Sisters of Arden - New Release

I am very happy to announce the publication of Sisters of Arden. There were times during this particularly trying year that I thought I'd never have it finished in time for Christmas but I have, and here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Back cover blurb

Arden Priory has remained unchanged for almost four hundred years. When a nameless child is abandoned at the gatehouse door, the nuns take her in and raise her as one of their own.

As Henry VIII’s second queen dies on the scaffold, the embittered King strikes out, and unprecedented change sweeps across the country. The bells of the great abbeys fall silent, the church and the very foundation of the realm begins to crack.

Determined to preserve their way of life, novitiate nuns Margery and Grace join a pilgrimage thirty thousand strong to lead the heretic king back to grace.

Sisters of Arden is a story of valour, virtue and veritas.

An excerpt.

1537 - Yorkshire

We run, heads down through the darkness, away from the cries of our dying friends and the sickening thud of their falling bodies.

Ducking through a garden gate, I cast about for a hay store or a tangle of bushes that might conceal us. Grabbing her wrist, I pull Frances into a briar patch, the thorns snagging and tearing at our robes and limbs. As we crouch in the dark, she trembles and wipes her wet cheeks on my sleeve. I can just distinguish her bone-white face and the stark terror in her eyes, and I am sickened with guilt that I have led her to this. Her life is now forfeit to my mistaken conviction that simple folk can make a difference.

I grope for God in the faithless void of my mind, begging that the king’s men grow tired of the hunt and ride away, back to their warm hearths, their laden tables, and their fragrant, sinful wives. Frances’ teeth begin to rattle, her breath faltering as her courage dwindles. I give her a gentle shake and put a warning finger against her lips, beseeching her to be silent, to be brave for just a little longer.

As the stealthy hooves draw closer to our hiding place, we hold our breath, sinking deeper into the undergrowth when he halts just a little way above our heads. The dank aroma of rotting vegetation rises; the tang of frost tickles my nose and pinches my toes. Frances trembles so violently it is indistinguishable from the juddering of my own body. I fumble for prayer, nausea washing over me as I fail to recall a single one.

 A creak of harness as the rider shifts in his saddle. I cannot see him but when the horse snorts, in my mind’s eye his breath mists the darkness, rising wraith-like in the night. I can feel the rake of the man’s gaze as he searches, seeking out our hiding place. My lungs strain fit to burst, my chest is aching, and I am ready to relinquish my freedom for just one blessed breath. The horse stirs, turns and moves away, and we fill our lungs with fresh damp air. We clutch hands as the vague hope of escape returns.

Then noise erupts with a harsh yelp. A hound is loosed and, with a furious growl, it crashes through the hedge. As I fall backward, I glimpse a lolling tongue, and yellow eyes stare briefly into mine; cold, murderous eyes. Frances’ scream shatters the night as the jaws clamp down upon her wrist.

“Let go! Let go!” I strike out with my bare feet, feeling the crack of bony ribs beneath a silken coat. The hound yelps but holds on fast, screaming aloud as I kick out again, hammering his head with my heels. The air fills with a confusion of hooves, screaming women, and triumphant male laughter as they lay hands upon us. As they drag me to my feet, Frances gives a loud unintelligible sound that breaks my heart.

“Please,” I beg, as my hands are wrenched behind me and roughly held. “We are nuns from Arden. My sister has done nothing. Take me, but … let Sister Frances go – she ... she doesn’t understand.”

A white dagger of agony flashes through my skull as my captor clouts me around the ear. My head rings and my vision blurs. Through a fog of pain, I realise they are hauling Frances from the ground, dragging us both rudely forward.

“Hold them,” the man on the horse orders, and their grip tightens as he slides from his saddle, hawks and spits on the ragged skirts of my habit before slowly unfurling a rope from his belt.

 The knots are tight about my wrists; my hands are numb. I cry out as the horse jolts forward and, tethered to the saddle, all we can do is follow him. Agonisingly, we retrace our route back the way we have come, through the hamlets and homesteads that earlier offered us shelter.

Our cause is lost. Our peaceful mission to bring England back to the true church has failed; doomed by the promises of a false king. In the lightening dawn, the slack-limbed, sightless bodies of those who aided us sway as we pass. The voiceless, lifeless men, women and children who dared to share our questioning of the king’s wisdom gape blindly at our passing.

 We will join them soon; our useless lives cut short, our fruitless existence ended in ignominy.

My throat grows tight. How have we come to this?

Sisters of Arden is available for pre-order now and the paperback will follow soon. Click the link for more info: mybook.to/sistersofarden

All novels available in Paperback and Kindle.

The Beaufort Chronicle, A Song of Sixpence and The Kiss of the Concubine are available as audio books.

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My Humble Apologies and an update

I have neglected this blog badly this year, and here we are almost at the end of September. This year has not been kind to me so far and I have struggled to keep writing, let alone blog and socialise as much as I usually do. I did manage to attend Raglan Castle for their Tudor Weekend (who would miss that) where we had a fantastic time. It was great to meet readers, both old and new to my work. We did so well that I sold out on some titles. The season of book fairs began last weekend at Narberth where my books were also very successful. It was great to catch up with my fellow authors from Wales, and meet the readers once again. It was a reward for a rotten year and I am so glad I managed to keep up with is my work in progress, The King's Mother which, you will  be glad to hear, has just entered the editing stage.

Margaret Beaufort's latter years are not as dramatic as her earlier life. Established as The King's Mother, she is gratified to finally see her son, Henry Tudor, on the throne of England, and the royal nursery filling with grandchildren. However, Henry's reign is not an easy one and there are hidden dangers: his early years as king are fraught with uprisings, imposters, and the fear of possible assassins. As the years pass and one by one their enemies are vanquished, a more personal tragedy strikes. For once, Margaret finds herself powerless as slowly and inexorably, death takes those that Margaret loves best. 

It has been an uphill struggle for both Margaret and I, yet finally against all odds, the book is undergoing the first round of edits, the illustrator Kate Murray, and cover designer Cover Girl have done marvelous things with the exterior. It won't be long now until the book hits the shelves and all my fears of not making the deadline seem to have been vain.

I have also been involved in a non-fiction project with a authors, Annie Whitehead, Jessica Cale, Hunter S. Jones, Gayle Hulme, Dr Beth Lynne and Emma Hadden Wright which is to be published by Pen & Sword Books in March 2018. The book comprises of a collection of scholarly essays examining love and romance through the ages and the impact it may or may not have had on British history. I shall provide more information on this when I have it.

So, please forgive my neglect. I promise I shall strive to do better in the future. On my facebook page you will find an on going competition to come up wth ideas for the historical woman to be featured in my next book - preferably Tudor or late medieval. I shall peruse your ideas, and select my favourite. The person who comes up with the most inspiring idea will be mentioned in the dedication and receive a FREE copy of the book when it is published. So please, have a think and join us.

https://www.facebook.com/thetudorworld/

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The Portraits of Lady Margaret Beaufort

Judith Arnopp

Fig one

Most of us are familiar with the portraits of Margaret Beaufort. Invariably she is depicted toward the end of her life, elderly, austere, and pious. It is difficult to imagine this staid, nun-like woman as a gurgling baby or a naughty child; even less as a vigorous, ambitious young woman. But people, even Countesses, are not born pious. Her face must once have been unlined, she may have been frivolous, perhaps even reckless. She was certainly determined. Her crusade to secure her son Henry VII on the English throne involved considerable risk to herself as she intrigued against a reigning monarch. 

Against all odds, she financed her son’s campaign and in doing so ended her son's exile and changed her life forever by forging the new Tudor dynasty. With Henry’s accession to the throne she became the most powerful woman in the realm, and she did not waste her new-found success but became one of the king's chief advisers. Her charitable work included the founding of hospitals and universities, and championing the arts. She was educated, intelligent and indomitable. A woman to be celebrated, you might think, yet she is invariably depicted in both history and fiction, as ... well, a bit of a harridan.

This, I think, is largely due to our difficulty of viewing her in a softer, more human, light. Her portraits are not endearing to the modern eye. She is not pretty, she is not fabulously attired but that was the intention. The paintings we see today form part of the propaganda supporting the Tudor rule, presenting Margaret as the founding mother of the new dynasty; a figure of unblemished character. Without exception, the portraits depict her in her later years, clothed in a peaked white headdress, usually with a book, and always in the act of religious contemplation. She has an aura of chastity and charity.

Fig two

Of course, portraits are not always about the subject’s appearance but, instead depict a person’s character rather than how long the sitter’s nose may have been. Once she had achieved her exulted position as the king's mother the perils of Margaret's youth became immaterial. What mattered to the newly-formed Tudor dynasty was the projection of an authoritative, reverent persona - a spotless nun-like figure. There is no hint of the young woman who was wed as a child to Henry VI's brother, bore her son when she was just thirteen years old. The fears and uncertainties, the passions and the flaws that she experienced were in the past, and the vital role she had once played was now unimportant to the Tudors. 

There are no extant portraits of Margaret from her lifetime, the ones we see today were made during the reigns of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. Undoubtedly, they are copies of a lost original so, particularly if we compare them to the effigy on her tomb at Westminster, we can be fairly sure of her appearance during the later years of her life. Her resemblance to her son is clear.

fig three

The portrait above (fig two) of Margaret is believed to have been part of a set of corridor portraits including Henry VII, Henry VIII, commissioned during the reign of her great granddaughter, Elizabeth I. Again, Margaret is in a religious pose, her clothing and book of hours illustrating her religious devotion. It is the best preserved portrait we have of Margaret, the detail of the golden arch beneath which she sits, and the ornamented cloth of state is still brightly defined.

Fig four

My personal favourite portrait of Lady Margaret (fig four) hangs in St John’s College in Cambridge. It was painted by Rowland Lockey in the 16^th century. Margaret is shown at prayer in a lavish apartment, presumably her private chamber. She kneels at a desk with a heavy embroidered cloth and before her is a prayer book, a sign of piety and learning, and beneath it the ‘chemise’ cover she kept it wrapped in. Above her head, a tester bears the Tudor rose. The chamber itself is sumptuous, testament to her love of comfort, the stained glass windows bears the badge of the Beaufort family and (just out of shot) the arms of England.

This portrait tells us more about her lifestyle than the others. We can see that, despite her sombre attitude, she lived luxuriously, as one would expect. Her dark clothes, although quite dour to our modern eyes, were of the best quality, black being among the most expensive and difficult hues to produce. Margaret, it seems, had a great love of clothes.

After her death ‘seven gowns of black velvet were found, trimmed with ermine, and a mantle of tawny.’ And, most interesting of all, was ‘a scarlet gown with a long train, ornamented with the badges of the Garter and evidently to be worn on St George’s day. In another inventory we find a crimson gown to be worn with her ‘circuit’, not a diadem but a surcoat, such as she had worn at Christmas 1487.’[1]

Fig five

So, a new Margaret begins to peek from behind her ageing portraits, a younger woman who favoured scarlet and ermine, whose ‘chariot men wore scarlet. The very buttons of the horse harness were of gold of Venice.[2]’ This speaks less of piety and very much of majesty, perhaps even a little vanity.

The National Portrait Gallery has a portrait (fig five) previously thought to be Margaret but now largely dismissed. It features a younger woman in a pose now expected of Margaret. Her hands are clasped in pious prayer, her head is covered with a veil. The painting is dark but the gown appears to be dark red or burgundy, the veil itself is lavishly embroidered. The nose is long and heavy, the eyes heavily lidded, as Margaret is shown in other portraits, and the face is pensive. At first glance, her expression seems gentle, yet on closer inspection it becomes more determined. and the viewer begins to debate whether the sitter is lost in religious adoration, or distracted by plots of rebellion. It is difficult to judge. 

As I stated earlier, the portrait is no longer believed to represent Margaret but it is intriguing none the less, and in the absence of representations of the younger woman, I used it during my research for The Beaufort Chronicles to help me picture the young woman who, widowed three times, separated from her only son, and exiled from the Yorkist court, had no notion of the triumphs her future held.

Margaret Beaufort, countess of Richmond and Derby (1443-1509) oil on panel 43 x 35.5 cm c.16th century  by Maynard Waynwyk

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[1] Jones and Underwood, The King’s Mother p188

[2] Ibid p189

Portraits from Wikimediacommons

 The Beaufort Chronicles is now available on Amazon Kindle, Paperback and Audiobook. Click on this link for further information: mybook.to/TBwoman 

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