shires, homeless, penniless and desperate, stirring up trouble. This series of military setbacks had also drained the royal coffers and caused a dangerous split in the ranks of the English nobility. Earlier in the year the king’s distant cousin, Richard, Duke of York, who publicly lamented these failures, had been banished from court for bringing an army to London, demanding to be given command of the French wars and named as Henry’s heir.
It was Queen Marguerite who told us that she and the king were going on a Royal Progress and Henry desired that Edmund and I accompany them, not as his household squires but as his brothers. ‘Henry will dispense justice to all the poor people who have been robbed and attacked by these renegades from France,’ she explained.
This was undoubtedly an honour, intended to give us an intimate knowledge of our brother’s duties and beliefs. We were to lodge near the royal apartments and share the private solar.
I learned a great deal during that Progress about the way the king’s justice was dispensed, and discovered the enormous discrepancy between those nobles who were actively involved and compassionate overlords and those who dealt with their tenants at third and fourth hand, often using unscrupulous methods of extracting their rents and revenues.
I also found out a great deal about the king and queen themselves. They treated each other with unfailing courtesy but little apparent affection; the private time we spent with them significantly lacked laughter or casual exchange of the kind I expected between two people who had been joined in matrimony for more than six years. In fact, I felt there was a constant, underlying tension, which puzzled me. Of course love was no prerequisite in a dynastic marriage such as theirs but Henry scarcely seemed to notice that Queen Marguerite was undeniably lovely, with an exotic beauty and a graceful figure that elicited furtive but appreciative glances from most of the young men about court. He refrained from any comment on her dress or appearance unless he thought it too elaborate or excessively extravagant. He himself dressed more like a cleric than monarch despite Marguerite urging him to adopt the bright fabrics and brilliant jewels she considered appropriate to the royal state.
She sought our support in this endeavour. ‘The people expect splendour of their king, do you not think? Edmund – you must agree for you are always á la mode. Perhaps you might advise his grace on what the nobility are wearing? I notice that the hems of the young courtiers’ gowns are getting shorter, their hose is more colourful and their jewellery more lavish but I cannot persuade Henry to adopt this style. He dresses as if every day were Vendredi Saint.’
Nevertheless Henry continued to avoid splendour, even when attending the opulent feasts provided by our hosts during the Progress, all of them anxious to please their sovereign, hopeful of obtaining some reward. These occasions provided opportunities for dancing and masking, when many young male courtiers chose to display their physiques, stretching their hose tightly over their thighs and exposing more leg than would be wise in cold weather. King Henry certainly enjoyed a mask, especially if it was based on a biblical theme but his habit was to retire to his private chamber before the evening entertainment became too boisterous.
Usually and much to Edmund’s vexation, he asked the two of us to retire with him. Henry then chose to drink small ale and talk over the events of the day, such as the judicial cases he had heard at the local assizes or a visit he had made to a religious shrine. As strains of dance music drifted through open windows, Edmund’s feet would start tapping out the rhythm, while he strove to preserve an expression of rapt interest in the king’s discourse. I confess that I was often guilty of this myself and reminded of the countless times our greybeard tutors had droned on about the Rule of St Benedict or the writings of St Gregory while beams of sunshine beckoned us outdoors to the joust or the hunting field.
Henry’s cousin and chief counsellor Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, joined the Progress for its final days during a stay at Reading Abbey. We shared our brother’s evening ale as usual and on this occasion so did the duke, a man well known to us. We had good cause to pay him full attention. As a young man, with less status and influence than he commanded now, Edmund Beaufort had proposed marriage to our mother, the dowager Queen Catherine, but the royal council had vetoed the match. Subsequently he had discovered her clandestine marriage to Owen Tudor but agreed to keep it secret and stand godfather to their first son who was named Edmund in his honour. Ever since then he had proved a staunch friend to us and so his presence that evening was highly significant.
The abbot had surrendered his Great Chamber to royal occupation; a huge vaulted and panelled room in which even King Henry’s substantial travelling bedstead looked like a campaign cot. All the doors and windows were closed and the heat of the summer day lingered stiflingly beyond the dusk so that I longed to loosen my collar and open the front of my doublet, under which my shirt clung to me, damp with sweat. The duke and the king sat in carved oak armchairs in front of the empty hearth, two cushioned stools placed before them.
After we had been invited to sit in the king’s presence it was the duke who spoke first. ‘His grace is grateful for the company you have both afforded him during this Royal Progress. He is much comforted by the unflinching loyalty of his two brothers, to him and to his queen, and he has decided that the time has come to show you his favour.’
At this point King Henry lifted his hand to indicate that he wished to speak and Somerset fell silent. Edmund and I exchanged glances and I spied a gleam in my brother’s eye, which resonated with the increased beat of my heart.
‘My lord of Somerset is right,’ the king began. ‘Lately we have felt the grave responsibilities of monarchy weighing heavily on our shoulders and although we can share some of this with our queen and our loyal officials and councillors, it has occurred to us that you, our beloved brothers, who share our royal blood and show us so clearly the love and loyalty which naturally bind us, should be brought within our close circle and raised to a rank which reflects your true status. Therefore it is our desire and intent to create you, Edmund, Earl of Richmond and you, Jasper, Earl of Pembroke. It is our hope that the necessary arrangements can be made for these honours to be conferred by Christmas so you may be ceremonially installed on the Feast of the Epiphany, when gifts are presented in celebration of those brought by the Magi to the newborn Christ. This will be my gift to you.’
At the end of his speech Henry held out his hands, psalter-width apart and smiled expectantly at us, whereupon both Edmund and I sank to our knees before him. Exerting his seniority as usual, Edmund placed his hands between those of the king and spoke the time-honoured oath of fealty, which every nobleman learned by heart.
‘Sire, I am your liegeman in life and limb and truth and earthly honours, cleaving to you above all men, so help me God and the Holy Dame.’
King Henry leaned forward to accept Edmund’s kiss on his cheek and then turned to me, his hands once more outstretched. I felt them encompass mine, his palms surprisingly dry on my sweat-slicked fingers. The same oath left my lips in a voice that shook with emotion. As I moved to give my brother the kiss of fealty I caught the unmistakable odour of incense clinging to his clothes, pungent evidence of the hours he spent daily, praying in church or shrine.
He rose, obliging us to follow suit and his broad smile was unfamiliar but warm. ‘I feel God’s benison descending to salute our brotherly union,’ he said. ‘I will let his grace of Somerset explain the details of your advancement but I hope you will not neglect to give thanks to our Lord and His Holy Mother for their bountiful blessing; and now I will retire to the abbot’s chapel to seek God’s guidance on tomorrow’s assizes. I am told there may be hanging matters involved. I wish you both good night.’
In the absence of a chamberlain, I strode to the door to open it for him, making the guards on the other side jump in surprise and bring their halberds hastily to vertical in salute. As Henry walked out he already looked lost in his own thoughts, his head bowed over clasped hands, like a monk making his way to the midnight Office. As I closed the door Edmund came up behind me and flung his arm around my shoulders.
‘How is it with you, my lord of Pembroke?’ he cried with undisguised glee. ‘Now we are truly brothers to the king!’
I returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm but a stern Somerset