First of the Tudors

‘Well, the midwife helped a little,’ I said, ‘and Bethan helped a lot, obviously!’

‘What is your name?’ Jasper was still squatting at the infant’s level.

‘Nesta,’ piped the little girl.

‘It is a Welsh form of Agnes. Bethan loved my mother.’ For some reason I felt it necessary to explain why the offspring of a second wife should be named for the one who had preceded her.

‘Agnes is in heaven,’ my stepmother said in her guileless treble. ‘She looks after my Nesta.’

Jasper straightened up. ‘It is a pretty name for a pretty girl,’ he told Bethan.

At this moment my father and my brother Maredudd strode around the corner of the house, wiping hands mired with sheep grease on their smocks. Hywel bent his knee to Jasper respectfully. ‘I was told the Earl of Pembroke was here,’ he said. ‘You are welcome to Tŷ Cerrig, my lord.’

Jasper urged him to his feet, clasping his shoulder in warm greeting. ‘I thank you, cousin Hywel. I hope you and your family will always think of me as Jasper,’ he said. ‘Indeed I hope I may rely on the continued friendship and support of all my Welsh kin.’

‘The Earls of Pembroke have not always found favour among the Welsh,’ Hywel observed, edging himself free. ‘Especially here in the north.’ I could sense an uneasy tension about him and groped for a valid reason.

‘The Earl of Pembroke has never been a Welshman before,’ responded Jasper swiftly, turning to Maredudd, who had followed our father’s lead and set his knee to the ground. ‘Cousin Maredudd, I give you God’s good day as well. We parted friends two years ago. I hope nothing has changed.’

My brother’s attitude was less wary. ‘Not as far as I am concerned, Lord Jasper, but my father pays the king’s taxes and does not like the way they are spent.’ This revelation earned him a fierce frown from Hywel.

‘Ha!’ Jasper pulled Maredudd to his feet. ‘Nor does the Duke of York. Does that make you all Yorkists now? I confess I dislike the way the country is splitting between Lancaster and York. I myself favour a united front and peace with France and intend to work towards that end.’ He turned to Hywel. ‘As for the taxation, I have something to discuss which may ease your troubles on that score. Jane offered refreshment. May we talk over a mug of ale?’

The atmosphere shifted as my father remembered his duty of hospitality. ‘Of course, my lord, let us go in.’

Before climbing the steep stair to the upper hall of the farmhouse, Hywel and Maredudd stopped to strip off their malodorous smocks in the empty byre, replacing them with clean homespun tunics and washing their hands in water drawn from the cistern barrel outside the dairy door. Meanwhile I poured ale and Bethan fetched loaves from the morning’s batch of bread and a cheese from the store-cupboard, before retiring behind the solar curtain with Nesta.

Jasper accepted a full mug from me and took a long swallow while I opened the shutters, letting light into the dim hall. ‘I must say that a draught of your fine ale is very welcome, Jane. We have been in the saddle since daybreak.’ He sat down in the big hearth chair I indicated. ‘I am going to ask your brother Maredudd to join my household at Pembroke. Do you think he will accept a position as my squire?’

With a sudden surge of jealousy I realized how much I would relish the opportunity of escaping the confines of Tŷ Cerrig. The world outside was unknown to me, an unexplored land, and likely to remain so. ‘I cannot speak for my brother but if it were me I would jump at the chance,’ I said. I placed two trestles in the middle of the room, then Mair helped me fit the board across them.

Jasper watched us lay out the cheese and bread and begin to cut wedges. ‘Would you really like to leave Tŷ Cerrig, Jane?’ he asked with thoughtful surprise. ‘But how would your father manage without you? He has other sons to work the farm but no one else who can run the household as you do.’

I made no response because at that moment my father and brother entered the hall. Maredudd was hauling a pair of large and obviously heavy saddlebags, which he set down beside Jasper. ‘Your lad brought these up to the house,’ he said. ‘They feel as if they are full of gold.’

Jasper laughed and stood up, putting his mug down on the board. ‘They carry the parts of my armour that I am not wearing. Could I ask your help in removing the rest? I am sure I will not be needing it here.’

He watched keenly as Maredudd set about undoing the buckles that secured the various elements of armour he had considered necessary for protection on the road. I had no idea what any of them were called but I was surprised to hear Maredudd name each piece as he removed it, obviously impressed. ‘This is beautifully made, my lord. Fits you perfectly,’ he remarked, placing the last item on the pile of gleaming steel. ‘It must have cost a great deal. Shall I give it a rub before I put it in the bag?’

Stripped to tunic and hose, Jasper looked considerably more comfortable. ‘Not now, thank you.’ He shook his head and went to pull his chair up to the table but Maredudd was ahead of him, placing it at the centre of the board and pushing it in as Jasper sat himself down. ‘Perhaps later, after we have all spoken a little together. And let us eat while we talk. I confess I am hungry.’

I went to replenish his supply of ale and fill cups for my father and brother, who drew up a bench opposite Jasper. I found it strange to see my father take a subordinate position at his own board and it brought home to me the new gulf in rank between our Tudor cousin and us. I could see that Hywel was chafing silently under the inferior position.

‘Please sit with us, Jane,’ Jasper said unexpectedly. ‘If you can spare the time.’

I glanced at my father, received his curt nod of approval and slid onto the bench beside Maredudd. As I did so I remembered the rest of the men waiting for refreshment outside and reached out to cut another, much larger wedge off the big cheese wheel. I handed it to Mair and told her to draw some jugs of ale and take them with the cheese and several loaves down to the stables. ‘Do not linger down there gossiping,’ I charged her. ‘Get straight back to the dairy.’

‘There should be men waiting below to collect the victuals,’ Jasper said.

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 Y Mab 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

Jasper

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.

I could have done with Edmund’s support at this time but he had taken himself off and left no word as to where he had gone and so I was alone in attempting to arbitrate between the Duke of Somerset and the Duke of York, who exploited the absence of the king and all the force of their superior age and rank to pursue their private war. Somerset insisted on keeping to the king’s policy of peace at all costs whereas Richard of York, a soldier as much as a diplomat, had always favoured pursuing an aggressive military policy, admittedly with an impressive past record of success, which fed his lip-curling disdain for Somerset, whom he held entirely responsible for England’s ignominious loss of France. York’s habit in Council was to bully his way through an argument, whereas Edmund of Somerset had been accustomed to gentlemanly debate, relying on his close relationship with the king to drive his point of view. With the king indisposed and the queen in confinement awaiting the birth of her child he floundered under the lashing of York’s scathing tongue. I found it impossible to mediate in a poisonous debate that triggered bitter exchanges and further widened a rift between the two dukes that seemed likely never to be closed.