Jasper (6 page)

‘We cannot allow York to take control of Scotland, my lady, so perhaps the price is a fair one.’

The queen lowered her voice. ‘You think we can win this war?’

‘I do, my lady.’ He drank deeply from the intoxicating wine, already feeling less reserved, and looked into Margaret’s sapphire-blue eyes. A year older than him at thirty-one, he admired her strength and courage. ‘Together.’

‘It’s good to know there is at least one man I can rely on in these troubled times.’ The suggestive note in her voice was not lost on Jasper.

He smiled at her flirtatiousness. ‘At your service, my lady.’ Once her words would surprise him in such a public place, but now everything had changed, thanks to York and his followers.

This time he could not mistake the look which passed between them. It might be the consequences of too much good wine, but Jasper found himself wondering about new possibilities. Her high-necked gown revealed little, but she had a shapely figure and he had a good imagination.

‘We must discuss this further.’ Her hand returned to his arm, and remained there, a sign of her regard for him.

His reply was interrupted by servants bringing the silver dishes of the next course yet he had seen acknowledgement in her eyes. The minstrels began playing a lively tune and Jasper’s spirits began to improve for the first time since arriving in Scotland. He picked at a plate of sturgeon, ruined with the spicy sweetness of too much powdered ginger, his mind on other things than food. Jasper pushed the plate to one side and pulled morsels of breast meat from small wild birds, also sprinkled with exotic spices.

Some of the younger guests joined in a boisterous dance in the open area of the hall, forming pairs, calling out and clapping in time to the music. He saw Queen Margaret laugh at their antics and realised the banquet must be a welcome respite from the strain of life in exile. Her alliance with the Scots could only be described as fragile and, for all they knew, York already plotted to surround Linlithgow Palace with his army of thousands.

A trumpeter sounded a fanfare, and servants bore the centrepiece of the banquet in amidst cheering, unruly guests. A whole wild boar, glazed with sugar, lay prostrated upon a bed of bright marigolds, the queen’s personal emblem. The enormous platter thudded down before Jasper. He glanced at the happy Queen Margaret, becoming ever more conscious of occupying the king’s chair.

Later that night Jasper lay awake, recalling his conversation with the queen. His door creaked as it opened and a shadowy figure slipped in and dropped her gown to the floor. He had the briefest glimpse of naked breasts before she climbed into his bed and embraced him. Jasper held her in his arms and wondered how she would take his news.

‘I’ve missed you.’ She kissed him with renewed passion, pulling him closer.

He returned her kiss and stroked her silken hair. The scent of lavender reminded him of their first time together in Ireland. ‘I’ve secured you a position as a handmaiden in the queen’s household.’

Máiréad sat up. ‘She has more than enough servants?’ There was an edge to her voice, although she didn’t sound displeased.

‘A queen can never have too many beautiful ladies to wait upon her.’

‘Or too many gallant knights?’

Jasper pulled her back down and held her close, choosing to ignore her remark.

‘I saw you, at the banquet.’ Máiréad persisted. ‘You didn’t notice me, as you had more important company.’

‘You’re not jealous?’

‘Perhaps I am. I know you well, Sir Jasper Tudor. I know that look in your eyes.’

He gave her a kiss to silence her, then decided his news could wait no longer. ‘I need to travel to Normandy, to raise money for our cause.’

‘And you wish me to remain here, with these Scotsmen?’

‘For now, although the queen will also make the journey, once I let her know it’s safe.’

‘Is France not safe? She is a Frenchwoman?’

‘They call King Louis of France Le Rusé, the cunning king—the spider. He is not beyond siding with York, if he sees advantage in it.’

‘You think the King of France will listen to you?’ Máiréad sounded doubtful.

Jasper smiled at her. ‘The King of France is my uncle, on my mother’s side. I may no longer own a fortune to bribe him with, but I am a son of the House of Valois, which should count for something.’

She remained silent for a moment as the information sank in. ‘The queen, she will travel with her household?’

‘Of course.’

Máiréad lay back in his bed. ‘I should like to see Normandy. Will you teach me to speak French?’

He looked into her eyes. ‘Je t'aime.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I love you.’

Freezing rain lashed the deck and the dark North Sea churned in a turbulent mood as they set sail from Edinburgh, waves slapping the hull and splashing salty spray high into the air. Jasper sheltered in the damp cabin and braced his boot against a wooden post as the ship heeled heavily to starboard. They had brought four of the best Irish skirmishers, which meant persuading their lively horses to board the ship.

Despite blinkers and their recent passage from Ireland by sea, the precious horses became a concern as they whinnied and kicked in the confines of the rat-infested hold. Jasper ordered his skirmishers to take turns to act as groom and keep watch over the horses day and night. Gabriel kept himself busy checking on them every hour and returned dripping wet, clutching a steaming bowl.

‘Pottage for you, my lord.’ He grinned as he handed it to Jasper. ‘I spilt some on the way from the galley, but it’s wet and warm—and tastes better than it looks, sir.’

‘I’m grateful to you, Gabriel. We’ve a long trip ahead and I fear the seas are worsening.’

Gabriel pulled off his wet cloak and twisted it to wring out the rain and seawater. ‘The horses seem to be settling down a little, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Tough breed, you see. Good Irish stock.’

Jasper tasted the pottage, a greasy soup thickened with crushed oats yet oddly satisfying after the over-spiced food at Linlithgow Palace. As he ate he recalled his farewells. Queen Margaret seemed grateful for his offer to pave the way for her visit, although she confessed concern for the king, who had succumbed to the cold and taken to his bed. Jasper visited him before he left, and found the king in a sombre mood.

‘I will pray for your return with good news.’ The king’s voice rasped and he shivered with his cold despite thick furs and a good log fire. ‘I would like to travel with you,’ his eyes fixed on Jasper, ‘I’ve never been to France, although Margaret speaks of it with great fondness.’

Jasper knelt at the king’s bedside and studied the king’s pale features, remembering their first meeting, on his return from the care of the nuns at Barking Abbey. He’d been in awe of King Henry then, the richest and most powerful man in the land, chosen by God to rule, yet now the king seemed a mere shadow of his younger self.

‘I remember you in my prayers, Your Highness, and wish you soon recover good health.’

‘Take care, my brother, and God go with you, for you are the last of my family.’

‘You have Prince Edward, a good strong son, Your Highness.’

Henry shook his head in bewilderment and for a moment Jasper thought he’d forgotten he even had a son, then he brightened and gave him a rare smile. ‘Yes, my son, heir to the House of Lancaster.’

‘And, of course, Queen Margaret.’

‘She is a pillar of strength to me,’ the king interrupted, as if remembering he had family after all. ‘I give thanks in my prayers for her love and support.’

‘The queen needs you at her side in these troubled times, Your Highness.’

King Henry crossed himself. ‘God help us all.’

At last Jasper heard the cry he’d been waiting for, ‘Land Ho!’

The plunging and heaving of their ship had prevented him from sleeping for three long nights since they left Scotland and he rubbed his tired eyes to study the horizon. The flat, featureless outline of the Flanders coastline emerged from the relentless expanse of water like a dark sea-monster, rising from the depths.

He hoped to avoid encountering Philip, Duke of Burgundy, and chief rival to the King of France. To do so could waste precious time and compromise his delicate negotiations with King Louis, although as part of the Valois family he provided an option of last resort. Gabriel joined him at the rail, also looking tired from their long voyage yet relieved at having arrived safely.

‘The horses made the voyage in good shape, sir, although they will be glad to be back on dry land, as will I, by God.’

‘Good.’ Jasper peered out at the still ominous share of the land growing ever closer and felt a new sense of purpose. ‘Tell the men we will find somewhere in Flanders to rest—we have a long ride ahead to Normandy.’

The countryside of Flanders offered Jasper and his men little cover as they rode south, travelling fast and tracking close to the coast. It would have been an easy enough journey were it not for the westerly wind from the sea and the rain that saturated their clothes and turned the narrow roads to slippery mud. Gabriel rode in the lead as he claimed to have some knowledge of the area. He seemed to be enjoying his new responsibility and twisted in the saddle, rainwater dripping from the brim of his hat, to see the others were still close behind.

He caught Jasper’s eye and grinned.
‘I wish we were back in that leaky old ship now, my lord!’

Jasper agreed, as the rain had long since won its battle with his riding boots. It was supposed to be summer, yet the trickle of water soaking through his riding cape into his doublet felt unpleasantly cold.

‘You handled the horses well, Gabriel. I thought we would never have them ashore.’

Gabriel chuckled at the compliment. ‘Spoke to them in Irish, sir.’

‘You must remember to do the same if we meet anyone on the road.’

‘Irish mercenaries, riding to try our luck en Bretagne.’ He exaggerated his accent, throwing in the French with a flourish of his hand.

Jasper nodded in approval. They stayed away from towns and went out of their way to avoid the main roads, although even in the small villages they passed through he imagined the eyes of the local people were on him. He carried a letter from Queen Margaret but hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. Her cousin, the new King of France, would be difficult enough to deal with, without making their negotiations more complicated by involving the Duke of Burgundy.

He recalled his confident words to Máiréad, when he’d told her his lineage of the House of Valois should count for something. He’d wanted to reassure her, yet for all his life he had thought of himself as a Welshman, not French. Since he was a boy his father proudly taught him all about his Welsh ancestry. He also taught him to never take his wealth for granted, which was just as well, now it had been stolen from him.

His mother rarely spoke about her family in France, or if she had he’d been too young to remember. The years distorted his memory of her, yet he could hear her soft accent even now, singing French lullabies to him as a child. He was only five years old the night the soldiers came to their house and took her away, to the Abbey of St Saviour in Bermondsey. He had no idea he would never see her again.

Thinking of that grey dawn brought back long repressed feelings of confusion and worry. He’d been rudely woken with his brother Edmund and hurriedly dressed to the sounds of soldiers shouting orders outside. He remembered seeing the red-faced, anxious servants, running up and down stairs with bundles of clothes and such possessions as they could carry to the waiting wagons.

His father told them it would be a great adventure, and he would come for them as soon as he could. Jasper smiled to himself as he remembered how he tried his best to reassure them, despite their dire situation. He’d handed them five gold nobles each, told them to be brave boys and to always remember they were Tudors.

The soldiers took them on a long journey and placed them in the care of the Abbess of Barking, for religious education. It was no adventure, although the abbess had been kindly and treated them well, allowing them servants and even giving permission for them to practise with their bows as a reward for good behaviour.

As he rode towards Brittany, Jasper realised the nuns at the abbey taught him much that would stand him in good stead now. The strict but well-ordered routine of their devout lives instilled in him a useful self-discipline and he eventually learned to be patient. He remembered the abbess would always tell them
maxima enim, patientia virtus
, patience is the greatest virtue, when they asked how long it would be before their father came for them. The nuns sacrificed everything for their faith, yet still seemed content with their simple lives.

Now he understood his father had no choice in the matter, but at the time it felt they had been forgotten and abandoned. He prayed faithfully with his brother Edmund every day for his parents to return. There was no word, not even a note or a letter. Three long years passed before he saw his father again and learned his mother was dead, as well as a sister he had never seen.

They reached the border with Brittany without challenge, having made the best of daylight and stopping each night to sleep in barns and outhouses. The local farmers and villagers seemed happy to take Jasper’s silver to provide food and ale for his men, and knew better than to ask questions of the Irishmen. Jasper guessed they had seen plenty of mercenaries passing through, ready to fight for anyone with money.

Their destination, the Château de Clisson, grand fortress residence of Francis, Duke of Brittany, perched over a tributary of the River Loire, the Sèvre Nantaise. Dominated by a massive keep, the duke’s château was defended by a wide, green moat and from the highest tower flew the black and white ermine flag of Brittany.

Jasper led his men across the narrow stone bridge to the high gatehouse and announced himself to the liveried guards in French. After a short wait, the duke appeared in a doublet embroidered with a rampant lion. Well built, handsome and clean-shaven, he studied them appraisingly.

Jasper realised he must look more like the soldier of fortune he pretended to be than an earl and garter knight. Mud from the road spattered his plain clothes and boots and he hadn’t washed or slept properly for a week. Only his fine sword with its engraved silver hilt offered any clue to his true identity.

He eyed the armed guards flanking the duke and saw they were ready to act. One word from Duke Frances and he could face long imprisonment for ransom, or worse. He had decided to take risks for Lancaster and now it could be time for him to pay the price.

‘Sir Jasper Tudor? Son of Queen Catherine, of the House of Valois?’ The duke spoke in French, his voice cultured, with little trace of the accent of the region yet questioning, as if he doubted the truth of Jasper’s claim.

‘At your service, Duke Francis.’

‘Come. I am intrigued to understand what has brought you to Clisson.’ He gestured to the guards, who stood aside to let Jasper and his men pass.

They followed him through the gatehouse into a courtyard paved with cobblestones. A magnificent bronze cannon pointed malevolently towards the entrance and Jasper noted it stood ready for use if the château ever came under attack. The heavy iron-studded doors of the gatehouse slammed shut behind them and Gabriel gave him a cautionary glance as he took the reins of his horse.

Jasper followed the duke across the courtyard to one of the towers and up a flight of stone steps into a high-ceilinged room. Swords and shields, some with the patina of great age, decorated the curved stone walls. In a recessed niche stood an old stone sculpture with the unmistakable features of the duke, although Jasper realised it must be one of his ancestors.

Duke Francis waited for his guards to close the door. ‘What brings you to Brittany?’ There was a challenge in his voice and he stared, unsmiling, as he waited for an answer.

‘I come as the ambassador of Queen Margaret of England.’

‘The deposed queen?’

‘The rightful queen of King Henry, my half-brother.’

‘Daughter of the King of Naples, and cousin of Louis, King of France.’ The duke scowled in contempt.

Jasper took a deep breath and fought back the tension as he realised it would not be easy to win over the suspicious duke. ‘I will be direct with you, my lord. These are difficult times for the House of Lancaster...’

‘I cannot help you.’ The duke interrupted, shaking his head.

‘We could have met the Duke of Burgundy, yet we chose to offer our hand of friendship to Brittany.’

‘And what would you have me do?’

‘We suspect Burgundy could side with York, and with King Louis, we both know anything is possible, yet Brittany has fought to remain independent.’ He watched the duke’s reaction. ‘We would ask you to provide us with men and ships, but most of all we value your knowledge of King Louis, his strengths—and his weaknesses.’

‘King Louis is only interested in himself.’

‘Queen Margaret hopes King Louis will fund our cause.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘In return for Calais?’

‘The English will never forgive Queen Margaret if she surrenders Calais,’ the duke paced the room as he thought aloud, ‘yet you are right. It would be a great coup for Louis, although of course, Calais is not within your gift. Is it not held by men who are loyal to York?’

‘With your help, Duke Francis, we shall dangle this carrot in front of the King of France.’

‘Don’t underestimate King Louis, he’s no fool.’ The duke’s voice echoed in the sparsely furnished room.

‘Queen Margaret will sign a treaty, promising Calais once King Henry is restored to the throne.’

‘And what does Brittany gain in return for helping you?’

‘An alliance between the House of Lancaster and the House of Montfort.’

Jasper recognised the weary messenger who arrived from Scotland as one of the Irishmen left behind as the queen’s personal guard. The man’s clothes bore the dirt of his long, exhausting journey and he brought news that the queen had sailed from Kircudbright on the western coast of Scotland.

‘Her Highness chose to sail through the Irish Sea to avoid York’s ships in the English Channel, my lord. She plans to make landfall at Saint-Nazaire.’

‘How long ago was this?’ Jasper’s relief was overtaken by a sense of foreboding.

‘Two weeks, my lord.’

‘And the king? What of King Henry?’

‘For all I know he is well, my lord.’

A thought occurred to Jasper. ‘Why is there no letter from the queen?’

‘The queen did send a letter to you, my lord. The man carrying it was captured and executed for treason.’

Jasper cursed. He rewarded the messenger with silver and visited the duke’s gaudily decorated chapel. The lifelike, blue-robed figure of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by gilded cherubs and angels watched as he kneeled before the altar and prayed for the queen’s safe passage, then lit votive candles in memory of his mother and father and his brother Edmund, taken before their time.

Duke Francis considered Jasper’s offer of an alliance for more than a week without agreeing to a loan, then they found common ground by chance. Jasper watched the duke’s men practising archery at the butts in the courtyard and offered to demonstrate the skills of his Irish skirmishers, hand-picked by Gabriel to accompany them to Brittany. A target was set up and, on Jasper’s signal, his men galloped into the courtyard, the hooves of their horses clattering on the cobblestones. They fired their crossbows from horseback with deadly effect before turning and riding off in a heartbeat, leaving the château strangely quiet.

The duke crossed to the target and tugged one of the bolts bristling from it, examining the sharply barbed point. ‘Skirmishers?’ He smiled at Jasper for the first time, holding up the short crossbow bolt. ‘Your men are assassins, Sir Jasper.’

‘The days of chivalry are over, Duke Francis.’ Jasper returned a wry smile, glad to at last find a way to engage the duke. ‘I learned to strike and be gone. My men are few in number yet worth ten times as many.’

‘They are Irishmen, though? Mercenaries?’

‘You are right, but I’ve found them loyal enough.’

Duke Francis nodded curtly. ‘I will agree to your alliance, Sir Jasper, and I will cover Queen Margaret’s expenses while she is here, but we must be clear this loan is to be repaid in full.’