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Blood of Ironside Part 3 #SampleSunday #HistNov

This is the third part of my new novel ‘Blood of Ironside.’ Edgar Atheling has survived the Norman attack and must now decide upon his course of action.

We turned and climbed up the hill.  We found ourselves on a narrow causeway with puny sheep munching on scanty grasses.  A small village clung a little way along, huddled against the walls of an ancient, decaying church as if attempting to shelter from the wind.

The village appeared to be deserted.  Only one old man was brave enough to watch as we passed by.  His pale eyes regarded us with as much indifference as he might have gazed upon a flock of sheep.

Siward Barn took him by the shoulder.  ‘What is the name of this place?’ he asked.

‘This is the middle town,’ the old man answered.

Siward Barn swept his hand around.  ‘And this land?’

‘Heruteu.’

‘The island of the stag?’

The old man nodded.

‘Is it an island?’ I asked.

‘It is when the tides are high,’ he answered.  He glanced up at the sky.  ‘You should be able to wade across by now.’

I looked where he was pointing.  A narrow channel separated us from the mainland to the west.

‘Can we buy horses here?’ I asked.

The old man looked confused.  ‘We have no horses.  The priest has a donkey.’

‘That will have to do for now,’ Athelstan said.  ‘Anna and Freya can take turns to ride it.’

‘The priest won’t loan you his donkey,’ the old man said.  ‘He needs it.’

We ignored him and headed towards the church.

‘We have a long journey ahead,’ I said to Athelstan.  ‘We shall still need horses.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Willard said.

‘Why not?’

Willard glanced at the heavily forested land beyond the coast.  ‘Not if the country is forest or high country like where we wintered.  Men walking with a will can go as swift as horses on such ground.  Horses only make good speed on the Roman roads and if we take those we’d be spotted by anyone pursuing us.  We’d be wiser to head into the wilds and go by paths that horsemen cannot follow.’

I weighed up what he said.  ‘The words of a woodman like you should be heeded,’ I said.

‘A donkey might be all right,’ he said cautiously.  ‘For the young women.’

I nodded.

I stared at his sharp face and wiry frame.  He had saved my life more than once already.  I had a sudden image of the day I first saw him, deep within the forest.  At that time I had felt the usual suspicion of such an outlaw. There was good cause as he had been aiming an arrow at my heart. There was no such doubt now. For either of us.

‘Will you come with us, Willard?’ I said.  ‘I value you greatly.’

Willard gazed at his men.  ‘Hog and I will,’ he said.  ‘I cannot speak for the others.  I’ll talk with them.’

He took a step towards his men then paused.  ‘Where shall I say we are going?’ he asked.

‘To Scotland.  To the palace of my brother-in-law, King Malcolm.’

*******

‘Blood of Ironside’ is the third novel in The Lost King series.  It is available on Kindle for $3.08, £1.97 or €2.68.  You can buy them by clicking on the links below or through Amazon outlets in your own country.

Amazon US link is: http://t.co/X4nLHHXnQX

Amazon UK link is: http://t.co/KRNth65wNY

It is also available on Smashwords and will be available on Kobo, Nook, Sony Reader and other devices shortly.  I will let subscribers to my email list know as soon as it is available on these devices.

My subscriber list gives you advance notice of my new releases and exclusive access to free stories.

If you’d like to sign up to my subscriber list please look for the link on the sidebar to the right which says Newletter.  It’s a little below the pictures of my books.  It’s simple to sigh up…..

Right click on the URL and open it in a new web page. This will take you straight to the sign up page.

Alternatively, email me on martinlake14@gmail.com and I’ll email you back with a link to sign up.

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Blood of Ironside Part 2. #HistNov #Stories

This is the second part of my new novel Blood of Ironside.

We rowed the boats for a mile through slicing seas.  Freezing water surged over the laden keel and we baled it out with our cupped hands.  Finally, just as our hopes faltered, we saw before us a finger of land with a deep inlet to one side.

‘Let’s make for there,’ Athelstan yelled.

We had little strength for the task but fortunately the tide and the growing wind from the sea began to drive us towards land.  After what seemed like an age we heard the keel crunch upon gravel.  Siward Barn and Merleswein leapt into the water and dragged the two boats up the beach.

I jumped onto the shore and looked round.  The inlet was deserted apart from a group of seals lying on the beach watching us with placid eyes.

Above our heads the ground rose to a saddle of land which promised a good view of the surrounding countryside.  I told the others to wait and started to clamber up its slippery slope.  As I neared the top I eased my dagger out of its sheath.

I turned and stared across the bay.  I could just make out the headland where we had almost met our end.  It was farther than I imagined and for that I gave thanks.

I knew that my enemy was there; possibly he was staring out across the bay to me.  His soldiers would have done their work now and I doubted that any of my followers were left alive.

The fierce seagulls skimmed across the water, making the air shrill with their cries.

Despite my command Godwin had followed me up the slope.

‘Can you see them?’ he called.  ‘Can you see the Normans?’

I shook my head.  ‘The sky’s full of storm clouds.  I can’t see much.’

Godwin stood beside me and followed my gaze, holding his hand above his eyes, shielding them from the rain.  ‘Do you think William will follow?’

‘What do you think?’ I asked.

Godwin nodded and gripped my shoulder.  ‘I think we’d better get a move on.’

We hurried down to the beach.  Willard and his outlaws were guarding the three fishermen.  They stank of fish and of fear. They stared at Willard, terrified that they would soon suffer the fate of their friend.

Athelstan and Merleswein stood by the boats in anxious debate.

‘Did you see anything?’ Athelstan asked as I joined them.

‘It’s too far.  I could only just see the headland.’

Merleswein turned to the west as if his eyes could pierce the mists of distance.

‘We were a long time rowing’ he said.  ‘Fast horsemen might make it here at anytime.’

‘Then we must go at once,’ said Siward Barn.

Athelstan glanced at the women, as if weighing up their strength.

I gazed south towards the distant headland where we had formed the shield-wall and Thegn Uhtred had delayed the Norman horsemen long enough for us to escape.  I shook my head.  Another brave man who had sacrificed himself and his men for me.

‘That headland was by the mouth of a large river,’ I said.  ‘I wonder if it is wide enough to delay any pursuit.’

‘Let’s find out,’ said Willard, sweeping out a knife and holding it against the throat of one of the fishermen.  ‘The river where we found you,’ he said.  ‘How wide is it?’

The fisherman’s eyes grew wide in terror.  ‘It’s the Tees,’ he said.  ‘It’s the biggest river in the world.’

Willard pressed the blade harder against the man’s throat.  ‘But how wide is it?  Could horsemen cross it?’

‘Not below Yarm, not at this time of year.  The river’s too wide and too fast.’

‘How far is Yarm from the headland?’ He pressed the blade further into the man’s neck.

‘A winter’s day walk.’

‘And how far is Yarm from here?’

The fisherman looked around.  ‘I don’t know.  I never been to here before.’

‘I have,’ said one of the other fishermen.  ‘Yarm must be as distant from here as it is from the headland.’

‘A winter’s day walk?’ said Willard.

‘I think so.’

‘Think so?’

‘I know so.  I walked it once when I was a lad.’

Willard sheathed his knife and turned to me with a satisfied grin.

‘So we’ve got a day and a half,’ I said.  ‘That’s how long it will take heavily armed horsemen.’

Athelstan’s eyes strayed once again to the women.

‘Freya and I are fine, Athelstan,’ Anna said.  ‘We can leave immediately.’

Athelstan stared at her for a moment and then nodded.

‘What about them?’ Willard asked, indicating the fishermen.

I gazed upon the fishermen. They turned from Willard to me, seemingly bemused that he had asked a youth for instructions.

‘Let them go,’ I said finally.

‘They’ll tell the Normans about us,’ Willard said.  His hand edged towards his knife. ‘It’s too risky.’

He was right but I was sick of blood and death. I strode up to the fishermen.

‘My name is Edgar Atheling,’ I said.  ‘I am your king.  The blood of Alfred and Ironside runs in my veins.’

The men looked at me, their eyes full of doubt and suspicion.

‘I am sorry that I killed your friend,’ I said.  I opened my purse and gave them six silver pennies.  ‘That is his weregeld.’

The men looked astonished at so much wealth but took it nonetheless.

‘You could get far more by telling the Normans who I am,’ I continued.  ‘But if you do you’ll be a traitor to your kin and the curses of all Englishmen will harry you to hell.’

The men threw themselves to their knees.

‘We will not betray you, Lord,’ one mumbled.

I placed my hand upon their heads, one after the other, like a priest blesses the sick.

‘I hold you to this,’ I said.  ‘Now go and keep silent.’

The men raced off to their boats and pushed them into the waves.

‘I hope that wasn’t a mistake,’ Willard said.

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

Blood of Ironside is available on Kindle for $3.08 or equivalent. It will be available for other readers shortly.

Amazon US link is: http://t.co/X4nLHHXnQX

Amazon UK link is: http://t.co/KRNth65wNY

If you’d like to sign up to my list please look for the link on the sidebar to the right which says Newletter.  It’s a little below the pictures of my books.

Right click on the URL and open it in a new web page. This will take you straight to the sign up page.

Alternatively, email me on martinlake14@gmail.com and I’ll email you back with a link to sign up with Mailchimp.

Related articles

Blood of Ironside (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)

Blood of Ironside #HistNov #Fiction

Here is the opening passage from my new book, ‘Blood of Ironside’. It is the third book in my series ‘The Lost King’ which tells the story of Edgar Atheling, the last native King of England, and his resistance to the Norman invasion of William the Conqueror.

The book is available on Kindle and Smashwords immediately and should be available on other readers such as Kobo, Nook, Sony Reader and i-Pads and Smartphones withing a couple of weeks.

You can buy it in the Amazon.co.uk store by clicking on the link in the sidebar to the right.  It costs $3.08, £1.97 or Euro 2.60.

There will be a link to the US site at the bottom of the extract.

ESCAPE

I heaved the body of the fisherman out of the boat.  The corpse floated on the water, blood seeping from the stab wound in his neck.

‘You had to do it,’ Anna said.

I stared at her blankly.

‘You had to kill him,’ she said.  ‘To save our lives you had to kill him.’

I shook my head, my mind reeling from what I’d done.

‘We’re not safe yet,’ cried Athelstan.  ‘The tide is taking us back to land.’

I followed his gaze.  We were now only a hundred yards from the tip of the causeway and moment by moment we were getting closer.

My eyes swept over the causeway.  Norman soldiers swarmed across it hunting for wounded survivors and putting them to the sword.

William stood upon the edge, leaning upon his broadsword.  I could well imagine his fury at our escape.  His stare was fixed upon me and he stood as if he were incapable of further movement.

Yet all around him was frenzied activity.  A last defiant handful of English warriors had battled their way to the edge of the cliff.  They raised their swords and jeered at the Normans, daring them to attack.

For a moment there was a pause and then a horn blared.  A score of Norman horsemen spurred their horses and charged the tiny shield-wall.  It held for a moment but the weight of the charge smashed it asunder.  The Normans surged through, turning in their saddles to slash at the unprotected backs of the warriors.  Every man of the wall was hacked to death

‘We’ve got to get out to sea,’ yelled Godwin, rowing frantically against the surging tide.

We were barely fifty yards from the shore.  Archers from the cliff were shooting volley after volley of arrows at us but their aim fell short.  But then a deadlier peril appeared.  Two score of Norman horsemen had found a path down from the cliffs and raced along the shore.  They forced their horses into the sea and struggled towards us.

The horses floundered, neighing with fear and fury, mouths open wide in wrath as their riders whipped them on.  The spray from their hooves flew into the air; it seemed as if they were riding through a storm.

The horsemen were barely twenty yards from us now.  They drew their swords, yelling with exultation.  The blood lust was on them.  They had been sent not to capture us but to kill.

‘They’ll be on us in moments,’ Anna cried, drawing out her dagger.

Then we heard the whistle of arrows.  Willard’s outlaws shot a dozen shafts into the Normans and then a dozen more.  Most hit home, wounding and killing.  A third flight was aimed at the horses and in moments the sea was a churning mass of blood and bodies.  The rest of the horsemen wavered, broke and fled back to the shore.

Siward Barn seized an oar, Hog a second and I snatched one from Godwin’s hands.

Four of Willard’s men were heaving on the oars in the second boat and drew close.

‘Pull,’ Siward Barn cried, ‘we’ll cheat the devils yet.’

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

Amazon US link is: http://t.co/X4nLHHXnQX

Amazon UK link is: http://t.co/KRNth65wNY

If you’d like to sign up to my list please look for the link on the sidebar to the right which says Newletter.  It’s a little below the pictures of my books.

Right click on the URL and open it in a new web page. This will take you straight to the sign up page.

Alternatively, email me on martinlake14@gmail.com and I’ll email you back with a link to sign up with Mailchimp.

Related articles

The Taking of York Castle #HistNov #SampleSunday (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
‘You stay with me.’ #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
The Earthworm An Extract from ‘Wasteland’ #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
To the Danes at York. Wasteland. #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)

Blood of Ironside

Here is the opening passage from my new book, ‘Blood of Ironside’. It is the third book in my series ‘The Lost King’ which tells the story of Edgar Atheling, the last native King of England, and his resistance to the Norman invasion of William the Conqueror.

The book is available on Kindle and Smashwords immediately and should be available on other readers such as Kobo, Nook, Sony Reader and i-Pads and Smartphones withing a couple of weeks.

You can buy it in the Amazon.co.uk store by clicking on the link in the sidebar to the right.  It costs $3.08, £1.97 or Euro 2.60.

There will be a link to the US site at the bottom of the extract.

ESCAPE

I heaved the body of the fisherman out of the boat.  The corpse floated on the water, blood seeping from the stab wound in his neck.

‘You had to do it,’ Anna said.

I stared at her blankly.

‘You had to kill him,’ she said.  ‘To save our lives you had to kill him.’

I shook my head, my mind reeling from what I’d done.

‘We’re not safe yet,’ cried Athelstan.  ‘The tide is taking us back to land.’

I followed his gaze.  We were now only a hundred yards from the tip of the causeway and moment by moment we were getting closer.

My eyes swept over the causeway.  Norman soldiers swarmed across it hunting for wounded survivors and putting them to the sword.

William stood upon the edge, leaning upon his broadsword.  I could well imagine his fury at our escape.  His stare was fixed upon me and he stood as if he were incapable of further movement.

Yet all around him was frenzied activity.  A last defiant handful of English warriors had battled their way to the edge of the cliff.  They raised their swords and jeered at the Normans, daring them to attack.

For a moment there was a pause and then a horn blared.  A score of Norman horsemen spurred their horses and charged the tiny shield-wall.  It held for a moment but the weight of the charge smashed it asunder.  The Normans surged through, turning in their saddles to slash at the unprotected backs of the warriors.  Every man of the wall was hacked to death

‘We’ve got to get out to sea,’ yelled Godwin, rowing frantically against the surging tide.

We were barely fifty yards from the shore.  Archers from the cliff were shooting volley after volley of arrows at us but their aim fell short.  But then a deadlier peril appeared.  Two score of Norman horsemen had found a path down from the cliffs and raced along the shore.  They forced their horses into the sea and struggled towards us.

The horses floundered, neighing with fear and fury, mouths open wide in wrath as their riders whipped them on.  The spray from their hooves flew into the air; it seemed as if they were riding through a storm.

The horsemen were barely twenty yards from us now.  They drew their swords, yelling with exultation.  The blood lust was on them.  They had been sent not to capture us but to kill.

‘They’ll be on us in moments,’ Anna cried, drawing out her dagger.

Then we heard the whistle of arrows.  Willard’s outlaws shot a dozen shafts into the Normans and then a dozen more.  Most hit home, wounding and killing.  A third flight was aimed at the horses and in moments the sea was a churning mass of blood and bodies.  The rest of the horsemen wavered, broke and fled back to the shore.

Siward Barn seized an oar, Hog a second and I snatched one from Godwin’s hands.

Four of Willard’s men were heaving on the oars in the second boat and drew close.

‘Pull,’ Siward Barn cried, ‘we’ll cheat the devils yet.’

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

Amazon US link is: http://t.co/X4nLHHXnQX

Amazon UK link is: http://t.co/KRNth65wNY

If you’d like to sign up to my list please look for the link on the sidebar to the right which says Newletter.  It’s a little below the pictures of my books.

Right click on the URL and open it in a new web page. This will take you straight to the sign up page.

Alternatively, email me on martinlake14@gmail.com and I’ll email you back with a link to sign up with Mailchimp.

Related articles

The Taking of York Castle #HistNov #SampleSunday (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
‘You stay with me.’ #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
The Earthworm An Extract from ‘Wasteland’ #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
To the Danes at York. Wasteland. #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)

My New Subscriber List

I have just started a new subscriber list using Mailchimp. The aim of the list is to alert people to new releases of my books and to give them special offers, freebies and so on.

Because of my lack of technical know-how I have not been able to put the sign up form onto the blog. (Sadly, I don’t know any teenagers who can help me do this.)

So, if you’d like to sign up to my list could you please email me on martinlake14@gmail.com and I’ll email you back with a link to sign up with Mailchimp.

The Taking of York Castle #HistNov #SampleSunday

The Worm cowered, her eyes wide in terror.  Then her head tilted, as if in recognition, and she crept to my side. 

We raced out into an open space; the large grassy bailey enclosed by the outer walls.  The Danes were fanning out, slashing and stabbing at anything in their path, human or animal.  Terrible screams echoed from the walls.  My Housecarls held together in a solid mass, shields pressed against their chins, swords bristling but not, for the moment, in use. 

The Danes raced on.  Everywhere I looked bodies fell beneath their blades.  Some were soldiers, armed and fighting.  Most were not.  The Danes cared nothing whether their victims were men or women, young or old.  They struck, they killed, they moved on.  Hundreds more were pouring in behind us.

Ahead of us reared a stone fortress; the inner keep which was both living quarters and final sanctuary.  This was, if anything, even more formidable than the outer castle walls and here there was no tiny hole for the Worm to breach.  But the Danes had an answer for this. 

The one weak point of any keep is its gate.  This one was made of thick seasoned timber and large; wide enough for two men to enter side by side.  A party of Danes crowded around the gate, several of them holding shields over their heads to protect them from any missiles hurled from above.  Sheep skeins steeped in tallow were crammed into any crack that could be found in the door and then set alight.  Burning brands, faggots and wood chips were banked up against the door. 

Very swiftly a thick, black, acrid smoke billowed up and around the gate.  This would serve two purposes.  The smoke would be sucked up into the keep causing blindness and terror.  The smouldering fire would gnaw away at the timbers and fatally weaken them.

I glanced around and saw that the inner bailey was now packed with Danish warriors and still more were racing in.  A number of them leapt up the inner stairways and fought upon the battlements.  I could hear screams from in front and behind, from the ground and the air.  The castle was filled with dead and wounded and a swift and nauseous stench sprang up and choked me.  Blood seeped across the hard packed earth and I almost lost my footing. 

I heard the yell of many throats, a dull thud, the splintering of wood, a cheer.  The Danes had breached the keep gate and poured through it, overpowering the desperate defenders within. 

Earl Waltheof raced past me, swinging his battle-sword like a demon.  I had thought until this time that he was a man of gentle nature but now I saw that the battle-fury of his ancestors had laid claim to his soul.  He hacked and stabbed with brutal ferocity, cutting a furrow through his foes.

A small band of Normans gathered together close to the keep and for a while seemed likely to hold off their enemies.  But Cnut led a charge which smashed and scattered them like chaff before a flail.  He turned and saw Olaf heading for the keep and raced after him.

Despite the noise one dreadful note rose above all.  I glanced to my left and saw Esbjorn swirling his battleaxe, his head held skywards, howling like a wolf.  The Worm pressed herself close at the sound and I felt her body shiver.  I almost gagged on the stench that clung about her but put my arm around her and pulled her close.  She started, glanced up in surprise and remained still.

A few minutes later it was over.  Cnut and Olaf strode through the shattered keep gate, dragging a bloodied figure between them.  It was William Malet, who had so recently boasted that his castle was impregnable.

We followed Cnut across the gore of the bailey, out through the gate to where we had crouched in waiting before the dawn.  Cnut pointed to the east and I followed his gaze. 

Esbjorn’s plan had worked perfectly.  On seeing our attack the warden of the second castle had thrown open its gates and sallied out to succour Malet.  He had not seen the company of Danes hiding by his walls.  They had leapt upon his rear and secured the open gate.  The second castle fell in as little time as the first.  We were triumphant.

Esbjorn trudged down the path towards us.  He looked pointedly at my sword, unsheathed but unstained.  His mocking gaze held mine and he shook his head as if in disbelief. 

‘We Danes have won you a mighty victory, boy,’ he said.  ‘Put your sword away now.  The time for show is past and the weight of the blade must be tiring for you.’

I glared at him but could find no words to answer.

‘It is indeed a mighty victory,’ said Athelstan, smoothly.  ‘All praise to our glorious allies.  King Edgar will send news of the victory across the kingdom and summon his people to our cause.’

Esbjorn scowled at him.  He knew too well the numbers of the English people.  He also knew that he could never command them, but that I could.

‘Do is you wish,’ he said.  ‘It matters not to me.’

He turned towards William Malet and crossed his arms while he silently regarded him.  The Norman stared back, trying to appear proud but looking merely insolent.

‘Your stone walls were no match for us, Norman,’ Esbjorn said. 

‘You won the castle by treachery,’ answered Malet.  ‘I expect nothing nobler from savages like you.’

‘Savages like us?’  sneered Esbjorn.  ‘I am of the royal house of Denmark.  Your precious Duke is the bastard offspring of a Danish farmer.  Tear away his French mask and you’ll find a Jutland hog.’

‘Take care, Viking,’ said Malet.  ‘William is not a man to cross.’ 

‘I’ll feast on his entrails before the winter frost,’ said Esbjorn.  He turned towards his nephews.  ‘Keep the wealthy Normans for ransom and slay the others.’

‘There are no others,’ said Olaf.  ‘We have killed them all.’

I heard these words with astonishment. 

‘We spared only the two captains and their families,’ said Cnut.

Esbjorn gave a huge laugh.  ‘So William will learn to fear the fury of the Danes,’ he said. 

He turned but as he did so he caught sight of the Worm cowering beside me.  ‘Chain that up,’ he told one of his warriors, ‘but let it have what the hounds won’t eat.’

I placed my hand upon Cnut’s shoulder.  ‘You said your uncle might give this girl to me to seal our alliance,’ I said.  ‘I should like that.’

Cnut stared at me.  His blue eye looked as cold and unforgiving as a spike of ice.  But his brown eye was as warm as a sun-ripe berry.  A slow smile lit up his face. 

‘Uncle,’ he called.  ‘Prince Edgar has a soft spot for the Worm.  How say you we give her to him as a plaything?’

Esbjorn stopped but did not glance round.  I could sense him making careful calculation.  ‘As you wish,’ he growled finally and strode away.

This extract is from ‘Wasteland’ the second novel in my series about Edgar Atheling and his struggle against William the Conqueror for the throne of England. It is available as an e-book from all retailers world-wide for $2.99 or equivalent in your local currency.

The third book in the series will be released this month.

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Esbjorn the Dane. #SampleSunday #HistNov (martinlakewriting.wordpress.com)
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‘You stay with me.’ #SampleSunday #HistNov

Here is another extract from my novel The Lost King: Wasteland.

The next day Cnut and Esbjorn came to our camp to make the final arrangements for the assault. We spent the day putting the final touches to what, essentially, was Esbjorn’s plan.  We felt chastened by the fact that his arguments were always best. Yet we knew in our hearts that he was a master of battle and we could not match him.

Before dawn the following morning, we led our warriors out of the camp and down to the banks of the Ouse.  The night was dark with only the toenail of a

moon to show the way.  Once we had reached the river we each took hold of the cloak of the man and stumbled like a string of blind beggars towards the walls of the northern castle.  I had never tried to travel so far by night and was astonished at how difficult it was. It took us four hours to travel a distance we would have managed in one by day.

Finally we reached our allotted position and slid down on our weary haunches.  After a while we heard the quiet call of an owl, repeated three times.  It was the signal of the Danes.  Within minutes they had slithered close to us. 

English: Section of the 11th-century Bayeux Tapestry. This part of the 70m tapestry – which depicts the Norman Conquest of England – shows the motte of Château de Dinan with soldiers attempting to burn it down. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the east the first faint sheen of day began to dispel the night and I gradually discerned the shapes of the Danes.  Cnut and Esbjorn were at the fore and behind them I could make out the figure of the Worm shivering in the cold.  Her bonds were still upon her and a filthy

rag was bound tight around her mouth.

Esbjorn slid out his dagger and pressed it to her throat. 

‘Now Earthworm,’ he whispered.  ‘There is the path you are to climb.  Once in the castle hurry down to the gate and throw it open.’

‘What about the sentries?’ asked Merleswein.

In answer Esbjorn pulled the gag from the Worm’s mouth and replaced it with the naked blade. ‘She can sting as well as climb,’ he grunted.

He grasped her head in his huge hands and held her in

his gaze. ‘No thought of treachery, little one,’ he said.  ‘For you know that if you fail me I shall hunt you down and watch as my dogs tear you to shreds.’

I was astonished by his words but her quick intake of breath showed that for the girl this was a threat more potent than any nightmare.  She nodded once and then

scrambled along the castle wall to the mouth of the chute.

She swung her arms up, felt for a hand-hold and slithered into the hole.  I turned to look at Godwin, my gorge rising at the thought of what she would have to climb through.

‘She’ll never make it,’ he whispered.

I nodded bleakly.

But the Danes had no such doubt and, moving like ghosts, made their silent way to the gate. We followed and waited with them, blades drawn and trying not to breath.

The minutes crept past.  Above us the sky was growing grey and to the east a faint smudge of red stained the horizon. I tried to calm my fears.  Soon

the day would be so bright the Normans could not fail to see us.  I glanced

around and guessed that there were about fifty Danes waiting at the gate.  Swift Norman arrows could put paid to every one of us in minutes.  I clenched my jaw

to try to keep hold of my nerves.  In the castle a cockerel crowed, piercing the silence.

I sensed the men around me move nervously at the sound but Esbjorn and Cnut waited patient and untroubled.  A sudden need to cry out took hold of me, a

madness to break the excruciating tension. Merleswein grinned at me and gave a quick wink. 

Then, two yards in front of me, the impossible happened.  The castle gate slid open a fraction and the Worm stood there, bloodied blade in hand.  Swift as wolves the Danes leapt up the path and poured into the castle. 

Our men seemed dazed by the speed of events but within moments we followed.  My Housecarls crowded around me, a solid wall which would be hard for any enemy to breach.  I would be in at the taking of the castle but as much as possible I would be safe from harm. 

‘Get me the girl,’ I whispered to Merleswein.  He reached out and swept the Worm within the safety of the shield-wall. 

‘You stay with me,’ I said to her grimly.

She cowered, her eyes wide in terror.  Then her head tilted, as if in recognition,

and she crept to my side. 

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

Wasteland is the second in The Lost King series of books concerning Edgar Atheling’s war against Norman the Conqueror’s invasion of England.  It is priced $3.00 or less and equivalent currencies.

The next novel tells of his decision to take the fight to a broader front.  It will be published later this August.  If you would like advance notice of the publication please contact me via this blog, on martinlake14@gmail.com or on Twitter @martinlake14

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Talking with James Aitcheson #HistNov

Today I’m delighted to be speaking with James Aitcheson. James is the author of three novels set during the Norman Conquest of England: Sworn Sword, The Splintered Kingdom, and Knights of the Hawk (forthcoming). The US edition of Sworn Sword will be published on August 6th. I was fascinated to talk with an someone who is writing about the same times and sometimes the same characters and events as I do in The Lost King novels.

When did you first know that you wanted to be a writer?  Was there a specific event that made you decide?

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was very young. There isn’t a single event that set me on that path – it’s just something I’ve always aspired to. I was forever writing stories when I was growing up, although I didn’t necessarily always see myself penning historical ficton. As a teenager I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy, and so I used to write a lot in those genres.

What made you write historical fiction and why this period?

It was only when I went to study History at Cambridge that I began to think about turning to historical fiction. The idea for a novel set in the years after 1066 came to me while I was in my final year, putting the finishing touches to my dissertation on the Norman Conquest. I wanted to explore what it would have been like to live during those unsettled years when the English were still coming to terms with their new foreign overlords. Of course the novel in its final form was very different from the one I set out to create, but that still remains for me one of its central themes.

What’s been your favourite moment in your writing career?

Seeing my first book, Sworn Sword, in hardback for the first time. That was a very strange feeling! Up until then I’d only known the novel as something that existed on my computer screen and as a collection of typed A4 sheets, so to see it in its final printed form was a real thrill.

How do you research your novels?

When I started out writing the novel that became Sworn Sword, I had the advantage that, as a result of my studies into the Norman Conquest, I already had a good grounding in the period, the principal actors and the sequence of events.

Since then, however, I’ve had to read up on a great many topics that I didn’t previously know much about: the design of Norman longships; the various stages in the production of parchment; musical instruments; food and drink; fashions in hairstyles in in clothing. Absorbing that level of detail was necessary to understand how it would have been to live in eleventh-century England. For each novel I also make sure to return to the relevant primary source material: the chronicles, annals and other contemporary accounts, and even the poetry of the age. Not only do these sources provide us with the voices of the past, but they also often reveal surprising and intriguing nuggets of information.

As well as doing book-research, I like to tread the same ground that my characters would have walked. For that reason I’ve visited many of the places featured in the novels, including York, which features prominently in both Sworn Sword and The Splintered Kingdom, and the site of the battle of Hastings. Of course these places have changed enormously since the eleventh century, but nevertheless I find that it helps me gain a feel for the lie of the land, and helps me to bring these places to life in the novels.

Which research tools, sources and web-sites did you find most useful?

A large number of resources for studying British history are now freely available online, which is great. One that I often refer to is the Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England (PASE), a searchable database containing information on every single inhabitant of England from the sixth to the eleventh century, which has recently been extended to cover Domesday Book. Another is the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (ODNB), a reference work containing biographies of notable figures from British history, which can be accessed by anyone with a library membership. I find both resources immensely useful.

What would be a typical writing day for you?  Do you have set times, spaces, routines or rituals?

Novel-writing is about as far from a nine-to-five job as it’s possible to get. It’s very difficult to regulate inspiration, so I don’t keep to particular routines or set myself strict working hours. Discipline is important, though, so I aim simply to write one thousand words each day, and I just keep going until I reach that target. Sometimes that will take only a few hours, which allows me time to add new material to my website or update my followers on Twitter and Facebook with my latest news, while on other days I’ll still be writing late into the evening.

Which authors have had the greatest influence upon you?

My reading tastes are incredibly varied, and I take my influences from a  wide range of genres. In terms of historical fiction, authors who have particularly inspired me include C.J. Sansom, Barry Unsworth, Bernard Cornwell, Robert Harris and Kevin Crossley-Holland. In fact Crossley-Holland’s evocation of the Welsh Marches in his book The Seeing Stone was so powerful that it encouraged me to set my second novel, The Splintered Kingdom, in that part of the country as well.

Outside the historical genre, meanwhile, I’m a huge fan of Chuck Palahniuk, Douglas Adams and Margaret Atwood, who is undoubtedly my favourite author. Her facility with language and metaphor I find quite incredible, while her breadth of vision never ceases to amaze me.

If you were to give advice to someone thinking of writing a novel what would it be?

The best piece of advice I could offer to any aspiring writer is simply to practise, and then to practise some more. Whether it’s a novel or poetry or scriptwriting, the more you produce the better it’ll get. You can have talent, but to get published you also need persistence and determination. If possible, find a community of writers or someone whose opinion you value and trust, and see if they’ll give you some friendly and constructive feedback on your work, but only when you feel it’s ready to show.

What is your next writing project?

I recently finished writing the third in my series about the Norman Conquest, Knights of the Hawk, which is due to be published in the UK on 24th October. Set in the autumn of 1071, it sees my protagonist, the proud and ambitious knight Tancred, waging war in the Fens as part of William the Conqueror’s campaign to subdue the rebellion instigated by Hereward. Battles and underhand dealings abound, and there’s also a touch of romance – something, I hope, for everyone!

I’m currently weighing up several options for my next novel. I have a number of ideas that I’m keen to pursue, so the difficulty is going to lie in deciding which one of those to take forward. The beginning of a new project is always an exciting time, and I’m looking forward to delving back into the books and starting my research again.

 Thank you for talking with me today, James and good luck with your American release and the next novel, Knights of the Hawk.

You can find out more about James by clicking on the links below.

http://www.jamesaitcheson.com

Twitter: @JamesAitcheson

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The Plan to take York Castle. #HistNov #SampleSunday

‘It would be a pity to lose your one remaining eye, Lord Esbjorn’ I heard a familiar voice say quietly. 

I squinted and saw a knife pointing directly at Esbjorn’s one eye. 

It was Godwin.

He had sprung from nowhere, months after I had seen him last. 

He edged the blade closer until it touched the very orb. 

‘You would not dare to strike,’ said Esbjorn.  ‘You would be slain in an instant.’

‘And you will be blind,’ said Godwin.  ‘Who would follow you then I wonder.’

‘Enough,’ said a voice quietly.  It was Cnut.  I heard a chair move.  ‘Have done, uncle, have done Saxon.  The only one who would enjoy this sight is William.’

I felt the pressure of the blade release and I turned and stared at Esbjorn.  His face was impassive, despite the fact that Godwin’s dagger was still jammed in his eye.  Merleswein nodded at Godwin, to signify that I was now out of danger. 

But he did not move his blade. 

I waited long seconds before I spoke.

‘My friend will release you if you promise never to beat this girl again.’

Esbjorn’s body grew rigid and his mouth worked as though he was muttering a curse so potent that I would be struck to my knees.  Eventually he gave a tiny nod. 

Godwin sheathed his knife and took care to step back from Esbjorn’s reach.

Cnut forced a laugh.  ‘You seem to like the girl, Edgar.  Perhaps my uncle will seal our alliance by giving her to you.’

‘She has work to do,’ said Esbjorn.  ‘We will not be able to take the castle without her.’

‘Then maybe after she has done her work,’ said Cnut.  He gave a wide smile which seemed to act like balm upon the room.

Esbjorn growled and then opened his arms in a gesture of reconciliation.  ‘Forgive my anger, Edgar.  And I will forgive your watchdog.’  He turned and smiled coldly at Godwin.

‘On my terms, yes,’ I said. 

I turned towards Godwin and gestured him to sit on the bench.  I stumbled to my seat, struggling to prevent myself spewing. 

I stared up at Godwin and placed my hand upon his shoulder.  I could find no words to say.

He smiled and bowed his head.

A moment later Olaf come across to me and reached out a hand. 

‘I salute you, Edgar,’ he said.  ‘I have never known anyone cross my uncle in the way that you did.  You must have high courage indeed.’ 

I nodded my thanks but his words sent a shiver of fear into my heart.  As if I didn’t have enough enemies already.  To make one of a monster like Esbjorn was the height of folly.

‘I guess you might want to know about the little wench you championed,’ Olaf continued.   ‘We call her the Worm because that is what she is.  She lives in filth, she eats filth and she has no human emotions.  What she does have is the ability to climb like a rat.  We use her when we want something to clamber up a cliff or an impassable wall.  No height, however high or sheer has ever defeated her.’

‘And how do you propose to use her now?’ asked Athelstan.  ‘To climb up the walls of the castle?’

Hearing this Esbjorn laughed aloud.  ‘Not with all the sentries that the Normans have on the battlements.  I doubt even the Worm could clamber up there unseen.  No, we have figured out a better path for her to take.’

He took a long swig of ale before continuing.  ‘We have found out that in each of their castles the Normans have a shit-house high up in the wall.  It is built above a long straight chute which goes down all the way to the river below.  Where the shit comes down, our Worm will crawl up.’

Athelstan could not help himself and shuddered at the thought. 

‘Yes,’ said Esbjorn, ‘the chute is every bit as grim as you imagine.  It is sheer and narrow and the walls are slimy with piss and shit.  It would never cross the mind of the Normans that anyone would be able to climb up such a path.  But they don’t know our Worm.  Once she has reached the top she will sneak down and open the gates to us.’

‘How can you be sure she will do what you want of her?’ asked Siward. 

‘Because climbing through dung and risking death is preferable to what she will face if she doesn’t,’ said Olaf.

None of us thought to remind him that Esbjorn had promised that no more harm would come to her.

‘There are two castles,’ said Athelstan.  ‘How will you take the second?’

‘Once we have attacked one then the Normans may try to succour it from the second.  If they do then we can smash our way in when they send their soldiers out.  If they decide not to come to the rescue then we will have to rely on the Worm to open that gate as well.’

‘But won’t the Normans in the second castle be forewarned?’ I asked.  ‘Surely it will be too dangerous for her to seek to open this gate.’

Esbjorn shrugged.  ‘I think they will be too busy looking out at what is happening to their friends to notice a piece of filth like the Worm at the gate.’

I doubted it and thought the plan flawed.  I kept these thoughts to myself, however.

This extract is from ‘Wasteland’ the third in The Lost King series. The third novel will be published shortly.

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Sword at Sunset. Rosemary Sutcliff’s Masterpiece

I borrowed Sword at Sunset from my local library in my youth and thought it wonderful. Many years later I found it in paperback and settled down with much anticipation to read it. I put it down after half a chapter, unable to read further because of the densely packed lines, poor paper and blurry print. It was a sore disappointment.

Recently I saw it was available on Kindle and immediately bought it. Once again I settled down to read it. Again I put it down after one chapter.

This was for a different reason. I was overwhelmed by the artistry and mastery of the writing. I was caught and entranced, swept into a lost time and a tale which would take me beyond myself and my world.

In that first chapter I knew I was in the company of a man with many strengths and many failings. His destiny would forge him into a hero, a shining beacon for his people. He would lead a doomed dream of defiance and hopeless hope. I gulped and started to read the rest of the book. I could barely put it down.

Rosemary Sutcliff has rewritten the epic of Arthur for the modern age. She chose to place the novel in a time when a character such as Arthur may have lived, the century after the Romans left Britain when the scent and semblance of their power still lingered in towns and palaces and in the hearts and minds of a few.

Artos, the protagonist of Sword at Sunset, was one of the men who held fast to the dream of Rome.

Taking the novel out of the fanciful medieval setting enabled Sutcliff to bridge the gap between the man and the hero. She was able to blend the epic with an intimately personal novel about a man whose dedication to a noble cause could only come at a terrible personal price.

The plot of the novel is superb, the characters fascinating and beautifully realised. I don’t know how she was able to pack so much punch into every line. Her descriptions of the country are wonderful, her insights into the hearts and minds of her characters humane and clear-sighted. She maintains a light but firm grip on a lengthy narrative which spans twenty years and a thousand miles. Her descriptions of love, friendship and the terrors of battle are breathtaking.

I know of no other novel which captivates me so much that I believe I am walking in the world it describes. It is a masterpiece.