Jasper Read Free Page B

are answered by your safe return.’
    ‘I failed my country, Margaret.’
    ‘Our Lord has a purpose for you, Jasper Tudor,’ she turned to look into his eyes, ‘I know in my heart you are delivered to us for a reason.’
    Her words carried a certainty that soothed the fresh wounds of his self-doubt. Lady Margaret could not yet be eighteen years old, yet she spoke with the confident authority of the mother he now remembered only in his prayers. He recalled his father’s deep, reassuring voice all those years ago as he knelt at his brother’s side in prayer.
    ‘Always remember your mother, boys, and that she was taken by God bringing us your little sister, named Margaret, after my mother.’
    Jasper had been barely six years old when she died, and grew up thinking of his mother as an angel, the bright halo around her head his shining light of inspiration. Many years passed before he appreciated how impossible it must have been for her as a young French princess, the daughter of the now-dead, King Philip VI of France. In a desperate attempt to end the latest outbreak of the Hundred Years’ War, King Philip had agreed to marry her off to King Henry V of England, the conqueror of their country. Soon widowed, she had found herself vulnerable and alone with Henry’s child before his father risked everything to marry her.
    Lady Margaret waited patiently for his reply. For the first time he noticed she looked like a nun in her black robes and crisp white headdress, a sister of mercy, rather than one of the richest heiresses in the country, her only jewellery a silver crucifix that caught the light as she moved.
    ‘I have been spared to take vengeance on the usurper and free my father from those Yorkist traitors.’ His anger echoed in the low ceilinged chapel.
    A frown flashed across Margaret’s face. ‘Edward of York’s father was cruelly murdered, as was his brother. You knew his father well, Jasper. Was he not a good man? Did he ever put himself forward as king, even when poor King Henry was unable to rule?’
    Her questions stunned him to silence. She spoke the truth, as ever. Richard, Duke of York had been a noble man and they had almost brokered peace together before the Earl of Warwick stormed their barricades on that fateful day at St Albans. Edward’s father deserved better than to have his head on a spike over the Micklegate Bar, mockingly adorned with a paper crown.
    ‘I saw Edward fighting in the battle.’ Jasper pictured him as he spoke the words. ‘He is in no mood for talking of peace.’
    ‘He is young and needs good men like you—to help him find the right path.’ Her voice sounded softer now, and her hand rested lightly on his arm, its gentle warmth a comfort to him.
    ‘I fear it’s too late, Margaret. Edward has made me his enemy, and self-serving men like William Herbert will be straining at the leash to profit from our defeat.’
    ‘We must pray for guidance and the safe return of your father.’
    As they knelt together Jasper tried to clear his troubled mind, yet the image which returned to his thoughts was of Edward, winter sunlight gleaming from his burnished armour. For a moment, in the heat of the battle, Edward glowered in his direction and he had glimpsed the raw fury in the young man’s face. It was too late for talking. The conflict between Lancaster and York which began that day at St Albans had now become a war.

    There was more than enough to keep him occupied at Pembroke Castle, beginning the slow process of trying to rebuild his ravaged army. The best of the fighting men were gone, leaving those too old or young, and worse, those with no appetite to risk their lives fighting in the name of the king.
    The only respite came in tranquil moments of prayer with Lady Margaret, who rose to visit the chapel each day at the first light of dawn. Together they prayed for his father, for peace in these troubled times, and for the soul of her late husband. Jasper greatly missed his brother