Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Austin Hernon on THE WARRIORS OF THE CROSS (Book Two-Robert: The Wayward Prince)

This week, we're pleased to welcome again author Austin Hernon with his latest novel, THE WARRIORS OF THE CROSS, book two in the series, Robert: The Wayward Prince.  The author will offer a free copy of book two of Robert: The Wayward Prince to a lucky blog visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Robert, Duke of Normandy, eldest son of William the Conqueror, responds to the clarion call of Pope Urban II to Christendom. In the company of the foremost nobles from Europe he undertakes a mission to liberate Jerusalem in what comes to be known as the First Crusade.

Robert, passionate and idealistic, is inspired by the idea of fighting for God against the heartless infidel – but comes to change his mind as he witnesses the godless behaviour of other Christian lords, some of whom he counted friends.

Over a long arduous journey Robert discovers that the hearts of men, Christian or not, are swayed by lust for blood, land and power. As the physical privations set in, through the deserts of Asia Minor and especially at Antioch, and fear and danger take their toll, he sees avarice and treachery overcome Christian motives and is appalled at the resulting bloody chaos. But like it or not Robert is a leader, and if he hopes to return to the woman he loves in Italy he must bring his military skills to bear to ensure his decimated war-band survives to take Jerusalem.

**Q&A with Austin Hernon**

 

This is the second of your fictional biographies, following the life of Robert Curthose, eldest son of Robert of Normandy. How closely are you following the true history, as we know it?

As closely as I can. The book started off as a project to learn more about Robert, Duke of Normandy and it was his forgotten history that inspired me to put pen to paper. I wondered why someone who I’d barely heard of could still lay claim to such a magnificent tomb in Gloucester Cathedral, and once I learnt who he was I needed to find out more about what he did, why he never came to the English throne and why the Conqueror’s other sons practically wrote Robert, the first-born, out of history. It’s been a fascinating journey. I’ve discovered a lot about Robert that biographers and chroniclers haven’t spotted – or at least I’ve discovered the possibilities of these endeavours and events. Robert’s leadership skills in the First Crusade is understated in the chronicles but I started digging, and found out more and more about how impressive he was; courageous and crafty in equal measure. He also, it seems to me, was ultimately a truthful man, without any side to him, as we’d say today; no ulterior motives. This might have been his undoing in terms of his personal ambitions as he could never quite grasp, until it was overwhelmingly evident, that other men might not be the same. Yet in the First Crusade, as far as I can tell, he didn’t succumb to the bloodlust nor the power-lust that gripped the other Christian leaders. Robert The Wayward Prince remains a work of fiction, and truth will always bend a knee to plot and pace in a novel, but the book’s raison d’être was to find out more about this intriguing man and get a glimpse into a fascinating historical period through his eyes, and that’s what I hope I’ve achieved.

 

Was writing this second book very different from the first?

 

Yes, very. I was finding my feet as a writer much more with the first book and that took a long time. Originally the first book was written in third person rather than first, and it was only when I tried first person – at the suggestion of editorial consultancy Fiction Feedback  – that I found my way. The writing, and Robert, came alive. By the time it came to the second book I understood much more what was involved, in terms of research, planning, the actual writing and the editing process. It was much more straightforward as a result, and I think a better book. I was able to do more justice to Robert and these calamitous events in his life because I had developed my novel-writing skills.

The Warriors of the Cross tackles some very pertinent themes, with Christian and Moslem cultures clashing in the Middle East. Did you have present situations in mind when writing the book?

No, not at all. I simply set out to tell Robert’s story, and it is sad coincidence that what was international headline news almost a thousand years ago is so again. But naturally enough, as I was researching and planning Robert’s story with all its incidents in modern-day Turkey, Syria, Lebanon and Israel, I couldn’t help but notice and draw parallels with then and now. I hope they don’t increase.

I think that seeing the world through medieval eyes has given me an extra perspective on contemporary crises and troubles. But I can’t help but draw the lesson that the lesson of history is that we never learn, as has been said before by people wiser than me. People are people, and human nature doesn’t change very much, so it’s not so surprising that history should repeat itself. And I have no time for people who blame religion itself for these wars. Followers of Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, whatever: it’s the practitioners of religions who bring about such crises, not the religions themselves who often preach peace and love, tolerance and forgiveness.

Some aspects of the First Crusade are quite gory. Here and there you give full rein to your descriptive powers in showing us scenes of deadly combat and carnage. Did you find this at all difficult?

 

No, not particularly. I kept it within the limits of what I felt comfortable with. I don’t like reading pages and pages of graphic violence in fiction or non-fiction so I only introduced a paragraph here and there when not to do so would give a false impression of events, or inadequately explain people’s reactions to what was going on.

 

Violence and bloody death was much more a part of everyday life in 1095 for many more sections of society: for nobles, churchmen and politicians as well as the rank and file. It can’t remain undescribed, but to ascribe too much space to it would I think have the opposite effect of naturalism, as it would elevate it to a significance that it wouldn’t have had then. But of course, when you have a character battling to the death with fearful foes all round, or losing a close friend in warfare, or even hearing about atrocities committed elsewhere, you have to do such things justice in the writing or the characters and the story itself would be insipid and unreal.

 

There are also several scenes of a romantic or sexual  nature in your book. What do you say to those who might gripe that they have no place in the story of a hard-bitten soldier?

Robert was a heterosexual man like any other and my novels don’t pretend to be military histories. They’re about a man and his full life. Robert liked the ladies and they liked him: again it would seem unrealistic not to include some scenes of sex and love. Leaving them out wouldn’t do his story justice!

The book ends on quite a cliffhanger about events back in England. What next for Robert, Duke of Normandy?

That’s the job of the third book to tell. It should be published later this next year – meanwhile there’s a lot of juicy gossip and historical fact on my website at www.waywardprinceproductions.co.uk

 
 

 

Learn more about author Austin Hernon

Excerpt Thursday: THE WARRIORS OF THE CROSS (Book Two-Robert: The Wayward Prince) by Austin Hernon

This week, we're pleased to welcome again author Austin Hernon with his latest novel, THE WARRIORS OF THE CROSS, book two in the series, Robert: The Wayward Prince. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. The author will offer a free copy of book two of Robert: The Wayward Prince to a lucky blog visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Robert, Duke of Normandy, eldest son of William the Conqueror, responds to the clarion call of Pope Urban II to Christendom. In the company of the foremost nobles from Europe he undertakes a mission to liberate Jerusalem in what comes to be known as the First Crusade.

Robert, passionate and idealistic, is inspired by the idea of fighting for God against the heartless infidel – but comes to change his mind as he witnesses the godless behaviour of other Christian lords, some of whom he counted friends.

Over a long arduous journey Robert discovers that the hearts of men, Christian or not, are swayed by lust for blood, land and power. As the physical privations set in, through the deserts of Asia Minor and especially at Antioch, and fear and danger take their toll, he sees avarice and treachery overcome Christian motives and is appalled at the resulting bloody chaos. But like it or not Robert is a leader, and if he hopes to return to the woman he loves in Italy he must bring his military skills to bear to ensure his decimated war-band survives to take Jerusalem.

**An Excerpt from The Warriors of the Cross

(Book Two-Robert: The Wayward Prince)**

Robert is re-acquainted with Matilda, la Gran Contesse, in Lucca, Italy, on his way to Jerusalem.

Chapter 2: An Italian Winter

At the reception.

That evening, suitably cleansed, we attended Urban’s court. He was surrounding himself with the mighty of northern Europe, who, coming to give muscle to the holy cause, did not entirely believe in his positioning as the leader of this venture. He might have the words to move people’s hearts, but this was now a military matter, prayers having failed so far to release the holy city of Jerusalem. Nevertheless we attended in good spirit being quite certain of our impending success in the matter.

            Stephen of Blois, Robert of Flanders, Duke Allen of Brittany and me: together we were all dressed in our finest. Odo and Gilbert had also dug out some suitable vestments from their baggage and we made an impressive entrance to the cathedral where Urban was due to lead us in prayers.

            At the front, only partially visible through the fug of incense, and suitably shielded by her close attendants, Matilda was sitting in demure majesty, ensuring that none would mistake the fact that here sat the chiefest woman in all of Europe. I made no attempt to approach her, what secrets we held would remain between us.

            When the prayers were over, Urban made full use of the opportunity to deliver yet another tedious homily, in praise, it seemed, of his idea of bringing all these magnificent warriors here to one place in order to fulfil his heavenly vision. In the end the message lingered too long and went a little astray, so that the congregation were pleased to hear the amen and were ready to leave but there was another little ceremony before that release came.

            A priest came to speak to Odo, who after a word turned to me and asked, ‘Where is your papal banner, Robert?’

            I looked at Ragenaus and he nodded his head towards the door.

            ‘Will you fetch it for me, please, Ragenaus.’

            He went off and I turned to Uncle Odo.

            ‘There is to be a blessing of emblems and the prince of France will also receive a banner of St Peter like yours,’ explained the bishop.

            ‘What prince of France?’ I queried.

            ‘That colourful youth sitting at the front, that is Hugh of Vermandois, brother to King Phillip.’

            As I peered through the fog of incense to try and see this royal brat Ragenaus returned and thrust the lance with the banner into my hand and Odo pushed me towards the front, where the pope was wai

            I approached, and Hugh turned to give me a glance before he knelt. He was well above me in height and I might have detected a little in-built sneer upon his lips. Snotty little git. I knelt alongside him and the pope uttered another well-rehearsed homily as our banners were  drenched by a pair of over-enthusiastic priests. My head received a share of the holy water and I grinned at Hugh as we stood up; he smiled a little and seemed less haughty. We might get on, if he behaves himself.

            ‘Are you Robert of Normandy?’ he asked politely.

            ‘I am,’ I replied. He hesitated as if awaiting some kind of accolade, then introduced himself.

            ‘I am Hugh, Prince of France.’

            ‘Then, Hugh, we have a common purpose in coming here. We may meet again.’

            ‘D’accord,’ he said as I spied Matilda looking at me from her front seat, a definite smirk playing around her lips. I threw my gaze to the heavens and walked back to Odo, my mind on things other than the blessing of banner

            The principal guests were escorted to a grand chamber where the atmosphere became a little less formal and we were able to circulate freely.

            Among the movers was Matilda. She gradually drifted in my direction so that after a while we were able to engage in a conversation, of suitably public content, in public.

            ‘Contessa Matilda,’ I bowed and almost made a meal of her proffered hand, ‘we must thank you for the arrangements you have made to receive us. Here are those who would help us in our quest. Stephen of Blois, my brother-in-law. Robert of Flanders, my cousin, and my former brother-in-law, Allen, Duke of Brittany.’

            ‘Thank you, Prince Robert, quite a family affair I see. It is the least that I can do when you have travelled so far in our holy cause.’ She turned to Stephen and Flanders, neither of whom could resist a modicum of flirting when the opportunity presented itself. ‘My lords! Have you found your quarters to your satisfaction?’

            Stephen and Robert fell over themselves to claim the hand of this regal power broker. Diminutive, her hair now a fading russet blond, but her eyes still a piercing blue, she commanded the space about her in a way that few men could manage. Matilda could charm and flirt with the best of them – and proceeded to do so. I watched a while in some amusement as the trio did their best to outshine each other in courtly manners.

            Looking about the hall I noted that Odo had cornered Urban, oh well – he has bored us for long enough tonight, I expect that Odo will return the favour. Then I spotted Payne and Ragenaus standing against a wall, appearing bored.          

‘What?’ I mouthed. Payne cupped his hands under his chest and lifted up non-existent breasts, casting his eyes to the ceiling. Of course, the hall was bereft of women; only we had the privilege of Matilda. I thought to enquire.

‘You seem to be the lone ambassadress for women tonight, my lady,’ I said, nodding towards my young men. ‘Are there no ladies for my young dogs to talk to?’

            Matilda, sharp as a blade, took in the situation at a glance and beckoned over one of her attendants. ‘Take those two down to the festival in the marketplace, and keep them safe.’

            ‘Sì, Contessa, they will enjoy la musica, no?’

            ‘Sì, and anything else they can lay their eyes on.’ She grinned at me and lifted an eyebrow.

            ‘That big one will be very popular, I believe.’

            ‘Mm, that is Payne Peverel. He comes from the hills of northern England, so not the same as my Saxon archer you’ll remember.’

            ‘No, but interesting all the same.’ Capricious Matild

Suddenly I became irritated by my unctuous comrades’ efforts to impress the lady and I turned the subject of the conversation to more pressing matters.

‘What news do you have you for us, Contessa? Has my friend Bohemund reached Constantinople yet?’

‘I’ve not yet heard, Robert. But no doubt he’ll be in the company of Emperor Alexios soon.’

‘Huh! That will be an interesting meeting; they were at war with each other not so long ago.’

‘True, and who says that they will not resume their squabbling after the holy city has been recovered? There is more to tell. Raymond of Saint-Gilles is marching his French army across northern Italy towards Hungary. Duke Godfrey of Bouillon is leading a large formation of his own troops from Flanders and Lorraine. Some German soldiers have joined him, and I believe that he favours the same overland route.’

My brother-in-law replied, ‘He commands great respect in the north, and has lots of money. It seems that we will be well supported, my lady.’

‘Yes, Count,’ she responded, a little awkwardly as the points of his perfect beard threatened her very eyes. She moved back a little from his too close attentions and replied politely. ‘The Lord has provided; we are blessed in our endeavours.’

‘And our horses.’ I remembered that small point. ‘What of Aethilheard; you remembered him from our previous visit?’

‘Ah, yes!’ responded the Contessa with a light in her eyes, ‘and the Saxon prince, Edgar, sent by your father as our wedding guest. Are they all like that in England? I must pay a visit.’

‘My lady,’ I replied, ‘the land is full of blond-haired, blue-eyed warriors with moustaches. You liked the Saxon?’

‘I did, he was amusing, Robert. He idolises you.’

‘He does? I suppose so. You know how much I trust him?’

‘He was carrying quite a lot of your money. Anyway, Aethilheard has gone with some fine horses to Constantinople; I made some good deals and your blond friend has some spare monies in his purse.’

‘Thank you. We will need it, I expect, before this matter is done with. You said some.’

‘Yes, we have a limited supply of steeds suited to the North African climate, I am arranging for more to be taken to Cyprus. They will be kept there in readiness for you; and I am helping you with the costs, to include placing some Genoese ships at your disposal.’

‘You honour me, gracious lady.

It was difficult to keep my hands off her… and she knew it, laughing silently in her eyes. I hoped that her under-linen was as wet as mine.

‘Not so, Prince Robert, we both honour God in this matter, and trust in his blessing.'

 

I nodded, and dribbled, and she went to engage in conversation elsewhere. I caught Stephen studying my face and he made to speak, but I gave him a warning glance, so he swallowed his words and kept silent. There would be no rumours to trouble the lady’s reputation, not if I had anything to do with it, but I could not stop Allen, who was not so well informed as to the purpose of my previous visit.

‘What wedding, Robert? Have I missed something?’

I pondered for a moment.

Stephen said, ‘You might as well tell him, everyone else knows.’

‘Tell me what?’ the irritated Breton asked.

‘My father had marriage plans for me and Matilda. We decided otherwise.’

‘Jesu, Robert. You mean you and she have never…’

‘No, Allen, by God’s bollocks, we have never…’

‘Mon Dieu!’ chortled Flanders, with a snort of derision, ‘you are all over each other like panting dogs.’

‘Piss off, Rob, someone will hear you.’

But they would not leave the subject and Allen tried again.

‘King William sent you to marry the Contessa, and you returned to Normandy bride-less?’

‘I heard that he was not pleased, Robert,’ said Stephen.

‘By God he was not likely to be. What did he say?’ probed Allen.

‘Quite a lot,’ I mumbled.

‘Yes indeed, Robert, you went off somewhere just after your return, I remember it being a cause for discussion with your sister,’ Stephen added, being helpful.

‘Why wouldn’t she marry you?’ Allen persisted.

I pulled them close, and in a whisper told them.

‘Matilda has Normans to the south, Germans to the north, and a reputation to keep inviolate with the Church. Marrying me would not be helpful.’

‘God’s bollocks,’ exclaimed Allen, ‘a Norman domain stretching to the Alps? The Germans would not like that.’

‘Mon Dieu,’ added Rob, ‘she cannot have men clambering into her bed; the Church is strange about such things. No wonder she will not marry.’

‘God’s miracles, you are too loud, someone might overhear us,’ I whispered in frustration.

‘It will only be a blind man, my prince, everyone else can see how you are with her for themselves.’ Stephen was trying to calm me.

‘Oh, please don’t make it worse,’ I pleaded.

The trio looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders in unison, and chimed in unison.

 ‘We see nothing, Mighty Prince.’

‘Bollocks, you lot. I’m going to rescue the pope from Uncle Odo.’

‘Before you go, Robert,’ the solid figure of the Duke of Brittany placed itself in my path, ‘tell me something. Did your father withhold the crown of the English from you because of this?’

I looked him in the eye. A bit rough was Allen, but sharp.

‘It did not help… that’s all I know.’ I left to find Odo, and in truth, that was all I knew.

After a few days, when the great and good had finished with their intelligence-gathering, bargaining, wheeling and dealing – and attempts at flirtation – we set off for Rome in three parties. Firstly the pope and his never-ending retinue, skirts and banners flapping in the breeze, followed by Matilda and her troops, armour and standards flying, then I came along behind with my northern cavalcade with my standard and gonfalon held high – and of all that display of pomp only mine were bound for Jerusalem.

Learn more about author Austin Hernon

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Austin Hernon on ROBERT - THE WAYWARD PRINCE

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Austin Hernon with his latest novel, ROBERT - THE WAYWARD PRINCE. The author will offer a free copy of Robert - The Wayward Prince in Kindle format from Amazon to a lucky blog visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Although Robert was the eldest son of William the Conqueror, he was not his favourite; in fact they spent most of Robert’s life at odds with each other. Robert’s disdain for his father’s cruelty and obsession with power, and William’s displeasure with his son’s demeanour and attitude to civic duties rendered the pair incompatible. Only Matilda the queen, wife of William and mother of Robert, was able to keep the peace between them.

Nevertheless, King William was not slow to deploy Robert’s other talents to ensure the security of his domains and his expansionist desires – King William had plans for Wales, and was considering expanding his influence across the Alps into Northern Italy.

A Norman empire from Northumbria to Constantinople was firmly in the mind of William when he set about putting his warrior son to the test, diplomacy and dynasty were the weapons which the king deployed from Robert’s armoury – in addition to the sword.

See how Robert’s diplomacy keeps the Scots at bay, how his skill-at-Arms cannot be bested, and mostly, how he loves.

There is Morberga, Nordic blond, from stable girl to lady of the court, as Robert loses his heart to her stately beauty.

Then Tegwin, raven haired and fiery horsewoman, imported from North Wales to beget with Robert a prince for a united Wales.

King William’s other target, Matilda of Canossa, de facto ruler of Northern Italy, the pope’s general and nemesis of the German Emperor, Heinrich IV.

See how this extraordinary family, chaotic at the best of times, are plunged into near anarchy when the Conqueror dies suddenly, leaving three brothers to sort out the subsequent mess for themselves.

Then witness the genesis of the fracture between Islam and Christianity, and how Robert found himself cast in the role of Saviour of Jerusalem.

This is a wide-ranging tale of love and war, loyalty and treachery, obsession and ambition, which will hopefully cast some light upon the previously ignored effigy of a duke, lying in the gloom of an aisle in Gloucester Cathedral.

**Q&A with Austin Hernon**

Austin Hernon, author of Robert – The Wayward Prince, first book in the Norman Princes trilogy, talks to us about whether historical fiction in some cases presents a more likely and fuller interpretation of the facts and figures than academic historians can allow themselves to do.

Why do you think that novelists can come to different conclusions from academics using the same facts?

Even where the facts are not in dispute, the difference between academic histories and novels is the words which fiction authors use to fill in the spaces between facts. Academics have opinions too, but they’re generally more reluctant to ‘imagine’ than are novelists; they usually want hard evidence if not proof before venturing an opinion. Novelists can apply a test of reasonableness, which may be argued against, but which may not be disproven.
It is very useful for novelists when the facts are in dispute. This occurs in any period of history, but the further you go back the more likely it is, when surviving evidence is considerably less than for later times. Any time of seismic change and turbulence such as the eleventh century will also provide fertile ground for the imagination of novelists. This is where I can fill in the spaces using my own experiences and life skills as well as old-fashioned historical research, and where the novelist has a big advantage in having the freedom to put flesh onto the bones of history.

Can you give an example?

Probably the best thing to look at in this regard is character. Most of the women in Robert’s story are real historical figures, and need to be accorded the respect due to them; however, there is a problem. Nearly all of the source material was written by monks, on behalf of Church or State, and with a degree of misogyny which the modern mind will find astonishing in its arrogance.

To be included within any chronicle a woman had to be exceptionally important, or do some deed which was exceptionally noteworthy; ordinary women apparently did not exist in the eleventh century. I’ve obviously not followed this lead but shown the world as it would truly have existed then as now: made up of both men and women. I’ve given a role to women who existed but were never mentioned, for example Robert’s daughter. This woman was married to one of the most powerful men in Normandy, Helias of Saint-Saens, but nobody has thought fit to mention her name. I have; she is Agnes. I’ve also explored powerful female characters who undoubtedly had a major impact on events and on historical characters. Foremost among these is Tegwin, Robert of Normandy’s Welsh mistress and mother of two of his children. While the evidence proves the existence of such a woman, it is very slender; as a novelist I’ve been able to bring life to the woman and to her influence on Robert and his history.

You have questioned the motives behind some of the chronicles of the time. Can you expand your argument as to their value?

I’ve used several academic works in my research and all the authors, to a varying degree, use the same sources. There are differences in nuance, but broadly speaking they agree on ‘facts’, and this is where my own scepticism comes in.

a.                  Insufficient weight is often given to who was writing the chronicles and when. The victors get to write their history and just as historians and record-keepers in the times of the Tudors made sure to trample the reputation of the Plantagenets, especially Richard III, to give credence to Henry VII’s rather dubious claim to the throne and the validity of the dynasty that followed, then those writing in the reign of Henry I had to trash Robert of Normandy to justify their patron’s seizure of the English throne. Later chroniclers may have followed their lead and merely repeated any adjustment of the facts.

b.                  The chronicles were written in Latin, by hand, by order, and are subject to interpretation, both by early and by modern scholars. Who knows what nuances of language are contained in scripts written a thousand years ago.

c.                   The oldest modern ‘Life of Robert’ was published in 1921 and the newest in 2008 but even in that short time span there are slight differences of emphasis and some slight differences in interpretation.

d.                  Other facts come from writings in other languages, by other authors, and have also been through the mill of interpretation more than once. What has been missed, or added, or coloured, during these processes? We can only guess.

So do you think that the scholars have got Robert wrong?

No, not any more than lawyers are wrong, or right, when they use the same facts to persuade a jury to think one thing or another. In the same way the scholars are not necessarily wrong; I just take a different view.

However, you might ask yourself why Robert of Normandy has an effigy in a place of high regard in Gloucester cathedral. The effigy was installed some years after his death, so how could such an insignificant character attract such undying veneration? –You might like to ponder that one.

You have not held back from the graphic portrayal of Robert’s love life. Was that necessary?

Certainly, this is the story of the life of a man. He was a prince and a duke, but like other men he had a love life – and what is more indicative of a man’s true character than how he treats women? To see how he was held in respect and loved by several ladies will tell you more than any simpering allusions ever will. Enjoy the experience of the whole man, with no veils drawn.

You have picked a rather obscure character to begin your novelist’s life with, why Robert?

I was actually researching the Highland Clearances, I wondered where the arrogance to inflict that sort of injustice came from – the trail led back to the Normans, and the change in style of governance, the obsession with land and power and the autocratic control of society. Here I found Robert, he was a challenge but the chronicles had left too many loose ends lying around, it was obvious that another, earlier injustice had played a part. So I pulled history apart and came up with a real character and a fascination glimpse into the realpolitik of the time.

Learn more about author Austin Hernon at www.waywardprinceproductions.co.uk

Excerpt Thursday: THE GETTING OF EMPIRE (Book One - Robert: The Wayward Prince) by Austin Hernon

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Austin Hernon with his latest novel, THE GETTING OF EMPIRE, in the series, Robert: The Wayward Prince. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. The author will offer a free copy of book one of Robert: The Wayward Prince in Kindle format from Amazon to a lucky blog visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Although Robert was the eldest son of William the Conqueror, he was not his favourite; in fact they spent most of Robert’s life at odds with each other. Robert’s disdain for his father’s cruelty and obsession with power, and William’s displeasure with his son’s demeanour and attitude to civic duties rendered the pair incompatible. Only Matilda the queen, wife of William and mother of Robert, was able to keep the peace between them.

Nevertheless, King William was not slow to deploy Robert’s other talents to ensure the security of his domains and his expansionist desires – King William had plans for Wales, and was considering expanding his influence across the Alps into Northern Italy.

A Norman empire from Northumbria to Constantinople was firmly in the mind of William when he set about putting his warrior son to the test, diplomacy and dynasty were the weapons which the king deployed from Robert’s armoury – in addition to the sword.

See how Robert’s diplomacy keeps the Scots at bay, how his skill-at-Arms cannot be bested, and mostly, how he loves.

There is Morberga, Nordic blond, from stable girl to lady of the court, as Robert loses his heart to her stately beauty.

Then Tegwin, raven haired and fiery horsewoman, imported from North Wales to beget with Robert a prince for a united Wales.

King William’s other target, Matilda of Canossa, de facto ruler of Northern Italy, the pope’s general and nemesis of the German Emperor, Heinrich IV.

See how this extraordinary family, chaotic at the best of times, are plunged into near anarchy when the Conqueror dies suddenly, leaving three brothers to sort out the subsequent mess for themselves.

Then witness the genesis of the fracture between Islam and Christianity, and how Robert found himself cast in the role of Saviour of Jerusalem.

This is a wide-ranging tale of love and war, loyalty and treachery, obsession and ambition, which will hopefully cast some light upon the previously ignored effigy of a duke, lying in the gloom of an aisle in Gloucester Cathedral.

**An Excerpt from Robert - The Wayward Prince**

January 1079. Gerberoy, France.

Midday came soon enough. We had used the short interval to prepare our accoutrements and sharpen our weapons, and as no message arrived we mounted and rode out of the gate. I led my two flanks in columns behind me until we were clear of the mound and ditch, when we moved into a line across the meadow. There we waited until a priest appeared in front of us and gave a blessing.

            I was only half aware of his prattling, concentrating instead on the movements on the horizon some three hundred paces to our front, where the French were forming up and making ready to confront us.

            I had no quarrel with the French, or King Philip, but this was now a matter of honour; go back to my father and accept his peace or stay here as a won right and see if I could negotiate some kind of peace.

            Shortly the priest was done; whatever heaven thought of the matter it was now in the hands of mortals on earth, and the horses between our legs knew it. Prancing, pawing, snorting and biting at each other as they were brought tightly together, rubbing against each other’s flanks – they knew that their business was about to commence. I lowered my lance a little and we took the first few steps towards the opposing French. Equal in number, I thought, but how equal in purpose?

            On my left Montgomerie shouted over the kerfuffle.

            ‘They have found you a tall one, Robert.’

            ‘Indeed!’ I shouted back, seeing the lanky knight in their centre. ‘And when I have felled him I shall send his armour to my father; armour for tall men is in short supply.’

            ‘Hah!’ cried Rupierre on my other side, the nerves showing in his trembling voice. ‘Then try not to make any holes in it, my lord; it would not do to send the king holy armour.’

            I grinned at that remark; if they were still of good spirit, then the day would be won more easily.

            Montgomerie joined in. ‘Aye, my prince!’ He shouted louder as we gathered pace. ‘Tis horrible draughty stuff in the winter is holy armour.’

            The time for jest now done, I half lowered my lance, the red pennant near the end fluttering in the breeze as we picked up speed and the shiny tip glinted death’s message in the weak wintry sun.

            As I concentrated on the tall figure at the centre of the approaching line of horsemen, I could see that they were in a slack formation with too many gaps – easy meat! – and I called out for a tighter line.

            ‘Keep tight! Keep pace! Watch your target!’ And so commanding I finally lowered my lance to the horizontal as the signal for the final gallop, couching it ever tighter into my armpit.

            All was now noise about my ears; the world outside the tip of my lance disappeared as I ignored the pain in my legs with the horses clashing and rubbing in the mad gallop towards glory or perdition.

            I had that man’s eyes in my view for only a blink as I sought out and aimed at my chosen target: that small gap between the top of his shield and his shoulder above his lance. His height was now his nemesis; my thick legs gripping my horse, my broad back anchored against the back of the saddle and my low profile my eternal advantage. He was one among many who had been badly advised to go against me in this kind of engagement. At the strike his shield moved slightly and my lance struck, and although not penetrating his mail, he was propelled off the back of his horse and hit the ground in an untidy, noisy bundle.

I turned my horse with difficulty; the beast was feeling the weight of its bollocks and these stallions were never easy to control. I could see that my squire had approached the fallen warrior on my spare horse and was waiting for my instructions. But my attention was distracted by something odd – for the meadow was silent. I had expected to make a stand against another knight but instead every warrior on the field was still and watching me. What nonsense was this?

            As most of the wreckage on the field was the French – serve them right for being slack – it was my men standing motionless which puzzled me.

            Halting by the fallen knight, where my squire had acquired the stillness of a statue, I dismounted and drew my sword, prepared to offer the vanquished man mercy in exchange for his arms and horse. But instead I shouted at the frozen youth.

            ‘Why in God’s blood are you mummified, Cedric?’

            He looked back at me with horror on his face as he stuttered, pointing at the dusty, dishevelled lump on the ground, ‘Tis…the king, Prince Robert. Your father lies here.’

            ‘What!’ I growled. ‘What bad jest is this, you dog’s turd?’

            The figure on the ground stirred and tried to sit up so I poked at his throat with the point of my sword.

            ‘Keep still, you sheep’s bladder, else I let loose your air.’

            The man coughed, and then struggling removed his helm – whence my jaw dropped.

            ‘Robert!’ he said wearily, ‘if I am a sheep’s bladder then you are a bladder’s spawn. Help me up.’

            I gave him my hand and he climbed to his feet. He reeled groggily but he was still head and shoulders above his eldest son, although he had long since failed to impress me with that particular advantage.

            ‘It seems, dear Robert, that you have seized your inheritance somewhat earlier than I had planned.’ He was still dragging at his breath and the words came out reluctantly. ‘No doubt your mother will be pleased; she always favoured you.’

            ‘I am her firstborn, as I am yours; you two should be together in the matter. It is you who have taken sides. Favouring that red-headed twerp William and that snivelling little bookworm Henry over me.’

            ‘Ah yes!’ He was recovering now and continued with more certainty, ‘But my behaviour has made you a hard man, has it not? By God’s miracles, have you never seen that?’ He fixed me with that ball-shrivelling stare he used to such effect on other men.

            ‘Oh! I see, been doing me a favour, have you? Well, tis time I returned your good offices; how do you intend to pay for your defeat on this field, sire?’

            ‘As I said, a hard man.’

Learn more about author Austin Hernon at www.waywardprinceproductions.co.uk