Owen (6 page)

I strain to hear over the noise as the names of newly arriving guests are announced by the doorman. I am beginning to make my way through the throng of nobles when I hear the latest arrivals are Duke Humphrey and Duchess Eleanor of Gloucester. The duke has been busy, divorcing his first wife, Countess Jacqueline. He has now married his former mistress, and the beautiful new duchess is already the centre of attention.

Slim, attractive and at least ten years younger than the duke, Duchess Eleanor wears a crimson silk dress with long sleeves. I smile as I see her basking in the attention and am surprised when she notices and smiles back at me, an unexpected connection, when to everyone else I seem to be invisible.

Edmund Beaufort arrives late, together with his purple-robed uncle, Bishop Henry Beaufort. Edmund is tall and his handsome, clean-shaven face makes him seem younger than his twenty-two years. Fashionably dressed in black velvet, he has an ostrich feather in his hat and wears an impressive dress-sword at his belt. In no time at all he is surrounded by ladies and begins flattering them in his cultured voice.

The Duke of Gloucester has also noted the new arrivals. His smile looks as if it takes real effort and his dark eyes are glowering. It seems the bishop is the more skilled of the two at concealing his true feelings. He loudly congratulates the duke on his recent marriage, without a trace of irony, at the same time managing to communicate his disapproval to everyone within earshot.

Their sparring is interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets to announce the arrival of the king and his mother, the queen dowager. Young Harry is dressed in yet another extravagant outfit, this time with a perfectly fitting gold coronet which flashes with rubies and diamonds. In his right hand the young king carries his sceptre while he clings to the arm of Queen Catherine with his left.

The queen glides through the guests like an elegant swan in shimmering white silk and lace, with a necklace of diamonds which catch the light as she moves. She seems happy for the first time in ages and younger than her twenty-eight years. In keeping with tradition, Queen Catherine leads the little king to the top table. Each of the guests file into their appointed place, while the queen’s minstrels play tunefully from the high gallery.

‘What do you think?’

I turn to see Juliette has found her way to my side, a fashionable lace headdress in place of the headscarf she always wears. She is attractive in a well-fitting blue dress I have never seen before. Apart from her lack of jewellery, I realise Juliette could pass for one of the noble ladies.

‘You look... beautiful, Juliette.’

‘Thank you, Master Tudor.’ Juliette scans the guests, who have fallen silent and are sitting with bowed heads as Bishop Beaufort, stands and begins a ponderous Latin grace. After the bishop finishes she lowers her voice so only I can hear.

‘Which one is Edmund Beaufort?’

‘He is to the right of the bishop.’ I have watched Edmund Beaufort since he arrived, and see that after Henry Beaufort introduces him, Queen Catherine pays him no further attention.

We watch as a procession of liveried servants enter carrying silver platters piled high with choice meats, which they take to each guest in turn, waiting while they help themselves from each platter, picking out tasty morsels with their fingers, the sign of good manners.

As well as cuts of beef, veal, pork, mutton and venison from Windsor Great Park, the guests are served with rare salmon, fresh river trout, eels and crayfish. The centrepiece of the banquet is a whole roasted peacock, served dressed in its own iridescent blue feathers, plucked and replaced after the bird had been cooked, its beak and feet gilded in gold leaf.

I made sure that even the wine goblets used by the guests are in order, with the queen and top table drinking from gold plate, the next most important using polished silver and the lesser nobles provided with pewter. Servants are ready with flagons of wine as soon as any goblets are empty, so before long the buzz of polite conversation has taken on a raucous undertone.

The bishop calls them to order and the queen makes a short speech, thanking everyone for attending. Then there is a fanfare of trumpets and four page boys enter, carrying a model of Hertford Castle over a foot high, made entirely from sugar and complete with a miniature royal standard flying from the top. It is placed before the queen and the guests applaud as the young king smashes many days of hard work to pieces.

‘An omen, you think?’

Juliette is dismissive. ‘Don’t be so superstitious, Owen Tudor.’

‘It’s my Welsh background, you see. It’s in my blood to be superstitious.’

Juliette looks to see if I am joking. ‘I asked the queen where she hopes to move to after the king is of age.’

Again, she has surprised me. ‘When was this?’

‘This morning... when I was dressing her.’ Juliette glances around and lowers her voice. ‘She said she is thinking of making Wallingford Castle her main residence.’

I am relieved and concerned at the same time. ‘Has the queen been told when this might happen?’

Juliette gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. ‘I imagine it will be when the king is seven, in December.’

I watch as the banqueting guests become even more rowdy. Several of the younger lords, already looking the worse for drink, argue loudly about the merits of hunting stags or boars. It is time for Juliette to follow the queen back to her apartments to change for the evening entertainments.

Later that night I lay awake, thinking back over the events of the long day. I have been kept even busier than usual, overseeing the clearing up after the banquet. The entertainments, music and dancing went on longer than planned, due to the late summer evening and because most of the guests were quite drunk. It seems they have consumed almost the entire contents of the castle’s wine cellar between them.

I feel tired but content I have done my work well, and Queen Catherine thanked me for my help in making the day a success. I recall how happily she laughed as she danced with young Edmund Beaufort—but then she danced with several of the younger nobles present. There was nothing wrong with that. I also saw Duke Humphrey watching the two of them together. There doesn’t seem to be anything the duke can do about it, despite his evident disapproval.

I drift off to a troubled sleep, wondering if the queen will choose to take me with her as keeper of her new household in Wallingford or wherever it will be once the king reaches his seventh birthday. I find a little comfort from the knowledge Duke Humphrey will support the idea, as he will still want a watch kept over the queen.

Juliette comes to visit my dreams. It is hard to see her in the darkness as she climbs into my bed and lays close, her fingers stroking the hair of my chest. She straddles me and loosens her long hair from its restraints. I can see her more clearly now, completely naked as her golden hair glistens in the moonlight from the window. Except that Juliette has dark hair. The woman who leans down and kisses me so passionately in my dream is Catherine.

It is Juliette who innocently sets the chain of events in motion, little knowing where her words will eventually lead. She mentions to me that Edmund Beaufort has been to visit the queen, at night, in her private apartments. No one would have known except for Juliette. She always helps the queen prepare for her bed, yet that evening, the queen says she will not be needed. She tells me as she closed the door she heard a man ask a question. She recognised his cultured voice and also overheard the queen’s happy reply.

The next day Edmund Beaufort decides to stay a little longer at Hertford. One week becomes two, and then he announces he will accompany the queen when we all return to Windsor. The young noble’s attention seems to be having a good effect on Queen Catherine, transforming her into a younger and happier version of her former self.

I grit my teeth when I watch the queen and her young lover take long walks together in the castle gardens and riding in the grounds. I am envious when I see how well Edmund Beaufort plays with Harry, teaching the young king how to make a silver coin appear as if by magic and showing him how to fish for trout in the river, to the great consternation of Dame Alice Boteler.

Juliette is not the only one to notice how Catherine is falling for the young noble’s relentless flattery. It is also impossible for her not to mention it, as I ask her each day. After the third day, I make a difficult decision and summon Nathaniel to take a letter to Duke Humphrey. This time it is not a list of names; the note is simply an observation that it seems Edmund Beaufort is becoming close to the queen.

I plainly hear my disloyalty as Nathaniel reads back the words I have dictated, although I tell myself my actions are in the interests of the queen. If I don’t act soon I fear it will be too late to do anything. Over the past week Catherine has become a changed woman. Her conduct with Edmund Beaufort is always correct in front of her staff and servants, yet I know she is secretly in love with her young admirer—and now Beaufort is making clandestine midnight visits to the queen’s bedchamber.

The first sign of the consequences of my letter is when Duke Humphrey arrives, as usual unannounced, and has a stormy meeting with the queen. He gives a curt nod as he leaves with a satisfied expression. After the duke has gone the queen summons me. Edmund Beaufort has left for London soon after the duke and the queen is not in good spirits. In my heart I already know the reason. The duke has somehow banned Edmund Beaufort from seeing her.

The queen is not alone in her room when I arrive, as the young king sits on the floor by the window, playing with a row of wooden toy soldiers. They are brightly painted in the livery of the royal guard and he is setting them up in rows and knocking them all down again. I can’t help wondering if Harry’s new tutor, Sir Richard Beauchamp, has any idea of the work he will need to do before the boy is even close to the warrior king his father had once been.

Harry greets me as I enter. ‘Good day, Tudor.’

I bow to the young king. ‘Good day, Your Grace.’

The queen speaks with sadness in her voice. ‘Duke Humphrey has finally shown his hand.’

‘In what way, my lady?’

‘He came to tell me he has persuaded parliament... to agree I cannot marry without the king’s permission.’

I glance across at Harry, who is lining up his soldiers in rows and taking no interest in his mother’s conversation. ‘When he comes of age?’

The queen raises her voice. ‘Ten years from now!’ She struggles to compose herself. ‘And in the meantime...’

‘You must have the duke’s consent?’ I see from her expression that my guess is right.

‘Have I not been a widow long enough?’ She sounds on the brink of tears.

‘I don’t see what the duke can do if you choose to marry without his consent?’

Queen Catherine looks at me wide eyed. ‘Any man who marries me without consent will forfeit his lands and title.’

I understand. The duke has found a way to deter even Edmund Beaufort. Bishop Beaufort has been out-manipulated. Although I doubt the politically astute bishop will let the matter rest, it seems Duke Humphrey has shown he can still rally the support of parliament.

The young king knocks his soldiers to the floor again and runs over to Catherine. ‘Can I go outside, Mother?’

Queen Catherine stares out of the window. ‘You must come in if it starts to rain, Harry.’ She turns to me. ‘Please will you escort the king to Dame Alice?
 
I am tired and need to think.’

I take the young king by the hand and with a bow to the queen lead him from the room. I have never seen her cry before and have mixed feelings. Perhaps Juliette had been right and it is time for the queen to start living her life again. Edmund Beaufort might not have been the ideal suitor but he made her happy.

I look down at Harry walking at my side and realise the queen’s happiness is not Duke Humphrey’s concern. The duke is keen to protect his place in the line of succession and at the same time, deliver a blow to the power and ambitions of his rivals, the Beauforts. This is something Duke Humphrey would have been planning for some time, yet my letter probably strengthened the duke’s resolve.

* * *

As I feared, the arrival of Sir Richard Beauchamp in Windsor changes everything. The earl is tall and assertive and well used to having his own way. Even though he is approaching fifty and his beard is silvery grey, he looks younger. He had been master of the Horse for King Henry V and was once the leading tournament jouster in England.

It was Sir Richard who led the English forces against
Owain Glyndur
’s army and forced the Welsh to run for the hills. It was said he captured the Welsh banner when he routed the Welsh forces and displayed it as a trophy in the hall of his castle in Warwick.
Owain Glyndur
barely escaped with his life, although he has never been seen since.

The earl had a distinguished career fighting the French, so it is easy to see why he has been chosen to make a man of the young king. As soon as he arrives, Sir Richard calls the household staff to assemble in the Great Hall and announces that, forthwith, Windsor Castle will be the king’s main household, of which he will be the master. The queen’s household is to prepare to move to Wallingford Castle, which will be the queen’s main residence.

I feel their eyes on me and bite my lip, trying to appear confident as Sir Richard’s clerk reads out the names of those who will remain in the reduced household of the queen. My name is first on the earl’s list. I thank God and silently promise to serve the queen, for as long as she needs me, wherever she decides to live out her days.

Juliette’s name is not on the list. She puts her hand to her mouth as the clerk announces she will continue in the household of the king, as an assistant to Dame Alice. I assumed that, as the queen’s personal handmaiden, Juliette will remain in her household. She stands with the other women of the household and looks across to where I stand with the men, her face a shocked expression of disbelief.

I am not paying attention as the earl’s clerk reads out the rest of the names on his list, as a question occurs to me. The queen must have agreed the list with Sir Richard, so is it her way of ensuring she has a trusted person close to her son or is there another reason? Queen Catherine might be holding Juliette responsible for revealing her night-time liaisons with Edmund Beaufort. I see Juliette looking across at me and wonder if she has reached the same conclusion.

She seeks me out after the meeting is over and the household servants begin to return to their duties.

‘What will we do?’ She studies my face, as if trying to read my feelings.

‘I didn’t see this coming, Juliette. Has the queen said anything to you about how she plans to keep an eye on Harry?’

‘No... although she was concerned the Earl of Warwick would be too harsh on him.’

‘That could be the reason you’ve be chosen to stay with Harry.’

‘Not because of Edmund?’

I put my finger to her lips to stop her saying any more. ‘We must never speak of that again.’

Juliette seems as if she is about to cry. ‘The queen wishes to stay with the king’s household for as long as she can.’ Juliette puts her hand on my arm, apparently no longer caring who sees. ‘It will give us time...’

I know what she is hoping. ‘I will ask the queen...’

This time it is Juliette who puts her finger to my lips. ‘Let us choose our moment?’

‘You are right. The queen has enough to worry about.’

I am right, for Sir Richard wastes no time in imposing his new regime on the young king. He decides Harry is too old for toy soldiers and orders them to be burned. Instead, the earl starts teaching him to use a sword, pitting him against young nobles of his own age. Unfortunately they have more experience, with predictable consequences. By the end of the first week, Harry has blood-stained bandages on both his hands and a cut on one cheek that refuses to heal and looks likely to leave a scar.

The queen is upset when she sees her son’s fencing wounds and sends for me. I find her alone in her apartment, the first time we have been alone together since the earl’s arrival in Windsor.

‘It seems I am powerless to do anything about it.’ She looks at me with sad eyes. ‘I wrote to Bishop Beaufort, as he is the king’s official guardian.’ She shakes her head in despair. ‘He replied reminding me it was my husband’s wish for the Earl of Warwick to be Harry’s tutor, as stated in the late king’s will.’

I have known Harry since his first steps and feel responsible for his safety. ‘I understand Sir Richard is to start preparing him to ride in the joust this afternoon. I could find an excuse to see it is done without unnecessary risk?’

Catherine places her hand on mine. ‘Would you do that for me?’

My body tingles with the warmth of her hand. Concern for her son has made her break the rule that keeps the safe distance between us, the first time she has touched me. As we stand there for a moment I look into her eyes and see the sadness diminish as something unspoken passes between us.

‘You know I will do anything for you, my lady.’ My words seem to have new significance, which is not lost on Catherine.

‘Thank you.’ She removes her hand, almost reluctantly.

I feel strangely elated as I visit the tiltyard to see how her son will cope with the earl’s dangerous training. I have seen the young king being fitted for a steel breastplate and helmet and am concerned about how Sir Richard intends to make a man of him. I have no idea how I can keep my promise to the queen, but I can’t stand by and watch Harry be injured.

The young king is already mounted on one of the smaller horses, instead of the timid highland pony he prefers. It looks as if he is already learning to control the horse and Sir Richard proves a skilled and patient tutor as he shouts words of encouragement. Once he is satisfied the king can stay seated in the specially made jousting saddle, Sir Richard hands him a long wooden lance. It is light and barely half the length of a proper jousting lance, yet I can see Harry is struggling to ride while holding it.

At the end of the tiltyard is the quatrain, a target used for training jousters. A painted shield is fixed to one end of a rotating pole, with a weighted sack suspended from the other. The aim is to strike the shield with the tip of the lance while avoiding being hit on the back with the heavy sack as it swings around.

One of the stable lads speaks in a hushed tone as the young king trots his horse down the tiltyard. ‘God help him, the poor bugger.’

Another of those watching is concerned. ‘He’s not yet seven years old, is he?’

The small horse gathers speed and we watch as the lance begins to overbalance the young king in the saddle. I am no jouster, but know it is considered poor technique for riders to steady their feet in stirrups, which are kept long.

‘He’ll be lucky to reach the end of the tiltyard, never mind hit the bloody target!’ It is the stable lad again.

We watch as Sir Richard shouts for Harry to hold the lance high. It is too awkward for him and he forgets to keep control of his horse, which starts to veer off course. We can see what is going to happen, yet no one moves to stop it. I cannot resist shouting as well.

‘Sit straight, Your Grace!’

The young king glances up, recognising my voice and managing to recover his seat in the nick of time. I am rewarded with a frown from Sir Richard and wonder if the earl wants Harry to take a fall, to teach him a lesson.

‘Lean back into your saddle, Your Grace!’ Sir Richard shouts to the young king, as he approaches the quatrain.