Can a creature-caller & a storm-bringer ever be together? Romance 99cents/99p

Can a creature-caller and a storm-bringer ever be together?

She is Sarmatia, a bull-leaper and creature-caller, renowned for her uncanny skills with all animals. He is Fearn, a red-haired healer and storm-bringer from the northern Isle of Stones. They meet on the dusty flagstones of a Kretan palace courtyard, where both save a life, and they fall in love. Will fate allow them to be together or will the unknown enemy who hates Sarmatia prevail? 

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Prologue

                                   

    Clouds rolled towards Wolfstones and Fearn opened his eyes. 'Move back to the distance of a spear-cast. The Sky God approaches. When he is here, stand in the light of the God, true as a pillar of stone. Release your hands.'

    Fearn dragged on Sarmatia's fingers before he freed her so that she stood closer to him than the others. Sarmatia put her arms down by her sides. She was vaguely aware of Fearn and Laerimmer. Her mouth was dry, but she was not afraid.

    The sky grew darker, a midsummer evening changed into midnight. A spot of water splashed down her cheek and then another. Fearn lifted the axe and smashed the stone head into the earth at his feet. He invoked the Sky God as a storm bringer and thunder cracked. Wind flayed through Sarmatia's hair. The wolf pack howled as the axe fell again. A spill of lightning ran over Wolfstones, bathing the hill in a bluish glare. Fearn was singing, the song lost in the storm. His red hair streamed back, the muscles of his upper arms tightened as he raised the axe right over his head...                  

           
Lindsay Townsend

A little Egyptian magic - scenes from 'Blue Gold'. Lindsay Townsend

A little Egyptian magic - two scenes from my historical novel, Blue Gold.

Blue Gold is a mainstream historical romance but, because of the ancient world setting, it contains strong paranormal and magical elements. When I wrote it, I incorporated magic as part of the beliefs appropriate to the times.

Ancient Egyptians believed in magic, gods and spirits - magic especially was practised as a means to influence and change fate and to give power. In this scene from Blue Gold, the ambitious princess Ahhotpe is attempting to ill-wish a political rival:

Excerpt

Ahhotpe shot a second glance at the wax figure posted just inside the doorway of her tent. Noon was not the most propitious time for magic, but the midday heat ensured that her people were resting and that consequently she would be unobserved. When she saw the shaft of sun chink through the closed tent flaps and strike the figure, the young woman laid aside her letter.
She had fashioned it well, rolling and mashing the wax between her fingers, infecting it with her hatred, until a startling likeness formed. That same narrow forehead and wide jaw, the bull neck and broad chest, the wider hips and massive legs: the Pyramid in miniature, three fingers high. Ahhotpe smiled as she settled cross-legged before the model. It was, she thought, the closest she might ever come willingly to Zoser. Invoking the proper forms, she thrust the first small copper pin deep into the manikin’s heart.

This kind of sympathetic magic was practised throughout Egyptian society, by princes and peasants alike. Sometimes more formal magic was evoked, and this could be through ritual and through symbolism, as in the Heb Sed rite described by Pharaoh’s mother Tetisheri:

Excerpt

Tetisheri beckoned to the little girl in Ahhotpe’s saffron-colored dress. “My, a pretty girl! Let’s do your hair like a lady.”
Her fingers were nimble, artistic. Ahhotpe stood nearby and picked an old song on her harp, letting the servants see how very much alike she and Tetisheri were.
“Do you know what a Heb Sed festival is, my darling?” Tetisheri stroked the child’s forehead.
“No, granny.” The little girl naturally used this title. Tetisheri was every child’s grandmother.
“It’s a special time for the King, a sort of birthday. He runs along a magic track, and the gods make him youthful again and fit to rule the whole of Egypt.” Tetisheri cuddled the little girl. “Now you can go to the party.”
“Have you seen a Heb Sed festival, grandmother?” asked Ahhotpe, re-tuning her harp.
“I saw my husband’s, Sekenenre’s daddy.” Tetisheri suddenly tugged off her wig and fanned her sparse brown hair. “He ran straight from the track into my bedroom!” She and Ahhotpe, and then the other women, laughed.
“Surely thirty years have not passed since then,” remarked Ahhotpe. “Kamose says you look younger than I do.”
“That’s brothers for you,” replied Tetisheri, pleased none the less at the compliment. “But you’re right, little one. My boy hasn’t ruled as long yet, but he wants the magic the festival will give him.”
“Isn’t it dangerous? Pharaoh running alone?”
“Well, things have grown rougher since my husband’s time,” admitted Tetisheri, “but Sekenenre doesn’t want anyone else’s feet under his table, so to speak.” The old woman sighed. “For myself, I’d certainly feel easier if Kamose ran with him.”
“So would I, granny,” said Ahhotpe.

Sometimes magic was made through more formal rituals. Magic was an accepted part of religion and of medicine. People wore ‘lucky’ charms and amulets. A mother would recite a spell to see off sickness in her child. The sign of the Ankh, the cross of life, was carved or painted on furniture and tombs as a magic protection.

In the ancient story, “King Khufu and the Magicians,” a wizard makes a crocodile of wax. When this is thrown into the water, it becomes a real crocodile. Another wizard is summoned to the Pharaoh Snefru (Khufu’s father) because Snefru is sad. As a diversion, the wizard suggests that Snefru goes boating on the Nile, rowed by beautiful women dressed in nets instead of clothes. 'And they rowed to and fro,' the story goes on, 'and the heart of his majesty was glad when he beheld how they rowed'. You bet.


Blue Gold 4.5 Books: "A sweeping epic set in ancient Egypt, this story encompasses life as it was lived then, told masterfully by Ms. Townsend...The detail is luxuriously embedded in a story so compelling the reader will not want the book to end. What I love most about Ms. Townsend's prose is the ability to give the reader an almost holographic entry into life and times long past. You smell the fear, feel the passion, the frustration and anger, and burn under a hot, unforgiving sun, among other delightful stirrings of the senses." -- Honeysuckle, Long and Short Reviews

B review: "Beyond an Egyptian setting, I wasn't sure what to expect with "Blue Gold" as I didn't read the description until after I'd finished the story. And what a story. It's a sprawling 1970s miniseries crossed with a soap opera crossed with the epic sword and sandal movies made only in the 1950s. Plus it's got almost as many characters as Cecile B. DeMille managed to pack into his films." -- Jayne, Dear Author

"The sands of Townsend’s Egypt are blood-soaked, and the halls of her palaces echo with lust and intrigue — and yet, the most interesting part of her novel is how real, how human all of her characters feel (even the supernatural ones). Even while you’re booing and hissing her villains, you’re fully informed as to their motives and might even sympathize a little. Part of this effect can be attributed to Townsend’s keen ear for dialogue and phrasing (when two characters kiss we’re told “their lips met with the greedy accuracy of lovers”) — and the effect is so strong that when all the book’s grandstanding and conniving and personal drama has concluded, readers will be mildly shocked to be reminded that the whole delightfully complicated business happened three thousand years ago. That’s praise indeed." -- Steve Donoghue, Historical Novel Society

Best wishes, Lindsay Townsend

Lindsay Townsend: 'Escape to Love'. Opening Excerpt

Here's the opening of my erotic historical romance, 'Escape to Love.' This novella is set in ancient Rome. The cover shows a Roman 'bikini' - a two piece costume very popular with Roman women spending time at the notorious summer resort of Baiae.


Chapter 1

Rome AD 125
He came awake. A prickling discomfort, sharpening to pain, jabbed into the middle of his back.
“Have I your attention?'” The whisper was close to his ear. He tried to turn and the knife held at his back pricked him again. “Do not look round!”
The knife-wielder was female, young, and scared. Severus could have disarmed her in less than a breath, but he guessed that she had things to tell him, things he needed to hear. So much that was strange had already happened to him today that he was astonished he had slept at all.
“Who are you?” he murmured.
“You will know, soon enough, although I tell you now that I did not know of your existence before yesterday.”
He felt her hot breath against his naked shoulder, smelt her clean skin and the peppermint leaves she used to freshen her mouth. A thread of finely-woven cloth brushed his lower back: she was crouched close to where he lay on the tiles, her knife prodding against his spine. Whoever she was, the girl was no slave, although she was as fast and nervous as one, creeping upon him in the deserted atrium. “Did you douse the lights?” he whispered in Latin.
“Yes, and drugged the maid who is my keeper, so listen! Tomorrow may be a shock at first to you - it certainly was to me and I have had a full day to reflect on it, but keep this in mind: it is a chance for you. If you pass the trial tomorrow - don't ask what, there's no time to explain! - We’ll both be sent away to the family villa at Baiae. You will have a full month. Use the days to work out an escape for yourself. Pretend you do not understand much Latin. They’ll be expecting that and it may work to your advantage. They may promise you riches and freedom. Don’t believe them! If their plans work, they will never let you live. Do you understand Greek?”
Startled by the question, he automatically answered, “Yes.”
“Good, because they do not. It may be we can speak together after all, so long as we take care.”
“What is this month you speak of? What is Baiae?”
“You will know what the month is tomorrow. Baiae is a city beside the sea, a place of hot springs, theatres, parks and boating parties; where the rich and noble go for their summer holidays. A place where behaviors frowned on here near Rome can be indulged. Now I must grope my way back, before I am missed. Farewell!”
This last was in Greek. He felt a pair of soft warm lips kiss his shoulder and even as he rolled onto his stomach, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the humid darkness, the young woman was gone. He peered into the shadows of a corridor, willing his eyes to see more, but could scarcely make out his own hands.
He waited a few moments, listening, but the great hall remained as dark and silent as a tomb. Rolling onto his back, Severus thought of the woman's warning and recalled the previous day, when everything in his life had changed.
Until yesterday he had been a field-slave, picking grapes, hoeing fields, fixing carts, repairing walls - any task about the huge farm that the overseers wanted doing quickly and well. He labored hard because it was a point of pride to do so and because then he would sleep through the night, untroubled by dreams. Yesterday had been different, beginning at dawn when two overseers had shackled him in irons and brought him to the main house, where he had never been before.

Blurb.

Severus is a slave, dragged from the fields to an uncertain future. Warned to expect no mercy from a mysterious young woman who comes to him in the night, he learns that his natural father is his owner, Calvus, and that he has a half-brother, Thallus.

Thallus has no sexual interest in women but he is desperate for an heir. Severus and Thallus' sexy young wife Lydia, whom Severus recognizes as the mystery woman who warned him, are sent to the family palace at Baiae and expected to breed.

Lydia, used to an unconsummated, loveless marriage, is intrigued by the handsome Severus and appalled by her husband's and father-in-law's treatment of him. She finds herself anticipating their lovemaking. She also wants to help Severus to escape because she knows that once he has served his purpose, Thallus and Calvus will never let him live.

They have just a month to escape.


Lindsay Townsend

Guest blog: Elisabeth Storrs - 'The Wedding Shroud'

The Wedding Shroud:  

A Tale of Ancient Rome

‘All the drama and sensuality expected of an historical romance, plus a sensitivity to the realities of life in a very different time and world…’ Ursula Le Guin

Buy at Amazon

or at http://www.elisabethstorrs.com/buybooks.html

In 406 BC, to seal a tenuous truce, the young Roman Caecilia is wedded to Vel Mastarna, an Etruscan nobleman from the city of Veii. The fledgling Republic lies only twelve miles across the Tiber from its neighbour, but the cities are from opposing worlds so different are their customs and beliefs. Leaving behind a righteous Rome, Caecilia is determined to remain true to Roman virtues while living among the sinful Etruscans. Instead she finds herself tempted by a hedonistic culture which offers pleasure and independence to women as well as an ancient religion that gives her a chance to delay her destiny. Yet Mastarna and his people also hold dark secrets and, as war looms, Caecilia discovers that Fate is not so easy to control and that she must finally choose where her allegiance lies.

Exploring themes of sexuality, destiny versus self-determination and tolerance versus prejudice, The Wedding Shroud is historical fiction at its best which vividly brings Ancient Rome and Etruria to life while accenting the lives of women in ancient history. It is the first book in a trilogy set in Ancient Rome and Etruria and was judged Runner-Up in the 2012 Sharp Writ Award for general fiction. The sequel, The Golden Dice, will be released in 2013.

Prologue:

Her whole world was orange.

Shifting her head to one side, feeling the weight of the veil, hearing it rustle, her eyes strained to focus through the fine weave.

Orange. The vegetable smell of the dye had been faint when she first donned the wedding veil, but now its scent filled her nostrils and mouth, the cloth pressing against her face as she walked to where the guests were waiting.

The atrium was crowded. So many people. Shaking, legs unsteady, Caecilia found she needed to lean against her aunt Aurelia. Through the haze of the veil she could barely make out the faces of the ten official witnesses or that of the most honoured guest, the Chief Pontiff of Rome.

And she could not see Drusus. Perhaps he could not bear to witness her surrender.

‘Stand straight, you’re too heavy,’ hissed her aunt, pinching the girl’s arm.

Biting her lip, Caecilia was led forward. The groom stood before the wedding altar, ready to make the nuptial offering. Her uncle Aemilius smiled broadly beside him.

Aunt Aurelia, acting as presiding matron, deposited her charge with a flourish then fussed with the bride’s tunic. She was revelling in the attention and smiled vacuously at her guests, but the girl was aware that, for so crowded a room, silence dominated.

Drawing back her veil, Caecilia gazed upon the stranger who was to become her husband. To her surprise, his black hair was close-cropped and he was beardless. She was used to the long tresses of the men of Rome—and their odour. This man smelled differently; the scent of bathwater mixed with sandalwood clung to his body.

Head bowed, she tried in vain to blot out his existence no more than a hand’s breadth from her side, but she need not have bothered. He made no attempt to study either her face or form.

‘The auspices were taken at sunrise,’ declared Aemilius. ‘The gods confirm the marriage will be blessed.’

Bride and groom sat upon chairs covered with sheepskin and waited while the pontiff offered spelt cake to Jupiter.

There was a pause as they stood and circled the altar, then the priest signalled Aurelia to join the couple’s hands.

Caecilia wished she could stop shaking. She had to be brave. She had to be dignified. But her body would not obey her. She was still quaking when Aurelia seized her right hand roughly and thrust it into the groom’s.

The warmth and strength of his grip surprised her. Her palm was clammy and it occurred to her that her hand would slip from his grasp. Slowly, she turned to face him. He was old; lines of age ploughed his forehead and creased his eyes. He must be nearly two score years. What was he like, this man? Her husband?

Aware that she should be making her vows to him in silence, she instead prayed fervently that the gods would take pity and not make her suffer too long or too hard in his keeping.

His hand still encompassed hers. Before releasing her fingers, he squeezed them slightly, the pressure barely perceptible. She held her breath momentarily, amazed that the only mark of comfort she had received all day had been bestowed upon her by a foe.

She scanned his face. His eyes were dark and almond-shaped, like the hard black olives from her aunt’s pantry. His skin was dark, too, sun dark. A jagged scar ran down one side of his nose to his mouth.

He was far from handsome.

His toga and tunic were of a rich dark blue making all stare at him for a difference other than his race. Yet his shoulders were held in a martial pose, no less a man for his gaudiness, it seemed, than the Roman patricians around him in their simple purple-striped robes. And the bridal wreath upon his head could have been a circlet of laurel leaves, a decoration for bravery not nuptials.

A golden bulla hung around his neck, astounding her. For a man did not wear such amulets once he’d stepped over the threshold to manhood. Only children wore such charms in Rome. He wore many rings, too, but one in particular was striking. Heavy gold set with onyx. No Roman would garland himself with so much jewellery.

There was one other thing that was intriguing, making her wonder if his people found it hard to farewell childhood. His arms and his legs seemed hairless, as if they had been shaven completely.

Perfumed, short-cropped hair, no beard. Caecilia truly beheld a savage.

Once again she steeled herself, repeating silently: ‘I am Aemilia Caeciliana. Today I am Rome. I must endure.’

Elisabeth Storrs

Elisabeth Storrs graduated from the University of Sydney in Arts Law majoring having studied Classics and has long held an interest in the history, myths and legends of the ancient world. Over the years she has worked as a solicitor, corporate lawyer, governance consultant and business writer. She lives with her husband and two sons in Sydney.

Blog: http://elisabethstorrs.blogspot.com.au 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/elisabethstorrs 

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elisabeth-Storrs/101788783211502?ref=tn_tnmn 

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4489059.Elisabeth_Storrs