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Welcome to my Blog post for the Historical Book Fair  kindly hosted by Francine Howarth. This is a great opportunity for us authors to allow readers a snippet of our work. I thought I would let some of my characters tell their story themselves. First though, please read a blurb from the back of the jacket.

 

1054, pious King Edward sits on the throne, spending his days hunting, sleeping and praying, leaving the security and administration of his kingdom to his much more capable brother-in-law Harold Godwinson, the powerful Earl of Wessex. Against this backdrop we meet Wulfhere, a Sussex thegn who, as the sun sets over the wild forest of Andredesweald, is returning home victoriously from a great battle in the north. Holding his lands directly from the King, his position demands loyalty to Edward himself, but Wulfhere is duty-bound to also serve Harold, a bond forged within Wulfhere’s family heritage and borne of the ancient Teutonic ideology of honour and loyalty.

Wulfhere is a man with the strength and courage of a bear, a warrior whose loyalty to his lord and king is unquestionable. He is also a man who holds his family dear and would do anything to protect them. So when Harold demands that he wed his daughter to the son of Helghi, his sworn enemy, Wulfhere has to find a way to save his daughter from a life of certain misery as the daughter-in-law of the cruel and resentful Helghi, without comprising his honour and loyalty to his lord, Harold.

On Battle fields he fights for his life, but the enemy is to be found closer to home, a far sinister and shadowy enemy than he can ever know.....

 

Sons of the Wolf is a snap shot of medieval life and politics as the events that lead to the downfall of Anglo-Saxon England play out, immersing the reader in the tapestry of life as it was before the Domesday Book. With depictions of everyday life experienced through the minds of the people of the times; of feasts in the Great Halls to battles fought in the countryside, it cannot help but enlighten, educate and entertain.

 

 

Now Please welcome the children of Horstede, here to tell you their stories.

 

 



 





Freyda

"I am the daughter of Wulfhere and I was fourteen when his story started. My father was the thegn of our village znd I loved him dearly and he loved me as his favourite. I had always known I was his favourite child. He could deny me nothing. But it all went wrong for me and him when he came back from warring in the Northern lands where he had fought a terrible battle against the Scots. You see, I had fallen in love with the son of our neighbour, Helghi of Gorde. All that summer whilst Father was away, I sneaked away to meet him in the forest. I knew it was forbidden for any of us to talk to any of the people from Gorde, but I had no idea why. I had no idea of the depth of animosity that ran between our fathers. Edgar was a handsome lad, but he had a crippled leg. His father blamed my father for it, something to do with a horse that my father had sold his father, although he had warned Helghi that the horse was not suitable for a boy; Edgar had only been a child at the time and the horse had thrown him and broken his leg. Neither Edgar nor I could see that this was a problem. But soon we were to find out that we were two young lovers stuck in the middle of a blood feud that we knew nothing about. We were soon to learn that the rivers of hatred ran deeper than any of us could ever have known. A hatred that would tear us apart and never die until one of our fathers was dead.”

 

Winflaed

“I was only 8 years old when our saga began; and two years younger than my brother Tovi, my closest companion in my short childhood. Life was wonderful for us until the day my father was sent a package from the Lady of Waldron. That day was the day that would change our lives forever. Tovi and I used to spend our summer days running through the forest, playing amongst the woods and the stream and the pond where we used to swim. Once we caught our sister Freyda, swimming with her paramour, Edgar Helghison. We knew it was forbidden for any of us to speak to the Helghisons, but we didn’t really know why. Of course seeing our big sister with Edgar was a great source of amusement and we used it to our advantage. Freyda was not very happy that she had to pay for our silence by handing over the brooch and copper plated mirror I was very fond of. But soon all was blown and Freyda and Edgar were found out and I had to return the items very reluctantly and much to my displeasure.

    The day that father received the package, Tovi and I had been hunting with some of the village children.  We were running like foxes through the woodland path when we met the man from Waldron, scaring his horse into throwing him off. Unfortunately he was hurt and  his horse had run away, so he was unable to continue on to Horstede to finish his mission which was to give my father this little mysterious package from the Lady Alfgyva who lived in Waldron. With the innocence of children, we offered to take it to my father. If only we had not, for some reason, Tovi and I would always blame ourselves for that mysterious package contained something that would drive a wedge between our mother and father forever. If I could turn back the time, from that day, I would, for life was to change dramatically for us all.”

 

Tovi

“My father, Wulfhere, thegn of Horstede was bred for war. He learned from a young age to fight with a spear first and then sword and axe. And it was also from a young age that he taught me and my twin brothers Wulfhere to fight too. I loved my father, but one day I was to catch him out and that was the day that my life changed. I began to see my father for the flawed human he truly was. But he always tried to be good to me and to my brothers and sisters and for that I would always respect him. Life was not always good for me in our household. My older brothers hated me, I never knew why. I think it was just their way. They loved to torment me and once they hung me from a tree to stop me from going hunting with the Earl. I was so excited that Father had said I could go and they stopped it from happening. Then another time they hung me down a well and almost drowned me because I stopped them from using my younger sister Winflaed as target practice. Luckily Father caught them and pulled me out. They were punished, but I never found out how. But you could be sure that they were not beaten. Father was not one for punishing us in that way.

    One happy thing in my life was my little sister Winflaed. She and I were allies against the tormenting twins. I wasn’t always very nice to her, but she always took my side, no matter what. But the worst thing in our lives was yet to come in the shape of a blood feud. No one could ever know what it was like to have your life blighted by one until you have experienced it yourself. My Father was to fight on many a bloody field, but sometimes the enemy was closer to home, far more sinister and deadly than any battle.” 

 

 

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THE WOLF BANNER IS RISING!



So it has been sometime since I updated my blog, I have been busy with Christmas and other things. However I have some exciting news about my new project, the second book in the Sons of the Wolf series, The Wolf Banner is coming!

For those that aren't familiar with my novel Sons of the Wolf, it is a historical novel set in  11thc England and you can read a brief synopsis here and an excerpt here. It follows the fortunes of an English warrior, Wulfhere and his Lord, Harold Godwinson. The theme which runs through the book is centred around a blood feud between Wulfhere and his Neighbour Helghi. Both characters have been brought to life from the Domesday Book, William the Conqueror's survey of England in 1086. They are the names of the men who owned the land around Little Horsted, near Uckfield in Sussex. In the Domesday book you can find information about their landholding and their property, but not their characters; their lives in my novel is my creation.

.The Wolf Banner continues on from where Sons of the Wolf left off. For those who have read the first novel, you will know how it ends but for those who haven't I shall not spoil it by saying anymore, however, The Wolf Banner covers more of both Wulfhere's and Harold's lives and the feud between Wulfhere and his nemesis Helghi, deepens. Helghi's threat to destroy Wulfhere takes on a more ominous t...hread and threatens to spill further into the lives of the two communities in which they live, Horstede and Gorde.
The storyline also broadens and will take the reader into Wales where we meet again the characters only touched on in the first book, Gruffydd, the Welsh King, Alfgar, his daughter Aldtih, whom he has married off to Gruffydd and Burghred, his son, desperately caught between his loyalty to his father and his English King. They flesh out the plot and will (I hope) serve to make the story more exciting. 
The Wolf is an emblem of Wulfhere's ancestry when his forebears came to the land south of the Thames and created the Kingdom of the South Saxons, Sussex. The wolf was a feared animal, a representative of the carnage caused by battle-the corpse eaters, they would appear when ever doom was about to befall men. Wulfhere's ancestors wore the skins in battle, to make them appear more fearsome in battle. To the enemy, they were bringing death to them.
Wulfhere's daughter Winflaed finds and repairs an old banner that belonged to her grandfather and his fathers before him and just as Wulfhere is readying to ride off to fight the Vikings again, she presents it to him. He takes it with him, proudly displaying for all to see as he goes to into battle to defend the homeland that his forefathers, the Sea Wolves, created for him.

Wolf Banner drawing by Gayle Copper of Steelpoint Tattoos

 

Excerpt Two From Sons of the Wolf

Now, at the head of his unit, Wulfhere was staring at the large volume of men as they spewed over the crest of the hill, gradually making their way down into the valley below. They were a formidable sight, Gruffydd’s army, as they formed their lines, some two thousand and more warriors ten or so men deep. Hwitegaast snorted and slammed his right hoof into the ground, scuffing the dirt to show his discontent. Wulfhere gave him a reassuring pat on his withers and sighed deeply.

“Scitte!” cried Esegar, mounted next to him. “There are so many of them.”

Wulfhere puffed out his cheeks and wondered how six hundred mounted men supported by one hundred or so bowmen and no more than three hundred and fifty infantry men were going to triumph over Gruffydd’s vastly larger host.

“Aye, there are indeed,” he agreed with a shudder, hoping that their cavalry would compensate for their lack of numbers.

“Lord, look to the left flank.” Esegar’s voice was shaking.

Wulfhere looked to where Esegar had indicated. “Hell has arrived,” he muttered under his breath.

There were at least eighteen hundred more men, Wykinga, coming round the side of the mound in the valley pass to join the main army as they marched toward them. Their steel helmets flashed as the mist cleared. Sharpened speartips bristled as they augmented the lines of Gruffydd’s men, shouting “Odin! Odin!” The noise was thunderous as they invoked their deity to make them triumphant, whilst the Welsh called out “Llaith at y Saeson!” “Death to the Englisc!”

Wulfhere felt his stomach bubbling. He heard Esegar’s sharp intake of breath.

“Lord, we were greatly outnumbered. Now we are severely outnumbered,” his fyrdsman said with a sardonic grimace.

As Wulfhere’s eyes squinted out over the daunting scene of so many armoured men stamping their way across the green fields toward them, he felt his face prickle with fear and, despite the cold, started to sweat. He breathed deeply, trying not to remember the horrors of Dunsinane.

Gruffydd himself had a smaller mounted force, his teulu, but the amount of heavily armoured Norse foot soldiers alone far outnumbered the entirety of Ralph’s force. He gulped his nausea down into his gullet. They needed to charge soon, for if they didn’t the whole purpose of them as a mounted force would be pointless. Horses are rendered useless in a defensive stance.

Oh my God, he thought to himself, there is going to be slaughter unless we charge now!

Excerpt One from Sons of the Wolf

Chapter Nineteen

The Battle of Hereford

Hereford, October 24th 1055

Ralph walked along the rampart of his palisaded defences as the chilled late autumn morning swathed the burgh in a cloak of mist. He was proud of his strong timber and earth castle that he had built inside the burgh of Hereford not long after his uncle King Edward had invested him with the office of earl four years ago. If he looked out over the parapet on a clear day, to the north of the burgh, he would be sure to see any sign of the enemy coming.

This morning would be like any of the other mornings that had passed since, upon hearing Burghred’s news, he had wasted no time in gathering his huscarles and racing across the ancient tracks to the West Country, sending out summonses to all the mounted men that Edward had commended to him. Looking out over the fog-laden hills, he contemplated another morning of watching and waiting. Down in the courtyard, his men would be on standby. He was proud of his accomplishments in Hereford and fiercely proud of the mounted cavalry he had trained. Some of the Englisc looked upon his ideas with derision, but he would show them just what his mounted army could achieve. He had stubbornly refused Harold’s offer to rally the Wessex fyrd to aid him, convincing everyone, except for Harold, that he had no need of them. This was not, he had said, a matter of national emergency. His mounted soldiers would be match enough for Alfgar and Gruffydd, he had guaranteed them.

“Another morning and still they do not come,” muttered William Malet, joining him in leaning against the wooden barrier. Dressed and ready for battle, the men wore their armour of little metal links skilfully chained together to form the hauberk, the tunic of maille that protected the length of their torso, arms and upper legs. Under them they wore a padded jerkin which would stop the metal from chafing them, adding to the protection that their maille already afforded them. “I am beginning to think that they never will.”

“Oh, they will come alright; your cousin Burghred was sure of it. It seems your uncle has been collecting his forces all summer.” Ralph looked sideways at Malet. “And when they do, Will, we shall be ready for them. Ha, we will soon have our chance to prove to Godwinson that we are quite capable of sorting out our own defences!”

“In hindsight, do you think it was wise not to accept his offer to call out the Wessex fyrd?” Malet asked retrospectively.

“What? And have nice, golden, shiny Harold take all the glory? No, my friend, this one is for us. Besides, it would be a great waste of manpower. Costly too. Our combination of cavalry, light infantry and bowmen is the right formula needed to win the battle against the Wéalas.”

Malet looked a little sceptical and Ralph looked at him scornfully. “You do not doubt that the victory will be ours, William?”

“No, Ralph, I do not. It is just that—”

“I know that perhaps it is hard for you to go to war against your uncle,” Ralph suggested sympathetically.

Will shook his head and replied firmly, “You know how I feel about that brainless idiot! He has the intellect of a newt, uncle or not.”

“Then why do you have that doubtful expression on your face?”

“I just thought that perhaps it would have been advantageous to have the Wessex fyrd here, just in case. After all, Harold is—”

“Harold is not here!” Ralph responded angrily. “And what’s more, we do not need him!”

“But the men are untried and inexperienced, Lord,” Malet gently argued.

“Are you doubting me, Will?” Ralph thrust a disturbed look in his friend’s direction.

“No, Lord. No…”

“You know how I have been waiting for this chance to ingratiate the Witan, Will? And why should I not? I have royal blood coursing through my veins. I am throneworthy! An atheling!” He thumped the edge of the wooden strakes in earnest. “Why should I work so hard all these years only to have Harold Godwinson come along at the last minute and interfere in my command? This victory will gain me the accolade that I deserve and put an end to the threat that comes swamping over the marcher borders!”

“My Lord, you are indeed throneworthy!” Malet said supportively. He frowned slightly, changing his cynical expression to one of fervent loyalty.

“If only the Witan would recognise me as so,” Ralph said regretfully. “Mon Dieu! They send out to lands afar, searching for long-lost Englisc princes, doing deals with that bastard in Normandy, dropping hints at Swein of Denmark  and, all the time, here I am, a prince with the blood of Alfred, right under their snotty noses! So what if I was born on the distaff side of the royal line? I am just as much a contender, if not more. The King, my uncle, loves me, does he not? And yet still I have to prove myself...and prove myself I will!”

“My Lord, we will win this. If they come today, I swear we will win this!” Malet replied with genuine sincerity.

He was standing in front of Ralph as the earl leaned with his back against the parapet, the wind blowing his short dark hair forward. The Earl put a grateful hand on Malet’s shoulder. “Thank you, Will. When I finally sit on the throne of this damned kingdom, I will see that you are rewarded for your loyal service.”

“Good God!” Malet interrupted. “Look, my Lord!”

“What?”

Ralph saw that Malet was surveying the valley behind him intently. He swung round and faced the view over the hills. He felt his stomach tighten as he realised what his friend had been staring at: the fast moving shadow of a lone horseman, galloping amidst the thick morning haze that drifted toward them across the plain.

“It’s one of your scouts, my Lord. Look, he holds your banner aloft. That means they are coming…At last they are coming...”

 “Then we must see that the men are ready. Fitzscrob!” Ralph yelled loudly for his captain. He grabbed his helmet and shoved it onto his head.

“Yes, my Lord?” A small, lithe Norman dressed in maille came running up the wooden rungs of the rampart to join them.

“See that the men are armoured and the horses ready,” Ralph ordered. “Alfgar and Gruffydd are on their way. We will ride out to engage them.” He felt a ripple of excitement in his veins and a fluttering in his stomach. “Maintenant! Now, Fitzscrob! Que vous attendez? What are you waiting for? Allez, allez!”

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the little man dutifully as he turned and ran quickly down from the parapet.

Ralph breathed in deeply as he secured the chinstrap of his helm. He had been waiting for this moment and now it had arrived. At last he could show the world his worth and that Edward and his Englisc subjects need not look to that far-off place, Hungary, for their next king. He pictured himself sitting on the throne in Edward’s Palace of Westminster with his wife Gytha by his side. Yes, now his chance had come…

Published at last

Hello Everyone!

Sons of the Wolf is at last published and is now available to purchase through the publishers, SilverWoods books www.silverwoodbooks.co.uk,  Amazon or Waterstones and the Book Depository.

I am so happy that at last the story of how the Norman Conquest of England affected the ordinary people of the land.

Yours,

Paula

follow me at https://twitter.com/Paulalofting
                     https://www.facebook.com/#!/paula.lofting

Scene from Sons of the Wolf: Wulfhere's nightmare

                                                                                                                                                                        
                                                                                     

Wulfhere stands on the crest of the hill and stares in horror at the terrible carnage surrounding him. He surveys the scene with blurred vision. Body parts are scattered indiscriminately. As his eyes clear, he sees that they are set about the bloody slope in congealed masses. His byrnie feels unbearably heavy. Sweat trickles down his skin in rivulets. Instinctively, he clasps his sword, Hildbana, as the perspiration runs from under his sleeve and into his palm. But his hand is soaked and he cannot hold on to it, and the weapon slips down the slope.

The sky is dense with dark clouds. The mist-ridden air is dank with the stench of death and blood. He feels dizzy and wants to gag. Instead he forces himself to breathe, breathe hard, to avoid expelling the bile that rises in his throat.

“Pick up your sword, Lord Wulfhere!” urges a familiar voice.

A terrible throbbing pounds at his temple and he fights his desire to lose consciousness. “I cannot find it…”

“You must!” the voice shouts at him in earnest.

Wulfhere staggers down the hill, recognising the faces of his fallen comrades on the severed heads that he passes by. They speak to him through lips that do not move; words he cannot discern. His feet are slipping in the oozing blood and he feels his heart racing. The voice continues to order him to find his sword. Below him, at the foot of the hill, he sees a morass of jumbled men and spears. His head throbs as he moves toward them, fearing that his sword is lost somewhere amongst the chaos.

Suddenly, he is in the midst of the growling shield wall. The sound of battle deafens him as he is heaved, pushed and stabbed at with spears or axes. The enemy are in front. Snarling wolf-like faces. The points of their spears jab at him. Wooden shields slam into the phalanx, trying to break their way in. Wulfhere is jostled this way and that, as if he is a coracle tossed in a stormy sea. He wants his sword. How can he fight without his sword?

“Where is my sword? Where is Hildbana?”he hears himself shout and, though he knows it is his voice, it feels as if it has come from another.

His head spins. He stares down in an attempt to avoid passing out and sees that his feet are bare and the air is freezing against his naked body. Where is his armour?

Terror grasps at his insides and fear tears through his veins. He is naked. No spear, no sword, no armour to protect him…

“My lord, your sword!” he hears the voice shout again. “Where is your sword?”

He looks up from the ground and stares into faces that are no longer fleshy. Faces of bone. Skeletons wearing dark hoods. He screams...a long, agonising cry that is eventually broken by the familiar voice calling him again.

“My lord! Open your eyes! Can you hear me?”
"I know that voice. Esegar!"

He is pulled by his ankles out of the scrum of the shield wall.

“My lord! ’Tis I, Esegar! Can you hear me?”

Wulfhere lies on the grass, dazed, tries to sit up. His helmet is gone and his head pounds. Around him he hears the screams and roars of the men in the shield wall; the agonising sound of men dying.

“Here, take your sword!”

“You have it?” Wulfhere asks. Relief overwhelms him. He is alive and Esegar has found his sword. He must have passed out.

Esegar’s face flashes above him and Wulfhere feels reassured. Then, almost as quickly as it has appeared, the flesh begins to deteriorate, leaving a mass of hideously rotting flesh, until it is no longer Esegar hovering above him, but the hooded figure of death surrounded by darkness.

Death smiles; a repugnant grim contortion of the jawbone drops open to spill forth evil laughter and, with it, disgusting creatures, bugs, worms and all kinds of ghastly things from hell.

“Your sword is broken, my lord,” the face of death says, rasping and mocking like the voice of an old harridan. A pair of bony hands hold forth his beloved Hildbana, Battle Slayer, the sword that has been handed down to him from his father…it is broken in two.

Wulfhere is lifted to his feet, as if by unseen hands. A scream is rising within him as the world around him spins. The scream pierces through his brain as if his head will break open and scatter its contents in an explosion of agony. Unable to breathe or move, his whole body is paralysed. The noise inside his head grows louder until it reaches a crescendo and, suddenly, he forces his eyes open and breathes in a heavy gasp.

Comments please?

Thought I would post a short thankyou to everyone for reading my blog. Over the  last few weeks stats have increased on average by at least 600 views per week. Thats incredible and I am so pleased people are interested in my blog. I would, however love to have some feedback and get very little in the way of comments. I would be so grateful if people would be kind enough to take the time and comment on my posts as it would help me to find out what works and what doesn't. Now I am sure I have opened myself up for all sorts, but I will be prepared!

Currently, the subject of my blog, my first novel Sons of the Wolf, which is the first in a quadroligy of stories about pre and post Norman Conquest of England, is being edited and hopefull will be published by Silverwoods books soon.

Thanks to all of you again. I look forward to reading some comments soon!

New to Blog

I am author of Sons of the Wolf, a work in progress, currently working on the last chapters. I enjoy history and specialise in the late Saxon period. Here is an overview of what my novel is about.

1054, pious King Edward sits on the throne, spending his days hunting, sleeping and praying, leaving the security and administration of his kingdom to his much more capable brother-in-law Harold Godwinson, the powerful Earl of Wessex.

Against this backdrop we meet Wulfhere, a Sussex thegn who, as the sun sets over the wild forest of Andredesweald, is returning home victoriously from a great battle in the north. Holding his lands directly from the King, his position demands loyalty to Edward himself, but Wulfhere is duty-bound to also serve Harold, a bond forged within Wulfhere’s family heritage and borne of the ancient Teutonic ideology of honour and loyalty.

Wulfhere is a man with the strength and courage of a bear, a warrior whose loyalty to his lord and king is unquestionable. He is also a man who holds his family dear and would do anything to protect them. So when Harold demands that he wed his daughter to the son of Helghi, his sworn enemy, Wulfhere has to find a way to save his daughter from a life of certain misery as the daughter-in-law of the cruel and resentful Helghi, without comprising his honour and loyalty to his lord, Harold.
Following the fortunes of his family, we meet Ealdgytha, his golden-haired wife, attractive, neurotic and proud. Her lust for success and advancement threatens to drive a wedge between her and her husband, while Wulfhere’s battle with his conscience and his love for another woman, tears at the very heart of their relationship. Also central to the story are his children; Freyda, his eldest daughter, reckless, defiant and beautiful; Tovi, his youngest son, his spirit suppressed by the pranks of the red-haired twins, Wulfric and Wulfwin; Winflaed, a younger daughter, whose submissive acceptance of womanhood belies a stronger spirit and a longing to hold a sword in battle like her warrior father.

Sons of the Wolf is snap shot of medieval life and politics as the events that lead to the downfall of Anglo-Saxon England play out, immersing the reader in the tapestry of life as it was before the Domesday Book. With depictions of everyday life experienced through the minds of the people of the times; of feasts in the Great Halls to battles fought in the countryside, it cannot help but enlighten, educate and entertain.