Caesar's Sword (III): Flame of the West

Thursday, 24 April 2014

From small seeds, mighty oaks grow...

Here are some more of my musings on the origins of Robin Hood. For those unfortunates who missed my previous musings, you can get an eyeful of them here:

Previous musings on Robin Hood

What follows is the fruit of a lot of research, done by myself and others, over the past decade or so. Sometime in the nearish future I hope to collate it all into a proper academic essay, with references and a bibliography and everything. For the time being, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Robin Hood may well have been fictional, a never-never figure largely pieced together from older ballads, some based on the careers of historical outlaws. I think it more likely that he did exist, but 'he' was more of a 'them'. Here's what I mean...

In 1254 England was bubbling over with unrest, thanks to the incompetent government of King Henry III. Yorkshire, the largest county in England, was particularly wild and lawless, and the Calendar of Inquisitions for that year records a mob attacking church property in North Yorkshire owned by the Abbey of Byland:

Mob rule

The mob was led by Sir Richard de Riparia, a local knight whose manors bordered on the Yorkshire estates of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester and a serious pain in King Henry's rump. If you browse through the list of named offenders, you will spot a Robert Hod or Hood.

Now, here's fun. Those of you with microscopes, extremely good eyesight and about five hours to spare, see if you can spot the name Thomas Hod from this ancient legal record, taken from the AALT website:

He's on here. Honest.

This record is also from 1254, and Thomas Hod is listed among a number of men locked up in York gaol for committing armed robberies and other crimes. He is described as a man of Thirsk, also in North Yorkshire and one of the manors owned by Sir John Deyville.

I have discussed bold Sir John before. See below:

Deyville Part One

Deyville Part Two

At this time Sir John was still a teenager, but already in serious trouble, excommunicated for various offences and obliged to flee the country for a time to avoid retribution. It is extremely likely that the crimes of his tenant Thomas Hod had something to do with it, possibly acting on his lord's behalf. As leader of the baronial rebels in the north, Sir John was probably involved with the earlier raid on church land as well.

So here we have a Robert and Thomas Hood, maybe relatives, active in a spate of robberies and attacks on church property in Yorkshire in the mid-1250s. Minor players, perhaps, but active alongside rebellious noblemen who soon went on to greater and more destructive things.

Clang, hack, slash, maim...etc
Meanwhile, up in 1256 a Robert Hode fled the village of Thyrune in the company of a man named Richard, accused of killing another man with an arrow. This Robert Hode has nothing to do with the events in Yorkshire, but part of the case reads as follows:

"Richard son of William of Thyrun killed Roger Pessun with an arrow and is summoned to court. And John has fled, therefore let him be outlawed..."

For some reason the clerk has changed the name of the killer from Richard to John. Was this a mere clerical error, or was the clerk aware of an existing tale of Robin Hood and Little John, and changed Richard's name due to his association with a Robert Hode?

Just a few years later, we see the first evidence of the name 'Robin Hood' and variants being used by clerics as an alternative name for various criminals: in 1261 a fugitive named William le Fevre in Berkshire had his name changed to William 'Robehod'. Another eight instances of this practice, ranging from Robehod to Robynhod to Rabunhod, occur all over the south of England until the end of the century.

Sadly, we have no idea what the earliest ballads or rhymes were like. The earliest printed ballads date from c.1470, over two hundred years after this period. We can, however, surmise where some of their inspiration may have come from.

The key period is the 1260s, when the Second Baron's War exploded all over the hapless King Henry and left him a prisoner in the clutches of Simon de Montfort. Our old friend John Deyville was back in town, and from 1260 onwards did his damnedest to stir up trouble in the north. In that year he and various accomplices were chased all over Yorkshire by the Sheriff, who submitted a large bill to the Exchequer for food, wine and outstanding wages for his soldiers.

While Deyville was tearing things up in North Yorkshire, there was further unrest in Holderness in the East Riding. Here there was a full-blown rebellion against royal authority, and a band of rebels broke down the bridges over the Humber to prevent the Sheriff's troops moving in to restore order. The prime movers in the revolt were the Constables, a local knightly family, and among their followers was another Robert Hod:

Robert Hod of Holderness

This Robert Hod was almost certainly a different man to the earlier troublemaker of 1254, but it doesn't really matter: by this time it seems the name Robin Hood was becoming well-known as a byword, possibly even a symbol, of resistance against lawful authority. The fact that real-life criminal Robin Hoods were popping up all over the country can only have helped the legend to spread.

Another Robert Hod cropped up at The Battle of Northampton in 1264, fighting on the side of the baronial rebels. Here the rebels were defeated and de Montfort's son, another Simon, captured. This Robert Hod appears to have been a member of a local family of Hoods, and was later fined heavily for supporting the rebels.

Yet another Robert Hod - they were like rabbits - was among the rebels who holed up in the Isle of Ely in 1266/7, and there re-fortified the old fortress used by Hereward the Wake in his struggle against the Normans. Here we have an example of an old legend merging with an emerging one, fact and history intertwining and no doubt getting thoroughly mixed up in people's minds:

Robert Hod of Ely

The man in Ely is significant, for he and his comrades were summoned there by John Deyville, who had made the island his headquarters. Not for nothing did Walter Bower, the 15th century Scottish chronicler, have this to say under the year 1266:

"...John Deyville was a rebel at Ely: Robert Hode was an outlaw among the woodland briars and this year arose the famous cut-throat Robert Hode and his accomplice Little John, whom the foolish populace so love to celebrate in ballad and song..."

Intriguingly, there was also a John le Petit or Little John listed among the Ely rebels. Whether he and Robert Hod knew each other and worked together, can only be guessed at.

John Deyville is the unifying figure in all this. He and his brother Robert spent the winter of 1266 as outlaws in Sherwood Forest, and had earlier obtained royal permission to crenellate their fortified manor house on the summit of Hood, a dramatic location in North Yorkshire.

Hood Hill near Thirsk, in North Yorkshire.
The coincidence of the naming of their house is obvious, and it may be that the exploits of the Deyvilles were merged with the growing content of the Robin Hood ballads. Sir John himself is praised in various contemporary rhymes, including The Song of the Barons.

This Yorkshire stuff is all very well, but what about his lordship, the High Sheriff of Nottingham? After all, Robin is nothing without his opposite number. Every ying needs his yang, and in this case the yang may well have been based on a historical Sheriff, one Reynold de Grey.

Reynold was tasked with defending Nottingham against the various bands of outlaws that infested Sherwood during this period. The town itself was attacked in 1267, its timber walls damaged and a number of citizens killed. The Deyvilles were responsible for some of these disturbances, but there was another man who made life hell for law-abiding folk. His name was Roger Godberd, and it was the job of Reynold de Grey, as High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, to hunt him down. Eventually, he did just that:

"Whereas on the showing of the magnates of the council and many others the king lately understood that in the counties of Nottingham, Leicester and Derby, as well as in the common ways and in the woods, numbers of men on horseback and on foot, were abroad and that no religious or secular person could pass without being taken by them and spoiled of their goods...Reynold de Grey has bravely pursued these men and captured one Roger Godberd, their leader and master, and delivered him to prison..."

Robin Hood and the Poor Knight
Here Roger Godberd is 'Robin Hood' to the life, leading a band of outlaws in Nottinghamshire while being hunted by his nemesis, the Sheriff. Godberd was allied to the Deyvilles and also to Robert de Ferrers, his feudal lord and 6th Earl of Derby. Surprisingly, he was not executed, but pardoned and died a free man.

During his crime spree Godberd was given shelter by a Yorkshire knight named Sir Richard Foliot, on his castle and lands at Fenwick. Fenwick lies near Barnsdale, the wooded valley in South Yorkshire named as Robin Hood's haunt in the earliest printed ballads.  Foliot's shelter of Godberd is also reminiscent of the kindness of Sir Richard de la Lee in the ballads, who shelters Robin Hood's men in his castle. Here again, fact and fiction collide and form the ingredients of a big semi-fictional soup.

The 'poor knight' of the ballads initially has no name, and is only later merged with the character of Richard de le Lee. He may well have been based on - you guessed it - John Deyville, who thanks to his constant wars was in debt to his armpits and owed almost £400 to the Abbot of Saint Mary's at York. This almost exactly mirrors the debt owed by the poor knight to the same abbey in the story.

Finally, Sir Richard de la Lee himself may well be identified with another historical figure right at the end of this period. In the ballad he tells Robin that his son has been outlawed for slaying a knight of Lancashire. The Staffordshire Rolls for the year 1275 state that one Robert de la Lee, son of Richard, was outlawed for murdering two men, beheading them and carrying their heads into Cheshire. This unpleasant incident may have occurred in a different part of the country, but the parallels are otherwise eerily similar to the story.

And here almost endeth the lesson. Except...who was the original Robin Hood, if anyone? For the story to be already well-known by 1261 surely means that the genesis figure existed at least a couple of generations earlier. The various Robert Hoods and other evildoers of the 1250s/60s added meat to the bare bones of a story that might well have originated with a mysterious fugitive from justice named in the Pipe Rolls for the years 1225-34.

Step forward, Robertus Hood, fugitive...

...if you can see him!

My thanks go to Robert Fortunaso, who runs the Robin Hood - Fact or Fiction website I have made liberal use of here.

Thursday, 17 April 2014

Flame of the West!

My Caesar's Sword trilogy is now complete! 

Caesar's Sword (III) Flame of the West is now available on Amazon, and chronicles the third and final chapter in the adventures of Coel ap Amhar, grandson of the famous Arthur, War Leader of the Britons and Duke of Battles.

Take it away, Coel...

“Caesar’s Sword was nothing but a bane, sent by the Devil to drag all the men of my blood to ruin…” 

Amorica, 571 AD. From his cell in the Abbey of Rhuys, the dying Coel ap Ahmar writes the final chapter of his chronicle, describing his last years in the service of the
Roman Empire. Deprived of all that he loves, Coel writes of how he lost Caesar’s sword and his only son, Arthur. 

Thirty years previously, the
Roman Empire is locked in a battle to reclaim its Italian homeland from the Goths. Led by Belisarius, the Roman army wins victory after victory and marches within sight of the Gothic capital at Ravenna. As one of the few officers Belisarius can trust, Coel is dragged into a melting pot of treachery and politics, before suffering a final betrayal that all but destroys his loyalty to Rome. 

The discovery of his son forces the ageing Coel back into the army, and take part in a final effort to reconquer
Italy. From the sea-battle of Sena Gallica, to the slaughter of Taginae, Coel must fight like never before to save himself and his bloodline…" 

Thursday, 10 April 2014

The real Tyrion Lannister?

*Disclaimer* This is one for Game of Thrones fans, so apologies to those who have never read the books or watched the show...

While beavering away at the last installment of my Caesar's Sword trilogy, I was struck by the similarities between a certain historical character and Tyrion Lannister, one of the few likeable characters from Game of Thrones, the fantasy universe created by George R.R. Martin.

Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister
Martin is generally thought to have based his epic sex n'swords drama on The Wars of the Roses, with the rival Houses of Stark and Lannister as thinly disguised versions of the real-life Houses of York and Lancaster (though personally I think the Starks have a greater resemblance to the Percies, an equally rebellious and luckless family). The Seven Kingdoms of the books and HBO series do have more than a whiff of late medieval England, but I believe Martin drew his inspiration for Tyrion from somewhere else: namely, the Late Roman Empire of the mid-6th century AD.

The character I have in mind is Narses, a Roman courtier of Armenian descent who flourished at the lethal, glittering court of the Emperor Justinian I and his consort, the former prostitute-turned-Empress Theodora. The court of Justinian's time was a snakepit, every bit as deadly as the fictional court of King's Landing, where ambitious senators and aristocrats vied for imperial favour. One particularly nasty specimen, an official named John the Cappadocian, was rumoured to keep a set of dungeons under his private chambers in the Great Palace, where he spent his leisure hours torturing political rivals.

Narses, depicted on The Ravenna Mosaics
Little is known of Narses' background, or when he arrived at court, but he swiftly rose up the greasy ladder of power and ambition. Like Tyrion, he was said to be a dwarf, lean and deformed of body, but (as one chronicler describes him):

"He was a man of sound mind, and clever at adapting himself to the times. He was not versed in literature or practised in oratory, but made up for it with the fertility of his wits..."

Sound familiar? Quick-witted and able, Narses rose to become the Emperor's steward and high treasurer, responsible for dealing with his master's finances and payments from the imperial treasury. Eventually he become the commander of Justinian's bodyguard, Grand Chamberlain and Master of Soldiery, and was entrusted to lead Roman armies on campaign in Italy. Despite his physical disabilities and total lack of military training and experience, Narses proved to be a superb general, with a natural grasp of logistics, siege warfare and battlefield tactics.

Conleth Hill as Varys
I have left out one small (?) but significant detail: Narses was a eunuch. When or why he was deprived of his family jewels is unknown, but it didn't hinder him from enjoying a spectacular career.

Tyrion Lannister is no eunuch - quite the opposite - but another character from Martin's series springs to mind: Varys, nicknamed 'The Spider', a smooth politico and spymaster who spends much of his time in the shadows, scheming and plotting, while everyone else gets on with murdering each other. Like Narses, Varys is a eunuch, but doesn't let it bother him.

So there you have it - Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, is based on not one, but two charismatic imperial courtiers who flourished in the Late Roman Empire. Or that's why I think, anyway...

Saturday, 29 March 2014

Caesar's Sword (II): Siege of Rome

As promised, here is the shiny new cover for the second part of my trilogy set in the Late Roman Empire! I absolutely love it, and thanks go to the talented folks at More Visual Ltd for this one. 

Below is a link to the book on Amazon:

Caesar's Sword (II): Siege of Rome

Sunday, 23 March 2014

Caesar's Sword

Book One of my 'Caesar's Sword' trilogy - Caesar's Sword (I): The Red Death - will be available as a FREE download on Kindle from March 24th-26th:

Caesar's Sword (I): The Red Death on Amazon

I am also offering three paperback copies of the novel as prizes in a Goodreads competition. The competition runs for four weeks, beginning on April 1st, and I'll provide a link when it goes live. 

Other developments include a brand new shiny cover for Book Two: Siege of Rome, which I shall hopefully reveal next week, and work in progress on the third and final book in the series, provisionally titled Caesar's Sword (III): Flame of the West. 

As a reminder, here is the plot summary for Book One:

It is the year 568 AD. From his monastic refuge in Brittany, King Arthur’s aged grandson, Coel, begins to write the incredible story of his life. Now a monk, he is determined to complete his chronicle before death overtakes him. 

His tale begins shortly after the death of his famous grandfather at the Battle of Camlann. Britain is plunged into chaos, and Coel and his mother are forced to flee their homeland. They take with them Arthur’s famous sword, Caledfwlch, once possessed by Julius Caesar. Known to the Romans as The Red Death, it is said to possess unearthly powers. 

When he grows to adulthood, Cleo enlists in the Roman army under General Flavius Belisarius, the most famous soldier of the age, and serves in the Roman invasion of Africa. He makes an enemy of the corrupt Empress of the East, Theodora, and falls into the clutches of Gelimer, the mad King of the Vandals. 

Caesar's Sword (I): The Red Death follows the adventures of a British warrior of famous descent in the glittering, lethal world of the Late Roman Empire. From the riotous streets of Constantinople, to the racetrack of the Hippodrome and the bloodstained deserts of North Africa, he must fight to recover his birthright and his pride...

Thursday, 13 March 2014

The wonder of Troy

I'm back from my twelve-day break in Turkey, complete with a surfeit of amazing memories and a nasty cough that is proving very difficult to shake off.

Rather than bore readers of this blog with a 'What I did on my holidays'-style post, I would like to talk a little about one of the many incredible historical sites I visited - namely Troy, or the ruins in northwest Anatolia generally (but not conclusively) identified as the site of the historical city made famous in Homer's Iliad.

It is strangely difficult to describe my feelings when I visited the site. I had read the Iliad at university, and have been generally aware of the story of Hector and Achilles, Helen and Paris etc for as long as I can remember. The story itself has never filled me with any great passion - for instance, I always wanted Hector to beat the crap out of Achilles - and the 2004 film Troy, starring Brad Pitt, struck me as a campy load of nonsense.

That said, Homer's epic is deathless, and I was filled with a strange sense of awe while exploring its ruins: it was a bit like being informed that here was the historical Camelot, and over there were the remains of the Round Table, and over there was where Queen Guinevere used to take her bath...etcetera. I wandered about in a kind of daze, patting the ancient walls and trying to listen intently to the guide as he explained the site's complex history.

More than just a pile of rubble

Anyone visiting the site and expecting to find the vast, glittering city of Homer's imagination is doomed to disappointment. Compared with the ruins of other settlements in the region, such as the great Roman hilltop city of Pergamon, Troy was never very big, and at its peak probably never housed more than 7000 people. Some of my companions were dismayed by this, but for me it only made the place seem more genuine and exciting: the Camelot of the historical Arthur, assuming he ever existed, would have most likely been a rough timber hill fort rather than the splendid medieval palace described in Malory and Tennyson.

There is no space here to describe every stage of the city's existence, but I'll attempt a quick summary. Troy was founded in roughly 3000 BC, and flourished thanks to its control of the Dardanelles, through which merchant vessels had to pass. A series of migrations and earthquakes took their toll, and at some point early Troy appears to have been burned to the ground. It is possible that the story of the 'Wooden Horse of Troy' was inspired by some natural disaster hitting the city: the horse was apparently one of the symbols of Poseidon, god of the sea.

Ancient ramp leading to the royal hall of early Troy
The Trojans were a resilient bunch, and kept rebuilding their walls almost as quickly as they fell over. Troy VII, as the archeologists term it, is reckoned to be the one immortalised in the Iliad. This version of the city flourished from about the mid-13th century BC to around 1184, when it was all but destroyed by war and fire. Exactly who was fighting who and why is a bit unclear, but it seems most likely that the Greeks wanted to break the Trojan stranglehold on the Dardanelles (nothing to do with abducted princesses, sadly), while the Trojans were supported by peoples like the Hittites. Whether any of Homer's characters existed is also unclear, but there are debatable references in ancient accounts to various kings of Troy, one of whom is called 'Priamos' (possibly the King Priam of the Iliad).

Despite various disasters, Troy continued to endure into the classical Roman period, when it benefited from the patronage of figures such as Sulla, Pompey, Julius Caesar, Augustus and Hadrian. This extremely long and complicated history means that the surviving ruins are a mosaic of different eras: the remains of Hadrian's odeon sit beside a roofless council chamber probably used by Bronze Age Trojan kings and their councillors; the stump of a fortified tower built in 1300 BC overlooks a wide ramp leading up to the foundations of a royal hall dating from a thousand years earlier. And so on. The only false note is struck by the massive wooden horse erected outside the grounds for the benefit of tourists, though it was fun to climb around inside.

Possibly not the original wooden horse...
So what at first looks like a scattered and not terribly impressive pile of rubble is really one of the most fascinating sites anyone could hope to see. Thank God - or the gods - that I was lucky enough to do so...

Monday, 24 February 2014

The Hooded Man

This will be my last post for a few weeks before I go on holiday - huzzah! Before I go, here is the latest instalment of my Robin Hood serial, The Hooded Man. It is available on Kindle and will be on *FREE* download from March 1st-3rd.

Robin has been gone a while, and he returns to England to find all not as it was...

Summer, 1242 AD. King Henry III of England is locked in a disastrous war with his rival, the King of France, and about to engage the French army at Taillebourg.

Serving in the English army is a captain of archers named Robin Hood. Forced to leave his homeland, Robin has spent fourteen years in exile, serving as a soldier in various garrisons and embracing the heresy of the Cathars.

After the English army suffers a catastrophic defeat, Robin obtains a royal pardon from the King and makes his way back to England, hoping to see his beloved Matilda again. In his long absence, the legend of Robin Hood, the Hooded Man, has spread and flourished. Robin finds he has become a legend in his own lifetime, and inspired other men to take up the fight against Norman tyranny.

Most of his old followers are dead or scattered. Those who survive are leading quiet, honest lives, desperate to avoid the notice of the law. Driven by his heretical faith and a desire to strike one last blow against injustice, Robin attempts to bring the survivors together again in Sherwood, and spark a rebellion that will drive the Norman oppressors into the sea.

Unwilling to accept that his time is past, Robin risks all to bring England to the verge of civil war, even the lives of those he loves. War and death loom on the horizon as Robin’s enemies prepare for the return of the Hooded Man...