The King's Dogge
Authors: Nigel Green
The King's
Dogge
the story of Francis Lovell
Nigel Green
Copyright © 2013 Nigel Green
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To Alex, Jake, Josiah and Charl
Contents
Strictly speaking, this is not a book about the Wars of the Roses, but because there are references to Yorkists and Lancastrians, I have included a brief note to give the historical background.
In essence, the Wars of the Roses were conflicts fought between the rival descendants of King Edward III and their respective supporters.
The conflict started in 1399 when Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster overthrew King Richard II and went on to become King Henry IV. The Lancastrian dynasty (Henry IV, V and VI) ruled from 1399 to 1461.
Due to a number of factors, not least Henry VI's ineptitude as king, the Wars of the Roses flared up during the 1450s. Eventually the House of York prevailed and, following his victory at Towton (1461), its leader, the Duke of York was proclaimed King Edward IV.
The Yorkist Kings â Edward IV and Richard III â ruled England from 1461 to 1485, although the Lancastrians staged a brief comeback to power in 1470-71. After 1471, as a party they were almost totally defeated and the last Lancastrian claimant to the throne, Henry Tudor, languished in exile.
Against this chronological background,
The King's Dogge
begins in 1470 and concludes in 1485. The second volume of Lovell's biography,
The Last Rebel,
takes up his story thereafter.
I
shuddered as another blast of icy wind howled through the trees. When Sergeant Jervis selected this particular spot he had worried that we might be seen by the enemy. I had been ordered to keep as still as possible. Jervis had chosen a position by the ridge as when we crouched down we had a panoramic view of the village below us, whereas to anyone looking up the hill we would be hidden from sight.
Ignoring Jervis's rhythmic snoring, I looked down on the sleeping village. Nothing had changed since the last time I inspected it. The twenty or so huts stood out clearly against the whiteness of the snow, and the large frozen pond glittered brilliantly in the moonlight. I inhaled the smell of the drifting wood smoke with envy as it rose up to me and rubbed my hands together to warm them.
Satisfied that all was well with the village, I looked towards the south. It was from that direction that the attack would come. I could make very little out in the darkness. I frowned as I tried to remember what I had seen of the landscape when I arrived here yesterday. As I recalled, the village was nestled between two immensely steep hills covered in trees. To the north and south the old riverbed meandered into the adjoining valleys, but because of the contours of the hills, it was impossible to see beyond the confines of our own valley. That had been another worry for Jervis. He had chewed uneasily at his lip and studied the steep slope behind us as he mulled over different tactics. If he placed us higher up the hillside, we would have greater advance notice of the Grey Wolves' attack, but the view of the village would not be so good. In time he arrived at the only possible decision.
âSince you are here to be tested, we should prioritise that over safety,' Jervis said firmly. âBut be sure to wake me when you get the first sight of the Grey Wolves.'
After Jervis left me, I continued to peer to the south looking for any sign of movement. The sound of a stone being dislodged made me spin round quickly. I froze as I heard more stones rattling down the escarpment and a rustling in the trees. A moment later first one, then another and then a third dark shape stepped out of the tree line and into the valley. I initially thought them to be horsemen, but then I heaved a large sigh of relief. The deer picked their way delicately across the snow. In the total silence of the night and in the absence of men, they felt completely safe and stopped to graze at islands amid the patchy snow.
But then they were off, bounding away as fast as they could. I scrutinised the landscape, wondering what had frightened the deer, and then gasped in fear at the shadowy figures now emerging. I waited until I was certain my eyes were not deceiving me and then prodded the snoring figure on the ground.
âThe Grey Wolves have arrived!'
Jervis rose silently. Together we watched the stealthy advance of the Scottish raiders. They approached cautiously, taking advantage of the lie of the land, at times seeming to vanish but then reappearing once they were closer to the village. As the Wolves came, they split into two groups and dissolved into the woods close to the village.
Jervis bent down.
âOne of those bastards will be just below us,' he whispered. âSo keep very, very quiet.'
I listened as his snores threatened to countermand his own instructions and speculated as to what the lord that I served was doing. Ever since the news of the devastating raid into Northumberland had reached him, my Lord Montague had remained shut up in his council chamber. Messengers had been sent out in all directions to gather men and supplies, and it was clear that England's foremost soldier was preparing to counterattack the Scottish war party. If my lord was too busy in his preparations to see me, he must have thought of me because that night I was sent for by Jervis.
âMy lord has learned that it is the Grey Wolves who are raiding,' Jervis told me.
I swallowed uneasily. The Grey Wolves were the most feared of all the Scottish raiders.
âAnd he would like you to take his little test,' Sergeant Jervis added, âso I'll be taking you with me tomorrow to see just how obedient and loyal you are.'
Alone on the hillside, I swallowed hard. Whatever Montague's test involved, it would be starting soon.
The first flicker of dawn was visible as I shook Jervis awake. He groaned as he rose but immediately went to the ridge to inspect the valley. His eyes narrowed, and he pointed silently towards the distance. I followed the direction of his extended finger, but all I could see was a cloud of dust moving up the old riverbed.
Beneath us the village was coming to life. A man sauntered out of one of the huts. I heard the sound of voices and a baby crying. The dust cloud was growing ever nearer, and I could see glints of steel in it now. Two small children ran down to the frozen pond and laughed happily as they slipped and slid on the ice. At the sound of their play, other children ran down to join them, but the ice cracked ominously under the added weight. Still squealing with delight, the children slid back to the safety of the snow.
