Heraldry is a precise science and I had chosen the golden martlet as my differencing device because it was one that had been used by previous earls of Pembroke. The martlet also signified a younger son; one who stood to inherit no estates but had achieved honour through merit and service; for that reason Edmund had also chosen it, alternated with fleurs de lys to indicate his seniority in our French mother’s second family. Heraldic limners depicted the bird as a swift without feet to signify its habit of apparently constant flight, seeming never to land, an appropriate metaphor for our quasi-royal status as brothers of the king but not contenders for the throne. Years later I was to see that this constantly airborne emblem was a personal augury, indicating a restless future of which I was, as yet, blissfully unaware.
To my consternation, as I left the king’s dais, I found my father kneeling before me and kissing my hand. ‘My lord of Pembroke, you have my undying loyalty. My sword and my bow are yours to command. How proud your mother would have been to see you ennobled at the king’s side, where you belong.’
I urged him to his feet, hastily blinking back a fresh welling of tears. ‘Do not make me weep, Father, I beg you, or King Henry will regret his action. It is strong allies he requires, not milksop weaklings!’
Owen Tudor made a derisory noise. ‘Bah! A man who weeps at triumph will also laugh off failure. What is your next move, Jasper, now that you have land and income? Marriage perhaps? Children to found a dynasty?’
The saturnine Earl of Warwick had followed me from the dais and overheard my father’s queries, adding his own sardonic observation as he passed by. ‘That must surely be the king’s expectation, considering his own lamentable lack of an heir.’
Warwick’s lengthy stride had carried him out of earshot before I could protest at his offensive remark, but Edmund had also overheard Owen’s questions and had his own response. ‘A dynasty is certainly my intention,’ he said, ‘and I know precisely who will suit my purpose in that regard. Already Henry has all but given her to me.’
‘Aha, and who is that?’ Owen enquired. ‘A rich widow perhaps?’
‘A widow?’ Edmund’s eyebrows knitted in distaste. ‘I think that is your territory, Father. No, I have the wardship of the Somerset heiress. Marriage to her and the income from her considerable estates will perfectly serve my purpose. Besides she is a Beaufort with direct royal descent. I shall make it clear to Henry that she pleases me.’
Already rattled by Warwick’s uncalled-for remark, I could barely disguise the further outrage I felt at my brother’s bald assumption that he would marry Margaret. ‘She is only nine years old, Edmund!’ I pointed out. ‘And I would remind you that her custody and estates are to be shared between us. You do not have sole rights in the matter.’
Edmund cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘After her yourself are you, younger brother?’
‘I have no intention of marrying a child,’ I snapped, ‘and nor should you.’
Anxious to forestall an argument, Owen tried to intercede. ‘Steady my sons! It is hardly worth coming to blows over something that will be decided by the king anyway.’
Edmund ignored him. ‘She will not be a child much longer. Besides she has older married half-sisters and in those circumstances a girl learns the facts of life very quickly.’
‘And you would know all about that I suppose!’ The biting sarcasm I had injected into this remark made Edmund flush with anger but a blast of trumpets brought an abrupt halt to our rapidly escalating quarrel. The commanding voice of the royal usher proclaimed the start of the feast. ‘By Your Leave my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen – to your places!’ We turned on our heels, parting to take our seats at the high table.
It was at this point that the reason for the absence of the Duke of Somerset, who was after all Edmund’s godfather and might have been expected to attend, became clear. With no dukes present, as premier earls we might be seated on either side of the king and queen, while the Archbishop, as head of the Church hierarchy, was placed between the royal couple. It was a relief to find that Edmund was shown to a position on Queen Marguerite’s left, four places away from where I was seated to the right of King Henry.
During the first course, a series of fish and vegetable dishes served with sauces coloured blue and white to honour the livery colours of the House of Lancaster, I noticed that Lady Welles and her daughter had been seated only a few feet away at a reward table on the dais, among other high-ranking guests. I had observed her from afar, but as yet I had not actually met our new ward and between courses I took the opportunity to wander over to speak with her and her mother.
When her mother had introduced us I addressed her. ‘I hope you are not disappointed to have my brother and myself as your new guardians, Lady Margaret?’
Her eyes had been demurely studying the floor but now they flashed up to my face, revealing whites the colour of skimmed milk and spectacular slate-grey irises that were speckled like a peregrine’s breast. Her reply was unexpected. ‘When the king told me about the wardship he said I could choose whether I wished to stay with Suffolk or go to you. I do not think he really meant it though, because he made you both sound so admirable that it was clear he wanted me to choose you.’
‘However, Margaret kept his grace waiting,’ said Lady Welles with more than a hint of pride. ‘She asked if she could sleep on the decision, which gave her time to consult with me and the rest of her family.’
I made the girl a grave bow. ‘I am proud that your consultations led you to choose us, my lady.’
Her responding smile displayed a trace of mischief. ‘Oh it was not the consultations, my lord. I was still undecided at bedtime and so I prayed to St Nicholas, the patron saint of young girls. He sent me a dream in which I encountered a fierce dragon – and lo and behold not one but two knights rode to my rescue. After that it was easy.’
I returned her smile. ‘Do you often have such vivid dreams?’
‘No. That is why I knew it was the right thing to do. The dragon is the symbol of St Margaret.’
‘It was very obliging of both saints to come to your aid,’ I said. ‘I will remember to thank them in my prayers.’
A fresh blast of trumpets announced the arrival of the next course and I hastened to ask for the honour of being her partner when the dancing commenced.
Her curtsy was graceful and dignified. ‘If my mother permits it.’
Lady Welles did so and we all returned to our places at table as roasted boar and swan were carried shoulder-high into the hall. King Henry refused wine and sipped at his usual cup of small ale looking weary as he ate achingly slowly and in silence. I waited for his page to bring him water to wash his hands before broaching the subject uppermost in my mind.
‘May I ask your grace if it is your eventual intention to make a marriage between Edmund or me and Lady Margaret Beaufort?’
It took several moments for his distant gaze to focus and I wondered where his thoughts had been. ‘Actually