‘Peace Making.’ #SampleSunday #HistNov From my soon to be published novel.

‘And what about Cnut?’ Malcolm asked. ‘Can he control Esbjorn?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe so. I suspect he’s lived much of his life in fear of Esbjorn although I think that may no longer be the case. He is wary of his uncle but not, I think, afraid.’

Malcolm pondered this, cracking the knuckles of his hand as he did so.

‘Cnut seems to hold you in high regard,’ he said at last. ‘More than he did when he was last here.’

‘We drew swords together,’ I answered. ‘I risked my life to save his.’

‘So he is in your debt?’

I shrugged. ‘I do not know if the Danes have such a sense of honour.’

Malcolm stood and stared out of the window. ‘I wonder why they are here?’ he muttered.

‘We will find out soon enough.’

He turned to me.

‘Yes. I have arranged a feast for them. You will be there?’

It was couched as a question but it felt like a command.

I nodded.

‘But not Anna, I take it,’ Malcolm continued. He sighed. ‘I understand now her reaction to the sight of the monster. How is she?’

I rubbed my eyes wearily. ‘She is troubled in her mind and heart. Hog is attending on her.’

Malcolm nodded.

‘She thought she would never see Esbjorn again,’I said. ‘It is a bitter blow.’

‘Then be kind to her, Edgar, be kind.’ He made to leave the room but then paused and turned to stare at me. ‘I know what your mother and sister think of Anna but I offer you this counsel. Hold fast to her until the end of your days.’

I smiled grimly. If Esbjorn were ever to find me on my own there might not be many days left to me.

Malcolm took great pains to organise the feast table. His place, naturally, was at the head of the table with my sister next to him. I sat next to her with Athelstan beside me. On Malcolm’s left sat Cnut and then Esbjorn. He would not allow any of the other Danes to join the feast but ordered them to eat in another chamber under the watchful eye of his soldiers. He packed the feast hall with his own followers and my guards.

‘That should be just enough to control Esbjorn,’ said Merleswein with a rueful smile.

I made sure that Anna was in our chamber with two maids to attend upon her. Willard and Hog sat by the door with half their men. The rest were outside by the window. All were fully armed.

Malcolm was careful to ensure that wine and beer flowed sufficiently but not copiously. He well knew that when the Danes got drunk they also got violent.

The food was excellent. Cnut and Esbjorn ate heartily as did Malcolm. I had no appetite and ate little and drank less. I wanted all my wits about me.

‘It is good to see you once again,’ Malcolm said to Cnut. ‘I am intrigued at the reason for your journeying so far north.’

Cnut dropped his meat upon the platter and wiped his mouth.

‘I have come with a message from my father, Svein, King of the Danes.’ His eyes twinkled and he leaned closer to make sure that I was listening.

‘My father wishes to make alliance with the King of the Scots,’ he continued. ‘And he also wishes to affirm our alliance with Edgar, King of the English.’

I started at his words. He had never called me king before. Cnut’s use of the title must have been agreed by his father.

My thoughts began to race. Did this mean that the alliance with the Danes could be forged anew? Would we be able to resume our attack upon William? My heart beat faster at the thought. I glanced at Athelstan who placed his hand upon my wrist as if to counsel caution.

‘That is welcome news,’ Malcolm said quickly. ‘It is, perhaps, unfortunate that the deeds done upon my gate were not in keeping with your father’s stance.’

Cnut picked up his meat and gnawed at it for a moment, pondering how to answer. He gave a quick glance at Esbjorn before he framed his reply.

‘My uncle is a man of great passion,’ he said. ‘But great heart also. He has come north is to make his peace with Edgar.’

A deep rumble sounded from Esbjorn’s throat. I leaned forward and saw his knuckles whiten and bulge beneath his flesh.

Athelstan pressed even more firmly upon my wrist and I leaned back, turning my face from my enemy for fear of my own anger.

Athelstan pondered for a moment and then nodded at Cnut. ‘We are delighted to hear this,’ he said. ‘The friendship of King Svein and his family is a thing we esteem most highly.’

Esbjorn spat a piece of gristle on to the table. Then he snorted, picked up a leg of goose and began to gnaw upon it.

The table fell quiet. The only thing that moved was Esbjorn’s jaw.

He chewed noisily, staring into the space in front of him. Then he belched and smeared his hand across his mouth.

‘My brother has sent me to make peace with Edgar Atheling,’ he said.

We waited for him to say more but he did not. It was clear that this was as much as we could expect.

I could feel all eyes upon me, wondering how I would reply.

I leaned forward and gave an airy wave. It was bare acknowledgement.

‘Very good,’ said Cnut quickly. ‘Now we can move forward.’

Esbjorn blew his nose with his fingers and wiped them on the table.

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The third part of The Lost King will be published shortly. 

The first two parts: ‘The Lost King: Resistance’ and ‘Wasteland’ are available as e-books from retailers world-wide.

The Scourge of Satan #histnov #SampleSunday

The gate flew open and Esbjorn charged in.

He truly did look like a raging bull and we were the puny dogs pitted against him. His face was scarlet with rage and he bellowed like a wolf, raised his axe and charged towards me.

‘Now,’ cried Willard and half a dozen arrows slammed into the ground at his feet.

‘You’ll need a second eye-patch,’ cried Godwin as Willard and his men aimed a second flight towards him. These arrows were closer still, some grazing Esbjorn’s arms and one slicing across his hand so that the blood spurted.

He hefted his axe and gave me a murderous look, trying to judge whether he could reach me quicker than an arrow.

‘This one will pierce your heart,’ said Willard, stepping forward. ‘That’s if you have one, of course.’

Esbjorn did not move but his solitary eye darted fire towards me.

Behind him, Cnut ambled through the gate. ‘You must knock more gently upon King Malcolm’s gate, uncle,’ he said. ‘You’d get a less hostile reception.’

He slipped from his horse, strolled over and embraced me.

‘It’s good to see you, my brother,’ he said. ‘Very good.’

I sheathed my sword, his sword, the one forged by Wayland the Smith, the one he had given me for saving his life in battle.

‘It’s good to see you too, my brother,’ I said. ‘Though I’d have preferred it had you been alone.’

Malcolm ordered a feast in honour of the Danes. Shortly before it was to start he summoned me to his chamber and questioned me about Esbjorn.

‘There is clearly much ill-blood between you,’ he said, pouring me a cup of wine. ‘I think you were unwise to taunt him into such a venomous rage and I pray that no greater ill come from it.’

I sipped at my wine. ‘You may be right, Malcolm, but I find it hard to imagine that our hatred could get any worse.’

Malcolm gave me a questioning look and I thought it best to tell him everything of my dealings with Esbjorn.

I told him how Esbjorn had kept Anna, first as his lover, then, when she refused him, as worse than his lowest slave, housed in his kennel with his hounds. I told him how he had used her to scramble up the latrines into York Castle in order to open the gate. I told him how I had thwarted the Dane when he had almost beaten her to death and how Godwin had threatened to stab out his one remaining eye.

I said how he had pretended to be my ally while negotiating with William to sell me to him.

‘What do the Danes call him,’ Malcolm asked. ‘The Scourge of Satan? He is aptly named.’

‘Yes. And the Danes are well used to monstrous men.’

‘Perhaps I shall ask your sister to prey for him,’ Malcolm murmured. ‘That may be the only thing with sufficient force in our armoury.’

I smiled at his words.

‘But fortunately, we now have more than Heaven on our side.’ He rubbed his hands together with pleasure. ‘I sent for five hundred warriors from Edinburgh. They arrived a few minutes ago. We are more than a match for the Danes now, even if they are led by this spawn of Beelzebub.’

‘Thankfully the whole of the Danish army is not under his leadership any more. Let us hope that Svein at least can master his brother.’

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The Lost King: Mercenary #SampleSunday #HistNov

For the next couple of weeks I’m going to be posting extracts from the third in my series ‘The Lost King.’  It tells the story of Edgar, the heir to the English throne and his resistance to the Norman Conquest. It will be available as an e-book this summer.

The guards cried out and pointed to the south. Ten score of Northmen were galloping like fury towards us.

‘How many men have you, Malcolm?’ asked Athelstan.

‘Three hundred.’

‘It may not be enough.’

I shielded my eyes with my palm and peered at the approaching horsemen. They did not spare their steeds, driving them with desperate speed towards us. The air was filled with their savage and exultant cries.

‘Christ in heaven,’ whispered Anna, taking a step backwards and clutching at her throat.

I followed her gaze. Racing at the head of the Northmen was Cnut, son of Svein Estrithson. Riding by his side was a dreadful sight. Esbjorn.

I felt Anna shrink to my side and clutched her by the arm.

‘There’s no need to fear,’ I said. ‘I’m here with you.’

She gazed up into my eyes and I felt the doubt and terror in her heart.

The Northmen careered to a halt and stared up at us.

‘Little Prince Runaway,’ cried Esbjorn when he saw me. He roared with laughter and spat in my direction. The Northmen yelled with approval at his action.

Cnut, however, shook his head and took a pace forward. He looked up at me and waved his hand.

‘How goes it Edgar?’ he called. ‘It is good to see you.’

Esbjorn gave him a look of contempt and stared back up at us before stepping to the fore.

‘Is Malcolm Canmore here?’ he cried. ‘I came to speak with Malcolm Canmore.’

‘I am he,’ Malcolm said, drawing himself up to his full impressive height. ‘Who seeks to talk with me?’

‘I am Esbjorn, called by my people the Scourge of Satan. Fear not, King Malcolm, I come not to wage war against you but to talk peace.’

‘His every word is a lie,’ hissed Anna.

Malcolm turned to look at her, his face alarmed.

Esbjorn saw and followed his gaze. His voice rang out with false laughter.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ he cried. ‘Is that my Earthworm? Surely not. When I saw her last she was covered in shit and piss. And the blood from the men she’d butchered ran down her naked breast.’

Anna cried out and rammed her fist into her mouth. I felt her begin to slip to the ground.

‘Godwin,’ I cried.

Godwin swept her into his arms and raced down the steps to the courtyard. I watched her as he carried her into the Hall and I thought my heart would twist from out my chest.

‘What do you want, Esbjorn the treacherous?’ I cried in a fury.

I saw Athelstan step forward as if to stop me but I brushed him aside.

‘Have you been sent by William who you fawn upon?’ I called to Esbjorn. ‘Are you hot from his bed and hurrying to do even more of his bidding?’

Esbjorn shuddered like a bull before charging. He reached his arm out towards me and I shrunk back as if he might clutch me from the high stockade and dash me to pieces upon the ground.

‘Your tongue is golden but your bowels are yellow,’ he cried. ‘Come down here and I’ll wrench your tongue out and feed it to my hounds.’

‘What manner of man is this?’ said Malcolm, eyes wide with horror.

Esbjorn clamped his heels to his horse and charged at the gate in his fury. The poor horse was more terrified of its master than any injury and crashed itself futilely against the woodwork.

Esbjorn leapt from the saddle, swung out his axe and smashed it against the gate. Blow after blow he rained upon it and such was his strength and wrath that the timbers began to splinter.

I shot a look at Cnut wondering what he would do. He merely leaned forward, hands crossed lightly upon his saddle, and watched his uncle with the utmost calm. At one point he glanced up at me, raised a sardonic eyebrow, then returned to watch the assault upon the gate.

‘He’s almost through,’ said Athelstan.

‘Summon my guard,’ Malcolm cried before leaping down to the courtyard, calling me to follow him.

I raced down the steps, slid to a halt and turned towards the gate.

The heavy timbers buckled under the heavy blows and shards of wood flew everywhere. Esbjorn’s huge axe was hacking out an opening.

Malcolm glanced round and saw Godwin racing back into the courtyard with my guards close behind. In a moment they were followed by two dozen of Malcolm’s men.

Suddenly, I felt to my left the reassuring bulk of Hog and next to him Willard and the rest of his men. They nocked their arrows and raised their bows.

Malcolm saw this and gestured for the gate to be flung open.

‘Don’t slay, just terrify,’ Athelstan said to Willard.

The first two novels in the series are The Lost King: Resistance and The Lost King: Wasteland.  They are available in e-book format on Kindle, Kobo eReaders, Nook, Sony Reader, tablets and smart phones.

They are priced at $2.99, £1.99 and € 2.75 or equivalent.

 

‘Humble yourself, Edgar. Eat dirt.’ #SampleSunday #HistNov

The month of June came in with a blaze of heat.  The air felt warm and consoling and the light was more clear and fresh than any I had remembered before.

‘You didn’t get summers like this under old King Edward,’ said Godwin with a whistle, early one morning.  ‘We should all get down on our knees for having such a wonderful king.’  He paused and stared at me.  ‘I wonder what weather you will bring when you become king.’

I punched him on the shoulder.  I was finding it increasingly hard to know whether he was being serious or a clown.

Then, out the corner of my eye, I saw Oswald gesturing urgently to us from a doorway.

I don’t know what instinct made me do it but I stilled the temptation to rush across to him and strolled instead.  When we reached him he touched his finger to his lip and beckoned us into the deep shadows behind.  Athelstan was waiting there.

‘Be silent and listen,’ whispered Oswald.  He glanced around as if the walls themselves were spies.  ‘Edwin and Morcar have fled the court and raised a rebellion against William.’

‘Never,’ I said.

‘Just listen,’ Oswald hissed.  ‘What you do next may prove the life or death of you.’

My heart began to race at his words.  ‘Immediate suspicion could fall upon you,’ he whispered.  ‘William is in the worst rage anyone has ever seen but also in a sweat of fear.  He is like a ravening wolf, thirsting for blood.’

Tears suddenly clouded my sight.  I had felt adult for a long while now but suddenly all I wanted was to be held by my mother.  ‘What should I do?’

‘I am not sure of the best counsel,’ continued Oswald.  ‘But I think it best if you make your presence known to William right away.  He will fear that you’ll join with the rebels so you must be in his sight at all times.

‘Humble yourself before him, Edgar, eat dirt.  It is the only way you can survive.’

I glanced up at Athelstan.  I could see that he was uncomfortable with Oswald’s words but he did not contradict them.

‘Now be gone,’ said Oswald.  ‘Be natural and act surprised when told the news.’

He turned to his son.  ‘Godwin, guard Edgar with your life.  Your own life is as nothing now.  I hold you to this.’

Godwin nodded and turned to me, his eyes shining.

We walked out into the sunlight.  My head was whirling with the news.  I saw my feet step one in front of the other, could feel the hot sun upon my head, yet it was as if I was trudging slow through a clammy nightmare.

Where was William?  If I was to follow Oswald’s advice it was vital that I find him straightaway.  But if he was in such a rage as Oswald described he may well slay me before I had chance to prove my loyalty.

I turned to look at Godwin and felt my eyes confused and pleading for help.  He stared back at me, his own eyes full of sorrow but helpless, quite helpless.

‘What shall I do?’ I whispered at last.

‘I don’t know, lord,’ he said.

I stared at him in silence, stunned.  Why are you calling me lord, I wanted to scream.  I’m just a boy, I’m just a boy.  Jesus help me but I want to be safe.

I saw Godwin’s head turn from side to side as if assassins waited at every turn.

‘We must hurry,’ he said.  ‘We must get to William right away.’

All at once my head became clear.  In front of my eyes I saw a golden meadow, hot under the sun.  And far in the distance I saw a shining sea.  A gnarled old thorn tree rose out of the waters, a golden crown hanging from a branch.

I looked into Godwin’s anxious face.

‘No,’ I said.  ‘We must flee.’

 *******************

The Lost King: Resistance is the first of the series of books about Edgar Atheling, heir to English throne in 1066.  It is available as an ebook for £1.92,  $2.90 or €2.68.

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Defiance in the West. #SampleSunday #HistNov

Four days later we approached the walled town of Exeter.  To my joy I saw the flag of Wessex flying bravely from its walls.

English: Harold Godwinson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘A gold purse to the soldier who brings me that rag,’ William announced.  Then he sent forth a herald to parlay with the defenders while he sat at ease with Odo and Roger de Montgommery.

There was much calling to and from the walls but eventually a small sally door opened and out rode two men, both in fine robes and riding handsome horses.  One held aloft a white flag as sign of truce.

When they got close the two Englishmen dismounted and approached on foot.

William stared at them in silence while Roger spoke.

‘What foul disobedience you show to your lord and master,’ he said.  ‘Explain yourself and hope that the king has cause to show you some mercy.’

‘We do not come to plead,’ said one of the men, calmly.  ‘We come to find out the reason why this army is camping outside our city.’

‘The cause should be apparent to even the most simple of an Englishman,’ sneered Odo.  ‘But perhaps they have sent the lord of simpletons to parlay with us.’

The man turned to look at Odo.  ‘I am neither simpleton nor Bishop,’ he said.  ‘I am Athelstan, thegn of the lands you are camping on.’

‘These lands belong to King William,’ said Roger.  ‘You owe him your fealty.’

‘I owe nothing to a man whose lordship I do not recognise,’ said Athelstan quietly.  ‘Had I lands in Normandy I would bend my knee to him.  But not in England.’

The other man looked at Athelstan with queasy alarm, his hands gripping tighter on the flagstaff.

‘You impudent serf,’ cried Odo.

‘Thegn,’ said Athelstan, ‘I would be called a baron in your land.’  His grey eyes held Odo’s unwaveringly, until the Bishop cursed and looked away.

‘Your title is immaterial,’ said de Montgommery.  ‘The matter under discussion is why the citizens of Exeter have risen up against the king and why you have chosen to give sanctuary to the mother of Harold Godwinson, the usurper of the throne.’

‘Gytha Torkelsdotter is an old lady who has chosen to spend her last days in this city.  She has not sought sanctuary.’  Athelstan gave a questioning look.  ‘Is there any need for her to do such a thing?’

‘Forget the old bitch,’ cried Odo.  ‘We want to know why Exeter has risen up against the king.’

‘Ah,’ said Athelstan.  ‘That is simple.  We do not recognise him as king.  We will pay him the tribute that we used to pay to the rightful kings of England but we will not give him fealty and nor will we allow him to enter our walls.’

There was a silence which lasted for a long, long moment.

‘I will enter,’ cried William.  His voice was as quiet as snow falling on fields.  ‘I will enter when you throw your gates open.’  He smiled at Athelstan, almost like a father smiles indulgently upon his son.

‘Or,’ William continued, ‘if you persist in defying me, I will enter marching through the guts of your people.’

The quiet menace hung in the air like a stench.

‘I think that this audience is at an end,’ said Athelstan.

William stared at him for a moment, almost as though he had not understood his words.

‘By God,’ he exploded. ‘I will decide when this audience ends and no other.  Seize them.’

At this a dozen of his knights sprang at the two heralds.  Athelstan drew his sword and fought back fiercely, slaying one of the knights and wounding two.  The other herald wailed in terror and fled, leaping upon his horse and galloping like the wind back to the city.

In a moment Athelstan was overcome and lay prostrate before William who was speechless with fury.

‘Force will gain you nothing,’ said Athelstan.  ‘We do not recognise you.’

‘You do not recognise me,’ William choked out at last.  ‘Then recognise nothing more.’  His face worked fearsomely.  ‘Kill him,’ he cried.

‘Hold,’ cried Montgommery.  The knights hesitated at the word.

He turned to William.  ‘My lord, this man is a herald and a brave man at that.  I beg you, do not harm him.  I will pledge good conduct for him.’

William held Montogommery’s gaze for a moment his eyes bulging from a face as red as sunset.  Then he nodded curtly.  ‘As you wish.  But I will teach these rebels a lesson they will not forget,’ he said.  ‘Bring me one of the hostages.’

Two of the knights hurried off and ran back, half dragging the fattest of the hostages with them.

‘Blind him,’ cried William.

The hostage shrieked as he was thrown to the ground.  One of the knights held his head firm while a second raised a dagger above his head.  But he paused and then turned to look at William.  ‘Do it,’ he cried, striking one clenched fist into his palm.

The knight shuddered but plunged the blade into the right eye-socket, worked it back and forth, slashing and cutting until the shredded eye slid out.  Then he drew out the blade and did the same to the left eye.

The hostage’s screams echoed over the army and the walls of the city.

I turned away in horror, struggling not to vomit.

‘He was a hostage,’ I heard Athelstan say, coldly.

‘And so are you,’ said William curtly.  ‘Remember it.’

From the walls of the city came a huge cry of disgust at what the Normans had done.  I glanced back at the rest of the hostages who stood looking on aghast.  ‘I expect they think they will be next,’ I whispered to Godwin.

‘I don’t care about them,’ he muttered.  ‘I care about us.’

‘I think we are safe,’ I said.

Godwin turned and looked at me as if I was mad.

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

The Lost King: Resistance is the first of the series of books about Edgar Atheling, heir to English throne in 1066.  It is available as an ebook for £1.92,  $2.90 or Eur 2.68

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Everything has changed. #SampleSunday #HistNov

I cannot recall much about the cold winter of 1067.  Snow fell heavily and ice seized the ponds and streams near the house where Oswald, Godwin and I were lodged.   I wrote a message to Duke William asking that my dog Rip be sent to me but received no reply.  I missed him more each day for he would have loved to run after snowballs and roll in the drifts.  Then, at the beginning of February, a party of Normans appeared at our door.  At their head was Robert de Comines, one of William’s leading barons.  He was tall and as tough looking as a bear and at close quarters he smelled like one as well.  A jagged white scar ran from his temple to his jaw and it was said that the Frenchman who had given it to him was still clinging to life in the cess-pit of de Comines’ castle, fifteen years after the battle.

He scowled at me as he entered the hall and threw the letter I had written down upon the table.

‘You want your dog back, I see.’  He sneered.  ‘You would do well to remember that when you seek favours from your lord you should address him properly.  He is King William.’  He pointed to where I had written the word Duke.  ‘King William.  King of England.  My king.  Your king.  Remember it.’

He stared menacingly at Oswald.  ‘You must learn to tutor the youngster better, Englishman,’ he said.  ‘Or we will find a fitter guide for him.’

He strode to the door, nodded to one of the soldiers and left.  The soldier slipped out of the door, then returned and dropped a bundle on the floor.  I heard a snuffling from the bundle and pulled back the cover.  A huge bark sounded in my ear.

‘Rip,’ I cried.  He leapt out and began to lick my face from chin to brow.

Finally the days began to warm and lengthen and the catkins appeared upon the trees.  But there was less joy for me at the approach of spring than there had been in the past.  Godwin, Rip and I began to spend most of our time out of doors but wherever we went Norman soldiers lumbered after us.  They were unfriendly shadows, ones we could shake off no more than our own familiar ones.

One morning in mid-March, Godwin and I were skimming stones across the mill pond when one of the soldiers hurried down towards us.  ‘The King is here,’ he said.  ‘He commands your presence.’

I nodded and skimmed one last stone into the water.  I began to walk back to the house and then stopped.  This was the first time that I had heard the word king and thought, not of Harold, not of myself, but of William.  I was stunned by this realisation.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Godwin.

I nodded.  ‘I’ve just realised how everything has changed, and me along with it.’

Godwin frowned.  ‘I guess we will all have to get used to it,’ he said.

I glanced at him.  It was the first time I fully realised that I was not the only one who had been grieving for the passing of our old world.

English: William I, Duke of Normandy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We entered the hall and found King William perched on the edge of the table.  He was deep in conversation with fitz Osbern.  Scribes sat near by, feverishly scrawling out commands upon parchment.

William looked up as we entered.  ‘You grow taller, Edgar,’ he said.  ‘They must be feeding you well.’

‘I cannot complain,’ I said.  ‘My lord,’ I added, after a pause.

William noticed the delay and his eyes gleamed.  He held my glance for a long moment and then quickly stood up.

A sudden fear gripped me, I felt like turning and running away.  But I remained where I was.  ‘You sent for me, lord,’ I said.

‘I did,’ he said.  He clapped his hands together and smiled.  ‘I have been long away from Normandy and it is time that I returned to see that all things are in order.  I would like you to accompany me.  We will not be away from England for very long.’

I said nothing immediately.  I didn’t think for a moment that he was requesting I go with him or that there was any way that I could refuse.   But I knew somehow that the manner of my going would be important to me.  ‘I am honoured, lord,’ I said after a moment.  ‘In what way can I serve you when we are there?’

William laughed and clapped his hand upon my shoulder.  ‘Do you hear that, fitz Osbern?’ he said.  ‘Earl Edwin thought he would be taken to Caen in chains.  Not Edgar.  He wants to know how he can serve me.’

‘He seems to have a good head on his shoulders,’ said the steward, gruffly but not unkindly.

‘Mark that, Edgar,’ said William.  ‘Praise from William fitz Osbern.  Treasure the memory, note who is here so that they can bear witness in the future.’  He gazed at me long.  ‘He is almost always right.’

‘Always,’ said fitz Osbern, ‘always.’

William laughed out loud.  It was genuine laughter and so infectious that, despite myself, I started to laugh with him.

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

The Lost King: Resistance is available on all e-readers.  The third novel in the series will be available later this year.

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Envoys from Duke William #SampleSunday #histfic

From the Norman army three men came riding slowly across the meadows towards us.  The two men at the front were dressed like holy men, although underneath the garments of one I thought I could detect a glimpse of mail.  The third, a herald holding a flag of truce, was dressed in full chain mail, a great black cloak billowing behind him.

A detail from the Bayeux Tapestry illustrating Norman knights in combat half a century before David’s reign. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘Envoys from Duke William,’ said Oswald quietly.  ‘But I do not think they are coming to sue for peace.’

Suddenly, with a tumult of hooves, the three men approached our foremost ranks.  They halted a few yards away and one rode forward and called in a clear loud voice.  ‘I come to parlay with the leaders of the English.’

I stared in utter astonishment.  The envoy was Archbishop Stigand.

‘He must have been captured,’ I mumbled.

Oswald shook his head.  ‘He must be a traitor,’ he said.

For a long breath no one in the English army moved.  Then one horse stepped out from our centre and stood facing the Norman envoys.  It was Morcar.  A second horse broke ranks further to the left and trotted along the front of our army.  I could see even from this distance that it was Edwin.  When he reached his brother they bent their heads together for a while.  Then, together they trotted out until they were half way between our men and the Normans.  The five men spoke together for what seemed an age.

I heard a warning voice speak urgently in my head.  ‘I should be there,’ I said to Oswald.

Oswald shook his head once.  He did not speak but his hand reached out and grasped firm hold of my horse’s bridle.

Still the five men spoke together, their words a mystery to all the host of men watching.  Then Morcar looked down the ranks.  He kicked savagely at the flanks of his horse and came racing towards me.  I felt Oswald’s grip tighten.  Behind me I heard a long, low scraping noise.  My Housecarls were sliding their swords from their scabbards.

I gazed intently at Morcar when he got close.  His face looked drained of all blood and there was a strange, fay look in his eyes.  ‘Edgar,’ he said quietly, ‘these men are envoys from the Normans.  One is Odo of Bayeux, half-brother of Duke William.  The other is Archbishop Stigand.  They say that Duke William desires no more bloodshed and that he will embrace peace if we submit to him and acknowledge him to be our king.’

‘But I am the king,’ I said.  My lips felt like ice.

Morcar did not answer.  I looked up at Oswald.  He stared impassively ahead, avoiding my gaze.

I turned back to the earl.  ‘Morcar, tell me what I should do.  I am the King of the English.  The Witan proclaimed me so and I am of the blood of Alfred.  Surely we should fight?  What do you think?  What should we do?’

For a long minute Morcar did not answer.  Then he glanced back at the ranks of Englishmen as if weighing up their strength and courage.

‘Morcar?’ I whispered.

He shook his head sadly.  ‘Our best warriors were slain at Hastings,’ he said quietly, ‘and our greatest captain lies dead beside them.  We have no warrior like Harold here to lead us.  Until today I thought we should fight but now I see the strength of the Normans I begin to doubt.  My brother is older and wiser than I and he counsels that we submit to Duke William.’

He paused and said bitterly.  ‘Archbishop Stigand has done so already.’

Tears flooded my eyes.  The world receded into a silent mist and all I could feel was the scalding heat of the tears and the sickness in my heart.

A gloved hand reached out for my shoulder.  ‘You are brave young Edgar,’ said Morcar.  ‘But the time for bravery is past.  Now you must be wise as well.  We must submit to the Normans.’

I blinked the greyness away from my eyes and gazed at him.  ‘What must I do?’ I asked.

‘Ride with me to the envoys and they will take our message to Duke William.’

‘No,’ said Oswald.

Morcar’s eyes flashed angrily.

‘Be silent,’ he said.  ‘What business is it of yours to speak?’

‘Edgar’s safety is my business,’ Oswald said.  A low growl sounded from a hundred throats behind me.  Morcar glanced quickly at the Housecarls and lifted his hand to placate Oswald’s anger.

‘So what would you have us do with him?’ he said.  ‘Do you think that Duke William will be happy to see his rival for the throne slip away from this field?’

‘That is Duke William’s concern and not mine,’ said Oswald.

Morcar leaned across his saddle and spoke close to Oswald’s face.  ‘Well it is my concern.  Duke William is not the only one who wishes to avert bloodshed.  I have fought two battles already this year and watched too many brave men drown in their own blood.  Do you wish for more deaths upon your soul?  Do you wish it upon Edgar’s?’

‘Stop,’ I cried.  ‘Stop quarrelling.’

I turned to Oswald and shook my head.  ‘I think that Morcar is right,’ I said at last.  ‘Harold is not here with us.  And I do not think that you will allow me to lead the charge.  So I shall go to the Normans and I shall submit to them.  But I would like you to come with me, please.’  Then I began to sob.

Straight away Morcar spurred his horse forward and held his shield across my face.  No one except Oswald and him saw me weep.  I do not know how long I cried but at length I felt Morcar smooth my hair.  ‘Have done, Edgar.  We must go to the Normans.’

I wiped my nose and nodded.

I felt dazed as our horses trudged along the line towards the envoys.  I rode in the middle with Oswald to my right and Morcar to my left.  Behind us, unbidden, came a score or more of my Housecarls.  At length we reached the centre of our army.  Edwin glanced swiftly at his brother who nodded once.  We lined up facing the Normans.  On their left was Archbishop Stigand, on the right the silent warrior cloaked in black and in the middle the lean figure of a man of god dressed in chain.  He stepped forward a pace and stared at me.

‘Bishop Odo,’ Edwin said to him, ‘this is Edgar Atheling, grandson of Edmund Ironside.  Will you take a message to Duke William that Edgar and the Earls Edwin and Morcar submit to him.’

Odo stared impassively at Edwin for a moment and then turned to the silent man who sat beside him.  ‘They submit to you, my brother, they submit.’

The man cloaked in black pulled off his helmet.

‘I accept your submission,’ he said.  ‘Be my loyal subjects and I shall be your just king.’

I was face to face with Duke William of Normandy.  He held the gaze of Edwin for a while, then looked Morcar up and down.  At last he turned to look upon me.  I was transfixed by his stare as if he was holding me captive merely with his eyes.  He seemed to be trying to delve into my soul, to scan my every thought.  I was a mouse cowering, ears flattened, watching helpless as the hawk swooped down to clutch.

‘I shall be a father to you, Edgar,’ he said at last.

I shuddered.

And then I felt immense gratitude flood over me.

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

 This sample is from The Lost King: Resistance, the story of Edgar Atheling’s long battle against the Norman invaders .  It is available as an ebook on a large range of readers including Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Sony Reader, Tablets and PCs.

Use modern technology to transport you to an ancient world.

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The Start of a Life-Long Friendship. #SampleSunday #HistNov

I was awake long before dawn on the appointed day.  I pushed Rip’s head off my chest and leapt out of bed.  ‘We are going to fight the Normans,’ I told him as I struggled into my clothes.  He yawned loudly.  I had told him this twelve dozen times already.  ‘I am the King of England,’ I told him, ‘and I lead my host to battle.’  He yawned and scratched at his ear.  ‘To battle,’ I cried, ‘to battle.’  He sprang up at my cry, first among champions, tail wagging furiously.  I led the charge down to breakfast.

I was hungry but could hardly swallow my bread and cheese so took them with me as I stepped out into the cold air.  It was still black night and stars glittered above my head.  I turned to the east but there was no sign of the sun.  Above the horizon a clear white star shone bright.

‘The morning star,’ said a voice.  ‘A good omen.’  The familiar shape of Oswald emerged and placed a hand upon my shoulder.  There was a second figure beside him, but not a tall warrior.  He came close and I saw that it was a boy of about my age, although taller and broader.

‘This is my son, Godwin,’ said Oswald.  I nodded at the boy and he nodded back.

‘I thought he would be a good companion for you,’ continued Oswald.  ‘But mind you keep yourselves out of trouble.  The army will march swiftly and I won’t have time to look out for both of you.  Be ready to ride at dawn.’

Oswald nodded and strode off in the night.  I stared in silence at Godwin for a little and he stared at me.  Finally he spoke.

‘Are you really the King of England?’

‘Yes.’

‘So I am your subject?’

‘Yes.’

There was a long silence between us.

‘But we can still be friends,’ I said at last.

Godwin nodded.  ‘I’m glad.  Herrig was my friend but he died of a fever.  He coughed up blood and a lump of black matter as big as an egg.  Then he died.’

‘Perhaps it was his soul,’ I said.  ‘The black matter.’

‘Or maybe the imp that was causing the fever,’ said Godwin.  He paused, as if realising that he had contradicted me.  ‘On account of it being black,’ he explained, quickly.

I did not answer for a moment.  I did not know what a king should do when he was contradicted by one of his subjects.  Should I insist it was a soul, even though I believed that Godwin’s idea was more likely?  Would he take it as a sign of weakness if I changed my mind?  What would Harold have done, I wondered?

‘I think you are probably right,’ I said finally.  ‘If it were black then it was more likely to be an imp than his soul.’  I paused.  ‘Unless, of course, Herrig was really evil.’

I heard Godwin say ‘hmm’ thoughtfully and I smiled.  ‘I don’t think he was that evil,’ he said at last.

‘So it must have been an imp,’ I decided.

I saw Godwin nod in the first glimmer of morning.

‘Let’s visit the horses,’ I said.

Godwin and I helped a groom saddle up my pony.  Godwin did not have a pony but I ordered that the grooms find him one.  This greatly impressed him.  By the time we had mounted the dawn had come, cold and clear, with a streak of red where the sun would appear.  My heart began to hammer in my chest and my head swam.  By this time several of my guards had joined us and they looked searchingly at me.  Could they hear the pounding of my heart, I wondered?  Would they think that I was a coward?  I tried to think of anything other than the coming battle but no other thoughts would stick in my mind.  I looked at Godwin.  He seemed as excited as I was.

‘How do you feel?’ I asked.

‘Excited,’ he said.

‘How do you know you are excited?’

‘Because my heart is pounding like a blacksmith at the anvil,’ he said.

I leaned towards him and listened.  I could not hear his heart at all.  I smiled in relief.

‘Is your heart beating as hard as mine?’ he asked.

I shook my head and gave as stern and unconcerned look as I could.  Godwin seemed impressed.

*********

The Lost King: Resistance is the first in a series of books about Edgar Atheling and his resistance to the Norman Conquest.  It is available from all e-book outlets.  The third book in the series will be published this summer.

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English: Harold Godwinson falls at Hastings. Harold was struck in the eye with an arrow (left), slain by a mounted Norman knight (right) or both. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The next morning as I was finishing my breakfast, Oswald entered the room and announced that I would not be needed at the meeting of the Witan and could spend the day as I chose.  But he said that he would accompany me.

‘I will be your second hound,’ he said, stroking Rip’s head.

We wandered down to the river and began to stroll along the bank.  The morning mist was still heavy and every so often we would lose all sight of anything other than the closest bushes and trees.  Oswald said nothing although I heard him grunt with pleasure occasionally.  Perhaps it was hard being a warrior, I thought, and he liked this chance just to walk and enjoy the morning.

Finally, I plucked up the courage to ask him what was intriguing me.

‘Yesterday I had a dozen guards when I went down to the river.  Today I only have you.  Why has there been this change?’

‘Yesterday there was much doubt about the motives of Edwin and Morcar,’ said Oswald.  ‘Today there is less.  Or perhaps the wise ones choose to cloak their doubts.  Besides,’ and here he smiled broadly, ‘I am not alone.’  He gestured to the hill to our left.  I peered and could make out some five or six warriors with lurchers upon leashes.

‘There’s only six,’ I said.

‘Half the fear, half the men.’

I picked up a stick and began to swing it through the air, slashing at thistles and grass.  ‘But why should we fear Edwin and Morcar?’ I asked.  ‘They are Englishmen and should be loyal.’

‘There are many who question the slowness with which they journeyed south to join King Harold for battle.  Perhaps if their armies had been with him then he would still be alive.’

I fell silent at these words.  If only he were still alive.  I thought less about the earls’ treachery and more about how much I missed him.

‘If he was alive then you wouldn’t have to guard me,’ I said.  ‘I wouldn’t be important at all.’

Oswald stopped and turned towards me.  ‘And would you prefer that?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ I said.  ‘Of course I would.’

He ruffled my hair.

We walked in silence for a little while.

Then I said,  ‘And would you prefer that?’

Oswald laughed.  ‘You are wise for your years.  How should a warrior answer that and stay safe?  Which answer would you prefer?  That I am loyal to you the King of England or more loyal to Harold who I know you loved?’

I did not answer for a moment.  Then I swung at a particularly large thistle.  ‘I would prefer that you told me the truth.’

Oswald placed his hand upon my shoulder.  ‘Then I shall do so,’ he said.  ‘I would prefer that Harold was still alive for he was a great and noble man.  If he was alive the Norman Duke would be food for battlefield crows instead of the threat he is now.  If Harold was still king then you wouldn‘t be called to a task which shouldn’t be thrust upon one of your years.’

We gazed at each other for a moment.  I felt a sudden liking for Oswald.

 

We got back an hour or so after noon and at once noticed a change.  People seemed on edge and they moved more swiftly.  I caught the sense of this and my stomach swooped.  One of the older warriors hurried towards Oswald and spoke quickly in his ear.  My fingers gripped the fur on Rip’s neck as I watched them, waiting for what would happen next.  Oswald turned to me.

‘I think we should take you to the Witan,’ he said.

I hurried after the two men.  Four guards were at the door, swords unsheathed.  They stood aside for us and we entered the gloom of the hall.  A few men nearby looked up at me but most continued to stare at the Archbishop and a few of the senior counselmen.

‘Take your place, Edgar,’ Oswald said quietly.

I slipped across the hall and onto the throne.  Stigand glanced at me for a moment but without pausing in his speech.

‘If we are to take this action,’ he continued, ‘then every one of us must be in full agreement.’  His eyes swept across the hall.  No one spoke and no one moved.

He remained silent for a long moment and when he spoke again his words were slow yet sure.

‘The army will gather at dawn two days hence and march out to meet the invaders at Wallingford.’

Again there was a silence.  Then one of the counsellors began to beat upon the table with his fist.  Another took up the rhythm and then another and then two more.  In a moment the whole hall was beating out the time and a low growl rose from out their throats.  The hairs on the back of my neck rose up.  We were going to fight the Normans.

*******

This extract is from ‘The Lost King: Resistance.’  It is the first novel in my series about Edgar Atheling, last native King of England.  It is available from all e-book outlets.

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Guest post for Harvey Black

Harvey Black has asked me to do a guest post on his blog.  I was delighted at this invitation.

I have written about my approach to writing about war.  As always, I learned a little more about my own writing by taking a look at my work through a different prism.

Harvey’s own field is more recent than mine, by a thousand years.  He writes about World War 2 and the Cold War.

Please take a look at my contribution and the rest of Harvey’s blog at:

http://harveyblackauthor.org/