Lady Estrid was born into a large and illustrious family with far-reaching influence over Denmark, Sweden, Norway and England.
I’ve put together some genealogical tables of the main families to make easier to work out how everyone connected. (You can click on the images to make them bigger).
The family of Lady Estrid Sweinsdottir, as mentioned in Lady Estrid.
Due to a lack of information, I have made little mention of the rest of Estrid’s half-sisters, of which she had three or four. I feel it perhaps also helped the story a little – it was complicated enough as it was without giving them the capacity to meddle in affairs in Denmark.
To break it down into more palatable chunks, Lady Estrid’s mother was married twice, once to King Swein of Denmark (second) and also to King Erik of the Svear (first). King Swein was also married twice (in my story at least – as it is debated), to Lady Gytha (who I take to be his first wife) and then to Lady Sigrid (who I take to be his second wife.) Swein was king of Denmark, Erik, king of the Svear (which would become Sweden), and so Sigrid was twice a queen, and she would have expected her children to rule as well, and her grandchildren after her. Sigrid was truly the matriarch of a vast dynasty.
She would have grandchildren who lived their lives in the kingdom of the Rus, in Norway, in England, and Denmark.
And Sigrid wasn’t the only ‘double queen.’ Lady Emma, twice queen of England, was first married to King Æthelred and then to King Cnut, Estrid’s brother.
Lady Emma, twice queen of England and her children
Not that it’s possible to speak of Lady Emma’s children from her two marriages, without considering the children of her first husband’s first marriage. King Æthelred had many children with his first wife, perhaps as many as nine (again, a matter for debate), the below only shows the children mentioned in Lady Estrid. Readers of The Earls of Mercia series, and the Lady Elfrida books, will have encountered the many daughters, as well as sons.
The family of King Æthelred of England
One of the other family’s that had the most impact on Lady Estrid, was that of her third husband, and father of her two sons, Jarl Ulfr.
The family of Ulfr
Ulfr had a brother and a sister, and while little is known about the brother, it is his sister who birthed an extremely illustrious family, through her marriage to Earl Godwine of Wessex. (The family tree doesn’t include all of her children.)
Four such powerful families, all intermarried, make for a heady mix.
For the modern reader, not only are the family dynamics complicated to understand, but so too is the geography. Sweden was not Sweden as it is today, and the reason I’ve insisted on calling it the Land of the Svear. But equally, Denmark was larger than it’s current geographical extent, covering Skåne, (in modern day Sweden) as well. The map below attempts to make it a little clearer. Norway is perhaps the most recognisable to a modern reader, but even there, there are important difference. King Swein claimed rulership over parts of Norway during his rule, and so too did King Cnut. But, Denmark isn’t the only aggressor, there were rulers in all three kingdoms who wished to increase the land they could control, King Cnut of Denmark, England, Skåne and part of Norway, is merely the most well-known (to an English-speaking historian.)
Lady Estrid is a standalone novel, but it does incorporate characters and events from The Earls of Mercia series. So, if you’ve not yet read The King’s Brother, it might contain some spoilers, and vice versa.
I have also written about Lady Estrid’s brother, Cnut, and her father, Swein. I classify the books as side stories to the main Earls of Mercia series, but they can all be read as standalones, or as a trilogy about the powerful family.
Interested in the unknown women of the tenth and the eleventh century? I’ve written about quite a few of them now. Check out The Tenth Century Series, featuring Lady Ælfwynn, Lady Eadgifu and the daughters of Edward the Elder, and the stories of Lady Elfrida as well as The Royal Women Who Made England.
When Ingrid flees a violent husband to become a housekeeper in the Scottish Highlands, she discovers the family she works for has a much darker history than her own.
Who haunts Strathbairn? Why are the adult McCleod children at each other’s throats? And why does the youngest sneak off at night? As Ingrid searches for answers, she grows ever more fearful that her husband will track her down.
Set in late 19th century Scottish Highlands, WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ABBEY is a gothic mystery brimming with intrigue, ghostly drama, and family secrets.
What Happened at the Abbey is an engaging and satisfying read. It has all the elements we would expect from a creepy gothic novel, a desolate location, a family under duress, a woman hiding from her past, unhappy servants, and must that is left unsaid.
It really grips the reader and drags them into the storyline. The sense of unease grows throughout the book, with our poor heroine, Ingrid, cast in an unlucky role, and one where the reader really feels empathy for her. The reader suspects much of what’s going on, although they can never be truly sure, which means we trust no one, unlike Ingrid, who needs someone to talk to about her own traumas.
I sped through this book in just over a day. As it builds towards the ending, it does become more and more complicated, perhaps too complicated, but all the same, I really enjoyed the resolution, and also the ending of the novel. There is a lot going on in this haunting gothic novel. Recommended if you enjoy this novel, or just fancy a bit of a scare.
Meet the author
Isobel Blackthorn is a prolific novelist of unique and engaging fiction. She writes across a range of genres, including gripping mysteries and dark psychological thrillers.
The Unlikely Occultist: A biographical novel of Alice A. Bailey received an Honorable Mention in the 2021 Reader’s Favorite book awards. A Prison in the Sun was shortlisted in the LGBTQ category of the 2021 International Book Awards and the 2020 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards. Her short story ‘Nothing to Declare’ was shortlisted for the Ada Cambridge Prose Prize 2019. Her dark thriller A Legacy of Old Gran Parks won a Raven Award in 2019. The Cabin Sessions was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award 2018 and the Ditmar Awards 2018.
Isobel holds a PhD in Western Esotericism from the University of Western Sydney for her ground-breaking study of the texts of Theosophist Alice A. Bailey. Her engagement with Alice Bailey’s life and works has culminated in the biographical novel The Unlikely Occultist and the full biography Alice A. Bailey: Life and Legacy.
Isobel carries a lifelong passion for the Canary Islands, Spain, her former home. Six of her novels are set on the islands of Lanzarote and Fuerteventura. These standalone mystery novels are setting rich and fall into the broad genre of travel fiction.
Isobel has led a rich and interesting life and her stories are as diverse as her experiences, the highs and lows, and the dramas. A life-long campaigner for social justice, Isobel has written, protested and leant her weight to a range of issues including asylum seekers and family violence. A Londoner originally, Isobel currently lives in the Canary Islands, Spain.
I’m delighted to welcome Tim Walker to the blog to share two extracts from his new short story collection, London Tales, which feature the River Thames.
Londinium Falling
This story is set in the year 60 CE, at the time of the Boudican Revolt, when the settlement was barely 15 years old. Historians speculate that a bridge across the Thames was constructed around the year 50 CE. This wooden structure was situated next to the modern London Bridge, where solid rock on both banks made it possible for Roman bridge builders to lay the foundations. It is thought that there was a drawbridge in the central span to allow tall-masted galleys to row upstream of the bridge to moor in a natural pool that became the port. It is thought that a settlement on the south bank that would in time become Southwark, sprang up once the bridge was complete.
The Romans adopted the name of the tribal river god, Father Tamesis, as the name for the river. Over time, ‘Tamesis’ became ‘Thames’. Father Tamesis was a feared, spiteful entity who dwelt in the depths of the river, feeding on the bodies of the drowned. Would the ancient Britons have made human sacrifice to appease this feared god?
In this extract, Roman soldiers Marcellus and Septimus join a flotilla of small boats fleeing Boudica’s murderous tribal warriors who killed everyone they found, cutting off many heads that were tossed into the Walbrook (to be discovered in recent times by archaeologists), and burning the settlement to the ground…
The battle was lost and the galley carrying the procurator, centurion and several hundred men had cast off. It was still upstream of the bridge, heading for the wider centre span where a drawbridge was being opened for the high central mast to pass through. Marcellus and his comrades watched the drama unfold as a desperate defence of the raised bridge was put up by a band of plucky legionaries as screaming warriors poured onto the shaking structure. The warriors overpowered and killed the few remaining guards and some terrified civilians and cut away the ropes that held up their leaf of the raised bridge, sending it crashing down, but too late to prevent the galley passing through. There was little they could do apart from shout abuse and hurl what few weapons and objects came to hand. The Romans shielded themselves and shouted abuse back, passing safely into the widening river estuary.
Septimus pointed to a boat ahead of them as the general melee started to fade behind them. “That’s your friend, Lupus, and the brute, Brutus.” The six oarsmen rowed them alongside the smaller boat and Septimus shouted a friendly, “Hail fellow legionaries of the Ninth!” The other boat returned the welcome and threw a rope so the two boats could join…
They followed in the wake of the galley, going with the brown-grey flow of the impassive river, occasionally looking back to see Londinium burning, all red and orange flames, grey smoke spiralling to the skies. It was a funeral pyre for their fallen comrades, a show of utter contempt for the Roman invaders, exposing their weaknesses. It was an indication of the worthlessness of the settlement and all things Roman to the bold Britons who would soon wipe off their paint and melt away into the dark, foreboding forests or salty marshes.
“Are their gods stronger than ours?” Marcellus groaned at the sight of a legionary slipping under the brown, choppy flow as two tribal warriors up to their knees in muddy slime pointed their spears and shouted curses.
“Their flesh-eating god, Tamesis, will grow fat feeding on our brothers,” Septimus sourly replied. “But our generals will return with a greater force to subdue this stubborn island for the lumps of lead and silver in their rocks.”
Marcellus grunted and pulled on an oar, joining a flotilla of boats that followed in the wake of the galley. “Then, I hope they rebuild their towns with high stone walls, as these painted devils have had the taste of victory.”
Burning Shadows
Fast forward to 1666 and the Great Fire of London. In the story Burning Shadows, fugitive and notorious regicide, William Say, enlists the help of a friend to escape the sheriff’s men…
Half an hour later, they were on the raised deck of an elongated skiff with six oarsmen on each side. A family begged for deliverance, but Rook shook his head and ordered his men to cast off.
“I am relieved to be on the river, my friend, as the sheriff’s men nearly had me at the meeting house,” Say explained whilst scanning the shore for sight of his pursuers. “I have also learned that you can find friends in the most unexpected of places.”
“Then it’s God’s will that you are saved, William. To hunt you still for your part in Cromwell’s obsession is unjust, in my view. The Indemnity and Oblivion Act was intended to bring reconciliation and put the past to bed, but the new king uses it only to pursue his vengeance. I warrant we’ll be safe at Richmond.”
“Aye. My thanks again, Sebastian. My old bones cannot take much more of this. But we must spend our time in prayer to the Lord of Hosts to ready our souls for a sterner judgement.” The sight before them was one never to be forgotten, for however many days that remained of the world of Men. The river was a bustle of boats, mainly ferries taking distressed families from the north bank to the south, whilst the sight of St Paul’s burning brightly beneath a sombre, darkened sky, framed a scene of utter devastation. Warehouses along the river burnt fiercely, as did the first three houses on London Bridge in the distance. A warehouse exploded, sending white and blue sparks mixed with yellow high over the river in an unnatural rage, causing a wherry to capsize and the two friends to shudder.
“This has the whiff of God’s judgement, alright,” Rook muttered, gripping the rail as the boat rocked in a gentle swell.
William’s feet were planted wide apart, as he had learned from his Channel crossings. He linked his plump fingers in the act of prayer. “May God our Father watch over my daughter and her family, until such a time as they meet our maker on Judgement Day, whether this be it, or it is yet to be.”
The birds had fled the skies and the only sound was that of oars splashing in the opaque, brown flow of the river as the skiff moved upstream. They rounded a bend so that all that could be seen on the horizon was a column of black smoke rising to the heavens.
“There is meaning in this, but what is the lesson?” Rook asked.
“Either a divine rebuke, the wicked tongue of Satan, or the opening act of Doomsday?” William’s thoughts turned to little Ruth and a tear welled.
“An eye for an eye, ‘til we’re all blinded,” he muttered, wiping his face with a kerchief.
“What’s that, William?” Rook enquired.
“If I gave myself up to the king’s justice, would his revenge be satisfied, and my family be saved from persecution?”
“The king would have your head on a spike, but his thirst for revenge will not be slaked until the last of you is dead,” Rook replied. “This is a man who had Cromwell’s body dug up to display his rotting head on a pole. He would soon find another cause for his vengeful spirit to feast on. Do not doubt the importance of removing his father, the tyrant Charles Stuart, William, and ending the age of absolute monarchy. We shall bide our time, whatever time there is, and if the world doesn’t end, then we shall be here to curb the excesses of this arrogant, restored king. Parliament will rise again.”
William nodded at his friend’s soothing words, but his eyes remained fixed on the foul, black spew issuing from Satan’s gaping maw. All was not well in the world of Men; on that, all could agree.
Here’s the blurb
This collection of eleven tales offers dramatic pinpricks in the rich tapestry of London’s timeline, a city with two thousand years of history. They are glimpses of imagined lives at key moments, starting with a prologue in verse from the point of view of a native Briton tribeswoman absorbing the shock of Roman invasion. The first story is a tense historical adventure set in Roman Londinium in 60 CE from the perspective of terrified legionaries and townsfolk facing the vengeful Iceni queen, Boudica, whose army burnt the fledgling city to the ground.
Further historical dramas take place in 1381 during the Peasant’s Revolt, the Great Fire of London in 1666 and the last ice fair on the frozen Thames in 1814. These are followed by a romance set during the Blitz in 1941, then the swinging Sixties and wide-flared seventies are remembered in the life story of fictional policeman, Brian Smith. Moving on, an East End family get a fright from copycat killings that are a throwback to the 1888 Jack the Ripper murders.
There’s a series of contemporary stories that reference recent events, including the London terrorist bombings of 2005, a literary pub crawl and a daring prison break, building to the imagined death throes of London in a chilling, dystopian vision. These stories are loosely inspired by the author’s personal experiences and reflections on his time living and working in London in the 1980’s and 90’s. Adaptability, resilience, conformity and resolve are recurring themes.
London Tales evokes the city’s rich history and the qualities that were needed by Londoners at various times to survive and prosper – from the base and brutal, devious and inspired, to the refined and civilized.
Available from Amazon in e-book, paperback, Kindle Unlimited and audiobook formats, London Tales is a companion volume to Thames Valley Tales.
Book cover designed by Sean McClean, shows elements from stories.
Buy Link:
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Tim Walker is an independent author living near Windsor in the UK. Although born in Hong Kong in the sixties, he grew up in Liverpool where he began his working life as a trainee reporter on a local newspaper. After attaining a degree in Communication Studies he moved to London where he worked in the newspaper publishing industry for ten years before relocating to Zambia where, following a period of voluntary work with VSO, he set up his own marketing and publishing business. He returned to the UK in 2009.
His creative writing journey began in earnest in 2013, as a therapeutic activity whilst recovering from cancer treatment. He began writing an historical fiction series, A Light in the Dark Ages, in 2014, inspired by a visit to the part-excavated site of former Roman town Calleva Atrebatum at Silchester in Hampshire. The series connects the end of Roman Britain to elements of the Arthurian legend and is inspired by historical source material, presenting an imagined historical fiction of Britain in the fifth and early sixth centuries.
The last book in the series, Arthur, Rex Brittonum, was published in June 2020. This is a re-imagining of the story of King Arthur and follows on from 2019’s Arthur Dux Bellorum. Both titles are Coffee Pot Book Club recommended reads. The series starts with Abandoned (second edition, 2018); followed by Ambrosius: Last of the Romans (2017); and book three, Uther’s Destiny (2018). Series book covers are designed by Canadian graphic artist, Cathy Walker.
Tim has also written two books of short stories, Thames Valley Tales (second edition 2023), London Tales (2023); a book of verse, Perverse (2020); a dystopian thriller, Devil Gate Dawn (2016); and three children’s books, co-authored with his daughter, Cathy – The Adventures of Charly Holmes (2017), Charly & the Superheroes (2018) and Charly in Space (2020).
Tim took early retirement on medical grounds and now divides his time between writing and helping out at a Berkshire-based charity, Men’s Matters.
“The Emperor authorized me to make the following proposal to your government,” the Baron de Tuyll, Russia’s minister, said, “though I request you inform me in advance of declination. In that case, it shall remain informal.” A dark figure, wearing black with a red collar and gold tassels on his shoulders, the medals won fighting Napoleon’s Grande Armée pinned to his uniform. His accent was a baritone deeper than any I’d ever heard, the croak of a man broken from lifelong service to his sire. Other voices modified via emotion—happiness, tenderness, hatred, vexation, and so on.
Not the Baron’s. His was the voice of a man who hated the world and everyone in it, including his master.
“What proposal? I asked. We spoke in English.
“He wants the United States to ratify the Holy Alliance Treaty.”
A moment. “He’s sincere?”
“Yes. The Alliance is a league of peace. The United States would strengthen their ties to its members by joining.”
“But the treaty is a collection of sovereigns’ autographs. It excludes republics.”
“The Swiss cantons were invited and acceded.”
“I thought the Alliance was hostile to the United States.”
“The Alliance is hostile to anarchy.”
“We’re not responsible for the French Revolution. The President and I interpret the Alliance as promoting the divine right of kings to rule over humanity. Our constitution is incompatible with such a view.”
“Will you communicate his proposal to the President?”
“Yes. Though two-thirds of the Senate must vote for our joining.”
“I see,” he said. “Do you believe they will?”
“No.”
“That is unfortunate. The Emperor wishes for your country and for Britain to join.”
“He invited Britain?” I asked. He nodded. “The same problem, King George can’t sign it without Parliament. I don’t grasp why the Alliance invites our countries. Britain has a monarchy but elects her legislature. The Alliance recently crushed republican efforts in Naples and the Piedmont. Why would we join such an entity?”
“The Emperor is optimistic that Britain will join. It will be to the world’s benefit if London and Washington adhere to the Alliance’s influence. The treaty contains no specific points but sets an ideal for global peace.”
“A peace built on despotism.”
“You’ll communicate his proposal to the President?”
“Yes. Is that all?”
“No. We must discuss the South American war.”
“Why? Last year’s armistice is stable and peace talks are ongoing. Royalist rebels harass the republics like gnats do elephants, but I expect the war to end by 1822.”
“That cannot happen under current conditions. The continent’s revolution insults Europe’s monarchs and threatens her security. The guilty continent must return, through peaceful means or through arms, into the Alliance’s protection.”
Lines so wide that Noah’s animals could walk through them with not just their mate but their whole menagerie. “The Alliance wants to conquer South America?”
“The Alliance will restore Spain’s dominion. South America will receive greater autonomy than it did previously and will have open trade with all nations.” A pause. “American independence caused the French Revolution. South American independence cannot bring a similar catastrophe to Europe.”
“So your invitation to join the Alliance is meant to nullify objection to aggression toward this hemisphere?”
“To cooperate for the good of the world. The Emperor is anxious that a general peace be built. Embers burn in Europe that must not flame again.”
“Embers of men and women who yearn for freedom. His route toward peace involves destroying an entire hemisphere. You must know we’ll never agree to this and neither will Britain. She’s invested enormous resources into supporting the South American rebels.”
“We have ways of persuading her.”
“Why alert us to your intent?”
“To reduce your government’s anxiety so it will not attempt to stop what it cannot.”
“What cannot be stopped is the inevitable doom of Europe’s masters,” I said. “Its people have been taught to inquire why certain men possess enjoyment at their expense. Civil wars shall rage in Europe until the total ruin of feudal constitutions has been achieved.”
“The Emperor bears no hostility toward the United States or their institutions. You know this because you worked with him as a minister. I’m saddened to learn you do not reciprocate his respect. He views South American independence as a coming apocalypse that threatens man’s connection to Christ through divine rulers. Your country will lose much and gain nothing by resisting what is necessary for a lasting peace. I pray your government takes his proposal seriously.”
“I’ll confer what we’ve discussed to the President.”
“Thank you.”
I escorted him from my office and Maury led him out of the building. Then I returned to my desk and analyzed his words. I’d feared the Holy Alliance’s intentions for six years and finally its intervention was upon us. America had no choice but to resist and we had no hope of defeating Europe’s combined might.
Here’s the blurb
The classical era of American history began with the Revolution and ended with emancipation. Between these bookends lies the absorbing yet overshadowed epic of a new nation spearheading liberty’s cause in a world skeptical of freedom arriving at all, much less in slaver’s garb. M. B. Zucker takes readers back to that adolescent country in the care of an enigmatic guide, John Quincy Adams, heir to one president by blood and another, Washington, by ideology. Adams is the missing link between the founders and Abraham Lincoln, and is nigh unanimously regarded as America’s foremost Secretary of State. Through Adams’ eyes, readers will experience one of history’s greatest and most forgotten crises: his showdown with Europe over South American independence, the conflict which prefigured the Monroe Doctrine.
With his signature dialogue and his close study of Adams’ 51 volume diary, M. B. Zucker’s The Middle Generation is a political thriller and character piece that surpasses his achievement in The Eisenhower Chronicles and ascends to the cinematic heights of the historical epics of David Lean and Steven Spielberg. It is an unforgettable portrait and a leap forward for one of our rising historical fiction novelists.
The title will be available in several Barnes and Noble stores in the DC / Northern Virginia area.
Meet the author
M. B. Zucker has been interested in storytelling for as long as he can remember. He devoted himself to historical fiction at fifteen and earned his B.A. at Occidental College and his J.D. at Case Western Reserve University School of Law. He lives in Virginia with his family. He is the author of three other novels. Among his honors is the Best Fictional Biography Award at the 2023 BookFest.
A deadly feast, a mobster restaurant and a family get-together with fatal results.
Savour the spicy tang of dark and twisted tales in Pass the Cyanide, a follow-up to the award-winning collection of culinary mysteries, Add Cyanide to Taste.
From an old friend hiding a deadly secret to a ravenous house with an appetite for friends, Špiljak masterfully blends the allure of food and the thrill of mystery. Each story is a rich and satisfying serving of crime, with a twist that will leave you wanting more.
A must-read for fans of culinary noir and foodies who love a pinch of danger with their suspense. All recipes included are cyanide-free.
Pass the Cyanide is a fabulous collection of short stories with a foodie twist. Some of them are very weird, some of them not so weird, all of them are enjoyable reads (even if murder is often on the mind). All of them involve food in one way or another. I particularly enjoyed Seventeen Minutes, the tale of a wife who is a little bit fed up with her husband, and The Secret Sauce, which grapples with that familiar problem of just what some chefs are desperate to keep hidden from their audience, while Sweet Darkness, with its PTA meeting vibes made me chuckle, as ‘revenge goes wrong.’
A really enjoyable collection of short stories sure to delight fans of mysteries.
Meet the author
Karmen Špiljak is a Slovenian-Belgian writer of suspense, horror and speculative fiction.Her short fiction has been awarded and anthologised. Her short story collection, Add Cyanide to Taste, won the 2022 IndieReader Discovery award for best short stories/Fiction. She lives in Belgrade with her husband, two mischievous cats and an undefined number of literary characters. Find out more on http://www.karmenspiljak.com
217 BC. The Gauls are restless. Where is the wealth, plunder and lands they were promised? Hannibal’s army has become little more than a burden to be fed and quartered … as welcome as a plague of locusts. Assassination plots abound as Hannibal is driven to take desperate measures to evade the assassin’s knife.
If Hannibal is to appease the Gauls he must act fast. The invasion of Italia must not be delayed – his very life depends on it – but as that winter of winters fades into memory he is faced with a stark choice. Should he strike east towards the plains of Umbria and face consul Gnaeus Servilius Geminus’ legions holed up inside the unassailable walls of Ariminum? Or strike westwards into the plunder-rich lands of Etruria?
Consul Gaius Flaminius’ legions guard the western approaches. If any man can fire the bellies of Gauls with loathing it’s Flaminius. But there is one other whose blood runs cold at the mention of the name. Flaminius ordered the brutal murder of Sphax’s parents and Sphax has sworn a sacred oath to seek revenge. Can Hannibal trust the leader of his Numidian cavalry, or will this blood feud cloud his judgement? Sooner or later Sphax will have to face his inner demons.
This is my second adventure with Robert M Kidd and Sphax. As with book 3, this outing is action-packed, from wading through boggy ground to fighting Roman legionaries. The narrative takes us through Etruria alongside Sphax and his loyal warriors, and there is a great deal of death as Hannibal takes a huge risk with his army, one that Sphax is not at all happy with. Forced to encourage from the rear, there is very little that Sphax does not see. His ingenuity saves his life and those of his warriors.
But this book isn’t just about this crazy march through swamp lands. No, this is the story of the lead-up to a mighty battle between the Romans and those under Hannibal’s command, which sees Sphax not only riding through much of Etruria but also forced on board a ship as well. And all the time, burbling away in the background, are the events that have brought him to this moment in time where he’s desperate to avenge the deaths of his parents.
I really like Sphax. I enjoy the fact that he’s an intelligent character, but not one who knows everything. He’s often distant from the main fighting force, although he’s trusted by his uncle to undertake difficult tasks. The depiction of Hannibal, enigmatic and stubborn, but also wise and clever means that Sphax can never know everything his uncle is thinking. Perhaps it’s better that he doesn’t.
The final battle scene is well evoked. It’s a blood bath, but the reader doesn’t see all of it as it takes place beside a mist-shrouded lake.
Not knowing this period at all well, I couldn’t be sure of what the ending would bring, other than in a very vague way. Will Sphax triumph? Will he gain his vengeance? Will he live to fight another battle? The map was a great help.
A thrilling read, and trek, through a time and a place that I don’t know at all well, but which I found really well depicted and thoroughly enjoyable. (On a side note, thank you for explaining what ‘running with the wind’ means on board the ship).
Check out my review for Book 3 in the series here.
Meet the author
I’ve always read widely and been fascinated by ancient cultures – especially those of Greece, Phoenicia and Carthage. But my reason for writing the first novel in The Histories of Sphax series may sound strange to readers: I really wanted to set the record straight, to write about Hannibal’s war with Rome from Carthage’s perspective.
When Cato the Censor demanded that ‘Carthage must be destroyed,’ Rome did just that. In 146 BC, after a three year siege, Carthage was raised to the ground, its surviving citizens sold into slavery and the fields where this once magnificent city had stood, ploughed by oxen. Carthage was erased from history.
That’s why I’m a novelist on a mission! I want to set the historical record straight. Our entire history of Hannibal’s wars with Rome is nothing short of propaganda, written by Greeks and Romans for their Roman clients. It intrigues me that Hannibal took two Greek scholars and historians with him on campaign, yet their histories of Rome’s deadliest war have never seen the light of day.
My hero, Sphax the Numidian, tells a different story!
When I’m not waging war with my pen, I like to indulge my passion for travel and hill walking, and like my hero, I too love horses. I live in Pembrokeshire, West Wales.
Giveaway to Win the next book in The Histories of Sphax series to be dedicated to you (Open INT)
The next book in The Histories of Sphax series will be dedicated to the winner, and will be acknowledged on the inside page book title.
*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome. Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below. The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over. Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data. I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.
I’m excited to welcome Penny Ingham and her novel, Twelve Nights, to the blog. I adored this book. Check out the excerpt below, and you can find my review at the bottom of the post.
Excerpt
Magdalen was beginning to wish she had crept back to Silver Street. Her world had turned upside down and she had no idea how to set it right again. She put her head in her hands, and her obvious distress cast an even greater pall over the gathering. At length, William Kempe’s bulbous eyes slid to the landlord.
‘Perhaps Francis murdered John? He’s best placed to slip something in his beer.’
They all turned to look at Francis Johnson. He was dunking dirty cups into a bucket of equally dirty water before slamming them back onto the board.
‘It’s possible,’ Burbage replied. ‘But I’ve never taken Johnson for a murderer. And what motive could he have?’
‘None that I can think of,’ Kempe admitted.
Magdalen remembered Richard Cowley’s rapier piercing John’s doublet. Could it have nicked John’s skin? If the tip was poisoned, could it have been enough to kill him? She looked up, into Richard’s eyes.
‘Poison is a woman’s weapon,’ he repeated, seeming to have read her mind. ‘A coward’s game. There’s no honour in it.’
‘When is there ever honour in murder?’ she shot back but Richard had already turned away, gesturing to a serving girl for more Mad Dog.
The shadows lengthened. The landlord lit the fire, the serving girls laid out soggy saffron cakes, and the players’ spirits began to lift, warmed by the crackling fire, and by wine and cakes and ale. And with every cup of Rhenish she drank, Magdalen’s spirits lifted a little too. The tavern was starting to fill up. Word spread fast through Shoreditch, and now all the poets and playwrights who had ever felt envious of Burbage’s lauded band of brothers were crawling out of the woodwork to gloat over their misfortune.
Christopher Marlowe arrived, and the tavern lit up as if the stars had fallen through the thatch. He greeted them all in turn, embracing some, kissing others on the lips. But he offered no kiss to Will. Instead, they simply shook hands like two fencers before a bout. It seemed fitting, for they were presently engaged in an increasingly spectacular play-writing dual, lobbing masterpieces at each other across the Thames. When Marlowe attacked with the gore-fest Tamburlaine, Will struck back with blood-soaked Titus Andronicus. Marlowe lunged with his study of a weak king, Edward the Second, so Will parried with Richard the Second. All of London was waiting to see how Will would respond to Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta.
‘William.’ Marlowe released Will’s hand, and moved on.
‘Christopher,’ Will replied and turned back to his beer.
Magdalen found their relationship hard to fathom, but hidden beneath the jealousy and rivalry, she often suspected a lurking mutual respect.
Stepping over Robert Greene, who had fallen asleep on the floor, Marlowe sat down beside her. ‘How now, Magdalen?’
She nodded absently. She had drunk a great deal of Rhenish, but she would never admit her inebriation, not even to Marlowe because it was not seemly. But he must have noticed her glazed expression because that familiar, half-smile was playing on his lips, as if he was enjoying his own private joke at the world’s expense. Although he was fast approaching thirty years of age, there was still a boyish charm to his features; the soft doe-eyes, the beard-less cheeks, the wisps of a moustache above full, generous lips.
‘I think you’ve had enough of this.’ He picked up her cup of Rhenish, and proceeded to drain it.
‘Hey!’ she exclaimed but it was a half-hearted protest, for her head was pounding like cannon fire.
‘You will have heard about the constable?’ she said quietly.
‘Edmund Stow is highly fed and lowly taught. Pay no heed to him,’ Marlowe replied airily.
‘But what if the Puritans bribe the coroner to convict me? We all know they are looking for an excuse to close us down.’
He shook his head. ‘I won’t let that happen.’
She wished she could believe him, but Marlowe was the most unreliable man on earth. He had recently fought in a brawl which had resulted in an inn-keeper’s death. Although it was his friend, Thomas Watson, who had struck the fatal blow, they were both hauled off to Newgate prison to await trial. Marlowe had been released a month later, miraculously without charge. Perhaps he really did believe he was invincible now. In the history books in Will’s room the ancient Greeks had called it hubris, and no good had ever come of it.
‘You look like Christmas, Magdalen.’
‘Christmas?’ she repeated, bemused.
‘Yes, your green kirtle, your red jacket.’ Marlowe broke into song, ‘the holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown.’ He had a beautiful baritone voice.
‘And you look -’ she eyed his tawny-orange doublet slashed to reveal yellow satin beneath; the wafer-soft, wide collar falling across his shoulders; the row of shiny buttons marching down his chest and belly. He had come into money recently, of that there was no doubt. ‘You look like a pageant, as always, Marlowe.’
‘Tawny is the colour of mourning, is it not?’ he asked with feigned innocence.
Magdalen laughed, but it made her head hurt.
‘You remind me of my sister,’ he said, suddenly serious.
‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ she said, taken aback.
‘Her laugh sounded just like yours. There was something so joyous about it.’
Magdalen noticed he was using the past tense. ‘Is she -’ she began cautiously, but Marlowe spoke over her.
‘She was married at twelve years old, and she died in childbirth at the age of thirteen.’
Magdalen’s heart lurched with pity. ‘Oh! I am so sorry…’
He was staring into the distance now, his eyes full of bitterness and remembered grief. Marlowe was a man of bluster and bravado; his every word designed to shock or offend. She had known him for ten years and in all that time, she had never seen his defences down. But now, the window to his soul was open wide and the view was so unexpected and so intimate, she felt obliged to hastily avert her eyes.
When Marlowe spoke again, he no longer sounded sad but angry. ‘Answer me this. How can you have faith in God when he allowed my sister to die in agony?’
Here’s the blurb
1592. The Theatre, London.
When a player is murdered, suspicion falls on the wardrobe mistress, Magdalen Bisset, because everyone knows poison is a woman’s weapon. The coroner is convinced of her guilt. The scandal-pamphlets demonize her.
Magdalen is innocent, although few are willing to help her prove it. Only handsome Matthew Hilliard offers his assistance, but dare she trust him when nothing about him rings true?
With just two weeks until the inquest, Magdalen ignores anonymous threats to ‘leave it be’, and delves into the dangerous underworld of a city seething with religious and racial tension. As time runs out, she must risk everything in her search for the true killer – for all other roads lead to the gallows.
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This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Penny has a degree in Classics, and a passion for archaeology – during the summer months, you will often find her on her a ‘dig’ with a trowel in her hand. She has had a variety of jobs over the years, including ice-cream seller, theatre PR, BBC local radio, and TV critic for a British Forces newspaper.
She has written four novels – ‘The King’s Daughter’ is the story of Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians. ‘The Saxon Wolves’ and ‘The Saxon Plague’ are set in the turbulent aftermath of Roman Britain. Her inspiration for Twelve Nights grew from her love of the theatre in general, and Shakespeare in particular.
Penny has two grown up children and lives with her husband in Hampshire.
Welcome to the blog. Can you tell me about your new novel.
Although much of it was done a long time ago, when I began teaching a course that involved a cultural and historical look at Ugarit, tackling a series of books set in an obscure city state in the Late Bronze Age did require some academic snooping. Times and places about which we know relatively little are a mixed blessing: one always wishes one had more clues to hang fiction upon, but in those gaps where we know nothing, plausible imagination is OK for the novelist. Still, I didn’t want to contradict anything we knew for sure to be true, so there was a lot to learn. I bought a lot of books.
To me, a person with a soft spot for words, one of the most interesting things I began to find out about was the literary tradition of Ugarit. Fortunately for us—and unfortunately for the inhabitants of the city in about 1190 BCE, when the city fell never to rise again—Ugarit was put to the torch, baking and preserving the clay tablets upon which information was recorded. A whole private library of texts was among the tablets discovered, opening to modern scholars a wonderful new world of mythological epic.
The author of some of the most complete of these was a certain scribe named Ili-milku, born in the near-by kingdom of Shiyannu. He eventually held the post of chief scribe of Ugarit but evidently still had time to write. It’s likely that, rather than composing the Cycle from scratch, he compiled and wrote down a definitive edition of a slew of tales that had been recited orally for a long time, much like Homer. He is the third point-of-view character in The Moon That Fell from Heaven. More about him in a moment.
Since their discovery in the 1930s, we have been exposed to Ugaritic narratives about Kirta, a Job-like figure of patience in suffering. About Aqhat, the long-prayed-for son of a childless couple. About Ba’al, the storm god, and various lesser divine figures like the Gracious Gods or Horon. Biblical scholars immediately noticed not only themes similar to those of the Hebrew Bible, but also literary forms that occur in the Bible. This shouldn’t surprise us, as the entire world of the eastern Mediterranean, which we may generalize as Canaanite, shared a closely related culture and languages. The Ugaritic high god Ilu, for example, is the same as El and means simply “god.” Ba’al is “the lord,” the rider of the clouds. But the gods of Ugarit were not omnipotent, by any means. They were closely associated with the phenomena of nature, and like nature, they did a lot of dying and resurrecting. Other parallels—with the Greek world—are striking too. Anat the Maiden is a virgin warrior goddess like Athena, for example. The Bronze Age was a world of global interconnection!
When the fictional Ili-milku is held hostage, he finds himself forced to critique endless poems his captor has written. This activity is possible because scholars have worked out that all the mythological stories that have come down to us from Ugarit are actually in verse. Their idea of poetry—like that of the Biblical authors—didn’t require rhyme or even meter. It was free verse, you might say. But it used very definite patterns of language, repetitions, build-ups, parallels. In short, it was constructed pretty much the same way modern Near Eastern poetry is, an interesting continuity of more than 3000 years.
How were these poetic narratives used? Some seem as if they might have been liturgical drama, with choral parts. Others were perhaps sung or chanted in temples or even around the campfire. Unfortunately, there’s no way to know until someone finds some stage directions. But even so, they shed a lot of light on how the people of Ugarit viewed their world, what they valued, how their society was structured. I’m glad to have studied them, because they bring a whole population closer and make them more human. I hope I’ve accomplished a little of that myself by turning a bit of their human drama into fiction.
Thank you for for sharing. Good luck with the new book.
Here’s the blurb
Ehli-nikkalu, eldest daughter of the Hittite emperor, is married to a mere vassal of her father’s. But despite her status, her foreignness and inability to produce an heir drive a wedge between her and the court that surrounds her. When her secretary is mysteriously murdered while carrying the emperor a message that would indict the loyalty of his vassal, Ehli-nikkalu adopts the dead man’s orphaned children out of a guilty sense of responsibility.
A young cousin she has never met becomes a pretender to the throne and mobilizes roving armies of the poor and dispossessed, which causes the priority of her loyalties to become even more suspect. However, Ehli-nikkalu discovers a terrible secret that could destabilize the present regime if the pretender ever learns of it.
With the help of a kindly scribe, her brave young ward, and an embittered former soldier trapped in debt and self-doubt, Ehli-nikkalu sets out to save the kingdom and prove herself to her father. And along the way, she learns something about love.
N.L. Holmes is the pen name of a professional archaeologist who received her doctorate from Bryn Mawr College. She has excavated in Greece and in Israel and taught ancient history and humanities at the university level for many years. She has always had a passion for books, and in childhood, she and her cousin used to write stories for fun.
These days she lives in France with her husband, two cats, geese, and chickens, where she gardens, weaves, dances, and plays the violin
For over a decade, the Lancasters were celebrity royalty, with millions tuning in every week to watch their reality show, Living with the Lancasters.
But then an old video emerges of one of their legendary parties. Suddenly, they’re in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons: witnesses swore they’d seen missing teenager Bradley Wilcox leaving the Lancaster family home on the night of the party, but the video tells a different story
Now true crime investigator and YouTuber Tom Isaac is on the case. He’s determined to find out what really happened to Bradley – he just needs to read between the Lancasters’ lies . . .
Because when the cameras are always rolling, it won’t be long until someone cracks.
_
For fans of Murder in the Family and The Club, Clickbait is told through mixed media, from video transcripts to diary entries, capturing a unique and addictive commentary on ruthless ambition and the dark side of fame.
L.C. North studied psychology at university before pursuing a career in Public Relations. Her first book club thriller – The Ugly Truth – combines her love of psychology and her fascination with the celebrities in the public eye. Her second novel, Clickbait, delves into the world of reality TV and the dichotomy between real and fake. When she’s not writing, she co-hosts the crime thriller podcast, In Suspense. L.C. North lives on the Suffolk borders with her family and also writes psychological suspense novels under the name of Lauren North. Readers can follow her on Twitter and Instagram as @Lauren_C_North, and Facebook as @LaurenNorthAuthor
She flung the long-strapped bag on her back and helped the stableboy saddle the gray horse. Soon, she was on her way to town. The first seven cards were meant for elderly widows, gentle women Erica visited from time to time. Most of them had known her mother, and Erica gladly sat and listened to these women repeat their memories of how her sweet mother had spent time with them.
The last cottage she visited belonged to her elderly friend Ingela.
“I have one card left,” Erica said.
“Say, why don’t you ride to Castle Linborg? I heard the count returned from soldiering a while back. He used to be out and about all the time, talking to people and helping them settle disputes. He even showed up unannounced if someone was in need. But since he returned from war down in Europe, hardly anyone has seen him. His reputation as a fair and good nobleman has dwindled since he’s been away from the public eye. Now, rumors say he keeps to himself and has become both grumpy and of little use to people in our area.”
Castle Linborg? Twice Erica had received advice to go there. Although she had considered going there to spite Aunt Brita, here was the same suggestion from dear, old Ingela. The woman had been more family to her than the foursome at Holst Manor had ever been. Erica pulled the inkbottle and quill out of her bag and placed them next to the last card on the table.
“I’ll go see him then.”
“Do you dare? Will you knock on the door of an aristocrat who has the power to make your life miserable if things don’t go his way.”
Erica smiled back. “You just said the count used to be fair and good. My guess is that he still is… And although perhaps these traits are now hidden, there must be a reason for it.” She wrote his name on the back of the last card.
Count August Brandell of Linborg.
Why not try?
Here’s the blurb
There must be a way to thaw a heart long frozen. Can she help him, or does he have other plans?
Sweden 1810. August Brandell, the count of Linborg, has returned home after four years of war against the French Empire under the direction of Napoléon Bonaparte. Wounded and downtrodden, he is a meager shadow of the man he used to be. One day, a lovely young woman comes calling. She’s strong and bright and, unlike the rest, seems unaffected by his wealth and unfortunate disability. He soon discovers he wants more than a sweet friendship, but a life of caring for him would not be fair to such a beautiful soul. Oh, how dearly, deeply he loves her and secretly wants her to stay, but he cannot and will not ask such a sacrifice from her…especially not when it’s out of pity for him.
Erica Gustava Ebbesdotter has primarily been left to herself since she was orphaned at an early age. Although grateful to her aunt and uncle for taking her in, they pay her no attention and even keep her in the dark about her parents. Hearing about Count Brandell’s unfortunate fate on the battlefield, she knocks on the door at Castle Linborg to leave him a card of encouragement. Meeting Count Brandell changes Erica’s entire world. Falling for him is utterly unexpected. Soon, he fills her heart, but he is far above her station. How can a man like him see beyond her less refined clothes and past? Worst of all, he is already betrothed.
This is a sweet and wholesome historical romance—a hauntingly beautiful tale of two hearts meant to be together.
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This title is available to read with #KindleUnlimited.
HEIDI ELJARBO grew up in a home full of books, artwork, and happy creativity. She is the author of award-winning historical novels filled with courage, hope, mystery, adventure, and sweet romance in the midst of challenging times. She’s been named a master of dual timelines and often writes about strong-willed women of past centuries.
After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She lives with her husband on a charming island and enjoys walking their Wheaten Terrier in any kind of weather, hugging her grandchildren, and has a passion for art and history.
Her family’s chosen retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summer and ski the vast white terrain during winter.
Heidi’s favorites are her family, God’s beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.
MJ Porter 