Jasper by Tony Riches

instilled in him a useful self-discipline and he eventually learned to be patient. He remembered the abbess would always tell them maxima enim, patientia virtus , patience is the greatest virtue, when they asked how long it would be before their father came for them. The nuns sacrificed everything for their faith, yet still seemed content with their simple lives.
    Now he understood his father had no choice in the matter, but at the time it felt they had been forgotten and abandoned. He prayed faithfully with his brother Edmund every day for his parents to return. There was no word, not even a note or a letter. Three long years passed before he saw his father again and learned his mother was dead, as well as a sister he had never seen.

    They reached the border with Brittany without challenge, having made the best of daylight and stopping each night to sleep in barns and outhouses. The local farmers and villagers seemed happy to take Jasper’s silver to provide food and ale for his men, and knew better than to ask questions of the Irishmen. Jasper guessed they had seen plenty of mercenaries passing through, ready to fight for anyone with money.
    Their destination, the Château de Clisson, grand fortress residence of Francis, Duke of Brittany, perched over a tributary of the River Loire, the Sèvre Nantaise. Dominated by a massive keep, the duke’s château was defended by a wide, green moat and from the highest tower flew the black and white ermine flag of Brittany.
    Jasper led his men across the narrow stone bridge to the high gatehouse and announced himself to the liveried guards in French. After a short wait, the duke appeared in a doublet embroidered with a rampant lion. Well built, handsome and clean-shaven, he studied them appraisingly.
    Jasper realised he must look more like the soldier of fortune he pretended to be than an earl and garter knight. Mud from the road spattered his plain clothes and boots and he hadn’t washed or slept properly for a week. Only his fine sword with its engraved silver hilt offered any clue to his true identity.
    He eyed the armed guards flanking the duke and saw they were ready to act. One word from Duke Frances and he could face long imprisonment for ransom, or worse. He had decided to take risks for Lancaster and now it could be time for him to pay the price.
    ‘Sir Jasper Tudor? Son of Queen Catherine, of the House of Valois?’ The duke spoke in French, his voice cultured, with little trace of the accent of the region yet questioning, as if he doubted the truth of Jasper’s claim.
    ‘At your service, Duke Francis.’
    ‘Come. I am intrigued to understand what has brought you to Clisson.’ He gestured to the guards, who stood aside to let Jasper and his men pass.
    They followed him through the gatehouse into a courtyard paved with cobblestones. A magnificent bronze cannon pointed malevolently towards the entrance and Jasper noted it stood ready for use if the château ever came under attack. The heavy iron-studded doors of the gatehouse slammed shut behind them and Gabriel gave him a cautionary glance as he took the reins of his horse.
    Jasper followed the duke across the courtyard to one of the towers and up a flight of stone steps into a high-ceilinged room. Swords and shields, some with the patina of great age, decorated the curved stone walls. In a recessed niche stood an old stone sculpture with the unmistakable features of the duke, although Jasper realised it must be one of his ancestors.
    Duke Francis waited for his guards to close the door. ‘What brings you to Brittany?’ There was a challenge in his voice and he stared, unsmiling, as he waited for an answer.
    ‘I come as the ambassador of Queen Margaret of England.’
    ‘The deposed queen?’
    ‘The rightful queen of King Henry, my half-brother.’
    ‘Daughter of the King of Naples, and cousin of Louis, King of France.’ The duke scowled in contempt.
    Jasper took a deep breath and fought back the tension as he