Unusual Historicals: ancient

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18 October 2015

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Shauna Roberts on CLAIMED BY THE ENEMY

This week, we're pleased to welcome author SHAUNA ROBERTS with her latest release, CLAIMED BY THE ENEMY, set in ancient times. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of Claimed by the Enemy. 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.

Crown Princess Nindalla knows the terrifying power of Sargon of Akkad's army: Ten years ago, it destroyed her home city and killed her parents. Now the nightmare is happening again. The Akkadians conquer her new home, Susa; make her a widow; and strip her of her rank. Nindalla vows to protect her children from her enemies by any means necessary, including marrying whoever can shield them best. With plots swirling around her, can she trust her instincts to tell friends from foes?

Farm boy Ur-sag-enki was forced to become a soldier in the Akkadian army ten years ago after it destroyed his home and left him with nothing. When the Akkadians conquer Susa, he is awarded its governorship. He looks forward to settling down to the normal family life he craves. First, though, he must keep control of Susa despite enemies who exploit his inexperience, and he must gain legitimacy by persuading beautiful former princess Nindalla to marry him. But can he win her heart when it was his hand that struck down her husband?

Winner of the 2014 National Readers Choice Award for "Novel with Romantic Elements."

Winner of the 2015 Romancing the Novel Published Author Contest in the "Ancient/Medieval/Renaissance" category.

**Q&A with Shauna Roberts**

As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

When I was in elementary school, I wanted to be a baseball player—I rejected sexually stereotyped behavior from an early age, much to the despair of my mother—or a missionary. In sixth or seventh grade, I was interested in joining a time-travel agency. I figured it would be based in NASA, so I wrote to NASA and asked to be put on a list to be one of their time travelers. They sent back some nice color brochures on space travel.

What are some jobs you have held?

I have worked as a store clerk, receptionist, secretary, playground supervisor, switchboard operator, archaeologist, production person at a newspaper, production person at a magazine, data entry person, magazine writer, magazine editor, copyeditor, teacher, and now fiction writer.

Where did your love of books come from?

Everyone is born loving stories, I believe. What separates humans from other species is the arts: storytelling, music, painting, personal adornment, sculpture; perhaps religious ritual should be put in the category of art as well. We’ve been telling stories and making music and wearing jewelry at least since our beginnings as a species. Scientists have collected evidence that our brains are hardwired to understand the world as a series of stories.

Our society provides stories in many forms, and people get siphoned away from reading books to exchanging gossip and watching television series, movies, baseball games, and boxing. I stayed a book reader for several reasons. The quality of stories was usually better; my aunt, a librarian, gave me many wonderful books for birthdays and Christmas; and I advanced quickly as a reader, so by second grade I checking out the much more interesting books from the sixth-grade section of the library.

What do you read in your spare time?

I’m one of those people who loves to read so much that I’ll read the sides of cereal boxes. But given a choice, my favorite genres of books (listed in no particular order) are historical mystery, historical fiction, fantasy, science fiction, ancient and Medieval history, biography, and gardening.

Are there underrepresented ideas in your books?

As an anthropologist, I find that speculative fiction and historical fiction often give short shrift to the parts of life that through most of human existence have been most important. Religion, for example: Religious observance shaped the course of the day, week, month, and year, and religious belief underlay cultural practices and personal moral choices, yet in most historical fiction, religion plays a minor role or no role at all.

Knowledge of and closeness to the natural world is another example. In almost every era and place, people worked outside, even doing chores outside that could have been done in the home. People knew the names of trees, animals, plants, etc., and their uses. The positions of the sun, moon, and stars had meaning. People knew they were part of nature; every dead relative’s decaying body they washed and dressed was a stark reminder. Yet characters in historical fiction and fantasy set in unindustrialized societies too often have the same lack of awareness of the natural world that characterizes modern Americans who spend their days inside.

The arts, of course, form the core of human personality and organize the world, yet are missing from most fiction.

To me, a book is much less interesting if it isn’t accurate to the time period and technology level. So I try to plan my own stories with my anthropologist glasses on, making sure the society is consistent with the geology and geography, that the multifold parts of the culture mesh together believably, and that people’s beliefs are consistent with their knowledge of the world. I spend a lot of time worldbuilding before I start to write.

Why did you choose to write in your genres?

When I first tried my hand at fiction, it seemed logical to write in one of the fictional genres I read most at the time: historical mystery, science fiction, and fantasy. How to put together a mystery was a mystery to me; fantasy and science fiction seemed much easier.

I started writing historical fiction because nobody was writing the historical fiction I most wanted to read.

Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, or white chocolate?

Dark chocolate, definitely. When I come back from Europe or Canada, my suitcase has lots of the dark chocolate bars we can’t get here.

Learn more about author Shauna Roberts

Website and blog: http://www.ShaunaRoberts.com

Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shauna-Roberts-author/194876117254102/

Google+:   https://plus.google.com/u/0/109908021233712440994/posts

Goodreads:   http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2127144.Shauna_Roberts

Pinterest:   https://www.pinterest.com/shaunasroberts/

Amazon.com author page: http://www.amazon.com/Shauna-Roberts/e/B002R89SDI/

Twitter: @ShaunaRoberts5

Newsletter signup: http://eepurl.com/Fr3Hf

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/shaunaroberts

15 October 2015

Excerpt Thursday: CLAIMED BY THE ENEMY by Shauna Roberts

This week, we're pleased to welcome author SHAUNA ROBERTS with her latest release, CLAIMED BY THE ENEMY, set in ancient times. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of Claimed by the Enemy. 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.

Winner of the 2014 National Readers Choice Award for "Novel with Romantic Elements."

Winner of the 2015 Romancing the Novel Published Author Contest in the "Ancient/Medieval/Renaissance" category.

**An Excerpt from Claimed by the Enemy**

Many breaths went by, and many more breaths. Nindalla counted the time between contractions. They were getting closer together. The world shrank to birthing hut, bricks, and belly. Time lost its meaning, just as it had during her previous births.

Still, it seemed a long time since Sagburru had left her.

She looked up and listened. The light filtering between the reeds of the walls had changed to the soft pinkish-purple of early evening. The sounds of battle had stopped, but the normal sounds of servants and slaves going about their tasks had not resumed. The quiet felt wrong.

She shivered, and her throat and mouth burned with a sour taste. Why was she still alone? “Sagburru! It is my time!” she shouted in Sumerian. “Come quickly!”

Neither the midwife nor anyone else answered her call. Her hand clutched her belly. The baby wanted out. Pain overcame all her training in self-discipline. She screamed like a calf being castrated. When the contraction released its grip, she shouted for help again, this time in Elamite.

Still no one came. Her breath sped up. I’m on my own.

Birth was risky enough with a midwife and an incantation priestess present. Her thoughts whirled in panic. Enki has deserted me. Nintu has deserted me. All the gods have left the birthing hut. My child will be born a monstrosity or dead.

Terror like a heavy cape of wolf fur enveloped her. She clawed her hands through her hair and moaned even as her pain dissipated under her worry for her child. She had never experienced such fear, not on her wedding night, not during her previous births, not ever. She eyed the door. Could I crawl that far? Could I crawl farther yet, across the courtyard and into the palace itself? She couldn’t move even a toe. Fear glued her to the birthing bricks as the new prince struggled to free himself.

The sun was descending for his nightly journey through the Underworld. It would be her time very soon now, midwife or not, witnesses or not. “It is my day. It is my month,” she chanted. She forced her arm to move. Balancing on her other three limbs, she stroked an amulet on which was scribed an incantation against demons. “It is my day. It is my month. It is my day. It is my month.”

“My lady, do you need help?”

She flinched at the deep voice and looked toward it. It belonged to a bulky man who, even though he stooped, filled the doorway, a dark silhouette against the dying pink light.

She wrapped her free arm protectively around her belly and squinted. The man wore the snug leather helmet of a soldier, but she had never seen the dust-smeared, sweat-streaked, blood-splattered face before. He carried a sickle-sword and a mace with a head of black stone.

She stared at the darkened mace head. How many skulls had it broken? Was hers next? She licked her lips, and her hands balled into fists. She had left her dagger in her quarters.

Her only weapon was her status. “How dare you enter the birthing hut? Leave at once.”

The man ignored her order. He stepped inside and let his weapons drop like a man weary of fighting. He tugged his helmet from his head, dropped it without looking where it fell, and raised his palms. “Peace, my lady.”

Only now did she notice his language. “You speak Sumerian!” Even his accent was familiar; he spoke the patois of the lower class of her home city. Her chest loosened, and she drew a deep breath despite the muscles squeezing her torso. “You’re from Eridu-that-was.”

“Yes, my lady. From the home of Enki, praise be to him.”

His black hair confirmed he was a Sumerian, one of the black-headed people. He was an ally, not one of Sargon of Akkad’s men. A tall and handsome ally, the breadth and brawniness of his shoulders obvious despite the short tunic he wore above his skirt. His dark eyes radiated compassion.

A sigh escaped her. “Your voice is honey to my ear. It has been years since I heard the speech of a loyal child of Eridu.”

The soldier winced and looked around the hut. “Where’s your midwife?”

“She left and never returned. But you must leave. No men—” She gasped and waited out the contraction, fighting her body’s almost overwhelming urge to push. “Men are forbidden in the birthing hut. Go, find the midwife. Or any woman. My child is ready.”

The man again disobeyed. He rinsed his hands in a bowl of cedar-scented water and hunkered down in front of her nakedness.

Learn more about author Shauna Roberts

Website and blog: http://www.ShaunaRoberts.com

Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shauna-Roberts-author/194876117254102/

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/109908021233712440994/posts

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2127144.Shauna_Roberts

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/shaunasroberts/

Amazon.com author page: http://www.amazon.com/Shauna-Roberts/e/B002R89SDI/

Twitter: @ShaunaRoberts5

Newsletter signup: http://eepurl.com/Fr3Hf

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/shaunaroberts

23 November 2014

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Shirley Graetz on SHE WROTE ON CLAY

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Shirley Graetz with her latest release, SHE WROTE ON CLAY. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. One lucky visitor will get a free audiobook copy of She Wrote on Clay. 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.

Set nearly 3,800 years ago on the banks of the Euphrates, the novel traces the journey of Iltani, a gifted girl from a scribal family, who dreams of becoming a scribe. In order to fulfill her destiny she enters the gagû, becoming a nadītu, an elite class of monastic women. There, she is expected to lead a sheltered life and be cared for by her aunt and taught by a fellow nadītu-scribe. But life is not that simple; she is soon forced to deal with many unforeseen misfortunes. After eventually reaching her goal, she is invited by a male scribe to take part in engraving the stele for King Hammurabi; an invitation which will cause turmoil and uncertainty in her peaceful existence.

The unique feature of She Wrote on Clay is not only the exceptional account of the nadītu women, but also the integration into the plot of original Akkadian material (cuneiform letters, contracts etc.), vivid testimonies, which are rarely encountered by anyone outside the field of Assyriology.

**Q&A with Shirley Graetz**

What got you interested in women who lived 4000 years ago in ancient Mesopotamia (Iraq)?

I was studying Assyriology- that is the history of ancient Iraq which is also called Mesopotamia. I was learning cuneiform script and the ancient language Akkadian. These languages were spoken over 4000 years ago.

While searching for a topic for my MA and PHD thesis, I came across many women who were writing different kinds of letters to all sorts of people.

Among these women were the naditu women, a class of monastic women whose lives really intrigued me. I started to read more and more about them and the letters, sales contracts, adoption contracts and inheritance contracts that they wrote. The fact that all of these ancient letters were written in cuneiform on clay fascinated me even more.

Did women really know how to write back then?

Well, actually most of the people 4000 years ago did not know how to read or write. The cuneiform script was hard to learn as it included more than 600 signs. There were schools called E-Dubba- meaning- the house of tablets- in which boys from affluent families would learn how to read and write and then became scribes. They would write documents for the temple or the kings or for anyone who would pay for their services.

Although only boys went to school, it was not forbidden for girls. Thus we know of some women who became scribes, especially amongst the naditu women.

You were studying for an MA and PHD - how did you come to write a novel?

My academic studies only answered some of my questions concerning the naditu women. These dry studies did no address questions like: What did they feel? Were they happy? Did some of them want to escape their status of being a “nun”? Did some regret never having married and not having children? All these questions were churning around in my head. And one day, the story just burst out on paper (not cuneiform) to answer all these unasked questions.

Is writing a novel different than writing an academic dissertation?

In academic writing, everything, every thought and claim has to be with proved with references to previously written material. One is not encouraged to use one's imagination. Writing a novel is just the opposite. There is the plot, which is influenced by historical sources I use, but the sources are full of gaps. There are many questions I had to answer using my imagination. Although all the characters are based on a specific historical source, it is not enough. I had to get into the character's skin and flesh them out so that they would seem real.

At the beginning I felt uncomfortable that I was not using footnoting each sentence. But in a novel, references are background, not foreground.

Was the research for your novel different than for your academic studies?

Of course! In academia you usually focus on a narrow topic. For my novel I had to widen my research. I had to learn about details of the life back then, such as kind of food did they eat, what clothing they wore. I also had to absorb details concerning the architecture, art, life, customs, and religion of this time period. I had to learn about what it meant to love, give birth and die for these Mesopotamian women. For instance, in order to imagine Iltani’s house (the heroine), I looked at many house plans and eventually I drew a plan of her house. That way I could imagine it every time I was describing a scene in the book. I looked at a hundreds of artifacts from that period in order to get a sense of their style and their craftsmanship.

How did you find the time to write both a novel and a doctorate?

I got up very early (4 o'clock in the morning) and wrote my novel until I had to get my children (3 little children) off to school. I then went to the library to work on my doctorate. Although both were labors of love, I felt driven to write the novel—after all I wanted to know what would happen to my creations, and every morning I would learn a little more.

Find the novel here: http://www.amazon.com/She-Wrote-Clay-Shirley-Graetz/dp/0989263126

20 November 2014

Excerpt Thursday: SHE WROTE ON CLAY by Shirley Graetz

**An Excerpt from She Wrote on Clay**

At this point in the novel, Iltani is living in the gagû and eagerly awaits her first lessons with her tutor (Amat-Mamu) who has been hired by her father to teach her. She is taken to her house by one of the servants.

Translations of original ancient texts and words in akkadian are shown in italics.

* * *

Amat-Mamu’s house looked enormous. From the courtyard, Iltani counted five entrances to the different rooms, more than her own family had. The servant led her to a room full of tablets that were scattered on wooden shelves along the wall and packed into reed hampers on the floor. Everywhere she looked, she saw clay tablets in different sizes.

“By Šamaš and Aja!” she exclaimed in astonishment. There were far more clay tablets here then her father had. She had never seen so many in one room before.

“Please do not touch anything until Amat-Mamu arrives,” said the servant, and with a nod of her head, she left the room.

Iltani had to fight the urge to pick up one of the tablets. But she would never have done such a thing without permission. There were several cushions on the floor and beside them a small basket and a pile of styluses and unshaped reeds. Iltani tried to imagine what they would do this first lesson. Perhaps Amat-Mamu will be interested in what she has learned with Abu, or ask her to inscribe a few signs. That’s what she hoped at least. Whatever happened, she told herself, she would do her best and not take offense if Amat-Mamu treated her harshly, as Abu had warned she might.

“Ah, you’re here,” said Amat-Mamu hurriedly as she walked in. Amat-Mamu was shorter by a half a head than Iltani. She was a compact, plump little woman, with grey hair secured tightly in a knot.

“Your first lesson will consist of watching me write an urgent letter,” she said taking clay out of the hamper and a few reed styluses. “Don’t just stand there,” she said beckoning Iltani, who was too perplexed to move. “And whatever you see, you must not, I repeat, you must not say a word or make a noise, even if you’re startled.”

Iltani followed Amat-Mamu out of the house, fearful and disappointed. Where was her teacher taking her? She was walking so fast Iltani could hardly keep up. So they would not read or write anything today, it seemed.

Amat-Mamu did not slow down or talk as they crossed the gagû. None of the houses looked familiar and Iltani was sure, that left alone here, she would have been terribly lost. They stopped at a small house. “Not a word,” Amat-Mamu put her finger to her lips as they entered the courtyard. The house was even smaller than her aunt’s, and badly in need of repair. In the courtyard stood an older nadītu, holding a clay pot over burning coal. “She is inside; she awaits you. I have given her a soothing remedy to drink, but the bruises and wounds . . . are very bad. She will need time and my best herbs to heal.”

Iltani was frightened. What had happened? Apparently something very bad. But who would dare hurt a nadītu? They . . . we, she reminded herself, are under the protection of Šamaš and Aja. Anyone who tries to hurt us will incur the wrath of the gods.

As they entered a small room, Iltani, following close behind, saw a woman sitting on a mattress. The woman’s eyes were red and swollen from crying. But what was worse, there were raw lash marks on her arms and legs. It looked as though she had been severely whipped. She was dressed in a thin white shift that revealed the bleeding gashes on her back. Iltani was so distressed by the sight she wanted to run away.

“Tell me what happened,” Amat-Mamu said soothingly, no longer brusque.

Eli-eresa, the young nadītu, spoke slowly.

“I sewed a garment for a man named Sin-iddinam and delivered it to him. He promised he would pay me the following day, but when I went to collect what he owed me, he did not pay. A day passed, a week passed, still he did not pay. I sent three messengers and they all came back empty handed. When three months had gone by, I went to see him again, but he would only agree to pay me half the sum.

When I went to see him again, instead of paying me what he still owed me, he gave me a thrashing.”

The room was so quiet Iltani was afraid they could hear her breathing.

“And what is worse,” Eli-eresa continued, “he bragged that he beat five other nadītu. How could such a thing happen? How did we not know of this?” she asked in anguish. “Why did those nadītu not report it to the overseer, Rapaš-illi-Ea?”

Iltani was so shaken she barely noticed that Amat-Mamu had had been taking down Eli-eresa’s story on a clay tablet.

“Here, I have written a letter,” said Amat-Mamu.

“Not to the overseer but to a judge. I’ll deliver it to him myself if you like. Shall I read it to you?”

Eli-eresa nodded.

To my lord say; thus (says) Eli-eresa.

I sold Sin-iddinam son of Ilšu-bani, a citizen of my city, Sippar, a garment. After he wore the garment for three months, he paid me a lower price, holding back half a shekel from the original price of the garment. I went to him, to remind him to give me the rest of the money, but instead he beat me viciously; as if I were not a servant of Šamaš. He has treated me in a way which is not acceptable in this land! The next day I went to him, and said: “Why have you treated me this way?”

Thus he said: “I have beaten five nadītu of Šamaš, besides you. I will pay only those I wish to pay! No one takes anything from me.”

My lord, you are my judge, pass a verdict on the case I have with Sin-iddinam.

As they were leaving, Iltani noticed the older nadītu was smearing a brown ointment on Eli-eresa’s wounds. This woman looked familiar, yet Iltani could not remember from where.

Amat-Mamu was silent all the way back and Iltani was too distraught to ask any questions. Just before reaching the house, Amat-Mamu turned to Iltani and asked: “What did you learn today that is worth remembering?”

Iltani was speechless. What had she learned today that was worth remembering? Nothing about the art of the scribe. What she had learned was that all her notions about the life of a nadītu were perhaps the notions of a silly child, provided to her by her trusting Abu. That was her lesson for today.

Amat-Mamu observed her, waiting for a response. As none came, she said: “A scribe should be seen and not heard. And our services are not limited to those who pay us to write down and witness their business contracts. As nadītu scribes we must help our friends. I know that you will never forget what you saw today and that will make you a better scribe. A scribe whose hand competes with his mouth is indeed a scribe. A scribe who writes without error and without asking the speaker to repeat himself need never sew garments for a living.”

Amat-Mamu held Iltani’s gaze until Iltani looked down at her feet and said, “Yes, Mistress, I understand.”

Find the novel here: http://www.amazon.com/She-Wrote-Clay-Shirley-Graetz/dp/0989263126

29 August 2014

Everyday Fashions: Dressing a Trojan or Hittite Queen

By Judith Starkston

One of the appeals of historical fiction to many readers is the depiction of elaborate clothes. This put me in a bit of a jam when I worked on my novel, Hand of Fire (out Sept 10, 2014), set in the Trojan War, and now as I develop my historical mystery about Queen Puduhepa of the Hittites (cultural cousins and near neighbors to Troy). I am dressing women in the Late Bronze Age, about 1200 BCE, in what is now Turkey, but I have no lovely oil portraits or written accounts of what these women wore. I have to be a fashion designer on a shoestring of evidence.

So what do I have to work with?

Fabrics were woven of wool or linen. We know that noble women, who could afford to spend extravagant amounts of time weaving fine fabrics as opposed to survival-wear, created both elaborate pictorial/geometric patterns and super fine weaves. Homer shows Helen depicting whole mythological scenes on her loom and spinning a golden spindle with precious purple wool (dyed by laboriously milking single drops of ink from each sea snail). We have evidence from Egypt that translucent fabric almost like silk could be woven if a single thickness of twisted linen fiber was used, producing two hundred threads per inch, finer than you typically find modern fabrics. No need to imagine the Trojan and Hittite princesses looking primitive or dowdy.

But what did they do with those fabrics? From rock carvings, pictorial vases and seal impressions we have a rough idea of the shape of the dresses and that part isn’t so sexy.

Here’s Queen Puduhepa herself on the Fraktin rock carving on the Old Hittite Road in south central Turkey.

Shown are two female figures. The seated one is a goddess and the standing one is Puduhepa pouring a libation to the goddess. They are similarly dressed, which is interesting. They both wear long dresses with what appear to be fairly loose sleeves. They have conical hats that look like they are covered with a veil or mantle that flows down the back and around the shoulders. The standing woman’s garment seems pulled in at the waist but not dramatically so. This is modest garb. The conical hat, by the way, is a feature shared by most gods and kings. Apparently a clear sign of importance either royal or divine was a cone-head. We do have many gorgeous gold diadems from the period, so it isn’t a stretch to imagine that a crown-like diadem could also act as a signifier of wealth or status.

Here's Queen Puduhepa on her own personal seal.

She has the same hat with veil. Her skirt is definitely belted at the waist and her skirt has a diagonal design or fold to it.

Her son, by the way, is on the opposite side of her seal under the protective arm of a god. They both wear short kilts with edging and conical hats. Their hats have horns on them.

Can we add more detail to these depictions?

There’s an intriguing find at Troy that helps. Around the remains of a warp-weighted loom scattered in the dirt, archaeologists discovered hundreds of tiny gold beads. These beads must have been already woven into a partially done piece and fell to the ground when the fabric burned, as we know this layer of Troy did. So you can imagine shimmering gold finely worked into a queen’s dress.

Interestingly, the only significant part of that wooden loom that would survive to show us that a loom had been there would be the stone weights fallen in a tell-tale row. The loom style of ancient Anatolia and Greece is upright and looks quite different from what you’re expecting if you’ve got in your mind one of the modern sit-down looms with foot pedals to change the sheds. Here’s a somewhat rough version of a loom but the line drawing makes the mechanisms clear.

Another detail we can add is that we know there were also special band looms that made brightly colored edgings or braiding. Such edgings are hinted at on some Hittite vases. Here are some musicians and dancers on a vase in the Corum Museum. The lines on their skirts may also indicate pleating.

Such fancy trims and pleating are much more visible on the Minoan and Mycenaean frescoes, but it’s best to remember these ladies are from a somewhat different period and place than my Trojans and Hittites. They do provide the only color vision, so it’s worth comparing. Here is a Minoan fresco from Akrotiri, island of Thera, with a beautifully dressed lady of the court:

We also know they polished fabrics with smooth stones to make them shine.

So what did I do in Hand of Fire to dress my young lady, the future queen of Lyrnessos, an ally of Troy? Briseis doesn’t always find herself in dress-up circumstances, to say the least, but here are two examples when she does.

Briseis is betrothed to the king’s son. In his first formal courting visit, Briseis wears “her best russet skirt, the pleats picked out with multicolored braid and a cream linen veil to cover her bright hair.” Her future groom gives her, among other things a necklace of amber beads.

Here is an excerpt from her wedding day, the grandest occasion I had to dress her up for:

Briseis put on her linen tunic and swirling skirt, bleached a brilliant white and rubbed with an oiled stone until the fabric glistened. Eurome reached underneath the pleated skirt to pull the tunic snugly over her breasts so that the fabric curved and swelled around her body. Briseis ran her hand over the smoothness of the tunic and then spun in a circle to feel the heavy skirt fly out. Eurome laughed and then made her hold still while she tied on a linen belt decorated with gold sun discs. Briseis slid on the matched bracelets that Antiope had received from Glaukos for her wedding day—two wide bands of gold set with cornelian.

Eurome brushed Briseis’s hair until it glowed, a long red-gold cascade. She wove the front strands into a crown and attached the diadem Milos had fashioned of golden sprays of lilies intertwined with tiny pomegranates. Traceries of flowers and leaves wound down from it, gleaming against the deeper gold of Briseis’s hair. Eurome clasped a matching necklace around Briseis’s neck.

As Eurome lifted the saffron-colored veil out of its chest, they heard the king, queen and Mynes announced and her father’s greeting.

“Your husband is here to claim you. Lucky we’re almost ready,” said Eurome. The breath caught in Briseis’s chest.

Eurome covered her from head to toe in the translucent veil, holding it in place with a golden pin shaped like Kamrusepa’s bee and arranging it so the delicate fabric clung to Briseis’s form and suggested the beauty that it only partially concealed. Her hair, the jewels, and shimmering fabrics glinted through the golden cloud surrounding her.

13 July 2014

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Kelley Heckart on DAUGHTER OF NIGHT

This week, we're pleased to welcome author Kelley Heckart with her latest novel, DAUGHTER OF NIGHT. The author will offer a free copy of Daughter of Night 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.

Their destiny began in the ancient land of Anatolia.

In 1326 BC, Crete is the last remaining sacred place for the Great Goddess, but changes began to threaten the old gods, the Titans. Forced to become an ally to the power hungry Olympian gods, Rhea hangs on to the secret of the star metal, the one key that would make Zeus and the other young gods invincible. When this secret is stolen, Rhea must find the Dactyl and the goddess who betrayed Her before Zeus does.

Becuille is a daughter of Night, a servant of the Great Goddess created to impart Her vengeance on mortal and immortal wrongdoers. Made mortal by Rhea, she is sent to find the ones who betrayed the Great Goddess. In the land of Hatti, she meets a proud and handsome prince. When love binds her to him, her loyalties are torn.

Callileon, a prince of the Hatti, has closed off his heart to love only to rediscover it in the arms of the mysterious and fiery slave girl he has purchased. He is caught up in a dangerous world of power hungry gods, jealous goddesses and potent magic, which even the Fates cannot steer him away from.

Can two mortals fight the will of the gods?

**Q&A with Kelley Heckart**

How do you pick your time periods for your books?

I like to write in time periods that interest me, ones that are steeped in myth and mystery. I look for time periods that have few, if any, records, like Dark Age Scotland or Bronze Age Greece because then I can fill in the blanks to create my stories. This doesn’t mean I slack off on research. I do a lot of research to gather whatever information I can find about the setting, the people, and customs. I rely on myths and early writings for my research. For Daughter of Night I relied on the Iliad, Greek and pre-Hellenic myths and writings by ancient Greeks.

What made you pick one of the Erinyes (similar to Roman Furies) as your heroine in Daughter of Night?

I think I like to punish myself. I’m kidding. Sort of. I picked a vengeance goddess because my heroine had to be able to have some control over the gods and goddesses under Rhea’s rule. She had to be close to the Great Goddess, so I made her a special vengeance goddess that enacted Rhea’s vengeance upon any Titan that angered the Great Goddess. She also acted as the goddess’ bodyguard. But I had a challenge because I had to make her likeable and had to find a way to give her feelings since a vengeance goddess has no remorse. Rhea needed her vengeance goddess to find the Titan that betrayed her and stole the secret of the star metal—and to do this, Becuille (the heroine) had to be made human. Now she had human feelings.

Daughter of Night is rich in historical detail. How much research did you have to do to make that possible?

Tons of research. Not only did I have to do extensive research on the older gods known as the Titans, and on the history of iron smelting, but I also had to research Crete and the Hittites that ruled Anatolia (modern Turkey) from 1600 BC to 1200 BC. While researching the Hittites, I found some fascinating information that worked with my story. Most of what is in Daughter of Night is recorded history. Here is what I discovered about the Hittites:

Very little is said about the Hittites (Hatti) of ancient Anatolia, but they rivaled the Egyptians and Babylonians in power and sophistication. They thrived from about 1600 BC to around 1200 BC and were the first people to smelt superior iron.

The Hittites (Hatti) also built large advanced cities with clay water pipe systems and grand temples for their gods. They worshipped a Storm god and a Sun goddess. Before someone could go before the king, they had to bathe. The same rules applied to the deities, and the people that had direct contact with the deities had to shave the hair from their bodies.

The Hittites (Hatti) came to a mysterious end, the once thriving civilization gone. There are accounts of a battle with the Egyptians where some Egyptians were taken prisoner—these prisoners carried a plague that wiped out the Hittite/Hatti people. I used this theory in my story. I also drew on their ability to smelt superior iron and how this knowledge was stolen from the Great Goddess (Rhea). In my story the iron was cursed and that contributed to the rise and fall of the Hittites.

What would you say is your favorite part of writing? Your least favorite part?

My favorite part of writing is definitely the creation part—deciding on my main characters and putting their backgrounds together. I also enjoy doing research. I’m a bit of a history geek. There are so many unknown gems out there, and I love uncovering things I didn’t know before—like about the Hittites and how sophisticated they were. I had no idea until I started doing the research on them. My least favorite part is self-editing. Yuck. For one thing, I’m terrible at seeing my own mistakes. It’s really frustrating for me. I would never publish without an editor, that’s for sure.

How about a fun question? Describe your ideal date.

Date? I haven’t dated in years. I don’t even remember how to date. But if I went on a date, my dream date would be to go horseback riding in Sedona, AZ in a remote spot—a sunset ride during a full moon—so we can stop, watch the sunset paint the rocks a fiery red, then build a fire and snuggle on a blanket in the moonlight. And feed each other smores.

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