‘I have already decided,’ he replied. ‘I must go to Harlech to meet Exeter. With his Flemish mercenaries and my Welsh recruits we have a chance to secure the principality for King Henry – I cannot put Pembroke before that necessity. I can no longer protect Harri, and he is too young to be taken on campaign, so I have instructed Constable Skydmore to surrender the castle and little Harri to Herbert when he comes. As for Margaret’s hope that you will stay with the boy, I want you and our children to come north with me when I go, Jane. I want to know you are safe at Tŷ Cerrig, rather than being Herbert’s hostage.’

I stared at him in horror. ‘And leave Harri at Pembroke? I would be neglecting my duty. Lady Margaret more or less ordered me to stay with her son. Besides, from what Evan tells me I do not know that we would be welcome at Tŷ Cerrig. No, Jasper, I cannot come with you. Lady Margaret would never forgive me – or you.’

Jasper was on the verge of contesting this refusal but my final remark – the prospect of giving offence to his honoured lady – proved too much for him to contemplate.

When Jasper left for the north a few days later I remained at Pembroke with the children, waiting for fate to play its hand.

29

Jasper

The wilderness of Gwynedd;
Caernarfon & Harlech Castles

I HAD WAITED IMPATIENTLY for a fortnight, expecting him to arrive at Harlech, only to receive a message from the Duke of Exeter that, inexplicably, he had landed further round the coast at Mostyn in Flintshire, the estate of a Lancastrian family loyal to King Henry. Unfortunately it was surrounded by Yorkist lordships; his Flemish army would have to fight its way across North Wales. In fury, I disbanded my men. Why should they kick their heels, waiting for a duke who gave no thought to an agreed rendezvous?

Herbert’s men were everywhere but Maredudd then brought me where none would think to search now winter was coming. Evan stayed with me while I waited, showing me how to survive in the hostile, bracken-smothered territory where our ancestor Owen Glyn Dŵr had sheltered from the English sixty years before. In a small stone hut where a shepherd sheltered in summer, all I had to occupy me, apart from playing cards with Evan, was keeping watch, keeping warm and cursing the Duke of Exeter. Occasionally we heard Jenkin’s signal whistle and stepped out to receive the latest communications and fresh supplies. In the second week of October a letter reached me from Jane, addressed via her brother at Tŷ Cerrig. The letter was unsigned, undated, neither of our names was written – but her greeting was warm and loving. Every day when I re-read it to remind myself how different life had been only a few weeks ago, I was shaken once more by the momentous news it contained.