First of the Tudors

Far from looking grateful, garrulous Mair frowned and left the hall muttering under her breath, the heavy hunk of cheese held in her apron. I guessed that a flirtatious exchange with the men at arms would have provided her with a week’s supply of gossip.

For a short time the three men drank and ate without speaking and I nibbled at a crust of bread and picked at the morsels that had crumbled off the cheese. Jasper was the first to break the silence.

‘As you all appear to know already, my brother the king has granted me the earldom of Pembroke. When I was last here at Tŷ Cerrig I had not expected any such honour and I confess that running such widespread estates is a daunting prospect. There is already an administration in place but I am now in the process of appointing a household and retinue, people I can trust and who will serve me honestly and loyally. That is my main reason for coming here, apart of course from renewing old friendships and family ties. So Hywel, the position of Steward of Pembroke castle is available, which I offer to you if you feel you could combine it with your farming activities.’

He paused and we all looked expectantly at Hywel. As far as I knew few Welsh citizens held an office as high as steward, especially of a castle as important as Pembroke. I had never been there but I was aware that it was a major stronghold, one of a ring of fortresses built around the perimeter of Wales to preserve the English monarchy’s grip on the principality and defend it from outside attack. For the last two hundred years a succession of royal relatives and favourites had been installed as overlords of Pembroke and in return for its revenues had been expected to defend the south west shores of Wales from incursion, as well as dispense justice and keep the peace among the native population. I guessed that Jasper would be the first to try and achieve this with a foot in both camps – as the son of a Welshman and the brother of the king. It would not be easy and my father’s carefully worded reaction offered evidence of why.

‘I am grateful that you should consider me worthy of the honour, Lord Jasper,’ he said gruffly, ‘but with regret I must decline. Since your last visit, sadly my wife’s father, Emrys, has died and I have assumed control of her lands as well as my own. I would be unable to devote the necessary time to administering a castle of the size and importance of Pembroke, to say nothing of overseeing its estates in your lordship’s inevitable absences. I hope you will forgive my refusal and accept my apologies.’

In deference to Jasper’s presence we were speaking English and I was impressed by my father’s diplomacy in wording his rejection so tactfully in a language that was not his native tongue. I knew that Welsh had been his only language until he followed his cousin Owen Tudor to England to serve Queen Catherine, but since then, with my mother’s help, as well as English he had acquired a smattering of French. This and his comprehensive grasp of land-use would have made him a very suitable candidate for the job of Pembroke’s seneschal.

Jasper seemed undaunted by his response. ‘I cannot say I am surprised by your answer, Hywel,’ he said. ‘You are right to put the needs of your family and farms first. My condolences on the death of your father-in-law but congratulations on what I am sure you hope will be another son. However, even though I cannot count on your services, I trust you will retain an attachment to my affinity and that I may call on our family ties should the need ever arrive.’

By that I took him to mean military support in time of trouble and it might have been a cue for Hywel to offer his oath of allegiance but my father made no move to make it. Instead he nodded slowly and acquiesced rather half-heartedly. ‘I would not ignore your call, cousin,’ he said. ‘And I wish you well in your endeavours.’

His tone implied that he did not believe success was very likely but again Jasper chose not to notice. ‘Thank you, Hywel. I know you will be anxious to return to your sheep but there is one other matter that I must place before you. I would also like to offer Maredudd a position as a squire in my retinue. I realize this would take him away from the farm and from his roots but I am hoping that the opportunities it would offer him to expand his horizons and learn new skills will sway your decision and that you will allow him to go.’

Hywel turned to look at his son, who had become pink with excitement. Like me, Maredudd was obviously keen to explore the wider world. ‘Remember that you were permitted to follow Owen Tudor to England, Father,’ he said breathlessly and in Welsh, before Hywel could speak. ‘I too need a chance to spread my wings and Dai is growing more capable by the day.’

Hywel replied in the same language, while Jasper glanced from one to the other trying to fathom what was said. ‘I do not forget my service to Queen Catherine and the advantages it brought me, son, but I cannot afford to lose your labour on the farm unless the rich new lord pays for your absence so that I can hire a man to replace you. Ask him.’

Maredudd shook his head, scowling. ‘No, you ask him. He says I can only go if you say so.’

Jasper looked at me, one eyebrow raised in query. Torn between loyalty to my father and a sudden urge to support Jasper, I found myself opting for the latter, mainly due to what I considered to be my father’s discourtesy in using a language that he knew his guest did not understand. Learned at my mother’s knee, my French was fluent and I knew Jasper had learned his the same way, so I decided to present Hywel with a taste of his own treatment, knowing he could only follow simple French, spoken slowly.

‘They are arguing about money.’ I said quickly to Jasper. ‘My father says he cannot afford to lose Maredudd’s labour unless you finance someone to replace him. In other words he wants you to pay him for the privilege of taking his son away. You could call it extortion.’

To my surprise Jasper grinned and responded in equally swift French, causing both my father and brother to glower in frustration. ‘I would not call it that. I was going to offer compensation anyway but they started gabbling away to each other and I did not like to interrupt.’ He switched to English and turned his smile on Hywel. ‘Now that I know what you were talking about let me put your mind at rest, cousin. I confess that it would be of great comfort to me to have a family member among my close companions but of course I would not take Maredudd away from the farm without offering you some form of financial compensation. Once I know that he is willing to swear allegiance to me we can talk money – preferably in a language we can all understand.’

He fixed my brother with a searching, sapphire gaze, speaking with a new solemnity. ‘If you are to become one of my squires of the body, Maredudd, an oath of allegiance is essential. I have seen your interest in armour and your skill with the bow, and I know your honesty and enthusiasm, but are you prepared to put your hands between mine and swear to serve me, Jasper Earl of Pembroke, faithfully and to the exclusion of all others? Without that solemn oath we cannot continue.’

Judging by his expression Maredudd was experiencing inner turmoil. He was acutely aware of our father’s ambivalence towards this Tudor cousin, half-brother to an English king, whose Lancastrian forefathers had within living memory brought ruin and deprivation to Wales. To swear allegiance to Jasper now might in the future mean having to abandon his natural allegiance to his father. In an agony of indecision Maredudd frowned fiercely at me, seeking my opinion and I responded with an almost indecipherable nod. I hoped God would forgive me for disloyalty to my father, but I could not believe that the attributes I discerned in Jasper – honour, integrity and a sense of justice – could set a bad example to my brother or lead him into actions that were incompatible with his family obligations.

After another moment’s hesitation Maredudd slipped around the table, went down on one knee and placed his hands between those of the new Earl of Pembroke.

* * *

Looking back I can see that this was the start of a subtle change in my own sense of duty and at the earliest opportunity I sought out Maredudd, anxious to gauge his true attitude towards Jasper. Shortly after pledging his new allegiance, he and Hywel had gone back to the sheepfold so it was not until near dusk that I spied him from the hall window, alone and bare-chested, standing over a pail by the dairy cistern. Knowing that he would once more be covered in sheep-grease, I took soap, rough linen rags and a jug of hot water from the hearth kettle and carried them down to him.

He was appreciative but puzzled. ‘This is an unexpected kindness, sis,’ he said, immediately making use of all three items, scrubbing at his hands and arms. ‘Any particular reason?’

I dragged a milking-stool from the dairy and sat down. Maredudd was nearing his eighteenth birthday and I noticed how muscular his torso had become since I had last seen him shirtless during the previous year’s sheep-walk. ‘I wondered how you felt now that you are Lord Jasper’s man,’ I replied. ‘What did our father say to you?’

His teeth gleamed in the twilight. ‘Probably the same as you are about to say now.’

‘You do not know what I am going to say,’ I protested.

‘I can guess though. You are going to accuse me of disloyalty, of abandoning my blood ties.’

I shrugged. ‘If that is what our father said I am not surprised, but it is not what I would say.’ Maredudd paused in his ablutions, one eyebrow raised in query. I continued, ‘I asked how you felt with your hands between Jasper’s while you made your oath of allegiance. Did you feel as if you were betraying your family?’

‘No, I did not because I regard him as family. His father and mine are of the same blood and becoming a squire in Jasper’s retinue is a means of improving my status. I do not want to remain a yeoman farmer all my life, as our father obviously does.’

At this I detected a hint of scorn in his voice and I could not let it go unchallenged. ‘I think he regards himself as a gentleman farmer and sees a wider picture. As a boy he heard the stories of Glyn Dŵr’s rebellion and his own father’s struggle to rebuild his life and he blames the Lancastrian kings. Jasper is brother to a Lancastrian king.’

‘Half brother,’ Maredudd corrected me. ‘And the other half is Welsh and our blood relative. He straddles the two nations and so can I. Perhaps Lord Jasper is YMab Daragon as some bards sing. Perhaps he truly is the Son of Prophecy come to restore the pride of the Welsh nation. People are beginning to think so.’

I had always seen something special in Jasper Tudor but it was not that. My reasons for favouring him were more personal, more heartfelt than lodged in legend, but I was not going to reveal my heart to my brother, who would only mock me for it. ‘Who are these people?’ I asked. ‘Ruffians and hotheads from the Abermaw taverns?’

Maredudd shook his hands and drops of water flew in all directions, some of it sprinkling my face and cap. ‘There is a poet,’ he said defensively, grabbing a dry towel he had draped over the dairy door. ‘His name is Lewys Glyn Cothi and he is a farmer’s son like me but he has the bard’s gift of song. He is making a name for himself among the local gentry and I have let it be known that he would be welcome here.’

‘Really?’ Bards travelled the country singing and reciting legend, verse and polemic of varying literary, musical and political merit. We had never received a visit from one, Hywel being uninterested in such ‘riff-raff’ as he called them. ‘When will he come, do you know?’

‘As soon as he gets wind of Lord Jasper’s presence I should imagine,’ said Maredudd. ‘Bards like to sing for people with money and influence and at present they do not come any richer or more influential in Wales than the Earl of Pembroke.’ He aimed an entreating smile at me. ‘Be a good girl, Sian, and fetch my best blue doublet. I do not like to parade through the dairy half-dressed in front of Mair – it gets her far too excited. By the way, I hope the fact that you are loitering down here does not mean that supper will be late.’

Incensed by this lordly attitude I picked up the pail of warm water, now containing only tepid dregs, and threw them at him, soaking his braies. He objected loudly and made fruitless efforts to dry himself off but I ignored him, declaring, ‘There will be no supper until our father and Lord Jasper have finished talking about money in the hall. But I will fetch your doublet, my lord Maredudd –’ I bobbed him a sarcastic curtsy ‘– if you fetch the cask of wine Jasper says his men unloaded earlier. It should be down at the stables somewhere. It seems Father wants to toast your departure!’

In fact, Mair was no longer in the dairy but I could hear footsteps descending the steep stair from the hall so I dumped the pail in the stone sink and hurried to see who it was, hoping to encounter Jasper. Sure enough he was striding out of the farmhouse entrance as I scurried up behind him.

‘Lord Jasper, I was hoping to catch you.’

He spun around, smiling. ‘Jane – never far away!’

‘You will stay here with us I hope – not ride off to Abermaw with your entourage.’

‘Your father has just invited me. He offered to vacate the solar in my favour but I said that a pallet on the byre floor would be perfectly adequate, as it was before.’

‘Oh good,’ I said with relief. ‘That means I can sleep in the hall as usual. I will start supper directly. We have some little birds that Evan netted this morning.’

‘You are never at a loss, Jane, are you?’ he remarked, fixing me with his laughing blue eyes. ‘I think you could victual an army in a desert. If you were a man I believe I would make you Steward of Pembroke Castle.’

I felt my knees become suddenly unreliable and clutched at the doorpost for support, inwardly ordering my wayward female instincts to behave. This charming, snake-hipped, copper-topped cousin might once have been within my reach but now that he was a belted earl he had soared way above it. I might look and I might yearn but I told myself sternly that I had to keep my feelings under control, like the household I ran so proudly.

I managed a balanced curtsy and a modest bow of the head. ‘And I would gladly serve you, my lord,’ I said.

7 (#ulink_7a0f01d5-de4f-5448-b315-2428552e8f3a)

Jasper (#ulink_7a0f01d5-de4f-5448-b315-2428552e8f3a)

Clarendon Palace, Wiltshire; Dinefŵr Castle, South Wales

WE HAD BEEN TAKING a break at Clarendon Hunting Lodge during another royal progress when the sickness came on. The king had enjoyed a good day’s sport: he was weary but cheerful after a strenuous day in the saddle. Queen Marguerite was close to giving birth, an event Henry awaited with joyous trepidation. The child must have been conceived, I secretly congratulated myself, within weeks of our hippocras-fuelled Christmas tête à tête. But Henry’s contentment on that evening in Wiltshire was to be short-lived. An urgent letter was brought for his immediate attention just before supper was due. I noticed that as he perused the letter his body seemed to shrink within his doublet, his face drained of colour and his eyes grew wide, the lids blinking frantically as if his mind could not comprehend the contents of the page. I rushed forward to catch him as his knees buckled, the letter falling to the floor …

My first thought was that the queen had suffered a stillbirth but as I frantically loosened the neck of Henry’s chemise I was vaguely aware that someone had snatched up the letter and was muttering details from it. ‘Disastrous defeat in Gascony … army routed … Shrewsbury killed. Jesu save us – France is lost!’

Terrible news indeed – the room erupted around me – but my chief concern was Henry’s extreme reaction to it and for several heart-stopping moments I feared he was dead. I searched desperately for signs of life. ‘Send for the Physician!’ I yelled over the confusion, patting my brother’s chalk-white cheeks and putting my fingers under his nose to check for breathing. Bending closer, I detected a sigh of air escaping from his nostrils and began to breathe more steadily myself. Whatever fit or apoplexy the king had suffered he was not dead, it was his sovereignty over France that had suffered a fatal blow.

England’s defeat by French forces outside a town called Castillion added the loss of Aquitaine to that of Normandy, Maine and Anjou, and with it the city of Bordeaux and the all-important wine trade. The dreadful realization of the almost total loss of his father’s glorious French legacy seemed to have robbed Henry of his wits; somehow his mind had become frozen and refused to function. His doctors over the coming days were utterly perplexed, unable to offer any remedy except for the usual cuppings and bleedings, which achieved little other than to render him more feeble and listless. He ate and drank if nourishment was put before him but was otherwise unresponsive and had to be guided from room to room, apparently unaware of where he was or who was with him. After extensive discussion within the Royal Household, we took him in a closed carriage to the security of Windsor Castle, where I left him in the care of two long-standing and faithful servants and hurried to Westminster to call an emergency meeting of the Privy Council in the king’s name.