Owen (11 page)

‘I always liked the name Jasper.’

‘Jasper? Wherever did you hear of anyone called Jasper?’

I hold the baby in my arms. ‘Jasper was the name of one of the three wise men.’

‘Jasper Tudor. I think you are going to be a man after my own heart.’

Catherine sits up in bed and watches the two of us. ‘I think I could become used to the name Jasper. At least it is one people will remember.’

* * *

The last letter received by Catherine from her son in France is short and factual, confirming he is well and thanking her for his tenth birthday present, a gold ring set with a ruby, which Bishop Morgan agreed to deliver for her. Harry wrote that he was about to leave the abbey of St Denis, where he has been staying after the long journey, to make the short ride into Paris for his coronation. Riding with him are the Dukes of Bedford and York, the Earl of Warwick and others in a large company.

There are no further letters from Harry, although Catherine does receive a reassuring letter from Bishop Morgan that the king has finally been crowned by his great-uncle, Cardinal Beaufort. Bishop Morgan adds that the Cardinal insisted on singing the Mass, much to the annoyance of the Bishop of Notre Dame, whose cathedral is used for the ceremony. Afterwards there is a great feast, although the bishop observed that the French people were unsurprisingly reticent in their celebrations.

Catherine hands the bishop’s letter to me. ‘Harry will return to Calais by way of Rouen and Abbeville and sail back to England in February.’

‘Would you like to be there to greet him when he returns?’

‘I would, Owen.’ She brightens at the thought. ‘It has been such a long time since I last saw him.’

‘It will be good for you to be seen in London, although I’m not sure the people are ready to see these two!’ I look at Edmund and Jasper playing together on a rug in front of the hearth.

‘I will give thanks to God when my eldest son is safe in England.’ Catherine looks concerned. ‘I pray he never returns to France, as there is nothing but danger there for him.’

Briony agrees to act as nursemaid for the boys while we travel to London. It is late February and the roads are too icy for a carriage, so we make the twenty mile journey to Westminster on horseback. Luckily the rain holds off until we arrive. Catherine is found lodgings in the Palace of Westminster, while I must find a space in the servants’ quarters, the first time we have slept apart since the visit to Windsor Castle.

Harry is met on his return to London by members of all the London guilds, resplendent in their formal robes. I find it hard to see him through the high-spirited crowds which fill every space in the narrow streets, then I hear the sound of trumpets and a great cheer. The serious young king rides a white horse and is wearing a gold coronet. Harry seems more than his ten years and I feel I am looking at a stranger.

Sir Richard Beauchamp rides at the king’s side wearing full armour which shines in the sunlight. Cardinal Beaufort in his scarlet robes rides behind, followed by an endless procession of mounted knights and men-at-arms in the colourful royal livery. The clatter of hooves and pounding of marching feet on the cobbled streets remind me this is a real, victorious army, as well as a show for the people of London.

By the time the procession reaches Westminster Abbey the crowds are straining for sight of the young king. I remember a woman was crushed to death at the first coronation and am glad to escape through the servants’ passageway. I have not seen Catherine since the previous day and wish I could be at her side, but it is important to keep my distance and play the role of her servant.

Having no wish to listen to Cardinal Beaufort bless the king in the abbey, I make my way through to Westminster Hall, where an army of servants are preparing for yet another coronation feast. There is seating for well over three hundred guests, with endless rows of trestle tables being covered with white linen and a high canopy of cloth of gold over the chair where Harry will be seated.

It is the sight of the golden canopy, more than all the marching knights and soldiers, that makes me realise how special and important Catherine’s eldest son has become. The boy I once knew so well has become a young man. I am stepfather to the first ever King of England and of France, who could become the greatest king in history.

The return of Bishop Morgan from France marks a new phase in our lives, as the bishop agrees to move in to the wing at Hatfield house we have reserved for him. It suits us all, for Bishop Morgan is growing old and his presence at Hatfield makes it easier for us to deal with visitors.

To my surprise Duke Humphrey honours Catherine’s request and obtains the consent of parliament for me to have the rights of an Englishman. The parchment scroll, with the grand seal of parliament, is delivered by Nathaniel and we study it closely. I have been allowed to own land and property in England but there are conditions, as a codicil has been added barring me from holding a crown office in any city or English town.

The codicil troubles me. ‘Do you think this suggests the duke has suspicions about us?’

‘If Duke Humphrey suspects you he would never have agreed to my request, and by proposing this to parliament the duke has shown his support for you, Owen.’

‘Thank you for asking the duke to do this.’ I know there is something I can do for Catherine in return. ‘My promise to Sir Richard Beauchamp was you would not tell Harry until after he was crowned in France. We have honoured that promise, so perhaps now is the time to be honest with him?’

‘I want to tell Harry about you.’ Catherine smiles. ‘Then there will be no need for secrecy and we can live wherever we choose.’

Nathaniel has been listening to the discussion in silence. ‘It is almost summer. Could we invite the king to visit you at Wallingford Castle, as he did before the coronation? It would be easier to find the right moment at Wallingford than at Windsor.’

‘What about Edmund and Jasper?’ Catherine sounds anxious. ‘It will be impossible for them to remain unnoticed at Wallingford and I’m not happy to leave them here. They are still too young to be left for so long.’

‘I will ride to Windsor and speak with Sir Richard.’ I smile as I recall our last meeting. ‘He is a good man, with considerable influence. If Sir Richard agrees the time is right, we will all travel to Windsor to see your son.’

Catherine looks surprised. ‘Edmund and Jasper as well?’

‘Why not? They are his half-brothers.’

Nathaniel accompanies me on the thirty-five mile ride to Windsor, as it is on his route back to Wallingford. We leave at first light in bright sunshine and I am in good spirits, with a fine new sword, as well as a sharp dagger with an ornate handle, at my belt. Presents from Catherine, they are crafted from fine German steel and show I am to be taken seriously.

I ride a powerful black Welsh Cob I bought at the Hatfield horse fair and anyone seeing us on the road could mistake me for a knight, although Nathaniel no longer looks like my squire. He dresses more like a London merchant, in a fine hat and velvet cape, and has become prosperous through his business dealings. He also wears a sword on a low belt and claims he knows how to use it.

I find myself wondering if the young king will reward me with a title, as I like the thought of resurrecting one of the lost lordships of Wales. It would be good if we can find a place where no one cares I had once been Catherine’s servant and our boys can grow up to marry noble ladies and be proud of their Welsh heritage.

Before we leave Hatfield Catherine has one more surprise for me, although it is a poorly kept secret. We are to have another child. If it is a boy we will name him Owen. I smile as I remember how Catherine protested that one Owen Tudor in the house is more than enough. She has not forgotten her promise, for if the child is a girl she will be named Margaret, after my mother.

I turn to Nathaniel as we approach the village of Abbot’s Langley. ‘We should rest the horses here a while and find somewhere to eat.’

‘There is an inn at the crossroads,’ Nathaniel points ahead. ‘I’ve stopped here before.’

We tie up our horses and push open the door. Although the day is sunny, the inn is dark inside and smells of stale beer and wood smoke. Black-painted beams support the low ceiling and we duck to avoid hitting our heads. A group of men argue and curse as they play a game of cards. I find a quiet table while Nathaniel orders a jug of ale and some trenchers of bread and ham.

‘I was wondering, Nathaniel, what your plans are?’

‘Plans for what?’

‘The future—after our news becomes public.’

Before Nathaniel can answer our jug of ale and two pewter tankards are placed on the table. The man who serves us turns to go and I catch a glimpse of his face. Even in the gloom of the inn I recognise him immediately. He is older, his lank hair thinning and grey, but I will never forget the scar. I am about to challenge the man then stop myself. It seems he hasn’t recognised me, which gives me an advantage.

I watch as he returns to the kitchen. ‘That was one of the men who attacked me, Nathaniel, in the stables all that time ago at Windsor.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes. I always wondered if I’d see him again. As far as I know his accomplices ended up in jail—or were hanged. This one was never found.’

‘So there’s nothing we can do?’

‘Not really. Too much time has passed.’

‘You won’t tackle him on your own, when you return?’

I pour us both a tankard of ale. ‘You worry about me?’

‘I do, Owen.’

‘I may have a word with the captain of the guard at Windsor, if I have the time.’

The man returns with a platter of bread and several thick slices of cured ham, with a chunk of cheese, but doesn’t show any sign of recognising me. We finish our meal, keeping watch for the man, then I slip out of the door while Nathaniel pays.

Nathaniel echoes my own thoughts as we ride towards Windsor. ‘I’d like to know what happened to Samuel Cleaver.’

‘Me too. I’d almost forgotten about him—until now.’

At last the distinctive silhouette of Windsor Castle appears on the horizon and it is time for us to part.

‘Take care to avoid Abbot’s Langley on the way back.’ Nathaniel waves and spurs his horse, as he hopes to reach Wallingford before nightfall, a further thirty-mile ride in the late summer evening.

I arrive at Windsor and stable my horse, then ask if I can see Sir Richard. The earl is busy but agrees to see me later that afternoon, so I find myself with time on my hands and decide to visit the captain of the guard. He is surprised to see me and greets me warmly.

‘Owen Tudor—and wearing a sword at last!’

‘Good to see you again, Captain. I’ve come about Samuel Cleaver, you remember him?’

The captain did. ‘He was charged and locked up in Newgate Gaol. I heard he somehow managed to escape while waiting to be sentenced.’

‘I thought it’s impossible to escape from Newgate?’

The captain shakes his head. ‘Cleaver had an accomplice. They wounded one of the guards but he was able to describe the man. It was the one we never caught.’

‘I saw him, at the inn in Abbot’s Langley. He works there.’

‘You are sure it is the same man?’

‘Of course, I will never forget him.’

‘I can let you have a couple of men if you want to go after him?’

‘I’ll let you know, Captain. It depends on the outcome of my meeting with Sir Richard.’

I thank the captain and make my way back down the long corridors to wait. As I turn a corner I almost bump into Juliette. She looks slim and attractive in a fashionable burgundy dress with long sleeves and a lace headdress that suits her. I stand there staring at her for a moment, my mind full of memories.

Juliette speaks first. ‘Owen! I was wondering what had become of you.’ She looks at me in silence for a moment, as if overwhelmed by memories. ‘You look well.
 
What brings you to Windsor?’

‘I have a meeting with the Earl of Warwick.’ I am surprised at how Juliette has become even more beautiful as she has grown older.

‘Where have you been?’ There is accusation in her question.

I don’t wish to lie to her, so close to being able to reveal our secret.

‘I am still with Queen Catherine’s household.’ It is the truth.

She reaches out and places a hand on my arm. ‘I have missed you, Owen.’

I feel the warmth of her hand, but must not allow her false hope. ‘Did you return to France for the king’s coronation?’ I try to keep my tone business-like, as if I’m talking to any of the king’s staff and not my former lover.

Juliette seems to sense my coolness and removes her hand. ‘Yes. We were away for most of the year.’ All trace of her pleasure at the sight of me is gone.

‘And have you... found someone else?’ I have no right to ask, but am still deeply concerned about how I have treated her, after she trusted me with her love.

‘Who could take your place?’

I can’t answer and see the sadness in her eyes, the woman I could have married so long ago. I made my choice, although I have not forgotten how special our time together had been.

‘Would you ever come back to me, Owen?’ There is sudden hope in her voice and I wish I could tell her the truth about my marriage to Catherine, about Edmund and Jasper and our life now in Hatfield.

‘I am sorry, Juliette. You should find someone more worthy, while you can.’

Our brief exchange troubles me as I head for my meeting with Earl Warwick. Although I left Hatfield in a positive mood, the sight of the scar-faced man, then seeing Juliette, brings back more painful memories than I would have wished for.

The earl keeps me waiting before inviting me into his study. A map of France is spread out on his desk and marked with coloured lines to show the extent of English territory. Last time I saw the earl was in London, dressed in full armour at the head of the king’s royal procession. Sir Richard wears a plain tunic now, over a faded linen shirt. He looks older and regards me with poorly disguised suspicion, his eyes going to the fine sword and dagger at my belt.

‘Come with me, Tudor, there’s something you should see.’

The earl leads me out through the rear doors to a courtyard where the men-at-arms practice swordsmanship. As we approach I can hear the clang of swords on armour and the occasional deep-voiced call of encouragement. We enter the yard and see a knight in full armour sparring with one of the royal guards.

The guard swings his broadsword at the head of the knight, who parries the blow to a cheer from the men-at-arms gathered to watch. With a bone-jarring clang the knight delivers a well-timed blow to his opponent’s helmet using the weighted pommel of his sword. The guardsman seems concussed for a moment, and then raises both hands as a sign of surrender. Then the knight raises his visor and I see it is unmistakably Harry, although I would never have recognised him.

‘I presume you want me to say it’s time to tell the king what you’ve been up to, Tudor.’ The earl keeps his voice low.

It is not the welcome I expected. ‘We have honoured our promise to you, my lord.’

The earl nods. ‘You have, and for that at least I am grateful.’ He looks at me as if he wishes things could be different. ‘I am going to ask you to delay a little longer.’

‘Why, my lord?’

The earl glances at the men-at arms gathered around the king. ‘Not here. Come back to my study.’

We walk back down the corridor in silence, then reach Sir Richard’s study and he ushers me inside and closes the door.

‘It is not because of the king—although he could do without all this.’ The earl looks serious. ‘John, Duke of Bedford has succumbed to the same illness that finished his brother. I understand he does not have long to live.’

‘Why does that mean we have to keep our secret?’ I find it had to see how the Duke of Bedford has any significance for me.

‘Don’t be a fool, Tudor. You know Duke Humphrey will have you arrested as soon as he learns of your disloyalty? If Duke John dies, which he surely will, Humphrey will be the heir apparent. It would be the worst possible time for you to give him a way to discredit the king.’

‘How would the truth discredit him?’ I am confused. ‘We were properly married and King Henry’s half-brothers were born within wedlock.’

‘Let me spell it out for you, Tudor. First you will be locked up in the tower. Then rumours will spread that Queen Catherine was unable to control herself and lay with her servants. Your witnesses will be silenced, one way or another.’ He gives me a scathing look. ‘Any records of your marriage will be destroyed. Put quite simply, I don’t want the truth, as you insist on calling it, to be known until the king is of age.’