Excerpt Thursday: Bridge of Scarlet Leaves by Kristina McMorris

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical fiction author Kristina McMorris. Her novel  BRIDGE OF SCARLET LEAVES is set in during World War II, as the attack on Pearl Harbor changes America's destiny and the future of her characters.  Join us Sunday, when Kristina will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy. Here's the blurb:

In spite of her Julliard ambitions and family's wishes, violinist Maddie Kern secretly elopes with her Japanese American boyfriend—the night before Pearl Harbor is bombed. When her beloved Lane is evacuated to an internment camp, she dares to remain at his side. Behind barbed wire, tension simmers and the line between patriot and traitor blurs. As Maddie strives for the hard-won acceptance of her new family, Lane risks everything to prove his allegiance to America, at tremendous cost.  

Skillfully capturing one of the most controversial episodes in recent American history, Kristina McMorris delivers an authentic, moving testament to love, forgiveness, and the enduring music of the human spirit.

From Kensington Books and Avon/HarperCollins UK

March 2012 (Trade paperback)

**An Excerpt from Bridge of Scarlet Leaves**

May 1942 – Los Angeles, Calif.

Japanese American evacuation

Engines awoke in the distance, a stagger of roars that cinched Maddie's throat with panic. Her pace doubled in speed. Her leather heels clicked a staccato rhythm on the city sidewalk. She forced air in and out, in and out, against the burn crawling up the walls of her lungs.

Nine o'clock, that's what Lane's roommate had said when the operator connected his call that morning. Told her that his conscience wouldn't let him ship off without at least telling her Lane was in town, but if she wanted to see him, she had until nine o'clock.

She'd raced out the door. No time to think.

At last, she was almost there...

A young soldier stood up ahead. He hugged his bayonet-fixed rifle across his chest, his stance undoubtedly fresh from Army basic. He stared hard into the sky, as if reading his mission etched in the ribbon of clouds. The enemy, have to protect our country from the enemy.

The thought curled Maddie's fingers.

In a glance briefer than a blink, the GI sized her up, her ivory skin an armor of presumed innocence. She swerved around him, not missing a beat. To her left, personal effects awaited transit in a snaking queue. Cribs and ironing boards, labeled trunks and boxes. Their tags dangled in the spring sun.

Around the corner, evacuees were amassed before the steepled church. Red Cross volunteers handed out coffee.

"Lane! Where are you?" Her words died in the bedlam, smothered by a baby's cry, a rumbling jeep, a little girl's hysterics.

"But I don't want to go," the girl shrieked, face stained red. "Mommy, I want to stay with you!" Tears streamed from the slanted eyes that cursed the child, dripping trails down the puffy sleeves of her lilac dress. Two nuns pried her fingers from the Caucasian woman's arms and guided the youngster toward the bus.

"Everything will be fine, pumpkin," the mother choked out against a sob. "Mommy and Daddy will come see you soon." A suited man beside her added, "You be a good girl, now." His Anglo features contorted in despair as he limply waved.

A reporter snapped a photo.

Who knew a piece of paper could carry so much power? One presidential order and an orphan could lose another family; one signed petition and marriage vows could be unsaid. Thank God she hadn't mailed the papers yet. Stamped and sealed, but not mailed.

Maddie scanned the faces around her, their features similar to Lane's, but none as flawless. None bearing the deep beauty of his eyes, his smile.

"Lane!" she shouted louder. The trio of chartered buses was filling. Within minutes, he would be gone.

"Excuse me, miss. May I help you?" A priest touched her arm. His wrinkled face exuded warmth that penetrated the morning chill.

"Moritomos—I have to find them." Exhaust fumes invaded the air, causing her to cough.

He patted her back. "Now, now, dear. Let's see what we can do." They wove through the crowd, her gaze zipping from one figure to the next. Beige identity tags hung from lapels, around buttons.

Branded in their Sunday best like a herd of cattle.

"Sergeant," the priest called out. He stepped up to a bulky Army man in the midst of lecturing two privates. "Sergeant," he tried again, "I hate to interrupt, but..."

"Hold your water," the guy barked, before turning and noting the source. His shoulders lowered. "Sorry, Father. What is it you need?"

"This young lady, here, she's trying to locate a particular family."

"The Moritomos," Maddie cut in.

The sergeant sighed heavily as he lifted his clipboard. He flipped forward several pages and began his search through the list. With the top of his pen, he scratched his head beneath his helmet. He blew out another sigh.

This was taking too long.

Maddie leaned in, trying to see the smudged names herself. Maeda... Matsuda... Minami... Miyamoto...

THE SISTER QUEENS Winner!

We have a winner of Sophie Perinot's THE SISTER QUEENS. The lucky winner is: 


Pamala Knight!


Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

Women Who Ruled: Shajar al-Durr of Egypt

By Lisa J. Yarde

On May 2, 1250 AD the Mameluke slave-soldiers of Egypt declared the widow Shajar al-Durr as their ruler. When the Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad al-Musta'sim heard the news, he expressed the religious view, "Unhappy is the nation which is governed by a woman." He also suggested that if the Mameluke warriors had no men to lead them, he would happily provide acceptable candidates. Shajar's rise to power is even more remarkable because of her humble origin and status. How did an enslaved woman from the Eurasian steppes become ruler of an Islamic state in the medieval period, when her counterparts remained confined traditionally to the harem?

Mameluke soldier

More than a decade before her ascendancy, the woman who would become known as Shajar al-Durr, or Spray of Pearls, joined the retinue of slaves in the service of her future husband, as-Salih Ayyub. One of Saladin's great-nephews, as-Salih Ayyub chose Shajar as his favorite concubine. The death of as-Salih's father in 1238 threw Egypt into turmoil, as his sons and relatives battled for control of the region, a vital part of the Abbasid Empire that stretched from North Africa to Iraq. The conflict abated in 1240, when Shajar shared her husband's imprisonment. During their confinement, she gave birth to a son Khalil, who unfortunately lived for only three months. After her husband's release and his rise to power in Egypt, he gave Shajar authority to act in his stead whenever he was away from Egypt on various campaigns that consolidated his power. He delegated his power to her as Umm Khalil, the mother of his deceased son, and she held an official seal with that title.

The Mameluke Empire

In July 1429, as part of the Seventh Crusade, King Louis IX of France landed at Damietta on the Nile. Within five months, his army marched toward Cairo. Shajar returned with her husband from a campaign against one of his uncles. The ruler of Egypt faced a precarious situation; the Crusader army had landed on his shores while he endured a painful infection in his leg that became abscessed. He suffered an amputation, but within days left Shajar a widow. She acted decisively, by secretly sending word to Turan Shah, her husband's son by another woman and having her husband's servants go about their normal routines, including bringing meals to his tent. Later, Turan Shah defeated the Crusaders at the Battle of al Mansurah. He became ruler of Egypt in February 1250. He didn't endear himself by drinking alcohol against religious proscriptions, or by removing his father and Shajar's confidantes from positions of power and replacing them with his own men. The Mameluke soldiers assassinated Turan Shah three months later with Shajar's blessing.

Shajar al-Durr's coins

She had ruled Egypt in her husband's absence and would do so again. Among her titles, she became Queen of the Muslims. Friday prayers in the mosques mentioned her by name and she had coins minted with her titles. Yet, she could not perform the traditional tasks a new Islamic ruler would have completed, including the reception for princes and judiciary in which she would have accepted their personal oaths of loyalty, or the traditional procession of a new monarch through the streets of Cairo. After the Caliph's stinging rejection, the Mameluke government tried another solution. In August 1250, they suggested a marriage between Shajar and Aybak, the commander-in-chief of her army. Although he reigned with her, she never truly ceded power to her new husband. She made him divorce his first wife. Coins of the kingdom now bore both their names and all official documents required both their signatures. He even needed her permission before coming into her presence.

Shajar al-Durr's tomb in Egypt

In April 1257, Shajar decided to move against Aybak. Not only had her government forced her to share power with him, but she had learned that he intended to marry another woman. She arranged for his murder while he took a bath and later, feigned ignorance about his circumstances. Aybak's men did not believe her. They delivered her to the first wife of Aybak and her servants, who beat Shajar to death with wooden clogs and threw her body outside the palace. Her body remained in a ditch, defiled for several days until her interment.

For just 80 days, Shajar ruled the Islamic state of Egypt without relying on the power her husbands held. Ultimately, the traditional expectations of women and her own miscalculations about the exercise of power brought about her ruin.

Lisa J. Yarde writes fiction inspired by real-life events. She is the author of On Falcon's Wings, a medieval novel chronicling the star-crossed romance between Norman and Saxon lovers. She has also written the medieval novels Sultana and Sultana’s Legacy, both set during a turbulent period of thirteenth century Spain.

Guest Blog: Sophie Perinot

This week, we're welcoming historical fiction author Sophie Perinot. Her debut, THE SISTER QUEENS is set in 13th century England and France.  Sophie is here to talk about the novel and give away a copy. Remember, leave a comment for your chance to win. Here's the blurb:

Raised together at the 13^th Century court of their father, Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence, Marguerite and Eleanor are separated by royal marriages—but never truly parted.

Patient, perfect, reticent, and used to being first, Marguerite becomes Queen of France. Her husband, Louis IX, is considered the greatest monarch of his age. But he is also a religious zealot who denies himself all pleasure—including the love and companionship his wife so desperately craves. Can Marguerite find enough of her sister’s boldness to grasp her chance for happiness in the guise of forbidden love?

Passionate, strong-willed, and stubborn, Eleanor becomes Queen of England. Her husband, Henry III, is neither as young nor as dashing as Marguerite’s. But she quickly discovers he is a very good man…and a very bad king. His failures are bitter disappointments for Eleanor, who has worked to best her elder sister since childhood. Can Eleanor stop competing with her sister and value what she has, or will she let it slip away?

*Q & A with Sophie*

Why a book about sisters?

I’ve always been a sucker for stories about sisters, right back to the March sisters.  I suspect that’s because I am half of a pair of incredibly close sisters myself.  My first childhood memory is of my sister coming home from the hospital and we have been best friends ever since.  We were even college roommates.  I know with certainty that my relationship with my sister has been formative in my life.  If she had never existed I would not be the same person I am today.  These types of very primary relationships interest me because they are timeless.  The best themes in historical fiction are timeless aren’t they?

Why these sisters?

I stumbled upon the daughters of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence, by chance.  I was researching a project that is currently shelved, and there they were in a footnote in a book on the history Notre Dame de Paris (Marguerite’s image is carved over the Portal Rouge there).  According to the footnote all four of these sisters had made politically significant marriages yet I had never heard of them.  I wondered how such women could have largely slipped through the fingers of history.  And, to be frank, the fact that they had made me angry.  So, I started a manila folder with their names on it and vowed to come back and tell their story.  The Sister Queens is the result of that vow.

When I sat down to frame my novel I had to make decisions about what to include and how to focus it.  Ultimately, I decided to weave together the stories of the two eldest sisters—Marguerite who became Queen of France, and Eleanor who became Queen of England—not only because the marriages they made were more significant than those of their younger siblings, but because of their particularly close bond.  Despite being separated by the English Channel for long stretches of time, Marguerite and Eleanor were able to maintain a life-long friendship and their mutual devotion helped each to navigate the challenges posed by love, war, political intrigue and betrayal.

  

Although your sisters were the daughters of the Count of Provence, their mother’s family was very important to their lives and stories.  Tell us a little bit about the Savoyards.

The Savoyards were the equivalent of celebrities in the High Middle ages.  Beatrice of Savoy (Marguerite and Eleanor’s mother), had eight brothers who together represented a considerable amount of political, territorial and marital power.  As with celebrities today, hyperboles were used to describe the Savoyards in their own time.  For example, one of Marguerite and Eleanor’s uncles, the warrior-priest Guillaume, Bishop-elect of Valence, was lauded as a “second Alexander” by medieval chroniclers.  In addition to political savvy and military skill, members of the house of Savoy were also renowned for their personal attractiveness.  This combination—competence and looks—created a sort of buzz around them.  People wanted to be like the Savoyards, and people (even kings and popes) wanted to be seen with them.

The linchpin of The Sister Queens is the relationship between Eleanor and Marguerite of Provence but you also explore each woman’s relationship with her husband in great depth.  Why?

These relationships were absolutely central to the lives of my sister queens. Queenly power depended on marital harmony.  Whatever we may think about this fact in the 21^st century, the power and influence of these 13^th century royal women depended heavily on the state of their relationships with their kingly husbands.  Yes, each sister—and particularly Eleanor who had an array of Savoyard kin as advisors—carved out her own sphere of political influence at her husband’s courts.  But ultimately they needed to be on good (or at least not bad) terms with their kings.  A queen’s rupture with her husband could mean a devastating loss of power and even imprisonment (think of Eleanor of Aquitaine).  Even Eleanor and Marguerite’s rights to see their own children depended on the goodwill of their husbands.  This is one of the reasons why, later in the book, when Eleanor is given custody and control of her children as Henry prepares to go and fight in Gascony she is so greatly moved, and declares “here is a thing more important than the governance of England” (and mind you she has also been given the regency in his absence).

Human beings, whatever the century, have needs for love and companionship.  I believe that most of us (male or female) hope to have a mutual-supportive relationship with our spouse.  This was true in the 13^th century as well.  Yes, marriages, particularly those involving members of important noble houses, were arranged for political and inheritance reasons rather than for love.  But it does not follow that couples who entered into such marriages were not also seeking love and companionship.  After all, this was the golden age of the troubadours—ideals of courtly love, valor, and sexual pleasure were celebrated everywhere.  Many couples who made standard arranged marriages were in fact very happy.  Marguerite and Eleanor’s own parents, Raymond Berenger and Beatrice of Savoy, are a good example of this, and the girls grew up with that example before them.  It seems clear to me that both women left Provence hoping not only to be good queens and wives but to be happy in their marriages.

You say in the author bio at your website that you left the practice of law to pursue creative endeavors including writing – do you have a creative passion most readers might not know about?

I do indeed.  If you were to sneak a peek into my workspace in Virginia you’d notice that only half is a traditional writing space (desk, bookshelves, file cabinets).  The other half is a glass studio complete with torch and exhaust hoods.  This is where I do my Flameworking.

Flameworking (also called Lampworking) is an age-old process for making one-of-a-kind glass beads.  This is accomplished by heating glass rods to their melting point (about 1,700 degrees Fahrenheit for the glass I use) in a flame and then fashioning a bead of the desired shape and style using hand tools as well as the force of gravity.  You will never truly appreciate “round” until you have formed a bead by hand on a constantly turning mandrel, lol.  Perhaps not surprisingly, this is a hobby I share with my sister.  We decided to learn it together as adults.  We actually went to “camp” to get started.  It was a blast.

Thank you, Sophie, and best of luck with THE SISTER QUEENS.  

Excerpt Thursday: The Sister Queens by Sophie Perinot

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical fiction author Sophie Perinot. Her debut, THE SISTER QUEENS is set in 13th century England and France.  Join us Sunday, when Sophie will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy. Here's the blurb:

Raised together at the 13^th Century court of their father, Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence, Marguerite and Eleanor are separated by royal marriages—but never truly parted.

Patient, perfect, reticent, and used to being first, Marguerite becomes Queen of France. Her husband, Louis IX, is considered the greatest monarch of his age. But he is also a religious zealot who denies himself all pleasure—including the love and companionship his wife so desperately craves. Can Marguerite find enough of her sister’s boldness to grasp her chance for happiness in the guise of forbidden love?

Passionate, strong-willed, and stubborn, Eleanor becomes Queen of England. Her husband, Henry III, is neither as young nor as dashing as Marguerite’s. But she quickly discovers he is a very good man…and a very bad king. His failures are bitter disappointments for Eleanor, who has worked to best her elder sister since childhood. Can Eleanor stop competing with her sister and value what she has, or will she let it slip away?

**An Excerpt from The Sister Queens**

Before my mother took her leave of me at Lyon, she gave me the most rudimentary idea of what would happen on my wedding night.  “There will be pain,” she said earnestly, holding my two hands in hers as we sat side by side turned slightly together so that our knees just touched, “just as there will be when you bring forth the heirs of your husband’s body.  This is the price for the sinful pride of Eve.  But in it also lies a lesson: almost everything that you will take joy from in this life starts first with sacrifice.  Happiness must be paid for.”

I am a married woman.  Our vows were exchanged this morning on the steps of the Cathédrale Saint-Étienne while the carved figures of the ten virgins watched from above the central door.  And now I stand, virgin myself, trembling at the center of a bedchamber in the Archbishop’s palace.  It is richly hung with silks and strewn with flowers, just as the whole city is bedecked for the occasion of my marriage, yet I barely noticed.  Word has come from the King that I am not to be undressed.  My ladies think this strange.

“Perhaps,” I hear Alix de Lorgues murmur to the others as they open the door to depart, “he wants the pleasure of unwrapping her himself.”  The thick oak door falling shut behind them barely muffles the laughter this comment evokes.

I have nothing to do but wait in terror, and that will not do.  “The women of Savoy are prized for their serenity.”  I can hear my mother’s voice in my head admonishing Eleanor on the subject.  A frequent occurrence.  Would that my mother was here now, to hold me in her arms and soothe me.  I have missed her daily since we said our goodbyes, but never more than this moment.  Taking a seat on the edge of the bed I am determined to busy my mind with a closer examination of the room.  It is in most respects ordinary.  It does, however, contain the most elaborate prie-dieu that I have ever seen.  The prayer stool is heavily carved with extraordinary tracery and biblical scenes.  The carvings on the left side portray scenes from the life of the Virgin.  In the largest, a gilded holy spirit dips low over a swooning Mary.  Her hands are clasped and her eyes are closed, whether in joy or fear I cannot say.  At the moment the two emotions seem perilously close.  The right side has carvings of an all together different nature.  They offer scenes of the apocalypse and, as they provide no help for my nerves, I quickly turn my eyes elsewhere.

The door creaks.  My heart is in my throat.  Yet even so, I am aware of a strange sensation in a more private region, as if my blood is rushing there as well.  Louis smiles at me from the doorway.  He is so handsome.  I feel as if I know a secret or as if I have drunk too much of Father’s good wine, as Eleanor and I did once hiding beneath a table in the great hall at Aix. 

Rising quickly from my seat I drop low to a curtsey.  The effect of these rapid movements in combination with the wine I took at my nuptial dinner is to make me dizzy.  My unsteadiness must be noticeable for Louis comes forward quickly with gentle concern in his eyes and takes both my hands.  He touches the gold band that he placed on my third finger this morning.  “My lady wife you are unwell?”

“No, Your Majesty, only tired.  There has been so much excitement.”  And then, worrying that I might be mistook, and my comment taken as complaint, I quickly add, “In all my life I have never beheld such wondrous things as in the last hours.”

“Your life, Marguerite, has not been very long yet,” replies Louis with an indulgent smile, “I trust that today will be but the beginning of many ‘wondrous’ occasions.”

“With God’s grace, Your Majesty, I pray that I shall indeed have many years to prove myself a faithful wife to you and a worthy Queen to your kingdom.”

The earnestness of my tone is not lost upon Louis and serves to light up his face in a manner I have never yet seen.  He literally glows.  Pulling me to him, he whispers in my ear, “You must call me Louis when we are alone.”  Then his mouth finds mine.  Fear is driven back by the pressure of his lips.  As his tongue suddenly enters my mouth I find that I want him to touch me, even if there will be pain.  But as I press myself closer to him his mouth leaves mine and a groan like that of a man in agony issues from him.  What have I done?

Louis pushes me to arm’s length with great effort.  Gone is the radiant look.  Instead his eyes have a hungry and beseeching quality. “Will you pray with me?”

“Of course Louis, if you wish.”

Turning from me, my husband lights one of the tapers from the prie-dieu at a wall sconce then uses it to ignite the others.  Taking my hand again, this time touching only the tips of my fingers, Louis leads me to the kneeler.

Together we kneel down and my husband leads me in prayer.

Hours later I hear the bells of the Cathedral where we were married chime thrice.  Louis, who like myself has for some time been praying in silence, crosses himself and says aloud:  “O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you. . . .”

It is the prayer for Matins, we are half-way to dawn.  When he is finished, he rises stiffly.  “I would be in my rooms for Lauds,” he says by way of leave taking.  It is not clear whether he offers this information as explanation or excuse.

When he is gone, I get off my knees with great difficulty.  My legs are stiff and my feet nearly without feeling.  I stagger rather than walk to the great bed and fall upon it face first, fully clothed.  I am asleep before I can call for someone to undress me.  Asleep before I can even roll over.

Great Loves in History: Antony & Cleopatra--Was it Love or Politics?

By Stephanie Dray

Few lovers in history are more famous than the notorious Queen of the Nile and her Roman general. But was it love between them, or was their alliance one of mutual political need?


Cleopatra was a clever queen who had been swimming in the waters of a burgeoning Roman empire for some time. Antony was not--after all--her first Roman general. First, there was Julius Caesar, the father of her son Caesarion. A young queen in exile, she'd rolled herself out at the feet of the warrior, surrendering herself to his mercy, and hoped for the best. As it turned out, she was a shrewd judge of character. Caesar liked a girl with guts, after all, and they are said to have become lovers that very night.


Though Cleopatra is generally portrayed as the young seductress in this arrangement, we might want to remember that Caesar was many years her senior. He was an experienced lecher who held every last bit of power in the situation. It is more likely that he seduced her. However, the fact that he seems to have also fallen in love with her was much to her benefit. Caesar showed great favor to the young Egyptian queen, going so far as to install a gilded statue of her in his family temple. Some say that his infatuation with her appeared to be a midlife crisis of epic proportions. Cleopatra was no doubt very grateful to him; he had been her savior. He gave her a throne, slew her enemies, and left her with legions for protection.

Her relationship with Antony began on a different note entirely. After Caesar's assassination, she was forced to navigate the tricky waters of a Roman civil war. She certainly seems to have held her own. And though Antony summoned her to Tarsus for an accounting, she seems intent on meeting him as an equal, if not a superior. She went to him in a gilded barge, dressed as a goddess.


Their courtship was well-publicized. They were the Brangelina of their time. (Cleopantony?) They feasted. They wore costumed. They partied late into the night. She invited him to Egypt--and he accepted. There, they conceived their twins, Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios. A good time was had by all.


But the moment Antony was free to marry Cleopatra, he married Octavia instead. This leads some to wonder whether his heart was really in it when it came to Cleopatra. Similarly, as the man who would be known as emperor Augustus began to rise in power, Cleopatra needed Antony to advance her son's interests. When they got back together, it was because Antony needed Cleopatra's money and she needed his power. Reason enough for people to doubt that theirs was a love match.


However, I like to believe that hard choices show people's true colors. As we all know, Cleopatra and Antony lost the Battle of Actium. They lost the world. And in the end, they could have turned on one another. In fact, their enemy appears to have offered them both, individually, incentive to do away with the other. Both of them, in various ways, simply refused to part with the other.


Clearly, there was some distrust in the end. Antony worried that Cleopatra would betray him. She had to prove to him several times that she wasn't going to poison him or otherwise abandon him. When he killed himself, it was because--some say--he was certain that Cleopatra was dead, and then when he lay bleeding, found out that she was alive, and thought it was a trick. But the queen's behavior at the death of her beloved tells us everything.


She wept and howled and tore at her clothes and body in grief. She locked herself up with his corpse and tried to turn a knife on herself. Then she refused to eat at the very time she ought to have been negotiating with her conqueror. In short, she behaved like a person who lost someone she loved. And in the end, she followed Antony into death.


Their union may have been about politics...but it was also about love.


Images: Jean-Leon Gerome, Cleopatra before Caesar and Lawrence Alma Tadema, Antony and Cleopatra, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Stephanie Dray's SONG OF THE NILE and LILY OF THE NILE, are available now from Berkeley Books. Both novels are set in the Augustan Age and feature Cleopatra's daughter. 

Great Loves in History: Katherine Swynford & John of Gaunt

Blythe Gifford

In honor of this month’s theme, Great Loves in History, I am revisiting the story of Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt, son of King Edward III of England. These two are hands down, my favorite lovers of all time.

Immortalized in Anya Seton’s KATHERINE, their story is an amazing true tale of long time lovers who came to their happy ending late in life.
John, Duke of Lancaster, was, Alison Wier writes “the greatest English nobleman of his time”---chivalrous, rich, politically astute, a great warrior, tall, lean, and handsome. What’s more, it’s reported that 300 years later, a codpiece reportedly made for him was on display in the Tower of London and “better worth a lewd lady’s admiration than any piece of antiquity in the Tower.” (Alas, Wier goes on to expose this as the 18th century equivalent of an urban legend.)

Katherine Swynford, on the other hand, was daughter of a knight (Paon de Roet) and would have sunk into obscurity had it not been for the patron
age of Edward’s queen, Phillipa. She obtained this because her father was from the queen’s home country of Hainault and served her in England for many years.

We have little official evidence of Katherine. No letters and few documents remain, not even her will. What does emerge from the record, however, is almost universally flattering. She was beautiful, educated, pious, and comfortable at the highest levels of court.

In addition, she served as mother or surrogate mother to a blended family of more than ten children. They included three to four of her own (by her first husband), three to four of John’s children (by his first and second wives), as well as the four they had together. And she seems to have successfully created an atmosphere that allowed these pseudo-siblings to become fast friends for life.

Any modern day mother must stand in awe of her for this accomplishment alone.
As a sidenote, Katherine’s sister was married to Geoffrey Chaucer, the pre-eminent writer of the 14th century. This has sparked a game of “find Katherine” among some scholars, for he must have known his sister in law well. The picture here, excerpted from the frontpiece of Caucer’s TROILUS, has been identified as Katherine. (Thanks to Judy Perry for correcting my previous crop of this piece.) At the time the two began their affair, Katherine had already served as governess to John’s children with his first, and much beloved wife, Blanche. (Blanche was a paragon herself. Rich, beautiful, educated, it seems she and John also had a love match.)

Katherine, 22, was a widow with at least three children. John, a widower ten years older than she, had just married Constance of Spain, a political marriage and never a truly happy one.

Initially, the lovers were discreet. John may not have loved his new wife, but she was the key to his goal of assuming the throne of Castile. During their affair, Katherine bore him four children, the Beauforts, but largely stayed away from court (and the attention of the chroniclers) for many years. (From these children, eventually, descended kings of England and Scotland, but that is a story for another post.)

Among the touching evidence that has come down to us from John’s household records are regular gifts to “our very dear and well-beloved Dame Katherine de Swynford.” Among these are oak trees “suitable for building.” This sounds less than romantic to modern ears, but they were cut from forests he owned and used for improvements to her home, Kettlethorpe, where their children were raised.

Of course, all was not bliss. They were regularly apart as John was at court or fighting on the continent. Yet finally, around 1377 or 1378, he seems to have relinquished some of the pretense and Katherine was more and more seen at his side. This did not go unnoticed, and Katherine is called his “unspeakable concubine” by the chroniclers. But despite this, they also note, an unusual and telling entry, that she loved the Duke and their children. (This is a far cry from their description of his father’s mistress, Alice Perrers.)

John’s father had now died, and John was uncle to the new king, Richard II. It was a time of unrest, and when the peasants revolted in 1381, John’s London palace, the Savoy, was looted and then burned to the ground. Katherine, knowing her life and her family’s were in danger, went into hiding, probably at one of John’s northern castles.

Although the revolt finally subsided, it seems to have shaken John. Not only was his property destroyed, members of his household had been murdered. A pious man, he concluded that God was punishing him for his liaison with Katherine. (Political realities may also have been a consideration, for he had become a highly unpopular man.)

He publically broke off the nine year old affair, but also issued a “quit claim” that made it clear that any gifts and property he had given Katherine would remain hers. This document was issued on Valentine’s Day.

And so, the lovers parted.

Despite this, John continued to provide patronage to their children and even to Chaucer’s son, Katherine’s nephew. Meanwhile, the political times were difficult. New favorites came and went and King Richard alternately depended on his uncle and turned on him.

But in 1394, Constance died. John, contrary to all advice and to the horror of several of the highest born ladies of the court, petitioned the Pope for dispensation to marry Katherine and to legitimize their children.

So at 46 and 56, they became husband and wife and, Katherine informed the Pope, they celebrated their wedding with “carnal copulation.”

Until King Richard’s marriage to his second wife, Katherine, Duchess of Lancaster, 
was the highest ranking woman in England. She and John had less than five years together before John’s death and he was not well for most of that time. (John may not have been quite as faithful as his reputation. There’s some suggestion that his last illness was actually venereal disease.)

She survived five years after his death and lived to see John’s son, Henry IV, refer to her, his stepmother, as “the King’s Mother.” Her tomb in the Lincoln Cathedral is sketched to the right.

Much of this material is drawn from Mistress of the Monarchy, by Alison Weir, and The HISTORY OF A MEDIEVAL MISTRESS by Jeanne Lucraft. Those who read INNOCENCE UNVEILED may recognize that I used the birth of “John of Ghent,” subsequently John of Gaunt, as a key incident in the book. While I longed to give Katherine a cameo in The HARLOT’S DAUGHTER, which is set in Richard II’s court, I could not derive a way to do so that would serve the story as well as the author’s interest.


Blythe Gifford has written five, 14th century medieval romances for Harlequin Historicals featuring characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket, most recently HIS BORDER BRIDE. The Chicago Tribune called her work "the perfect balance between history and romance." A new trilogy, set on the Scottish Borders during the turbulent era of the Border Reivers, will debut in November.

Guest Blog: Sue McGhee

This week, we're welcoming author Sue McGhee, whose novel When the Eagle flies with the Condor begins during the turbulent 1960's, where the impact social change and warfare alter the characters' lives. Sue is here to talk about the book and give away a copy. Leave a comment for a chance to win. Here's the blurb:

When the Eagle flies with the Condor, there will be peace and brotherhood among nations. This is a two thousand year old prophecy and the underlying theme of the novel.  But the novel is about more than that. It is a story of brotherhood and love, revolution and war, survival and friendship, and begins with two coddled American youngsters whose father builds roads in an attempt to bring commerce to the natives of the backward and poverty stricken country of Bolivia. Their mother, uncomfortable and plagued with anxieties generated by constant political unrest, fills her days with trivialities and alcohol.

The children's care-free lives are disrupted when they must return to the U.S. for reasons unknown to them at the time. What follows is the boy’s anti-social response to what he ultimately deems a godless universe and his sister’s painful withdrawal caused by fears of abandonment by her family. As the children move into adulthood, their reactions to these inimical forces result in his joining the army and deploying to Vietnam, and her returning to South America as a sort of apprentice shaman ministering to the needs of the natives.

Their lives are played out against the backdrop of the 1960s and everything that volatile decade represents. They are players, yes, but they are astute observers as well, recognizing the similarities among the indigenous people of the world with their knowledge, latent power and untapped potential for good. Thus, the prophecy of The Eagle and the Condor comes into play with its message that at the beginning of the fifth Pachacuti (approximately the year 2000), the balance of power will shift and the indigenous peoples of the world will begin to resume their rightful place among nations. 

Q & A with Sue McGhee

                                                    

How did you become involved with the indigenous peoples of Bolivia?

As a child, I spent years in Latin America and learned to love these people. The natives live a hard life especially in the Altiplano and have been oppressed for centuries. I was friends with Olympia, Francisca and Simon or their proto-types, and the story of Olympia’s practice as a medicine woman and mid-wife was real as well as my involvement in it.    

Are you currently involved in supporting them?

No. Unless you consider this book a means of support. But I think their story is important. The current president of Bolivia, Evo Morales, is a native “cocalero” and he should appreciate what I’ve written about the coca leaf. I did sign a petition in January (2011) directed to the Secretary of State (Hillary Clinton) to remove the UN ruling of 1961 banning the natives from chewing or brewing the coca leaf in their own country because I felt it was an arrogant and embarrassing interference in the rights of the native peoples.   

The novel is about the sixties and not exclusively Bolivia. How were you able to write from the perspective of a soldier serving in Vietnam?

Well, I have a lot of audacity and as a result may get some flak from veterans though I haven’t yet. The philosophy of the warrior is innate within me. That may sound contradictory, since the theme of the book is really anti-war. But in presenting Nick’s side of the Vietnam era, I found I was more of a “Cincinnatus” (as he saw himself), than a “Rambo;” that is to say, if you have to fight to protect your family, your country and save your metaphorical farm from marauders, then take up arms and go fight. But don’t invade countries you have no business being in and becoming, as in the case of Rome and Great Britain, imperialists.  

How did you learn about shamanistic rituals? 

From my childhood living with Olympia and also, when I visited Bolivia and Peru in 2007. I needed to confirm my early impressions, which turned out to be amazingly accurate after all, the intervening years. We stayed with a family who lived high in the Andes with no indoor plumbing, no electricity and no phones. The grandfather threw the coca leaves as I’ve described in the book and his predictions turned out to be extremely insightful. Olympia’s grandfather who was a member of the Kallawaya was patterned after this gentleman. But the real Olympia was a very talented medicine woman/shaman as well.  

What is the relationship between Nick and Bernie supposed to signify?

I’m not sure. But I kept going back to the refrain, “write from the heart,” and I wanted to be honest. I wanted the relationship to reflect honor, commitment, love and devotion in this life as well as a universal spiritual connection and I believe I accomplished that. The kind of love between them is either “agape” or “philia” in the Greek and I’m not sure which one best describes it. I think that he is like a priest or teacher to her. I tried to make that clear in the book.     

Can you articulate an over-all theme of the book?

Brotherhood! And service. I believe we are all connected, that the indigenous peoples of the world are moving into an era where their voices will be heard and we will realize the importance of their contribution; that we must strive for peace and brotherhood among nations. Maybe that sounds corny, but I believe it will someday happen.

What advice can you give beginning writers today?

Learn the craft and stick to your vision! Take yourself very seriously even if others do not. It takes courage to put yourself, your beliefs, all that you are – out there for others to view and take pot shots at, so you need to develop a thick skin. Whatever the finished product is, it is, after all, your “baby.”    

Thank you, Sue, and best of luck with When the Eagle flies with the Condor.