Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 44

Hero dogs

I am playing hooky from Outremer to say Hi and to post something for my fellow animal lovers, a remarkable story of a German shepherd’s heroics. When his family’s house caught fire, he led the firefighters through thick smoke to find the children, ages 2 and 4. The family is in the hospital but they are expected to make a full recovery. Maxx had to be rushed to the vet but he is expected to make a full recovery, too. http://www.nbcmiami.com/news/local/Ge...
Dogs are truly amazing creatures; what other animals sacrifice their own lives to save the people they love? Sometimes people they do not even know. The most incredible dog rescue story I ever heard happened on the Oregon coast a number of years ago. A 15-year-old girl was caught in a riptide and carried out to sea. Exhausted from fighting it, she was barely able to stay afloat, calling out weakly for help. Luckily for her a couple was walking on the beach with their Labrador retriever. The humans did not hear her but the dog did. Pulling the leash from his owner’s hand, he plunged into the ocean and swam out to the drowning girl. When she grabbed hold of his collar and fur, he turned and dragged her back to shore, undoubtedly saving her life. What is so noteworthy is that this girl was a total stranger to him. And here comes the most incredible part of the story. The dog was totally blind. He swam out to her by following the sound of her voice, and got back to the beach by following the cries of his owners, who’d realized what was happening. This rescue got a lot of publicity at the time and he even made the front cover of People Magazine.
There are many stories of dogs like Maxx, alerting their people to fires, even venturing into the flames as Maxx did, their devotion overcoming their instinctive fear of fire. And sometimes they astonish us by their level of comprehension. This next account happened in Philadelphia about ten years ago. A toddler knocked the screen out of a window and clambered out onto the roof of their row house. When neighbors noticed, they called 911 and ran to bang on the child’s door. And then the family dog, a shepherd like Maxx, climbed out onto the roof, too. Reaching the little boy, she put her body between him and the edge of the roof and kept him there until his father was able to rescue him. This story made the local news, too.
Coincidentally, there was a hero dog story in today’s news. In Virginia, a three-year-old boy wandered off into the woods by his home, accompanied by the family dachshund. For nine hours, searchers frantically hunted for him. There was a happy ending, for he was found alive and okay, with only scratches and bruises from his ordeal. But searchers gave credit to his dog. She’d remained with him during the night and then barked to attract attention. I suspect she’ll be getting lots of steak in coming weeks.
Now back to Outremer. Have a good weekend, everybody.

Birth of a king, death of a would-be king

Sorry for being AWOL for a few days, but I was dealing with another back flare-up, another borderline bladder infection for Holly, some challenges with the current chapter in which Balian matches wits with Saladin, lots of drama for my fellow Eagles fans (the football team, not the band, though I like them, too.) and some temper tantrums from Diablo, who has been living up to his name again.
Today we celebrate the birthday on August 28, 1442 of Edward, eldest son of the Duke of York and Cecily Neville. (Just in passing, no, I do not believe he was the result of a liaison between the proud duchess and an archer; I think that is about as likely as my chances of finding a unicorn in my garden tomorrow morning.) Speaking of unicorns, anyone read that short story by James Thurber, in which a husband tells his ill-tempered wife that there is a unicorn in their garden, which does not end well for the wife.
Getting back to Edward of York, I confess that he is one of my favorite characters. There are very few I enjoyed writing about as much as Edward, and I missed him very much after he had to die. I think it was his sense of humor that I found so appealing; Edward took little in life too seriously, including himself, and it was great fun writing his scenes with his wife, who took everything with deadly seriousness. He had interesting flaws, too; perfect people are rather boring, both in person and in fiction. You can usually tell if I do not like a character in one of my books; he will have no sense of humor whatsoever and will be cheap in the bargain; paging Henry Tudor. But I play fair. You all know Edward I is not one of my favorite kings, but he did have a sharp sense of humor and I let the readers see that, as well as other admirable qualities like his courage, intelligence, affection for his wife. Now his father, Henry III, was by no means a villain; he was a decent man simply in over his head, a convincing argument against hereditary kingship. Naturally I loved writing about the Welsh princes, who offered me a rare opportunity to surprise my readers. I think that will be true as well for the new novel.
I think I probably had the most fun, though, with the Angevins, for Henry and Eleanor and their Devil’s Brood were all born scene-stealers, quick-witted, sardonic, dramatic, ruthless, and always entertaining. I am going to miss them even more than I missed Edward once Sunne was finished. Fortunately, writers are fickle and we move on, so I am now having fun in Outremer with another cast of colorful characters, for as my favorite writer, Mark Twain, expressed it so well---Truth is always stranger than Fiction, for fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities, and Truth isn’t. Certainly not when the Plantagenets were involved.
PS This was also the date in 1192 that Conrad of Montferrat, newly named as King of Jerusalem was murdered in the streets of Tyre by two of the feared cult, the Assassins. I didn’t get to give him many scenes in Lionheart since he was at odds with Richard, who supported Conrad’s rival, Guy de Lusignan, not one of Richard’s better decisions; the bitter feuding between Richard and the French king, Philippe Capet, led both of them astray more than once.

Game of Thrones, of course

This is for my fellow Gamers—James Hibberd’s amusing recap of last night’s episode of Game of Thrones. Don’t read it if you have not watched the episode yet.
http://www.ew.com/recap/game-of-thron... This link will also take you to other interesting articles and interviews. I don’t want to commit any spoilers so I will confine myself to a few cryptic comments. Brienne, you go, girl! Are the Sand Snakes set to challenge Ramsay for the Sociopath of the Series title? I do not like Arya’s storyline at all. Did Cersei really have an introspective, insightful moment? If there is any justice in the Westeros universe—and we know there isn’t, sadly—Ghost will get to rip Alliser’s throat out, very slowly. Where was Danni’s dragon when she really needed him? I guess dragons are not as loyal as dogs or dyrewolves. And will I be the only one who’ll be watching the opening credits very closely next week?

Game of Thrones--the countdown begins

Okay, folks. One day to go. Of course it is already tomorrow Down Under, isn’t it? Does this mean you get to see the show way before the rest of us? I suppose I should clarify that this message is meant for my fellow Game of Thrones addicts; rumor has it that there are some people who do not watch the show. To ease us through the remaining hours, here is an interview with Emilia Clarke, whose favorite word comes not from the Dothraki but High Valerian---Dracarys. Since I actually named one of my computers Dracarys, clearly I agree with Danerys’s alter-ego. As some of you may remember, it did not turn out so well for my Dracarys. He had a major meltdown that fried his mother-board after only one year of computer life, during which time he gave me little but grief. I cannot even count the times I wanted to see him suffer the same fate as the evil slave trader. But here is the link to the interview. http://www.ew.com/article/2016/04/21/...

Prince, Passover, and Earth Day

Was it T.S. Eliot who said that April was the cruelest month? That has certainly proven to be true in the past week or so as some very bright stars of the entertainment world were lost—the phenomenon known as Prince and two very talented actresses, Patty Duke and Doris Roberts. They will be missed.
I would like to send Passover good wishes to all of my Jewish friends and readers, and to remind everyone that today is Earth Day. Sorry to end on such a bleak note, but time is running out for Mother Earth and all her denizens, too many of whom are still living in denial.
Oh, and I want to remind you all that my personal Facebook page has been replaced by my new Author’s Page, which is so not my doing….sigh. Here is the link to the new page.
https://www.facebook.com/sharonkpenma...

My Facebook Author Page

Here is the link to the new Facebook Author's Page that the amazing Stephanie Churchill, fellow author and friend extraordinaire, has created for me. As I understand it, all you have to do is to click that you like it.
https://www.facebook.com/sharonkpenman/
I am so not happy about this, but Facebook is giving me no choice. Once I hit the 5,000 mark, I could no longer accept new friends, who'd then assume I'd snubbed them. :-(

Heatlher's son

The battle is over! The blood has been spilled and the bodies have been buried. It was definitely one of the more challenging battles I’ve had to fight, for it was determined by several WTF mistakes, and I needed to make my readers understand how smart men could do some very stupid things. So now I am resuming contact with the real world and trying to catch up on all that fell by the wayside when I was busy wreaking havoc at Marj Ayun.
Below is a lovely letter from Matthew, who went to such trouble to make his mother’s 60th birthday a memorable one. You, my wonderful readers, responded with such generosity that Heather received over 150 birthday greetings. So thank you again—you guys are the best!
Also I have had to activate my Facebook Author’s Page since my personal page has frozen because I hit the 5,000 cut-off, not allowing me to add any more friends. I will post the link later today and repeatedly until everyone gets the word; you’ll need to join that page so we can continue with our Facebook family community. Actually, I did not activate it myself, being lucky enough to have Stephanie as my friend; I’d asked her to help me with it and she kindly and mercifully (given my legendary technological issues) took it upon herself to create one for me and then activated it today.
Now, here is Matthew’s message. Lots more later.
Hi, I'm Matthew, the “young man from the UK” that Sharon mentioned in an earlier post, who was trying to make his Mum's 60th Birthday a truly special one. Sharon was kind enough to reply to my request and also suggest that she contact you, her fans. And you certainly didn't disappoint!

I want to thank you all for your help in making my Mum's 60th Birthday a truly special one. Mum is delighted with all the messages and ecards you very kindly sent her from all four corners of the globe. It was a really nice surprise that truly made her day. She had a lovely Birthday and a big part of that is thanks to you all, your kindness and your generosity. It certainly made it a memorable one!

Mum also sends her thanks for making her 60th Birthday a special one, and asks me to tell you that she hopes to write to thank you properly soon. It may be a little while though, as unfortunately she has problems with her hands and they are really bad at the moment so she can't type. But she will write to thank you when she is able to.

Thank you all, from me, my family and especially my Mum. You are a truly amazing group of people. And thank you Sharon for your own kindness, generosity and suggesting this in the first place. You've created a wonderful community brought together by a shared interest in the stories you write. Thank you.

All the Best,

Matthew.

A bloody battle

April 14, 1471 was a very significant date for the House of York. On this day, the battle of Barnet was fought between the forces of Edward IV and the Earl of Warwick. This was the first major battle I’d “fought,” and it set the bar high for drama—the eerie, dense fog blanketing the field, Richard’s vanguard outflanking the enemy, and then the Earl of Oxford returning to the field after shattering Edward’s left wing and accidentally attacking his own side. It was eighteen year old Richard’s first taste of battle and he acquitted himself well. The victory went to Edward and among the dead were the Earl of Warwick and his brother John. But Warwick’s allies still had to be defeated, for on that same Easter Sunday, Queen Marguerite and her seventeen year old son landed at Weymouth, ending seven years of French exile. So Edward and I would have another battle to fight in just three weeks.

A death in exile

April is proving to be a bloody month; I have to fight two battles in less than a fortnight. The first one is done, but I am about to start some serious bloodshed in the second one. The research for this one was challenging; I was spoiled by having all those first-person accounts of battles in Lionheart. I’ve found that YouTube is quite useful for getting mental images of the topography of a battlefield. My trip to Israel helped greatly, too. I’ll try to surface now and then, but for a while, I’ll be anchored on the Marjayoun Plain in Southern Lebanon; wish me luck. Meanwhile, back at the ranch:
On April 13, 1275, Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, daughter and sister of kings, widow of Simon de Montfort, died in exile at Montargis, France. At least Kasia did not forget and she posted about it. So here is a belated recognition of the death of a woman who knew both great joy and great tragedy in her sixty years.
The Reckoning, pages 137-138
* * *
Nell’s dreams were deeply rooted in her yesterdays. They were, for the most part, tranquil and reassuringly familiar. With the blurring of time’s boundaries, her loved ones were restored to her, her family was once more intact, inviolate. She awakened from such dreams with regret, often with confusion. So it was now. The darkness was aswirl with floating lights; they swam before her dazzled eyes like phosphorescent fish in a black, black sea. For a moment she was lost, adrift on unknown currents. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, the fish transformed themselves into the flickering flames of a servant’s candelabra, and she returned to reality with a rueful smile. This was no alien world. She was in her chamber at Montargis, on an April eve in Holy Week, and although death waited in the shadows, she had nothing to fear, for she had made her peace with God.
There was a great comfort in knowing that all had been done. Her confessor had shriven her of her earthly sins, her will had been made, and she’d arranged for largesse to be distributed to members of her household, to the nuns and villagers who’d sought to make her exile easier. Nothing remained now except her farewells.
(omissions)
“I want Ellen to have my jewels, Marguerite, except for my ruby pendant. That is for you. I’ve named Amaury as my heir, for Ellen will have Llywelyn to look after her, and the Church would not allow Guy to inherit. Dearest, will you and Philippe entreat Edward on my behalf, ask him to allow my will to be carried out? And….and urge him to be fair to my son. Amaury is innocent, should not have to pay for Guy’s sins. Make Edward see that, Marguerite, make him see that he ought to let Amaury come home…”
“Of course we will, Nell.” Marguerite tried to sound confident, as if she truly believed that Edward would heed them. But then, she doubted if Nell believed it, either. “Nell, you must not give up. I spoke to your doctor and he still has hope, thinks you might yet rally….”
“Simon does not think so,” Nell said softly and then smiled at the startled, dismayed looks on their faces. “My wits are not wandering. I always knew that Simon would come for me when my time was night. And now….now he is close at hand. I can feel his presence….”
“Truly, Mama?” Ellen whispered, sounding both awed and envious.
“Truly, love. And you know your father; he’s never been one for waiting. He always swore that I’d be late for the Last Judgment…” Nell lay back weakly on the pillow, fighting for breath. “I will not let his first words to me be ‘I told you so’” she said, summoning up one last smile, and her children discovered that it was possible to laugh while blinking back tears.
* * *

Death of a great prince

On April 11, 1240, the greatest of the Welsh princes—at least IMHO---Llywelyn ab Iorwerth died at Aberconwy Abbey, having taking holy vows on his deathbed. He is better known to history as Llywelyn Fawr—Llywelyn the Great, deservedly so.
Falls the Shadow, pages 115-116, scene between the dying Welsh prince and his young grandson, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. The boy has smuggled holy water from the church, hoping that if Llywelyn rubs it on his chest, he might recover. Llywelyn refuses, quoting from his favorite verse of Scriptures, Ecclesiastes, that everything has its season. But that is not what his grandson wants to hear.
* * *
“Is that what you’d have me believe, Grandpapa, that it is your time?”
“Yes.” Llywelyn shoved a pillow behind his shoulders. The pain was back—by now an old and familiar foe—spreading down his arm, up to his neck. But he did not want the boy to know. He found a smile, said, “It has been more than three years, after all. Joanna grows impatient—and I’ve never been one to keep a lady waiting.”
Llelo’s head jerked up. “How can you do that? How can you jest about dying?”
He sounded angry. Llywelyn looked at him, at last said quietly, “What other way is there?”
Without warning, Llelo’s eyes filled with tears. He sought without success to blink them back, then felt his grandfather’s hand on his.
“Try not to grieve too much, lad. I’ve not been cheated. I’ve had a long life, with more than my share of joys. I sired sons and daughters. No man had better friends. I found two women to love, and a fair number to bed with. And I die knowing that Wales is in good hands….”
Llelo frowned. “Davydd?” he mumbled and his grandfather nodded.
“Yes, Davydd….and you, Llelo.”
He heard the boy’s intake of breath. “Me?’
“Davydd has no son. God may yet bless him with one. But if not, he’ll need an heir. And in all of Christendom, he could do no better than you, Llelo.”
As young as he was, Llelo had learned some hard lessons in self-control. But he’d never felt the need for defenses with his grandfather and Llywelyn could see the boy’s confusion, could see the conflict of pride and excitement and guilt.
Llywelyn shifted his position; the pain was starting to ease somewhat. He was very tired and not at all sure that he should have shared his dream with the boy. But then Llelo said, “Do you truly have so much faith in me?” and there was wonderment in his voice.
Llywelyn swallowed with difficulty. He nodded, then leaned forward and gathered his grandson into his arms. Llelo clung tightly; he made no sound, but Llywelyn could feel him trembling. “I’d be lying if I said I had no regrets, Llelo. But I was not lying when I told you that I believe it is my time.” After a long silence, he said, very softly, “I should have liked, though, to have seen the man you will become.”
* * *
“