Showing posts with label Ancient Britain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ancient Britain. Show all posts

Thursday, 16 November 2017

"Apollo's Raven" Guest Post by author Linnea Tanner

“Apollo’s Raven,” Historical Fantasy set in Ancient Rome and Britannia

Linnea Tanner




“Apollo’s Raven” is a Celtic tale of forbidden love, magical adventure, and political intrigue.


Blurb:

24 AD Britannia is in turmoil. Celtic kings hand-picked by Rome to rule are fighting each other for power. The Celtic Warrior Princess Catrin is swept into a political web of deception when the Roman Emperor Tiberius demands allegiance from her father, King Amren.

After King Amren takes Marcellus, the great-grandson of Mark Antony, as a hostage, he demands that Catrin spy on him. Romantically drawn to Marcellus, she learns a curse cast by the former queen threatens the fates of the king and herself. Torn between her forbidden love for the enemy and loyalty to her family, Catrin calls upon the mystical powers of the Ancient Druids to alter the dark prophecy that looms over her.



Excerpt (taken from the first chapter when Catrin enters her raven’s mind to scout the warships landing offshore near the white cliffs):

Catrin again hesitated. Once before, when she had melded and disconnected from her raven guide, she lost consciousness. It took awhile for her head to clear after that episode. If that happened again, it could spell disaster so close to the precipice.
She stepped away from the cliff’s edge and stared into the Raven’s eyes, which glowed like amber gems. The bird’s talons emitted a bolt of electric heat into her arm. A light flashed in her mind, and the Raven’s essence permeated her core being. She knew that she had entered the Raven’s prescient mind.
The landscape appeared blurry until she adjusted to the Raven’s eyesight. Brightly colored wildflowers dazzled her with purple hues that she was unable to detect with her human eyes. A thrill rushed through her veins as she sensed the bird’s breast muscles contracting to flap its wings. When the Raven began its thrust into flight, she felt the misty air lift its outstretched wings.
When the Raven soared toward the channel, she could see her human form standing as motionless as a statue on the emerald hilltop clasped to the jagged precipice. The sheer chalk cliffs formed an impenetrable wall against the crashing waves. Beyond the cliffs, there was a sparsely vegetated shoreline toward which several ships were sailing and where other vessels were moored. Armored infantrymen were disembarking, wading to the shore, and marching across the beach. On higher ground, soldiers set up tents in a square encampment. One of the guards had a lion’s head covering his helmet. In his hands was a pole with a silver eagle on top. She assumed it meant powerful animal spirits were guiding them.
A palatial tent in the center of the encampment caught her eye. Its outside walls were made of twined linen sheets, violet and red, brocaded with eagles. Surrounding the central structure were crimson banners, each emblazoned with the sun god in a horse-driven chariot. At the tent’s flapped entrance were two foreign noblemen attired in purple-trim white togas. Another man, towering over the foreigners, wore a rustic toga and plaid breeches—garments that nobles from her kingdom typically dressed in. From the back, he looked familiar, his thick coppery hair draped over his shoulders like a lustrous wolf pelt.
To confirm her suspicions that she knew this tall, brawny man, Catrin directed the Raven to circle around, so she could get a closer look. When the man’s ghostly, disfigured face came into view, her heart wrenched. She recognized her half-brother, Marrock.
Grotesque images of ravens pecking tissue out of his face flashed in her mind. For seven years, she had believed herself safe from him, but there he was—a specter arisen from the cold ashes of her nightmares.
Why has he returned with an army?
A sense of doom crawled all over her when Marrock’s head tilted back, as though he knew her essence was flying overhead. His blue-green eyes began glowing and changed to the same amber-gem color as her raven whenever she harnessed its magical power. The Raven’s muscles suddenly paralyzed, freezing its wings. A strong force pulled her through a crevasse in the Raven’s mind and hurtled her into a tunnel of brilliant gold light.
She plummeted, tumbling out of control, toward a black portal in the center of a rainbow-colored arch.

Biography

Linnea Tanner weaves Celtic tales of love, magic, adventure, betrayal and intrigue into historical fiction set in Ancient Rome and Britannia. Since childhood, she has passionately read about ancient civilizations and mythology which held women in higher esteem. Of particular interest are the enigmatic Celts who were reputed as fierce warriors and mystical Druids.

Depending on the time of day and season of the year, you will find her exploring and researching ancient and medieval history, mythology and archaeology to support her writing. As the author of the “Apollo’s Raven” series, she has extensively researched and traveled to sites described within each book.

A native of Colorado, Linnea attended the University of Colorado and earned both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in chemistry. She lives in Windsor with her husband and has two children and six grandchildren.




Below are the buy links for "Apollo's Raven"
 
  

Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Io, Saturnalia! - plus new excerpt from historical Roman Romance, 'Flavia's Secret,' 99c, 99p

It may not have been Christmas exactly, but the ancient Roman Saturnalia (17th-23rd. December) was certainly an opportunity for feasting and gift-giving. Over the years, this time of merry-making, sacrifices and gift-giving expanded to a week and the poet Catullus - who knew a thing or two about parties - called it 'the best of days'.

In many ways this ancient festival was rather like Christmas:

Schools were on holiday.

Gambling was allowed.

Shopping at special markets was encouraged.

Holiday clothes were worn - the informal, colourful 'dining clothes' instead of the plain, bulky toga.

Presents were given - parrots, wax candles, dice, combs, perfumes, little pottery dolls.

Feasting was indulged, with Saturn himself in charge as Lord of Misrule.

People wished each other a merry Saturnalia with the evocation, 'io Saturnalia!' ('Yo Saturnalia!')

My ancient Roman historical romance Flavia's Secret has its climax and ending during the Saturnalia.

The Pompeiian partygoers in the picture come from the BBC's Ancient Rome pages.

Here is an excerpt from Flavia's Secret. Flavia is in ancient Roman Bath, Aqaue Sulis, shopping for last-minute items needed for the Saturnalia.


EXCERPT. 


Flavia was as quick as she could be but there were queues everywhere in the food shops and spice and trinket stalls as slaves and even citizens shopped for last minute items for the Saturnalia. It was the first time she had been in the city this close to the festival. In other years, Lady Valeria had given her people small gifts of pickled fish and nuts but had otherwise ignored the Saturnalia, insisting that her servants remain indoors and serve her, rather than follow the tradition that at the Saturnalia the household slaves for one day at least were waited on by their masters.

‘The Saturnalia is a rowdy, vulgar, drunken festival, little more than an orgy,’ Lady Valeria had complained. ‘I will have no part of it in my house.’

Her words may have been true, but as the morning progressed, Flavia saw little to alarm her. The people in these snowy streets were intent on their money or goods. A few roughly-dressed men were crouched over gaming tables and she passed a group of giggling young slave girls, all waving napkins given to them as presents, but there was no sign of drunkenness or of wild orgies. Many workshops were shuttered and closed and houses the same. There was a distant grumble of noise coming from the theatre, close to the great bathing complex, but no raised voices.

Unsure whether to be glad or disappointed, Flavia swapped her basket from one arm to the other and sped on through the slushy snow. She longed to stay and find some gifts for Gaius and the others - especially for Marcus, her heart whispered - but she still had not enough money of her own. With a sigh, her final purchase haggled for and bought, she turned to make her way home, avoiding the wine shops and taverns and drawing her shawl over her blonde hair each time she crossed a busy street.

She was close to the blank front entrance of the deserted villa where she had taken Marcus to see the secret garden and pool when she heard the sounds of flutes and drums approaching from a narrow, snow-filled alleyway.

‘Ow!’ She put a hand to her ear, which had just begun to sting. A small apple lay at her feet in the snow and as she stared at it, she realized  that it must have been thrown down at her from the upper living quarters over one of the shuttered shops.

‘To Saturnalia!’ roared a good-natured male voice overhead. More small apples and nuts and then a cluster of sweetmeats rained down on Flavia and others in the street. People scrambled on hands and knees to pick up the fruit and other foods, while the racket of the flutes and drums drew nearer.

A prickle of alarm, cold as an icicle, shot down the length of Flavia’s back. Trusting her instincts, honed by years of slavery, she flattened herself into the nearest shadowy doorway, glad of her inconspicuous brown gown as she veiled her face with one end of the shawl. Scarcely breathing, she waited for this parade to go by.

They were all men. At least a score of brightly-dressed young men, several puffing cheerfully on long flutes or banging on drums and all with the rich, sleek look of Roman aristocrats and the free-born. These were revelers: quite a few clutched jugs of beer or wine which they carelessly drank from. Flavia prayed they would not notice her.

The last stragglers swayed past her hiding place. One, stumbling in the snow with heavy deliberateness, dropped to his knees close to where she was. He did not see her, but his two friends, slithering over the slush and ice to haul him up, spotted the small, wary figure in the shadows and shouted.

 ‘Hey, girl, join us!’

‘Let me give you something,’ the second leered, making a crude gesture with his hand.

Flavia darted away before the two men trapped her in the doorway.

‘Hey, come back!’

‘Party time!’

‘We have the wine and you are the orgy!’

Backing along the street, Flavia heard an ominous silence descend among the flute players and drummers. Walking as rapidly as she could in a clumsy, sideways fashion, she did not speak, or run. She did not want to provoke them.

Under her fear, her mind was still working. If she could only reach the crossroads, she would take the short-cut down the street of the fullers and make for the shrine of the goddess Sulis at the Roman baths. She was Christian but these men were pagans. Surely they would respect their own sacred place? Surely the goddess would protect her?

None of the other bystanders or shoppers raised a word against the rich, spoilt Romans. Flavia knew she was alone and would have to deal with them herself. She thought of Marcus, going into battle, facing down his enemies. He had not turned and run, and she would not.

One step after another, she edged along the twisting, foul-smelling street of the fullers, who today at least were not laboring over their vats of washing.

‘Hey, she is leaving us!’

‘Going away, the stuck-up -’

Flavia closed her ears and tightened her grip on her basket. She could see the flute players and drummers returning to join their more drunk companions, see them pointing at her, muttering among themselves.
But I am going to make it, she thought desperately, just as the hue and cry began:

‘Get her!’

‘Run her down!’

‘We need no toga girls if we grab her!’

‘Why pay for pleasure when we can have it for free?’

‘Get her!’

Flavia was already running, pelting along the street as if there was no snow underfoot, losing things out of her basket and not caring what they were. Panting, her vision beginning to double as she sprinted at the very limit of her speed, she fixed on the temple of the goddess Sulis and fled her leaden-footed, cursing pursers.

‘Come here, you -’

Behind her, a coarse hand grabbed at her shawl. She tore it away, escaping again, and passed bare-headed into the temple preci nct of the shrine and bathing complex where she collapsed, sobbing but safe, against one of the many smoking altars.

Flavia's Secret - an ebook, print and audio book. Free to read with Kindle Unlimited


FLAVIA’S SECRET #99cents https://amzn.to/2Mk5zqS
#99p https://amzn.to/2Hi2B7r

Happy Saturnalia!