My book of choice this week has been Iseult by Rosalind Miles. To be honest not exactly my usual thing, but it was in a box of books sent to me while I was in hospital. This is what happens when your friends are a mixture of historians and radical feminists.
This is my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
Oh and btw this is TOTALLY historically inaccurate!
I own nothing!
Tintagel was a dusty, stinking pile John thought as he walked its packed earth market. The people all had the same, grey dull faces, which reflected the bleak walls of the fortress, and the wild Kernow Coast. He had been back in Kernow for three weeks, three lonely and desperate week's, he had considered ending his life, throwing himself from the high battlements and ending the existence that had been willed upon him by a lucky spear thrust far away in Amorica. That thrust had been enough to send the lost king of Lyonesse reeling from the battlefield, carried wounded by his warband to the first ship they could find, he awoke on the way to Kernow.
His Aunt Molly was the infamous ruler of the country, his mother Blancheflour was her youngest sister, and when Blancheflour and her husband Rivalen were killed, and John and his sister were driven from Lyonesse, Molly took them both in. Molly's third husband had taken the youthful John under his wing, and squired him, whereas Harriet had been taken into the wardship of Arthur's dark half-sister Morgana-Le-Fey. John had seen little of her since childhood, but had been told that since Morgana's fall Harriet had been taken to join Merlin's own band of half-mad creatures on Avalon's tor.
Soon after John had been knighted by his Aunt, under the watchful gaze of her sixth husband, he had left Tintagel for Arthur's new formed court at Camelot. Six years of fighting the Franks in Armorica had made him battle hard, and cynical. It had also gained him fame and popularity, no longer the infant lost king of Lyonesse, but one of Arthur's Knights a Warlord in his prime. His men were loyal to him, and even in the fortress of Tintagel, where their limping commander went they followed. So when a hot and sweating man, in a short tunic and woollen hose ran towards him through the market, their swords were drawn and the man was held close.
"John?" the man asked "It's Mike! Mike of Stamford"
John waved his hand and the swords vanished, the warriors disappearing back into the crowd.
"How are you? I've not seen you for years; I thought you were in Amorica with Arthur's knights. What happened?"
John gestured at his bound leg, "spear thrust" he grunted.
They went and sat with their backs leant against a tavern wall.
"So what are you doing, staying in Tintagel till you can find a quest?"
"I can't quest like this?" John replied, motioning his leg with a now trembling hand.
"But you couldn't bear to be anywhere else?" mike asked "that's not the John, I knew?"
"Yeah, well I'm not the John you knew" the warlord snapped.
"Could you go and stay with Harry?" Mike asked, but just received a look for his pains.
"What I really need is a simple fetch and carry job" John sighed, "but who'd employ me for that?"
Mike looked at him then laughed, "strange that, I was only having this conversation earlier."
"Go on then" John pressed "who wants an ex-knight to fetch and carry for them?"
"You're Aunt!"
It was simple enough on the face of it, John would travel from Tintagel to CaerLizord near Dubh Llin, to collect Molly of Kernow's, twelfth husband. The lad was the brother of the client king of Ireland, Mycroft, and son of the formidable Queen Yseult of Ireland. John and his men would travel with treasure from Molly for her new bride, and hopefully return with the boy's dowry to fill Kernow's coffers and provide much needed gold for them.
John was not a great sailor, had had arrived at the black pool, sick and green. Shaking and ill they had been shown to CaerLizord's guest hall, to sleep the night before paying homage to Mycroft and Yseult the next morning. John's dreams were haunted by the wolfwoods of Armorica, the snow that lay in the clearings stained with blood, and the cold terror of the pitch evenings. Sweating and groaning he awoke with a start as the Frankish spear came towards him. He sat up and adjusted his wolf-pelt blanket around him, the fire and dropped down to nothing, mainly because the young girl, who minded it, was being thoroughly roasted by a number of John's men. Looking past the sweating rutting humanity, John's eyes were drawn to the south door of the hall, were a slim dark silhouette, which stood silent watching guard over the scene.
Ok, so there is more obviously but I HAVE TO GO TO BED!
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I hope you like so far
Jas xx