Jasper (13 page)

After escaping the battle they had not stopped or looked back once, riding hard through the night until they reached the North Wales coast. Claiming they were Irish sailors looking for a ship home, Gabriel sold their horses to pay for food and lodgings at a tavern close to the Flintshire harbour of Mostyn, on the estuary of the River Dee.

Jasper bound his two broken fingers together with a cotton bandage, torn from his shirt. He’d lost his sword in the battle but was otherwise unharmed. Still shocked by their traumatic, crushing defeat, Jasper felt deep regret at his decision to take on Herbert’s army. He thanked God they managed to escape, but the thought of the good men who died for their cause troubled him deeply.

He crossed to the small window of the room they shared and stared out. The tide was on its way in and an early sunrise shimmered across the estuary, an impossibly tranquil scene after the horrors of their recent battle. He pulled on his boots and left Gabriel sleeping while he strolled to the water’s edge where cormorants stretched their wings like black ghosts. Some might see them as a bad omen but Jasper scorned such superstition.

Instead he scanned the fishing boats moored in the shallow bay, looking for one capable of the long voyage around the coast back to Barmouth, where he prayed their ships would still be waiting. They had no choice but to take a low price for their horses and their remaining money was dwindling fast, so now they must work their passage or take their chances in a less seaworthy boat.

The problem was that all the boats stayed in the estuary, so they would have to risk moving on to Conwy, some thirty miles to the west, despite the danger of being spotted by Yorkist sympathisers. Jasper guessed Herbert’s men would have already discovered he wasn’t among the dead or captured, and by now would have offered a generous reward for his capture.

He examined his right hand with its already discoloured bandage and saw the sun glint on the ring on his little finger. A gift from King Henry when he was a boy, the solid gold ring once belonged to their mother. In his youth his fingers were as slender as hers, but as he grew he had moved it to his smallest finger, where it remained, even when he was arrested after the surrender of Bamburgh.

Now he pulled it off and studied it closely for the first time in years. Any jeweller could tell it was made from fine gold, perhaps even enough to pay for a boat, if not a ship. He returned to their lodgings with new purpose. The ring was the only thing of value he now possessed, and all he owned to remind him of his mother, but with luck it could change his future.

The old sailboat was small, its lateen sail torn and inexpertly patched, and the price too high, yet Jasper felt his black mood lift for the first time as they cast off into the seaweed littered estuary of the River Dee and headed west along the Welsh coast. His mother’s ring paid for a cured ham, two flagons of ale and a loaf of bread, as well as their elderly craft. There was no money for a crew, although they had all made plenty of sea crossings, often in challenging conditions.

‘How hard can it be?’ Gabriel asked, as he took the helm and chose a course that took them far enough from the rocky coast but not out of sight of the shore.

‘You shall have your answer soon enough.’ Jasper pulled on the halyard to improve the set of the sail and tied it off securely. ‘At least the weather seems in our favour.’

‘How long do you think it will take us?’

‘Barmouth is only seventy miles as the crow flies but much further by sea.’ He scanned the huge expanse of ocean ahead of them. ‘We need to go through the Menai Strait and around Llwn Peninsula before we might have sight of our ships.’

‘Do you think they will have waited for us?’ Gabriel frowned. ‘It seems a long time has passed since we left them, and I can’t see this little boat making it across the Irish Sea if they’re not there.’

‘Have faith, Gabriel, with God’s grace our ships will be there.’

The weather changed for the worse as they sailed around the limestone Great Orme headland into a headwind that whipped the waves into foaming crests. Gabriel battled to keep them on course while Jasper watched the sail. A wave crashed over the bows, swamping them both and sluicing across the deck, soaking their supplies and washing a keg of ale overboard. Gabriel swore as it vanished.

‘Can you swim?’

‘Like a fish, sir.’ Gabriel laughed as another wave hit them hard, almost stopping the little boat. ‘I’m from Waterford, remember?’ He looked wistful. ‘As a boy I spent as much time in the water as out of it.’

‘I never learned to swim,’ Jasper admitted, and now I wish I had.’

Each new wave seemed to take longer to drain from the deck, flooded to the depth of their ankles. As a precaution he took a length of mooring rope and fastened it around his middle, tying the other end tightly around the mast.

‘You must be quick with your knife if this tub goes down, sir.’ Gabriel seemed to be enjoying the challenge of helming through such rough waters.

At last the shape of Ynys Mon appeared on the horizon. More by luck than skill they had sailed the length of the coast of North Wales without capsizing their old boat. Exhausted and soaked to the skin, they gladly found a sheltered bay in the lee of the island and headed inshore to take a well-earned rest and recover their strength.

Jasper woke to the raucous calling of seagulls overhead and felt the boat rocking gently in the swell. His hair and clothes felt damp and stiff with salt and there was no sign of Gabriel. Looking over the side he saw their boat was still anchored and afloat in less than a foot of water. He heard splashing and looked across to the beach to see Gabriel wading back, his boots tied around his shoulders, carrying a muslin sack.

‘Permission to come aboard, sir?’

‘I knew you’d jump ship as soon as you had the chance.’ Jasper helped him clamber back and watched as he produced a freshly baked loaf from the bag, two apples and a round of cheese.

‘There’s a farm a short way from the beach, so I’ve spent the last of our money.’

‘We must go before they tell anyone they’ve seen you. Beaumaris Castle is close by and could be full of York’s soldiers. My father lived here once. He used to say news travels faster on this little island than
a cutpurse on market day.
’

Gabriel heaved their anchor from the sea while Jasper raised the tattered sail to the top of the mast. There was little enough breeze but he was relieved to see they drifted with the current towards the fast-flowing waters of the Menai Strait. Jasper studied the troubled water ahead and recalled his father telling him how he saw several shipwrecks during his time at Beaumaris.

He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf, then cut the thick rind from the cheese with his dagger. It tasted good and was the first thing he’d eaten other than ham since they set out from Mostyn, as their other loaf had been ruined by seawater. He cut another slice and handed it to Gabriel on the tiller.

‘We need to watch out for dangerous shoals and rocks, and strange tides from the Irish Sea.’

‘I will keep a look out,’ Gabriel nodded as he ate, ‘but it’s too late to turn back now, sir.’

Jasper pulled the bung from their one remaining cask of ale and drank deeply, then took a turn at the helm so Gabriel could drink. The sun burst over the high mountains to their left, reminding him of even greater dangers on the land. He imagined Lord Herbert would have reached Harlech by now, and said a prayer for the men there. Fewer than fifty remained to defend the castle, and although the massive stone walls would withstand even the most modern artillery, the men inside must fear for their lives. His reverie was interrupted by a shout from Gabriel.

‘Rocks,’ he pointed, ‘over there, sticking out of the water!’

Jasper leaned on the tiller and their boat lurched to starboard. The black, seaweed-covered rocks were directly in their path, emerging from the shallow waters like dragons teeth with each new wave. He braced himself as they scraped down the side with an ominous scraping as they gouged their old wooden hull.

Too late, he realised they should have waited for the ebb tide, as the current rushed through the narrow strait in a flood, creating eddies and emerald green whirlpools. Although there was still only a light breeze to fill the sail they were racing along and he strained on the tiller to keep them out of the shallows.

The boat shuddered as he failed and the keel scraped hard as they ran aground then lifted again with the next three-foot wave, surging against the stern and thrusting them into the deeper channel. Gabriel grabbed their last keg, which was about to be washed away, and toppled backwards with a yell over the low gunwale, swiftly carried off in the fast-flowing current. Jasper saw the Irishman’s head disappear under the waves, then bob up again some distance away, spluttering and cursing but still holding onto the wooden cask as if his life depended on it.

‘I’m coming for you!’ Jasper tried to turn the boat but another wave hit and he lost sight of Gabriel.

He scanned the churning water and spotted Gabriel’s head as he tried to swim towards the boat. Jasper threw the anchor over the side and took the coiled mooring rope. Although the distance between them was closing he saw Gabriel was tiring.

Keeping a firm grip on one end, he flung the rope as far as he could. It fell well short but Gabriel saw it and made a last determined effort to reach the end before it sank below the waves. Jasper felt the rope go taut and it nearly pulled through his hands as he took the strain. He managed to take a turn of rope around his good hand and then used the thick wooden mast to take the weight as Gabriel struggled to pull himself closer.

At last a hand gripped the rail and Gabriel pulled himself aboard, needing every ounce of his strength, and collapsed exhausted on the deck, soaked through. Jasper helped him sit upright.

‘I thought you were lost.’

Gabriel grinned. ‘Not this time, but we’ve lost our ale.’ Although he tried to sound cheerful, he was lucky to be alive.

Jasper pulled up the anchor and took the helm again, trying his best to follow the darker water of the deep channel. His arm ached where he’d strained it saving Gabriel but it was a small price to pay, when men had given their lives. He couldn’t help asking himself if it had all been worth it. He had turned the people of Denbigh against the true king and left the last Lancastrian Castle in Wales dangerously vulnerable.

They sailed through the Menai Strait in little more than an hour but light winds meant it was well past noon before they rounded the jutting promontory of the Llwn Peninsula. They both scanned the horizon for any sign of their ships and Jasper felt a deep foreboding. If their ships were gone, they faced an impossible choice between landfall on the Welsh coast, right under the nose of Lord Herbert’s army or risking the crossing to Ireland, which would be perilous in their small sailboat.

‘Our ships, sir.’ Gabriel pointed, his voice filled with relief.

Jasper looked out to sea and recognised the ships that brought them to Wales. They had waited, and he mumbled a prayer of thanks to God as he steered a course towards them. His mission might have been a failure but he had learned some hard lessons he would never forget.

Jasper returned from his long and dangerous sea voyage to discover accounts of his exploits in Wales had preceded him, with more than a little elaboration. As the leader of their only active resistance, however futile,
he had
become the talk of the exiled Lancastrian court. The queen even unsuccessfully petitioned King Louis to send him money.
Troubled by the misrepresentations of his adventures, he wished the queen to understand York’s hold on the country was so entrenched it would take more than recruiting more men.

Queen Margaret’s court had become the last refuge for Lancastrian nobles escaping the hazards of life under York’s regime, and each new arrival fed the court’s insatiable appetite for news. Jasper was intrigued to be invited to a meeting with the latest refugee from England, none other than Sir
Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, who wished to reveal matters of the greatest importance for their cause.

Although Holland helped him escape to Ireland, Jasper had found it troubling that he was married to Edward of York’s eldest sister. Such doubts were all forgotten now as, like Jasper, Henry Holland had been attainted by York as a traitor, his lands all confiscated for his disloyal wife. He wore a gold Lancastrian chain around his neck and pheasant’s tail feathers in his cap, which he removed with a flamboyant gesture as he bowed before the queen. Holland seemed less arrogant than Jasper remembered although there was still the glint of ambition in his eye as he addressed them both.

‘I regret to report, Your Highness,
King Henry has been captured by York’s men and is again held prisoner in the Tower of London.’ The duke seemed disappointed at the queen’s reaction. ‘It was not unexpected?’

Queen Margaret shook her head. ‘Do you know if the king is treated well?’ The coldness in her voice raised the hairs on Jasper’s neck.

Holland seemed not to notice. ‘I understand he is content enough with his prayer books and devotions, Your Highness. I’ve not seen him, although I understand he has been allowed a priest for company.’

He glanced at Jasper. ‘Warwick made him ride to London wearing a straw hat, his legs tied to the stirrups, but his foolishness earned him the anger of the people.’ Henry Holland smiled. ‘King Henry still has more support from the people than I dared to hope.’

‘Warwick will pay for his insolence.’ The queen spoke in French, the anger in her voice causing Sir Henry to raise an eyebrow.

‘If the rumours I hear are true, Your Highness, York has already begun to curb the power of the Nevilles.’

‘I’ve heard the rumours.’ The queen sounded dismissive. ‘People tell me Warwick was insulted over the secret marriage of York to the Woodville woman.’ She shook her head, dismissing the idea. ‘I suspect he is more concerned about the appointments of her family members because it erodes his power in England.’

Jasper recalled his last meeting with Warwick, and his close escape at the hands of his younger brother, Sir John Neville. ‘I wonder, Your Highness, if this cannot be turned to our advantage?’

The queen nodded. ‘King Louis meets regularly with Warwick, which would surely make York uncomfortable?’ She put her hand on Jasper’s arm. ‘It is time for you to see what can be made of Warwick’s disloyalty.’

‘What did you have in mind, Your Highness?’

‘Warwick is a hothead, a vengeful man. They say he made Edward king. If anyone will unmake him, it’s the Earl of Warwick, and if anyone can outwit Warwick, it’s my cousin, King Louis.’

‘I shall leave tomorrow, my lady, and see what can be done.’

Jasper had grown bored of the gossip of the court in exile and welcomed the chance to travel again. This time it would be as the queen’s ambassador, rather than as a soldier. As he left the royal apartments to make the arrangements he reflected on the queen’s words. It seemed he must welcome an alliance with the man who mocked King Henry so publicly.

He declined Henry Holland’s offer to accompany him, suggesting instead that Sir Henry should spend time at the court of his distant cousin, Charles, made Duke of Burgundy following the death of his father. Although Charles had recently married Edward’s sister Margaret of York, he claimed to favour neither side, and Sir Henry’s task was to make sure this was how it stayed.

For his part Jasper planned to recall his Valois inheritance with King Louis. The King of France had a reputation for mischief making yet also loved nothing better than to outwit his enemies, a game Jasper now knew was far better than risking the lives of two thousand men.

Henry Holland also told him privately that Harlech Castle was lost, the rebel leaders dragged to London in chains and executed. It had not ended there, for Lord Herbert took his revenge for what happened at Denbigh by burning towns and villages across the north of Wales that supported the Lancastrian cause. The word was that some might never recover and William Herbert now ruled Wales unopposed.

Château d'Amboise, the favourite country residence of King Louis, in the wooded valley of the Loire, had once been a great palace. Now neglected, the gardens were an overgrown wilderness, with weeds and young self-seeded trees growing through the marbled paving. Many of the rooms were locked and barred, their furniture covered with linen sheets and the windows barred and shuttered.

Jasper waited for several days and still saw no sign of the king, although after frequent enquiries Queen Charlotte eventually agreed to an audience. Curious to meet the French queen, after hearing so many conflicting accounts, he hoped to learn when she expected the king to return.

Surrounded by her coterie of noble ladies, Queen Charlotte was half the age of her husband. Although Henry Holland told him she was unlikely to excite a man, Jasper was struck by how she radiated the special beauty shared by women close to giving birth. The queen’s shimmering blue satin gown drew attention to her swollen middle and her fashionably tall pointed hat was draped with gossamer so light it floated in the air as she moved. She spoke in French and smiled as she stroked a small lap-dog.

‘Sir Jasper Tudor. We are honoured to welcome you to our court.’

Jasper removed his cap and bowed. ‘Thank you, Your Highness. I am grateful for your kind hospitality.’

The queen regarded him with
expressive pale blue eyes
, as if not certain if he was joking. ‘The king is hunting,’ she looked out of the high, arched window to the castle grounds, towards the distant wooded hills, ‘sometimes he goes hunting for days, forgetting me and his duties.’ There was a hint of humour in her soft voice.

‘I’ve learned to be patient, Your Highness, particularly with regard to the king.’

She laughed and gestured for Jasper to be seated. ‘As have we all.’ She fed her dog a morsel of food from a silver dish. ‘You are not married, Sir Jasper?’

Jasper smiled at her unexpected question. ‘I shall find a bride one day, Your Highness, once my lands are restored.’ He noticed her glance at her ladies-in-waiting and suspected they might have been discussing him.

‘I was only one year old when I was betrothed to Frederick of Saxony,’ she smiled absent-mindedly at the thought, ‘I never married him. It was my destiny, you see, to become Queen of France, and I was nine when I married Louis. He was the dauphin then, but I always knew he would be king.’

‘
Amor fati
. Sometimes we must be guided by our destiny, Your Highness.’

‘Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time.’ She seemed to be addressing her little dog rather than Jasper.

He recalled the quotation. ‘Twining strands of fate weave together our existence and the things that happen to us.’ He had heard Queen Charlotte owned one of the finest libraries in France, yet her knowledge of Marcus Aurelius impressed him.

Her eyes met his and a rare connection flashed between them, unnoticed by her watching ladies, the bond of kindred spirits.

Queen Charlotte continued as if nothing had happened. ‘And you, Sir Jasper. What is your destiny?’

Again her question surprised him. ‘My mother was Queen Catherine of Valois, so it may be destiny that brought me here to know more of my family in France.’

‘King Louis has need of men like you, Sir Jasper.’ She picked up her little dog and seemed to be addressing it. ‘He despairs of his self-serving advisors, who tell him what they think he wants to hear.’ He saw an unexpected pleading in her eyes. ‘You would also be doing a great service to me if you help him find an agreement with Duke Charles. I am sure he will be most appreciative to have you at his side.’

‘I am honoured to serve the king, my lady.’

She let her lap-dog jump to the floor. It ran up to Jasper and he went down on one knee to stroke it. The little dog seemed to like it and looked up at him with bright eyes, then gave him a friendly lick, wagging its tail.

‘I can see you are a good man, Sir Jasper. You are most welcome in our household.’

‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

King Louis’ soiled hunting clothes meant he could easily be mistaken for a farm worker were it not for his ebullient presence the moment he entered the room.

‘Tudor.’ He embraced Jasper. ‘You find me in good spirits, and I hear you have been entertaining my wife?’

‘Queen Charlotte has been a perfect hostess, Your Highness.’

‘You seem to have made a good impression on her.’ There was no hint of disapproval in his voice. King Louis clapped his hands to summon servants. ‘Bring wine—no, bring us ale.’ he grinned at Jasper. ‘You are a soldier, you prefer a jug of ale?’

‘I would, Your Highness.’

‘Take a seat, we have much to discuss. How is my cousin, Queen Margaret?’

‘She is well, with the grace of God, and sends her warmest regards.’

A boy brought ale and pewter tankards and they waited while he filled and offered one to the king, then the other to Jasper.

King Louis drained nearly half his tankard and held it out for his servant to refill.

‘I heard King Henry is imprisoned in London. Is it true?’

‘He is, Your Highness.’ Jasper nodded. ‘I fear for his health and pray for him every day.’

‘We must see what can be done, Tudor. I will speak to the Earl of Warwick when I see him next.’

‘My understanding, Your Highness, is that Warwick’s men captured King Henry and placed him in the Tower of London.’

‘Let me tell you something of the Earl of Warwick, Tudor. He looks at Queen Charlotte and sees a brood mare, nothing more.’ King Louis took another drink and gave a satisfied belch. ‘He looks at Edward of York, tall and handsome, and thinks he makes a good king.’ He stabbed a finger at his own chest. ‘I am not tall, and have never been described as handsome, and I know the Earl of Warwick takes me for a fool because of it. You are different, Tudor. You are family, and I can count on your loyalty?’

‘Indeed you can, Your Highness.’ Jasper judged the moment to be right. ‘I wish to spend time in your service, if you will allow me?’

‘Of course.’ He gave Jasper a knowing look. ‘Between us, we will be more than a match for the Duke of Burgundy, and then we will deal with England.’ He cursed in French. ‘Edward of York thinks he can deceive me?’ His voice was raised.

Jasper took another drink of ale. He’d not forgotten how Queen Margaret tried to deceive King Louis with her promise of Calais. ‘Warwick is his weakness, Your Highness.’

King Louis narrowed his eyes. ‘And the Earl of Warwick knows where York is at his weakest.’