Jasper (7 page)

‘As soon as we’ve defeated York.’

‘Yet it would seem your cause is already lost?’

Jasper refused to acknowledge the truth of the duke’s frank words. ‘My duty is to restore the rightful king and I will do whatever it takes.’

‘I respect your loyalty to the House of Lancaster, Sir Jasper, but let us suppose King Louis agrees to finance your war. How many men will you need to overthrow Edward of York, now he has made himself king?’

The duke’s words echoed in Jasper’s mind as he waited for the queen to arrive. He found himself recalling the frail, absent-minded King Henry he’d last seen at Linlithgow Palace. Although familiar with the king’s lapses, it seemed impossible to imagine he could ever rule the country again. Their best hope now rested with the queen and their arrogant son, Prince Edward.

After sharing the messenger’s news with the duke, Jasper took lodgings overlooking the old fishing harbour at Saint-Nazaire, at the mouth of the River Loire. The queen’s ship was overdue, although Jasper told himself it was too early to worry. There were many reasons for delay on the long voyage from the west of Scotland.

Each morning he woke at first light and took his walk along the harbour, always keeping a hopeful eye on the horizon. He learned how the rise and fall of the tides ruled the lives of the fishermen of Saint-Nazaire. They would sit on the old granite wall mending their nets and baiting crab pots with foul-smelling fish heads until water filled the harbour, then set off in an assortment of small boats to earn a living from the sea.

Some days they returned with baskets of long-legged spider crabs and aggressive black Breton lobsters. Other times Jasper watched them unload their catches of glittering sardines and anchovies, which spilled over the quayside as a feast for flocks of noisy seagulls. The fishermen seemed suspicious of him at first, but soon began sharing tales of battles with the giant tuna which they caught in the summer season, as well as less welcome stories of sudden and deadly storms.

Gabriel ensured lookouts kept a vigil night and day to alert them of the first sign of the queen, and two weeks passed before they sighted a ship flying the brightly coloured Royal Standard. The early dawn sunrise warmed the air as Jasper waited on the quayside. The ever-present gulls wheeled and shrieked in grey skies and the horses of the carriage he’d ordered whinnied impatiently as they stood ready.

The ship was smaller than he expected, a two-masted merchantman, the sailors already reefing the sails as it approached the shallows of the old fishing harbour. The heavy iron anchor plunged with a splash into the water fifty yards from the shore and the crew waved and called out to the men on the quayside. Gabriel stood by with a longboat and, at a nod from Jasper, set off at a brisk pace towards the ship, his oarsmen straining in unison against the incoming tide.

It seemed an eternity before the boat began its return journey and finally moored to a rusting iron ring at the stone steps, which Gabriel had scraped clear of the slippery green seaweed. Jasper watched as Queen Margaret and her ladies made their way towards him. Although pale and tired, the queen raised a gloved hand in welcome when she saw him, clearly relieved to be safely back on land.

He smiled as he recognised the familiar figure of Máiréad among the servants accompanying the queen. Her long dark hair was tied back under a linen coif and her once fine dress creased and stained from her long journey. He found himself thinking she should be safe in Ireland, yet felt glad of her company now, as there was no knowing how long they would need to stay.

‘Welcome to Brittany, Your Highness.’ He bowed and took the queen’s arm to lead her to the waiting carriage.

Queen Margaret forced a smile. ‘It is good to be back on dry land, Sir Jasper.’

‘How was your voyage, Your Highness?’

‘We owe our lives to the captain,’ Queen Margaret glanced back to the ship, now sitting peacefully at anchor, ‘and thank the Lord our prayers are rewarded.’

Jasper helped the queen climb into the carriage. ‘First we will visit the Château de Clisson, where Duke Francis has agreed for you to be his guest.’

‘He has agreed to an alliance?’

‘He has, Your Highness, and also to a loan. The duke is an honourable man, and a valued supporter of our cause in these difficult times.’

Later, as Jasper lay in the darkness with Máiréad he admitted the truth. ‘I feared the duke would throw us in his dungeons. He is a deeply suspicious man and didn’t take kindly to my request for money.’

She sat up in his bed, a look of concern on her face. ‘How did you persuade him to help the queen?’

‘Your countrymen won him over, not me. They’ve been training the duke’s men the skirmishing skills they learned in Ireland. They do well, despite their poor command of the language.’

Máiréad lay back beside him. ‘I’ve missed you, Jasper.’

‘And I’ve missed you,’ he put his arm around her, enjoying her warmth, ‘although I’ve thought of you every day, and worried when I heard you were sailing the long way round.’

‘The voyage was a difficult one, Jasper,’ she pulled him closer, ‘we were nearly forced to seek refuge in Ireland—I would have been tempted to jump ship!’

‘I like the sea, but it can be hard,’ he agreed, ‘once all we had to eat were old biscuits riddled with worms.’

‘Well, we made it here. I had grown tired of Scotland, so now I’m looking forward to seeing Brittany.’

‘I forgot to ask after the king,’ Jasper stroked her hair, letting it run through his fingers like silk. ‘How is he?’

‘I must tell you... King Henry is unwell. They found him unconscious in the chapel and thought him dead.’

‘Yet he’s recovered now?’

‘The queen ordered him to be fed by force.’

‘He refused to eat?’ Jasper pondered the consequences of her news. ‘Who watches over the king now?’

‘A bishop. His name is John Kennedy,’ Máiréad put her arm around Jasper to reassure him, ‘a good man, and they say he understands the king’s condition.’

Jasper recalled the queen telling him Bishop Kennedy was one of the few men in Scotland she felt she could trust. At the same time, he secretly doubted it. The bishop’s first loyalty would always be to Queen Mary, as her advisor and deputy in the regency, not to Queen Margaret or King Henry. Now the king could be in danger, not only from York but also from his hostess, the Queen Regent of Scotland, who had much to gain by betraying his trust.

‘I must return to Scotland, to ensure the king’s safety.’

‘What of the queen’s safety?’

‘The queen will be safe enough here in Brittany until I return.’

‘And me?’ She took his hand in hers. ‘I travelled all this way to Brittany to be with you, and now you talk of returning to Scotland?’

‘It’s my duty to safeguard the king. I promise to return as soon as I can, Máiréad, and while I’m away the queen will need you.’

Máiréad ran her finger slowly down his bare chest and pulled him back down onto the bed. ‘And I need you, Jasper Tudor.’

Jasper rubbed grime from the thick leaded glass of the window in Edinburgh Castle and peered down at the maze of narrow streets in the sprawling city below. A few cobwebs needed to be brushed away and the old furniture was past its best, but the room felt warm and comfortable. He suspected he’d arrived at Linlithgow Palace just in time to prevent King Henry being handed over to York. As a precaution, he had moved him to the capital, where a sizeable garrison could be relied on, for now at least.

The king seemed content in Edinburgh with a priest of Jasper’s choosing to replace Bishop Kennedy, who was now effectively Regent of Scotland, as Queen Mary had fallen gravely ill. The priest, John Blacman, spent a year as a Carthusian monk and still wore undyed woollen robes, with the pale scapular which earned them the name of the white monks.

Once Jasper’s tutor, Blacman was now responsible for the education of Prince Edward. Discreet and loyal, Blacman persuaded the king his Carthusian routine offered a better way to follow his faith than long hours of solitary prayer. He rose at first light for
Angelus
, followed by mass in the chapel and
Lectio Divina
, a meditative reading of the Bible. The rest of his day was spent as if he had become a monk, and although his health seemed to be improving, Jasper worried Henry had become detached from his responsibilities in the real world.

He asked the priest to see him in the young prince’s private study, formerly a library. Still lined with shelves of obscure old books, mostly in Latin, it had the advantage of being far enough from the king’s room for them to talk without being overheard.

‘You’ve done well, Master Blacman. The king has suffered none of his lapses since you returned to his service?’

The softly spoken priest nodded in acknowledgement. ‘He has not, my lord.’

‘Thank God! I feared he might not recover but your company seems to rekindle his spirit.’

‘I am grateful, my lord, to be in the service of the king once more, and to be appointed tutor to his son.’

‘I hope Prince Edward will learn how to conduct himself for the day he must become king?’

‘He is a spirited boy.’ The priest nodded knowingly, a shrewd look in his eye. ‘He reminds me more than a little of yourself at the same age.’

Jasper smiled at the thought. ‘We are related, of course, through my mother.’ He decided it was time to raise his concern. ‘I wonder, Master Blacman, if it’s right for the king to live like a monk?’

‘King Henry is most devout, with great humility and knowledge of the scriptures.’ He sounded like a tutor again, his tone firm, as if he was speaking to a boy. ‘He needs the discipline of an ordered life.’

Jasper recalled a time, long ago in Windsor, when John Blacman had shown great patience yet been a hard taskmaster as they struggled with his Latin texts. He and his brother Edmund once lived in awe of him, one of the wisest men they knew. Master Blacman could have become an eminent scholar or turned his hand to politics, yet he had chosen the simple life of faith.

‘As the true anointed king, he needs to understand our situation.’

Blacman held up a hand as he had when Jasper was his pupil. ‘N
os in diem vivimus
, we live day by day. One step at a time, my lord.’

‘It’s good he listens to you.’ Jasper looked directly at Blacman. ‘I wish you to remind him of his duties as king, when you judge the moment to be right.’

Blacman fidgeted with the silver crucifix on a chain around his neck as he replied. ‘I must tell you, my lord, the king shows no interest in worldly matters.’

‘He must.’ Jasper tried to keep the irritation from his voice. ‘We all make sacrifices for the House of Lancaster, Master Blacman. Good men gave their lives, others risk everything in King Henry’s name.’

Blacman stared at the rushes on the floor, avoiding Jasper’s eye. ‘He acts more as the servant of me, a poor priest, than the King of England.’

‘Well, he is still King of England, and one day I will see him back on the throne.’

Jasper had regretfully advised Queen Margaret of the dangers of sending letters or even trusted messengers who might fall into York’s grasping hands. This meant no news came from Brittany and he couldn’t reassure the queen that Henry was recovering well. In the absence of any information he hoped the queen would wait for his return and not compromise negotiations with King Louis by taking matters into her own hands.

Their isolation in Edinburgh Castle also meant news from England was slow to arrive, so Jasper sent Gabriel south to learn what he could of York’s plans. The Irishman proved to be a good listener, although the news he returned with was not good. Gabriel showed none of his usual humour as he described what he had learned.

‘There is no sign yet of York’s army, sir, although I heard the Earl of Worcester, Sir John Tiptoft, has been made Lord High Constable of England. His men are hunting down Lancastrians to charge with treason.’

Jasper shook his head. ‘I knew Tiptoft when he served the king as Lord Treasurer. He is a devious, ambitious man, Gabriel, a dangerous combination. I never trusted him but can see why York chose him to do his dirty work.’

‘They say there are pardons to any who swear allegiance to York. They are executing any who do not, calling them traitors, on Tiptoft’s orders, regardless of rank or position.’

‘We will avenge those who suffer at Tiptoft’s hands one day soon, Gabriel, you can be certain of that.’

‘I also heard a rumour there is to be a truce between York and Scotland. Will we soon be taking the king back with us to France, sir?’

‘I wish we could but the dangers are too great. He will be able to add little to the negotiations, so it’s better for our cause that King Henry is not exiled to France until we have no other choice. This castle is well defended, so for now he is as safe here as anywhere.’

They took the risk of sailing on a merchant ship returning to Harfleur with a cargo of precious sea coal, gathered by women from the seams exposed on beaches and valued for its use in smelting iron. Jasper could easily pass for an Irish adventurer, leaving Gabriel to do most of the talking for them. He had allowed his dark hair and beard to grow unkempt and wore an old leather jerkin with a sailor’s cap.

The voyage began well and they made good time with favourable winds and fair weather. One of the French crew, a weather-beaten sailor, his face still blackened from loading coal, pointed to a fast-moving ship on the horizon as they left the vast expanse of the North Sea and entered the English Channel.

‘Warwick!’

Jasper squinted towards the distant ship but couldn’t make out any flag. ‘How do you know that’s Warwick’s ship?’ He spoke in French, trying to conceal his mastery of the language.

The man pointed again. ‘See the guns, there on the quarter-deck?’ Warwick says he’s keeping the Channel safe from piracy.’ He gave a rasping laugh. ‘But he is the greatest pirate of them all.’

Now they saw the dark barrels of the cannons jutting from the approaching ship. It flew no flag, yet it was likely to belong to the Earl of Warwick, now made Captain of Calais. Ambitious and determined, Warwick knew Jasper from his time at Parliament in Westminster. If he boarded their ship there was a real danger of being recognised.

He turned to the sailor. ‘Do the patrols usually board us?’

‘There is nothing we can do to stop these thieving English,’ the Frenchman spat over the side, ‘last time they seized our cargo.’

 
Warwick’s ship continued to sail on a heading that would take it directly into their path. Jasper saw Gabriel’s frown of concern and an idea occurred to him. ‘We must find the bosun and ask him to put us to work, the dirtier the better.’

They worked busily in the dark, dusty hold, loading canvas sacks with the loose coal, their hands and faces already black from the task. A shouted challenge came from the deck of the patrol ship and the master of the merchantman called back in reply. Warwick’s ship drew alongside and they heard ropes being thrown, soon followed by a commotion of boots on the deck above them as Warwick’s men boarded, shouting orders at the crew.

Daylight flooded the hold as the top hatch banged open. Jasper stared up to see York’s greatest supporter, Sir Richard Neville, looking down at him, armed men to each side. The Earl of Warwick was a flamboyant figure, like a Roman centurion in a flowing, scarlet cape. Jasper felt a shiver of dread as he saw the greed and contempt in Warwick’s dark eyes. One word from him and all would be lost.

‘Is this all there is?’ Warwick spoke in perfect French, an arrogant edge to his voice.

For a moment Jasper thought the question was meant for him, then heard the captain answer.

‘Sea coal, my lord, bound for Normandy.’

‘Nothing else?’

The captain shook his head. ‘I give you my word, my lord.’

‘Your word?’ Warwick scowled at the captain. ‘I will take half for my trouble. Have it loaded to my ship—and don’t try to deceive me, or we will find out how well you can swim!’

The captain began shouting orders, calling for men to help. Warwick left as briskly as he’d come and Jasper realised he had been holding his breath. After the cargo hatch banged closed Gabriel joked about their close shave, yet if Warwick had seen through his disguise he would surely have followed the Earl of Oxford to the executioner’s block on Tower Hill.

As Jasper feared, Queen Margaret had soon tired of the grudging hospitality of Duke Francis and left to visit her father at Angers, some seventy miles inland. It took them two days to reach Duke René’s castle, a magnificent fortified château on the banks of the River Maine, with seventeen high towers, each crowned with distinctive conical tiled roofs.

Duke René greeted them in person when they announced themselves at the buttressed gatehouse. A jovial, portly man, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, Duke René had known both poverty and enormous wealth. As well as Duke of Anjou, he was the Duke of Bar, the Count of Provence and, more controversially, also used the title of King of Jerusalem.

The duke spoke quickly in French, keen to learn of developments in England.

‘Tell me, Sir Jasper, how is my son-in-law?’

‘King Henry is safe in Edinburgh Castle, and I’m pleased to say he is in good health, Duke René, as is Prince Edward.’

‘Ah, a fine boy, do you not think so?’

‘Prince Edward certainly shows spirit.’ Jasper looked around for the queen. ‘I trust your daughter Queen Margaret has arrived safe and well?’

The duke beamed with pride. ‘Indeed she has, and her cousin, King Louis, is already on his way to meet with her.’

He led them through his well-kept rose gardens to the great hall, where Queen Margaret sat surrounded by finely dressed French ladies. Jasper couldn’t see Máiréad, but his attention was caught by an attractive young woman in a richly embroidered gown and a necklace of glittering diamonds, who smiled as their eyes met.

‘Welcome to Angers, Sir Jasper.’ Queen Margaret glanced at the young woman to her side. ‘May I introduce Duchess Jeanne de Laval, my stepmother?’

Jasper knew the wily old duke remarried after the death of Margaret’s mother, although no one told him it was to a woman younger than his own daughter. ‘I am charmed to meet you, my lady.’ Jasper saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes and nodded to Queen Margaret. ‘I wish to meet in private, Your Highness, as there are important matters to discuss.’

‘Of course, Sir Jasper, once you have been able to clean the dust of your journey.’

Jasper realised in his enthusiasm to reach the château he’d not stopped to wash off the traces of black sea coal since arriving in France. His disguise as a mercenary and unkempt beard had become so familiar he had forgotten the strange impression he must make on the duke and his attractive wife.