Semper Fidelis- Squire of Middleham Read online

  Semper Fidelis

  Squire of Middleham

  C J Lock

  Copyright © 2017 C J Lock

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781521790182

  DEDICATION

  ‘Tempus omnia monstrat’

  This motto is often attributed to Francis Lovell, and although it appears to have been used by different branches of the Lovell family, it cannot be said to be one he personally used. That being said, in dedicating this book to the memory of Francis, 1st Viscount Lovell, I hope that in relation to both himself, and his much maligned friend Richard III, it comes to pass and we do find that…

  Time shows all things

  FOREWORD

  ‘Semper Fidelis’ is, essentially, the same timeline as featured in ‘Desmond’s Daughter,’ only told from the perspective of Richard’s friend, Francis Lovell.

  Why, you may ask?

  Isn’t that just re-hashing the same thing over again? Well, yes, and no.

  There are many places in ‘Desmond’s Daughter’ where the events take place ‘off stage.’ Caitlin does not witness these, may not even have heard of them second hand, but they happened all the same. She was not present as her children arrived at Middleham. Nor was she there when Anne gave birth to Richard’s son. Or later, when the news reached the royal couple of his death. She played no witness to many key events in Richard’s life, which is where this storyline can now shed some light. Some scenes will be familiar, cropping up in the story here and there, as we hear how Francis saw them. We find out when he first became attracted to Caitlin, and how that burgeoning affection played out over the ensuing years, encompassing love, hate, frustration, jealousy and tragedy. It is the story of one man’s continuing loyalty, as a slew of powerful, external forces did their best to pull him from his chosen path.

  Francis Lovell is both an enigmatic and shadowy figure. Shadowy in that we only get various, tantalising glimpses of his life in documents such as the Calendar Patent Rolls and the odd letter written in his own hand. Enigmatic in that there is so much we don’t know for certain. We don’t know his character or motivations; not even how, or when, he died. Myth and legend fill the void, but most opinions see him as a capable, dependable and loyal friend of Richard Plantagenet. Yet, even when and where this close friendship was formed cannot be certain, but however it happened, it seems undeniable that at some stage in their lives they met and formed a close friendship which lasted until Richard’s death in 1485. And beyond.

  After that, apart from almost managing to murder Henry Tudor in York and his role in the Battle of Stoke Field in June 1487, he disappears. No doubt to die sometime, but when and how?

  Drowned in the Trent, starved in a vault, fighting abroad in a foreign army? Or peacefully, in his bed, long forgotten by those who once stood at his side. Those readers of ‘Desmond’s Daughter’ will already know my take on this so the ending will be no surprise.

  Although the story of Richard III is dramatic enough in itself, there are many areas where authors take dramatic licence. There are places where, for reasons which sit best with the storyline, certain minor facts are changed. Indeed certain suppositions are made. In ‘Semper Fidelis’ this is no different. In fact, it applies even more so.

  I have, as far as I can, stuck to the facts as they are known, but with a figure such as Francis Lovell, this would make sparse material for a book. Where things have been changed, or subject to invention, see the detail in the Author’s notes, and I say - ‘Mea Culpa,’ for any who find this annoying. Yet this is a work of fiction. The Francis Lovell who exists in these pages is the one who roams my mind. Nothing else.

  I wanted to make Francis a real man, with true dilemmas and challenges, failures and successes and if we just laid out the facts, there is hardly anything there to go on at all. Wherever he rests, I hope I have done him justice

  Table of Contents

  1. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  2. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  3. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  4. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  5. WARWICK CASTLE

  6. WARWICK CASTLE

  7. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  8. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  9. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  10. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  11. GREENWICH PALACE

  12. GREENWICH PALACE

  13. GREENWICH PALACE

  14. GREENWICH PALACE

  15. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  16. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  17. MINSTER LOVELL

  18. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  19. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  20. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  21. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  22. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  23. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  24. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  25. BARNARD CASTLE

  26. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  27. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  28. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  29. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  30. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  31. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  32. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  33. MIDDLEHAM CASTLE

  34. YORK

  BOOK 2

  1.TOWER OF LONDON

  2. RAVENSWORTH CASTLE

  3. RAVENSWORTH CASTLE

  4. RAVENSWORTH CASTLE

  5. NORTH YORKSHIRE

  6. NORTH YORKSHIRE

  7. YORKSHIRE

  8. YORKSHIRE

  9. BAYNARD’S CASTLE

  10. BAYNARD’S CASTLE

  11. BAYNARD’S CASTLE

  12. BAYNARD’S CASTLE

  13. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  14.WESTMINSTER HALL

  15. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  16. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  17. MINSTER LOVELL

  18. MINSTER LOVELL

  19. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  20. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  21. ST MARTIN IN THE FIELDS, LONDON

  22. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  23. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  24. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  25. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  26. WESTMINSTER ABBEY

  27. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  28. GREENWICH PALACE

  29. GREENWICH PALACE

  30. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  31. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  32. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  33. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  34. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  35. COVENTRY

  36. BARNET

  37. BARNET

  38. BARNET

  EPILOGUE

  Author’s Notes

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My sincere thanks and appreciation to the Richard III Society who hold a wealth of information about all things Ricardian, including the main protagonist of this story, Francis Lovell. My apologies to anyone who has waited for ages for me to respond to an email because my head is almost permanently stuck in the 15th century and finally, the person I couldn’t do this without, my beta/proof reader Amanda Geary

  BOOK 1

  Loyalty and Love

  1. WESTMINSTER PALACE

  June 1468

  “Tom?”

  Tom Parr jerked up his head quickly, looking somewhat flustered as I strode towards him across the bustling courtyard. It was a fair morning, summer just beginning to bloom, and although I had recently returned from a trip to Greenwich, my mood was more than a little subdued. Once again, my bird, my prize possession, flatly refused to hunt.

  Despite my best efforts, and believe me there were many, she showed no interest at all. Not even when I knew she must surely be more ravenous than any one of the beasts in the Tower menagerie. Serenely graceful in flight, it was a sheer delight to watch as she soared up into the heavens, her dark, feathered wings
stretched out majestically against the sky. Yet instead of seeking out prey, she mostly ignored it, seemingly absorbed in the sheer elegance of her ability to swoop and glide at will. Try as I might, I could not entice her into the hunt, yet neither could I give up the challenge. She was the first real possession I had ever owned and I was not about to relinquish her. At least not yet.

  Not that I was a pauper. Far from it. My family had a long and noble lineage, owning lands spread around the country from north to south. Yet at the time my father had died, I was too young to benefit from any of it. Instead, I found myself thrust into the service of one of the noblest families in the land where I was to receive the training and education aimed to prepare me for my inheritance. At the express will of our sovereign King Edward, I became the ward of his most valued counsellor and cousin, Richard Neville.

  The great and mighty Earl of Warwick. An experienced knight and soldier. A hardened warrior who had fought at the side of the king’s father, and who had helped the king himself to win a bloody, snow bound battle at Towton seven years ago.

  It was a battle which ousted the Lancastrian regime that my own family supported, and transformed a scion of the rival House of York, Edward Plantagenet, into King Edward of England. He was only nineteen years old. And a king!

  My family’s fortunes turned like the tide and in short order, in fact with somewhat breathless speed, I found myself married to Warwick’s niece. She was a timid young girl who was pleasing enough even, I supposed, if taking into account that she was around half my age. That done, and my future decided on the whims of kings, I was summarily packed off to one of the earl’s primary fortresses. A massive, slate- grey edifice rooted in the rolling green hills and dales of the wild and desolate north. It was a place called Middleham Castle.

  I have to admit, when I first rode underneath the arch of the eastern gatehouse, I had no idea how attached I would become to those cold, forbidding walls. Of how the bonds formed within their towering shadows would determine the course of my path in life. On that first day I only remember being sad, lonely and afraid of what was to become of me - the son of a family with Lancastrian ties, with blood bonds to a house which had risen against the king.

  That was seven years ago and as a child, I had no part in it, yet the stain still seemed to linger. Now, I had been brought to court by the earl himself, in the company of my fellow henchmen, with the aim of practising our courtly skills within the confines of a royal palace. Everywhere you turned there were people. Each hall and chamber was stuffed full of an array of churchmen, nobles and ambassadors, all attended by a plethora of servants and courtiers. Fording through them was like being smothered by a pillow drenched in sickly-sweet spices. There was no air. Eyes were sharp, ears skillfully honed. Moistened lips murmured secret words that only those especially chosen could determine.

  I knew very little about the men of the court, their faces were a blur, their names unknown. It was something I expected the next few weeks would resolve, as one thing I was sure of was that no one could survive this seething sea of political expediency if they did not learn fast. Learn who to trust, who to befriend, and more importantly, who to avoid!

  It was enough to make me turn tail and hurtle back to the wild, clear spaces of the north, if only I could. Having survived my early years at Middleham, despite the constant trials which had seen my Lancastrian leanings stripped away day by day, like cook stripping an onion in the castle kitchens, I had grown to respect and honour the House of York. It was in their service I now toiled by the hour to make myself the best squire, the best knight, that I could. I often wondered if my ancestors would be turning in their graves.

  Yet, something completely unexpected happened which had eased my way into these hallowed halls. I had, quite by accident, acquired a secret weapon. I had made a friend of the king’s youngest brother, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester. I can truly say unexpected, as he was uncommon amongst the young squires who were crafting their skills at the lectern and tiltyard. He was quiet, serious, with a rare smile which imbued a sense of warm satisfaction if you caused it to appear by word or deed. Studious and attentive, he held a deep well of thoughts behind penetrating grey eyes, and to my astonishment, he had found my company to his liking and after only a mere hour at his side, I felt the same.

  Since that day, we had formed a firm bond of friendship and both of us seemed to recognise, without ever acknowledging it out loud, that it would tie us together for life. Call me a fool, a dolt or an imbecile if you will. I can only tell you what I felt. What I knew, and still know, to be a certainty, as sure as one day death will claim us all. It was as simple as that, for me.

  It was Tom, another friend and one of Richard’s squires, who was now skulking round the stables suspiciously as I returned Lark, my aptly named falcon, to the mews. His lean face flushed sunset red when he saw me and it was then I understood that he was up to no good.

  “Francis! Where the devil did you spring from?” He cast a quick, cautious look over his shoulder towards the stables as if fearing, or wishing, to be overheard, before returning his gaze to mine as I halted before him.

  Lark danced fractiously on my wrist, moving restlessly from one foot to another. I reached up to caress her downy breast with one finger and she settled immediately, her head still alert under the leather hood. Recovering a little, Tom gave a short laugh, his high colour receding as he sought to steer the subject away from his loitering presence outside the stables.

  “Surely you are not still trying to get that bird to hunt? Take some advice from me! Give up! It’s beyond time to find a new one.”

  To a certain extent his ploy was a success. I couldn’t help but look at her standing so proudly on my gauntlet. Wings the colour of autumn acorns, her breast creamy white, spotted dark here and there, like royal ermine. She was a beautiful creature, but I just couldn’t make her do what she didn’t feel like doing and in a small way I admired that, despite my frustration. As she was my first experience with anything of the female gender outside of my mother and sisters, I was fervently hoping it wasn’t a pattern that was likely to reoccur!

  I shrugged carelessly, as if her shortcomings mattered little, even though the smirking grins of the other henchmen rankled more and more each day. My friend and fellow esquire, Rob Percy, was the worst, which was made all the more galling by the fact that his bird was like an arrow in flight, and it always, always, hit its mark.

  “I’ll keep her as a pet,” I answered with a bravado I was far from feeling, hating myself for the twinge of embarrassment that pierced my innards. “There are other birds more suited to the hunt than she.”

  Tom accepted this, although he didn’t look overly convinced but he seemed to catch a glimpse of something behind me and his lips twitched involuntarily.

  “Speaking of hunting… “ he murmured softly, lowering his head as if in greeting to whoever he had seen approaching. He refrained from finishing his thought and I turned, half expecting to see Rob having followed me to the mews so he could goad me for my failings in the art of falconry. Yet what I saw caused me to lose all breath from my body, so unexpectedly that I almost gasped aloud, as if an invisible fist had punched me in the stomach.

  A figure approached all right, but it was in no way the annoyingly mocking Rob Percy. It was a young girl, and even before she dropped her hood as she came to a halt before me, I knew without question she would be a beauty. When she did finally reveal herself to me, I had to avert my gaze swiftly and look back at Tom to prevent from betraying a sudden rush of confusion.

  With the sun behind her, catching light to hair the shade of an autumn forest ablaze with fire, she stood bathed in a golden halo of radiance. As I turned my head back slowly, narrowing my eyes against the brilliance of this vision, emerald green eyes reached out and harnessed my heart as surely as two hands clasping around it and claiming it for their own. My chest tightened in response, as I floundered, hopelessly, hardly knowing if it were still day, or if n
ight had descended as I stood, enraptured.

  My throat closed up and I swallowed quickly, hoping to recover my former composure, still not understanding how a mere girl could have such a devastating effect on me. Things were happening inside my body that I had, for certain, never experienced before with this intensity and certainly not in such a public place.

  “Tom, what’s this?” I asked him, speaking quickly to cover my own embarrassment and hoping my voice remained steady. “Clandestine trysts in the stables? Surely you can do better than that? This lady is far too fair to be courted in a stable yard!”

  The girl said nothing, keeping her brilliantine gaze fixed on mine. I longed for her to speak to me, wanting more than anything to hear her voice and know she was not some angelic vision and I a gibbering fool. Never could I recall ever having seen anyone who appeared so perfect in my eyes, not even the queen, who most men said was the most exquisite of women, a true beauty who had captured the heart of a king.

  There was only one flaw. She appeared to have a cut on her bottom lip, which was slightly swollen. Yet even that only gave her pout even more allure. The wound made me stare at her mouth much more than was decent, I was sure. At my goading, Tom flushed even brighter and looked down at his boots, lowering his voice with his head.

  “’Tis the duke my lady is here to meet, not I!”

  Before any of us could react further, that very duke, the king’s brother and my own good friend Richard, Duke of Gloucester, stepped out of the stables, cloaked and booted in readiness for a journey. To say I was startled was an understatement, for I had no idea how long he had been in there. Or if he had been hiding, or waiting. Yet just one look at his face gave me my answer.

  His usually sombre expression was lit from within and with unexplained dismay, I saw a light kindle in his dark grey eyes as they too met those of our silent visitor. My own breath shortened even more at the sight of their wordless greeting and my head began to spin a little. They knew each other, that was for certain.