The Religion by Tim Willocks

I discovered Tim Willocks' The Religion on a bored afternoon, and I'm glad I did. Published in 2006, this is easily one of the most engrossing historical fiction works that I've read. The subject is weighty, the writing dense at times, testosterone infusing every page but it's a superb story that I highly recommend. The Religion has been promoted as book one of a trilogy. I'm eagerly awaiting information on a sequel.

The author introduces Matthias, byname Tannhauser, when he's hard at work on a dagger in his father's forge, only to baptize that dagger in the blood of men who slaughter his sisters, and then murder and rape his mother. The men are Ottoman Turks, and among their leaders is Abbas who adopts Matthias under the name of Ibrahim. The boy embarks on a twenty-year sojourn among the Turks, rising among the ranks of the Janissaries, elite guards of the Ottoman Sultan. Matthias embraces Turkish ways until he's commanded to murder the Sultan's grandchild.

Carla Manduca is a Maltese noblewoman by birth, desperate to return to her homeland in search of the bastard son she bore to a clergyman at fifteen. Unfortunately, the Turks have chosen to seize Malta. The island is home to twenty thousand, among them the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John, known as the Knights Hospitaller or more commonly as the Religion. The Hospitallers have been at war with Turks since the Crusades and lost Rhodes forty years before the siege at Malta begins. In command of the knights is Grand Master Jean Parisot de la Valette, who owes his allegiance to Pope Pius IV in Rome. The Pope's representative in Malta is Ludovico Ludivici, who has two aims in life; to control the Hospitallers and prevent Carla Manduca from returning to Malta to retrieve their lost son.

Despite the danger, Carla intends to find her child and she enlists the Hospitallers' help. Through their contacts, help arrives in the form of Matthias Tannhauser, now a trader and mercenary. He agrees to help the beautiful Carla find her boy, whose name she does not know and whom she has not seen since his birth twelve years before. Provided the noblewoman will marry him to provide Matthias with a title. Their business arrangement concluded, the pair arrives in Malta in the company of Bors, a brute who’s been Matthias' friend for ages, and Amparo, a Spanish foundling who intrigues Matthias as much as Carla does. His attraction for Carla and their arrangement doesn't interfere with his seduction of her friend Amparo.

When he's not in bed with Amparo, Matthias aids the Hospitallers in their defense of Malta given his knowledge of Turkish tactics, while Carla works through her jealousy by giving care to the wounded of Malta. Amparo meets a young Maltese boy, Orlandu, who's inspired by the heroics Matthias displays in battle. The boy enlists himself in the army just as everyone comes to the realization that he is the son Carla's been looking for. Matthias goes after him, only to be captured by the Turks. He reunites with his foster father Abbas and learns about the Turkish strategy. He also finds Orlandu in the camp and teaches him how to survive. Recovered from his injuries, he returns to his friends, with a promise to Orlandu that he will save him.

Ludovico Ludivici arrives in Malta with a bold plan to accomplish his mission among the Hospitallers. He enrolls as a knight but finds his religious devotion tempted by a reunion with Carla. In his warped understanding, the past can be undone and they can have a future with their son. If only he could just get rid of Matthias Tannhauser. Matthias believes the Hospitallers cannot survive much longer and attempts to flee Malta with Bors, Carla and Amparo but Ludovico captures them. There are painful losses to follow and a surprising final confrontation between Matthias and Ludovico, leading to a satisfying, if somewhat predictable conclusion.

Willock's background as a screenwriter shows in his visceral scenes. This work belongs on the big screen. There's lots of blood, gore and guts; one detraction from the story was that each time danger appeared, everyone's standard reaction seemed to revolve around their insides. It's repeated many times to the point of being overdone. Some of the story does require a little stretch of the imagination, especially when a battle-worn Matthias still finds enough energy for vigorous lovemaking with Amparo, or how easily he scuttles between the Turkish and Christian camps. A few paragraphs are dense and there's a temptation to skip through certain scenes. But that would result in missing some of the great themes of the book; absolution and redemption, forgiveness and courage and most of all, how love and bonds of fellowship can transcend the worst times. The reader cannot fail to connect with Amparo, who's never known love until Carla and Matthias entered her life, or Carla and Brother Ludovico's forbidden passion, or the shadows that haunt Matthias and drive him to absolve the past. There's rich historical detail, in battle scenes, medical information and the politics between the Hospitallers and the Papacy, that's sure to satisfy readers.

Interview With Helena Woulfe

Today, Our Historical Novel Reviewer Lisa, is interviewing Helena Woulfe Palmer, the main character of Anita's Davison's 17th Century novels Duking Days Rebellion and Duking Days Revolution.

1. Thanks for taking time from your busy schedule as a wife and mother of three small boys. What is life like for a seventeenth century wife and mother?

When Guy and I first married, we lived in a tall, narrow house in King Street near Whitehall Palace. I had only three servants and with the constant dirt London generates, it was hard work. I had to go to the market early each day to buy fresh food and have you tried cleaning a house by throwing sand and water on a hardboard floor, then scrubbing the stuff away again by hand? Well that’s what I had to do every Saturday.
Living at Palmer House is much easier as we have a houseful of servants, but in some ways, I miss those early days in King Street. Life was simpler then.

2. What is your happiest memory from your youth in Exeter?

My childhood was idyllic. Cromwell’s Commonwealth was a distant memory my parents told us stories about. My grandfather, Thomas Woulfe, was a Parliamentarian and he worked hard to become one of Charles II’s closest friends. My father, Sir Jonathan Woulfe, didn’t have to worry about politics and spent his time building up the estate, which made what happened to him so ironic. Exeter is a city made prosperous from wool production and we were one of the leading families, so I was treated like royalty in my home city.

3. Your father and brother joined in the Duke of Monmouth’s Rebellion. What was it like as a daughter and sister watching them both ride away from your home at Loxsbeare?

Horrible. I didn’t want them to go and couldn’t understand why they risked everything just to keep a Protestant King on the throne instead of a Catholic one? What possible difference could it have made to us in the West Country? However, I didn’t dare say any of this aloud, Father would have been furious that I dared challenge his decisions, or suggested his principals were reckless. I still think they should have stayed in Exeter.


4. After the events of Sedgemoor, you rallied to go off and find your family. Would you compare your actions to your father’s strong-willed determination or your mother’s spiritedness?

It was frustration which drove me to do something. The alternative would have been to wait for news brought by rumour and hysteria. The newssheets were too slow and after a month of waiting I had had enough. Without Father and Uncle Edmund? who was there to forbid me? Mother was a nervous wreck and I have always been able to get Henry to do what I want. I’m ashamed to say I was annoyed with Mother too, and angry with her fearful terror. With Father gone, she just fell to pieces. Then the only time she did show some spirit, she was killed by one of the King's troopers.

5. What were your thoughts upon first entering London, where you lived with the Devereaux family for a time?

It was noisy, smelly, claustrophobic and terrifying – but I loved it on sight. Once I saw that Lambtons was a luxurious chophouse and not a mean little tavern with rush floors and stinking of ale, I loved it. Adella Devereux was a true mother to me and taught me so much about life.

6. And that’s where you met William Devereaux? First impressions of him?

William was as handsome as the Duke Of Monmouth, daring and bounded into my life like a charming cavalier. Everyone loved him, and I flattered myself he noticed me too. He left me breathless and each moment I spent with him I longed for the next. But I was serious and loaded down with sadness after the Rebellion and I had Henry to worry about. How could I have handed over my future happiness to a womanizing, gambling rake? Not that he even asked me, but I had certain hopes there for a while.

7. Even in those happy times in London, what did you assume about the final fate of your brother and father?

For over a year, I used to dream about both of them. Sometimes they were together and running from King James’ soldiers and I would wake up shaking with fear as they were about to be caught.
At others I saw them lying dead in a field and bundled into the mass grave near Weston with all those other rebels, with no prayers or markers to their graves. The there were the dreams where Father would ride off over a hill and Aaron would run in another direction and I was left, alone, wondering which one I should follow and frozen with indecision. For a long time I was always asking myself what father would have said if he was there, before I made a decision, but I enjoyed deciding things for myself. In my head I never really knew if they were alive or dead.

8. Before you met your first husband, Guy Palmer, what were your thoughts on marriage?

My family had arranged my betrothal to lord Blanden’s son, Martyn when I was sixteen. I didn’t think much about it and I certainly never thought to refuse. I had grown up with Martyn and knew him well. A handsome boy, he always treated me with respect. I was aware from the beginning that it was a marriage arranged to merge Blandon lands with the Woulfes. That’s what marriages in our circle were for.
Between you and me though, I was relieved when Martyn died. It confused me at the time because I enjoyed all the attention of the betrothal and we received some lovely gifts. I felt guilty though because I didn’t want him to die, but it meant I didn’t have to get married that year.

9. The birth of your twin boys must have been a surprise. Did you feel a closer connection or better understanding of your own mother when you became a parent?
To be honest, I was never quite sure how such things came about. I mean, I know what I was supposed to do as a wife, we had sheep at Loxsbeare so I knew the basics. But, well when it happened to me, I was quite shocked – and the pain! It didn’t help that I gave birth on the parlour floor during a riot in the street, but even so! Perhaps that was why it took me a while to grow to love them. Adella Devereaux didn’t think me strange, she said it was sensible not to get too attached straight away in case the babies died. Besides, I love them now, so I suppose it makes little difference.
But it made me realize how much sorrow my mother suffered having lost all those babies. How awful to have gone through all that and had empty arms at the end. I was never able to tell her I understood though.

10. Although you settled and married, you learned of your brother Aaron’s fate. What were your hopes and fears when you knew he was alive?

At first, I was nervous that Aaron would assume Father’s role and tell me what to do. He might have seen Lambtons as unsuitable, and as the head of the house, he could insist I left and I would have had no choice but to obey. Then when he wrote and said he wasn’t coming back, but would staying The Hague to plot with the Prince of Orange, I was furious he had abandoned Henry and me. He was all we had left, he should have come home to take care of us - hadn’t chasing after his precious Duke caused enough unhappiness. Hadn’t plotting against the king taught him anything?
I had also grown accustomed to my independence and wasn’t going to let Aaron walk in and spoil it. So I accepted Guy Palmer’s proposal and dared him to order a married woman about. I was hurt he hadn’t come home after the general pardon, when there was no danger. I had all these conversations in my head giving him a piece of my mind, but when he walked in that day, I forgot it all in my happiness to have my big brother home.

11. Your husband made a fortune in his business. Did the comforts of London erase the specter of Sedgemoor for you?

The first few years of my marriage helped do that. Having a home of my own and a husband who adored me helped the bad dreams go away and I felt safe again. Guy provided well for us, but then he became obsessed with trying to prove he was good enough for me and he wouldn’t stop. He opened two more shops and became obsessed with this bank idea, which took him away from home a lot.
I’m afraid Palmer House was the last straw. I mean, the name itself must tell you how self important Guy had become. If the Rebellion hadn’t happened, I would have been as thrilled by it too, and become one of those women who only cared what she could show off to others and whom she knew.
But I stopped caring. I just wanted to be loved and be safe, I wanted my brother home and to find out what had happened to Father, alive or dead. So none of those things, really mattered to me and Guy was frustrated by it. Perhaps that’s why he did what he did, who knows?
Oh I enjoyed being wealthy again of course, what woman wouldn’t, but I would have been happy to stay in King Street and change the draperies every few years and have a jewel for Yuletide, not one a week. I couldn’t tell Guy that, it would have hurt his pride and he would never have understood.

12. Your brother Henry also proved prosperous in London. What do you think your parents might have made of each of their children’s choices?

If the Rebellion hadn’t happened, Henry would never have met Sir Christopher Wren and become an architect. He would have stayed at home and managed the fulling business for Father and probably had a house of his own in Exeter and got married to a local girl, probably a sheep farmer’s daughter or a city elder. So in a way, what we went through was the making of Henry. He made his own choices and he’s doing exactly what he wants to do. I’m very happy for him.
If Father had come home, there may have been a few heated rows with him demanding Henry come home and Henry refusing. Or as a second son he may have let him live his own life and been proud – who can really know? What would Mother have thought? I doubt she would have been asked.

13. So, William Devereaux, the love of your life. What was most unexpected about William in his later years, compared to the young man you first met?

At the back of my mind, I always assumed William would marry the kind of woman I didn’t want to be. Beautiful, but empty headed, socially perfect and obsessed with jewels, gowns, masques and getting as close to the Royal Court as she could.
I was surprised at what a considerate, loving man he became. We grew close after I had the boys and he would sit with me and tell me about the Royal Society. And so handsome, always breathtakingly handsome.
When Guy and I began to drift apart, I dreaded William finding someone else, but when he said he’d waited until I was ready for him, I knew we were destined to be together.

14. What traits do you like best about each of your brothers?

Aaron is so like William, with his extravagant good looks all women are drawn to. Roguish and outrageous but not malicious. Everyone forgives Aaron because he is so loveable and has a capacity for fun that makes life so much more interesting than soberness and good works. William treats all the women in his life as if they were princesses and when I am with him, I feel beautiful and loved. Aaron would be the same should he find a woman to devote himself to.
Henry is more serious, but he respects women in a way which is unusual and although Aaron laughs at him for being faithful to Mary Anne, his devotion doesn’t surprise me at all. I have always been able to trust him and tell him my secrets. He knew about baby Charles for instance before anyone else knew, and he never betrayed my secret.

15. If there were a motto or phrase that sums up your life, what would it be?

What will be, will be. You cannot plan what happens in your life, you can only live it.

Thanks again for speaking with us.
You are most welcome.

Duking Days Revolution

Excerpt 2 - Chapter Six
Helena groped for Chloe’s arm. “I...cannot...have...this...”
“I don’t think you have a choice, Mistress,” Chloe whispered.
Love appeared with what appeared to be the best linen bed sheets in her arms. Helena’s brain screamed, “No, not those!” but her protest tailed off into a moan of despair as the pain returned. Love arranged the soft lengths of expensive cloth around her and Chloe thrust something firm behind her that eased the pressure on her back. In a brief, painless interval, Helena glanced over one shoulder, recognizing the cushions from her finest settle, but no one seemed to register her annoyance. In the next second, her mind quickly emptied of sheets and cushions when a particularly fierce grinding left her whimpering in distress.
Chloe’s face loomed above her. “Is it bad then, Mistress?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Helena growled through gritted teeth, dimly aware of Glover hovering at the door.
“This baby will be here in no time at all,” Chloe told him cheerfully.
Helena opened her mouth to correct her, but the words stayed in her throat and her back threatened to snap her body in two. It was all she could do not to scream. Then the realization dawned. She really was going to give birth now.
“Chloe,” she whimpered. “It is not supposed to happen like this.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress. But the babe decides, not you.”
Her thoughts drifted to the prepared chamber upstairs, to Celia and Amy, who waited for her summons to be her gossips. “What about the midwife?” she groaned.
From the corner of her eye, Helena saw Glover shake his head. “We will never get her through this,” he murmured. To confirm his words, more clamoring came from the street.
“We have to try.” Chloe pointed to the houseboy who peered round the doorjamb. “Send Jeb. He can go the back way.”
Glover disappeared again and the fierce cramps eased. By this time, Helena knew it to be only a temporary respite to prepare for the next onslaught. She brushed a tendril of damp hair from her forehead, wriggling into what she hoped was a more comfortable position but it proved to be merely a less uncomfortable one. Glover reappeared at the same moment another pain hit her and instinctively, she drew her knees up to her chest.
“Not yet, Mistress,” Chloe scrambled to her feet, pressing her skinny hands against Glover’s chest to push him back into the hall.
The sight of the diminutive Chloe manhandling Glover out of the room brought the absurdity of Helena’s situation into sharp relief. Who could imagine she would be lying on the floor of her own parlor, fully clothed and in the worst pain she had ever experienced; her swollen abdomen bobbing in front of her, and a mob rioting out on the cobbles. She couldn’t decide what terrified her more, what was happening inside the house, or the threat gathering force in the street.
Glover returned with the second houseboy, carrying a sheet of thin wood between them. Chloe gave an affronted squeal and held up a bed sheet to conceal her mistress, but Glover barely glanced at either of them.
“It’s in case the mob breaks the window, Mistress.” Glover kept his face averted while they fastened it to the frame; the hammering adding more discordant noise to the general chaos.
With the glow of the fire outside blocked out, the parlor was plunged into almost complete darkness. Helena felt the room closing in around her, relieved when a kitchen maid appeared with more lit candles, followed by the houseboy carrying a bowl of water. And a knife.
Helena moaned — in fear this time and fell into uncontrolled shaking. Could this really be happening? The binding in her back began again and she surrendered herself to it, defeated. Hot tears trickled down her face. Where was Guy? Where was Adella? I wish my mother were here. She choked back a sob. Mother wouldn’t let it hurt this much.
At the peak of each pain, Helena became convinced her whole body lifted clear of the floor. When it faded away, she flopped back down again, breathless. The relief lasted such a short time before the familiar pull and grind heralded another. Her body took on a will of its own, the pains assaulting her body with terrifying regularity. How long had she lain there?
Glass shattered upstairs. Something hit the window behind the sheet of wood, shaking the frame. Love screamed and threw herself on the floor. Lifting a hand, she stared at a trickle of blood running down her wrist. “I’ve hurt myself, Mistress,” she whined.
Chloe sniggered, and Helena glared Love into silence.
The acrid smell of smoke reached Helena’s nostrils, a thin grey plume insinuating itself between the wood and the window frame. The fire was getting closer. From a long way off, Helena heard the slam of a door, followed by light footsteps. Jeb’s face appeared round the doorjamb.
The boy had been running, his scrawny chest heaved and his eyes popped. “The midwife wasn’t there, sir,” he gasped, breathless.
Glover hurried the boy away and Helena’s groan this time was from disappointment.
Chloe knelt on the floor beside her. “Well, Mistress. You will just have to make do with me.” The maid cut off her objection with a laugh. “I’m the eldest of twelve. I delivered my mother’s eighth, ninth and the eleventh with no help at all.” She massaged Helena’s shoulders with strong fingers. “The tenth, she birthed in the lower meadow during harvest, me sister helped that time.”
“And the twelfth?” Helena whispered between pains. Chloe had never spoken of her family before, but then Helena had never enquired. She felt a pang of something akin to shame.
“Oh, I was long gone afore then. Not enough room in their tiny cottage for me. Nor much food neither.” Her voice held no bitterness, and for a moment, mistress and maid exchanged a silent look of understanding.
The next pain seemed to last longer than the others. When a wet cloth was slapped on her brow, Helena threw it off, irritated. It was too wet and much too heavy. Agony twisted her back again and she tried not to cry out.
“You have to push now, Mistress.” Chloe’s voice penetrated the fog in her head.
“I...am...pushing.”
“It is not enough, push harder.”
“How dare you take that tone with me,” Helena snapped, frustrated that her voice held little conviction.
“I’ll go without tea for a week in punishment.” Chloe grasped her hand, squeezing, hard. “But you must push.”
Helena alternated between furious snarls and child like whimpering while Chloe and Love cajoled her. Helena slumped back on the cushions, her bottom lip jutted forward to blow air upward into her face. Why wouldn’t they listen? I cannot push harder. What was the matter with everyone?
A spark of rebellion ignited in her head. “To the devil with all of them then. I cannot, will not, do this any more. They will just have to find another way to bring this child into the world. It is too hard. It hurts too much. I’m exhausted and have had enough.”
A cool hand smoothed back her hair. “I know, Mistress,” Chloe whispered, and Helena realized she had spoken aloud. “But you are nearly there. Another push or two and it will be over.”
The candles on the tabletops glowed brighter and swirled. The abyss opened and a red mist filled her head. The room and its occupants faded away and the noise from the street became a distant roar. All that existed was the pain, wrapping itself around her body and leaving her limp and helpless.
With quiet detachment, she realised that she must be dying, and if it were true, she welcomed it. The thought of sliding into blissful oblivion beckoned her like an embrace.
Before the darkness closed in, something inside her broke away, and in a rush of warm wetness she released her breath in a low moan. Helena flopped back against the cushions, exhausted. Not dying then, but suddenly light-headed with relief. The pain had stopped.
Chloe fumbled between Helena’s knees, ordering Love to hand her the knife. She whisked something very bloody away, but Helena couldn’t summon the strength to ask questions. Cool towels wiped her clammy skin, and she imagined she was floating.
Then her eyes snapped open. The low, pull and grind had begun again. “I...thought...it…was...over.”
Love Hatchet’s high-pitched squeal broke into her muddled thoughts. “There’s another one.”
What was the idiot girl saying? Helena drew a deep breath to voice her contempt, but the desire to push overwhelmed her. She strained. The same warm wetness flowed again. Chloe lifted something from her, pushing back her hair with an inner elbow. Helena caught sight of the blood on her hands and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Mistress.” Chloe leaned over her. “It’s twins. Boys. Look!”
Helena couldn’t look, nor could she make sense of it. But at last the pain had really stopped. It was all that mattered. Euphoria filled her head and she relaxed back against the cushions with a sigh. “You may all go,” she murmured. “I wish to sleep.”
A gruff, male voice broke through her lethargy, growling close to her ear. “Mistress, you must get up.” Could it be Glover? Surely not. Get up? Was the man mad? Then he asked Chloe, “Is the birth complete?”
“We have to clean her up, Jim. And dispose of…that.” She pointed to the bloody package in which Chloe had wrapped the afterbirth. Bertha returned with another leather bucket of hot water and Chloe applied warm cloths to Helena’s thighs and belly. It felt wonderful.
“Thank you, Chloe,” Helena whispered. “Perhaps you could help me upstairs into my-”
Before she could finish, Glover gripped her arm, hard. “Forgive me, Mistress. But you must move. Now!”
Helena opened her mouth to protest, but he hauled her to her feet, hooking his shoulder into her armpit to half carry, half drag her into the hall. He was surprisingly strong for a slight man. Even had she the energy, Helena could not have resisted. Her nether regions felt damp and sore, her legs shaky, yet she amazed herself at her own mobility.
A rapid hammering on the front door made everyone jump. Glover reached forward to open it with his other arm. On the doorstep was one of Robert Devereux’s grooms.
“We cannot get any closer, sir.” The man’s terrified eyes roved over Helena. “The lady will have to walk to the carriage.”
“Another man telling me what to do,” Helena muttered, peering past him into the street. It was full dark now and the night seemed even blacker in contrast to the red and orange glow of the Fisher house in full flame. The fiery tongues spewed smoke and sparks upwards through a gaping roof.
The coach was on the other side of the mob, the driver grim-faced in an effort to hold the animals steady. Horses hate fire, and with flakes of lit ash falling on their manes, their eyes rolled back in preparation for flight. They wouldn’t stay there much longer.
With a sudden burst of courage, Helena gripped Chloe’s arm. “Keep close to me, and cover the babies’ heads.”
Chloe obeyed without a murmur, fastened a wrapping round one bundle and gathered Love behind her clutching the other.
A wave of weakness overcame her and Helena stumbled on the bottom step.
“Mistress, allow me.” Glover swept her into muscular arms and set off toward the coach. The crowd, heedless of burning debris raining down on them, waved sticks impaled with oranges, shrieking at the burning edifice opposite.
A sudden explosion came from inside the house as they passed, prompting a maniacal scream, followed by abusive laughter. Helena took in the jumble of faces, twisted with hate and the glow of reflected flames.
The fire licked the roof tiles of the house next door, where an orange glow flickered behind a top window. Helena hoped the Anglican bookseller who lived there had managed to escape.
A heavyset man in a torn coat leered at them, screaming, ‘No Popery!’ However no one in the foul-smelling crowd attempted to attack them, or even bar their way.
“Probably because I must look demented,” Helena mumbled.
Once in the coach, she glanced down at her skirt, lifting her hands away from the stains with distaste. “I shan’t wear this again,” she muttered to no one in particular.
“Hurry,” the wide-eyed groom urged the maids, who clambered in after her. The coach lurched away almost before the doors closed.
Helena braced herself against the frame as they took a corner. The sounds of the mob receded and she offered a silent prayer that Guy would come home safely; that her house would survive and the mob would run out of anger, or fuel, or both.
She hoped Henry was safe, then the figures of Celia and Ralf, then Patrick, Amy and their children swam in front of her. She sank back into the padded seat in tearful dismay.
Chloe held a bundle out toward her. “Look, Mistress.”
Helena reached out a shaky hand to lift the wrapper from a tiny, fuzz-covered head. “He’s so small,” she whispered in awe. The carriage bumped and swayed, the tang of smoke drifted in from outside and discordant shouts came from the street, but Helen’s entire attention was focused on the tiny form in Chloe’s arms.
“Well go on. Let the Mistress see her other boy.” Chloe snapped at Love huddled wide-eyed and shaking on the seat opposite.

Duking Days Revolution

Anita Davison takes us back to 17th century England in her second novel, Duking Days Rebellion. Married to prosperous Guy Palmer and the mother of twin sons, Helena Woulfe Palmer unravels the secrets of her family's past and finds an unexpected future.

In the wake of the failed rebellion against Catholic King James II's rule, Helena has settled into a comfortable London life but the mystery of her father and brother's fates haunt her. Worse, the betrayer of her family still lives in her ancestral home at Loxsbeare. Her brother Henry enjoys success in his apprenticeship to an architect, but suffers his own unhappiness for loving a woman who is trapped in a loveless, arranged marriage. Tobias, a longtime family servant revealed to be Helena's illegitimate half-brother, fares no better.

Familial concerns are influenced by the turbulent politics of the time, when the king's actions test the loyalty of his subjects. He fathers a son, likely to be the next Catholic ruler of England, while his daughter Mary who is Protestant lives in the Netherlands with her husband Prince William of Orange. There are rumblings of anti-Catholic sentiment and the Dutch invade, spurring the king to flight. The new monarchs arrive to claim their throne, and accompanying them, Helena's long-lost elder brother Aaron.

Her shock at his return is mixed with resentment but when Aaron shares the details of his fate after the battle of Sedgemoor, Helena is moved to forgiveness. Though their father's missing, his final fate unknown,the reunited children set about regaining their treasured ancestral home, lost during the Rebellion. Helena suffers further betrayal and turns to an unexpected source of comfort. In the prequel, Duking Days Rebellion, Helena matured in the bitterness of civil war and sacrifice,but in her quest to restore their family's honor, she proves her strength. She's a remarkable, enduring heroine and Duking Days Revolution offers a poignant ending for her and the reader.

Duking Days Rebellion

Excerpt 1 - Chapter Nine
"Not much of a patrol,” Helena sniffed, intending to reassure Harry, who looked terrified, but her own hands felt clammy.
“Don’t be deceived, one musket can kill as well as six,” Bayle spoke out of the corner of his mouth, giving a low warning to the men behind.
The soldiers looked hot and tired, their coats flung open and hats tilted back. Their horses were tethered to a tree at the side of the road, tails lazily flicking away flies, heads down as if they had been there for a while.
One of them held up a hand and with a sharp swiping motion, signaled them into a verge. Bayle obeyed.
Helena shivered. These two were professional soldiers. Their long-coats were faded across the shoulders, now reddish-brown from marching long distances in all weathers. Patched in places, the turned back cuffs were no longer crisp. The younger one had a front tooth missing, while the other sported a cropped ear and two hacked-off fingers.
“Where are ye bound?” the officer demanded in a rough voice, indicating for Bayle to climb down.
Helena sat quite still as Bayle complied, proffering the churchwarden’s letter. The soldier gave the parchment a contemptuous look and ignored it, which told Helena he could not read. This did not bode well.
The second soldier stared at her, a leering grin on his face, his musket held across his body at waist level. She could not take her eyes from it, although when the man ducked his head to attract Harry’s attention, the boy glared at the ground as if frozen. The soldier sniffed and moved away, but Harry fidgeted, stilling only when Helena placed a comforting hand on his arm. The cart creaked and a bird called in a nearby tree, the tension growing as they waited. Helena glanced over her shoulder to watch the officer circle the contraption, flicking a contemptuous hand at the arranged flowers.
Without warning, he flipped up the edge of the makeshift pall, coming face to face with Simon, whose head lay inches from his hand. Helena gave a moan and for long seconds, the Rebel and the officer stared at each other as if immobile with shock.
The Rebel moved first. He lunged out of the cart, grabbing the officer round the neck with both hands. They tumbled onto the road as one, with Simon’s full weight on top of the soldier. Neither man had a chance to call out.
In the split second it took for his companion to register what was happening, Bayle closed the space between them. The second soldier lifted his musket, but at the same second, Bayle pulled his arm back and punched him squarely in the face. He hit the ground with a dull thump, and stayed there.
Helena’s shocked cry was smothered as the ponies crabbed sideways, threatening to trample Simon and the man beneath him. She hauled on the reins to keep them still and Harry scrambled down, almost colliding with a moving wheel. The soldier beneath Simon pulled a knife from somewhere, but as Simon’s fist connected with the man’s face, Harry sprang forward to wrestle it from his hand.
Joel hauled himself out of the cart and grabbed the musket the other soldier had dropped. Harry leapt out of the way and Joel stepped over the unconscious man, checked to see the weapon was loaded and shouted. “Roll, Simon!”
Simon reacted immediately, flinging himself to one side as Joel fired into the exposed soldier’s chest.
The sound of the shot echoed across the fields, sending up a flock of crows in a nearby tree, dying away quickly into the afternoon quiet. A crimson bloom spread over the front of the officer’s shirt and with a final grunt he relaxed into the earth, dead eyes staring at the sky. The ponies whinnied once, stamped, and then fell silent.
The other soldier stirred, groaning. In two strides, Joel raised the musket and brought the wooden butt down on the man’s temple with a sickening crack.
Helena thrust her fist into her mouth to muffle a scream, transfixed by the unnatural dent in the man’s skull. She looked down at her skirt, where spots of blood stood out for a few seconds before soaking into the fabric.
The horses whinnied in fear, pulling against the reins so that all Helena’s strength turned to keep them standing. When she could bring herself to look, Bayle and Simon were dragging the shot soldier toward a deep ditch running along the side of the road.
“Harry,” Simon shouted. “Go and collect ferns and branches, as many as you can.”
Wide-eyed, Harry stumbled away, hampered by his skirt.
The three men had turned their attention to the body of the officer. “There should have been six of them,” Simon grunted with the effort. Bayle looked up, his gaze sweeping the horizon. Helena looked too, but nothing stirred; the only sound was that of insects in the long grass. They rolled the limp bodies into the ditch, flattening the long grass on the incline.
Joel collected the other musket and threw both guns in after them. Harry returned, his arms full of branches and wide leaves they all set to spreading over the bodies and the disturbed vegetation, hiding them as best they could.
“How long before they find them, do you think?” Simon asked no one in particular.
“The others, if there are others, could be back at any time.” Joel jerked his head toward the road ahead. “They are always in packs, like dogs.” He brought a contemptuous foot down on the brittle twigs, their sharp crack making Helena jump.
Harry tore off the skirt and bonnet and hurled them into the cart. “What about their horses?” He nodded toward the docile animals grazing a few feet away.
“Get rid of anything which marks them out as soldiers’ mounts,” Bayle told him. “You and Joel will have to ride them. We cannot leave them here.”
Joel examined the docile horses. “Two knapsacks and a blanket with a military crest.” He held them up for inspection. “Their saddles are ordinary.”
The men gathered up their meager belongings from the grass. For want of something to do, Helena climbed down and scraped a mound of soil in her hands from the side of the ditch, sprinkling it over the patch of bright blood in the road. Somehow she felt better having done it.
Clambering back onto her seat, she fixed her gaze on Bayle’s face, willing him to get them away from there. Joel held both horses reins in one hand, their heads straining forward. As he passed the cart, his eyes narrowed and he hooked a thumb backwards. “He’s beginning to smell.”
Bayle scowled at him, but Helena pretended she hadn’t heard, tucking her skirt around her legs, avoiding the damp blood. The horror of the past few minutes had rendered Joel’s comment as little more than a distant idea.
With the men mounted, Bayle flicked the reins and turned toward her, his voice filled with sympathy. “Let’s get Master Edmund home and give him a proper burial.” She was trembling too much to answer, biting her bottom lip to stop it quivering
They maintained a fast pace for the next mile or so, while Helena kept a careful eye on the horizon, alert for the sound of pounding hooves. She held fast to the seat as they bumped over the uneven road, the vibrations running through her as Bayle urged the horses to go faster.
At the Appledore turnoff, Bayle hauled the cart into the verge. “Get everything tidied away,” he ordered. “If there’s another patrol, this would arouse suspicion.”
Helena looked back and understood. The cart no longer resembled a funeral wagon. The cross and the flowers had been ripped away in the brief conflict, leaving the black cloth draped untidily over the body; her skirt and cap jumbled in a heap in one corner.
Her legs shook as she climbed down onto the road and made for the rear of the cart, the image of the dead soldier’s battered skull imprinted in her head. She gathered up her discarded clothing and paused, transfixed by the sight of the body in its linen wrappings. It had shifted slightly and lay to one side; its head, torso and legs clearly defined, like a large doll with no face.
Her practical self told her it was Edmund, but she could not reconcile the slight, lifeless shape with the moving, breathing man she loved. Her throat closed and tears spilled down her face, leaving her breathless and shaking. It was really him.
With a muttered curse, Bayle stepped forward and flipped the cover back into place, painstakingly securing the sides.
Harry appeared at her shoulder. “Was he a close relative?”
“He is…was my uncle.” She faltered on the words that consigned Edmund to the past.
“He didn’t have the smallpox, did he?”
“No.” She knuckled tears away with both hands.
“I got this at Weston.” Harry indicated his bandaged arm. “We scattered after the first charge and found ourselves on the wrong side of the ditch.” He shrugged apologetically. “We could see our men, but couldn’t reach them, and by the time we found our way round, well. . .” He sighed as if embarrassed. “Then Joel got knocked out, and Simon and I carried him off the field.”
Helena stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the body. Harry was no longer a shy boy, she had seen the look on his face when he grabbed the fallen soldier’s knife. She was convinced he would have used it, had Joel not shot the man.
“What was his name?” Harry asked.
“Edmund Woulfe.” She examined their faces for a reaction. There was none. Disappointed, she jammed the clothing back into her bag.
“We part company here, masters,” Bayle called, startling her. Her nerves were so on edge. “I am worried about the rest of that patrol arriving.”
Joel gathered what meager belongings they had and led the horses closer.
As Simon bowed over Helena’s hand in farewell, unexpected warmth crept up her neck. He was a gentleman.
They re-mounted the trooper’s horses, and with Harry perched behind Joel, set off toward Tiverton.
They were still in sight when Helena turned to clutch the manservant’s arm. “Bayle.” Her tremor turned into heavy shaking as she fought hysteria. “We killed two men.”
“We didn’t kill anyone.” He snatched the rein and flicked it hard against the nearest pony’s flank. “Those men would have been hanged, and us with them.” He glared at her steadily. “Forget them, and tell no one what happened today, ever.”

Duking Days Rebellion

In Anita Davison's novel Duking Days Rebellion, set during the turbulent days of the 17th century Monmouth Rebellion, young Helena Woulfe prepares for great responsibility and changes in her life.

The sole privileged daughter of her family, Helena's life is disrupted when her father and brother Aaron answer the Duke of Monmouth's call to rally in support of his claim to the English kingdom. Torn between concerns for her family and future, Helena boldly sets out with a trusted family servant to learn their fate. She experiences the pain of war, but in the aftermath returns home to an even greater tragedy as her family loses more than its lifelong home. Bereft without her parents or news of Aaron's fate, Helena and her younger brother Henry journey to forge new lives and connections in London. As children of a named rebel, they are worried about their future but are welcomed into the kind comfort of Lambton's Inn, by its proprietors, the Devereaux family.

In London, Henry carves his own destiny, while Helena seeks a secure future. She encounters an unexpected enemy with designs on her ancestral home and learns an earth-shattering secret about her father. Most of all, she learns about personal strength and the healing power of love. It's an engaging plot, with remarkable characters, both fictional and historical personages. If you're looking for historical accuracy and detail, a strong heroine and a memorable read, be sure to check out Duking Days Rebellion.

Shades of Gray Winner

We have a winner of Jessica James' book Shades of Gray: Helen Ginger! Please contact Jessi at writefromthepast@yahoo.com to arrange shipping. Thanks!