Showing posts with label Colin Falconer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Colin Falconer. Show all posts

23 September 2013

The End of An Era: The 12-Year Old Girl Who Started a 100-Years War


You cannot blame a hundred years war on a 12 year old girl.

But you could perhaps blame William the Conqueror. When he took over the English throne in 1066 he retained possession of the Duchy of Normandy in France. Under feudal law, this meant that he and all future English kings owed homage to the king of France for their lands on the other side of the Channel.

The situation was always going to be a stone in the shoe of both monarchs.

Two hundred and fifty years later, Isabella’s marriage to Edward II of England was an effort to resolve the problem. Instead, it made it much worse.

Born in 1295, Isabella was the only surviving daughter of the wonderfully named Philippe the Handsome of France. At 3 years old, she was already being proposed as the bride for the King of England’s eldest son, Edward, to smooth negotiations for the Anglo-French truce of 1299.

Phillipe was not just a pretty face - he was thinking ahead; his own dynasty was secure - after all, he had three healthy sons. And if his daughter married England’s son, then his grandson would be King of England one day.

It must have seemed like a good idea at the time.

Edward was ten years older than his bride when they married. He was the youngest of fifteen children and his mother had died when he was 6. He had endured a miserable childhood and his father, the formidable Longshanks, had taken little interest in him.

But with exquisite irony, Edward was the only son to survive.

He lived in his father’s shadow then and always would. For despite his strapping good looks he just wasn’t king material. In fact he has been described by some historians as one of the most unsuccessful kings ever to rule England.

He was certainly outfoxed by Isabella. In 1325, she left England to conduct delicate negotiations with France over Gascony. She returned with a mercenary army and threw him off the throne.

By then her father was dead and two of her brothers soon after him. Some blamed the curse laid at her father’s door by Templar Grand Master Jaques Molay when Phillip burned him alive outside Notre Dame cathedral.  When her other brother Charles died as well in 1328 there was no clear successor to the throne of France. All three had died without a male heir.

Isabella transferred her claim to the throne to her eldest son, Edward, and actively encouraged him to pursue it as the closest living male relative of the late King Charles and the only surviving male descendant of the senior line of her father’s Capetian dynasty. By the English interpretation of feudal law, it made Edward III the legitimate heir to the throne of France.

But the French didn’t see things this way. Under France’s Salic law, males descended through the female line were disqualified from the succession. Besides, the French didn’t want an English king. So they crowned the dead king’s cousin, Charles of Valois, as their new monarch.

Though Isabella’s reign as regent of England was short - her son removed her and executed her lover when he was just eighteen - she continued to have great influence at court and kept up a healthy correspondence with all of Europe’s leading figures. She persuaded Edward to pursue his claims with full vigour. In 1337 Edward refused to pay homage to the French king for his lands in Aquitaine - so the French confiscated them. In modern parlance hostilities escalated from there.

The dispute led to the Hundred Years War - although the name is actually a later invention of historians, as it was actually three separate wars divided by periods of truce. From it grew the legends of Joan of Arc, Agincourt and the Black Prince.

The war had consequences Isabella could not have foreseen for her beloved France. The country was devastated by the war - it lost half its population - and spurred the growth of nationalism on both sides. It also brought about the fall of the French language in England, which had served as the language of the nobility and trade from the time of the Norman Conquest.

Yet it had all started with a marriage that was supposed to bring a lasting peace.

It was inevitable really, from that day in 1066 when Harold caught the arrow in his eye. Or was it Jacques de Molay’s curse?

It was only ironic that a woman who so prided herself on being a daughter of France so much should bear the son who started the war that brought her country to its knees.

ISABELLA, Braveheart of France, available now from Amazon US and Amazon UK

And also available as POD from Cool Gus publishing.



 

22 January 2012

Guest Blog: Colin Falconer

This week, we're welcoming renowned historical fiction author Colin Falconer. His best-selling novel, HAREM, is set in the Ottoman Empire during the reign of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, who is left spellbound by his newest slave girl, Hurrem.  Colin is here to talk about this fascinating book and give away a copy. Want to win it? Please leave your comment for Colin. Here's the blurb: 


He had everything a man might dream of; wealth, power and the choice of hundreds of the most beautiful women in his Empire. Why then did he forsake his harem for the love of just one woman, and marry her in defiance of the centuries-old code of the Osmanlis? 


This is the astonishing story of Suleiman, the one they called the Magnificent, and the woman he loved. 


Suleiman controlled an empire of thirty million people, encompassing twenty different languages. As a man, he was an enigma; he conquered all who stood against him with one of the world's first full time professional armies - yet he liked to write poetry; he ravaged half of Europe but he rebuilt Istanbul in marble; he had teams of torturers and assassins ready to unleash at a whim - yet history remembers him as a great lawmaker.

''Harem' literally means 'Forbidden': Forbidden to men. Once the Sultan was the only man - the only complete man - who could pass through its iron-studded doors. But what was that world really like?

For a woman living in the Harem the only way out was to somehow find her way into the Sultan's bed and bear him a son. But the young Sultan was often away at war and when he did return he neglected his harem for just one favourite wife. But one young Russian concubine inside his seraglio was not content to allow fate decide the course of her life. She was clever and she was ruthless. And she had a plan.

Into this world are drawn two unforgettable characters; a beautiful young Italian noblewoman, captured by corsairs and brought to the Harem as a concubine; and the eunuch who loved her once, long ago, in Venice.

Loved her? He never stopped loving her.

From medieval Venice to the slave markets of Algiers, from the mountains of Persia to the forbidden seraglio of the Ottoman's greatest sultan, this is a tale of passion and intrigue in a world where nothing is really as it seems. 



Q&A with Colin Falconer


How did the story of Harem come about?
Back in another incarnation, when I was working as a magazine freelancer, I got a commission from Playboy magazine to write about harems. You know, the racy stuff. But as I did my research I discovered that harems weren't anything like the male fantasy most Playboy readers would have liked. So I held back a lot of the research when I finally came to write the piece.

In particular, I discovered the story of Hurrem Haseki, the slave girl that Suleiman the Magnificent married and eventually made his queen. He even resigned his entire harem for her! There were so many intriguing gaps in the story. Was it a love story - or was it something else?

How much research was involved?
My initial research came from my local library. The head librarian would order in the books from all over the country and I would go in and collect them. But she never mentioned this to her staff. The girl behind the desk would go pale when I walked in and announced that I was there to pick up 'Unusual Sexual Practices in Ottoman Turkey' in three volumes or 'The Handy Guide to Castration.'

After I had the groundwork down, I spent a month in Turkey. My girls were only little then and I didn't want to be away from them that long so the whole family came! The best part for me was seeing the tombs of Suleiman and Hurrem side by side in the garden of the Suleimaniye mosque. Considering their history, it's very poignant and quite ironic. It felt like visiting the grave of someone I knew. The guide tried to tell me their history and it was completely wrong. Well either that or every book in the British Library was way off the mark. I'm betting it was him.

How did you come up with the story?
Historians know what happened but they can't rationally explain it. Why did Suleiman retire his harem? Why did he then later murder his son and his best friend? Scholars can't say because it would be pure conjecture: what happened in the harem stayed in the harem. No records were kept. So it all came down to reading between the lines - and that's what novelists are born to do.

People do not act rationally, no matter how important or royal or powerful they are, they're still human beings. The English royal family are a classic case. I had my own theories of why Suleiman and Hurrem did what they did, and I tested them out against what we know. It fitted perfectly, without changing a single historical fact. I don't know if I'm right - no one will ever know what really happened behind those walls - but if I am then she was one of the most extraordinary women in European history. Ruthless, intelligent, charming and brilliant. Love her or hate her, she was the most powerful woman you never heard of.


What was the most surprising thing to you?
I read some accounts written by actual eunuchs from the last century. The sad thing is, they never lost their psychological desire for women. They may have the lost the physical imperative but they said they still longed. I can't imagine how hellish that must have been. I also read accounts of former concubines who likened it to imprisonment - that was less surprising. The harem, as depicted in gauzy Victorian art and imagined in male fantasy, may seem like heaven - but it was actually hell.


Why did you republish?
I was so unhappy about the way the book was traditionally published here in the US in the first place. It was a massive best seller in Europe, translated into over a dozen languages - the only place it didn't do well was in the US. I just didn't think I was that bad a writer. I felt the publishers let me down badly. It was a boring cover, they changed the title and they gave it no marketing support. Hey, you must have heard this story a hundred times! So I re-jacketed and re-edited. I guess I'm out to prove a point. I think it's a great book. I think it deserved more. Much, much more. 

Thank you, Colin, and best of luck with HAREM. Visitors, please leave your comment to win a copy of this story.

19 January 2012

Excerpt Thursday: Harem by Colin Falconer

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming renowned historical fiction author Colin Falconer. His best-selling novel, HAREM, is set in the Ottoman Empire during the reign of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, who is left spellbound by his newest slave girl, Hurrem.  Join us Sunday, when Colin will be here to talk about this fascinating book and give away a copy. Here's the blurb:


He had everything a man might dream of; wealth, power and the choice of hundreds of the most beautiful women in his Empire. Why then did he forsake his harem for the love of just one woman, and marry her in defiance of the centuries-old code of the Osmanlis? 

This is the astonishing story of Suleiman, the one they called the Magnificent, and the woman he loved. 



Suleiman controlled an empire of thirty million people, encompassing twenty different languages. As a man, he was an enigma; he conquered all who stood against him with one of the world's first full time professional armies - yet he liked to write poetry; he ravaged half of Europe but he rebuilt Istanbul in marble; he had teams of torturers and assassins ready to unleash at a whim - yet history remembers him as a great lawmaker.

''Harem' literally means 'Forbidden': Forbidden to men. Once the Sultan was the only man - the only complete man - who could pass through its iron-studded doors. But what was that world really like?

For a woman living in the Harem the only way out was to somehow find her way into the Sultan's bed and bear him a son. But the young Sultan was often away at war and when he did return he neglected his harem for just one favourite wife. But one young Russian concubine inside his seraglio was not content to allow fate decide the course of her life. She was clever and she was ruthless. And she had a plan.

Into this world are drawn two unforgettable characters; a beautiful young Italian noblewoman, captured by corsairs and brought to the Harem as a concubine; and the eunuch who loved her once, long ago, in Venice.

Loved her? He never stopped loving her.

From medieval Venice to the slave markets of Algiers, from the mountains of Persia to the forbidden seraglio of the Ottoman's greatest sultan, this is a tale of passion and intrigue in a world where nothing is really as it seems. 

An Excerpt from HAREM

The courtyard was paved with almond-shaped cobblestones and dominated by an ornate marble fountain. Windows looked down from all sides. Hürrem felt as if the whole Harem was watching her.
This was the courtyard of the Sultan Valide! These were her apartments.
The guards hurried her to the centre of the court and there released her. 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'
'Sing, why? What is happening?'
But the men had done as they had been ordered and they wheeled away without another word, the sickle-bladed yataghans at their waists rattling in their scabbards. Hürrem stared after them.
She waited there for an eternity but no one came. Water murmured in the marble fountain. Perhaps the Kapi Aga had arranged an interview with Hafise Sultan? she thought. But then why had they insisted she bring her needlework? What else was it they had said? 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'
The Kapi Aga wanted her to break the sacred silence of the Harem?
She grew tired of waiting, found a cool spot in the shade of the fountain and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her, Osmanli style. She spread the handkerchief on her lap, took out her needle and went back to her embroidery. She chose to hum a love song her mother had taught her, about a boy whose horse had fallen in the snow, trapping him; as he died by inches on the winter steppe he told the wind how much he loved a certain girl and how he had never had the courage to tell her. He asked the wind to carry his words across the plain so that she would remember him. It was a stupid, sentimental song, Hürrem thought, but she had always liked the tune and after a while the words came back to her as well.
She soon forgot her initial anxiety and did not even notice the tall, slender figure in the white turban until his shadow fell across her lap.
'The first law of the Harem is silence.'
She looked up, startled. The man was standing with the sun behind his back and she had to shield her eyes against the glare. He did not speak like a eunuch and he was not black like a Nubian. There was only one other man who might walk freely here.
'Perhaps we should cut out the tongues of all the nightingales then. And the bees. We should do something about them also. All this incessant buzzing. Don't they know the rules?' There. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
For a moment he just stared at her. Hürrem remembered that her first action before speaking should have been to lower her forehead to the ground and make her obeisance. She put down her embroidery and went to her knees. She touched her forehead to the hot stones, a futile gesture, it was already too late. She should beg his forgiveness for breaking the silence. Well, there was no point now, he had spoken and she had answered him.
She was suddenly aware that the old Kislar Aghasi - the Chief Black Eunuch - was standing behind Suleiman, his face beaded with perspiration, fanning himself with a silk handkerchief. He looked as if he were about to faint.
'Do you know who I am?' Suleiman asked her.
'You are the Lord of Life.'
'What were you singing?'
'It was a song I learned from my mother, my Lord. A love song. About a stupid boy who let his horse fall on top of him.'
'He was singing to the horse?'
She giggled, then stifled it. 'I think not. I dare to say the horse had lost much of its charm by then.'
She heard him laugh. 'What is your name?'
'They call me Hürrem, my lord.'
'Hürrem? Laughing one. Who gave you that name?'
'The men who brought me here. They could not pronounce my name. Though I suspect they were not intelligent enough to pronounce their own names either.'
He laughed again. 'Where are you from, Hürrem?'
She squinted up at him. This was the moment for which she had gambled so much and all she could think about was the pain in her knees. How long would he make her squat here on these cobblestones? 'I am a Tatar,' she said. 'A Krim.'
'Do all you Tatars have hair of such amazing colour?'
'No, my Lord. I was the only one in my clan so burdened.'
'Burdened? I think not. It is quite beautiful.' He stroked her hair and held a lock of it in his fingers, as if he were examining a piece of material in the bazaar for quality and strength. 'It is like burnished gold. Is it not, Ali?'
The Kislar Aghasi murmured his agreement. Liar! Hürrem thought. You have only spoken to me once, and on that occasion you called me an undernourished carrot.
'Stand up, Hürrem.'
At last! She did as she was told. She knew she should lower her eyes, as she had been trained to do, but curiosity got the better of her. So this was the Lord of Life, the Possessor of Men's Necks, the Lord of the Seven Worlds! He was handsome, she supposed, but not especially so. There was the shadow of a beard on his face, which lent a certain majesty to his beaked nose. He had grey eyes.
He examined her head to toe, as the spahis had done the day her father had traded her. He did not seem especially displeased with what he saw yet when he had done he gave a long sigh. 'What is that you are embroidering?' he asked her.
'A handkerchief, my lord.'
'Let me see it.' She handed it to him. 'A fine piece of work. You have great skill. May I have it?'
'I have not finished …'
'Have it ready for me tonight,' he said and placed it carefully over her left shoulder. The Kislar Aghasi's eyes widened in shock. Placing a handkerchief on a girl's shoulder signified that she was now gözde, and that the Sultan wished to sleep with her. No girl had been so favoured since he had assumed the throne.
Suleiman walked away without another word. The Kislar Aghasi looked as if he would burst; then he remembered himself and hurried after him.
Hürrem stood there, frozen to the spot, long after they were gone. Her body trembled with triumph and excitement.
Gözde!I am in the eye! Now I just have to stay there.