blade of his axe. His anger and frustration eased, he could think clearly for the first time since his meeting with Thomas White.
He had never blamed William Herbert for his part in his brother’s death in Carmarthen but the thought always nagged at him. Now it seemed Herbert openly claimed responsibility for his father’s capture, if not his execution. Jasper tugged the axe free of the block and set up another heavy log. Again, he swung the axe and brought it down with such force the two halves of the log sprang into the air.
He stopped to gather his breath and wiped the sweat of his exertion from his brow. Gabriel and Máiréad had listened in silence as he told them the news from Wales. He kept nothing back, as they deserved to know and would find out soon enough. In a way it helped to say the words out loud, to share the bitter thoughts that buzzed in his head like angry hornets.
A plan began to form in his mind. It would not be easy, but circumstance had changed him into a man with nothing to lose. He must take risks to stand any chance of defeating York. He comforted himself with the knowledge that York had not won everything. Thomas White told him the great fortress castles of Harlech and Denbigh still held for Lancaster. King Henry and Queen Margaret were now safe in Scotland, rebuilding their Lancastrian army, and he had his Irish mercenaries, not enough in number, yet keen to fight.
Jasper left the axe buried in the chopping-block and went in search of Gabriel. He found him in the kitchens with Máiréad and sensed they had been talking about him.
‘We’re going to Scotland.’ He announced, gratefully taking the tankard of bitter tasting ale Máiréad poured for him, enjoying its refreshing coolness after his hot work.
Gabriel seemed pleased at the news. ‘We’ll need a ship, sir, big enough to take all the men and horses?’
‘Master Conley has offered me a ship, at a price.’
‘When do we sail?’
‘Ready the men, Gabriel. I shall ride to Cork to arrange our passage.’ He turned to Máiréad. ‘Will you come with me? We’ll need provisions and I’ll bet you can strike a fair price?’
‘I will, my lord,’ she gave Gabriel a brief look of triumph and smiled at Jasper, ‘I must change into my riding clothes.’
Gabriel waited until Máiréad was out of earshot. ‘Will you be thinking of taking her to Scotland, sir?’
Jasper drained his tankard of ale. ‘If she wishes. Scotland is no more dangerous for her than here.’
Autumn mists wreathed Linlithgow Palace, rising from the loch like ancient ghosts and making the rooms damp and musty, despite fires kept blazing in the hearths. Jasper pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders and wished he could return home to Wales. He rode around the tranquil loch each morning, despite the uneven, muddy path, to gather his thoughts for the future.
The king had remembered him, but appeared older than his forty years, his hair and beard already turning grey. He had a distant look in his eyes and dressed in simple clothes, more like a priest than the King of England. Queen Margaret also seemed tired, but far from defeated. Still an attractive woman, she seemed pleased to see him and ordered a banquet to celebrate his safe arrival from Ireland.
Privately, she confided to Jasper she struggled to pay her soldiers and many were deserting to York. ‘King Louis will lend me the money.’ Her voice sounded defiant, her French accent returned now there was no need for her to pretend to be English.
Jasper reined in his horse and turned to look back at the rambling palace, reflected in the untroubled waters of the loch. Queen Margaret wished for him to negotiate with the devious King Louis of France on her behalf, and he could see why. It was not for her bewildered husband or even for herself.
Her only interest was in the future of her son, Prince Edward of Westminster. His horse snorted with impatience and stamped a hoof on the hard ground, snapping
He had never blamed William Herbert for his part in his brother’s death in Carmarthen but the thought always nagged at him. Now it seemed Herbert openly claimed responsibility for his father’s capture, if not his execution. Jasper tugged the axe free of the block and set up another heavy log. Again, he swung the axe and brought it down with such force the two halves of the log sprang into the air.
He stopped to gather his breath and wiped the sweat of his exertion from his brow. Gabriel and Máiréad had listened in silence as he told them the news from Wales. He kept nothing back, as they deserved to know and would find out soon enough. In a way it helped to say the words out loud, to share the bitter thoughts that buzzed in his head like angry hornets.
A plan began to form in his mind. It would not be easy, but circumstance had changed him into a man with nothing to lose. He must take risks to stand any chance of defeating York. He comforted himself with the knowledge that York had not won everything. Thomas White told him the great fortress castles of Harlech and Denbigh still held for Lancaster. King Henry and Queen Margaret were now safe in Scotland, rebuilding their Lancastrian army, and he had his Irish mercenaries, not enough in number, yet keen to fight.
Jasper left the axe buried in the chopping-block and went in search of Gabriel. He found him in the kitchens with Máiréad and sensed they had been talking about him.
‘We’re going to Scotland.’ He announced, gratefully taking the tankard of bitter tasting ale Máiréad poured for him, enjoying its refreshing coolness after his hot work.
Gabriel seemed pleased at the news. ‘We’ll need a ship, sir, big enough to take all the men and horses?’
‘Master Conley has offered me a ship, at a price.’
‘When do we sail?’
‘Ready the men, Gabriel. I shall ride to Cork to arrange our passage.’ He turned to Máiréad. ‘Will you come with me? We’ll need provisions and I’ll bet you can strike a fair price?’
‘I will, my lord,’ she gave Gabriel a brief look of triumph and smiled at Jasper, ‘I must change into my riding clothes.’
Gabriel waited until Máiréad was out of earshot. ‘Will you be thinking of taking her to Scotland, sir?’
Jasper drained his tankard of ale. ‘If she wishes. Scotland is no more dangerous for her than here.’
Autumn mists wreathed Linlithgow Palace, rising from the loch like ancient ghosts and making the rooms damp and musty, despite fires kept blazing in the hearths. Jasper pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders and wished he could return home to Wales. He rode around the tranquil loch each morning, despite the uneven, muddy path, to gather his thoughts for the future.
The king had remembered him, but appeared older than his forty years, his hair and beard already turning grey. He had a distant look in his eyes and dressed in simple clothes, more like a priest than the King of England. Queen Margaret also seemed tired, but far from defeated. Still an attractive woman, she seemed pleased to see him and ordered a banquet to celebrate his safe arrival from Ireland.
Privately, she confided to Jasper she struggled to pay her soldiers and many were deserting to York. ‘King Louis will lend me the money.’ Her voice sounded defiant, her French accent returned now there was no need for her to pretend to be English.
Jasper reined in his horse and turned to look back at the rambling palace, reflected in the untroubled waters of the loch. Queen Margaret wished for him to negotiate with the devious King Louis of France on her behalf, and he could see why. It was not for her bewildered husband or even for herself.
Her only interest was in the future of her son, Prince Edward of Westminster. His horse snorted with impatience and stamped a hoof on the hard ground, snapping
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