Last Champion of York

Francis Lovell, Richard III's Truest Friend

Stephen David

• Publisher: Robert Hale
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9780719828256
• Topic: Geschichte
• Subtopic: Europäische Geschichte des Mittelalters

Between 1483 and 1485 Viscount Francis Lovell was one of the most important and influential men in the government of his childhood friend Richard III, becoming the King's Chamberlain and a Knight of the Garter. Lovell continued to support a Ricardian claim to the throne long after Richard III's death at Bosworth, and his elusive presence cast a dark shadow over the early years of Henry VII's reign. He became Henry VII's most persistent and dangerous enemy, orchestrating an assassination attempt on the new king. He was also architect of an international conspiracy that sought to replace Henry with a Ricardian pretender known as 'Lambert Simnel', which culminated in the battle of Stoke in 1487, the last true battle in the Wars of the Roses. Following Stoke, Lovell disappears from historical record and his fate is a mystery to this day. The eighteenth-century discovery at Minster Lovell of the skeletal remains of a medieval man in a sealed vault possibly reveals the final resting place of Francis Lovell - the last champion of York.An historical account of the mystery surrounding Francis Lovell, the childhood friend of Richard III.Francis Lovell was one of the most influential men in the Government of Richard III.Of great interest to all historians and students of medieval history, Middle Ages and the Wars of the Roses.Illustrated with a 4 page colour section of 10 photographs.Stephen Davis has a degree in History and an MA in Medieval History - and has lectured widely on the Wars of the Roses.

1 THE GHOST

‘Lovell our dogge’

FRANCIS LOVELL HAD BEEN a significant presence around Richard III for the previous two years (1483–1485), enjoying high office and the confidence of the king. This was hardly surprising since they had been friends since youth, both having been part of the household of the great Earl of Warwick, known as ‘the kingmaker’. They had first made each other’s acquaintance about 1465 and almost all sources state that they had been close friends ever since. This relationship was acknowledged by Charles Ross in his seminal biography of Richard III:

Francis Lovell was Richard’s closest friend, a relationship (like that of William Lord Hastings with Edward IV) enshrined in his position as Chamberlain of the royal Household which involved close and regular contact with the king.¹

This proximity and intimacy with the king was to bring Lovell the only notoriety for which he is remembered. In 1484, a supporter of the then exiled Henry Tudor pinned to the doors of St Paul’s cathedral a famous piece of doggerel: ‘The Catte, the Ratte and Lovell our dogge rule all England under the Hog’.² This infamous barb lampooned Richard III’s government by likening his principal ministers to animals: the cat (William Catesby); the rat (Sir Richard Ratcliffe); and the dog (Francis Lovell). The hunting dog was a familiar sight on the badge of Lovell’s family, the Talbot, hence the caricature succinctly and effectively encapsulated the sense of moral outrage and opposition that many Londoners felt towards both Richard III, disparagingly referred to as ‘the Hog’ after his badge of the white boar, and those who had most influence about him, debasing them all to the status of domestic animals.

Unfortunately for Lovell, this very successful piece of anti-Ricardian doggerel endured and has become a shorthand for the way in which he is remembered – with all the attributes of a dog who slavishly follows his master. As a close associate of Richard III, Lovell’s memory (such as it is) has been reduced to being a mere adjunct to Richard, standing at the king’s shoulder, his best friend throughout his life, yet barely possessing any historical presence himself. The fascination with Richard III, his actions and complex personality, so dominates the historiography of his reign that little attention is given to other members of his court and government who, like Lovell, retain merely a shadowy presence, becoming figures of substance only in the dry legal documents of Henry VII’s first parliament in November 1485 where they were declared traitors and attainted. The dread punishment of attainder was something all nobles feared for, apart from the loss of lands, titles and position, a traitor’s very blood was deemed tainted, removing any opportunity for their heirs to restore name, honour or title in the future. At the parliament of 1485, Lovell was by far the most prominent supporter of Richard III still alive and at liberty: as such, he was very high on Henry VII’s list of condemned traitors.

In fact, prior to that parliament, Lovell had already been declared dead, for, in the immediate aftermath of Bosworth, Henry VII had issued a proclamation in which it was announced that Francis, Viscount Lovell, together with Thomas, Earl of Surrey, and John, Earl of Lincoln, had all been slain. The proclamation read by the heralds was knowingly disingenuous and designed to forestall any further Ricardian resistance by clearly stating that all of the previous king’s principal supporters were now dead and thus unavailable as rallying figures. This promulgated the first political lie of the new Tudor dynasty. By inference, it demonstrates the importance the new Tudor regime placed upon the person of Lovell. Rather than regarding him as a mere adjunct to Richard III and of little significance, Henry VII and his advisors recognized him as the most senior Ricardian to have escaped the field at Bosworth and who was now at large and capable of causing trouble in the future. Rather than some ghostly remnant of Richard’s reign, Lovell was recognized by Henry VII as the only surviving Ricardian at large with true leadership potential; and so it was to prove as Lovell became the most elusive irritant and effective opponent of the young Tudor dynasty.

Henry VII’s official historian, Polydore Vergil, described Lovell as ‘an irresolute fellow’,³ a portrayal that was to prove a gross and costly underestimation of Lovell’s abilities. For a man declared already dead, Lovell appears to have had an uncanny ability to move undetected around the country at will. Indeed, for an ‘irresolute fellow’, he demonstrated a remarkable tenacity, moving during 1485/86 from Essex to northern Lancashire and ultimately to Yorkshire, all the while actively fomenting rebellion and plotting treason with his former colleagues in Worcestershire, Breconshire and Yorkshire, culminating in a physical assault on the person of Henry VII at the St George’s day feast in York. This was a remarkable sequence of activity for a man already ‘dead’ and a rude shock to Henry VII, bringing home to him the precariousness of his position on the throne.

With the failure of his first attempt to remove Henry VII, Lovell seemed to vanish once more, yet he never wavered in his opposition to Henry or in his adherence to both the memory of Richard III and his loyalty to what he saw as the House of York’s legitimate claim to the throne. To this end he planned the most dangerous conspiracy that the Tudors would face until the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1538. The Lambert Simnel conspiracy still engenders some ridicule as the name appears slightly ridiculous to an England used to more mundane biblical names. The pseudonym was adopted to allow the conspirators to move ‘Lambert’ around the country without revealing his real identity, while also using a name that would be sufficiently memorable for those involved in the plot to recognize clearly who was being discussed, probably with tongue firmly in cheek. In actuality, there was very little that was remotely amusing for Henry VII, for this conspiracy was an exceptionally dangerous threat to him and the only truly domestic threat he would have to face in his entire reign. As a conspiracy, it was audacious in its inception – the impersonation of a true Yorkist prince, Edward, Earl of Warwick, by a commoner called John (‘Lambert Simnel’), whose true identity only came to light after the rebellion had been defeated at the battle of Stoke Field (1487). The conspiracy was meticulous in its planning, and its recruitment and execution demonstrated leadership on a European scale. Despite the fact that the deception almost succeeded, Lovell’s reputation was once again overshadowed by memories of his dead co-conspiritors: this time, the young John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, and the flamboyant German mercenary, Martin Schwartz. English folk songs would long commemorate the death of Martin ‘Swart’, and it was said that a weeping willow grew on the spot where a stake had been driven into the dead Lincoln’s heart. For Francis Lovell, there is no memorial other than an enduring mystery as he disappeared from historical fact forever.

On 16 June 1487, Lovell rode away from Stoke Field into obscurity, never to be seen alive again. His memory faded – an inevitable result of being on the wrong side of history as the first opponent of Britain’s most glamorous royal dynasty. The new regime had at its command all of the new nefarious arts of Renaissance propaganda; these reached their apogee in Holbein’s masterful depictions of Henry VIII, who, as ‘bluff king Hal’, became a figure truly larger than life. The Tudor’s divine right to rule was reinforced in public consciousness by the concept of Elizabeth I as ‘Gloriana’, whilst the Armada portrait of Elizabeth portrays her, not as the Virgin Queen, but as someone at the very apex of victorious regal majesty. These monumental portrayals of the giants of the Tudor dynasty eclipse those, like Lovell, who came before, rendering them almost invisible. However, this is to view history from the wrong end of the telescope. We should not assume that the triumphs of the Tudors were inevitable and inescapable; they were not. Certainly, between 1485 and 1487 the future of the Tudor regime was sometimes precarious, and it was the new king, Henry VII, who was viewed as the usurper by opponents. Francis Lovell was the man who could have changed history and to admire him only for his loyalty is to misrepresent his achievements. Charles Ross wrote of Lovell that ‘of his ability we know nothing. Of his loyalty there can be no question, and it persisted after Richard’s death.’ ⁴ Yes, Lovell continued to fight for a Ricardian heir to the end, but his loyalty was very much matched by his abilities, which have been overshadowed by more glamorous contemporaries and the subsequent trauma of religious discord. Whether or not the bones found in that Oxfordshire vault that day in 1708 truly were those of Francis Lovell, the time has come to flesh out his reputation, to undertake the task of overturning history’s assessment of the man, and to judge him, not only for his loyalty, but also for his actions and achievements.

2 FAMILY, YOUTH AND WARDSHIP

WE DO NOT KNOW the precise date on which Francis Lovell was born, nor indeed do we know much about his formative years. In this respect, Francis Lovell is not unique, as very little of consequence was habitually recorded on the boyhood and youth of most noblemen at this time. Francis Lovell appears, if at all, only as a name in the legal documents that were put in place as a result of his wardships, firstly in the household of the great Earl of Warwick and later in that of the de la Pole family. From these documents we can deduce his lifestyle and whereabouts, but we cannot know how the forces around him moulded the adult Lovell. Consequently, much of Lovell’s childhood must of necessity be viewed through the prism of the turbulent lives of others, allowing us only a glimpse of the boy himself.

The Lovell family

Francis Lovell came from a long-established baronial family, which had received individual summons to parliament since 1297. The name ‘Lovell’ is derived from the nickname Lupellus (‘wolf-like’), implying characteristics that would have been appreciated far more in the thirteenth century than today. The nickname Lupellus, a common soubriquet applied to those with avaricious traits, was supposedly first applied to Robert, Lord of Breheval, who was a retainer of William the Conqueror. The nickname was then shortened into the easier French pronunciation of Lupel until finally morphing into the more anglified Lovell.

The first of Francis Lovell’s antecedents to be summoned to parliament was John de Lovell, Baron Titchmarsh, in Northamptonshire. John de Lovell married twice and, with his second wife, Joan de Ros, had two sons – John and William Lovell. John, 2nd Baron Lovell, married Maud Burnell, the great-niece of the Bishop of Bath and Wells. Maud brought with her the Burnell estates, which included Acton Burnell, in Shropshire. As followers of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, John Lovell served in the Scottish campaigns of Edward I, dying at the disastrous battle of Bannockburn (1314), where his brother William was captured. Aymer de Valence became the guardian of John Lovell’s son, another John, who was born in 1314.

John, 3rd Baron Lovell, was never summoned to parliament so technically was not a lord. However, he was a close friend and companion of Edward I, fighting at Crécy and the siege of Calais. He died in somewhat mysterious circumstances in 1347, and there is some later evidence to suggest that he had been murdered. He was succeeded by his son, John, 4th Baron Lovell, who died young in 1363 and was succeeded in his turn by his brother, also named John, 5^th Baron Lovell. This John married Maud Holland, whose dowry doubled the estates of the Lovell family and allowed John to style himself John, Lord Lovell and Lord Holland. The Holland family brought about an indirect link to the Crown as Robert Holland’s younger brother had been the husband of Joan the ‘Maid of Kent’, who later married Edward ‘the Black Prince’. John, 5^th Baron Lovell, was first summoned to parliament in 1375. He carved a career at court, but in 1388 he was expelled by the enemies of Richard II. John built a new and comfortable castle at Wardour and, unusually, commissioned a book, The Lovell Lectionary, fragments of which still survive, allowing us to have one of the earliest biographical pen portraits in the English language. In 1405, he was made a Knight of the Garter. In 1408 he died and was succeeded by his eldest son, John, 6^th Baron Lovell, who married Eleanor De La Zouche of Leicestershire. The 6^th Baron Lovell died in 1414, leaving as his heir, William, 7th Baron Lovell, who, as a minor, became a ward of Henry Fitzhugh of Ravensworth in North Yorkshire. Lord Fitzhugh arranged for William to marry Alice Deincourt, one of the two co-heiresses of the Deincourt and Grey of Rotherfield baronies. The other co-heiress was Margaret Deincourt, who married the active Lancastrian politician Ralph, Lord Cromwell, who rose to be treasurer under Henry VI. After spending some of his younger years fighting in France, William, unlike his brother-in-law Ralph, preferred a quiet life. William seems to have confined himself to building a magnificent house at Minster Lovell in the English Renaissance style, the precursor of the Elizabethan mansion.

William Lovell’s decision to concentrate on his own building projects and to leave to others the world of high politics was perhaps wise. England throughout the 1440s and the 1450s was wrought with noble factionalism and antagonism as the government of the young and ineffectual Henry VI sought to grapple with a series of an insuperable and interconnected problems. Chief amongst these was the legacy of his father Henry V, the victor of Agincourt who had, through his marriage to Catherine of Valois, been recognized as king of France but who had died before being crowned in France. Thus, it was his infant son Henry VI who had been crowned king in Paris in 1429. The coronation of Henry VI should have been the high point of English endeavours in France, but it was, in fact, an attempt to hold back a resurgent French nationalism galvanized by the leadership of the peasant girl, Joan of Arc.

Despite Joan having been captured and burnt at Rouen in 1431, her actions had spurred on France to set in motion an increasingly effective military campaign. The English, now on the defensive, were forced back into Normandy, abandoning, in the face of increased French pressure, Paris and the Île-de-France. A peace conference at Amiens in 1435 had represented the last realistic English opportunity to negotiate from a position of strength. With the death of John, Duke of Bedford, and the Duke of Burgundy switching sides, the English position in Normandy became more and more precarious. English forces were outnumbered and increasingly deprived of adequate resources.

Part of the problem, not understood fully at the time, was the collapse of English revenues from the export of wool and the contraction of agricultural revenues. In a delayed reaction to the effects of the Black Death and the decrease in the population, there had ultimately been a contraction in the whole European economy. The English tax-base, heavily reliant on the export of wool, had collapsed by roughly two-thirds, leaving the English government unable to finance an increasingly unsuccessful and financially crippling war on the continent. Throughout the 1440s, various strategies and commanders were tried in France to little avail and, apart from the presence of the king’s cousin Richard, Duke of York, and the Earl of Shrewsbury in France, most members of the English nobility preferred to remain in England rather than take part in a war left to those with a vested interest in France.

After a disastrous campaign in 1442/3, John, Duke of Somerset, was withdrawn from command as was Richard, Duke of York, who then was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. A policy of peace was adopted with the marriage of Henry VI to Margaret of Anjou, but in 1449 the truce was broken by the English who, now ill equipped and outnumbered, had to face a sequence of overwhelming French campaigns in Normandy. In less than a year, the province, which had been in English hands since 1417, was lost in ignominy; the final English defeat took place at Formigny, and Rouen was surrendered.

To a stunned English populace, brought up on the victories of Edward III and Henry V, defeat was unthinkable unless treachery and treason were involved. The fact that the English position had become increasingly untenable once France, with its greater wealth and population, was united was a truth that interested no one. Neither was the reality that Henry V’s victories had left his successor an unrealistic and untenable legacy. Instead, England looked for scapegoats and first in line was the king’s chief minister, William de la Pole, who was murdered as he travelled into exile, followed by Edmund Beaufort, brother and successor of John, Duke of Somerset. In the summer of 1450, the south-east of England rose in rebellion under Jack Cade, leader of the commons of Kent, demanding a change in the king’s ministers whom the rebels accused of being in the pay of France.

During Cade’s rebellion, Richard, Duke of York, returned unbidden from Ireland and accused the king’s government publicly of treason and demanded that he should become the king’s chief minister. Henry VI, as was his right, resisted and appointed his cousin Edmund, Duke of Somerset, as chief minister, sidelining York. York accused Somerset of complicity in the surrender of Normandy where he had been in command and, as the rivalry between Somerset and York became increasingly bitter, many others felt, like William Lovell, that the best course of action was to abdicate from national politics. This had been achievable for William Lovell, who died in 1455, but it was to be an altogether different proposition for his son, John, Lord Lovell, 8th Baron and father of Francis Lovell, the survivor of Stoke Field.

The rivalry between the Duke of York and the Duke of Somerset reached a crescendo in 1455 at the first battle of St Albans, the start of what we now call ‘the Wars of the Roses’. From 1453 to January 1455, Henry VI suffered from a debilitating attack of catatonic schizophrenia that paralysed the Lancastrian government and brought into the office of Protector, the king’s cousin, Richard, Duke of York. In January 1455, Henry VI recovered his senses and it was, his contemporaries said, as if he had woken from a dream. Upon his recovery, he questioned the appointment of York and insisted on the return of his cousin, Edmund, Duke of Somerset, as his chief minister and leading councillor. The subsequent exclusion of the Yorkist nobles – the duke of York and the earls of Warwick and Salisbury – from the government of the realm further destabilized English politics. When in May 1455 the king sent out a summons for a parliament to be held at Leicester, the Yorkist lords feared action would be taken against them and diminish their status and that of their families. During the spring of 1455, the Yorkists and their allies began to assemble their retainers and followers to prevent the king holding the proposed parliament. Both sides met at the town of St Albans where the earls of Warwick and Salisbury, with the Duke of York, were able to eliminate their personal enemies, the Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland and Lord Clifford.

This naked outbreak of factional violence had a significant and unsought impact on the life of John, 8th Lord Lovell,¹ who, through marriage, found his colours firmly nailed to the Lancastrian mast. John had married Joan, the daughter of John, Viscount Beaumont, who was steward to Henry VI’s queen, Margaret of Anjou, and a high-ranking councillor. Beaumont was a longstanding servant of the House of Lancaster and had been created the first English viscount on 12 February 1440; he was also a Knight of the Bath and had served as Constable of England between 1445 and 1450 and Great Chamberlain since 8 July 1450. His record of service to the House of Lancaster and his proximity to the queen made him a prominent and committed Lancastrian supporter. His estates in the East Midlands were close to those of his son-in-law, John Lovell, and another councillor colleague, the Duke of Suffolk. His court connections and experience made Beaumont the leading Lancastrian figure in the Thames Valley.

His son-in-law, John Lovell, seems to have wanted to lead a generally uncommitted life at this time, preferring to spend time on his estates, especially at the newly built Minster Lovell in Oxfordshire, nurturing his young family, Francis and...