Thursday Teaser – Daughters Of Brigitania!

Good mortenoon, folks! 😀 Yes, I’ve had a wee break over the last week from blogging due to some personal stuff, but never fear! We’re picking right up where we left it last week (and including a cover reveal I’ve reblogged from the Tarasphere, be sure to check it out), and continuing with a wee snippet from Daughters Of Brigitania. Enjoy! 🙂

There was a creak as the wooden door to the hut was flung open, and a breathless Aiia burst into the room. Her cheeks were flushed from sprinting, and she gasped hard for breath. Cartimandua resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her sister’s impudence. Instead casting a wary eye towards the watchful druid, she forced a smile onto her cold face, and urged her sister forward. “Yes, Aiia? Do you bring us news? I’m afraid you must not excite our atmosphere. As you can see, we have a visitor.”

Aiia glanced over towards the white-robed old man, giving a hasty nod before rushing across to the Queen’s side. Falling to her knees at the side of the throne, she gripped onto her sibling’s sleeve, pressing her forehead into the fabric so firmly it would leave a mark. “Cartimandua, my Queen, I beg of you to rethink your battle against Venutius. It is tearing your people apart.”

Taking a mere second to think through Aiia’s words, Cartimandua sharply looked over towards the group breathlessly watching them, waving them away with a hasty sweep of her arm. “Please, leave us. I must speak alone to my sister.” Murmurs of contrition rose up amongst the advisors as they stood, and they swiftly made an exit with the druid in tow, leaving the hut with nothing more than the hint of the scented smoke hanging in the air. As the door banged shut behind them, the guards taking up their place once more at either side of it, Cartimandua roughly dragged her sleeve away from the young woman at her feet.

Aiia stumbled back in shock at the force of the movement, correcting herself as she rose to her feet, wiping at her eyes hurriedly. Cartimandua spat into the flames in front, an ugly scowl marring her perfect features. Twisting so rapidly her dress nearly sank into the embers, she grabbed Aiia by her tunic, pulling her in closely. “You stupid girl! What do you mean by running in here and acting like a common servant? Are you not royalty? Are you not a princess? Then act like one, and do not embarrass me by weeping at my feet!” she hissed, releasing her sister with a hard motion.

“Cartimandua, I’m sorry. I have spoken to you about this every morning, and every evening, and I no longer know the words to turn you back from this wretched decision!” Aiia cried out, wringing her hands in despair. It was so unlike her to fall to this depression, but it was perhaps the only way Cartimandua would listen. “And it is a wretched decision—the Carvetti at this moment gather outside with their King, ready to tear their own families apart! You will have no tribe to rule over soon.”

The Queen was about to retort when she halted herself, understanding sinking into her mind. Aiia was right. Regardless of what the druid had told her, there was no point in being Queen of a desolate landscape. I will hear her out, then throw her out. Circling the room, she pursed her lips, keeping Aiia in her sights as she did so. “And how do you know this? Have you seen it with your own eyes?” she snapped.

With a resigned sigh, Aiia cast her eyes to the ground, and nodded. “I have indeed. Many of the crops are going untended as the farmers who came with Venutius have once more joined him. Two of our healers have also left, and many people grow sick without their aid. We have very little food to see us through the rest of the month, Cartimandua, and Venutius’ men prevent and traders from entering the fort.” She gave a sideways glance towards her sister, who stood frozen, staring out towards the doorway. Aiia knew that Cartimandua had barely been outside since the siege had begun, instead choosing to hole herself up and only receiving the druids. Outside, her people were falling apart as families divided over their rulers’ quarrel, splitting fathers and sons.

“But the druids have told me I would win,” Cartimandua murmured, pacing across to the flames. There was a heavy pause as she hovered her head over the flickering heat, swaying her palm through the orange tongues. Snapping her fingers abruptly, she crooked her fingers over to one of the guards by the door. He stepped forward, bowing low as she murmured something to him. He gave a gruff reply, and beckoned to his companion, before both of them left to head outside.

Aiia smiled for the first time in days, relaxing her tense shoulders. “You’re going to call your men back,” she said with relief.

Cartimandua glanced over her shoulder, sending her a cold glance. “Certainly not!” she cried. “I will not admit defeat, otherwise Venutius will choose to do this whenever he feels wronged. I am sending an envoy to Piercebridge, he cannot stop an envoy, he knows this. I will send for the might of Rome, and let him understand that I am right.” Her tone was icy as she finished speaking, twirling the beads around her neck with calculated pulls about her fingers.

Slumping against the throne, Aiia’s face fell. Her brows crossed as her sister’s words sank in, and dread pulled at her guts. Venutius was right. Cartimandua fully intended to let the Romans have their way, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. At least, not from Stanwick. As Cartimandua strolled across to peer outdoors, Aiia’s face creased with tension once more. Then it would have to start away from Stanwick. Her resolve doubled.

Like this snippet? Why not sign up to my newsletter here, where you can be kept up to date with all my releases, including Daughters Of Brigitania. 😀

(Taken from ‘Daughters Of Brigitania’, Copyright © 2013 Miranda Stork and Kathryn Northwood. Do not reproduce, use, copy, or include in any way in any format, digital or print, without prior permission of the author.)

Manic Monday Once Again!

Merry morning, everyone! 🙂 Well, I was away over the weekend, and WP didn’t bother to put up my scheduled posts. Will I ever get the hang of this internet thing? LOL So, anyhoo, the Manic part of Monday is…that Scrumptious Saturday and Sunday Snippet are both part of today’s post! Scrumptious Saturdays will be from some of my favourite book-related recipes, and Sunday Snippet is…well…a snippet. And it’s from Daughters Of Brigantia again, as this WIP seems to be taking over for now. Well, let’s move on! Or should that be backward? Anyway, enjoy! 😀

 

Scrumptious Saturday

Two of the books I loved most as a child were Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through The Looking Glass. (Not to mention pretty much every other book and poem by Lewis Carroll, but that’s for another day.) A recipe mentioned within, that was a firm favourite with the Victorians, was Mock Turtle Soup. Now, I’m not about to get a turtle, OR a chicken for today’s dish, so vegetarians don’t worry! This is 100% veggie-friendly. 🙂 (However, there ARE eggs in the recipe. Please use a vegan egg substitute for a vegan-friendly version.)

Mock ‘Mock Turtle Soup’

Ingredients

• 1 lb potatoes, or other starchy vegetables
• 3 qts water
• 3 carrots (chopped)
• 3 stalks chopped celery
• 3 onions (chopped)
• 12 ozs catsup
• 21/2 ozs worcestershire sauce
• 1 lemon (quartered)
• 11/2 tsps salt
• 1/4 tsp black pepper
• flour (browned)
• 2 hard-boiled eggs (chopped) (Or use Vegan Egg Substitute)

 

1. Boil the potatoes to a firm but soft-at-the-edges consistency; add all ingredients to the potatoes in a large pot; cook 1 to 1.5 hours.
2. Keep lid on for first 1/2 hour.
3. Add browned flour gradually, stirring constantly.
4. Add 2 chopped hard-boiled eggs; cook another 1/2 hour.
5. Browned flour: Brown 10 tablespoons flour in a skillet, stirring constantly. Add a little water to make a thick paste.

 

Enjoy your literary soup! 😀

Sunday Snippet – Daughters Of Brigitania

 

*Please bear in mind there may be some errors, as this is still a WIP. Enjoy! 🙂

 

Darting into her roundhouse, Aiia was glad to see it had been left as how she remembered it. Snatching up a fresh change of clothes, she pulled them on and reached for a jug of water, splashing it into a bowl. As she attempted to clean up her face and hair, a jolt of panic ran through her again. Of all the people who had been in that crowd, only Aiia understood the curious look Cartimandua had given the messenger. She’s going to say yes to their truce. Yes! To the same bastards who killed Gaisio, and would have killed any of us when they landed. After scooping up a hammered bronze mirror to check her reflection, she ran back outside, to make her way into the great hut. Cartimandua would not be happy to see her, but she had little choice—she had to be there.

Two guards were stood to attention at the main doors, but neither of them even blinked when she sped past, keeping her eyes downcast to prevent them recognising her. As she slipped into the darkness of the roundhouse, she ducked in behind the servant girls, perching herself in a dark corner to listen to what was said. Cartimandua and Venutius were seated in their thrones, the messenger sat on a bench the other side of the fire. It crackled and jumped, an unwelcome addition to the hot day, but necessary for the feast to be laid out in the evening.

After making sure that the messenger was given wine and food, Cartimandua settled back into her throne, and fixed him with a wry smirk. “I suppose you have been told we are barbarians and savages, yes?”

The messenger looked up from his drink with a stutter, feigning surprise. “Indeed not, your majesty. We have no knowledge of yourselves, with the exception of our late emperor Julius Caesar’s writings. He merely mentioned how your land was triangular was was at least two-thousand miles across.”

Venutius gave a frown, interrupting, “Excuse me…miles? What are these?”

Coughing on his bread, the messenger hid a smile, replying, “It is a unit of measure, your majesty. For example, it is about a mile from your gates to the very bottom of the valley below.”

“Ah, I see.” Venutius leaned back into his chair, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. Waving an arm he continued, “So I suppose you mi—“

“We did not come here to talk about measurements,” Cartimandua reminded him tartly, turning her attention back to the messenger and adding, “And my husband is not ‘your majesty’, he is merely Prince Regent. You may refer to him as ‘my Prince’. Now, what of these gifts? Are they to bribe us, then?”

The messenger scoffed at the statement, choosing to ignore Cartimandua’s jibe about her husband. Venutius himself bristled at the statement but said nothing, simply sending a dark glare into the back of the queen’s head. The messenger leaned up with a smug lilt to his dark eyes, and crooked a finger at one of the soldiers. They jumped up smartly and strode to the chest, bending down only to click the lock open.

Even Aiia let out an awestruck breath at the sight. Bright terracotta pots lay within, filled to bursting with glass beads in every hue, amphorae of wine and oils. Cartimandua tried to appear unruffled, but she slid forward on her seat to better view the luxuries within the chest. It appeared all the more like a treasure trove for the current situation the tribe was living through. She held her hand out as the soldier passed over a string of amber-coloured beads, running them through her fingers like a gift from the gods. “And all of these…are if we choose to join your empire, I presume?” she responded, ruefully placing the jewellery back down again and staring quizzically at the messenger.

He shook his head. “No, these are yours to enjoy. Rome does not offer up toys as if you were spoilt children. We merely wish to show you what Rome could give you. If you were to sign the treaty…there would be many more gifts.” He gave a charming grin, his stern countenance momentarily shattered. “Rome does not forget its friends. But, I should warn you. Neither does Rome forget its enemies.”

His words were not taken lightly, and the Queen rose her gaze to his, the fires casting dark shadows across her eyes. “Is that a warning?” she answered quietly, her tone ominous.

The messenger’s chewing slowed once more, and he gave a slow swallow, leaning forward on his worn seat. The fire reflected off his brass armour, giving him the impression of being made of fire. “Only if you choose to be an enemy.”

 

Like this snippet? Why not sign up to my newsletter here, where you can be kept up to date with all my releases, including Daughter Of Brigitania. 😀

(Taken from ‘Daughters Of Brigantia’, Copyright © 2013 Kathryn Northwood. Do not reproduce, use, copy, or include in any way in any format, digital or print, without prior permission of the author.)

Snippet Sunday – Daughters Of Brigitania!

Morning, folks! 🙂 Hope your weekend is treating you well so far. Today I’ve got a wee snippet (the first chapter, actually) from Daughters Of Brigitania, the historical fiction I’m writing under my pen-name, Kathryn Northwood.  Enjoy! 😀

Chapter 1

Brigantian Rebirth

Two girls stood aside from the crowd, frozen expressions as they watched the druids chanting over the barrow. An old man lay within, curled in the position he entered the earth, his chariot beside him.

The older girl wrapped her arm around her younger sister, but her green eyes never lost their cold edge. The younger girl gave a sniff, but silenced herself as she remembered her place, and gave a short nod to her older sister. The arm fell away. A strong wind whipped through the valley, picking up their woollen cloaks and tugging them, creating the effect of flags flying out under their plaited auburn hair.

The druids and priestesses moved in a wide circle, chanting and murmuring to the gods, one of them holding a torch aloft. The flames from the torch flickered and danced in the wind, creating brilliant patterns in the air above as sparks jumped away. Some of the crowd behind the girls fell to their knees at the sight, sobbing as though their hearts would break. The older girl peered over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, casting them a hard look.

The King was dead.

“Carti…does this mean you are now Queen?”

The whispered question from her sibling surprised Cartimandua. It was hardly the time for discussing such matters, but she understood that her sister Aiia was young, and didn’t always know when not to voice such concerns. She didn’t answer, but pressed a finger to her lips instead, indicating silence. A thrill ran through her at the idea though. Cartimandua, Queen of the Brigantes. I am now ruler of all northern Albion. The only thing that didn’t thrill her was the notion of her husband being King, even Prince Regent. An ugly frown darkened her face.

Their father, King Vecorigo, had wanted the marriage to go ahead to secure more lands for his daughter. The Brigantes were a tribe of hardened warriors, but years of trying to secure their lands against other tribes had decimated their coin and defences, and this was her only chance to have security. Her husband was at least ten years her senior, and he had already blessed her with child. Unbidden, her hand stroked across the bulge of her stomach, swollen with her son.

And who knows what will happen to Aiia now. I must make sure I protect her. Cartimandua’s eyes roved across to her thirteen-year old half-sister, taking in her drawn white face and tightly folded arms. Aiia had even less prospects than herself, as the illegitimate child of one of her father’s concubines. Cartimandua’s own mother had died in childbirth, so she had never known the loving touch of a matronly hand. Aiia’s mother had come by court many times, but only ever lavished attention on her own daughter. Cartimandua didn’t resent it, she felt just as close to Aiia herself, and the two had been true sisters as soon as they could utter words.

The chanting grew louder, and one of the druids stepped forward to usher the two sisters over to their father’s grave. Cartimandua gave the white-hooded man a curt gesture, and waved him away. He stepped back, and Aiia gripped her sister’s arm tightly as they made their way over. The trees around them twisted harder in the wind, sending leaves spinning down to cover the King in his final rest. The man the Brigantes had known looked so different in rest, so less forceful. He had been a well-respected King, despite the losses to other tribes, and his booming voice would be remembered by all as though it had spoken in their very ears. He lay in a foetal position, his body wrapped in a blue cloak, his head adorned with the gold band of his authority. It wasn’t until he had been laid in the barrow that the sisters had finally realised how old and frail he looked, with his grey moustache thinning across his lip.

Cartimandua thrust her arm out, dropping a richly-inlaid bridle bit into the barrow. She gave Aiia a nudge, and her sister tremblingly held out a bronze dagger, glinting in the weak evening sunlight as it fell in. Aiia leaned over to gaze at her father, whispering, “May the gods watch over your journey to the Otherworld.”

Cartimandua gave a sad smile at Aiia’s words, and tugged on her sleeve. The younger girl looked up at her, eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Do not worry, sister. He will be watched over and protected, even into his next life.”

The druids and priestesses stopped circling the barrow and swayed from side to side, lost in their utterances, the whites of their eyes turned to the heavens. Their hands rose as one, inviting the goddess Brigantia to bless the ceremony. One of the priestesses produced two silver spoons, both short and without stalks, and one with a small hole at the edge. Cartimandua gave an inward shiver at the sight. Even as a bloodthirsty Brigante, she wasn’t too comfortable with the druidic sacrifices. They were a necessity, nothing more. Without them, the tribe was vulnerable, with no graces from the gods. As she stared in horror, a druid produced a small animal, already slaughtered at the beginning of the funeral. The animal was tipped gracefully, so that its blood dripped into the first spoon. The priestess leaned the first spoon so that the blood trickled through the hole to the second, chanting to herself as the whole putrid mixture was poured into the barrow.

Cartimandua turned herself and Aiia away from the sight as they began the process of laying stones around the graveside, and faced the crowd behind. Her people. Denorix, Cartimandua’s husband, came forward and gave her a curt nod. She eyed him for a second, a curious expression crossing her features, before she turned her attention back to the waiting faces of the Brigantes.

The young girl cleared her throat, collecting her thoughts before she spoke. The crowd fell silent, the only sound the wind howling through the trees, shaking more leaves down in a golden carpet. Her hand tightened for a second on Aiia’s, before she let it fall away, clasping them before her in a regal gesture. “My people,” she called out, “face your Queen.”

Cries of, “Queen Cartimandua!” rose up among them, filling the air with a new sound. Aiia glanced down at the ground and repeated their confirmation, trying hard to bat away the tears that still escaped for their fallen father. Cartimandua attempted to remain stony, but a small smile etched itself onto her lips, and her emerald eyes sparkled with new purpose.

Copyright Kathryn Northwood 2013.

 

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