Author of Saxon historical fiction and non-fiction, 20th-century historical mysteries, and Norse-inspired historical romantasy. Book reviewer and blog host.
I’m really excited to share the details of the Pagan Warrior blog tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club.
Pagan Warrior is the story of the battle of Hædfeld, fought in the seventh century between the Northumbrians, and you got it, the Mercians – or rather, Cadwallon of Gwynedd but with Penda of Mercia as his firm ally. You can find more details here.
I might have written this book many years ago, but it’s had a refresh, and is now available in audio, narrated by the fabulous, Matt Coles, as is the second book, Pagan King. Warrior King will be coming later this year in audio. For this first week, 13th March-19th March, the ebook of Pagan Warrior is reduced globally. Follow the link below.
You can follow the blog tour, and I’ll be sharing posts here as well. A quick shout out to thank all the blog hosts and Cathie at The Coffee Pot Book Club for organising.
For today, March 14th, check out my author interview over on Archaeolibrarian.
The Scots of Dalriada takes place in 5th century Ireland and Scotland and tells the fictional story of the legendary king Fergus Mór. Recorded Irish history begins with the introduction of Christianity and Latin literacy, beginning in the 5th century. Most of my research however, relied on sources written much later. First and foremost, Studies in the History of Dalriada by John Bannerman.
Published in 1974 this book is no longer in print but can be purchased second-hand.
My research of the Dalriada began fifteen years ago when I discovered that my ancestors descended from the Dalriada. History is compelling, especially when your own ancestors are involved, and the stories around the Dalriada didn’t let me go. I had to wait three years to obtain a copy of this book but it was definitely worth it, as it is much more comprehensive and detailed than anything to be found on the net.
It amazed me that St. Patrick was kidnapped as a teenager and sold to the Dalriada. He stayed with them, working as a shepherd on the exposed hills of Slemish until he miraculously escaped. When he returned to Ireland in his role as missionary, his first self-imposed duty was to convert the Dalriadians, despite bitter opposition from the druids.
See my first book from this period about the life of St.Patrick, Patron Saint of Ireland.
The Missionary
Although both books take place in 5th century Ireland, they are entirely independent of each other.
5th century Ireland and Scotland is at the end of the Iron Age and beginning of the early Medieval Age. This period includes an expansion of the Dalriada clan to Western Scotland. Ireland, at the time, was divided into many small baronies, each ruled by an underking. Life was dominated by a myriad of petty wars, neighbouring clans were constantly under attack from each other, stealing cattle and crop and encroaching upon each other’s land.
The Dalriada was situated in the utmost North East of Ireland, composed of much that is presently known as Antrim. To the North and East their territory was bordered by the North Channel and the Irish Sea. To the South and West, by the aggressive tribes of the Northern Uí Néill, the Dál Fiatach and the Dál nAraide, who continually attacked the Dalriada. So it was only natural that the Dalriada sought to expand their kingdom across the North Channel.
These background facts form the setting for my, mainly fictional, novel about Fergus. The book covers his life from roughly 440 to 501 AD, when his ship is sea wrecked, and he is succeeded by his son Domangart.
By that time the Dalriada have conquered Argyll (“Coast of the Gaels”) and built their chief stronghold and trading centre at Dunadd. The hillfort of Dunadd is believed to have been their capital. Other royal forts included Dunollie, Dunaverty and Dunseverick. Within Dalriada was the important monastery of Iona, which played a key role in the spread of Celtic Christianity throughout northern Britain, and in the development of insular art. Iona was a centre of learning and produced many important manuscripts. Dalriada had a strong seafaring culture and a large naval fleet.
Scotland is said to have been founded by the legendary king Fergus Mór (Fergus the Great) in the 5th century. Heavy onslaughts from the Picts checked the Dalriada on the Scottish mainland. In the 8th century the Dalriada gradually declined; and after the Viking invasions early in the 9th century, it lost all political identity. In the mid-9th century its king Kenneth I MacAlpin brought the Picts and Scoti (the Roman name for the Irish Gaels) permanently together, and thereafter the whole country was known as Scotland.
More books that I read to complement my research:
A Brief History of Ireland by Richard Killeen
Ireland’s Forgotten Past: A History of the Overlooked and Disremembered by Turtle Bunbury
A History of Scotland by Neil Oliver
Scotland: History of a Nation by David Ross
The Book of Celtic Myths: From the Mystic Might of the Celtic Warriors to the Magic of the Fey Folk, the Storied History and Folklore of Ireland, Scotland, Brittany, and Wales by Adams Media
Satellite image of Scotland and Northern Ireland showing the approximate greatest extent of Dál Riata (shaded). The mountainous spine which separates the east and west coasts of Scotland can be seen.
Ancient hill fort at Dunadd
Here’s the blurb
THREE BROTHERS Fergus, Loarn and Angus, Princes of the Dalriada, are forced into exile by their scheming half-brother and the druidess Birga One-tooth.
THREE FATES Fergus conceals himself as a stable lad on Aran and falls helplessly in love with a Scottish princess, already promised to someone else. Loarn crosses swords against the Picts. Angus designs longboats.
TOGETHER A MIGHTY POWER Always on the run the brothers must attempt to outride their adversaries by gaining power themselves. Together they achieve more than they could possibly dream of. Fergus Mór (The Great) is widely recognised as the first King of Scotland, giving Scotland its name and its language. Rulers of Scotland and England from Kenneth mac Alpín until the present time claim descent from Fergus Mór.
Full of unexpected twists and turns, this is a tale of heart-breaking love amidst treachery, deceit and murder.
Rowena Kinread grew up in Ripon, Yorkshire with her large family and a horde of pets. Keen on travelling, her first job was with Lufthansa in Germany.
She began writing in the nineties. Her special area of interest is history. After researching her ancestry and finding family roots in Ireland with the Dalriada clan, particularly this era.
Her debut fiction novel titled “The Missionary” is a historical novel about the dramatic life of St. Patrick. It was published by Pegasus Publishers on Apr.29th, 2021 and has been highly appraised by The Scotsman, The Yorkshire Post and the Irish Times.
Her second novel “The Scots of Dalriada” centres around Fergus Mór, the founder father of Scotland and takes place in 5th century Ireland and Scotland. It is due to be published by Pegasus Publishers on Jan.26th, 2023.
The author lives with her husband in Bodman-Ludwigshafen, Lake Constance, Germany. They have three children and six grandchildren.
I’m delighted to welcome Trish MacEnulty to the blog with a guest post about her books.
Lesbians in the Early 20th Century — Branded as Deviants and Sometimes Jailed!
In my series, the Delafield & Malloy Investigations, one of my main characters — Ellen Malloy, an Irish immigrant — is a lesbian. As soon as she appeared on the page, she let me know in no uncertain terms that the expectation of marriage was the main reason she had left Ireland to become a servant for a wealthy family in Manhattan. Well, that didn’t work out either, but eventually she found her way and fell in love with a suffragist.
What would life be like for a lesbian in New York in 1913? I had no idea. The lives of gay men and the indignities they suffered in the late 19th and early 20th centuries has been widely documented — Oscar Wilde made sure of that! All the while, lesbians unobtrusively managed to find love and companionship in spite of the fact that their existence was rarely acknowledged.
In her fascinating academic tome, A Novel Approach to Lesbian History, Linda Garber writes “The historical records, if they exist at all, frustrate as often as they inform. Spotty, written by men, open to multiple interpretations—traces of a recognizably lesbian past run aground on the rocky shoals of the history of sexuality itself.” (3)
Fortunately, in the early 20th Century, the Bohemians of Greenwich Village had the freedom to live ‘unconventional’ lifestyles somewhat openly. In the Village, tea rooms provided space for women to meet each other away from the disapproving eye of society. On a recent tour of Greenwich Village with the Bowery Boys, I was shown one of the basement entrances for a former tea room. In those days, according to legend, it bore a sign that read, “Men are admitted but not welcome.”
Picture of basement, photo by me
Of course, the police knew about these places. In her autobiography, Mary Sullivan, one of the first police matrons to do actual police work, wrote, “A few tearooms run by women with a fondness for college girl patronage really were a menace…”
She added, “One of the most difficult types of degenerate with whom we have to deal is the woman with homosexual tendencies.” The police department received a complaint about “indecent literature” on sale in one of the tea rooms and a proprietess who “tried to entice girl students from a nearby college.” So Sullivan and one of her female colleagues set out to entrap the proprietess.
They visited the tea room, and the other police woman accepted a date from the proprietess, a woman named Billie. After trying to kiss the woman while on their date, Billie was arrested and then convicted of “disorderly conduct and distributing obscene literature.” She was sentenced to six months in the workhouse. Her tea room was closed. (Interestingly, this is the same scenario which happened later to activist Eve Adams; it may be the stories are conflated.)
Sullivan didn’t think jailing women with “homosexual tendencies” was the solution, however. “There is no doubt in my mind that they should be treated primarily as medical and psychiatric cases, though we still have to learn about the method of treatment.” Well, we all know where that eventually led: the horrors of conversion therapy!
picture of Sullivan’s book, photo by me
Not all lesbians kept quiet or hid their preferences. Polish-born Eve Adams arrived in New York in 1912 when she was twenty years old. In 1925, she wrote and published a book called Lesbian Love “for private circulation only.” Two years later she was arrested for obscenity and disorderly conduct and deported.
There’s an excellent book about Adams, titled The Daring Life and Dangerous Times of Eve Adams by Jonathan Ned Katz. In 1912, according to Katz, the term lesbian did not always signify a sexual relationship between women. It could simply refer to a community of women. For example, a women’s college newspaper in Maryland was called the Lesbian Herald. From everything I’ve read, the common term, at the time, for gays and lesbians was “invert.”
With this and other research in hand, I felt I could do justice to Ellen’s story in her quest for love and fulfillment. This scene is the moment Ellen first sees the women with whom she later falls in love in The Whispering Women as she is looking through the window of a teahouse in Greenwich Village:
“The tables were occupied by women of various ages and classes who seemed engrossed in conversations. One woman in particular caught her eye. She looked to be in her late twenties, big boned with a narrow face, an affable smile, and big brown eyes under thick eyebrows. Ellen could tell by her tailored gray jacket she had money, but she wasn’t showy. A strand of pearls hung carelessly around her neck. A feeling swept over Ellen like a dull ache — the kind of ache you don’t want to stop. The woman laughed at something her companion said. Ellen swiveled her head to look at the companion. Small, blond, and delicately holding her tea cup. When the woman with the pearls got up to get some more tea, Ellen saw the blond woman glance out the window and wave a handkerchief. Curiously, Ellen looked around. Two men stood across the street, smoking cigarettes with their eyes fixed on the window of the tea shop. Police, Ellen knew immediately.”
Thank you for sharing such a fascinating post. Good luck with your series.
Blurb:
“Richly drawn characters, the vibrant historical setting, and a suspenseful mystery create a strong current that pulls readers into this delightful novel. But it’s the women’s issues—as relevant today as they were in the early 1900s—that will linger long after the last page.”
— Donna S. Meredith, The Southern Literary Review
Can two women get the lowdown on high society?
“Two powerless young women must navigate a soul-crushing class system and find the levers of power they wield when they combine their strengths. These women may have been taught to whisper, but when their time comes, they will roar.”
– 5 Star Amazon Review
Louisa Delafield and Ellen Malloy didn’t ask to be thrown together to bring the truth to light. But after Ellen witnesses the death of a fellow servant during an illegal abortion, Louisa, a society columnist, vows to help her find the truth and turn her journalistic talent to a greater purpose.
Together, these unlikely allies battle to get the truth out, and to avenge the wrongful death of a friend.
What will our heroes do when their closest allies and those they trust turn out to be the very forces working to keep their story in the dark? They’ll face an abortionist, a sex trafficking ring, and a corrupt system determined to keep the truth at bay.
“If you like historical fiction and if you like mysteries, this one is for you!”
– 5 Star Amazon Review
Was change possible in 1913?
To find out, read THE WHISPERING WOMEN today!
Buy Links:
The books in this series are available to read on Kindle Unlimited.
Trish MacEnulty is a bestselling novelist. In addition to her historical fiction, she has published novels, a short story collection, and a memoir. A former Professor of English, she currently lives in Florida with her husband, two dogs, and one cat. She writes book reviews and feature articles for the Historical Novel Review. She loves reading, writing, walking with her dogs, streaming historical series, cooking, and dancing.
I can never miss an opportunity to ask a fellow Saxon author questions about why they write about the same period as me. My thanks to Mercedes for answering them.
What drew you to the character of Godwine and his wife and children?
While I was writing my first book, Heir To A Prophecy, I introduced my protagonist Walter into London on the day Godwine came back from exile. It was a plot device to introduce him to Harold Godwineson (Walter took out one of the Normans fleeing through the crowd). I didn’t know who Godwine was, but I couldn’t shake him loose! I went back fifty years and discovered a great story.
Naturally, very little is known about these historical characters, and I had two challenges that dovetailed nicely. Both had to do with not wanting to fall into that old predictable trap concerning characters. First of all, the love interest. There are so many love stories that seem formulaic. I didn’t want that same old theme: disliking each other first, then falling in love (and all the variations thereof). On the other hand, I understand that there needs to be some kind of stress in the romance to make a good story. It was obvious that Godwine had a happy marriage (or at least a productive one) since they had so many children. I was really intrigued by the discrepancy of their social status. Godwine was a commoner, and Gytha was a noble (or the Danish equivalent). At the same time, I had a hard time figuring out why Swegn, the firstborn, turned into such a bad egg. I don’t believe a character should be all good or all bad. People just aren’t like that. Even wicked characters act that way for a reason; sometimes they have good qualities that get buried under their more powerful bad qualities. Finally I had an inspiration: if Godwine’s marriage started out in anger, or stress (Gytha was given to him in marriage, but she didn’t have to go willingly), perhaps the firstborn would be neglected and unloved. That would explain his subsequent behaviour. It took some doing to make that work, but I’m happy with the result.
What part of your research did you enjoy the most?
I love research; I actually prefer the research to the writing. I knew I was going to like Godwine. What surprised me was how fascinated I was with Canute. He was an incredibly complicated character. From the angry king-to-be that cut the noses off his 200 hostages after England rejected him in favour of Aethelred the Unready, he eventually became a very successful monarch. Most of all, I loved the single combat between him and Edmund Ironside, where he cleverly talked himself out of getting flattened by convincing Edmund to split the kingdom between them. This may well be apocryphal, but that’s the challenge of writing about events 1000 years ago. We have more legends than “history” to work with, and the legends are so good they stick.
Was there a resource that was invaluable?
I hate to admit this because it makes me sound so old, but when I was writing Godwine Kingmaker there was no internet. Back then, I was living in St. Louis, MO—a very nice town but far from the libraries I needed. If the book wasn’t in the card catalogue, it might as well not even exist. So, like any warm-blooded researcher who didn’t have a family to take care of, I pulled up stakes and moved to New York. The day I discovered the New York Public Library my life changed forever. I found authors I never knew about, and finally got my hands on my first copy of Edward A. Freeman’s “History of the Norman Conquest of England”. I thought I had gone to heaven! In six volumes he wrote about every aspect of Anglo-Saxon England I could possibly think of. (These days Freeman is somewhat out of fashion, but he’s still my go-to when I need to look something up; he has never failed me yet.) Copy machines were available for ten cents a page, but as much as I needed to copy, I’d be better off buying the books—if I could find them. No such luck until a couple of years later, when I went on a book-buying trip to England and discovered Hay-on-Wye. A breakthrough! Those were the days (the late ’80s) when old used hardbacks were still easy to find, and I discovered my very own set of Freeman which I gleefully brought home. That was the original basis of all my research. Those books are still my most precious possession, though now you can find them online (scanned, of course).
Did you learn anything that surprised you while writing the trilogy?
Back to Canute again. While delving into Harold’s relationship with Edith Swan-neck in THE SONS OF GODWINE, again I wanted to avoid the usual romantic formulas. First of all, I had to decide whether Edith was a luscious young thing or an attractive widow; both possibilities were referred to in the histories. By lucky chance, I stumbled across Canute’s Law Code of 1020, designed to smooth relations between the Danes and the Saxons. One section dealt with heriot (essentially an inheritance tax), not a new concept. But I found a reference to protecting widows. Canute gave a widow twelve months to pay her husband’s heriot. But she had to remain unmarried or she would lose both her morning-gift and all possessions from her former husband. If some unscrupulous man coveted her inheritance and forced her to marry him, all the possessions would pass on to the nearest kinsman. The king would lose the heriot tax if this were to happen, so it was also written into Canute’s law that a widow should never be forced to marry a man she dislikes. After all, the Crown had much to lose. So I decided to make Edith a recent widow trying to evade the attentions of an unwelcome suitor, while she and Harold conducted their relationship.
What is your personal opinion? Do you believe that William the Conqueror was justified in claiming England? Do you believe he had been promised it?
Apparently the whole justification came down to King Edward the Confessor’s promise to William when the duke visited England during Godwine’s exile. I think we can negate the assertion that Edward felt some sort of gratitude for having been sheltered there during his exile. When Edward left Normandy in 1041, William was only 13 years old and Edward was 38. With that age gap, it seems unlikely that the two of them would have developed a close relationship, so any alleged gratitude Edward might have owed probably belonged to William’s father Robert, dead by 1035.
Now, during Godwine’s exile in 1051, it’s far from certain that William even visited England. Some historians thought he would have been too busy putting down rebellions to leave his country even for a short time. If William did visit England and if Edward offered him the crown at this point, it’s curious why he would have done so. The king knew that it was up to the Witan to decide the succession. However, considering his antagonism toward the Godwines (he even put the queen in a nunnery while Godwine was in exile), perhaps he made this alleged promise out of spite.
However, it’s my belief that the blame can be placed upon Robert of Jumièges, former Archbishop of Canterbury and arch-enemy of Earl Godwine. Robert is one of the Normans who fled from London once it was clear that Godwine was back in control. He’s almost certainly the one who kidnapped the hostages, Godwine’s son Wulfnoth and grandson Hakon, and brought them to Normandy. In my interpretation, Jumièges acted on his own when he told William that Edward declared him heir to the English throne, and here are the hostages to guarantee his promise. What a great revenge on Godwine and all of England for kicking him out! Why wouldn’t William believe such an opportune offer?
Who is your personal favourite member of the House of Godwine?
When all is said and done, Earl Godwine still holds his place as my favourite. If it weren’t for him, there would be no Harold Godwineson Last Anglo-Saxon King. I think he helped smooth the relations between the conquering Danish king and his unhappy countrymen, then moved on to staunchly defend the Saxons against the hated Normans. His rise to power was unprecedented, and I think his fall was tragic, though not in the way we usually think of as a tragedy. Having sacrificed so much for the wrong son, he had nothing left to live for as he watched Harold take his place in the hearts of his people.
As you know, I write about the Earls of Mercia. What opinion did you form of the rivals to the House of Godwine while researching and writing your books?
I wondered if you’d ask that question! Of course, by the late Anglo-Saxon period, I think the Mercian earls had lost much of their lustre. Old Earl Leofric certainly held his own against Earl Godwine (with the help of Earl Siward of Northumbria). It seems the odds were against Leofric as Godwine’s sons were granted their own earldoms, shifting the balance of power in Godwine’s favour. At this stage, I always thought of them as bitter, unhappy competitors who could never regain their former glory. After King Edward died, Harold tried to join forces with the grandsons of Leofric, Edwin and Morcar, but I don’t think their association was ever successful. William the Conqueror certainly put an end to that.
Thank you for answering my questions with such insight. I hope you enjoy the blog tour.
Here’s the blurb:
They showed so much promise. What happened to the Godwines? How did they lose their grip? Who was this Godwine anyway, first Earl of Wessex and known as the Kingmaker? Was he an unscrupulous schemer, using King and Witan to gain power? Or was he the greatest of all Saxon Earls, protector of the English against the hated Normans? The answer depends on who you ask.
He was befriended by the Danes, raised up by Canute the Great, given an Earldom and a wife from the highest Danish ranks. He sired nine children, among them four Earls, a Queen and a future King. Along with his power came a struggle to keep his enemies at bay, and Godwine’s best efforts were brought down by the misdeeds of his eldest son Swegn.
Although he became father-in-law to a reluctant Edward the Confessor, his fortunes dwindled as the Normans gained prominence at court. Driven into exile, Godwine regathered his forces and came back even stronger, only to discover that his second son Harold was destined to surpass him in renown and glory.
Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. She believes that good Historical Fiction, or Faction as it’s coming to be known, is an excellent way to introduce the subject to curious readers. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story.
Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended!
Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.
I’m sharing a fabulous post by Glen Craney below regarding the mistakes historical novelists must be wary of making.
Exposing History’s Cracks of Logic
Historical novelists are always prospecting for untapped veins in the strata of the past. Some of the richest lodes can be found in the lapses of logic and analysis that even the most astute of historians are at times prone to commit. Perhaps the best compilation of such errors in judgment and interpretation is Historians’ Fallacies, a treatise published in 1970 by Brandeis University professor David Hackett Fischer.
Readers of history will remember Fischer from Albion’s Seed, his exploration of the impact British folkways had on American society, and Washington’s Crossing, a study of George Washington’s leadership of the Continental Army.
Fischer’s impressive overview of historiography should be kept close at hand on the bookshelf of every historical novelist. Most of the miscalculations he skewers—exemplified by excerpts from the writings of his colleagues, many of whom no doubt chafed at being called to task—apply with equal force to the writing of historical fiction.
The best known of these gaffes gave its name to Fischer’s book: the historian’s fallacy. This refers to the error of assuming that the great leaders and decision-makers of the past possessed the same facts and perspective as we do in hindsight.
Fischer offered as an exhibit the popular claim that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor should have been foreseen from the numerous warning signs. He cautions historians against the tendency of sifting away evidence that, at the time, might have clouded one’s judgment or even supported a contrary opinion.
Likewise, historical novelists must be on their guard against attributing to their characters more knowledge of events than is warranted. It is easy enough for us to chastise Robert E. Lee for ordering Pickett’s charge. The task of both the historian and novelist is to recreate the fog of war at Gettysburg with such verisimilitude that the reader will come to understand why such a decision was rational on July 3, 1863.
The American Civil War seems to have served as the subject for every fallacy condemned by Fischer. Another infamous example castigated by Fischer is the discovery by Union scouts of the cigar-wrapped copies of Lee’s orders for the Antietam campaign. Every war buff has encountered the contention that this fortuitous (for the Union) incident set into motion a series of cascading events that eventually turned the tide of the war. Fischer dismisses this as a product of the reductive fallacy, which boils a complex soup of causal ingredients down into a single, simplified explanation.
In discussing another error, the fallacy of division (arguing that a quality shared by some in a group is shared by all), Fischer offers a faulty syllogism for our dissection:
Most Calvinists were theological determinists Most New England Puritans were Calvinists. Therefore, most New England Puritans were theological determinists.
Fischer observed that then-recent scholarship suggested the Puritans were not determinists, at least not as was commonly assumed. Here one finds a gold nugget, one of many available for the taking by the writer who will persist in combing these fallacies: A novel set in Puritan New England with a main character who believes in free will.
In The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown made great use of yet another error that comes under special opprobrium from Fischer: the furtive fallacy. This is the assumption that certain events and facts of “special significance” are “dark and dirty things and that history itself is a story of causes mostly insidious and results mostly invidious.”
Of course, some of the best historical fiction would have to be tossed onto Savonarola’s bonfire if a ban on this fallacy were strictly enforced. Fischer doesn’t argue that conspiracies have never taken place. His criticism goes to a more fundamental paranoia that, if left unchallenged, can metastasize into a societal epidemic that weakens the very foundations of institutions.
It begins with the premise that reality is a sordid, secret thing; and that history happens on the back stairs a little after midnight, or else in a smoke-filled room, or a perfumed boudoir, or an executive penthouse or somewhere in the inner sanctum of the Vatican or the Kremlin, or the Reich Chancellery, or the Pentagon. It is something more, and something other than merely a conspiracy theory, though that form of causal reduction is a common component.
The furtive fallacy is a more profound error, which combines a naïve epistemological assumption that things are never what they seem to be, with a firm attachment to the doctrine of original sin.
Still, Professor Robert Langdon might remind his colleague Dr. Fischer that just because one is paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.
The historical novelist is not only free but compelled to adopt and exploit these rich fallacies to spin out a good story—so long as he does so consciously.
Thank you for sharing:)
Here’s the blurb
Two armies. One flag. No honor.
The most shocking day in American history.
Former political journalist Glen Craney brings to life the little-known story of the Bonus March of 1932, which culminates in a bloody clash between homeless World War I veterans and U.S. Army regulars on the streets of Washington, D.C.
Mired in the Great Depression and on the brink of revolution, the nation holds its collective breath as a rail-riding hobo named Walter Waters leads 40,000 destitute men and their families to the steps of the U.S. Capitol on a desperate quest for economic justice.
This timely epic evokes the historical novels of Jeff Sharra as it sweeps across three decades following eight Americans who survive the fighting in France and come together fourteen years later to determine the fate of a country threatened by communism and fascism.
From the Boxer Rebellion in China to the Plain of West Point, from the persecution of conscientious objectors to the horrors of the Marne, from the Hoovervilles of the heartland to the pitiful Anacostia encampment, here is an unforgettable portrayal of the political intrigue and government betrayal that ignited the only violent conflict between two American armies.
“[A] wonderful source of historical fact wrapped in a compelling novel.” — Historical Novel Society Reviews
“[A] vivid picture of not only men being deprived of their veterans’ rights, but of their human rights as well.…Craney performs a valuable service by chronicling it in this admirable book.” — Military Writers Society of America
Glen Craney is an author, screenwriter, journalist, and lawyer. A graduate of Indiana University Law School and Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, he is the recipient of the Nicholl Fellowship Prize from the Academy of Motion Pictures and the Chaucer and Laramie First-Place Awards for historical fiction. He is also a four-time indieBRAG Medallion winner, a Military Writers Society of America Gold Medalist, a four-time Foreword Magazine Book-of-the-Year Award Finalist, and an Historical Novel Society Reviews Editor’s Choice honoree. He lives in Malibu and has served as the president of the Southern California Chapter of the HNS.
I always think that the characters of Saxon England are a little too ethereal for people to really connect with. I think it’s difficult to visualise life before the Norman Conquest, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.
My current obsession, and victim of my historical fiction endeavours is Leofwine, Ealdorman of the Hwicce during the reign of Æthelred II, who I refuse to call ‘Unready’ because I just don’t think he was. I think, he was a victim of his times, treated harshly by later historians.
My research is going deeper, examining the evidence of the charter attestations that Leofwine made (where he signs, and therefore, it must be assumes, agrees to whatever the charter is concerned with). Charters from before the Norman Conquest are rare, and have only survived in copies because they benefitted someone in some way, normally the monastery or Church that the copy of the original charter has survived in, or a later lay landowner keen to keep hold of the land.
This effectively means that in determining the validity of the charter, historians need to know about what was happening in the world at large, when the COPY of the charter was made. Effectively, to study Saxon history, you have to also study early Anglo-Norman history to work out just what’s going on and why the charter is so important.
In the records of Sherborne, Leofwine’s name can be found attesting two charters. No original copies of the charters survive, and the record as we have it, is in a twelfth century hand. So, should it be trusted? Should it be used as an historical source? Or as with so much history, can it really only be used as a historical record of the time period that produced it? After all, at least a hundred years and probably more like 150 years, separate the copy of the charter and the date of its alleged drafting and attestation.
It’s an interesting dilemma and one I don’t plan on solving today. Would I use it? Yes, I’d but I’d be standing on the shoulders of those giants of academic history who have studied far more charters than me and who’ve decided that the copies are ‘probably’ genuine as they stand. I’d also be wary of this, and all it might mean.
And how relevant are they to Ealdorman Leofwine? I think very, because they appear to show his standing at the royal court. In charter S933 (1015) he signs as the third ‘dux’ (ealdorman) and in S910 from 1005 he also signs as the third ‘dux’. So what does it all mean? Well, as with everything the picture is wider than just Sherborne. In total Leofwine attests 41 charters whilst an ealdorman. So although I think it’s important to examine the validity of the cartularies that the charters survive in, it’s a bit of a painstaking and picky business. But one I’m enjoying. For anyone really keen to look at Leofwine’s charters in more detail, you can start by having a look at the Electronic Sawyer. And you can see an image of S910 it on The British Library Digitised Manuscripts Website ff. 27v-29r and S933 also on The British Library Digitised Manuscripts Website at ff. 4v-6r. The handwriting is amazing.
Easier to split the sky, than part a soldier from his blade.
386 AD. The Eastern Roman Empire faces a trident of threats. The Gothic truce grows unstable. The standoff with Persia escalates. And the ambitions of the usurper on the Western throne grow dangerously unchecked.
Pavo, a broken veteran of the legions, cares for none of these things. His life is one of pastoral seclusion on his Thracian farm. A life of love, of peace. His wife and young son are his world. Still, every so often, things seen and done in his old life haunt him, like a cold and unwelcome breeze. But that is all they are, echoes of the past…
…until the past rises, like a shade, to rip his world and the Roman Empire apart.
The Emperor’s Shield by Gordon Doherty is the ninth book in the Legionary series, and you guessed it, it’s the first book in the series that I’ve read:) (This is somewhat of a theme for me).
That said, I had no problem being gripped by the story. Pavo is a wonderful character, and while to begin with I did think this was ‘his’ story, more characters were quickly introduced, and the world of the late 300s of the Roman Empire sharply come into focus. This isn’t a period I know a great deal about – especially not in the Eastern Empire, but Pavo, his wife, son and Frugilo, make the period come alive. The camaraderie between Pavo and his old friends, add the human touch to the story, which is a complex web of lies and misdirection taking place over vast distances.
This is truly a story on an epic scale. It probably has a cast of thousands, although not all of them are named. There are warriors from all corners of the Roman Empire, East and West, and Pavo is in the thick of it all, as one of the Eastern Emperor’s elite bodyguard.
The tension throughout the final 25% of the book ramps up spectacularly, and I had to stop myself from googling the period to find out what actually happened, before I got to the end.
A thrilling tale of empire and conspiracy, that certainly leaves the reader desperate to go back to book 1, or eagerly waiting for book 10. A true triumph of the genre.
Meet the author
Gordon Doherty is the author of the Legionary and Strategos series, and wrote the Assassin’s Creed tie-in novel Odyssey. He is based in Scotland.
Today, I’m delighted to welcome a returning Alan Bardos to the blog.
The Ladoux Mystery – the spy who framed Mata Hari?
Marguerite Zelle MacLeod, better known as Mata Hari was a sensation in the last years of the ‘Belle Epoque’ for her wild and exotic dances. However it was her espionage activities that have ensured her name is a household word over a hundred years after her execution in 1917 as a spy. The question as to whether she was actually a double agent is still a contentious issue and may never be resolved.
The Folies Bergère where Mata Hari performed in 1913
By 1914 Mata Hari’s popularity had began to wain in Paris and she had to cast her net further afield and rely more on the favour of rich and powerful men to support her lavish lifestyle. It was this that many of her biographers believe she was ultimately judged on.
In August 1914 Mata Hari was performing in Berlin with a string of lovers. When war was declared the mood against foreigners changed. Desperate to return to France and escape the war fever sweeping through Germany, she broke her contracts and fled. Unable to go to France and forced to leave her money and possession behind, she retuned to her native Holland.
282 Boulevard St Germain, where Mata Hari was recruited by French Intelligence.
While there, she was approached by Carl Cremer, an Honorary German consul in Holland who offered her 20,000 Francs to spy for Germany. Mata Hari accepted the money but whether or not she actually considered herself recruited as a spy is questionable. She may actually have taken the money in compensation for everything she left in Germany.
When Mata Hari returned to Paris in 1916 she was recruited to spy for the French, by Captain George Ladoux, the head of French counter Intelligence. She planned to pull off an intelligence coup by going to Belgium and seducing the German Governor-General. She would then cultivate him as an intelligence source and sell the information to Ladoux for a million Francs.
However on her way to Belgium, Mata Hari’s steamer had to pass through British waters and during a routine customs check she was mistaken for the spy Clara Benedix. She was interviewed in Scotland Yard by ‘Blinker’ Hall the head of naval Intelligence and Sir Basil Thompson the head of Special Branch. At the end of it they were convinced that she was not Benedix, but thought she was suspicious. They contacted Ladoux who informed them that he thought she was a spy and that he was pretending to use her in the hope that she might give herself away as a spy. Hall and Thompson released her, but would not allow her to travel onto Belgium and sent her to Spain.
On her own and ignored by Ladoux, Mata Hari used her initiative and seduced Major Arnold Kalle, the German military attaché in Spain. He gave her some low grade information which Ladoux did not consider worth a million francs. She was arrested not long after her return to Paris, Ladoux had by this time compiled a dossier of evidence against her.
The former Élysée Palace Hotel where Mata Hari was arrested
Kalle had sent telegrams to his superiors in Berlin that incriminated Mata Hari. These telegrams had been intercepted by French intelligence and were the only real evidence presented at her trial that she was a double agent. French detectives followed Mata Hari when she was in Paris, but found no evidence that she actually gathered information or passed it on to Germany. However she admitted to taking their money on the understanding that she would.
France was swept with spy mania at the time, rocked by scandals of German plots to buy newspapers in an effort to undermine Frances will to fight, unrest was rife and the government needed to regain control.
Ladoux was therefore under considerable pressure to catch spies and there is evidence to suggest he doctored the telegrams to make them more incriminating and ensure her conviction. He certainly believed a ‘woman of the world’ like her to be guilty and her promiscuous lifestyle proved it.
However, Ladoux was also arrested as a spy three days after Mata Hari’s execution. This has given rise to speculation that he framed Mata Hari as a way of deflecting attention from his own espionage activities. Ladoux had been denounced by his former driver Pierre Lenoir, who had been arrested for buying a French newspaper with German money. When Lenoir was arrested he claimed that he had been set up by the Germans and that he was working for Ladoux.
While Lenoir was executed Ladoux was subject to extensive investigation, but was never put on trialand after his release continued to serve in the French army after the war. It is therefore unlikely that he was a spy. Nonetheless a cloud has hung over him ever since.
Vincennes. Mata Hari was executed in the grounds of this castle, Ladoux and Lenoir’s files are in the archive attached to the complex
The investigations into Ladoux and Lenoir are still sealed, over a hundred years after the event, while Mata Hari’s file is now open, giving rise to a lot of speculation, but the truth may never be known.
Here’s the blurb
November 1916.
The war of attrition is taking its toll on the Allied powers and cracks are starting to appear.
Captain ‘Blinker’ Hall, Head of Naval Intelligence, must strive to keep the alliance with France alive – and use all his guile to bring the Americans into the war.
Johnny Swift, a reckless former diplomat turned soldier, is convalescing in London, working for Naval Intelligence.
Hall knows how to use Swift’s talents for duplicity to their fullest and sends him to Paris to flush out a traitor undermining the French war effort.
Room 40, the Royal Navy’s code breaking unit, deciphers a telegram that presents Hall with a dilemma. Its use could recruit America to their cause – but also give away the secret that the codes have been broken and cost Britain the war.
Swift takes up his role in Paris and is soon caught in a web of intrigue involving Mata Hari, the Dreyfus Affair, and the catastrophe of the Nivelle Offensive.
The fate of the conflict rests on a knife edge.
The traitor still lurks in the shadows of Paris’s Art Nouveau grandeur and Swift must locate him before he can betray the Allied cause.
Writing historical fiction combines the first great love of Alan Bardos’s life, making up stories, with the second, researching historical events and characters. He currently lives in Oxfordshire with his wife… the other great love of his life.
There is still a great deal of mystery and debate surrounding many of the events of the First World War, which he explores in his historical fiction series. Through the eyes of Johnny Swift, a disgraced and degenerate diplomat and soldier.
The series starts with the pivotal event of the twentieth century. The Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The second book ‘The Dardanelles Conspiracy’ is based on an attempt by Naval Intelligence to bribe Turkey out of the First World War. In the third book Johnny will be employed as a useful idiot to flush out a traitor working to undermine the Allies.
Why, I hear you cry? Well, I was on the trail of the Lady of Mercia, Æthelflæd, and her daughter Ælfwynn. Æthelflæd and her husband were buried in Gloucester, at St Oswald’s Priory, and I’m always writing about Gloucester, and Kingsholm, so I thought it was time I actually visited. Not that St Oswald Priory survives as anything more than a ruin these days.
The plaque telling visitors all about the ruins (I do love an old plaque. They just add to the story of a ruin).
Part of the ruins, with Gloucester Cathedral in the background.
Trying to capture as much of the ruin as possible in one photo.
View of the cathedral through the ruin (a pity about the garden shed)
I also visited the Cathedral, and really wish I’d done a bit more research about what they offer, as I didn’t factor in all the fabulous tours they do, including one up the tower to get a view of Gloucester. Maybe next time. But, I did find this delightful pearl, which must remind us all to make sure our notes are up to the task at hand.
The great window in Gloucester Cathedral
Can you imagine trying to put all those pieces back together after they took them down during WW2? Wow. Well done to those who accomplished the task. If you’re not sure of scale, it’s as big as a tennis court.
But to return to the priory. For those who know their history of the period, we might wonder why we have a St Oswald in Gloucester, which would have been very much in the heart of Mercia. Oswald, of course, was a king of Northumbria, a most Christian king, killed in battle against the might of the famous pagan king, Penda. The story goes that after his death, a band of brave Northumbrians retrieved their dead king, and returned him to Northumbria, where he was buried and revered. Why then would a Northumbrian saint, killed in the seventh century, become so closely associated with the Mercian ruling family?
I find this fascinating, and indeed, some years ago, attended a conference where I asked this question. The answer was enlightening. The Mercians, still facing the threat of the Viking raiders, needed a rallying cry. They needed a sainted figure whose cult they could effectively ‘steal’ or align with themselves, or so I was told, and St Oswald was that man, or rather that body, and so they stole him away from Bardney and took his to Gloucester, where his cult continued, and where Lady Æthelflæd and her husband, Ethelred, were later buried.
I’ve written about Oswald while he was alive, and of course, I’ve written about Mercia, Gloucester, Kingsholm, and Lady Ælfwynn. It was inspiring to finally see where the church once was, even if little remains of it, at least something does remain.
My new book, King of Kings, is a multi-viewpoint novel telling the story of events in Britain from 925-934. I thought it would be good to share details of the historical people my main characters are based on.
Owain of Strathclyde is perhaps the most difficult character in King of Kings to find in the historical record. Indeed, his place in the story is contested by historians, as we don’t know if the scribe of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of the time meant Owain of Strathclyde, or an Owain of one of the Welsh kingdoms. I decided to adopt the Owain of Strathclyde, but who exactly was he, and what was Strathclyde?
The kingdom of Strathclyde is also known by another name, that of Cumbria, and there is confusion in the sources and amongst historians about where it is and what it was. Alex Woolf suggests that by the events of 927, Strathclyde/Cumbria encompassed, ‘most of part of Lanarkshire, Dunbartonshire, Renfrewshire, Stirlingshire, Peebleshire, West and Mid-Lothian, eastern Dumfriesshire and Cumberland.’ (Woolf, A. From Pictland to Alba, 789-1070, Edinburgh University Press, 2007) p.155)
So who then were it’s kings? This again is far from as easy to state as might be thought. It’s believed that Owain of Strathclyde, succeeded his father, Donald II, to become king of Strathclyde, and in turn was succeeded by his son.
In 924, we are told that ‘the king of the Strathclyde Britons and all the Strathclyde Britons,’ (Swanton p.104) joined the king of Wessex, Edward the Elder’s alliance by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but Owain isn’t named. Indeed, and as said above, when we do get mention of Owain in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, he’s named as ‘king of Gwent,’ (Swanton, M. trans and edit The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, (Orion Publishing Group, 2000) p.107) even though there was no Welsh king of Gwent named as Owain at the time. It’s therefore difficult to get a feel for who he was, and what he did, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t include him in King of Kings. If anything, it made it all the more intriguing.
MJ Porter 