasper pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders and wished he could return home to Wales. He rode around the tranquil loch each morning, despite the uneven, muddy path, to gather his thoughts for the future.

The king had remembered him, but appeared older than his forty years, his hair and beard already turning grey. He had a distant look in his eyes and dressed in simple clothes, more like a priest than the King of England. Queen Margaret also seemed tired, but far from defeated. Still an attractive woman, she seemed pleased to see him and ordered a banquet to celebrate his safe arrival from Ireland.

Privately, she confided to Jasper she struggled to pay her soldiers and many were deserting to York. ‘King Louis will lend me the money.’ Her voice sounded defiant, her French accent returned now there was no need for her to pretend to be English.

Jasper reined in his horse and turned to look back at the rambling palace, reflected in the untroubled waters of the loch. Queen Margaret wished for him to negotiate with the devious King Louis of France on her behalf, and he could see why. It was not for her bewildered husband or even for herself.

Her only interest was in the future of her son, Prince Edward of Westminster. His horse snorted with impatience and stamped a hoof on the hard ground, snapping him out of his reverie. He spurred it on and cantered back around the loch to the palace, his mind still full of concerns. The mists were already lifting in the autumn sunshine and there was much to be done.

The banquet proved a modest affair compared with the extravagance Jasper once witnessed at Westminster Palace. The guests were Scottish nobles, few of whom he could recall meeting before. Several of their whispering ladies openly cast admiring glances at Jasper, who dressed in a fine black velvet doublet and hose and wore his gold chain of the Order of the Garter with his badge of St George.

The great hall of Linlithgow Palace, rebuilt regardless of expense by King James II, seemed wasted on his successor, the ten-year-old James III, who had little use for it. He remained with his mother,
Queen Mary, still in mourning at Ravenscraig Castle after her husband was killed by his own cannon, which exploded and shattered his legs at the siege of Roxburgh the previous year.

Jasper recognised several of King Henry’s Flemish tapestries, brightly coloured religious themes, fixed to the walls of the great hall with hooks and cord. The priceless hangings were creased from being folded for their journey to Scotland, a sign of the hasty retreat of the royal family from England after the bloody defeat at Towton.

An usher called all present to stand as Queen Margaret made her grand entrance, followed by young Prince Edward. She wore a gold coronet over a gossamer veil, with a gown of burgundy silk brocade. Diamonds and rubies sparkled at her
white powdered neck,
and Jasper understood she could not miss this opportunity to remind the Scottish nobility she was still the Queen of England.

A group of minstrels began to sing muted French ballads of courtly love to the accompaniment of a lute and flageolet. Once the guests were seated liveried servants brought wine in silver cups and gilded platters of salted venison and loin of veal. King Henry’s high-backed chair at the side of the queen stood empty and she invited Jasper to take it.

‘The king chooses to spend long hours praying on his knees in that cold chapel,’ she explained. ‘It’s not unknown for him to miss his meals or forget even a banquet in honour of his half-brother.’

‘How frequent are his lapses, Your Highness?’

The queen’s forehead furrowed in a look of concern. ‘He retreats into his own private world. It has been worse since that murderous son of York held him like a commoner.’ The bitterness in her words caused several heads to turn in their direction.

She waved a gold-ringed hand to summon a servant to bring wine and studied Jasper’s face for a moment before speaking. ‘I was sorry to learn of the death of your father.’

Jasper watched as the servant poured a generous measure of the rich red wine into his cup. ‘He wanted me to head north, to meet you, my lady. If I had listened to him we might have escaped York’s trap.’

Queen Margaret put her hand on his arm. ‘You must not blame yourself for York’s treachery. Your father came to Normandy to escort me when I first travelled to England. I remember being intrigued to meet the servant who married a queen.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I was young, barely fifteen years old, and he showed me great kindness.’

‘My father was always most loyal to you, my lady, as am I.’ Jasper tasted his wine, noting the flicker of pleasure in the queen’s eyes at his words. Even now, the thought of how he abandoned his father made him descend into a dark place, but the intense flavour of the wine helped brighten his mood a little.

Prince Edward, seated on the other side of the queen, clapped his hands and called in his reedy voice for sugared plums. Again, Jasper wondered if the boy had the makings of a king, and if it was too late for him to learn his manners.

The queen’s expression hardened at Jasper’s momentary look of disapproval. ‘Edward, tell the Earl of Pembroke how well you are doing with your archery.’

‘I shot a deer. Killed it dead with my arrow!’ He acted out the scene, reminding Jasper a little of himself at the same age.

‘We will make a warrior of you yet,’ Jasper smiled, ‘my father taught me to use a bow when I was a boy, but we only used targets of straw.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Would you like to watch my Irishmen practice with crossbows tomorrow, Prince Edward?’

‘I would, sir.’ Edward tugged at his mother’s sleeve. ‘I should like a crossbow of my own.’

Queen Margaret smiled adoringly at her son. ‘So you shall. Sir Jasper will choose one for you.’ She smiled at Jasper, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘And I will also see your Irishmen. How many do you bring to Scotland?’

‘Fifty, Your Highness.’

‘I hoped for more,’ she shook her head, ‘York has an army of thousands.’

‘My men are trained as skirmishers.’ Jasper realised he sounded defensive. ‘You are right, my lady, York has thousands to fight for him, yet that brings its own problems.’

Queen Margaret waited while her servant refilled her cup. ‘Indeed it does. Our army lost the support of the people after our victory at St Albans. They looted every village and town we passed through, and at one point I feared for my own safety.’

‘Rest assured we will move fast, my lady. Strike hard when York least expects it and be gone like ghosts, to fight another day.’ Jasper leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Can we rely on these Scots to ensure the safety of the king?’

Queen Margaret glanced at her guests, who seemed more interested in their drink than anything she said. ‘Queen Mary has been good to us, offering her Scottish soldiers, giving us sanctuary in this fine palace, but I understand from a trusted source she would consider marriage to York, if the opportunity presents itself.’

Jasper sat back in his chair, realising their situation in Scotland could be more precarious than he had thought. ‘May I ask, who is your source, my lady?’

‘The good Bishop of St Andrews, John Kennedy. He is a trusted advisor to Queen Mary and loyal to our cause,’ she moved closer to Jasper, ‘and has proposed a solution to our problem.’

‘What is he suggesting?’

‘Queen Mary wants the town and castle of Berwick, which I am willing to concede, and we hope to arrange the betrothal of my son to her eldest daughter Margaret.’

Jasper glanced at Prince Edward, happily gorging himself on a dish of sugared plums. ‘Then she would do all in her power to see him one day inherit the throne.’

‘It is a high price, but her daughter is only six years old, and what is marriage if not a means to achieve an end?’

Again, he heard the bitterness in her voice and Jasper realised how difficult it must have been for her, to come to England as a girl and cope with Henry’s frequent lapses. Once the most powerful woman in the land, it must now take all her resolve to make such concessions to Queen Mary, a dowager regent from a lesser noble family. He recalled that Margaret’s father was the proud King René of Anjou, and saw more than a little of his renegade spirit in her.