Beware the Lizard Lurking by Vivienne Brereton

Vivienne Brereton

Born between historic Winchester and Southampton in the UK, Vivienne has been passionate about the Tudors for as long as she can remember. This led to a degree in Medieval History at university, and the growing desire to write a novel.

However, life took over somewhat and only after stays, short and long, in six countries she called home did she finally settle down to finish her novel.

Words have always played an important part in her life, whether it's been writing, editing, teaching English, or just picking up a good book.

Having three sons came in very handy when she had to write about squabbles between the male characters in her novel. Not so handy when she took her boys to Hampton Court and one of them got lost in the maze!

Seeing 'A Phoenix Rising', the first book in the series 'The House of the Red Duke' in print for the first time was a moment of great joy for her. She very much hopes that anyone reading ‘Beware the Lizard Lurking’, the second book in the series, will enjoy the end result as much as she enjoyed writing it.

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Beware the Lizard Lurking

(The House of the Red Duke, Book 2)

By Vivienne Brereton

Welcome to the candlelit courts of Europe!

Uninvited guests at a secret wedding.

 A frozen River Thames.

 May Day celebrations to remember.

The young Henry VIII, with the aid of his chief advisor, Thomas Wolsey, and against the counsel of Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, is hellbent on a so-called holy war with France. This puts him at odds with his Scottish brother-in-law, James IV of Scotland, and his older sister, Margaret. 

Both Tristan and Nicolas know that time is running out for them before they have to…enter the Church - and into an arranged marriage, respectively. In the meantime, they remain at loggerheads over pretty Ysabeau de Sapincourt, the spoilt young wife of the hapless Robert.

At La Colombe, near Ardres, in Picardy, spirited little Valentine is still making mischief as she sees fit.

Across the Narrow Sea, Cecily is perfectly content in her beloved Zennor Castle, in Cornwall. 

None of them know what Dame Fortune has in store for them. Will she allow them to follow their own paths…or has she got other ideas?

An Excerpt from Beware the Lizard Lurking

The following excerpt appears in the Prologue:

 

Twelfth Night, 1513. London. Thomas More, an upcoming young lawyer, is hurrying home after an audience with the young Henry VIII, hoping to reach his house before a snowstorm.

 

 “It had been a long, arduous day; an exceptionally chilly dawn had given him a disagreeable send-off for a meeting with the young King over at Greenwich. Responding to More’s urgent message that he had something of great import to show their master, the royal summons had been issued by Thomas Wolsey who (to More’s satisfaction) had made it clear in the past how much he valued More’s legal brain. It was well-known in court circles that if you wished to secure a royal audience you had to partake in a game of leapfrog, or sauté-mouton, as it was known in France. Whether frog or sheep - and however much it stuck in the craw of some of the haughtier courtiers - in order to reach the King, it was first necessary to clamber over the increasingly powerful Wolsey. Glancing down at the manuscript, More recalled how Henry (whose every waking thought these days was focussed on a ‘holy’ war with France, on behalf of the Pope in Rome) had seized the spare copy with both hands, as if it were some priceless treasure from one of his grand warships sailing up the Thames.

    “‘The Prince’. ‘Il Principe’, by Niccolò Machiavelli. I’m curious to read it,” he’d said. “In my experience, anything Desiderius Erasmus recommends is worth a few hours of my time.”

    More’s good friend, Desiderius (like himself, a man of peace dedicated to God’s work), had sent two copies of the manuscript as a New Year’s gift. They’d arrived yesterday morning, accompanied by a letter stating his wishes:

  ‘Be sure to present one of them to King Henry at your earliest convenience. Better it comes from you or me: men of honour and great learning, than from another who does not truly understand its ability to change the world for good or evil.’

  

*

 Unfortunately, Henry’s sunny mood on receiving Machiavelli’s work had quickly evaporated (leaving More with a slight megrim) when a servant returned with the seemingly calamitous news that none of the Howards could be found anywhere in the Palace. In particular, Edward, the Vice-Admiral of England, one of the King’s favourites.

 “How can we manage without Ned?” he stormed, his lower lip white and quivering in sulky protest. “He’s one of the six Lords of the Mount. It’s too late to find a replacement.”

 Wolsey had tried his best to placate his mercurial young master, even though it was well-known that there was no love lost between him and the Howards. No doubt the King’s Almoner had no desire to be on the receiving end of an outpouring of wrath that had nothing to do with him: “I’m sure there’s a very good reason, Your Majesty. Perhaps the Earl’s daughter, Muriel, has taken a turn for the worse.”

 Even this didn’t appear to soften the King’s heart: a Tudor thwarted was not a pretty sight to behold, More decided.

 “They shouldn’t have gone anywhere without my permission,” he snapped back.

 Wolsey’s face became a perfect mirror of indignation, but also one tinged with the remnants of an appropriate morsel of sympathy for the ailing Howard girl. “It’s their loss if they don’t make an appearance at what promises to be the best Twelfth Night at any court in Europe.”

 More took note of Wolsey’s ability to steer the royal vessel back to calmer waters. Distract and deflect. Two very important words to remember. Henry was at least looking slightly mollified.

 “True, Tom.”

 “And what better start to a New Year that’s going to end with you as the rightful King of England and France.”

 <<Hold your bow steady>> More thought to himself. <<Take aim. And then straight through the heart! Learn from the master. No wonder hitting the heart of the popinjay is called “the King’s shot”>> He quickly made his polite excuses that he needed to catch a wherry back to London Bridge before the weather changed. And breathed a sigh of relief at the satisfying clang of the two heavy oak doors as they closed behind him.”

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