Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy Page 5

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’ I sense something between us has changed and hope she is starting to see me as her trusted man.

  The captain of the guard is waiting to see me. ‘We think we have two of the men who attacked you, Tudor, although we need you to identify them, if you will?’

  ‘Of course.’ I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. ‘The man with the scar?’

  The captain shakes his head. ‘No sign of him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll talk?’

  ‘With a little persuasion.’

  I follow the captain to the cells where the two men are held and recognise them immediately, the awful memory of the attack flooding back as I study their scowling faces.

  ‘Your lives will be spared if you confess right now. Tell me where we can find your accomplice—and who put you up to it?’ My voice sounds threatening as it echoes in the dark prison.

  The men look at each other before one speaks. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The arrogance in his words surprises me, considering the man’s situation.

  ‘What about Samuel Cleaver? Is it worth losing your lives to protect him?’

  The men look at each other again and my instinct tells me they are wavering.

  ‘Will you question them for me, Captain?’ My voice is raised so the men will hear. ‘I’m sure you can persuade them to be more helpful.’

  It is enough. The older of the two men speaks. ‘I have a family. Will you promise protection if we testify that Cleaver has been helping himself to supplies?’

  ‘You have my word.’ I turn to the captain. ‘Let’s visit Samuel Cleaver right now—before he gets wind of this.’

  A dozen guards accompany us on the short walk to the Great Kitchen. I expect Cleaver to confront me like a cornered bull, ready to take as many men down with him as he can. I am wrong. The powerfully built head cook is as keen as we are to keep his arrest private from his inquisitive staff.

  Cleaver follows behind the captain, apparently unconcerned about being led to the dungeons. I follow behind with the guards, relieved it has gone so easily. As the guard commander said, such things reflect badly on the security of the queen’s household and also the safety of the young king. Bishop Henry Beaufort, as their guardian, can have both me and the captain replaced any time.

  ‘Why have you arrested me?’ Cleaver addresses his question to the captain, a note of challenge in his voice.

  The captain looks back at Cleaver. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  Cleaver moves with surprising speed for such a heavy man. As soon as we are out of sight of the Great Kitchen he surprises us by sprinting for the trees, with the castle guards in pursuit. The first of the guards to lay hands on him is felled with a powerful punch, then Cleaver grabs the fallen man’s halberd and turns to face the others, yelling and swearing for me to come and face him like a man.

  The captain has seen enough and nods to the remaining guards, who understand what they have to do. I watch as Cleaver charges the closest guard. The man parries the halberd and Cleaver disappears from view as several guards wrestle him to the ground.

  I take a deep breath and turn to the captain. ‘We don’t have any evidence, although you’ve seen for yourself how he behaves like a guilty man?’

  The captain agrees. ‘I will send them all to Newgate Gaol—unless you have other ideas?’

  ‘See he has a fair trial, Captain.’

  Chapter Five

  Summer of 1428

  I made the forty mile journey from Windsor to Hertford Castle, on the banks of the River Lea, with Nathaniel to oversee the arrangements for the queen’s summer banquet to be held there. The old motte and bailey castle, with its wide moat and high curtain wall, was built by the Normans and gifted to the queen by King Henry V. It is where they stayed when they first married and, as with Wallingford Castle, Hertford is now to be used by the queen as a summer residence.

  We have been kept busy organising repairs and redecoration to the Great Hall, built for his own use by John of Gaunt and still adorned with the enormous antlers of stags he no doubt hunted in the castle grounds. Nathaniel has worked long hours, checking enough deliveries of food and supplies to feed an army.

  Over the past five years Nathaniel has become a loyal friend and my right-hand man, reliable and trusted. He has been in charge of supplies to the queen’s household since Samuel Cleaver’s downfall and inspects the store rooms each day to check for any discrepancies. We never apprehended the scar-faced man, and the palace guards watched over me for almost a year before I asked them to stop. Even five years later, I sometimes look over my shoulder to see if I am being followed.

  Now the queen and young Harry have joined us here, together with most of her remaining household. I have been able to secure a comfortable room for myself above the servants’ lodgings. Low, dark wooden beams mean I must take care not to hit my head, but my room is spacious enough to also serve as my office while we are here. Scanning the guest list for the banquet I see the great and the good of England are invited, and one name stands out like a bed bug on white linen.

  I tap the name with my finger. ‘Edmund Beaufort... I wonder if he’s making his move at long last?’

  ‘He was invited at the suggestion of his uncle, Bishop Beaufort.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ I sit back in my chair and think for a moment.

  Edmund Beaufort has visited the queen several times over the past few years, usually in the company of his uncle the bishop. The last time he had been escort to his mother, the Countess of Somerset. They never stay overnight and on each occasion the facts are duly reported to Duke Humphrey, but nothing seems to have come of it. I still feel a strange jealousy at the idea of Beaufort marrying the queen and am secretly pleased to be in a position to do something about it.

  ‘Help me keep an eye on him, Nathaniel.’

  Nathaniel doesn’t need to consult his list. ‘I’ve been informed he’s planning to stay for a week, so I’ve put him in the lodgings furthest from the royal apartments.’

  ‘Good. I must also mention to Juliette to watch for him.’

  Juliette is now the only servant remaining from the queen’s French entourage and has become the handmaiden of her bedchamber. As well as increasing her status within the household, this means Juliette is even more invaluable to me, as she is with the queen from the moment she wakes to when she falls asleep. Little can happen in the queen’s household now without Juliette learning of it.

  ‘Would you like to deliver this list to Duke Humphrey in London?’ I already know the answer. He enjoys his occasional visits to the city, particularly in the summer, and seems to like the importance of visiting Baynard’s Castle. On his last visit he spent a whole afternoon in the duke’s library with one of the finest collections of rare books in the country.

  ‘I would—and I will also take the opportunity to meet with some of our suppliers while I am there.’

  I thank Nathaniel and leave to see how the king has settled into his newly refurbished lodgings. Harry will be seven years old in December and has grown into a likeable boy, with a lively imagination and an endless curiosity. He seems to think of me more like a favourite uncle than his servant, although Queen Catherine has instructed all the household staff to call him ‘Your Grace’. It is important they remember he is the king.

  Dame Alice Boteler has served as the king’s governess for the past four years. In place of Juliette and the nursery maids, his nurse, Joanna Astley, cares for the king through each night. Dame Alice is kindly enough towards me, although we did not have the best start when she first arrived. She told me her task is to teach the young king good manners and courtesy, as his previous nursery maids had not done so. Dame Alice also has the consent of council to chastise the king as she sees necessary.

  I resent her criticism of the way Harry has been raised by Queen Catherine and Juliette, although I must admit that, at times, the young king is quite demanding. Today
the king is trying on a new outfit to wear at his public appearances, a dark red doublet trimmed with gold braid and a velvet hat with a gold coronet around the brim. As he sees me he raises a miniature sceptre in greeting.

  ‘Good day, Master Tudor.’ His voice is still reedy, although he is growing stronger and beginning to look as if he might one day become a true king.

  ‘Good day, Your Grace.’ I bow to the king, playing along with him. ‘Dame Alice.’ I bow to the governess, who curtseys in reply. ‘Is there another public appearance planned?’ I like to know everything that concerns the king or his mother.

  Dame Alice shakes her head. ‘We need to be ready, as the Duke of Gloucester rarely provides notice of when he wishes the king to be seen by the people.’

  I know how the duke can descend on us unannounced. It is his way of doing things. Over the past five years Duke Humphrey had been through a difficult time, having married an heiress, Countess Jacqueline of Hainault, and then failed to secure her titles and lands he considered his by right.

  The duke even led an army of mercenaries across the English Channel to take Countess Jacqueline’s inheritance by force, yet returned empty handed, having abandoned his wife in Mons and returned with his young mistress, Lady Eleanor Cobham. At least the duke seems to be settling down and putting his energies into the welfare of the young king.

  I watch as Dame Alice makes Harry parade up and down the room in his new outfit, pretending to wave royally to cheering crowds on each side. It is hard to reconcile the child I see with my memory of his father King Henry V, rallying the army at a siege, a warrior king.

  ‘Is there any word about when the Earl of Warwick is to become the king’s tutor, Dame Alice?’

  She looks up at me sharply, as if the subject is not to be discussed, and then her attitude softens a little. ‘My understanding, Master Tudor, is that parliament has given approval for Sir Richard to take up his duties in the autumn... before the king’s seventh birthday.’

  I knew the day would come, as Sir Richard Beauchamp, the Earl of Warwick, was named in the late king’s will as his infant son’s governor and tutor. The earl has only been an occasional visitor, as he is Captain of Calais, although he sees it as his duty to visit the young king whenever he returns to England.

  I have allowed myself to settle too comfortably into the routine of the queen’s household and grown out of touch with events in Westminster. Dame Alice is well connected and is regularly visited by members of her family who wished to see the young king. Her understanding is almost certainly correct.

  Dame Alice crosses the room and lowers her voice. ‘I also heard the Earl of Warwick is to become master of the royal household.’ She watches my reaction. ‘Where would that leave you, Master Tudor?’

  ‘I am sure, Dame Alice, the earl has more important matters to concern himself with than such things as ordering fresh flowers for the queen, keeping up supplies of mutton or ensuring clean linen for summer banquets.’

  I sound more confident than I feel. There cannot be two masters of the household and I know the freedom I have enjoyed could end with the earl’s arrival. At least I am forewarned, for which I am grateful to Dame Alice. I decide to spend more time on my visits to the king from now on, as I need Dame Alice’s support.

  ‘I shall look forward to assisting the earl.’ I try to sound conciliatory. ‘And we are all most grateful to you, Dame Alice, for the excellent way you are preparing the king for what lies ahead.’

  Dame Alice blushes at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Master Tudor.’ She glances across at the king, who is throwing his sceptre up in the air. He tries to catch it and fails, laughing as it clatters to the floor. ‘This work seems easy enough to most, although it does have its challenges.’

  That night when Juliette steals into my low-ceilinged room, slips out of her dress and lays by my side in the darkness, I find myself reflecting on our future. It is as if an invisible barrier, like a heavy iron portcullis, has descended, stopping our lives moving forward. For five years, she has waited for me to agree the time is right to marry. Tongues have wagged and people gossiped. It was difficult for us both in the early years, yet now we think little of it.

  I know she hoped to conceive a child. It has been the way of women to tip the balance, but when no child came, doubts began to form in my mind. There is no way of knowing which of us is at fault or if it is simply not God’s will. I lay awake at her side, wondering how long the life we know can continue.

  My easy relationship with Juliette has not been the same since the attack in the stables. The guards keeping watch over me meant she could no longer come and go as she pleased. It kept us apart at nights for almost a year and, although we see each other every day, an unspoken distance has slowly grown between us.

  Now I have a new concern as I reflect on my conversation with the king’s governess, Dame Alice Boteler. I would never admit to being ambitious and have been content in my work, but the Earl of Warwick will make me a servant again. Everything will change, including the way the king thinks of me—and perhaps even how the queen sees me as her trusted right-hand man.

  That is what troubles me most. After five years, the queen has yet to soften her attitude towards me. I see her every day at meal times, meetings about visitors, banquets and all the other household matters. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the woman I have fallen in love with, although she never confides her secrets to me and is as untouchable as ever.

  I put my arms around Juliette and pull her closer. It has been a good summer and, although the hour is late, there is still enough light to see she is still awake. I like the feel of her soft warmth pressing against me and am never happier than when I lay still and listen to her gentle breathing, even though my thoughts now are of the queen.

  I turn onto my side to look into Juliette’s eyes. ‘Nathaniel showed me the list of guests for the summer banquet. Edmund Beaufort is staying here for a week.’

  ‘Do you think he is going to try his hand with the queen?’ The thought clearly intrigues Juliette. ‘I’ve never heard her even mention Edmund Beaufort. How exciting!’

  I sit up. ‘What?’

  Juliette’s eyes twinkle with amusement at my indignation. ‘I think it’s about time.’ She strokes a hand down my chest and laughs as she feels me tense. ‘The queen should stop being a widow—and start living again.’

  ‘Edmund Beaufort has no money, no prospects...’

  ‘Queen Catherine has more than enough money.’

  ‘He is six years younger than her.’

  ‘Perhaps that is a good thing?’ Juliette giggles and sees how it infuriates me. ‘If I didn’t know better, Owen Tudor, I would think you are jealous of Edmund Beaufort.’

  I lie back, knowing Juliette is right. I don’t need to worry about what may or may not happen between the queen and Edmund Beaufort. There are plenty of others who will do that. I drift off to sleep imagining what Duke Humphrey will say when he reads Nathaniel’s list of guests.

  * * *

  The royal banquet at Hertford Castle marks the high point of summer and also the beginning of the end of my daily routine. The king will soon be old enough to no longer need his mother’s care and the Earl of Warwick will take charge of his household. It remains to be decided what will become of Queen Catherine’s household; although I think it unlikely she will be allowed to stay with her son.

  Dressed in the king’s royal livery I watch as the guests arrive, the cream of England’s nobility, chattering like magpies and greeting each other with over-loud exclamations. The lords wear brightly coloured sashes and swords glittering with gold and silver ornament. The ladies have furs and fashionable headdresses with exotic feathers and necklaces of rubies and diamonds. I think each guest wears jewels worth more than I will earn in a year.

  The banquet is one of the grandest I have seen and has taken weeks of preparation. The old kitchens at Hertford are stretched to the limit, as the banquet demands vast quantities of food and drink, more than
enough to feed a small army. The cost of candles, tapers and table linen has severely stretched the household budget.

  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.