Kim Rendfeld book tour - The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar.

 

 

Enthralled with the Days of Charlemagne

By Kim Rendfeld

I blame my foray into fiction on a legend, one that followed me home from Germany and refused to leave me alone until I sat myself down in front of a computer and wrote. Never mind I knew little about the Middle Ages and had only heard of Charlemagne in middle school.

The story that so captivated me is about the origin of Rolandsbogen, now an ivy covered arch where a Rhineland castle used to stand. To avoid introducing a spoiler to anyone who has not yet read my debut, The Cross and the Dragon (2012, Fireship Press), I will say only that it is a variant on the tales about Roland and it involved lovers being separated by a lie.

I thought I would write only one novel set in early medieval Francia, but then I researched the history. Two published books and one draft manuscript later, I’m still there.

What has gotten me hooked? There are so many characters, events, and issues that I can’t fit them all into a blog post, but I’ll happily provide a sampling.

Real-Life Gutsy Women. To call medieval women chattel is oversimplifying their reality. While arranged marriages in early medieval times make it far from ideal, women were not delicate, passive creatures. They tried to influence the events around them, and a queen mother could rule as regent for a young son. Bertrada, a supporting character in my first two novels, was a full partner to her husband, King Pepin. When he died, she played an active role as queen mother to her grown sons, Kings Charles and Carloman. When Carloman died and Charles seized his lands, the widow Gerberga crossed the Alps with two very young boys to protect her sons’ rights, seeking aid from the ruthless Lombard king, Charles’s angry ex-father-in-law.

Alda, my fictional heroine of The Cross and the Dragon, fits right in with her historic counterparts.

Charlemagne’s Wars against Pagan Peoples and Other Grim Realities. The Continental Saxons in particular piqued my curiosity, especially when Charles’s biographer described the wars against them as the most prolonged, bitter, and laborious.

During his first war in Saxony in 772, Charles ordered the destruction of the Irminsul, a pillar sacred to the Saxons. Combine that with the sad fate of war captives ending up as slaves, and troubling questions arise. What would it be like to have your faith literally go up in smoke? What would be like to be free one moment and a slave the next?

Those two questions led me to write The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar (August 28, 2014, Fireship Press). Its heroine, Leova, is an ordinary peasant who loses everything – her home, her husband, her faith, even her freedom, and she will go to great lengths to protect her two children, Deorlaf and Sunwynn. 

The Personal and Political Were Intertwined for Royal Families. Charles was married five times. He divorced the first two wives and outlived the other three, and then he had at least four concubines, fathering five children. Decisions we today would consider mere fodder for tabloids could lead to war. At the beginning of The Cross and the Dragon, Charles is about to go to battle with his ex-father-in-law, the king of Lombardy, to save Rome. In Lady Queen Fastrada (tentative title of my work in progress), Charles’s son by his first wife tries to overthrow him. I didn’t make that up.

In the following excerpt from The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar, you’ll see some of these elements at play. This scene takes place shortly after Leova and her children are sold to a Frankish merchant.

“Are you one of the bishop’s guests?” Leova asked. Ragenard’s place in the Franks’ complicated society puzzled her. He was wealthy enough to afford clothes that were not faded, frayed, or patched, yet Pinabel had not treated him as an equal.

“The bishop finds news of important families to be worth providing hospitality to a merchant,” he replied. “So I need you to listen to gossip among the servants and tell me everything you hear, no matter how trivial.”

“It would be more difficult not to listen.” Leova fiddled with a patch on her dress. “While Sunwynn and I were mending clothes yesterday, all the women could speak of was Queen Hildegard being with child.” Carrying a monster’s offspring.

 “Everyone knows that.” Ragenard smiled. “But have you heard about the state of her health?”

“Her morning sickness has passed, and she is eating well.”

“Good.” Ragenard glanced over his shoulder, then leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Did you hear anything about the queen mother?”

Leova gave him a blank look. Several Frankish words were new to her—city, bishop, monk, nun, king, queen, merchant.

“What is a queen mother?” Sunwynn asked to Leova’s relief.

“The mother of the king,” Ragenard replied, blinking. “Her name is Bertrada. She is very powerful.”

“Oh,” Leova said, remembering the name. She wrung her memory. “Some of the maids were wondering if the birth of a healthy heir will appease her. Something about King Charles seizing his dead brother’s land and divorcing a—what was the word? Sounds like lost guard.”

“Lombard,” Ragenard said. “Our king repudiated the Lombard princess his mother had convinced him to marry. I have listened to the nobles argue long into the night about the king’s actions, but I have never taken a side, and neither will you.”

“What’s a Lombard?” Sunwynn asked.

“A people who live far south, ruled by a strong, devious king.”

To read the first chapter of The Cross and the Dragon or The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar or learn more about Kim Rendfeld, visit kimrendfeld.com. You can also read her blog Outtakes of a Historical Novelist at kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, like her on Facebook at facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld, or contact her at kim [at] kimrendfeld [dot] com. 

Can love triumph over war?

772 AD: Charlemagne’s battles in Saxony have left Leova with nothing but her two children, Deorlaf and Sunwynn. Her beloved husband died in combat. Her faith lies shattered in the ashes of Irminsul, the Pillar of Heaven. The relatives obligated to defend her and her family sell them into slavery instead.

In Francia, Leova is resolved to protect her son and daughter, even if it means sacrificing her own honor. Her determination only grows stronger as Sunwynn blossoms into a beautiful young woman attracting the lust of a cruel master, and Deorlaf becomes a headstrong man willing to brave starvation and demons to free his family. Yet Leova’s most difficult dilemma comes in the form of a Frankish friend, Hugh. He saves Deorlaf from a fanatical Saxon and is Sunwynn’s champion — but he is the warrior who slew Leova’s husband.

 

Advance Praise for The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar

“Carolingian Europe comes alive in Kim Rendfeld’s sweeping story of family and hope, set against the Saxon Wars. Her transportive and triumphant novel immerses us in an eighth century world that feels both mystical and starkly real.”  - Jessica Brockmole, author of Letters from Skye

“A captivating historical filled with rich detail, compelling characters, and a well-paced plot that keeps the pages turning to its very satisfying end. A true delight for fans of historical fiction. I couldn’t put it down.” — Susan Spann, author of the Shinobi Mysteries

“The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar is refreshingly set in a less familiar medieval period – soon after Charlemagne has conquered a portion of today’s Germany and its people. The characters are refreshing also, common folk instead of the lords and ladies who are the usual inhabitants of historical novels, and how they adjust to their new condition is fascinating. Altogether, this book was absorbing from start to finish.” – Roberta Gellis, author of The Roselynde Chronicles

http://www.fireshippress.com/virtual_book_tours/the-ashes-of-heavens-pillar-by-kim-rendfeld-on-tour-august-28-september-30.html

To read the first chapters of either novel or learn more about Kim, visit kimrendfeld.com. You’re also welcome to visit her blog Outtakes of a Historical Novelist at kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, like her on Facebook at facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, or follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld, or contact her at kim [at] kimrendfeld [dot] com.

A visit to Cymer Abbey in Wales

Cymer Abbey, or to give it the correct name, Kymer deu Dyfyr means the meeting of the waters, and the abbey is sited at the meeting of the river Mawd-dach and the river Wnion. It is a peaceful setting, or it would be without the traffic roaring on the by-pass and the holiday makers in the small camping and caravanning park, that has sprung up alongside. But, despite these modern day intrusions, it is still possible to discern the original peace and quiet that first drew the Cistercians to the spot in 1198.

The Cistercians sought places 'far from the concourse of men'; somewhere to contemplate God and their own human failing. Cymer must have seemed ideal. It was founded in 1158-9, its first patron Maredudd ap Cynan ab Owain Gwynedd, Lord of Merioneth. The church was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. 

The first monks to settle at Cymer came from Cwmhir Abbey in Powys, a sister house of Whitland which was itself founded by monks from the mother house of Clairvaux in Burgundy. Cymer was never a large house, the monks existing in poverty and piety, their living subsidised by sheep and dairy farming and horse breeding. Cymer was noted for the fine horses it provided to Llewellyn ap Iorwerth, more widely known as Llewellyn Fawr (the Great.)

Cistercian buildings were traditionally stark and undecorated but even by Cistercian standards Cymer is remarkably plain and the buildings were never extensive. In the early days the monks lodged in wooden structures, the stone buildings being built over the following years of local boulders and rubble. Only the dressed stone around the windows and doors was cut from buff sandstone and a few carvings in red sandstone. 

Today, all that remains standing of the monastery itself are parts of the abbey church. It was never a large building, measuring no more than 105 feet internally. The aisles are separated from the central church by solid stone walls with three arcaded bays on the western side. The eastern wall has three tall windows remaining and the remains of three smaller ones are just discernible above. These windows illuminated the church interior and allowed the light of the lord to flood in. 

The remains of the seats used by the officiating priest, his deacon and the sub deacon during mass can still be seen. At the opposite end there is an unusual diversion from the conventional Cistercian model in the remains of a tower with a few worn steps which would once have led to the top. The lack of conventional tower is further evidence of the poverty at Cymer.

Only the footings of the cloister and other monastic buildings now remain and there is evidence that the lay brother’s range may never have been completed. The cloister, chapter house and dining hall are all in their expected positions on the south side, but their planning suggests that the monks anticipated a future enlargement of the church. 

The nearby farmhouse has been built on the site of the medieval guest house, the post dissolution building utilising much of the abbey stone. The original building, which would have contained the abbot’s lodging, was a single storey hall and the fifteenth century timber roof still survives but is not accessible by the public.

In 1291 the annual income at Cymer was £28 8s 3d and records show that by 1388 there were just five monks remaining; financial debt, made worse by the war waged by Edward I, is believed to have initiated the decline. By 1535 when Cromwell began his inventory of all monastic property, Cymer’s annual income was just £51. It was dissolved by 1537 but in the nineteenth century a large silver gilt chalice and paten (Eucharist plate) were discovered hidden in the hills above the monastery and are now in the National Museum in Cardiff. You can read more about the chalice and Paten by clicking here.

It is impossible for the modern day visitor to imagine the hardships of medieval Cymer. We turn up in our waterproofs, our bellies recently filled at the local hostelry, our bodies strong from years of good nutrition and modern day dentistry. The monks at Cymer had to work hard for every mouthful, they were frozen by the wind and snow, wet through by the wicked Welsh rains, and their rough woolen habits probably left to dry on their bodies. Their accommodation was stark and windowless and the stone floors upon which they prayed were cold and unyielding. Records suggest that toward the end of the abbey’s life religious observation had slipped. The state rolls of Henry VIII claim that many monastic settlements were nests of evil where “manifest synne, vicyous carnall and abhomynable lyvyng, is dayly used and comytted comonly in suchlytell and smalle Abbeys Pryoryes and other Relygyous Houses of Monks, Chanons & Nonnes...” (HOL,Henry VIII, Roll of Parliament,) but perhaps in retrospect we can be a little less judgemental. After all Henry VIII and Cromwell had an agenda, they craved the destruction of the monasteries and wanted to get their hands on monastic wealth. 

The impoverished monks of Cymer were a different breed from the fat, grasping abbots of the larger houses that we are so used to hearing about. If they hid their only two treasured items up in the hills away from the greedy hands of Cromwell and his king, who can blame them? And if they sometimes skimped on Matins in favour of the meagre warmth offered by their narrow beds well, we all roll over in the morning and hide under our own pillows. And if, starved of human contact, they turned to each other to indulge in a little ‘manifest synne’ I can understand and forgive them for that too. They were after all human beings living in absolute penury and I am far too fond of the comforts of my own soft warm duvet to stand in judgement upon them.

Cymer Abbey lies near the village of Llanelltyd, just north of Dolgellau, Gwynedd, in north-west Wales, United Kingdom. Entry is free.