ANNA BELFRAGE

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How expansive ambitions led to revolution

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAToday, I have the honour of being visited by Paul Bennett, who not only maintains an excellent review site, Hoover Book Reviews, but also writes books about set in the Americas during the decades leading up to the War of Independence. An interesting and not so often depicted period, IMO, which is why I felt it important to highlight Paul’s writing. It is also a complicated period to depict, with global alliances affecting the events on North American soil which is why I am so grateful to Paul for writing this guest post and shedding some light on this whole mess.

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The mid-18th century was a time of turmoil and change in colonial America. The British colonies, being hemmed in between the Atlantic Ocean and the Appalachian Mountains sought to expand their territories west of the mountains that run from Maine in the north to Georgia in the south, despite the fact that there were already many native tribes living or hunting in these lands. Many of the tribes were being pushed further and further west; a movement that exacerbated the already volatile situation existing between traditional enemies. The Iroquois Confederacy, a powerful collection of tribes were in almost constant conflict with the Huron, Shawnee and Delaware tribes being displaced by British settlers. Despite this, the lure of fertile farmland and the lucrative fur trade were too promising to pass up and soon there were settlements dotting the landscape in what is now central and western Pennsylvania and upstate New York.

The French, meanwhile, were also laying claim to the western frontier, but not with an aim to colonize. Rather it was the major waterways, and consequently the fur trade that they sought to control with a string of forts and trading posts that stretched from Montreal to St. Louis following the St. Lawrence River through to the great lakes surrounding Michigan. They also constructed Fort Duquesne (modern day Pittsburgh) thereby controlling the Ohio River and the wealth derived from the abundance of fur bearing critters. In June of 1749 a French patrol was sent into the disputed area around the Ohio bearing to bury lead plates emblazoned with the royal French crest, thereby claiming the land for France. The patrol’s other missions were to round up and remove any English hunters and trappers they encountered, and to further ally themselves with the Indians in the area.

Paul Washington_1772

Young George

In 1754, Virginia colony dispatched a party of Virginia Militia to investigate French activity around the Fort Duquesne area led by Lieutenant Colonel George Washington. He had learned from a Seneca Chief, Tanaghrisson, that thirty-five French troops were camped in a nearby ravine. Washington decided to investigate; while his troops surrounded the unguarded camp, a shot was fired. The plan to talk to the French quickly became an inadvertent but deadly ambush. This ‘shot heard round the world’ resulted in a massacre that saw French commander Jumonville dead, along with 10 of his troops.

Many of the French were captured; however, at least one French soldier escaped, and made his way back to Fort Duquesne to report the incident. Washington, knowing that a reprisal was coming, returned to his base camp to strengthen the recently constructed Fort Necessity.

On the third of July, six hundred French – accompanied by one hundred Indian allies – began their assault against Washington and his 293 men. Faced with these odds, a truce was called which led to Washington surrendering Fort Necessity to the French. While war between England and France was not officially declared for another two years, these events initiated what could be called the real first world war, which engaged the governments and people of most of Europe, eastern Canada, and the British colonies in America. The French and Indian War raged from 1756-1763 and was known as The Seven Years’ War in Europe.

Paul Braddock's_death_at_the_Battle_of_Monongahela_9-July-1755

Braddock, mortally wounded at the Battle of the Wilderness

The strategy for the British was to seize control of the French forts, the first to be attempted was Fort Duquesne. The Battle of the Wilderness was a thoroughly humiliating defeat at the hands of an outnumbered and outgunned French and Indian force. The expedition was led by General John Braddock and included such illustrious personages as Colonel Thomas Gage, who later became one of the British commanders in the early goings of the Revolutionary War; George Washington, who had resigned his commission after the Fort Necessity debacle and was with Braddock only as an advisor; and a young Daniel Boone, a teamster and hunter for the army.

After Braddock’s defeat, the British government went all in on defeating the French, calling upon King George’s Hessian cousins to take care of Europe thereby freeing up men, material, and money for the North American effort. The French could not match the British and gradually, fort by fort, they were defeated; losing not only the Ohio River area but all holdings in North America except for the southern Mississippi posts.

This change in governance was a drastic change in fortune for the various tribes. Those who were French allies had grown accustomed to the largesse of the French in terms of gifts and trade. However, the British governor, Jeffrey Amherst, was not as generous. Even the tribes who sided with the British would soon feel colonials breathing down their necks as more and more settled across the mountains. A tribal confederation under the leadership of the Odawa chief, Pontiac laid siege to Fort Detroit, beginning a short lived rebellion that wreaked havoc on new settlements and small outposts.

In conclusion, Britain defeated the French, gaining Canada and the promising Ohio frontier, but victory would not come cheap. The British government soon determined to levy the American colonies, to help pay the costs of the war. The cries of ‘no taxation without representation’ and ‘give me liberty or give me death’ were responses to this decision, which fed the flames of rebellion, leading to the birth of the country twenty years later on July 4, 1776.

paul clash_coverIt is in this historical setting that I chose to place my fictional family and thus began Clash of Empires the first book of The Mallory Saga. With the hope and promise of a new life, the Mallory clan move to the frontier establishing a trading post at the junction of the Kiskiminetas and Allegheny Rivers, a mere 40 miles from Fort Duquesne. When war is finally declared, the Mallory’s are caught up in the ensuing struggle, serving as militia scouts for the British. Book 2 of The Mallory Saga, Paths to Freedom, follows the exploits of the family as events unfold leading to the Battle of Lexington and Concord; thus starting The American Revolution.

Available on Kindle, paperback.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MXR186R

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01MXR186R

Goodreads link:

https://www.goodreads.com/work/editions/53828699-clash-of-empires-a-novel-of-the-french-indian-war-the-mallory-saga-1

Facebook Page:

https://www.facebook.com/Clash-of-Empires-1115407281808508/

Killing my darlings

Archer, James, 1823-1904; La mort d'Arthur

James Archer, Mort d’Arthur

The drawback about writing books set in the past is that any ”real” character one decides to include is dead. There is no ambiguity there, no leeway for twisting things slightly so that the person in question gets to enjoy some years of sunset and peace before passing on—not if the facts unequivocally state that on this date so-and-so died in this way.

Invented characters also die. Not necessarily because I planned it that way, but rather because all of a sudden their character arch took a turn I wasn’t expecting.

Accordingly, I have had to write a lot of death scenes, and I must admit I find these very difficult to write—especially when I’ve bonded with the person about to expire. Not even when I dislike the character I’m about to off do I find it easy – a case in point is the scene in my series The King’s Greatest Enemy where Hugh Despenser is executed. It is difficult to feel anything but compassion for a naked man about to die a slow and painful death in front of a howling mob.

Death is not always violent. Death is also a part of life—even if us modern people have little exposure to it. Not that long ago, generations lived closer together and chances were most children would have seen dead people before they entered their teens. Back then, people died at home. These days, we mostly die in hospital, monitored by beeping machinery that suddenly stops beeping.

One thing I always spend a lot of time considering is in what POV to write the death scene. In some cases, the choice is self-evident: if the character hasn’t been a POV character previously I’m not about to drag my reader into his/her head to live through the final moments of life. It would feel contrived, somehow. But there are deaths where I have a choice: should I depict it from the perspective of the person dying or from the person watching?

Seeing as I have no experience of dying (and I really prefer to keep it that way for quite some more years, thank you very much), writing in the POV of the person about to pass comes with challenges. How cognisant is a dying person of the fact that they’re about to die? How much does it hurt? Is there fear, anger? Or is there a point at which one simply gives up and goes with the flow?

A Newfound Land-Facebook Shared Image“What day is it today?” Magnus asked Alex a few days later. He craned his head back to look out at the pale blue summer sky.
“Midsummer’s Eve.”
How apt, Magnus thought, to die on the longest day of the year. He lay in silence, listening to the sounds around him. Sounds of life, of continuity: Samuel’s soft snuffling from where he slept in his basket only feet from his ear, David’s piercing screams from outside, and Agnes’ low soothing voice, shushing him. In the distance he could hear a horse – probably Moses – and there were birds, and hens cackling, and the ubiquitous sound of young, vibrant beings, his grandchildren, tumbling around in the summer afternoon.
He recognised the tread of Matthew’s feet on the kitchen floor – there was that damned plank that always creaked – and from beside him came the clicking sound of Mrs Parson’s knitting. He listened some more and heard that one sound was missing. Alex was holding her breath, and that meant she was trying very hard not to cry. He moved one hand in her direction and immediately her fingers closed over his.
“It’s not too bad,” Magnus lied. It was fucking terrible! Whenever he opened his eyes, it was like having a red-hot needle poked through his tender cornea, so he preferred to keep them closed. Behind his eyelids swirled blacks and blues and the occasional dash of bright vermillion and orange and sometimes – thank heavens – a soothing green, and then it all began again and he was in so much pain that sometimes he could feel each individual strand of hair as a hurting, aching extremity. 
He heard Matthew enter the room, hesitating for a few seconds before pulling up a stool to sit beside Alex. It almost made Magnus laugh; like a lit de parade, the adults of his family converging to watch him die. He twisted his face towards the twilight that hovered outside the small window.
“I always knew,” he said.
“Knew what?” Alex asked.
“That I’d die at dusk.” Soon he’d be dead, and never again would he see the trees or the clouds, never would he walk over fields, brush his legs through knee-high grasses. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered except for the pain that inhabited his head, the humongous effort it was to keep on breathing. Air. He needed air, and he sucked and sucked, but nothing seemed to reach his lungs. No click, click, click from his right-hand side; instead, Mrs Parson’s hand closed over his, her breath warm on his cheek as she leaned over him.
“Go with God, Magnus Lind,” she said, and he heard it in her voice that any moment now he’d be dead, and he didn’t want to be.
In Magnus’ head, things happened that were frightening and awe-inspiring – like being high on something far more potent than marijuana, his brain dissolving into extraordinary fireworks. Everything was spinning; he saw bands of shifting colours and he shot forward through time and there was Isaac – in Stockholm, Magnus noted with pleased surprise. He was dragged backwards in time, he whizzed past Alex, and there was his Mercedes. He squinted because he’d never seen her so old, but there she was, her dark hair a beautiful silvered grey covered by a lace mantilla, and he realised she was back in her time, living out her life, and all of him shrivelled in panic. I don’t want to die if she’s not there waiting for me! Idiot, his brain jeered, no one’s waiting for you – you don’t believe in the afterlife, do you? No, Magnus Lind, this is the final curtain call, and soon… No! Magnus shrieked in protest at God, at the bursts of light that were falling like confetti in his head.
Hands on his arm, someone kissed his cheek, dragging him back to a glimmer of real life. With an effort, he opened his eyes.
“Alex? Lilla hjärtat?”
Pappa.” She clasped his groping hand and held Magnus as he began the final fall from life. It no longer hurt. It was all a soothing cold that was like rustling silk over his poor, aching brain. It grew dark. The spinning slowed to a gentle twirling and he could no longer hear, but he could still feel Alex’s hand in his.
It grew even darker and it was very cold but it didn’t matter because now there was a growing point of light and in it he saw Mercedes. She was young, her hair fell free down her back, and she held out her hand to him and smiled.
“Mercedes?” he whispered.
Estoy aquí,” she murmured. “I’m always here, amor mío.” (A Newfound Land)

HDQ02ef126bf225e1545b51ecb2094efd20When it comes to violent and painful deaths such as that of Hugh Despenser, I prefer to describe them from the POV of someone watching. This is partly because this gives me room to properly depict just how the person dies—a man being castrated probably registers little beyond a wave of pain—but also because the images that fill my head when I try to sink into the POV of the condemned person are too black, too full of fear, making it difficult to write coherently about it.

Sometimes, the obvious turmoil lies with the bereaved. This is definitely the case when a child dies. As a mother of four, writing the death of beloved children is among the most difficult things I’ve done. It is far too easy to envision the pain and grief that would follow in the wake of such a loss. And yet, if you write historical fiction children have to die. It is unrealistic otherwise, as child mortality was high and few were the households spared such losses.

Adam found Kit by the stream, in the little hollow that was their miniature Garden of Eden. He smiled at the memories of his Kit naked in the summer grass, of the way she laughed when she splashed through the shallow waters of the pool. She wasn’t laughing now, sitting huddled just by the water, her thick winter cloak draped like protective armour around her.
“Tell me about her,” Adam said, sinking down to sit beside her.
She didn’t reply at first. Instead she sat staring at the water, now and then sending a pebble flying to land with a soft plop.
“There is nothing to tell. She is dead.”
“But she lived before she died, did she not?” Adam had seen dead infants before, but never one of his own, and grief rushed through him. He’d had a daughter, but she was dead and he had never seen her nor held her. Something of his pain must have coloured his voice, because Kit turned her head to look at him, her heavy hair lying like a mantle down her back.
“She was bald, but I could see she’d be fair – like you.” She gnawed at her lip. “She never opened her eyes. She lived for one pitiful day, and not once did she open them. So I don’t know if they were blue or green or brown or grey. All I know is that she had long, fair lashes, and that when I held her, her eyelids fluttered, as if she was trying to open them but couldn’t quite find the strength to do so.” Her voice broke. “I knew the moment I saw her that she wouldn’t live.”
Days of Sun and Glory-BookBub“Oh, Kit,” he said, taking her hand. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here – for you and for her. And I swear that had I known, I would have come, no matter what the prince might have said.” He tightened his hold on her fingers. “In my heart, you always come first. You know that, don’t you?”
“Not always.” She kept her gaze on her lap, her posture stiff and unyielding.
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I do not have the luxury to order my life. If I had, I’d never be parted from you, never spend a night without you in my arms.” He caught a flash of blue from under her lashes, the only sign she was listening to him. “This is home,” he said softly, “this place, this house, but most of all it is you. You are my home and my life, and every day I spend away from you is a wasted day, a day I pray will pass as quickly as possible, that I might return to you all the sooner.”
She glanced at him. “Quite the troubadour.”
“No.” He tugged at her hand, and she shifted closer. “It is the truth.” He reached out to smooth at her hair. “As the queen once said, you are the sun in my existence. What man prefers stumbling about in the dark to standing in the brightness of a sunbeam?”
There was a muffled sound he first assumed to be sobs.
“The brightness of a sunbeam?” Kit lifted her face, her mouth quivering – with laughter. It bubbled from her, and then she was no longer laughing, she was weeping, and Adam gathered her close, pressing his cheek to her head. (Days of Sun and Glory)

The_Triumph_of_Death,_or_The_Three_Fates

The Three Fates

When writing deaths, I also spend a lot of time wondering about the role of faith. While we live in an agnostic age, where most of us go to our death without the comfort of believing in a hereafter, my characters belong to earlier times, where God’s existence was a given (Back then, those who questioned God were given the task of proving he didn’t exist. Today, we’ve turned it around and demand those who believe prove that he does…) But even if you did believe in God, I imagine losing someone you loved was difficult. It always is, the grief and loss standing in proportion to just how much you loved them. And however strange it may sound, it doesn’t help if the person dying is an invented person. Rather the reverse, in fact, because added to the grief is a huge portion of guilt. After all, in the microcosmos of my imaginary world it is I who spin the threads of fate – and cut them.

Dragging an obscure Viking boy into the light

Those of you who pop by my blog regularly will know by now that I spend a lot of time in Britain and Spain, mostly in medieval times or in the seventeenth century. Now and then I do dip into Nordic history, but in general those forays are rare. Today, I thought I’d introduce you to a gent who has done the full immersion thing when it comes to Scandinavian (well, more specifically Norwegian) history.  I read one of his books some time ago and was impressed by how much he knew about our rather cold corner of the world. Even more, I was intrigued by his choice of protagonist. Yes, I had heard of the young boy/man Eric has as his lead, but hey, I’m Swedish and thereby a neighbour of those proud and fierce Norwegians who once beat the bejesus out of us Swedes in Viking warfare and still continue to twist our noses out of joint by winning every single cross country skiing event in the world (on the men’s side).

So I decided to ask him about this: How did you come upon Håkon Haraldsson and what drove you to write about him. What was the little piece of historical grit that got lodged in your brain and irritated your cerebral tissues until “your” Håkon popped out? (see? I can’t even abbreviate when I ask a question)

Below is Eric’s answer. Enjoy!

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Harald_Fairhair's_son_is_brought_to_king_Athelstan

Baby Håkon being presented to Athelstan

For those of you who haven’t read my books, here’s a short summary of the character in question, Hakon Haraldsson. He’s the youngest son (and bastard child) of arguably one of Norway’s greatest kings, Harald Fairhair. When Hakon is roughly eight years old, Harald ships him off to England to be raised in the Christian courts of Wessex. He becomes a Christian and lives among the Saxons until he is a teenager, at which point he is summoned back to Norway to help the nobles oust Harald’s unpopular son Erik “Bloodaxe” from the throne.

So let me start with the first part of your question — how I came across Hakon. In truth, Hakon was not the first Viking about whom I started to write. I was actually focused on a completely fictitious character who had backed the wrong side of history and lost everything at the battle of Hafrsfjord. That was the defining battle that made Harald Fairhair the most powerful ruler in the North and saw the destruction of all petty kings opposed to him, including my character.

Vikings FlateyKg

Harald Fairhair (Hårfagre) 

As I began to wade farther into the story, I realized it was missing a lot of the conflict I was after. Moreover, I found myself drawn to writing about actual historical figures, like Harald Fairhair. It was as I was investigating Harald that I learned more about his many sons and their conflicts, and one fight in particular: Harald’s favored son, Erik Bloodaxe, against the youngest of Harald’s extensive brood, Hakon.

Which brings me to the next question — what drove me to write about him. While we don’t know all of the facts of Hakon’s life, we do know that even if marginally true, Hakon’s story takes many of the norms of Viking literature and turns them on their head. His upbringing, his religion, his stature in his family — all of these things were dripping with potential conflict. In many ways, Hakon is the anti-Viking, yet a memorable hero nonetheless. What’s more, I saw Hakon as a microcosm of the times in which he lived, which were rife with warfare and religious tension between Christians and pagans. All of these things I thought would make great fodder for a story.

Eric Bloodheights

When I say, Hakon takes many of the norms of Viking literature and turns them on their head, here are a few examples of what I mean:

The sagas and literature are bursting with tales of strong, fearsome Viking warriors. Yet Hakon returns from England as a young teen to fight for the High Seat of the North. We presume, though don’t know for sure, he’s approximately fourteen. In other words, his body is not fully developed. Nor is his mind. While he may have been strong or large for his age (we have no way of knowing), he is anything but the Beowulf-esque champion we think of when he think of a challenger to the throne of Norway.

What Hakon lacked in physical strength, he must surely have made up for with internal strength. I saw him, for right or wrong, as an idealist, which many young people tend to be. During his time, the Norse worshiped the “old gods”, and many stories speak of Viking raids on Christian realms and churches. Yet along comes Hakon, a lone Christian boy fighting for the throne of his “pagan” homeland. The pagans look at him askance and urge him to convert, yet Hakon holds fast to his beliefs. That type of courage — that idealism — is a fascinating spin on the traditional Viking yarn.

WikingerBut lest we forget, Hakon is a Northman and they liked their battles. His ambition to rule his father’s realm is no different than the ambition of the brother he seeks to dethrone. Only I saw Hakon as fighting two battles, one against his brother and one against himself. His strength in many ways is his greatest weakness. How easy it could have been for him to shed his beliefs and earn the favor of his countrymen. But in GOD’S HAMMER and later, in RAVEN’S FEAST, he didn’t, and it plagues him. All of this conflict and internal strife grabbed me, or, as you say, “lodged in my brain”.

There are a few things I’d like to add to this post about Hakon. The first is, Hakon is an historical figure, but there is still much we don’t know about him. Those unknown pieces are what gave me some license to create the Hakon that is in my novels. I got to put the meat on the bones of his character, and I loved that process.

Second, I have learned in my many years of writing about Hakon, that I enjoy characters who experience, and must overcome, some internal or moral strife. I write about Vikings, but it is not enough for me just to write about one-dimensional brutes who go around bludgeoning people.

Finally, some reviewers have said that Hakon comes across as soft and somewhat dependent on his counselors. That, by way way, is intentional. Hakon was a teenager in essentially a foreign land, whose religion was unwelcome. I cannot imagine him having all of the answers fresh off the boat. I wanted him to start off as a somewhat insecure and idealistic teen, yet possessed of (or capable of learning) the skills he will ultimately need to overcome his challenges. I wanted him to have internal struggles and conflicts with those he trusts. I wanted him to lean on his counselors, at least at first, and understand that over time he would need to carve his own path. If you pick up the novels, you will see Hakon become more confident in his decisions, and more independent in his actions. Like all of us, he evolves. Hopefully for the better.

Thank you for this, Eric – and I must say you’ve done a fantastic job of breathing life into your Hakon (or as us Swedes say, Håkan) And for the record, I love our Norwegian neighbours (despite the cross country skiing thing) Heja Norge!

My review of Raven’s Feast:

Eric RavensFeastBookShot_FINALVery rarely does one come across a book written about the man remembered as Hakon the Good or Hakon Adalsteinsfostre, and as Mr Schumacher points out in his afterword, this may be because we know so very little about him – beyond concluding he must have been quite the forceful young lad, seeing as he was only fifteen when he claimed the Norwegian crown and defeated his substantially older brother, Erik Bloodaxe.

When Raven’s Feast opens, Hakon has just defeated Erik and been acclaimed as king. But bringing peace and stability is not an easy process, and soon enough it seems Hakon’s dreams of a united kingdom will unravel as quickly as a nightmare dissipates at dawn. Other than rebellious jarls and ambitious Danes, there is also the issue of faith: Hakon has been raised as a Christian at the court of his foster father King Athelstan, and wishes to convert his pagan countrymen. They are less than thrilled…

Mr Schumacher has used what little we know and filled in the rather huge gaps quite plausibly, delivering an exciting read about a very young king attempting to hold on to a kingdom cracking wide open. Haakon is an engaging and likeable young man, the prose is fluid and the dialogue crisp – if at times very modern. At times, pace flags due to the detailed descriptions of everything from interiors to food, but all in all this is a book that should appeal to all those gripped by Viking fever – and quite a few others as well.

Eric headshot_squareAbout Eric Schumacher

Eric Schumacher is an American historical novelist who currently resides in Santa Barbara, California, with his wife and two children. He was born and raised in Los Angeles and attended college at the University of San Diego.

At a very early age, Schumacher discovered his love for writing and medieval European history, as well as authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Those discoveries continue to fuel his imagination and influence the stories he tells. His first novel, God’s Hammer, was published in 2005. Its sequel, Raven’s Feast, was published in 2017. A third, yet-to-titled book, is currently in the works.

For more information, connect with him at one of these sites:

Website: www.ericschumacher.net

Twitter: @DarkAgeScribe

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EricSchumacherAuthor/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Eric-Schumacher/e/B001K8G4YW/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

About God’s Hammer

Eric GodsHammerBookShot_FINALHistory and legend combine in the gripping tale of Hakon Haraldsson, a Christian boy who once fought for the High Seat of a Viking realm.

It is 935 A.D. and the North is in turmoil. King Harald Fairhair has died, leaving the High Seat of the realm to his murderous son, Erik Bloodaxe. To solidify his claim, Erik ruthlessly disposes of all claimants to his throne, save one: his youngest brother Hakon.

Erik’s surviving enemies send a ship to Wessex, where the Christian King Athelstan is raising Hakon. Unable to avoid his fate, he returns to the Viking North to face his brother and claim his birthright, only to discover that victory will demand sacrifices beyond his wildest nightmares.

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About Raven’s Feast

It is 935 A.D. and Hakon Haraldsson has just wrested the High Seat of the North from his ruthless brother, Erik Bloodaxe. Now, he must fight to keep it.

The land-hungry Danes are pressing from the south to test Hakon before he can solidify his rule. In the east, the Uplanders are making their own plans to seize the throne. It does not help that Hakon is committed to his dream of Christianizing his people – a dream his countrymen do not share and will fight to resist.

As his enemies move in and his realm begins to crumble, Hakon and his band of oath-sworn warriors must make a stand in Raven’s Feast, the riveting sequel to God’s Hammer.

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Sifting through history for interesting ladies!

sharon rsz_img_5302 1Today I have the honour of welcoming Sharon Bennett Connolly to my blog. This is a lady with whom I share a common passion for all things medieval and I was fortunate enough to spend a day with her last year in Lincoln. Needless to say, we spent that time visiting Lincoln Castle and Lincoln Cathedral, a first for me, not so for Sharon. (And she’s been back there since, to judge from the pic)

Sharon has recently published a non-fiction book featuring a number of medieval ladies. Aptly named Heroines of the Medieval World, it introduces the reader to quite the gallery of personalities. (You’ll find my review at the bottom of this post)

So, I gave Sharon a virtual cup of tea (with a slice of virtual cake – comes with the benefit of zero calories)  and had her sit on the hot seat while answering some questions.

Why this passion for history?

I honestly don’t know. I have always loved history – I just can’t get enough of it. The stories and the mysteries are so compelling. I love the ‘what ifs’. And it is something that is everywhere – you can go to Scotland, France, Russia, Canada and there is history.

Have you ever wished you could travel back in time to say hello to some of your favourite medieval heroines?

I would love to – so long as I can come back, I wouldn’t want to live in the past. I like my creature comforts too much. But it would be nice to sit at a table with Agnes of Dunbar and Nicholaa de la Haye and find out what made them so formidable. Or Eleanor of Aquitaine’s daughters and ask them what they really thought of their mum and dad – oh, that would be so interesting.

If so, what would you take with you as a gift?

Now that is an interesting question. I think I would want to take them something practical, that we women find so useful today – maybe a decent sized handbag?

medieval loversWho are your three favourite medieval ladies and why?

There are so many! I have a soft spot for Nicholaa de la Haye, because writing about her on my blog gave me the original idea for the book. I admire Matilda, wife of William the Conqueror; I love the idea of this diminutive woman being treated as a partner by this great bear of a warrior. And she wasn’t afraid to defy him for the sake of her children. And Joanna of England, daughter of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. She wasn’t always in control of her life, but she could put her foot down when she wanted to – such as when Richard I wanted to marry her to Saladin’s brother.

Do you have a special period you are particularly interested in?

Medieval, although it’s more the people than the period, for me. I have dabbled in the Napoleonic and Tudor eras, but always seem to go back to the medieval. However, I couldn’t specify a particular reign or century – it is more the stories and the characters associated with them, that I find fascinating.

Lincoln Cathedral or the York Minster?

Impossible decision – they’re both at the top, for different reasons. I’m a Yorkshire lass and York is something very special. But the refectory at Lincoln Cathedral do the most scrumptious cakes. (Totally agree!) I can spend a day in each of them and still not see everything.

I know you’re planning on writing a book about the women of the Conquest and I imagine Matilda of Flanders will be a pivotal character in such a book. What do you think of her husband, William the Conqueror? Was he a horrible baddie or is he the victim of a black legend?

I think it is never black and white. I’m from Yorkshire – and the Harrying of the North was a dreadful incident – but you can’t really hold a grudge for 1,000 years. William had his good qualities, he was a strong, able ruler and rewarded those loyal to him. He was also a loyal husband – there is no record of any mistresses and he seems to have prized Matilda as a wife, companion and ruling partner. He left Normandy in Matilda’s hands on a number of occasions and respected her abilities.

medieval woman w unicornWhile researching your book, what sources did you use?

Everything I could find. It is easier to research from home these days, so many contemporary chronicles, such as Froissart and Orderic Vitalis, are available online. I think I only ventured to the library a couple of times. I also have a pretty decent book collection myself – I always told the hubby they would come in handy one day, and I was right. I also found this great website from Columbia University, called Epistolae which has published the Latin letters – and their translations – written or dictated by over 200 women of the Middle Ages, ranging from Hildegard of Bingen to Adela of Normandy. It is a wonderful resource, giving a unique insight into these women.

I imagine you, just like me, run into the problem of contradictory stories: one version says A was murdered, another insists A rode into the sunset and lived happily ever after. What do you do in such situations? 

I like to present all the versions available, assess their validity and then explain why I have decided one may be more likely above the other. Sometimes there is just no way to decide which is true, so you just have to say you can’t decide, and leave it to the reader to draw their own conclusions – luckily, I haven’t had to do that too often.

There are a couple of historical controversies that always cause a LOT of discussion: one of these is whether Richard III did away with his nephews yes or no. What do you think?

I think we will never know for certain, but the more I read about it, the more I think Richard had to be the culprit. He had the means – he was in charge; he had the motive – while they were alive, they were always a threat; and he had the opportunity – they were in his custody. I don’t like the way some people argue that Richard couldn’t have done it because he was too pious, and then say it must have been Margaret Beaufort because she was too pious. Excuse me? You can’t have it both ways. When the boys disappeared in 1483, Richard was the one who needed them out of the way. The Yorkists had already attempted to rescue them once, and he could not afford to have them free and attracting support to their cause. Henry VII did benefit from their disappearance, but 2 years later, rather than at the time. (Ha! I fear your answer will upset quite a few Ricardians… It’s very frustrating we’ll never know, isn’t it?)

Is there any event in history you would really, really want to change?

The execution of Joan of Arc. That was such a travesty. The poor girl was only 19 and was thrown to the wolves and devoured because she beat the English, almost single-handedly. When I was researching her, I came across all these comments about her on Facebook, saying she was mad and no saint. However, when you look at this teenage girl, leading armies and running verbal rings around her interrogators, you realise that, whether or not it was divine inspiration, there was something very, very special about her. No one deserves to be burned alive, Joan least of all.

Other than writing & reading history, what other interests do you have?

I love playing badminton, bike riding and the theatre. And exploring. During the school holidays, my son and I love nothing better than taking off for a day or two to explore new places. We love driving into the Pennines, or spending a day in York. On the last school holidays, we took a trip down to Hastings, research for me and exploring for Lewis – he re-enacted William the Conqueror’s trip when he landed on Pevensey Beach.

Christmas will soon be upon us. Do you have any special family traditions you would like to share?

We always put the tree up on the first weekend in December. When my son was born, I did start a tradition of buying a new decoration for the tree, every year. The idea was that when junior leaves home, he will have a full set of decorations for his tree. However …. I now don’t want to part with them, so I will probably get him a starter set from Wilko’s and keep the ones we’ve collected.

We also go to the annual village tradition of carols around the Christmas tree. It’s lovely. The kids have a great time, running around, catching up with their friends – and singing. Plus, there’s hot chocolate and mince pies afterwards. It’s a great village atmosphere.

Thank you for sharing this with us, Sharon. And should you ever want to pop by with a guest post, you are more than welcome!

sharon Lo-res jkt, 9781445662640 6About the author:

Sharon Bennett Connolly, has been fascinated by history for over 30 years now and even worked as a tour guide at historical sites, including Conisbrough Castle. Born in Yorkshire, she studied at University in Northampton before working in Customer Service roles at Disneyland in Paris and Eurostar in London.
She is now having great fun, passing on her love of the past to her son, hunting dragons through Medieval castles or exploring the hidden alcoves of Tudor Manor Houses.
Having received a blog as a gift, History…the Interesting Bits, Sharon started researching and writing about the lesser-known stories and people from European history, the stories that have always fascinated. Quite by accident, she started focusing on medieval women. And in 2016 she was given the opportunity to write her first non-fiction book, Heroines of the Medieval World, which was published by Amberley in September 2017. She is currently working on her second non-fiction book, Silk and the Sword: The Women of the Norman Conquest, which will be published by Amberley in late 2018.

You can connect with Sharon on FB or Twitter.

My review: 

Since some years back I have regularly popped by Ms Bennett Connolly’s blog called “History…the interesting bits”. Quite often, we’ve honed in on the same historical ladies and I have enjoyed comparing my (always rather subjective) take on these medieval ladies with Ms Bennett Connolly’s more objective approach.

In Heroines of the Medieval World, Ms Bennett Connolly has collected several of her favourite ladies under various headings such as “The Medieval Mistress” or “Women who ruled” or (my favourite) “Scandalous Ladies”. Geographically, her selected heroines span the European continent, from Spain to distant Kiev, but focus lies on English and French women, some of them nothing more than pawns, others brave as lions when defending what was theirs.

Ms Bennet Connolly’s passion and knowledge of the period and her heroines shine through in every word. This is an informative read, introducing not only each respective woman but also their family, their relatives and the people in their proximity that may have been affected by them. I particularly enjoyed the chapter with Julian of Norwich in which Ms Bennett Connolly speculates as to who this Julian really was, thereby underlining just how little we really know about these long-dead women.

This is not a book one reads in one go. Rather, it is a book best enjoyed chapter by chapter so as to allow all the information to properly sink in. Ms Bennett Connolly delivers all this knowledge in a driven prose, maintaining a nice balance between pace and information throughout.  For all those who love immersing themselves in the past—and in particular the medieval past—this is a must read.

Buy link, Amazon UK
Buy link, Amazon US 

Going back to my roots – or why there now are NINE books in The Graham Saga

There is always a tomorrow-pb-eb@0,5xToday is the publication date for the ninth book in the Graham Saga. Ninth. What began as a book (with a very sad and depressing ending involving two lonely people dying far, far from each other) developed into a saga and by now I am quite convinced Matthew and Alex and their large family are quite, quite real.

I know how they think, how they feel. I know what they like and dislike, what convictions they hold and why. I know how Alex’s childhood shaped her (or rather how her weird mother shaped her. Mercedes was a woman whose life had involved so much time travelling her sanity was somewhat affected) and what adventures and experiences shaped Matthew as he grew from boy to man while serving in the New Model Army.

Now, I wasn’t planning on writing a ninth book. I was pretty happy with the eight I had out there. Plus, the older Matthew and Alex get, the closer I get to the inevitability of their demise and that is not something I want to write about.
“But you already know when we die,” Alex says.
I do. I also know how. But that still doesn’t mean I want to share this with anyone. As long as I don’t write those scenes, they remain alive and well.
Alex smiles and pats my hand. “That’s nice of you. But we all die, Anna. No one lives for ever.” She tightens her hold on my wrist. “But make sure I die first. I couldn’t cope with the pain of losing him.” She glances at her man, standing some distance away. A ray of sun filters through the cloud cover and lightens up his features. He looks good, my Matthew—err, Alex’s Matthew—no matter that his hair is grey.

Anyway: in There is Always a Tomorrow, both Matthew and Alex are alive and kicking. It is 1692 and up in Massachusetts the legal scandal named the Salem Witch Trials are in full swing. There is unrest in Maryland: after the Protestant Associators ousted the Catholic governor some years ago, the colony is no longer a haven for people of various Christian beliefs. Catholic priests are not allowed and those who cling to the papist faith have a hard time advancing themselves up the ladders of power. But Maryland has a large amount of Catholic settlers—the colony was founded by Cecil Calvert specifically to create a territory in which Catholics were welcome, albeit Maryland has always welcomed other Christian faiths as well.

In brief, things get messy. Especially when Father Carlos Muñoz, a long time Graham friend, is betrayed to the authorities by one of the Graham children… Things get even messier when little Rachel’s life unravels.

The big challenge with diving back into the world of Matthew and Alex is that I had to re-acclimatise myself to the 17th century. These last few years have been mostly spent in the 14th century with a relatively recent detour to the 13th and a constant back and forth with the time of Ancient Troy & the present day. (What can I say? I like bouncing about on the human timeline. Something all of you who follow my blog probably have realised ages ago, right?)

When visiting with Alex, I can have her drink tea. There is even hope of some chocolate (albeit of the bitter type) and a majority of people know how to read and write. Major progress compared to my 14th century world…

There is also a constant religious tension. Ever since Luther posted his theses in 1517, European humanity split down the middle, some clinging to their Catholic beliefs, some embracing one of the new reformed versions of Christianity. Mind you, this does not mean that there wasn’t religious controversy among Christians prior to Luther. Of course there was which is why John Wycliffe (a 14th century man) was declared a heretic after his death, his corporal remains dug up and burned to ashes. Wycliffe, in turn, influenced Jan Hus, the great Czech reformer and thinker who was burned at the stake in 1415. Luther, a century or so later, was greatly influenced by Hus, as was Calvin. John Knox was a great admirer of Calvin which is why the Scottish Reformation was Calvinist—and why my Matthew Graham is a proud member of the Presbyterian Scottish Kirk. See? It all comes together somehow: what begins as a ripple in one era grows into a roaring wave some generations down the line. And in the 17th century, that roaring wave of Protestantism crested and crashed head on with the equally roaring wave of the Counter Reformation, as launched by the Holy Catholic Church.

Reading this last paragraph, I realise I get a bit carried away by all this and yes, I will happily admit that all the religious strife that characterised both the 16th but mainly the 17th century (think the Thirty Years’ War) is quite fascinating. As a consequence of the Reformation more people learned to read (the Reformers were great believers in people reading the Bible) which in turn led to a market for political pamphlets. Suddenly, a growing percentage of the population had the opportunity of making their own mind up, of reading and drawing their own conclusions—which led to lively debate about how a country should be governed.
“Not something you need to worry about,” Charles I might have said. “I, the king, am best placed to take the right decisions on your behalf.”
Turns out very, very many didn’t agree. As you all know, the English Civil War ended with a victory for the republicans and an executed king. Some years later, however, England joyously welcomed Charles II back as their sovereign.
“Not me,” Matthew mutters. True. Matthew’s convictions remain the same throughout his life. Sometimes, this causes a lot of heartache for the Graham family.
“Tell me about it,” Alex says. But she takes her man’s hand. Fingers tighten round each other, they share a brief smile and then “poof”, just like that, my reluctant time traveller and her 17th century man fade away. For now. I suspect they’ll be back soon enough to pester me about book number ten. As I am a person who likes symmetry and even numbers, I suspect they’ll convince me to write one more. One. Maybe. We’ll see. For now, I hope There is Always a Tomorrow will bring my readers as much joy in reading as I had in writing!

 

Is freezing in a garret a prerequisite?

Chatterton 1856 by Henry Wallis 1830-1916There is this rather romanticised (and antiquated) idea that great art is created by young (mostly) male wannabees who laugh cruel fate in the face while they continue with their creative endeavours, no matter chillblains and empty stomachs, ice-cold draughts and ragged clothes. Our literary hero hoards his candle stumps so as to light his nightly progress with his roman à clef,  but no sooner does dawn tinge the night skies pink but he blows out the little flame, preferring to strain his eyesight to wasting any more of his artificial light source.

Such young men write about PAIN. They write about anguish and despair, about setting off to brave the world alone. Their world is harsh, their female protagonists are generally peripheral, and all that introverted focus results in a rather heavy read – which is why said writer is languishing in a garret to begin with. Now, not all garret-bound writers have written unreadable books. In Sweden, we have our own most brilliant if somewhat depressive and misogynist August Strindberg, who rose from humble beginnings to become a writer of quite some well-deserved renown (and doubtful repute, what with all his women). Great art has undoubtedly arisen from strained circumstances, but is it a necessity to suffer to write/compose/paint masterpieces? No, I would say – rather emphatically. What is required to create masterpieces is talent, perseverance and inspiration.

Irises-Vincent_van_GoghCreating masterpieces does not always result in monetary compensation. Take Van Gogh, for example. Did he ever enjoy the monetary fruits of his labour? Nope. His painting of irises may be one of the more highly valued works of arts in the world, but dear old Vincent spent his latter years in mental confusion (hence the ear business, one assumes) and does not seem to have reaped much material reward, despite increasing recognition of his genius towards the latter years of his (short) life.

Also, there’s the interesting little fact that masterpieces are generally defined by a selected few – an intellectual elite, if you will – and may therefore not necessarily reflect the tastes of the broad masses – and if you want to become rich through your creative efforts, then you had better appeal to the masses. To be brief, one can conclude that while writing masterpieces does not exclude material success, neither does it guarantee the writer will be rolling in money. If you write to earn your living, there may therefore be a need of a certain level of… umm… well, what can we call it? “Prostitution”? (Oh dear; hearts go all a-flutter, don’t they?)

aston_martin_db9-pic-12758Writers who are looking for high level income should choose genre carefully. Crime is a safe bet. Silent male hunk (think Reacher) driven by an inner moral compass but uninterested in cluttering up his life with emotional baggage as he goes about saving the world always seems to sell – mostly to men, who probably nourish a dream of living the simple life and being heroes at least once in their lives. Another safe bet is romance – but here the sub-genres are a veritable tangle to work your way through, and some are more successful than others, so do the research before deciding on whether your male protagonists will prance about in silk hose and breeches, a painted mouche on their cheek and a powdered wig atop their head, or slouch about looking delightful in an Aston Martin DB9 and cashmere (Aaaaaaahhhh, yes…)

The alternative to prostitution – a.k.a. writing what you think the market may want –  is to write what you feel passionate about and to hell with remuneration. In my experience, this leads to much better writing. Much. Okay, so there may only be a minority of people around who want to read about the Sherpa who got on the wrong bus and ended up in Zanzibar (and boy, was that a happy Sherpa: not a freezing mountain in sight to climb, just beautiful pristine beaches and a nice warm climate) but that minority will – hopefully – become your fans. Which is why, of course, I write about love and history, and time travelling and love and the 17th century and love and medieval rebellions and love and religious controversy and … Did I mention love?

Gabriel_Metsu_-_Man_Writing_a_LetterThese days, writing is no longer done on paper with ink that leaves ugly blots, those manuscripts pages then rushed off to be typeset. No, dear people, these days writing is done on computers.Yes, yes; some of us draft – or even write – using pen and paper, but ultimately authors these days will keyboard their characters, their plot and setting, into a precious .docx file that exists in multiple back-ups. (WHAT? You have no back-ups????? Well, you clearly like living on the edge, don’t you?) And once the file is on the computer, it is quite easy to publish it without having to do the agent/publishing house thing – you can do it all on your own. (Luckily, as otherwise those people who really, really want to read about the Sherpa and Zanzibar would never get the opportunity as the target reader group is ridiculously small)

The classic business model regarding books for the latest decades has included the author, the agent and the publisher. Any profit made would be shared by the three interested parties, and so long as the publishing companies controlled what was being published, things worked out pretty well. After all, until recently, if you wanted to read a book you needed to buy the physical printed product, and as long as the publishing houses ensured the market wasn’t flooded by too many books in the same genre, readers would browse what was available and buy, thereby guaranteeing higher sales per title, ergo nice, steady profits. Enter the age of digital publishing. Enter the age of Amazon. (I feel a sudden urge to sing here: “When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars…” Chorus: “This is the dawning of the age of Aaaamazon, the age of Aaaaamazon, Aaaamazon“)

behemotYes, Amazon is a behemoth that is causing rampant death among many smaller and larger booksellers. Yes, Amazon has reinvented the book industry. Yes, Amazon drives e-book sales. Yes, Amazon has created space (he-he) for unpublished authors to go for it. Yes, Amazon is doing all this for profit. No, Amazon won’t go away – and neither will Smashwords or Kobo or all other similar on-line retailers. Or e-books. Why? Because for the reader, Amazon offers a cheap and accessible service, with the added benefit of e-books being far more environmentally friendly than the printed book.

As a consequence, the traditional business model within the book publishing world is under pressure. This leads to publishing houses having to become more restrictive regarding what they publish. Guaranteed sales need to be relatively high for the company to recoup on its investments. Sales of 10 000 copies will generate approximately 20 – 30 thousand pounds in gross profit, but this is before any promotional costs, any salaries to the people involved in the production as such (you know; editors, jacket designer, proof-readers – plus the overheads, such as the cleaners and the managers and the accountants and the sales reps and…) The book sells 5 000, and the gross taking is roughly 10 – 12 thousand pounds, which doesn’t leave much of a profit – if any –  once all expenses incurred have been deducted. It’s a tough world, the book business – almost as tough as life was back then, in that freezing garret room, where the only source of light and heat was a fluttering candle.

When the basic tenets of an industry change, this creates opportunities for new players. Enter the quality-minded, professional small publishing companies that cater to all those authors who no longer have a chance in hell of getting a contract with one of the traditional publishing companies – not because their book is bad, but because they’re not celebrities, or well-known authors that have an established fan base, or have a book that hits a trending sweet-spot. Or are immensely talented.

So, the enthusiastic as yet unknown author wants to publish, the small publishing house offers a package for self-publication and you have a marriage made in heaven. (A word of warning: double check the publishing house before going with them. You want someone who is serious about what they do)  End result of this matrimony = a book, a lovely, lovely book that has the writer smiling like an idiot while he/she strokes the cover (been there, done that). But is it a quality product? Aha! Key question, ladies and gentlemen, best replied by “Judge not a book by its cover“, because no matter how pretty the cover, it’s the content that matters, right?

for-your-eyes-only-stampIf you write for your own pleasure, you don’t need to worry about edits and formatting, about odd POV shifts, about excessive usage of adverbs. You’re doing if For Your Eyes Only, and so it can be just as unfinished as you let it be. But. Major, major but. You put it out there as a book you expect people to buy, well then you owe all those people a certain basic quality. Formatting is nice, for example. Correct spelling helps ( “You now it’s true!” she said. Err… ). Consistent use of verb tense, of names, of dates – all of this is a minimum. I recently read a book where the protagonist is eighteen on one page, twenty-six three chapters later when two years have passed, and in actual fact he must be sixteen as we are told he is ten years younger than another twenty-six-year-old. Very confusing, let me tell you –  and far from a quality product.

This, I believe, is the rub in the entire self-publishing debate. Too many books are published at a deplorable standard, and IMO it is the company facilitating the publication services that somehow must take a stance here. All books do not appeal to all readers – and that’s okay. Personally, I’d hate reading a book about a Sherpa that ended up in Zanzibar (I think; maybe if Stephen Fry wrote it I might reconsider). But as long as the book lives up to a basic standard, I won’t feel shortchanged if I buy it and then simply don’t like it.  So, dear wannabe writers, do yourself – and your future readers – a favour. Hire an editor. Please. Pretty, pretty please? And as to all those publishing houses that cater to the self-publishing industry (including dear, huge Amazon), how about making editing a prerequisite, huh?

paris-charity-in-a-garret-grangerIf we float back in time to that chilly garret (in Paris, of course it’s in Paris, and Rodolfo is holding Mimi’s cold hand while singing his heart out to her, and…oops, sorry, slipped away there) with our industrious author, we will find the floor around his chair littered with pages, pages where words have been scratched out – whole sentences even. Mr long-suffering author is in the editing phase, and because he is dirt poor and convinced he is the best writer since Molière, he scoffs when his timid muse suggests he let someone else take a look at his finished opus. Grammar, he says in a patronising tone, is for lesser writers than he. He is an artiste, a creator of masterpieces, not for him the ridiculous rules of syntax and spelling. No wonder he’s still stuck in that garret of his, cursing the world for not seeing the beauty of his text.

In conclusion, dear people, writers don’t need garrets. But they do need editors – and readers. And books, they need publishing houses that take the craft of writing seriously – so seriously, in fact, that they won’t set their name to a book (self-published or otherwise) unless it meets a certain standard. Like an ISO 9001 approval, but for books. Can’t be that difficult to put in place, can it? Hello? Mr Bezoz? Did you hear that?

Oh, and if someone feels like developing my Sherpa/ Zanzibar story, I do have a rough outline lying about (you call, Mr Fry, and I’ll come running).

 

 

 

Of God, love and other relevant matters

writerI have spent the weekend at a writers’ conference, more specifically the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s annual do. And no, the RNA Conference wasn’t all pink and fluffy – romantic novelists do have the odd streaks of darkness in them – but it was very warm and welcoming.

Some writers live under the misapprehension that they’re in cutthroat competition with all other writers – i.e. it’s a “my book or your book” world. Hogwash, IMO. Writers don’t compete with other authors – there’s not one single author out there who can singlehandedly keep a reader in books. Well, unless said reader reads at most one book a year. No, writers benefit far more from being generous to their fellow writers than from viewing them as nasty competitors. Promoting and encouraging an author who writes books similar to yours may well have encourage an interest in the entire genre and thereby benefit your own book. Plus, being generous feels nice.

The RNA collective is nice. The RNA chairperson, Nicola Cornick advocates generosity, reminding all of us in her short Gala Dinner speech that once upon a time we were all newbies and in need of support. Well-known RNA authors are happy to share tips and advice with wanna-be’s. Whether you’re published or not doesn’t really matter when 250-odd writers get together for a weekend of book talk. No, what matters is the shared passion (most apt, considering we’re talking romance authors) for the written word and for storytelling in general. And for wine. And for late-night conversations.

I shared accommodation with four ladies who go by the name the Paisley Piranhas and the somewhat less intimidating Henriette Gyland. The four Piranha ladies – Claire, Gill, Kate and Pia – were more paisley than teeth, so there were no bloody intermezzos when we talked over late night tea/wine/other stuff. Instead, we ended up talking about God, well, rather faith in general, this due to the surprise visit of Eva Balgaire who entranced the lot of us when she shared the premises of her WIP. My lips, of course, are sealed, but central to the story was God – or maybe that should be religion – and how our relationship to God – or religion – shaped human life, especially in the past.

RNA 1920px-Sandro_Botticelli_-_La_nascita_di_Venere_-_Google_Art_Project_-_editedI think we ended up concluding that us humans need something to guide us and give us hope. And for those with no faith, maybe believing in love can be an alternative? Yes, we all agreed (once again, rather unsurprisingly as all of us believe in the power of love) should God be absent, Venus is a good replacement.

Other than dissecting existential issues, the conference offered ample opportunity to learn more about social media. Thing is, social media is something of an ever-growing behemoth. No sooner has the not-so-techie author mastered Facebook, but everyone is talking about twitter. And once the writer is getting nice and comfy in the world of 140 characters, Facebook is back as the it-thing, with Instagram in its wake. It’s hashtags and platforms and clickable links and graphic identity and “interesting content” and interacting with your reader, and…Exhausting, to put it mildly.  After a couple of sessions at the conference, I came out with a long to-do list (thank you Anita Chapman, my fantastic social media consultant) but also with some very solid ideas as to what I need to prioritise. Now I just need to find the time…

Writers don’t really want to hang about on social media. We want to write! We want to create characters whose journey grips the reader and drags them along, and Fiona Harper gave an excellent talk on how to do this, starting with defining the Goal, Motivation and Conflict of the character and ending with short questionnaire regarding the main character.

“Questionnaire?” Alex Lind, the reluctant time traveller lead of The Graham Saga leans over my shoulder. “My inner goal?” She nudges me. “Well, we both know what it is, don’t we? That you make sure I stay here in the 17th century with my Matthew.”
“Your goal, honey,” I tell her sweetly. “Maybe my plot ideas fall in the category of conflict, i.e. obstacles you need to overcome to get what you want.”
“Huh.” No matter that she doesn’t exist, Alex pinches me hard. “And maybe your motivation for ensuring I get what I want is that otherwise I will go on a strike. Permanently. Fade from your head and never, ever return.”
I obviously need to talk some more to Fiona to see how she suggests one handles rebellious and vociferous characters who tell you to shove conflict somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine…

Valentine dicksee-romeo-and-juliet-on-the-balcony

Lovely escapism

For me, the high point was all the spontaneous discussions about everything from head-hopping (pet peeve of mine: if you’re head-hopping you’re a lazy writer) to how to handle cliff hangers and how best to kill of your characters. (Yes: romance writers do kill off their creations. I did tell you we have dark streaks in us) We talked about who really reads YA, if book trailers really sell and how many men read romance. Consensus was MANY men love a good romance – but they prefer it if it isn’t labelled romance. Truth be told, us lady writers sometimes suspect that the truly romantic creatures on Earth are men, not women. We don’t always have time for the pink and fluffy stuff in our busy lives – juggling children, homes, work, ageing parents & whatnot is quite as lot of work – which is why, of course, we so love escaping into the frothy petticoats of a good romance. But just so you know, we don’t mind a bit of blood and gore to go with it!

***************

P.S. A major, major thanks to Jan Jones for pulling off an excellent conference. This may have been my first, but it will definitely not be my last, RNA Conference!

The adventures of that perennial herbalist, Mr Nicholas Culpeper

NC d7107f99f9f5f33b5c78b6be93e2de61Some people are born with a major interest in flowers. Take my eldest son, who at the tender age of fourteen months methodically chomped his way through every single one of my hundred odd tulips, leaving half chewed petals in his wake. Or take Nicholas Culpeper, whose interest in flora was somewhat more scientific. I don’t think he ever ate a tulip – but that may have been more out of parsimony than disinclination, as tulips were rare (and expensive) plants during Nicholas’ lifetime.

My son no longer remembers what tulips tasted like, and seeing as these plants – or at least their bulbs – are mildly poisonous, he was never given an opportunity to repeat his gastronomical excursions. Culpeper tells us nothing of the tulip in his writings. I guess we can conclude that Culpeper wasn’t all that interested in flowers that were “merely” beautiful .

Not many authors can boast at having their book in constant publication for more than 350 years. Obviously, this is to some extent due to the fact that very few authors live long enough to experience such a long print run, but leaving witticisms aside, Nicholas Culpeper is one of the few authors around whose book has been in constant demand since it was first published, back in 1652.

NC English_PhysitianSo what was so great about his book? Did he reveal the secrets of alchemy? Was he perhaps an early George R.R. Martin, riveting people to their seats by a complex and convoluted tale involving dragons, feuding kings and resilient damsels? Nope – although Nicholas’ own life contained enough adventure to fill a book or two, what with the times he lived in. But what Nicholas experienced in life resulted in an entirely different kind of book; Nicholas published a herbal, The English Physitian, a DIY manual to keeping hale and hearty in a time when what medicines were to be found came from plants.

If we start at the beginning  – always a good idea, IMO – Nicholas was born in 1616, the posthumous son of Reverend Nicholas Culpeper, lord of Ockley manor in Surrey. The manor slipped through baby Nicholas’ fingers, and instead he was raised by his maternal grandfather, yet another reverend. By the time he was ten, little Nicholas had a good grounding in Greek and Latin, was familiar with both astrology and medical tracts and was well on his way to becoming a master herbalist. One must assume this passion for plants came from his grandfather, and I have this image of two figures, one stout and leaning on a cane, the other agile and all legs and arms, standing side by side as they inspect a stand of digitalis.

At the age of sixteen, Nicholas was sent to Cambridge to study divinities. He wasn’t all that interested – he wanted to study medicine – and as a consequence he never graduated. Besides, Nicholas had other plans. Since childhood, he had held a special fondness for Judith Rivers, a well-to-do heiress, and the two young lovers were committed to a life together. Judith’s parents disapproved. Nicholas was not a catch, and their precious Judith could do better. I imagine Judith wept. She trailed her mother like a whipped puppy and begged her parents to reconsider – she loved Nicholas, would love no other. Mr and Mrs Rivers remained unmoved. Judith was meant for other, richer, men.

Well, we all know what teenaged fools do for love, right? Faced with her parents’ continued opposition, Judith and Nicholas devised a plan. After all, theirs was not a puppy love, theirs was the real thing, and a life without each other was not to be contemplated. They decided to elope to Holland (Gretna Green had not come into the vogue yet) and stay there until the furore died down. As an aside, parental consent was not required for marriage in the 17th century, but to wed without Mama’s and Papa’s approval was to risk end up being disinherited. I suppose Judith was hoping that old adage “distance makes the heart grow fonder” would apply to her parents as well.

Whatever the case, Judith and Nicholas were not destined for a happily ever after. On her way to her rendezvous with Nicholas, Judith’s carriage was struck by lightning and she died. With one bolt of thunder, Nicholas’ hopes of a rosy future were obliterated – even more so when his grandfather decided to disinherit him, shocked to his core by Nicholas’ duplicitous behaviour. (Obviously, the old reverend had little experience of being young and madly in love…)

Nicholas was now in dire straits. There was no money to pay for his education, there was no bride, no welcoming home. After rousing himself from grief-induced depression, Nicholas apprenticed himself to an apothecary in London. He taught his employer Latin, his employer taught Nicholas everything he knew about plants.

NC downloadIn 1635, Nicholas took over his former master’s apothecary shop on Threadneedle Street. Due to his extensive reading and an inquisitive mind, Culpeper’s education was as extensive as that of a physician – but it was an informal education, and as such of very little value professionally. To his medical interests, Culpeper added astrology, blending these two disciplines into a holistic approach to healing. The Royal College of Physicians were not pleased with this interloper. Nicholas Culpeper retaliated by describing the physicians as “bloodsuckers, true vampires” – not the basis for a long-lasting loving relationship.

In 1640, several years after the sad affair with Judith, Nicholas married Alice Field. His new wife had recently inherited a considerable fortune after her merchant father, and using her money the couple established themselves in Spitalfields, far enough from London proper to allow Nicholas to continue with his healing endeavours despite not being an accredited member of the Royal College of Physicians. In Spitalfields, Nicholas opened the doors of his practise to everyone who needed his help. (How fortunate his wife was rich)

NC Digitalis_purpurea_Koehler_drawingMost of Nicholas cures were based on herbs. Some were true advancements in medical science, as when he documents the use of foxgloves to treat heart conditions (definitely works. The dosage, however, is somewhat tricky, and if too high will kill your patient). Some sound decidedly strange, such as boiling your bedstraw in oil to make an aphrodisiac.

Otherwise, he shares that willow can be used to stem the bleeding of wounds, roses can alleviate the discomfort of menses , raspberries and strawberries are excellent ways of ridding your teeth of “tartarous concretions” (plaque?). The seeds of nettles can be used against the bites of rabid dogs (I think not), meadowsweet is recommended against fevers (works, as meadowsweet contains high doses of salicylic acid)and fleabane helps with bites from venomous beasts. Hmm. My general conclusion after browsing through Nicholas’ suggested cures is to take them with a pinch of salt – and to make sure I have a herbal with me to ensure I’m picking the right plant!

NC zodiac manOur innovative healer did more than just list plants. He combined his herbal lore with his other passion, astrology, and borrowed heavily from Galen’s humoral philosophy, which is why in his herbal the plants are sorted by planets. Some belong to Venus, others to Mars and yet others to Saturn or Jupiter. To all this he added his own personal opinions – like when he dismisses black currants as having a “stinking and somewhat loathing savour”, thereby dismissing a plant we know to contain very high levels of vitamin C as well as a number of anti-inflammatory agents.

After some years of contented calm in Spitalfields, things were to change yet again for our intrepid healer. By now, the ravages of the Civil War were upon the people of England. Culpeper was a radical republican and wanted to do his thing for the cause. Besides, there was the matter of a slanderous accusation for witchcraft, plus an increasingly more infected relationship with both the Royal College of Physicians and the Society of Apothecaries. These august bodies disliked Culpeper’s translations of medical texts from Latin to English, making hitherto restricted knowledge available to the broader masses. It sort of undermined their business concept…

Nicholas kissed his wife goodbye, may have stooped over a cradle to coo at one of the many children his wife was to give him – puny little things that all but one died young – and rode off to fight for Parliament. The recruiting officer was less than flattering regarding Nicholas’ physique, but more than impressed when he heard Culpeper’s credentials, and instead of fighting, Nicholas was put to work as a field surgeon.

He attended the wounded at the battle of Edgehill, joined in the initial fighting at the battle of Newbury but was quickly called upon to use his medical skills instead. Culpeper was operating on an injured soldier when a stray musket ball wounded him severely in the chest, effectively ending his military ambitions.

Back in London, Nicholas returned to treating the poor. His own health was deteriorating rapidly, through a combination of too much work, his unhealed injury and tuberculosis. It didn’t help that his children kept on dying, causing both Nicholas and his wife more than their share of grief. On top of this, Nicholas took up a one man crusade against the “closed shop” policies of the Royal College of Physicians and the Society of Apothecaries. This “closed shop” policy was effectively a monopoly, based on the fact that so many of the guidelines to making medicines and treating diseases were only in Latin and only available to a few.

Nicholas made it his purpose in life to crush this monopoly. He translated one text after the other, he wrote treatises on diseases, on midwifery, on the properties of plants. He translated Galen into English, he devoted time to his destitute patients, and in all this he also managed to produce his masterpiece, The English Physitian – a giant handbook on what herbs to use for what diseases.

NC In_Effigiam_Nicholai_Culpeper_Equitis_by_Richard_GaywoodBy now, Nicholas knew he was dying. He was burning his candle both ends as life gasped and fluttered within him, driven by a need to write down as much as possible to help his fellowman. And he was clearly very productive, because when he finally did die, in January of 1654, his wife wrote that her husband had left her “79 books of his own making or translating in my hands.”

Nicholas Culpeper was an idealist. He was a man who combined compassion and passion into a constant endeavour to help the sick and ailing. He considered it a human right to have access to medical care – a precursor of the future welfare state – and like Don Quijote he was not afraid to take on an army of windmills while fighting for what he thought was right. In difference to Don Quijote, Culpeper fought using pen and ink rather than lance. And the fact that his book is still there, is still being read, is a testament to his success.

NC IMG_1227The English Physitian quickly became very popular. Housewives all over wanted a copy, and when people set off for the wild unknown of the New World, many of them carried with them a precious copy of Culpeper’s book, hoping to find cures for whatever ills might afflict them in their new homeland within the covers. I think Nicholas would have been pleased. I also think he would have liked my tulips – no matter that they have very few medicinal uses.

Ælfgyva, The Mystery Lady of The Bayeux Tapestry

For many years the presence of a lady known as Ælfgyva on the Bayeux Tapestry has baffled historians. No one knows who she is or why she is depicted on the tapestry. Today’s guest, Paula Lofting, spends most of her free time researching the 11th century (and writing great books set in the period). She has her own theories as to who the mystery lady was. I suggest you sit back and enjoy the ride as Paula guides you through this rather convoluted story!

PL Becca Marshall

courtesy Becca Marshall

There was a plethora of women called Ælfgyva/Ælfgifu amongst the women of 11th century England. King Cnut’s first consort and the mother of his sons, Harald and Swein, was known as Ælfgifu of Northampton. Her father, Ælfhelm, had been executed and her brothers blinded during Aethelred’s reign, so her hatred of the ‘unready’ king must have made it easy for Cnut to win her, and her relatives, over.

Cnut wasn’t content to have one woman. No, he had to have two. Greedy chap, I hear you say. Well, it was fashionable to have an official wife and a handfasted wife. For the sake of continuity, Cnut decided to hook up with King Æthelred’s widow, Emma of Normandy, who’d been forced to change her name on marriage to Æthelred and be known as, – yes, you’ve got it – Ælfgifu. Emma, however, seems to have preferred her own name, and to avoid confusion as we go on, I’ll refer to her as Emma, no matter what her Anglo-Saxon name was.

The Ælfgifu on the Bayeux Tapestry appears in one scene where it says, Here Ælfgyva and a cleric. In the scene, the priest, or monk, is touching her face, signifying a collaboration with her. But it isn’t the priest that draws the eye: it’s the two naked men at the bottom. Question is, who is this Ælfgifu?  

PL BT nr 1

Our lady of the day being touched by a priest

Having made studies of the various primary and secondary sources, I believe that the woman on the Tapestry is Ælfgifu of Northampton, as J Bard McNulty (1980) first identified her. Why do I believe this? Because Ælfgifu of Northampton became the subject of a scandal when she was accused of presenting Cnut with two sons that were neither his nor hers. One was rumoured to be the son of a workman and a serving maid and the other, the son of a priest and the same serving maid – or maybe Ælfgifu herself.

In the Tapestry scene featuring Ælfgifu the pictures at the bottom depict a naked workman with a monkish style haircut, his genitals exposed as he works with a hammer and wood. In the next scene, the naked man mirrors the stance of the cleric who is touching her face. The scene comes just after a scene depicting Harold and William meeting, and maybe it is there to illustrate what the two men talked about, namely an old scandal involving a royal consort and a priest. Whatever the case, it is the only scene of its kind in the tapestry.

Whether there is any truth to the scandal, around 1030 Cnut sent Ælfgifu with their son Swein to Norway to govern on Cnut’s behalf. This may have been to keep her out of Emma’s way. No doubt the two women would have been directly at odds with each other. After all, Emma agreed to marry Cnut on the surety that her children with him would take precedence over Ælfgifu’s in the succession.

Ælfgifu’s heavy-handed taxation did not endear her to the Norwegians. She and Swein were ousted after some years. Nothing more was heard about her after 1040 and it is thought that she had died in Denmark after her son Swein.

Not everyone agrees with the above interpretation. Historian Eric Freeman states that he believes, owing to a 14th century legend, that Emma of Normandy is the woman being portrayed disgracefully on the Tapestry. I am unsure as to how and why a 11th century scandal may have only emerged in the 14thcentury, but whatever the case, it goes thus:

Edward, the king, believing that his mother had entered into sexual relations with a Bishop Ælfwine, (or a Bishop Stigand) sent her into a monastery and had the bishop locked up. Shown in a heroic light, Emma offered to prove the Bishop’s innocence by ordeal by hot iron, but Robert, the Bishop of London, threw more coal on the fire by announcing a list of her sins which included conspiring to murder her son, Alfred, and defaming her other son, Edward himself. Emma was ordered to undergo the ordeal and survived, the tale transforming into some sort of miraculous legend, with Edward begging forgiveness and mercy of her and restoring all that he had taken and more. There is no contemporary evidence for this strange story, beyond illustrating the strained relationship between Emma and her son.

Emma had always had a reasonably good relationship and reputation with the English whilst she was wed to Cnut. In Normandy, however, her reputation was sullied by her second marriage. After all, she put aside her sons from her marriage to Æthelred (a marriage arranged by her brother, the duke of Normandy) and abandoned them in Normandy, dissolving any Norman ambition of future successions to the English crown.

Then Cnut died. Emma’s reputation and power did not suffer overmuch—at least not while her son by Cnut, Harthacnut, was king. But when her son by Æthelred, Edward, succeeded to the throne, things changed. Unsurprisingly, Edward’s view of her was coloured by her abandonment of him in his adolescent years for a man who essentially caused the downfall of his father. Edward removed all Emma’s wealth and assets and basically told her to stop prying in England’s affairs and lead a quiet life in Winchester. Emma seems to have done so, right up until she died in 1052. No indications of a passionate affair with a bishop, no detailed account of an ordeal by hot iron, just an older abandoned woman living out what remained of her life.

There is another reason to discount Emma as the scandalous Ælfgifu on the Tapestry: her great-nephew William of Normandy. His claim on the English crown was tenuous at best and depended entirely on his kinship—via Emma—with King Edward. Therefore, with Emma being integral to William’s claim to the crown, it would hardly seem a good idea to represent her on the Tapestry in this way. William was already a bastard; he needed all the ‘decency’ in his backstory he could get.

William had no relationship with Ælfgifu of Northampton. She was not a person whom he would have greatly regarded, so the embroiderers would not have worried too much about stitching her and her clerical (potential) lover onto the tapestry.  Due to the lack of info stitched onto the tapestry regarding the scene, it seems this was a well-known scandal of the day. In other words, it was anecdotal to the time and it fits far better than the story of Emma.

In conclusion, I have no doubt that the mystery lady on the Bayeaux Tapestry is Ælfgifu of Northampton—but that does not mean we should necessarily assume she was involved in a scandal. After all, gossip back then was probably as vicious as it can be now!

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Thank you for that, Paula! Now, as I stated already at the beginning, Paula’s love of the 11th century isn’t restricted to researching the period – she also writes. So far, she has published two books about Wulfhere of Horstede and his complicated life in which marital issues, war and an infected blood-feud figure prominently.  I have recently read the second book in her series, The Wolf Banner, and this is my review:

PL WBThere are a couple of things that are very apparent when reading Ms Lofting’s The Wolf Banner: the author knows her history inside out and the author loves her chosen period. This results in a vibrant historical setting, little details of everyday life blending together to create quite the time travelling experience. While reading Ms Lofting’s book I am transported to the 11th century, walking side by side with her characters.

Further to the setting, Ms Lofting adds a well-developed plot and an interesting cast of characters. Not all of these characters are likeable – notably Wulfhere’s wife Ealdgytha is very difficult for me to warm towards, no matter that the woman has her fair share of woes – but then that is how it is in real life as well. The protagonist is Wulfhere, thane of Horstede and sworn to serve King Edward the Confessor. Other than doing his duty by his lord Wulfhere has a somewhat infected situation at home and a bitter feud with his nearest neighbour to handle. Plus there are all his children, from his eldest daughter Freyda to Tovi, the son who is treated like an enervating afterthought by both his parents.

Ms Lofting does an excellent job with Tovi who very quickly grows into the character I care the most about. Some scenes involving this young boy and his parents are quite heart-breaking, and I can only hope we will see more of Tovi as the story progresses.

The personal lives of Wulhere and his family are interwoven with the political events of the times. King Edward, Harold Godwinson, the Welsh king Gryffud ap Llywellyn, the ever-present Danes – they all affect the narrative, culminating in vivid—I would even say excellent—battle scenes with Wulfhere in the thick of things.

The Wolf Banner is a sequel to Sons of the Wolf and to fully enjoy it I recommend the reader starts at the beginning. Likewise, The Wolf Banner does not conclude all the stories begun in it. For that we must await the next instalments of the saga.

At times, I feel the novel would have benefited from some abbreviation—this is a very long book and some pruning would, in my opinion, have enhanced the narrative. But this is a minor quibble: all in all The Wolf Banner is a gripping read, offering quite the insight into pre-Conquest England.

About the Author:

PL PaulaWriting has always been a lifelong ambition for Paula. A prolific reader, she loved to spend weekends buried in a book. Earliest influences such as Rosemary Sutcliffe, Leon Garfield, Charles Dickens, inspired an interest in history and a longing to write historical fiction. However, this ambition was reluctantly put on hold due to life events.

Her début novel, Sons of the Wolf eventually materialised, followed by the sequel, The Wolf Banner. These are stories set in the years leading up to the Norman Conquest of England. She is now working on Book 3 in the series, Wolf’s Bane.

History is a great love of hers and her interest in the subject goes beyond that of the keyboard. She also enjoys Anglo-Saxon re-enactment with Regia Anglorum, also a great source of research for her writing.

Twitter – @paulalofting

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/Paula-Lofting-Author-Page-436306319727806/

Paula’s books can be found on Amazon!

 

The road less travelled

Today, I’ve invited Cryssa Bazos to drop by for a visit. Cryssa has recently released her first book (CONGRATULATIONS!!!) and you can find more information about Traitor’s Knot at the end of this post, including my thoughts. Traitor’s Knot is set in 17th century England, which makes me a very happy camper seeing as I love that particular era. So does Cryssa, and her knowledge of the period is quite impressive – as can be seen in the following post!

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The award for best true-story adventure of a monarch goes to Charles II of England for the six weeks that evaded his enemies following the Battle of Worcester.

CB Battle_of_WorcesterThe final battle of the English Civil War unfolded at Worcester on September 3, 1651. Oliver Cromwell’s forces outnumbered the King’s Scottish army 2 to 1. By late afternoon, the King’s forces had been captured, killed or were in retreat.

Charles was one of the lucky ones to escape the city. He headed north and got as far as Shropshire before needing to find a place to rest. An officer in his party led them to White Ladies, a farmhouse owned by the Gifford family. But the Giffards weren’t in residence, and instead their servants, the Penderells, were on hand to attend the weary king.

Charles’s situation was desperate and his options limited. He could either head back to London to find a ship bound for France or make his way to Scotland. Charles rejected the latter idea and waffled on the former, but remained firm that wherever he would go, he’d do it alone. After his companions rode off, he finally resolved to cross into Wales.
With the Penderells help, Charles disguised himself as a commoner. They cut his hair, darkened his skin with a rubbing of walnut and exchanged his royal clothes for a coarse noggin shirt, a green suit and leather doublet. Then at dark, Charles and one of the Penderells, Richard, set out on foot to reach the closest ferry crossing into Wales.

CB Boscobel_House

Boscobel House, By Oosoom at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, 

Around midnight, they stumbled upon a belligerent miller who chased them off like thieves in the night. They searched along the Severn for another crossing, but dragoons watched every route. Admitting defeat, Charles and Richard returned, this time to Boscobel House, a hunting lodge also owned by the Giffards.

The patrols were now scouring the area, and the lodge would be the next place for them to search. While Charles hid in an oak tree, dragoons passed right underneath him and not once did they look up. To this day, a descendent of the original Boscobel tree is known as the Royal Oak.

Next the Penderells spirited Charles away to Moseley Old Hall in Wolverhampton, the home of Sir Thomas Whitgreave, a former Royalist officer. It was there that Charles ran into one of his fugitive companions, Lord Wilmot.

The King's Room at Moseley Old Hall, Staffordshire.

The King’s bedroom, Moseley Old Hall;
Photo courtesy of Moseley Old Hall

Thomas settled Charles into a guest chamber with the additional amenity of a priest’s hole. The following afternoon, a company of soldiers rode up to the manor to arrest Thomas, not for harbouring Charles (they hadn’t a clue), but for breaking parole. Rumours had reached them that Thomas had broken his parole and fought with the King at Worcester (he didn’t). While Charles crouched in the priest’s hole, the dragoons questioned Thomas for hours. In the end, they left without once searching the manor.

Thomas wasted no time to arrange for the next safe house in case the dragoons should return. Charles travelled to Bentley Hall, the home of Colonel John Lane. The Colonel had recently secured a travel pass for his sister Jane and a servant to travel to Bristol where she was to visit a close friend. Originally, the travel pass was meant for Wilmot, but the King’s need was greater. The next morning, they dressed Charles in a grey coat with matching breeches and gave him the role of servant in charge of Jane’s horse, while Wilmot rode ahead on his own.

CB King_Charles_II_and_Jane_Lane_riding_to_Bristol_by_Isaac_FullerThe party had no trouble until they reached the village of Wootten Wawen, near Stratford and found five hundred dragoons blocking their way. Charles hesitated. He didn’t want them to see him turning away for that would stir their suspicions. There was nothing to do but go forward. Bold as brass, the most wanted man in England rode straight for his enemies. As the party approached, the dragoons inexplicably saddled up and pulled out.

When Charles’s party finally reached Bristol, they found their hosts with a house-full of guests. The butler was the only one who took notice of Jane’s ‘servant’. He didn’t immediately recognize Charles, but when he overheard talk about Worcester, he finally recognized Charles. Instead of giving him away, the man pledged to help him find a ship.

None could be found, and the party couldn’t risk staying longer in Bristol. The butler arranged for their next safe house—Trent House in Somerset, the home of Colonel Wyndham. At this point, Charles and Jane parted. Years later during the Restoration, he bestowed upon her a sum of £1000 with which to buy a jewel, this being the price of the reward for his capture.

While Charles hid at Trent House, Colonel Wyndham continued the search for a ship and found a willing master, Captain Limbry. Charles and his party arrived at Charmouth to wait for Limbry, but the captain never arrived. The man’s wife had become suspicious of his venture and locked her husband in the water closet.

Charles’s party arrived in Bridport and found the port town clogged with Parliamentarian troops. Instead of slinking away, he rode up to the Old George Inn, manoeuvred a stable yard full of dragoons, cutting a path straight through them. However, his luck soured when he reached the stables.

The ostler knew his face, but he had not yet placed him. Charles, being an astute observer of human nature, took the offensive. He questioned the ostler about where he had lived and soon had him convinced they were old friends. But before the ostler could rethink their acquaintance, Charles and his party slipped out of town.

Over the next couple of weeks, they went from one Royalist house to another until they learned of a small barque for hire near Brighton. They arranged to meet the master, a Captain Tattersell, in a private room of an inn. Tattersell recognized Charles immediately. Years ago, when Charles had been briefly in command of his father’s fleet in the Channel, he had seized Tattersell’s ship. But Charles had released the vessel, and now that he needed help, Tattersell remembered that kindness and agreed to help.

Charles wasn’t taking any chances. Ships were hard to come by, and captains willing to accept the risk even more rare. To keep Tattersell close, Charles plied him with drinks for the rest of the night.

On October 15th, the slightly hung-over party set out for Shoreham. They reached the Surprise without incident, and after weeks of hiding, Charles and Wilmot finally sailed for France.

Before we mark this as “The End”, there is an alternative story that was circulating in the days and months following the battle. As Cromwell beat the countryside looking for the King, rumours were spreading through London that a highwayman had helped Charles escape. Parliament was so convinced that the rumours were true, when they captured a Royalist highwayman named Captain Hind they tried and executed him for High Treason.

In my novel, Traitor’s Knot, I’ve chosen the road less travelled and explored the alternative version of Charles’s escape.

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CB Traitors_Knot_4Thank you, Cryssa, for that. Quite the exciting story , isn’t it? In Traitor’s Knot, Cryssa’s highwayman James Hart is very much involved in getting Charles to safety, and things are further complicated by the fact that James has an implacable enemy in a certain Puritan named Ezekiel Hammond. Plus, of course, there’s James’ wife who is very much at the mercy of said Hammond. All in all, Traitor’s Knot is a great read, breathing life into both the well-developed characters and the tumultuous events of the time. Warmly recommended!

Traitor’s Knot is available through Amazon.

CB fullsizeoutput_d9Cryssa Bazos is an awardwinning historical fiction writer and 17th century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War. Her debut novel, Traitor’s Knot, is published by Endeavour Press and placed 3rd in 2016 Romance for the Ages (Ancient/Medieval/Renaissance). For more stories, visit her blog cryssabazos.com. Follow Cryssa on FB or Twitter

 

 

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