June 6th in 1191 and 1944

Sorry for disappearing again, but I’ve been cornered by that blasted deadline dragon, who is really becoming a pest. I need to finish my current chapter before I leave for the Historical Novel Society Convention in Denver toward the end of the month, so the pressure level is rising. While the convention itself is only open to those who registered, they are holding a book signing for all attending authors and that will be open to the general public. So if any of my Facebook friends and readers who live in the Denver area would like to get books signed, I’d love to meet you; I’ll post the details later.
June 6th is, of course, the anniversary of D-Day, well worth remembering. I know that Steven Spielberg’s epic Private Ryan is considered the definitive film about these events, but I also liked The Longest Day, for I thought it conveyed the confusion and horrors of war very effectively. Anyone else see that one?
June 6th was also the day the Lionheart finally reached the siege of Acre in 1191. I had a lot of fun writing that scene, for I related it from the point of view of the perpetually disgruntled French king and Conrad de Montferrat, who not yet met the English king. Richard was a master at self-promotion, which absolutely infuriated his enemies, none more so than Philippe, who could only watch and fume helplessly as Richard took center stage once again, relegating him to the sidelines.
Lionheart, page 292
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By the time they reached the beach, it looked as if every man, woman, and child in camp had gathered at the shoreline. To the west, the sun was setting in a blaze of fiery color, the sky and sea taking on vivid shades of gold and red, drifting purple clouds haloed in shimmering lilac light. The ships entering the bay were backlit by this spectacular sunset, and Philippe wondered if Richard had timed his landing for maximum impact. The sleek war galleys were slicing through the waves like the deadly weapons they were, the royal banners of England and Outremer catching each gust of wind, the oarsmen rowing in time to the thudding drumbeats, the air vibrating with the cacophony of trumpets, pipes, and horns. And just as he’d done at Messina, Richard was standing on a raised platform in the prow of his galley, a magnet for all eyes. When the crowds erupted in wild cheering, he acknowledged their tribute by raising a lance over his head and the noise level reached painful proportions, loud enough to reach the Saracen soldiers lining the walls of the city as they, too, watched, spellbound, the arrival of the legendary Lionheart.
Conrad was staring at the spectacle in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth open. When he finally tore his gaze away from the scene playing out in the harbor, he saw that the French king was watching him with a mordant, cynical smile, one that he now understood. “All that is lacking,” Philippe said, “is the dancing bear.”
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