The Dragon and the Rose (9 page)

Henry Tudor was not happy. Of course, he was used to pressures, but those had alternated before. One time it would be lack of money that troubled him, another time the hostility of the nobles, or yet again he would worry over Francis's health, upon which, to some extent, his own depended. Now everything seemed to be adding together.

His debts had grown really frightening, since he could not let his refugees starve or become so ragged that they were offensive or a cause for mirth. The sudden influx of Englishmen, especially those of higher rank, had wakened the fears of the Breton nobles who dreaded their own replacement by Henry's countrymen if he should marry Anne. And both of these problems were made dangerously acute by Francis's failing health. Most of the time the duke was rational and keen-witted as ever, but from time to time he had a spell where his mind wandered.

Everything at once was too much. Henry rested his aching head against the frame of an unshuttered window hoping the breeze would freshen enough to cool him through the armholes and the small chinks between the metal plates of his brigandine. This armored vest was covered with green silk rather than velvet, but it was still ten times hotter than a doublet, and Henry dared not take it off. So far two of the gentlemen craving protection had turned out to be Richard's agents. Henry's never-ceasing caution had kept him from real danger, but the necessity of the brigandine was attested to by a half-healed cut on his upper arm where a turned blade had marked him.

Henry slipped a hand into the neck of his garments and pulled them a little free of his sweat-soaked body. Then the hand dropped unobtrusively to his dagger, for footsteps padded softly down the room. His eyes slid toward the noise, although he did not turn his head, and his face now bore only an expression of good-humored boredom. The dagger, hidden by his body as it leaned against the window frame, was half-drawn; there were two men.

"My lord?"

One of the men was in sight. Henry resheathed his knife, turned, and smiled. It was Ramme, a trusty man of his mother's. "Greetings," he said heartily, and then, as he took in the tired faces and dust smears, "Is my mother safe? Well?"

"Excellently well and as safe as anyone in England can be in these days," Ramme replied. "My lord, this is Hugh Conway. We came different ways from England but met on the road."

The pulse in Henry's throat was hidden by the high collar of his shirt, but its fierce leaping would have belied the calm of his expression could the messengers have seen it. "And what brings you gentlemen to me in such haste and by separate routes? Is it of such note that you could not stay to refresh yourselves?"

"I
am from the duke of Buckingham, my lord, and I bear—"

"Who?" Henry asked, his face freezing.

"Henry Stafford, second duke of Buckingham," Conway repeated, "and I bear letters and papers I would fain be rid of before they hang me."

Henry held out his hand. "Give them here, then. When a neck has been as long in danger as mine, hanging grows a common thing scarce to be feared." His smile was merry, his eyes turned down toward the pouch Conway proffered so that the messenger could not probe them.

A lord of high, cheerful spirit, Conway thought approvingly, even if his stature was no more than Richard's. It was to be seen, however, if he had the shrewdness that would be needed.

"And these letters, also, my lord," Ramme offered as Henry was about to open the pouch. "They are of the same import, I believe."

Thomas Ramme's eyes were the ones that avoided contact. He knew Henry of old and had no desire to meet that piercing gaze. Although he had nothing to hide, Henry made him uncomfortable because he suspected that if he were ordered to jump out the window or murder his mother, he would obey.

Henry, however, had not looked up. He scanned his mother's letters first, knowing that he could read her writing quickly and pick the important points out at once. The expression of bored good humor had been deliberately replaced with one of interest, which Henry felt would be more suitable, but even that expression congealed on his face until he wore an unmeaning mask. And when he saw the seal on another enclosed letter, he passed his hand across his eyes as if he did not trust them.

"Ramme," he said very softly, "you know where I lodge, Be so kind as to bid one of my Welsh servants to come here to me, and do you return, also, I am sorry to put you gentlemen to so much trouble when you are doubtless weary, but I must ask you to attend me until I have studied these proposals more finely. You know what is herein?"

"It is not hard to guess," Conway replied. Henry's eyes flicked to him, and Conway swallowed and added, "My lord."

When Ramme returned with the servant, Henry looked up from his reading. "Go find the duke," he ordered, "and beg him to grant me a time with him alone in his chamber. Bid my groom to saddle a horse for you, and when you have brought me word from the duke, ride posthaste to my lord of Pembroke. I will have a letter for you to carry. Oh, and send me a clerk with materials for writing."

Francis sent word that Henry could attend him at once. By then the few lines Henry wrote to summon Jasper to him had been dispatched, and the messengers followed him to the duke's apartment. He left them just outside the door.

"What now?" Francis asked somewhat irritably. "I have told you I will not give you up to Richard's envoys. Do you doubt me at this late date that you must speak to me each time they do?"

"I did not know they had audience with you today, my lord. I have received a proposal that touches on a plan dear to both of us. I have been offered the hand of Princess Elizabeth by her mother, the dowager queen. I have the Lady Elizabeth's very gracious consent to this proposal. And I have been offered the throne of England by the duke of Buckingham, who set Richard of Gloucester thereon."

"What?" Francis gasped, and then, "It is a trap."

"It is well baited, then." Henry shrugged and passed him the contents of the messenger's pouches. His face and voice were calm, his hand steady, but Francis did not miss the pale lips and cheeks. "The messengers are outside. One has been my mother's trusted servant for many years. The other I do not know, but my mother's man vouches for him."

Francis read the two letters written in French and obviously meant for him although they were addressed to Henry. He asked Henry to translate the dowager queen's letter and Elizabeth's note and then sat in silence looking from Margaret's seal to the dowager's to Buckingham's. Finally, he asked for the messengers, questioned them minutely as to their instructions and voyage and dismissed them. Then he handed all the papers back to Henry except Buckingham's letter of credit on a house of Florentine bankers.

"Write me an order for a bearer of mine to collect this sum."

"What name for the bearer?" Henry asked, walking toward a table with writing materials which were always kept in the duke's chamber.

"Landois."

Henry picked up the pen without an instant's hesitation or a single glance in Francis's direction.

"Stop!" Francis said. The pen suspended, Henry looked up inquiringly. "Come here," the duke ordered.

Obediently Henry laid down the pen and came back. Halfway across the room he could see the tears on Francis's cheeks. "What is wrong, my lord?" he asked, hurrying to kneel at Francis's feet.

"Should I not grieve at the loss of such a son?" Francis asked. "Landois is your enemy, yet you would put your chance for a throne into his hands at my word. There are many men who have sons of their own flesh who would not do as much."

Henry kept his eyes lowered. It had been such an obvious test that he was ashamed of giving the correct response. He was even more ashamed of springing the trap Francis had unknowingly set for himself. With a further welling of shame, Henry knew he would even use the trembling lips and voice his emotion had given him to lock the trap in place so that Francis could not escape it.

"Order me to say my word had been given to your daughter, my lord, and you will not lose me."

"Do you have the right to the throne which Buckingham claims for you?" Francis asked, as if he had not heard what Henry said.

Henry shrugged again. "If I do, I did not know of it, but I have sent for my uncle. He will know. I do not care about my right, my lord." His voice choked and he forced the words, miserable but conscious of the fine effect he was making, unhappy but determined that Francis should not be diverted and escape committing himself. "I would rather care for Brittany than rule England."

"You would do this for me, Henry?"

Francis had been obvious, but Henry never permitted himself to be. "And for myself. Can you foresee the life I will have if this venture succeeds? Will I have more peace in the land than Edward or Richard? Will I have peace at my own bed and board, married to the daughter of my bitterest enemy?" Perhaps if I wed Anne, Richard will believe I have no desire for his prize and let me live in peace."

The duke shook his head. "More like he will come here to ravage this land as soon as he has broken England to his will. A man who has taken what is not his by right endlessly fears it will be snatched away. Marriage to Anne would only suggest to him that you desire to take England by conquest alone and that you have married Brittany's strength to do it. No, Henry," Francis said, pausing to kiss the young man, "you must go and be king of England."

Dropping his head to Francis's knees, Henry sighed, "As you order, so it shall be done."

CHAPTER 6

Jasper of Pembroke arrived before the sun set on the next day, followed by a band of devoted retainers sworn to die for him if need be. He could only imagine that Henry had sent that hurried note because Richard's emissaries had somehow convinced Francis to yield him up or, even worse, that Francis was dead. Now, in sight of the castle, Jasper hesitated. If he merely craved admittance, he would be allowed in without question, but he and his men had ridden all night and were in no prime fighting condition. To get out, if they had to carry Henry away, would not be so easy. A man sent forward to the gates returned with fair news. At least the duke was alive. Jasper hesitated again, then sent his man once more to ask that Henry ride out to him. He offered the lame excuse that he did not wish to bring so large an armed troop into the duke's residence.

Whatever Jasper's fears that his message would infuriate Francis or warn Henry's enemies, he did not need to endure them long. Henry himself appeared, dressed magnificently for a state dinner and still apparently chewing his last bite of food. The sight irritated Jasper enormously. He had had nothing at all to eat in over twelve hours and had been tortured by imagining Henry in the power of his enemies. To see him as calm and as high in favor as ever seemed momentarily to be more a cause for rage than relief.

"What the devil do you mean by sending me a message like that?" Jasper bellowed.

Henry slid his eyes over the tired group. "I am glad to see you, uncle," he replied sweetly, "although I scarcely expected that you would bring half Brittany's army with you."

"If you were ten years younger, I would warm your— I would see that you could not sit your horse to hunt for a week. Is this a time, with Richard's envoys at court, to play at such japes?"

Seeing that Jasper was really discomposed, Henry said pacifically, "It was no jape, but there is no danger that requires armed men. I told you so. Dismiss them to take their ease in the town, uncle, and come within. Do you rest, also, and refresh yourself. I must go back lest there be wondering at my hasty departure."

It was midnight before Henry returned to his own quarters, where Jasper had chosen to wait for him. Seeing that his uncle was scarcely better tempered, Henry decided to attack rather than explain to change Jasper's mood.

"Why did you not tell me I had a valid claim to the throne of England?" he asked in a soft voice that was singularly unpleasant. "You put me in a curiously difficult situation."

"It was your mother's wish," Jasper said. As the words left his mouth, he realized he had placed the blame on Margaret to avoid his nephew's wrath. Shocked at his cowardice, Jasper continued defiantly, "It was my feeling, also, at first because a child should not be burdened by so heavy a fear and later because I did not wish to see you engaged in any harebrained schemes to gain that throne which might lose you Brittany."

"Uncle," Henry said reprovingly, "when have I ever engaged in any harebrained schemes? And who are you to cavil," he laughed, "who came with armed men to storm Duke Francis's stronghold to rescue me if need be." He took two quick steps, flung his arms around Jasper and kissed him soundly. "Could aught be more harebrained than that?"

"Who told you?" Jasper asked, pushing Henry away and refusing to be diverted by his teasing or the realization of how neatly he had been tricked by the feint of anger. "And what difficulty could come of your lack of knowledge?"

"Little but the loss of a chance at that throne. I nearly sent away someone who came to make me an offer of it, setting him down as a liar."

"Who never engages in harebrained schemes? What nonsense is this, Harry? Stop your jesting. It is not meet, and it is dangerous."

"Then, it is true? There was an act in the time of Richard II and it did not forbid the Beauforts the throne?"

"There was an act, and it did not reserve the royal dignity. Harry, what foolishness are you planning? Who could make you an offer of the throne?"

"Buckingham."

There was a silence; then Jasper asked doubtfully, "A trap?"

"Accompanied by a large draft upon Florentine bankers?" Henry countered. "No, the offer is confirmed by my mother and reinforced by a letter from the queen dowager offering me her daughter's hand in marriage."

Jasper stared wordlessly at his nephew, then right through him as if he strained to see the future. At last he released his breath in a long sigh. "If I did not know her, I would say your mother is a witch. She told me this would come about twelve years since when she first begged me to fly with you. Mayhap she is more than a witch—a saint with foreknowledge. I begin to think the matter was ordained, for I have known for long that you are not as other men." Suddenly Jasper knelt. "I desire the honor of being the first to do homage to Henry, king of England, seventh of the name."