Today as part of the Blog Tour for A Phoenix Rising by Vivienne Brereton I am offering an excerpt as a taster to see if you fancy it.
The book is historical Fiction set in Tudor times and here's the description:
Born near historic Winchester in the UK, Vivienne Brereton has been passionate about the Tudors for as long as she can remember. This led to a degree in medieval history at university where she met her future husband. Three sons later and six countries she called home, she finally felt ready to write a novel.
Words have always played an important part in Vivienne’s life whether it’s been writing, editing, teaching English to foreigners, or just picking up a good book. In preparation for her novel, she read intensively on the skills needed to write well and did an enormous amount of research which she greatly enjoyed. Having three sons was helpful when she came to write about the characters, Tristan and Nicolas. All those squabbles she had to deal with came in very handy. She also used her husband and sons as guinea pigs for her Tudor cookery attempts with varying degrees of success (abuse).
Seeing ‘A Phoenix Rising’ in print for the first time was a moment of great joy for her and she hopes you enjoy reading it as much as she enjoyed writing it.
The book is historical Fiction set in Tudor times and here's the description:
The Blurb
“If I have anything to do with it, we Howards will live forever.”
Thomas Howard Charismatic head of one of the most powerful Houses in Tudor England. An indomitable old man approaching eighty: soldier, courtier, politician, a ‘phoenix’ rising from the ashes. After a calamitous period of disgrace, the Howards, renowned for their good looks and charm, are once more riding high at the court of Henry VIII.
Set against the backdrop of the extraordinary 1520 ‘Field of Cloth of Gold’, it is a tale of ambition, love, and intrigue, with Thomas at the centre of this intricate tapestry
Will Thomas’s bold vow be fulfilled? Danger stalks the corridors of the royal courts of Europe. Uneasy lies the head beneath a crown. Every other ruler – a fickle bedfellow…or sworn enemy.
The action takes place in England, Scotland, and France. On either side of the Narrow Sea, four young lives are interwoven, partly unaware of each other, and certainly oblivious to what Dame Fortune has in store for them.
Sounds gooood doesn't it!
Now here's that excerpt to get you well and truly hooked:
12th September, 1512.
Cecily Tredavoe and her half-Cornish, half-French first cousin, Tristan d’Ardres, have just escaped a tedious service in the Lady Chapel at Saint Michael’s Mount. Cecily has taken Tristan to the May Day fair, over at Marazion.
“Caught up in Tristan’s good mood, I was happy for him to take part in an archery competition. About twenty archers, of all ages and sizes, were lined up ready to take part, cheered on by a sizeable crowd.
‘But only if I can join in, too,’ I said.
Tristan looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you’d ever used a bow and arrow. Or a crossbow.’
‘Father gave me one of each as a New Year’s gift last year. I’m not very good yet but you’d be surprised how resourceful Lady Catherine can be when she sets her mind to something.’
Tristan shrugged as he watched the man in front of the equipment tent hand me a smaller lighter crossbow, giving me a broad wink as he did so.
‘Good for you, little maid. Even if you have no hope of beating your friend here. Most wenches I know are too busy with talk of fripperies and their sweethearts to pay a mind to men’s sports.’
Taking the man’s words as a challenge, I awaited my turn with a mixture of mounting excitement and trepidation. There would be several excellent archers amongst the group, one of whom I guessed might be Tristan himself. In front of us, an artificial popinjay, especially built in sections, had been placed on a wooden mount. It was our task to take aim at individual pieces of the bird, winning points for each one. The main prize, and the part each of us, of course, yearned to hit, was the heart section of the popinjay. Whoever managed this, also known as the ‘king shot’, would be crowned champion.
Walking up to the line chalked along the grass, I passed Tristan looking very pleased with himself, carrying a pair of leather gloves, his prize for hitting one of the legs. ‘Good luck, Lady Catherine. Make sure you don’t hit anyone by mistake, won’t you!’
Frowning at this loud remark which made everyone around me draw back several feet, I took a deep breath. Then I lifted the crossbow up to my shoulder, aimed it at the bird, pulled the trigger and fired….
* * *
‘The heart! The wench has hit the heart!’
I allowed myself a small smile of triumph. <<What Tristan and the man running the competition (a pair of naysayers) don’t know is that I’ve got one of the best archery tutors in Cornwall>> He was always full of praise for my coordination, telling me he’d never seen anything like it in either lad or maid. Of course, as an only child with indulgent parents, it helped I was able to spend as many hours practising as I wished.
As we walked away from the makeshift butts, I glanced down at the posy ring now adorning a finger on my right hand. After a fair amount of scrabbling around amongst the stallholders, a more suitable prize had been found for a female winner than a brace of pheasants (almost certainly) poached from the land of a local lord, perhaps even our own. I twisted the gold band (still a little big for me) with the fingers of my other hand, admiring the stars engraved around the circumference. On the inside, written in black were the words: ‘My brightest star, my one true love. N.’ Even though I knew the ring (like the pheasants) was probably stolen, I vowed never to take it off but wear it in memory of this happy day.
* * *
Not long after this, the clock chimed again. However, instead of the reassuringly long twelve chimes, there was the unmistakably ominous sound of not one…but threesingle chimes.
Aghast, we stared at one another.
‘Three o clock!’ gasped Tristan.
‘Quick,’ I said. ‘Follow me. There’s not a moment to lose.’
Racing down the cobbled streets of Marazion, we soon found ourselves standing on the shore again, looking back towards the Mount. We were also looking at the waves beginning to swirl against the shore at our feet, and the much higher ones at the end, near the entrance to the Mount.
‘We’ll never make it in time,’ Tristan said.
‘Of course we will.’
‘We won’t. When does the causeway reopen?’
‘Not until late evening. Come on. I promise you we’ll be fine. Stop acting like a whey-face. Surely you don’t mind getting your clothes a bit wet. Think how sad it would make our two families if we missed my mother’s birthday celebrations.’
‘Very well. But I’m not happy about it. Not at all.’
Deep down, nor was I. As a Cornish girl born and bred, I knew it was sheer folly to attempt a crossing in these conditions. As we began the journey back across the partially covered causeway, I could hear my father’s voice in my head, warning me as he’d done so many times before:
“Never cross the causeway if you see large waves at the far end. The high tide is fickle and has a mind of its own. It can come in much faster than you think. Before you know it, it’ll take away both your breath and your life
The Author
Born near historic Winchester in the UK, Vivienne Brereton has been passionate about the Tudors for as long as she can remember. This led to a degree in medieval history at university where she met her future husband. Three sons later and six countries she called home, she finally felt ready to write a novel.
Words have always played an important part in Vivienne’s life whether it’s been writing, editing, teaching English to foreigners, or just picking up a good book. In preparation for her novel, she read intensively on the skills needed to write well and did an enormous amount of research which she greatly enjoyed. Having three sons was helpful when she came to write about the characters, Tristan and Nicolas. All those squabbles she had to deal with came in very handy. She also used her husband and sons as guinea pigs for her Tudor cookery attempts with varying degrees of success (abuse).
Seeing ‘A Phoenix Rising’ in print for the first time was a moment of great joy for her and she hopes you enjoy reading it as much as she enjoyed writing it.
