Monday 31 March 2014

Out blogging today!

Hello!

I had a little rest on Saturday and Sunday past when I celebrated my Ruby Wedding Anniversary and Mother's Day with my family. I love our family parties but tend to need a little catch up time after the events so I didn't schedule any new blog visits till today. 

So where am I now?

I'm visiting Ailsa Abraham and discussing the characters I've created in my Celtic Fervour Series. Join us to find out about them. http://ailsaabraham.com/2014/03/31/donning-double-cloaks/

I'm talking about Brennus, Ineda- and also tribune Gaius Livanus Valerius. 






Last chance to buy at 99p. The price will go up later today.

Amazon UK 

Slainthe!

Thursday 27 March 2014

Off visiting!

 


I'm visiting two blogs today on my launch tour for After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.









I'm at Zanna Mackenzie where she's given me a lovely interview spot and put some nice questions to me. find us at  http://zannamackenzie.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/interview-with-author-nancyjardine.html?showComment=1395927477826#c6723941905125061928

I'm also over in west coast America, Washington State, with Joanne Stewart where I'm discussing categories and how we don't always fit on that shelf.   
http://jm-stewart.blogspot.com/2014/03/guest-nancy-jardine-my-garrigill.html





Available in ebook and print formats from: 







Crooked Cat Books


    

Join me if you can...
Slainthe! 

Tuesday 25 March 2014

It's launch time...for After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks

Whoopee! Today is the official ebook launch day for the 3rd novel in my Celtic Fervour Series of Historical Romantic Adventures- After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

www.123rf.com
In honour of the day I'll introduce you to more of my characters. 

My main character, Brennus of Garrigill, who becomes Bran of Witton, the spy, in Book 2 (After Whorl: Bran Reborn) of the series, is being feasted/ interviewed as we get to know him in a fun post over at my friend Vonnie Davis' blog today. You can meet Brennus at http://vintagevonnie.blogspot.com/  so please hop on over and see what he's like.


Here we'll get to know my other two main characters in Book 3- Ineda of Marske and Roman Tribune Gaius Livanus Valerius. I'm going to be interviewing them in tandem - though they think they're being asked questions separately.

At the beginning of Book 3, Ineda of Marske is still a very young woman of around 17. As a 15 year old, she was taken prisoner by Tribune Gaius Livanus Valerius. By the beginning of Book 3 she has been under heavy guard and unable to escape from her master.

Hello, Ineda. Can you tell my readers a little bit about where you are now?

My master, Gaius Livanus Valerius, is still a tribune with the XXth Legion who are at the fortress of Viroconium Cornoviorum. That is such a mouthful of sounds that I make it easier and shorten it to Viro Corno. My master, I am afraid, does not like that so I only do it outwith his presence. Though, there are times when I am so exasperated by him that I do say it to annoy him. 

What is the fortress like? Can you tell us a bit about it, please?

It is very large. I have not been allowed to set foot outside of it since I was brought here. When I was first set upon by the Roman patrol I was kept in the tent of the tribune and not allowed my freedom. It has been exactly the same at this fortress. All day long I have someone dogging my footsteps but I believe it might be better for these readers you mention to hear it from your own words.

That's a very good idea, Ineda. I'll ask you some more questions a bit later on today but till then, for my readers, here's an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Book 3 After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

And later on today, Gaius Livanus Valerius will be in the spotlight, so pop back for that.



AD 74 After Lughnasad – Viroconium Cornoviorum, Cornovii Territory
“It is a fine day, is it not?”
            As expected, Ineda received a scant nod but no conversation from the legionary officer as she passed him by. Though she persisted in greeting people, she was still regarded with suspicion, perhaps even derision, but she had learned to bear the treatment and did not let it sour her.
            She looked around her as she walked to the market area, her latest tironis guard at her heels, Zosimus having been replaced when his novice period as a first level recruit was over. Whether or not Zosimus had made the next rank of militis she did not care about. His lugubrious presence was gone though the irony of his name had to be borne out. One likely to survive was what he had said when asked about its meaning. Holding back her laughter had been a trial since the lad had been fairly witless.
            She had not bothered yet to ask her second tironis keeper what his name meant but this newest one was a young man of different sorts. He had only been her guard for a few days but she was not sure she trusted him. Only just come to the huge garrison fortress of Viroconium Cornoviorum she was surprised at how many people he knew already, his attitude vastly different from his forebear. She had a feeling he was answering to more than Tribune Valerius.
            “Velius?”
            She was not surprised when he jumped into step alongside her since his orders were clearly to walk behind her, unless required for some task. His fervency to duty put her on edge, as much as his presence beside her. Just short of a lascivious look, his eyes admired too much when he had the opportunity to look her directly in the face. She put any doubts aside though, and probed. His readiness to answer was of possible use to her, though how she had not yet worked out.
            “What would you have me do, Ineda?”
            Not earning the title of lady did not trouble her. Her status as a slave hardly merited anything like that, though she often wanted her name to appear less familiar to all who spoke to her.
            “Where did you come from? I mean before you came to Britannia and were sent here to this garrison?”
            His light grey eyes twinkled, the quirk to his mouth one she had become used to even in such a short time. “You would not have heard of it.”
            “How would you know such a thing?”
            Though she guessed she was younger than him by a few seasons, he was a confident young man for his age. Her answer must have been firm enough since he replied, even though it was as if she asked a very foolish question.
            “My people are of the Chauci.”
            Ineda grinned. “The Chauci? Let me see…”
            Lately, she and Tribune Valerius had come to an accommodation whereby he shared general information about the Roman Empire with her when they dined together. She listened to him and even sometimes commented on it. He improved her knowledge of Latin every day and she explained the Brigantian Celt he had difficulty over. Their conversations had become more…sociable. Not convivial but easier, the turning point having been after Tribune Valerius had learned about the death of his betrothed. She still deeply resented her captive status but found that searing hatred was difficult to maintain day after day.
            She had begun to dislike herself, had felt the cloying detestation was changing her personality. Snapping and harping at everyone just was not her nature. She had come to a decision that even though she could do nothing about her captivity she would not allow it to destroy her spirit. Since she had made that judgment, she had forced herself to enjoy some aspects of her life.
            Meaghan’s words made more sense now. She wore the bratt of acquiescence in Tribune Valerius’ presence and about the fortress, but underneath it still vowed to find a way to thwart Roman domination.
            “What do I know about the Chauci?” She toyed with the guard who now strode alongside, all the while thinking of a recent conversation. Tribune Valerius had told her about a friend of his who conducted a similar role as tribune with a legion in the lands Velius spoke of.
            “Your native language is of the northern Germanic tribes?”
            Velius did not conceal his surprise, was extremely vocal about it when she went on to talk about the northern place his family still lived in.
            “You will be no stranger to our cold damp weather, then? Tribune Valerius tells me the lands you come from are far colder in the winter than we have it here, and that you live close to sea access?”
            Velius was delighted to tell her about his homeland, even confiding that his becoming an auxiliary soldier of Rome was not his own choice. There were many young conscripts from his tribe attached to the legions, the human tithe payment to the Roman coffers. Treaty agreements demanded their conscription.
            Ineda sighed. His fate was really no different from many of the Celts of Britannia.
            “I thought at first you must come from a Roman Family. Is Velius not a Roman name?”
            He shrugged as though unconcerned, but she had an inkling he truly thought otherwise when his answer came after they had passed an oncoming group of soldiers. “It is the name that has been given to me by the legion.”
            “What does Velius mean?”
            A full blow grin showed his many strong teeth, large and predatory. “I have been told it means a concealing one.”
            A laugh leaked out. Ineda thought it appropriate. “Would you rather I call you by your Chauci name?”
            Velius’s head shook – his returning gaze gone flat and lifeless. “I am not that boy any more. Drastic changes make you someone else.”
            Though she said nothing, Ineda heartily agreed with him. She was not the same girl who had journeyed with Bran, not the same person who had vowed to be a Celtic messenger for her king. It crossed her mind that someone in Velius’ position might be useful to local Celtic insurgence. Someone, yes, but probably not Velius. What she needed was to find a contact who could guard his tongue.
            “My body debt to Rome has barely started but already I am stronger.”
            Velius sounded proud and that confused her. A deep sadness crept over her. She too paid a different kind of body debt to Rome, though she desperately hoped her term of allegiance would not be as long as Velius’.
            “Five and twenty winters is usual, is it not? Engaged to fight against all the enemies of Rome?” His short nod was sufficient, she already knew the answer.


Till later...and Gaius. 



Well it's now later, Ineda, and time to meet Gaius. Before I let him have a word what do you think you could tell us about him?

Apart from that I hate him?That I wish he would set me free and let me return to my own people? That he is often a very bad tempered man?

Well, then, we'll just share a bit of his part in the novel.  


....
Gaius. She now allowed herself to think of him as Gaius and even named him so as well when directly speaking to him. His persistence that she should do so had eventually wore down her reticence.
            A small measure of enjoyment was had as she learned more and more about Gaius’ world, her natural curiosity fed. She became a woman of two parts as well as one who wore two bratts. Day after day she was drawn more and more in to the life of a Roman, her former Celtic identity pushed into abeyance. It was only when some important insurgence happened that her Celtic loyalties came to the fore.
            “You have the white puss and swelling still under the wound, Gaius, and for full healing it must be drawn out. My grandmother would have made a paste of plantain and some other herbs, but I have none of these. Would anyone have such things at Deva? Already in a paste or the fresh growth?”
            Gaius had just returned from a short journey to Cambodunum, to the site of a permanent encampment. Governor Frontinus had marked out the area as an excellent site for a small fort and Gaius had started to send supplies. Unfortunately for him – though something which delighted Ineda – the supply wagons were being intercepted by local Celtic warriors and small skirmishes were frequent. The convoy he had personally accompanied had been attacked, but since the guard was heavy enough the Celtic assailants had fled after only a short foray.
            “How should I know such a thing, Ineda? My dealings at present are about iron and copper supplies, not plantain, whatever that is!” Gaius was bitingly terse, obviously annoyed that the pain was sufficient to bother him, all evident in the grimace he darted her way. Brushing her aside he clutched at the goblet of wine.
            Quelling anger at his offhand attitude, she bit her tongue to keep from being just as rude. A deep breath taken, she looked away from his wincing features and summoned control of her emotions. “You use herbs when you give prayers to your goddess Etain.”
            Only after drinking deeply from the cup did Gaius deign to answer, his gaze confrontational. His teeth crunched together, his lips pursed against the pain. “That is different from me knowing where they come from!” Quarrelling with him was not uncommon, but this incident was exacerbated even more by his hurting. “Why ask me? How should I know such things? Go from my sight if you cannot help me.”
            Gaius noticed the fleeting hurt she was unable to hide from her expression and glared at her all the more. Having come to dislike him less, being treated badly hurt her ambivalent feelings.
            “Ask Rubrius! He should know these things.”
            She had an idea who Rubrius was, was certain he was one of the superior surgeons, and was also fairly certain the surgeon would not spend time with her. But she did know one of his militis, a man friendly with one of Gaius’ clerks.
            Stomping off in high dudgeon over Gaius’ harsh behaviour, her temper was still roiling when she reached Rubrius’ quarters and requested to speak to his militis.         “I am told that Rubrius used the services of a healing woman to acquire herbs for some of his unguents? Is this true?” That she was rude to the man did not trouble her, though it would have in her more temperate moments.
            “Orchil?”
            “I do not know her name! Tribune Valerius needs treatment for his wound. Where will I find this woman?”
            “Does he need our immediate assistance?” The man looked bothered. “We have many wounded soldiers to deal with right now, but I will ask Rubrius to tend to the tribune.”
            She began to feel harassed when the militis glared, though her words were measured with care. “The wound needs treated, but given the proper unguent I have the skills to deal with it. All I need are the correct essentials to make the paste. If the woman has plantain I can do what is necessary.”
            Though the man looked sceptical, he told her where to locate the woman named Orchil.
            Ineda felt the blood surge around her body. Orchil lived outside the walls of the fortress! Was this her chance to escape after being so long a prisoner behind the walls? Excitement mounted, her thoughts whirling.
            “What is this I hear? I am extremely busy!”
            Ineda roused quickly from her momentary distraction. The man striding towards her looked to be important and yet full of bluster as his words rattled on.
            “I am Rubrius and you are Tribune Valerius’ whore. I heard you say you wish to talk with Orchil, the herbs woman? And you say you can deal with the tribune’s wound yourself?” His disdain dripped from every word, his sneer accompanied by a lascivious glare.
            “With plantain I can. I have the other items I need to make a paste to draw out the white puss that is under the skin.” When Rubrius continued to stare at her without saying more, she named a few other herbs she knew were available to her.
            “Is that all that ails the tribune? I thought him to be much needier of my expert services. What you name should work well enough.” Dismissing her, Rubrius turned and bawled at one of his underlings. “Fetch a guard and personally escort this slave to Orchil. See that she returns safely to the fortress. The tribune would be most upset if his personal woman ran off. He would not wish to be the butt of any ribald jokes when evening comes, though I dare say many of the soldiers within would make haste to recapture her. There are many of us who have to do without the services of a private whore.”
            Before striding off, the man’s chin moved right down to her face. “Your beauty causes much resentment at this fortress!”
            Something of her grandmother, Meaghan’s, words of so long ago came back to her as she was marched to the dwelling of the old healer. Though she had no recollection of the actual phrase, she remembered Meaghan commenting that her healing skills would be needed after a long time of no use. She also remembered Meaghan saying something about always looking forward to the good and not to dwell on the bad. It was not the first time she had been referred to as the tribune’s whore, and most likely not the last but it hurt – badly.

 

 

Sunday 23 March 2014

Sunday Snip - and only 2 days to the official launch of After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks

25th March 2014 is highlighted in my desk diary...as the official launch day for Book 3 of my Celtic Fervour Series of Historical Romantic Adventures - After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

In preparation for the Facebook Launch Party I've organised some blog visits to spread the world about my latest book release. I also sent out a press release to my local media outlets and I've certainly been successful with my local Inverusrie Herald who put on a spectactular 'page 3' spread for me. 


Meanwhile, here's another little Sunday Snip for you to enjoy from After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks which is already available in print and ebook formats from:

Amazon UK  
Amazon US

Psst - it's already at...
 on amazon UK!




AD 80 One Moon After Beltane – Damnonii Territory
As Brennus made his way into the lands of the Damnonii, the news from each new village and hamlet was increasingly disturbing. Evidence of Roman patrols seemed to be everywhere. The settlers who lived in the coastal villages had alarming tales to tell of many sightings of Roman vessels which had been seen hugging the shoreline.
            “Do they beach the ships at any time?” This question of his had been voiced in many places.
            The answer seemed to be consistent. “Aye, they do. Small Roman patrols disembark and make small camps, their first stop always to establish a nearby water supply. They terrify the farmers and villagers across the territory but have only engaged in attacking the locals if they are directly threatened.”
            “Has that happened often?”
            The next part was also consistent. “Aye! Those who are left flee. They have no wish to die under a Roman gladius but they have been able to return to their soil fairly soon after. The Roman patrols make their observations and then leave quickly.”
            “These ships do not disgorge hundreds of soldiers? They do not build any of their small forts?”
            “Nay! Only small numbers of the Roman scum come to shore but do not linger. They move quickly across the land.”
            “Where do they go when they leave their first camps?” Brennus had a feeling the answer would not be favourable.
            “Where, I am not sure, but I suppose they must go back to their vessels because they sail off after only a few days.”
            Brennus nodded; it sounded very much like Roman tactics. “Aye. I can believe that. Once they take on a fresh water supply, and the venators bring some kill, that would be time for them to leave.”
            His guides could not say if the people who dwelled well away from the coast had seen any Roman presence, therefore he deemed it necessary to travel inland. It was high summer so the travelling was fair. The terrain they traversed was peppered with undulating hills, the population who settled there fairly sparse. Some of the even higher slopes were much like the hills between the Brigantes and Selgovae, the moorland too wild and inhospitable for crop growing. He was not surprised to hear of few dwellings there and was glad his guide knew how to skirt the highest peaks to find habitation.
            At each new hamlet, his question rarely varied and his answers were returned in like fashion.
            “We are valley farmers, Bran. We only see our nearest neighbours a few times over the seasons when we celebrate our feast times, but we have certainly not seen these soldiers you describe to us.”
             At every stop, he pulled out his ocarina and flute and entertained the settlers, Nith and Esk providing some fare for their communal eating. At every stop, he established a strong chain of messengers. And at every stop he looked for a leader who would rouse the people into action against the Roman Empire – but nowhere did he find that man. He would not allow himself to become despondent, though it was a trial to carry on at times. The farmers he spoke to would fight for their own land, there was no doubt of that, but there was a great reluctance to fight against an enemy they had only heard talk of around the fireside.


Slainthe! 

Tuesday 18 March 2014

After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks - Venicones Territory



Hello! There are only 7 days to go till the ebook launch of After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks so I'm sharing another exclusive/ never before seen excerpt with you! 

(However, you can pre-order your print copy just now from 

  
AD 82 Samhain – Glen of the Eagles, Venicones Territory
The shrill whistle of a distressed kingfisher rent the air. Brennus hand-signalled his band to scatter through the forest fringe, knowing Esk’s alarm meant Roman troops were close by. The strident version Esk could produce was piercing, yet so realistic.
            Taking cover behind a large boulder outcrop, he sidled along to allow Lorcan space.
            “They must be very near. Your Esk is the best scout I have ever encountered. We must give great thanks to Callan for recognising his worth.” Lorcan’s whisper tickled his ear.
            Rather than speak he nodded as Esk mimicked another bird, this time the Red Grouse as though the bird had been startled into an upwards flurry from the heather: the signal that it was only a small group of Romans. Their use of bird calls and animal noises had been perfected and had helped keep the band alive more than a time or two.
            Pulling his bratt over his light coloured hair, Brennus slowly peered around the side of the rock. They had been forced to traverse the lower foothills almost the whole journey to avoid detection and he was weary of the need to slink past the Roman scum. Along with his brother and his small band of followers they had agreed that a confrontation every time they encountered the forces of Rome would do them no favours. The otherworld was too likely a result for some of them since they had come across so many patrols. However, that did not mean they would not fight if an opportunity arose where they were likely to be the victors and come out of a skirmish unscathed.
            An animal noise was just discernable, the soft repetitive scratching of a red squirrel clawing at tree bark. Nith. He was much better at animal noises.
            Brennus could see no sign of any Romans but pulled back to mouth at his brother. “Only around ten of them.”
            A grin broke free. He had no present notion of exactly where his companions were except Lorcan, but Esk and Nith’s alarm calls meant they were nearby. The others wouldn’t have gone far either.
            Lorcan’s dunt at his elbow drew his to the other side of the outcrop. “Over there.”
            Lorcan’s whisper was drowned by the new sound of tramping feet. The Roman patrol was walking alongside the burn at the hill foot. There was too much exposed ground for Brennus and his men to attack them in their current location but if the patrol continued their present direction they would soon enter the copse that lay ahead of them. It was likely that they would since Brennus knew the far side of the copse led to the pathway which opened out at the glen of the eagles. There had already been a temporary camp there when he had set out seasons ago to seek out the Caledon leaders. If the Romans continued their usual practice then a permanent camp was probably now somewhere near since it lay on the strategic north-east route up through the territory of the Venicones to the River Tatha.
            Peering out Lorcan’s end of the outcrop he caught sight of Esk’s spear tip just above the rock where he was sheltering, though the man’s body remained invisible. Giving a soft hoot Brennus waited for Esk’s head to peek out. After giving a silent hand signal to remain above the patrol and negotiate a path that would lead to the copse below, he expected his men to follow when he and Lorcan silently set off, maintaining their cover.
             It took only a short time for Brennus’ band to be in place, ahead of the Roman patrol.
            “Now!” His alarm cry sent his companions out from their hiding places.
            The ring of metal on metal was almost instantly all around, the surprised cries of the Roman auxiliaries a sound that was most welcome. He had managed the element of surprise, the small group of Romans unable to form any kind of defensive shield. They were doomed. Nith had been correct. Only twelve Romans and his group outnumbered them by seven.
            Lorcan’s battle cries deafened his ears, his brother’s long sword crushing the lorica hamata of the nearest soldier of Rome. Not enough to penetrate the links, the blow was still strong enough to send the smaller man to his knees, one of Trune’s men at the ready to whack the Roman’s neck.
            Brennus’ spear slammed into the upper leg of an escaping Roman, Esk moving in to finish off beheading the screeching soldier. Similar engagement was all around the area, blood and flesh spattering around till all noise was extinguished.
            Brennus bent down to retrieve his spear from the auxiliary’s leg. The half rent head lay in a pool of dark red blood, the eyes surprised by the speed of the attack. It was just a young lad, Brennus guessed not much more than sixteen winters.
            He beckoned his brother over to the carnage at his feet. “Agricola’s troops seem younger and younger.”
            “Aye! And he looks no different from our young warriors, wherever he has come from.”
            “Is anyone hurt?” He called around to check on his band.
            Nith replied, kneeling at the side of one young warrior. “Only two wounds but neither is a serious one. A binding will suffice for now.”

Saturday 15 March 2014

Beware the ides of March!

Hello!

Today I'm out blogging at my every-second-Saturday slot . Please join me at http://writingwranglersandwarriors.wordpress.com  



Join me and find out what I remember about the 'ides of March.

Here's another of our very elderly collection of Shakespeare plays... note the price!


After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks has only 9/10 days to go before the official launch but you can already pre-order a print copy and keep it as long as I have kept the one above!



Amaxon UK:

Slainthe!

Friday 14 March 2014

Getting to know Gaius!

There are only 11 days to the launch of After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks so it has to be time to meet Gaius Livanus Valerius, tribune of the Legio XX ...and for a very short time tribune militum of the Legio IX, a secondment at a time when the Ninth Legion was marching northwards through the lands of the Votadini, and the Venicones- modern day Scotland.

In Book 2 of the Celtic Fervour Series Gaius Livanus Valerius takes Ineda of Marske prisoner and makes her his personal slave.


It isn't a popular choice for him to make, and he becomes very out of favour within his garrison fort at Viroconium Cornoviorum, but he has his reasons for not allowing Ineda her freedom.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter Four:



It was not long before circumstances improved more to Ineda’s liking. Escape was still as elusive, but her purpose changed when Tribune Valerius took her with him when he was posted to the encampment at Deva. Though the Cornovii had largely been subdued for some time, the rebuilding and improvements to the earlier abandoned wooden fortress had been delayed till shortly before their arrival. The troops needed to build it had been deployed elsewhere for many seasons, but the present Governor Frontinus had decided the time had come to release sufficient soldiers from other legions to build the new structure.
            Having seen a little of the assembly of the fort at Nidd, and having lived for so long at Viroconium Cornoviorum, Ineda saw many similarities, though the Deva garrison fortress was much larger. Situated on a headland, the river meandered below. It was also close to a natural harbour on the western coast and would dominate any sea traffic in and out of the area. The position was ideal for containing the Brigantes, the Setantii and the Carvetii to the north of it, and effectively kept the local tribes to the south of it under control, with little unseen intermixing of the tribes.
           
The new walls of the fortress were in place before they arrived but the construction of interior buildings was still underway. Manned mainly by auxiliaries, the noise behind the walls was deafening as building after building took shape. The whole interior was already so well laid down it was easy to walk around, the paved walkways being laid out in similar fashion to Viroconium Cornoviorum. She could not help being reluctantly impressed by the whole organisation within the Roman Empire. The function Gaius currently performed in supplying the necessary iron to make construction nails and other building supplies was being mirrored across the empire.
            Gaius. She now allowed herself to think of him as Gaius and even named him so as well when directly speaking to him. His persistence that she should do so had eventually wore down her reticence.
            A small measure of enjoyment was had as she learned more and more about Gaius’ world, her natural curiosity fed. She became a woman of two parts as well as one who wore two bratts. Day after day she was drawn more and more in to the life of a Roman, her former Celtic identity pushed into abeyance. It was only when some important insurgence happened that her Celtic loyalties came to the fore.
            “You have the white puss and swelling still under the wound, Gaius, and for full healing it must be drawn out. My grandmother would have made a paste of plantain and some other herbs, but I have none of these. Would anyone have such things at Deva? Already in a paste or the fresh growth?”
            Gaius had just returned from a short journey to Cambodunum, to the site of a permanent encampment. Governor Frontinus had marked out the area as an excellent site for a small fort and Gaius had started to send supplies. Unfortunately for him – though something which delighted Ineda – the supply wagons were being intercepted by local Celtic warriors and small skirmishes were frequent. The convoy he had personally accompanied had been attacked, but since the guard was heavy enough the Celtic assailants had fled after only a short foray.
            “How should I know such a thing, Ineda? My dealings at present are about iron and copper supplies, not plantain, whatever that is!” Gaius was bitingly terse, obviously annoyed that the pain was sufficient to bother him, all evident in the grimace he darted her way. Brushing her aside he clutched at the goblet of wine.
            Quelling anger at his offhand attitude, she bit her tongue to keep from being just as rude. A deep breath taken, she looked away from his wincing features and summoned control of her emotions. “You use herbs when you give prayers to your goddess Etain.”
            Only after drinking deeply from the cup did Gaius deign to answer, his gaze confrontational. His teeth crunched together, his lips pursed against the pain. “That is different from me knowing where they come from!” Quarrelling with him was not uncommon, but this incident was exacerbated even more by his hurting. “Why ask me? How should I know such things? Go from my sight if you cannot help me.”
            Gaius noticed the fleeting hurt she was unable to hide from her expression and glared at her all the more. Having come to dislike him less, being treated badly hurt her ambivalent feelings.
            “Ask Rubrius! He should know these things.”
            She had an idea who Rubrius was, was certain he was one of the superior surgeons, and was also fairly certain the surgeon would not spend time with her. But she did know one of his militis, a man friendly with one of Gaius’ clerks.
            Stomping off in high dudgeon over Gaius’ harsh behaviour, her temper was still roiling when she reached Rubrius’ quarters and requested to speak to his militis.         “I am told that Rubrius used the services of a healing woman to acquire herbs for some of his unguents? Is this true?” That she was rude to the man did not trouble her, though it would have in her more temperate moments.
            “Orchil?”
            “I do not know her name! Tribune Valerius needs treatment for his wound. Where will I find this woman?”
            “Does he need our immediate assistance?” The man looked bothered. “We have many wounded soldiers to deal with right now, but I will ask Rubrius to tend to the tribune.”
            She began to feel harassed when the militis glared, though her words were measured with care. “The wound needs treated, but given the proper unguent I have the skills to deal with it. All I need are the correct essentials to make the paste. If the woman has plantain I can do what is necessary.”
            Though the man looked sceptical, he told her where to locate the woman named Orchil.
            Ineda felt the blood surge around her body. Orchil lived outside the walls of the fortress! Was this her chance to escape after being so long a prisoner behind the walls? Excitement mounted, her thoughts whirling.
            “What is this I hear? I am extremely busy!”
            Ineda roused quickly from her momentary distraction. The man striding towards her looked to be important and yet full of bluster as his words rattled on.
            “I am Rubrius and you are Tribune Valerius’ whore. I heard you say you wish to talk with Orchil, the herbs woman? And you say you can deal with the tribune’s wound yourself?” His disdain dripped from every word, his sneer accompanied by a lascivious glare.
            “With plantain I can. I have the other items I need to make a paste to draw out the white puss that is under the skin.” When Rubrius continued to stare at her without saying more, she named a few other herbs she knew were available to her.
            “Is that all that ails the tribune? I thought him to be much needier of my expert services. What you name should work well enough.” Dismissing her, Rubrius turned and bawled at one of his underlings. “Fetch a guard and personally escort this slave to Orchil. See that she returns safely to the fortress. The tribune would be most upset if his personal woman ran off. He would not wish to be the butt of any ribald jokes when evening comes, though I dare say many of the soldiers within would make haste to recapture her. There are many of us who have to do without the services of a private whore.”
            Before striding off, the man’s chin moved right down to her face. “Your beauty causes much resentment at this fortress!”
            Something of her grandmother, Meaghan’s, words of so long ago came back to her as she was marched to the dwelling of the old healer. Though she had no recollection of the actual phrase, she remembered Meaghan commenting that her healing skills would be needed after a long time of no use. She also remembered Meaghan saying something about always looking forward to the good and not to dwell on the bad. It was not the first time she had been referred to as the tribune’s whore, and most likely not the last but it hurt – badly.

            “Aye! I have what you need.” The old woman cackled as she went about collecting the items Ineda requested. “So, the tribune is not immune to a Celtic sword? Sometimes our Celtic brothers strike back successfully. I would that more of them were successful against this Roman scum that floods our land!”
            Stunned that Orchil would be so openly ridiculing, Ineda found herself lost for words. Gaius could have been killed, but she also rejoiced that there was still some resistance to Roman domination of Celtic territory. She was amazed that the old woman voiced her opinions so loudly but at least the soldiers who accompanied her were outside the roundhouse.
            Orchil grumbled ominously as she handed over the herbs. “Your whoredom status is known to all, Ineda of the Brigantes, but that need not mean you should be termed Roman. Those who refuse to accept the tyranny of Rome need the support of every Celtic heart. If your tribune had been killed what would you do then?”
            Ineda had no idea what to answer. Her confusion was total. Her mumbled words of thanks given she left quickly, in her agitation bumping against the wooden door post.
            “Come back when you have something useful to tell me so that I can pass it along, Ineda of the Brigantes! You are still of the Celtic people and always will be. Remember that.” Orchil’s words rang out as Ineda sped away.
            While returning to Gaius she deliberately put the old woman’s comments from her thoughts, thoughts that whirled her whole journey back. Orchil could not possibly mean what she was thinking? Maybe was even secretly hoping? Had the herbs woman indicated she could pass messages along to insurgent Brigantes? Orchil had also mentioned something troubling as well. What would be her fate if Gaius died? It seemed the dislike she felt from many of the soldiers that she encountered may not be because she was a Brigante slave, but more because Gaius had stirred resentment in keeping her as his personal woman instead of sharing her like a camp prostitute.
            During her absence Gaius had drunk more wine, the almost empty flagon a sure sign something was amiss. Soft snores greeted her when she tried to waken him but he slept on. The salve was fully ready by the time he stirred.
            “What is that mixture?” He winced in pain as he sat up, his arm jarring against the cot with his sluggish movements.
            “The unguent you need to draw out the white matter that lies beneath the skin. This paste will draw it out and clean the wound from beneath the skin.”
            Gaius seemed sceptical, though clearly interested in her movements as she used her stone pestle to transfer her mix from the mortar to a small pot. “How do you know this will work?”
            Encouraged by his tone she poured clean water from a jug into a small basin and then dipped in her wiping cloth. “My grandmother was the healer of our village. She taught me many things about tending ailments.”
            “We have skilled surgeons here at Deva who treat the wounds of our casualties.”
            Though his words could have been a rejection of her skills his tone said otherwise. It held a question, maybe a doubt about her expertise, yet also held a trust in her.
            “Aye! I know this. And they are very busy with other wounds just now, but if you prefer to wait for Rubrius, that is your choice.” Though she would never divulge what had happened, she was not confident the surgeon would even look at Gaius’ wound after what the man had said to her.
            Gaius holding out his wound told her his intentions. The glint in his gaze was trusting… and even… affectionate.
            “I trust you to heal me, Ineda. You have had many opportunities over many long moons now to have poisoned me, yet you have not.”
            She did not know what to think as she cleaned the wound. Uncertainty flooded her since she no longer knew where her loyalties lay. Gaius was her lover, and to all effects her hearth husband, even if no hand-fasting had occurred. But he was Roman.
            He was also the father of the babe in her womb that was soon to be born, though he had no knowledge of that as yet.
            She resolved to put Orchil’s taunts from her thoughts.
 
***



Slainthe! 



Wednesday 12 March 2014

Welcome Wednesday says hi to Gilli Allan

Hello! 
It's always wonderful to have new visitors and that's what's happening today. I'm opening the door to Gilli Allan, who has come to share her thoughts on planning a novel. I'm finding a lot of similarities over how she works, and how I find myself writing my new works in progress, in as much as I'm basically a 'pantser' who lets images and ideas flood in from different stimuli... and sometimes that takes quite a while.

Gilli is also sharing information about her books -in particular - Fly or Fall. (Check details below for a Kindle countdown deal from today- 12th March 2014!)

I love the startling cover image!

Welcome Gilli, and over to you...


What is the key that opens up a story?
I envy the writers who are able to conjure up an entire story, producing a skeleton plot or a detailed synopsis, before they begin a book. It sounds easier than the way I work.  I think of my next book like a shuttered up house.  I may have some concept of the front elevation but I have very little idea of what is going on inside. What I need to do is find the key to unlock the front door.  I find the story by going from room to room, flinging open the shutters to let the light in to see what’s inside each one. 

The key to ‘TORN’ came to me on a car journey to Somerset. I was the passenger and I had just a split second to register a turning on my side - a lane sloping steeply down to the centre of a village.  Evidently the road we were on had been developed as a by-pass. ‘I bet those villagers were pleased to have the main road re-routed,’ I thought. ‘But what about the home-owners living along this road?’
 Life is rarely black and white. There are always two or more sides to every question. TORN grew from this single thought. A single mother takes her young son and runs away from an abusive relationship in London to find sanctuary in the country. She wants a quiet life with no entanglements, where she can devote herself to being a good mother. But there are stresses and strains here too, and the people she gets to know are on different sides of the argument about everything, from lifestyle to a proposed bypass. She is TORN between the suitable man and the unsuitable boy.  

I’ve attended a life class for many years and always thought it would make an interesting setting for a novel. And LIFE CLASS would be a good title. But I didn’t have a story.  I began to think about women I knew and the jobs they did.  I have a friend who, at the time, worked as a lab technician in an STI clinic.  This was the key that opened the door to my imagination. What if my heroine did this job? It might bring her into contact with many different people - some possibly known to her - at a vulnerable time in their lives. Tempting for her to make assumptions about sexuality and life-style.  Add into the mix her sister - a bored housewife, their art teacher - a sculptor, who feels a failure, and a damaged boy, who knows all about sex but nothing about love. They all need to confront past mistakes and accept that love has many faces.  

I first began writing FLY OR FALL many years before TORN or LIFE CLASS.  I had two books already main-stream published and I wanted to get on with the third.  As I had before, I began searching for the key to it by looking at my own life experiences.  I knew about moving house, the last time was only four years previously. How would I feel if I’d moved unwillingly? If it had all been my husband’s idea?  I began to think about a woman who dislikes change but after her invalid mother dies, she is persuaded, against her instincts, to move house from Battersea, in London, to an area where she knows no one. To further disrupt and depress her, the new house needs modernisation.  
I had some experience of ‘having work done’ on the house, but I’d never been propositioned by a builder.  I’d inferred from women I knew that this was a commonplace and sometimes welcome element of home improvements!  I don’t believe I gave out encouraging signals and, in truth, there’d never been a workman that I’d found remotely attractive, but what if....?  All these thoughts rumbled around in my head as the story progressed.  
I was now doing an evening bar job at my local squash club, and even though I’m fairly sure I still wasn’t giving out the right signals, bar maids are fair game it seems. It occurred to me that my heroine could take a similar job which would expose her to an entirely different world to the one she’d left behind in right-on, politically-correct Battersea. 
Gilli Allan
It was then that real life began to mirror events in my story rather than the other way around. My mother died unexpectedly and my husband was head-hunted. Suddenly my world had been turned upside down and I was faced with exactly the same dilemma I’d given my heroine.  The job was in Gloucestershire, a county neither my husband nor I had ever set foot in, let alone had friends in or connections to. But it was an extremely good opportunity; I had a portable career and I’d always fantasised about living in the ‘real’ country. 
Even though I supported our move, I found myself living through many of the events and emotions I’d imagined for my heroine - grief, displacement, loneliness and feeling like a fish out of water.  I put the still untitled book away and, though I admit to having tinkered with it over the years, I lost interest. Last year I decided to have another look at it. I’d only read the first chapter when the title Fly or Fall jumped out at me. This was the key I needed to revamp the book.  I could instantly see what wasn’t working and why. I knew how to re-write the story, to both bring it up-to-date and to give it a new, believable and satisfying conclusion.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00EWSHCBQ
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EWSHCBQ


All my books are available in paperback.
 
FLY OR FALL is on a ‘UK only’ Kindle Countdown from Wednesday 12 March, for 3 days. 
 
So, what about the query posed at the beginning of this piece - what is the key....? It can be many things - a momentary image, a real-life experience, something witnessed or recounted to me. It’s what happens next, where that opened door leads me, which is more fascinating.

http://gilliallan.blogspot.com
twitter: @gilliallan https://twitter.com/gilliallan
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1027644.Gilli_Allan

Thank you for such a great post, Gilli. It's a pleasure to welcome you, and the best of good wishes for your Kindle Countdown on Amazon.

Slainthe!