Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors by Conn Iggulden Page A

Flemish-built galley was both sleek and fast and he knew nothing on the Welsh coast could catch them.
    ‘Isn’t she fine?’ Jasper said to Henry, still leaning into his rowing. A part of the older Tudor remained aware of the sullen rage in the sailor staring at Henry’s back. He had notcome so far and risked so much to lose his nephew to a feud or a stabbing. With a sigh, Jasper fingered a knife in his pocket, a sharp little thing barely longer than his thumb.
    In his position at an oar, Henry Tudor was able to look back at the coast as it dwindled away. The young earl’s guards were tiny, lonely figures on the docks, still staring and perhaps considering their own futures now that the Tudors had gone.
    As Jasper watched, Henry smiled to himself, taking a huge breath to fill his narrow chest. The lad was tiring visibly, but his uncle sensed he wanted to finish the task and he did not interrupt it. As they drew close to
Pembroke
’s hull, the rowers shipped oars together and grappled ropes sent flying down to them. The boat was lashed on, as steady as it would ever be. Jasper beckoned to his nephew and saw the sailor rising behind at the same moment, his face ugly with passion. As the Frenchman reached out, Jasper knocked him off balance with his shoulder, just as the man had intended for the lad. The sailor flailed and went into the sea with a great splash.
    ‘The rest of you go aboard,’ Jasper growled. ‘And look after this boy, my nephew, who has the blood of kings in him. Keep him safe or I’ll see you swing.’
    They climbed with ease, barefoot and strong. He noted how they took care to show Henry where to place his hands on the coarse ropes, though the bristles stung his softer skin. Jasper looked over the side and was surprised to see the French sailor there, just paddling away without panic. Not many of his men could swim, but those who had grown up on the coasts sometimes learned to float and dive when they were very young.
    There was no longer any anger on the sailor’s face. He knew very well who had pushed him in and his temper had been cooled by the sea.
    ‘Milord, I am sorry. I stumbled and I will not trouble you again.’
    Jasper realized the man thought he was at fault, as one who had knocked against the captain of the ship, of all people. Not that it mattered what the man thought. For an instant, Jasper considered letting him strike out for the shore, but the earl’s guards were still there. The sailor knew their home port, their strengths and supporters. Jasper Tudor put out an arm to help the man climb back into the boat. As the fellow took hold, Jasper reached down with his little knife, catching him in a long slice under his chin. The water bloomed red around him and the sailor fell back and under with an expression of astonishment and betrayal.
    Jasper turned away as quickly as he could, tying the blade cord on to his belt once more. He went fast up the ropes, skinning his knuckles on the rough planks but feeling the pleasure of a sea breeze and success. He had gone to rescue his only living blood relative. All the men of Pembroke, all the earl’s servants and guards and hunters and soldiers had not been able to stop him. He felt the weight of the French king’s gold at his back and patted it. It seemed a shame to just meekly hand it over once again, with London still ahead. A man could make his fortune in London, with a good stake to get him started.
    ‘Raise sail and bear east for Bristol. I command this vessel in the name of King Henry Sextus of England, House of Lancaster.’ There were English and Welsh among the crew. They cheered his words. The Bretons and Flemish sailors just shrugged and got on with raising the anchor from where it dragged over the seabed far below.

4
    Dressed in black, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, settled himself on the top step of the stairs to the inn landing, his chin held in his palm, above a propped elbow. The hose he wore contained a padded section over