"It is not true. He has gone away because he does not love us any longer."
"No, my son. Uncle Jasper will always love you."
"Then, tell him to come back. Tell him I am sick."
The grey eyes shone shrewd in the little face. He remembered well how even his slightest indisposition had brought a worried Jasper to his side, how he could win any concession from his uncle when he was ill. Margaret had a strong suspicion that Henry had often made himself ill, crying himself into a fever to play Jasper against her and to win some coveted trifle from his softhearted uncle. It was too much. Her iron control broke.
"He cannot come." Margaret wept. "There has been a war, and the new king has taken away your estates and says you are no longer Richmond. He has taken away Uncle Jasper's estates, too, and would kill him if he returned home."
She did not know how much this would mean to the child, but if it prevented him from plaguing her and making himself ill, it would mean enough. The dangerous sparkle died out of Henry's eyes; they resumed a more normal, speculative glow.
"Uncle Henry is no longer the king?"
"He is the true king, just as you are the true earl of Richmond. But evil men can deprive kings, and earls, of their birthright."
"Then, the new king is an evil man?"
This was dangerous talk, even for a seven-year-old. "No, no," she hastened to amend. "It is hard for a little boy to understand. You see, Uncle Henry was not really a good king. A good king must be clever, and Uncle Henry, alas, is not clever at all. He did things that were unwise, which hurt all the people in this country. Perhaps King Edward did a bad thing when he took Uncle Henry's crown away, but he did it for a good reason—to make the country safer. Sometimes it is necessary to do a bad thing so that good may come of it. Now, Henry, we must not talk of this anymore, and you must never speak of it to anyone. To no one, ever." She looked into the child's puzzled face. "You know there are things that children must not do that grown-up people may. To speak of kings is one of these things."
As Edward IV's grip on the kingdom grew more secure, he grew less fearful of Buckingham and of the rebelliousness of the Welsh. He wanted Henry as a weapon to bring Jasper to heel. Then again, with his claim to the throne, Henry might even become a danger to himself. With this in mind, the king sent letters to Margaret offering her a place at court among his queen's ladies-in-waiting and a place for Henry among his henchmen. Margaret replied that she was grateful but that she did not love the life at court. Moreover, Henry was a frail child of delicate health and could not bear the heavy air of the city. Then, secretly one night, they fled Pembroke to the remote vastness of Harlech.
This move kept them free for some years more, but in the end Edward's man took Harlech and Henry became Lord Herbert's prisoner. But Lord Herbert was no fool. He knew the value of the pawn he held and allowed the boy every freedom he could, seeing to it that little Henry had the finest instructors in every branch of learning, in archery, swordsmanship, and jousting. He gave him rich gifts of arms and books. Margaret's fears ebbed under Herbert's mild wardenship, only to rise up with renewed strength when he was killed in one of the innumerable skirmishes that plagued the unsettled times.
Who would come to take his place? No one came. Margaret was not greatly surprised. She had heard that Edward's strongest ally, the earl of Warwick, had turned against him. His throne was again in danger, and he had neither time nor men to spare. But the winds of rumor blew into a gale, reaching even to Harlech. Margaret rejoiced when Warwick, now a sworn upholder of the Lancastrian cause, landed in Devonshire.
Wales welcomed Jasper as England welcomed Warwick. Now it was Edward's turn to flee, and Jasper returned to his beloved Margaret and Henry, bearing news of the restoration of Henry VI. Would the nephew he had not seen for almost ten years remember him? His fears fell away as the young man embraced him with a child's abandon.
"Uncle Jasper! Uncle Jasper!"
"Harry! Let me go. Let me look at you." Jasper laughed, returning the embrace as warmly as it was given. How could he be formal with this impetuous boy?
They stood with clasped hands, gazing at each other, only to embrace again.
"Am I to have no share in this welcoming?"
"Margaret. How beautiful you've grown!"
"Listen to your uncle, Henry. See how he knows just the balm to apply to a wounded woman?"
Henry flushed slightly. Margaret had been teaching him courtly speeches, but for once he did not learn readily. He was graceful and could bow and kiss a hand with the best, but to offer flowery compliments to his mother seemed unnatural, and he had little opportunity to talk to other women. Margaret kept gentlewomen in her service, but none of sufficient rank to marry her son. She was truly pious, and her sense of duty kept Henry's contact with these women to a minimum. Had her son turned his eyes to the serving maids, she might have looked aside—or she might not. The question never arose; they were too coarse, too unclean, too stupid or uneducated for Henry's taste.
"You are not betrothed, are you, Harry?" Jasper had remarked the flush.
"No."
Was there a shade of regret in eyes and voice? Margaret's trill of laughter caught Jasper's attention before he could decide.
"Indeed he is not. Lord Herbert raised the question twice before he died, but each time Henry took to his bed with a fever, so the trip was put off."
That raised a new anxiety. "Are you often sick, my boy?"
Margaret laughed even more heartily, and Henry flushed again. "When it pleases him," she said.
"You have never taken his frailty seriously enough, Margaret!" Jasper retorted unfairly. "When we go to London, I will have the king's physicians attend him. We will find the seat of these troubles and drive them out."
"To London?" Henry asked. But a troubled Jasper was studying his flushed face. He smiled. "I do not need a physician, uncle. I am very well now—most of the time. It is true that I pretended to be sick to avoid the betrothal. When will we go to London?"
"As soon as I am sure Wales is quiet. It will not be long. My people's hearts were never Edward's."
Margaret smoothed her gown. "It will be pleasant to see the new fashions and have a reason to dress my hair. Jasper, Henry is almost a man. Let him travel through Wales with you to see more of the people."
Jasper's hesitant nod could not cover his anxiety. "Will not so much riding tire Henry?"
Mother and son laughed in chorus. Riding was Henry's strongest point; he was a remarkably fine horseman. "Oh, uncle! I have ridden in the hunt from dawn to dusk and come home only hungry enough to eat a good dinner and weary enough to sleep sound."
CHAPTER 2
Henry VI's restoration had lasted only a few months and already there were grumblings of dissatisfaction. Warwick's present policy had been rejected by Edward IV because he knew it would be unpopular. But Edward, York or no, had been a wise king. Jasper said as much to Margaret and Henry in a fit of temper. They must go to London at once.
It was necessary that Henry meet the king. Still, he was not prepared for feeble Henry's shambling figure, the loose lips, the dazed eyes. Years of captivity had done nothing to improve Henry VI, who was able to pay attention for only a few minutes when sternly addressed. Yet he did so when Henry Tudor was presented to him, gazing into the fourteen-year-old's face and seeing there something that pleased him.
A trembling hand came to rest on the kneeling boy's head. "A likely young man. See how calm his eye, how well-shaped his head. A regal manner for one so young. Rise up, Henry Tudor."
Henry looked at his namesake with despair. Was not a king special, even if he were not clever? What was here to reverence? Here were fine garments; but even they hung all awry. No, not even the shell of appearance.
"You know," the king continued in his wandering way, "my grandfather was earl of Richmond, also." He had forgotten that Henry no longer held the title. "He was attainted once, even exiled, but he came back and won the throne from that bad king, Richard II." The king's eyes widened with fear. He giggled. "You would not do that, boy, would you?"
Henry did not hear his mother's intake of breath nor see Jasper take a half step forward. "You are my uncle," he said clearly, "and I must love you. It is not my right, as it was Henry IV's of blessed memory, and Richard II is long dead. "
When they were alone, Margaret complimented her son. "You pleased me well, Henry. You gave a right good answer. What made you think of it?"
"The king sounded suspicious of me, so I reminded him of our blood bond. For the other matter—that is history known to all. It could not hurt to repeat it." But Henry did not smile with pleasure as he usually did when his mother praised him. "Mother, I am a child no longer. It is time that we talk of kings." He turned away from her, walked to a window and stared unseeing out at the formal garden. "I cannot love or respect this king," he murmured.
Who could? Margaret wondered, but she said only, "Your uncle the king is a good man. He is kind and gentle and wishes much to do right." Henry remained at the window. His mother went to him and placed her hands upon his shoulders. "Henry, the best king is one who rules by himself after listening to all his advisers. But there are other ways a realm may be guided aright. In any case, it is wrong to break the line of descent. Think how much blood has been spilled because of this shifting from the true line."
"And is bloodshed always bad? Why, then, are men taught to fight?"
Margaret turned her son round and kissed his brow. "Such questions! Yes, it is bad, but it may be done for a good cause. The Devil inspires some men to evil. Must not we put this evil down? Henry, if some man forced his way in here and wished to beat me or dishonor me before your eyes—" Her son's hand shot to his smallsword's hilt. "Ay," she laughed, laying a finger on the hand that clutched the sword, "to shed blood protecting your mother, would that be bad?"
"But, mother, your body gave me life! You nursed me and fed me."
"Has not your country done the same? Does not this land give you all things? Is it not also a mother to you?"
Henry jerked free of her hand. "Yes, and I love that mother also. Is it right to give her such a husband as—as this king?"
But Henry VI was not to be king for long. The young Tudor saw the Lancastrian party with its ineffectual leader split into factions in the face of rumors that Edward was gathering forces to return. Jasper's frantic efforts to steady the king and smooth over differences among the Lancastrian nobles merely carved the worry lines deeper between his brows and hardened his grim mouth. Rumor proved true. In March, Edward landed in Yorkshire.
Jasper fled to Wales to raise an army, taking Henry and Margaret with him. They did not ride fast enough. Just before Chepstow, Henry turned to the thunder of hooves, becoming alarmed when he saw an unfamiliar look of indecision on his uncle's face. The party following them were enemies! Henry's eyes flew to his mother, but Margaret's face had blanched and her hands held tight to the reins. Their horses were tired and there was no safe haven.
Henry shook with mingled fear and rage. That anyone should seek to harm him was incredible. In the fourteen years of his life, he had known only kindness. Even Lord Herbert, who had scared him at first, proved to be kind and protective. Over the pounding of his heart he could hear Jasper calling orders. The men-at-arms formed ranks, and he pulled into line with them. After that, all was confusion—a pounding of hooves, shouts mingled with screams and groans, the bright flash of steel, and spurts and streaks of red.
Later, three men lay still in the road. A riderless horse careened wildly with one shoulder dyed an unnatural color, but, in the distance, the horses' rumps waddled as the attackers fled. Henry laughed aloud at the sight. It was the final ignominy of defeat, that one should appear comical. Yet a hasty glance backward showed those three still forms. Death was not comical. The three looked lonely and unprotected on the open road.
At Chepstow they were admitted only after Jasper swore they would purchase horses and pass on. Events became vignettes set into periods of numbness for Henry. He was wakened once by his mother's fervent embrace. He heard Jasper snarl at her in an unnaturally gruff voice.
"But, Jasper, he is hurt." Margaret was weeping as he had never seen her.
Henry looked down at himself and saw his right hand and arm colored an ugly red-brown. The ease of his own laugh, the naturalness of his voice, surprised him. "Nay, the blood is not mine."
"Harry, Harry, I am proud of you." Jasper's voice was, too loud. He clapped him on the shoulder so hard that Henry staggered. "You are a man blooded this day."
Later, his mother's cry broke into his half sleep once again.
"No, Jasper, not that—you had it from the king!" His uncle was seated at a table counting coins with a worried frown, stripping the rings from his fingers. He had raised his hands to unhook the heavy gold collar of S's, when Margaret cried out. Now she pulled off her own rings and whispered breathlessly, "Take them, take them. What need will I have for jewels now?"
When there were fresh horses, they rode on. Henry prided himself on being a horseman. He could ride the longest, hardest hunt with the best, but this was different. When the horses were tired, they dismounted, changed their saddles to other mounts and rode again. Henry reeled, looped the reins about his left wrist and clung to the pommel with his free hand. Through eyes almost blind with fatigue, he preserved one clear picture: his mother cradled in Jasper's arms, her cheek marked by the cruel mail shirt, weeping, weeping; and above her bent head, his uncle's face twisted with fear.
The weight of that fear lightened when they were willingly received at Pembroke. Margaret and Henry passed some quiet days there while Jasper rode out to rally his countrymen. Henry now slept in the great bed that had been his father's when in Jasper's castle, but he did not sleep peacefully. There was an airless, waiting quality to the quiet that boded ill. Henry lay in the great bed and trembled. Evil was corning, and he was afraid.