Book Spotlight: Clement: The Templar’s Treasure (Clement, Book 3) by Craig R. Hipkins

 

Clement & Dagena return for another action-packed adventure. From the cold and dreary shores of Greenland to the fabled land of Vinland. The legendary treasure of the Knights Templar awaits.

 

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Clement: The Templar’s Treasure is set in the middle of the 12^th century. It was the age of chivalry and the day of the troubadours. The history of Europe during this time is well known. There have been countless books written about the crusades and the jousting tournaments prevalent during this age. Every student of medieval history knows about Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard the Lionheart, and Geoffrey of Monmouth. Even the peasant life of medieval Europe has been written about and popularized by writers such as Frances and Joseph Gies. In China, this was the age of the Song dynasty and the birth of gunpowder. However, not much is known about what was going on across the ocean in North America.

(Christian Krohg) Leif Discovering America

In this third installment of the Clement series, the boy knight travels in the wake of Leif Erikson, albeit a century and a half after that explorer first mentions Vinland in the Norse sagas. It is said that Leif filled a boat with grapes in a region more temperate than Greenland or Iceland. It is thought by historians Leif might have stumbled across the cranberry bogs of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Not much is known about the people living in this region during the 12th century. The indigenous inhabitants of New England at this time did not keep calendars or written records, or if they did, they have not survived. It would be nearly five centuries until the English colonists in the 17th century recorded anything about the Wampanoag or Nipmuck peoples that lived in this area. As I am a native New Englander, I am familiar with the history of these Native American people. In my book, I describe in detail what a Nipmuck village might have looked like in the 12th century. I based the description on a late 16th century watercolor of an Algonquin village which is located in the British Museum. It is believed that like most European towns and cities in medieval times, indigenous American towns would also have been fortified to prevent a sudden attack by a hostile power.

I am well familiar with the topography in Clement: The Templar’s Treasure. I grew up in Central Massachusetts and woke up every morning with a view of the ‘Lone Mountain’ out my bedroom window. The name of the mountain is Wachusett which, loosely translated is an Algonquin word for ‘Near the Mountain.’ My research of the Nipmuck and Wampanoag of New England was limited to descriptions and literature of early colonists like William Bradford. However, a lot can be discovered by reading these early accounts of New England life. I imagine that not much had changed in the centuries between the events in my book and the arrival of the Mayflower in 1620.

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 Craig R. Hipkins

Craig R. Hipkins grew up in Hubbardston Massachusetts. He is the author of medieval and gothic fiction. His novel, Adalbert is the sequel to Astrolabe written by his late twin brother Jay S. Hipkins (1968-2018) He is an avid long-distance runner and enjoys astronomy in his spare time.

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Book Spotlight and Excerpt: Raleigh – Tudor Adventurer (The Elizabethan Series, Book 3) by Tony Riches

 

Tudor adventurer, courtier, explorer and poet, Sir Walter Raleigh has been called the last true Elizabethan.

He didn’t dance or joust, didn’t come from a noble family, or marry into one. So how did an impoverished law student become a favourite of the queen, and Captain of the Guard?

The story which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy follows Walter Raleigh from his first days at the Elizabethan Court to the end of the Tudor dynasty.

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 EXCERPT

Durham House, London, May 1583

I could list a dozen reasons not to fall for Elizabeth Knollys, Lady Leighton. As a gentlewoman of the privy chamber, under the judgemental glare of the queen, her conduct had to be exemplary. Lady Leighton was also married – to Sir Thomas Leighton, Governor of Guernsey – and was a cousin, once removed, of the queen.

With a jolt, I realised why I couldn’t deny my feelings for her. Elizabeth Leighton was the embodiment of Queen Elizabeth as she could have been at my own age. Her lustrous golden-red hair was her own, her pale skin smooth and perfect. Her eyes regarded me not with fierce power, but with what I hoped was admiration, even longing.

‘You don’t dance, Master Raleigh?’ She’d found me watching the capering courtiers at the May Day celebrations at Greenwich Palace. The musicians played loudly, and she moved so close I could breathe in the scent of her perfume, delicate and sensual. Intoxicating.

‘I never learned to dance, my lady, and have no regrets.’ I sensed her gentle warmth as our thighs touched, and was filled with half-forgotten feelings.

She smiled, revealing perfect teeth. ‘No regrets?’ She turned to watch the laughing dancers, most of whom looked as if they’d enjoyed a little too much wine. ‘How I wish I could say the same.’

The unexpected sadness in her voice surprised me. ‘I was only talking about not learning to dance, my lady. I regret many things. I’ve passed thirty, and have no wife or children. I don’t even have a proper title.’

‘I regret marrying a man I rarely see, nineteen years my senior.’ Her hand brushed my thigh as if by accident, sending a frisson of arousal through my body. ‘My greatest regret is having no time for my two daughters, who barely know me.’

We were breaking the strictest rules of court, in such a public place. I’d not forgotten Alice’s warning about the ladies of the queen’s bedchamber. Be wary of them, Captain Raleigh, lest they harm you with their gossip. I’d been lonely since she’d left, and longed to take Lady Elizabeth Leighton in my arms.

If destiny brought us together most days in the privy chamber, it was adventure that drove my reckless feelings. I missed the sense of ever-present danger in Ireland, and had almost forgotten the rebellious man I’d been in my youth.

I lay awake at night dreaming of her, reliving every moment with her at the May dance. I heard the unmistakeable invitation in her words, and saw the glint of promise in her amber eyes. It would be madness to pursue her, a great risk to my reputation – and hers – yet I couldn’t put her from my mind.

She’d worn a jewelled pendant at her breast, in the form of a dove and serpent. I knew them as the emblems of mildness and prudence, yet in my daydreams I wondered if she was a dove, and I the snake who threatened our futures with temptation to taste the forbidden fruit.

I rose at first light to capture the lines of the verse that kept me restless in my bed. I shivered in my nightshirt as I sat close to the window overlooking the grey river, changing and crossing out words until I was satisfied.

Lady, farewell, whom I in silence serve.

Would God thou knewst the depth of my desire,

Then might I hope, though naught I can deserve,

Some drop of grace would quench my scorching fire.

But as to love unknown I have decreed,

So spare to speak doth often spare to speed.

Yet better ’twere that I in woe should waste

Than sue for grace and pity in despite,

And though I see in thee such pleasure placed

That feeds my joy and breeds my chief delight,

Withal I see a chaste consent disdain

Their suits which seek to win thy will again.

Then, farewell! Hope and help to each man’s harm!

I read my words aloud, sure no servants would hear my voice so early in the day. I had to say farewell, as there could be no future for us in this world. My intent was honourable – to end our liaison before it began. Yet some faint glimmer of hope and longing made me add a final verse.

The wind of woe hath torn my tree of trust,

Care quenched the coals which did my fancy warm,

And all my help lies buried in the dust.

But yet, amongst those cares which cross my rest,

This comfort grows, I think I love thee best.

 Tony Riches

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the lives of the Tudors. He also runs the popular ‘Stories of the Tudors’ podcast, and posts book reviews, author interviews and guest posts at his blog, The Writing Desk. For more information about Tony’s books please visit his website tonyriches.com and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches

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Book Spotlight and excerpt: Shake Loose the Border (Thunder on the Moor, Book 3) by Andrea Matthews

 

With Will and Maggie’s wedding just a week away, the last thing they need to stumble upon is Johnnie Hetherington’s dead body tied to a tree, especially one that’s so close to their cottage. Recognizing it as a sure sign that Johnnie has betrayed the family once too often, Sergeant Richie Carnaby gathers Will and his family together for questioning, though it seems obvious only a fool would kill a man on his own land. Then who did murder the rogue, and why?

Feeling confident it wasn’t any of the Fosters, Richie allows Will and Maggie’s wedding to proceed, but the couple has barely exchanged vows when the Armstrongs attack in force. Geordie is determined to rescue his niece from the clutches of Will Foster, whether she wants to go or not. And if he happens to make her a widow in the process, so be it. Will senses the danger and implores Dylan to get Maggie away to safety, no matter where — or when — that may be.

Though Maggie protests, Will assures her he will follow as soon as he is able. Yet how can that be possible when Dylan whisks her back to the twentieth century? Sharing her fears about Will, and unable to forget his own love, Annie, Dylan attempts to return to the past one last time despite his growing concerns over the disintegrating amulet stone. But will he make it in time to rescue Will, or will the villainous Ian Rutherford, who has already killed in cold blood once, win the ultimate battle and see Will and Maggie separated forever?

Trigger Warnings:

Sex and violence

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EXCERPT

 

Father Michael smiled cautiously as he gazed out to the congregation. “If there be anyone here knowing of just cause or impediment why these two shouldna be joined together, speak now or forever hold thy peace.” All eyes searched the horizon while the Foster men and their kin gripped the hilts of their weapons. What if Johnnie Hetherington had gotten word to her family? They could ambush with hardly any warning, and the Fosters’ with nothing more than their swords by their sides.

 

Maggie’s heart pounded as she scanned the crests of the gentle fells. How peaceful they looked, and yet . . . Will could die there in her arms. She could be a widow before she ever really became a bride. Still, all seemed quiet.

“So be it, then.” Father Michael leaned over and kissed Will on the cheek. 

Maggie thought that a bit odd. Wasn’t Will supposed to kiss her? Will must have seen a look of confusion on her face, for he bent toward her and whispered. “’Tis a sign that he’s blessed our union and declared us husband and wife.”

 

“Well, go on, then, lad,” the priest said. Will didn’t hesitate. He took her in his arms, and at long last, their lips touched once more.  

 

Maggie clasped her arms tightly around his soft collar, never wanting to let him go, but a horde of young men who had been standing off to the side snatched her from his embrace. They pushed and shoved one another, plucking at her garters and ribbons and ripping them from her body. Maggie screamed, her temper flaring. Though she tried to shove them away, she was nearly knocked to the ground. Two rowdy boys reached up her skirts, triumphantly capturing blue garters, while three others tore the ribbons from her arms.

 

Terrified about what they might try to take next, she looked to Will, but he didn’t seem in the least bit bothered. He just stood there, watching it happen, and that made her even more furious. If they ripped her dress, she’d have them drawn and quartered, each and every one of them. She kicked wildly as one young man even had the nerve to run his hand along her thigh.

 

At long last, Will and Betty came to her rescue, shooing the boys away. Taking her hand, Will led her into the church, where they would attend Mass for the first time as husband and wife. Maggie could barely control her anger. It must have showed, for Annie took her aside to help straighten her clothing.

“What is it that’s upsetting ye so, Maggie?”

“What is it? I was just accosted by those little reprobates, and nobody seemed to care, not even Will! Do you know where one of them put their hand?”

“He only wanted a garter, Sister. Do they no’ do that where ye come from?”

Maggie could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but this time it was from embarrassment. Of course, it was just another silly custom, and like it or not, if she was going to live in the sixteenth century, she had better get used to them. 

Andrea Matthews

Andrea Matthews is the pseudonym for Inez Foster, a historian, and librarian who loves to read and write and search around for her roots, genealogical speaking. She has a BA in History and an MLS in Library Science and enjoys the research almost as much as she does writing the story. In fact, many of her ideas come to her while doing casual research or digging into her family history. She is the author of the Thunder on the Moor series set on the 16th century Anglo-Scottish Border, and the Cross of Ciaran series, where a fifteen hundred-year-old Celt finds himself in the twentieth century. Andrea is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Long Island Romance Writers, and the Historical Novel Society.

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Book Spotlight and Excerpt: Hidden Masterpiece (Soli Hansen Mysteries, Book 3) By Heidi Eljarbo

 

In this riveting third book in the Soli Hansen Mysteries series, a woman’s courage to follow her conviction during a horrible war leads her to the portrait of a young Jewish heiress painted three centuries earlier.

Norway 1944. Art historian Soli Hansen has gone undercover to rescue masterpieces and keep them from falling into the hands of Nazi thieves. Working with a small resistance group led by her best friend Heddy, Soli will stop at nothing to thwart the efforts of the invaders of their scenic country. Trust and loyalty mean everything when working against a merciless enemy.

Riddles and clues lead the way to a mysterious work of art. It’s a race against time, but Soli and her network refuse to give up. However, when news arrives that her sweetheart Nikolai is missing in action, she strives to concentrate on the demanding quest.

From the streets of Oslo to the snow-covered mountains and medieval churches of Nume Valley, Soli takes risks larger than her courage, trying to preserve and hide precious art. But she must decide if it’s all worth losing the man she loves.

Antwerp 1639. Fabiola Ruber’s daughter, Annarosa, wants to honor her mother’s last wish and have her portrait done by a master artist who specializes in the art of chiaroscuro. Her uncle writes to an accomplished painter in Amsterdam and commissions him to paint his beloved niece.

Struggling with religious and social persecution, the Jewish Ruber family uproots once again and travels northward. On the way, they will sojourn in Amsterdam for Annarosa’s sitting in the master painter’s studio. But will they make it there? None of them can foresee the danger of such a journey.

 

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EXCERPT

 

On the road from Antwerp to Amsterdam, 1639

The first coachman snapped his whip, sending the horses cantering across the open field. In the first carriage sat Uncle Yoel and his wife, Ruth. Following closely behind in the second carriage, Annarosa and Simona held on to their seats as the wagon wheels seemed to hit every pothole along the trail.

They’d traveled all day and had only stopped to rest the horses and luncheon on a meadow next to a lake. Now, dusk brought a shadowy gloom over the landscape, erasing the tracks. The Ruber family had to make it to an inn close to Rotterdam by nightfall. Part of their baggage was tied to the top of the wagons, while the rest sat inside on the floor. Two panniers were crammed next to them on the seats. They’d managed to bring several trunks filled with china and silverware, some books and etchings, and all their jewelry, finer clothes, and tablecloths.

Annarosa worried about her madre’s two paintings. They’d boxed them up in wooden crates and tied them securely underneath the second carriage. Hopefully, the crates were sturdy enough to withstand the inevitable jolts as they traveled through the rough terrain.

They’d received a fair price for their home and had left behind valuable furniture, lavish curtains, and the clavichord. Aunt Ruth had cried as she walked away without her fine instrument, but Uncle Yoel had promised to buy her another one.

Most tragic of all, they’d left behind Annarosa’s madre.

Madre had closed her eyes for the last time early one morning as the sun shone through the window in the parlor. Sitting in front of her paintings and holding Annarosa’s hand, she’d drawn her final breath. Strangely enough, it was as if Madre was journeying with them. The memory of her would always be near, and the feeling that she watched over her beloved daughter was ever-present.

Simona had insisted on packing Annarosa’s best clothes. She’d folded the voluminous gowns and squeezed them into a good-sized trunk. “You never know when you’ll need to dress up. You are not getting any younger, child. One day, the right man will stand before you, and when that moment arrives, you need to look your best.

Aunt Ruth’s trunks held only a portion of her vast wardrobe, but she’d packed her ostrich feather fan. And at the bottom of one of the chests, the woman had placed her ermine-trimmed cloak, well knowing the fur was an emblem of royal status and nobility.

Annarosa sighed. She’d be happy wearing simple linen gowns in muted colors. Why should she pack fine china, smocks trimmed with lace and cutwork, or skirts with embroidered borders? Would she ever need gowns of brocade and velvet adorned with jewels in their new home?

She loved her family but longed to be on her own. Alas, as long as she was unwed, Uncle Yoel would never allow such a thing. Likewise, her madre would have been appalled by such a notion. But Madre would have come around; she always did. She’d understood Annarosa’s need to be more than a fine, gentlewoman on display.

Sometimes, Annarosa dreamed of cutting her hair and dressing in a simple man’s outfit with a full-sleeved white linen shirt over wide, loose breeches. No more high-heeled, embroidered shoes but rather comfortable boots she could run in. She’d live by a stream and wake up to birds chirping and grazing deer nibbling on apple trees and berry bushes in the yard. Yes, she’d be happy to live in a cottage by the woods with a trusted hound, a stalwart black stallion, her sword…and Claude Beaulieu.

Monsieur Beaulieu was back in Amsterdam. Would he come to see them when they stayed in town for her sittings with the master painter? Perhaps Uncle Yoel would settle for a while before he told them they had to move on. Annarosa frowned. She still didn’t know their final destination. Did her uncle know, or was he still searching for a new place for their family to live?

 “Claude. Claude.” Annarosa sat, looking out the window at the setting sun, whispering his name. The field was closing in, and the trail led them directly into the woodland.

 “What’s that, child?” Simona asked. “Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?”

 Annarosa turned to her chaperone and smiled. “No, thank you.”

 “Well, close your eyes for a while then. We should arrive shortly.”

 Suddenly, the clamor of shouting voices brusquely pulled Annarosa out of her reverie. The carriage came to an abrupt halt, causing Simona to tumble onto her knees on the floor. Annarosa bent down to make sure the older woman was all right, then she put a finger to her lips.

“Stay down. I’ll see what’s going on.” She eased up on the seat and carefully peeked out the window.

 

Heidi Eljarbo

Heidi Eljarbo is the bestselling author of historical fiction and mysteries filled with courageous and good characters that are easy to love and others you don't want to go near.

Heidi grew up in a home filled with books and artwork and she never truly imagined she would do anything other than write and paint. She studied art, languages, and history, all of which have come in handy when working as an author, magazine journalist, and painter.

After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She and her husband have a total of nine children, thirteen grandchildren—so far—in addition to a bouncy Wheaten Terrier.

Their favorite retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summertime and ski the vast, white terrain during winter.

Heidi’s favorites are family, God's beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.

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Spotlight on Kellyn Roth, author of At Her Fingertips (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3

 

She’s willing to do anything to follow her plan.

Debutante Alice Knight is ready for her first social season in London. She’s determined to impress society and her mother with an affluent match, at last escaping her past and embracing a future of her own making.

Peter Strauss, an American reporter visiting England, isn’t exactly what Alice had in mind. However, his friendship proves invaluable as Alice faces the challenges of her debut. Almost immediately, she attracts the attention of a well-born gentleman—perfect save for the simple fact that he’s not a Christian.

The life she longs for is finally at her fingertips, but between her own heart and the convictions of her faith, she isn’t sure she ought to grasp it.

At Her Fingertips, a romantic women's fiction novel, is the third novel in Kellyn Roth's Christian family saga, The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy.

 

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 Kellyn Roth

Fun Facts
(Stuff you may or may not already know!)

 

My parents, my brothers, and I bred border collies the entire time I was growing up, and I loved it! I had such an amazing time raising those pups … and then sending them off to good homes. Border collies will forever be my favorite breed. (I feel like I relate to their more ADHD tendencies, too!)

 

I graduated high school at age sixteen since I had far more credits than I needed by my junior year (homeschoolers can do that!). It was amazing because it allowed me more time to work on writing while I was still a young adult in my parents’ home.

 

My favorite bird is the chickadee. Mostly because, when I was small, my grandpa would call me “my little chickadee.” He passed away a few years ago, and that’s why I use the chickadee in my small press’s logo.

 

I was raised on older TV shows, confusing my more modern playmates growing up. Some of my favorites include Adam-12, the Andy Griffith Show, Perry Mason, Get Smart, Petticoat Junction, and MASH.

 

 I’ve lived all my life on family property, raising cattle and chickens, and I love it! I can’t imagine living in the city for long—in the end, the backwoods is the place for me.

 

Kellyn Roth

Kellyn Roth is a Christian historical women’s fiction & romance author from North-Eastern Oregon who has independently published multiple novels, the most notable being The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy series. You should definitely call her Kell.

Kell lives on family-owned property outside an unmemorable but historical town with her parents, two little brothers, precious border collies, a dozen cows, and lots of chickens. She also possesses a classic, vintage aesthetic that does not at all speak to her country girl side, but such is life.

When not writing, Kell likes to blog, work as a virtual assistant for authors and other small business owners, and spend lavish amounts of money on Dairy Queen french fries. She also likes to talk about her books (and occasionally Keira Knightley) way too much. You’ve been warned.

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Spotlight on Dominic Fielder, author of The Queen of the Citadels (The King’s Germans, Book 3)

 

October 1793: The French border.

Dunkirk was a disaster for the Duke of York’s army. The French, sensing victory before the winter, launch attacks along the length of the border. Menen is captured and the French now hold the whip hand. Nieuport and Ostend are threatened, and Sebastian Krombach finds himself involved in a desperate plan to stop the Black Lions as they spearhead the French advance. Werner Brandt and the men of 2^nd Battalion race to Menen to counterattack and rescue Erich von Bomm and the Grenadiers, whilst von Bomm struggles to save himself from his infatuation with a mysterious French vivandière.

Meanwhile, dark and brooding, the citadel of Lille dominates the border. The Queen of the Citadels have never been captured by force. The allies must now keep Menen, which guards Flanders, and seize Lille to open the road to Paris. All of this must be done under the watchful eyes of a spy in the Austrian camp. Juliette of Marboré is fighting her own secret war to free Julian Beauvais, languishing in the Conciergerie prison, and waiting for his appointment with the guillotine, as the Terror rages in Paris.

 

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Dominic Fielder

 

Fun Facts

(Stuff you may or may not already know!)

I once played rugby with £50,000 in cash! I knew my career in banking would be a struggle, counting other people’s money was never much fun. When I had made it to the dizzying heights of a ‘cashpoint clerk’ involved with loading the cashpoint machine of the weekend, one of the regular tasks was to double-check the pre-sealed banknotes, before the cash hoppers were loaded. I’m not sure how the rugby match started but £50000, which was a cuboid about 8 inches by 8 inches and about two feet long, was soon being tossed around the back room of the bank. There were only two problems with this.

One: I had already signed for the money so at this point, I am solely and wholly responsible for its safekeeping.

Two: it was my lateral pass that ended up wedged in the bank manager’s midriff. I can’t begin to tell you of the coals I was hauled over.

I can look back at it now and laugh…I hope!

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Before the rugby incident, I had been given a new leather bag, a single zip style affair, enough to hold some sandwiches and make me feel vaguely important. At the end of each day, the staff would trudge wearily from work, up the hill towards their cars. On this day, I’d left earlier than most and was so pleased that my colleagues thought so much of me as they waved vigorously as I drove past, radio blasting, sunglasses on…the epitome of cool.

The next day, when I arrived for work, the epitome of cool was faced with my leather case, looking a bit battered at the edges and slightly down at heel. I had driven past my colleagues with my shiny case on the roof of my car. After that, and several other incidents, I was transferred to another branch, and eventually another career.

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I once got stuck in a lift with a Vulcan. My other career took me to some very strange places. Being involved in the world of selling comics was a bit of an unusual sidestep and one of the offshoots of that was selling various wares at Star Trek conventions. At one of our first convention forays, I wheeled a truck full of stock into the lift. Just as I was about to press the ‘close door’ button, a yellow Next Generation uniform-wearing Trek fan sidled in. That was fine with me, we were headed in the same direction after all. He pressed the button for the floor of the convention centre and after various clunking noises, the lift started to rise. About three floors from our destination, it came to a sudden halt. This soon became a prolonged halt and then it was pretty obvious that we were stuck.

Not wanting to appear too worried about the situation, I made some small talk about the unusual badge that my Vulcan companion was wearing, a sort of Next Generation/Romulan fusion. He began with the words, “I am from the future…” We were stuck in the lift for around half an hour whilst the problem was resolved. It is still the longest half an hour of my life.

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We once took a family coach holiday to Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam. It was my mum and dad, my uncle, my two brothers, aged 12 and 7 and me, 17 and vaguely awkward. I’d yet to become the epitome of cool, with the leather case. One of the ‘lowlights’ of the tour was a visit to the Amsterdam Red Light District. Therapy and time have blocked out most of that amble but its fair to say, that for a 17-year-old male surrounded by the coach-going punters, mostly septuagenarian and octogenarian women, it was the longest half an hour of my life, until the Vulcan and the lift. Eternity may look a little like a broken lift, filled with coach travelling women from the Next Generation/Romulan alternate universe. But I’m hoping that it doesn’t.

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I once found a cow’s leg on a kitchen table. I say found, I opened the door and there it was…the hind leg of a cow, slowly being turned into very thick steaks. Some scene-setting may be needed. Between the terminal career in banking and the world of Star Trek conventions, I spent a year working in Australia. One of those jobs was on a fruit farm. There are too many fruit farm stories to tell but to give you a flavour of the place, we worked in the fields twelve hours a day picking capsicums (peppers). These were put into a boom on either side of a tractor and packed by a crew on the tractor. At the back of the tractor was a small first aid box. The first aid box contained nothing medical at all. It did however always contain four beers in ice. The logic was simple. The farm was in the Northern Territories where ten of Australia’s deadliest snake species are found. Occasionally snakes will coil up in a capsicum plant and bask. Disturbing one isn’t a great idea. Some venoms are so deadly that without the correct anti-venom you might be dead within half an hour. The hospital was an hour’s drive away. Farm logic was that it was best to have a cold beer whilst you waited for the inevitable.

Back to the cow’s leg…the farm also grew melons, and the smell of these ripening was some sort of aphrodisiac to the cattle on the neighbouring farm. One day, three cattle broke through the fence, and after efforts to shoo them back failed, one of the farmhands shot them, to protect thousands of dollars of crops. For the next three days, all we smelled whilst we worked were rotting carcasses.

It was pretty grim!

But the one positive was that we were involved in eating some of the evidence!

After a very long shift, we arrived back to the communal kitchen shed to find a Filipino cook calmly slicing the largest steaks I have ever seen (and am ever likely to see) from a cow’s leg with hoof and fur still very much attached. Of course, at that point, I have no concept of the need to hang meat to let it cure. When it finally cooked it was the rubberiest meat I have ever eaten. It was the longest half hour of steak sandwich of my life, but with a cold beer in hand, there are worse ways of ending the working day!

 ¸.•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶

Dominic Fielder

Dominic Fielder has had careers in retail and the private education sector and is currently working as a secondary school Maths teacher. He has a First-class honours degree in history and a lifetime’s interest in the hobby of wargaming. The King's Germans series is a project that grew out of this passion He currently juggles writing and research around a crowded work and family life.

Whilst self-published he is very grateful for an excellent support team. The Black Lions of Flanders (set in 1793) is the first in the King's Germans' series, which will follow an array of characters through to the final book in Waterloo. He lives just outside of Tavistock on the edge of Dartmoor. where he enjoys walking on the moors and the occasional horse-riding excursion as both writing inspiration and relaxation.

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