Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy Page 11

  Drovers with barking dogs bring great herds of black cattle from as far away as Wales to Hatfield, to sell on livestock market days. With so many animals in a confined space it is inevitable that some will escape, causing chaos as market stall holders shout to each other as they try to catch them.

  I enjoy talking with the Welsh drovers, who bring great flocks of sheep from the hills of Wales. It is the first chance I have to practise speaking Welsh since I was a boy and it makes me feel nostalgic to visit the places I remember from my youth. A plan forms in my mind to seek sanctuary at Beaumaris on the island of Ynys Môn if we ever find life too hard in England.

  As the first of May approaches Briony pleads with us to take part in the annual May Fayre, an old tradition to welcome the summer. She sees we need persuading, ‘It’s the best of all the country fairs—people travel from miles around and musicians play while the women dance around the maypole.’ Briony turns to me. ‘You will have to go into the forest with the men and help choose the best tree—it’s all part of the tradition.’ She turns to Catherine. ‘And you, my lady, must dress in white linen and dance with me!’

  Catherine smiles at Briony’s enthusiasm. ‘It is a long time since I have danced.’

  Briony encourages her. ‘That’s all the more reason for you to take part, my lady.’

  ‘I think I will,’ Catherine agrees. ‘And you, Owen, can help the men.’

  As the day approaches, I find myself helping to carry a long, straight tree from the woods. Great care is taken in choosing the tree as there is local pride in competing with neighbouring villages for Hatfield to have the best and tallest maypole. The bark of the tree is stripped and women decorate it with brightly coloured ribbons before the men erect it in the middle of the market square.

  A crowd gathers to see the dancing and Briony and Catherine wear white dresses with garlands of flowers. Musicians start playing to riotous cheers from the crowd while the youngest girls dance in an inner circle around the maypole. Catherine and Briony join the older women in the outer circle. Each holds a ribbon, attached to the maypole and during the dancing the ribbons become completely intertwined and plaited.

  A good deal of ale is drunk at the May Fayre and dancing around the maypole is followed by mummers performing amusing plays, jugglers, acrobats and more singing and dancing. I take part in an archery tournament, coming a respectable second to the local champion and win a hogshead of wine, which I promptly share with the other competitors.

  It is an idyllic life for us all, with only one dark cloud on the horizon. Catherine is anxious about Harry and longs for him to return safely to Windsor. At last Nathaniel arrives with a letter from the young king. Catherine hastily breaks the royal seal and reads the letter with increasing concern.

  ‘Harry has travelled from Calais to the castle in Rouen. He says it was a long journey by road with a large company of men-at-arms. He is staying with his uncle John, Duke of Bedford and a large company of guests, including many French and English nobles and important councillors.’ Catherine looks up at me. ‘He also writes that Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in the market place. He did not see it but says he heard the cheering crowds.’

  I place my hand on her arm to reassure her. ‘Harry is growing fast, Catherine. I’m sure the Earl of Warwick will ensure he is well guarded—and remember Bishop Morgan is also there with him.’

  Catherine looks concerned as she reads her son’s letter a second time. She sees from the neat hand it has been dictated to his scribe, yet the phrasing reveals the words as his own. She can only imagine what it must be like for him, surrounded by men like Duke John, who are prepared to do whatever it takes to see him crowned King of France.

  ‘It seems to me he is being used by his uncle John to bolster the confidence of the English army. There is no need for Harry to spend so long in France, particularly while Paris is still under threat.’

  I recall Duke Humphrey’s words. ‘You are right, Catherine. Almost everyone involved has some kind of self-interest. There is nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘I know—but that doesn’t stop me worrying about him.’

  Nathaniel waits to tell us his news. ‘I had a visitor at Wallingford Castle last week, a wine merchant from London. He claims to be interested in supplying us but was asking too many questions.’

  ‘What sort of questions?’ I have been expecting our long absence to eventually come to notice and am glad we have Nathaniel to help deal with such things.

  Nathaniel looks at Catherine. ‘He was asking if he could see you, my lady.’

  Catherine is surprised. ‘What reason did he give? I would not normally see a wine merchant.’

  ‘That’s what I told him. He said he’d been sent by the Duke of Gloucester, who enquires after your health.’

  ‘First Cardinal Beaufort—and now Duke Humphrey.’ I sense that word about our clandestine marriage has somehow leaked out, although at least it seems no one knows we are at Hatfield.

  Late that night I am awake and restless at Catherine’s side. ‘It is only a matter of time before we are discovered by Duke Humphrey. Nathaniel says the duke is running the country while everyone is away in France.’

  Catherine studies my face in the darkness. ‘You are worried about what he could do?’

  ‘I am. He has the money to pay for spies to find us, so I would prefer to be honest with him, rather than hide as if what we have done is something to be ashamed of. Do you think I should ride to London and try to explain?’

  Catherine sits up. ‘No! The risk is too great. What will I do if he has you arrested?’

  ‘It is a risk we have to take, Catherine.’

  ‘In that case, I should tell you my news.’

  Now I sit up. ‘What news?’

  ‘I am with child again, Owen. We are going to have another baby.’

  I embrace her. ‘Do you think this time it will be a girl?’

  Catherine laughs. ‘It will be good to have a daughter.’ She hugs me tightly, holding me down as if to stop me escaping. ‘I can’t have you locked up in the Tower of London. I’m going to need you here.’

  ‘What do you propose we do about the Duke of Gloucester?’

  ‘I have an idea about that. In the morning I shall write a letter to Duke Humphrey, thanking him for his concern over my health and asking him to grant me a favour.’ She watches to see my reaction.

  ‘What favour?’ Now I am curious.

  ‘I will ask him to reward one of my most loyal servants, a man named Owen Tudor, who has faithfully supported me through my most difficult times.’ She smiles. ‘I will request that the duke petitions parliament to grant you the rights of an Englishman, for your service to the dowager queen.’

  ‘Do you think he will consider it?’

  ‘How can he refuse a request from me?’

  ‘Duke Humphrey will see it as a way of further strengthening his hold over you.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten you are still his spy in my household, Owen Tudor...’

  ‘You would do well to remember that, Dowager Queen Catherine.’

  I stay awake long after she has fallen asleep in my arms, my mind a whirl of ideas and possibilities. With the rights of an Englishman I would be able to own land and property. There could even be the chance of a knighthood if the king eventually accepts me as Catherine’s husband. Catherine’s request is important for me, for as well as Edmund, our family will soon be increased by one more.

  As summer turns to autumn I find I am less worried about the imminent birth of our second child. Catherine seems more at ease with herself, even visiting the weekly market with Briony. I persuade the midwife from Much Hadham to come and stay at Hatfield as Catherine’s time draws near and Briony agrees to act as her assistant.

  It is a straightforward birth, early in the morning and all over quickly, yet not the daughter we hope for. The midwife holds the new born baby for me to see. It is another boy, already wailing with his strong lungs, shattering the tran
quillity of the bishop’s palace.

  ‘What shall we name him, Catherine?’ We have not discussed names for boys.

  ‘We could call him Owen, after you?’

  ‘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.

  Chapter Eleven

  Summer of 1432

  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.’