Coronation

Justin Newland

Description

It is 1761. Prussia is at war with Russia and Austria. As the Russian army occupies East Prussia, King Frederick the Great and his men fight hard to win back their homeland.In Ludwigshain, a Junker estate in East Prussia, Countess Marion von Adler celebrates an exceptional harvest. But this is soon requisitioned by Russian troops. When Marion tries to stop them, a Russian Captain strikes her. His Lieutenant, Ian Fermor, defends Marion's honour, but is stabbed for his insubordination. Abandoned by the Russians, Fermor becomes a divisive figure on the estate.Close to death, Fermor dreams of the Adler, a numinous eagle entity, whose territory extends across the lands of Northern Europe and which is mysteriously connected to the Enlightenment. What happens next will change the course of human history

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Historical fantasy
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 03 décembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838597849
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

JUSTIN NEWLAND was born in Essex, England, three days before the end of 1953.
Justin writes secret histories in which real events and historical personages are guided and motivated by numinous and subliminal forces. His writings add a touch of the supernatural to history and deal with existential themes of war, religion, evolution and the human’s place in the universe.
His debut novel, The Genes of Isis (Matador, 2018), is a tale of love, destruction, and ephemeral power set under the skies of Ancient Egypt, and which tells the secret history of the origins of the human race.
His second is The Old Dragon’s Head (Matador, 2018), a historical fantasy and supernatural thriller set during the Ming Dynasty and played out in the shadows the Great Wall of China. It explores the secret history of the influences that shaped the beginnings of modern times.
The Coronation is his third novel.
Justin does book signings and gives author talks in libraries and historical associations. He has appeared at many literary festivals and regularly gives interviews on local radio stations.
He lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, England.

Reviews of The Coronation

“Belonging / outsiders, politics, religion / spirituality, the effects of war, and the lives of everyday people, are all filtered through the lens of the other-worldly.”
A. Deane, Page Farer Book Blog

“Some authors deposit their characters in the midst of history, showing how their lives parallel historic events. Then there are authors like Justin Newland who bend history to their will and use fantastic elements to show us what could have been.”
Jathan and Heather

“This wonderful historical fictional tale will hold your attention as the author weaves a storyline that has different creative plots, along with a spiritual message.”
Gwendalyn’s Books

“This was a wonderfully told story that I thoroughly enjoyed.”
Baby Dolls and Razor Blades

“Well-written and with a strong narrative voice, this book encourages you to ask questions about the nature of things.”
Rambling Mads

“I enjoyed how the author mixed fantasy, historical fiction… and supernatural elements.”
Rajiv’s Reviews

“The author has a way of intertwining historical events, mythology and fiction into an engrossing story.”
Rosie Cawkwell, Rosie Writes

“The book has a spiritual message and, together with interesting real-world plots, intrigue and flowing language, I found it an enjoyable read.”
Flowsnej



Copyright © 2020 Justin Newland

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


Matador
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Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
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Twitter: @matadorbooks


ISBN 978 1838597 849

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
To my parents.
Life. Will. Love.
Sapere Aude! Dare to be wise!
Have the courage to use your own understanding
– that is the motto of the Enlightenment.

IMMANUEL KANT


Who can tell,
When heads will swell?
Or what’ll be felt,
When skulls do melt?

OLD SAXON RHYME
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
The Harvest Bride
Schloss (Castle) Ludwigshain, Ostpreussen (East Prussia).
The Feast of the Assumption, 15th August, 1761.


As the morning service finished, Marion Gräfin von Adler knelt at the first pew, waiting for people to leave. In front of the Countess, Pastor Leopold stood before the altar. With trembling hands, he was trying to place the silver paten on top of the silver chalice. For a moment, she feared he’d misplace it but eventually he guided it safely home.
Behind her, the congregation filed slowly out of the door. As Marion got up to join them, she adjusted her head scarf over her light brown, wavy hair and accidentally prodded her scalp. A stab of pain shot through it. Oh, too much sun again! She scrunched up her green eyes, hoping it would pass. Her fair complexion paled even more from the stabs of pain shooting through her head.
Her hands sought the amber crucifix around her neck. Touching it conjured feelings of the sanctity of her childhood growing up in Fischhausen, exploring the tunnels of her family’s amber mine. It worked, because she felt wrapped in a cocoon of warm memories and the pain ebbed away.
The last to leave, she followed Hans and Sisi, her son and daughter, out of the chapel and into the forecourt where Ursula, her chambermaid, stood waiting for them. The forecourt was swathed in shadows cast by the walls of the castle and enlivened by a cascade of birdsong. The dawn’s summer rays glistened on the surface of the lake, yielding a sense that the air was charged with the stuff of life.
Sisi was trembling with excitement and for good reason.
“This is your first time as harvest queen,” Marion said, clasping her daughter’s hand. “Go with Ursula and she’ll help you change into the bridal robe.”
While Sisi was dressing, Marion mingled with the sixty or so workers, farmers, small-holders and their children gathered around the chapel entrance. She pressed the hands of one woman, sympathised with another and greeted a third. Bloodshot eyes peered out from gaunt, sunburnt faces. Fatigue had a way of planting its claws into people, but their spirits were as high as the haystacks that dotted the fields of the estate. She was pleased for them; they deserved this reward for their hard work gathering in the harvest.
Christoph, her estate manager, pulled on his long earlobe and pointed his walking stick to where he wanted the people to assemble, even though everyone knew their places, having performed the same festival for years. He was assisted by the local Bürgermeisters, although Marion had to chuckle to herself, because everyone could see they were hindering more than helping, jostling the men and cajoling the women. A knot of screaming children raced around the forecourt, ignoring their parents’ pleas to behave. Egor was the worst. Shoeless and clueless, the six-year-old had stuffed his face with berries and resembled a clown with cherry lips.
When Pastor Leopold’s large frame emerged from the chapel, the people shuffled to their places ready for the coronation. Everyone assembled in a wide crescent in front of her with the huge rococo facade of Schloss Ludwigshain behind them. Even the ducks and geese alighted from the quiet waters of the lake and flew overhead to see what the fuss was about.
Wearing his usual doleful eyes and sagging cheeks, the old pastor said, “The harvest tradition dates back to our country’s founding fathers. Then, we were a small people in a great land. Now, we are a great people in a great land. That’s why we’ll emerge victorious against our Austrian and Russian foes.”
There followed a loud cheer, “For God! For Frederick! For Ostpreussen!”
Leopold continued, “Today is the Assumption of the Mother of the God of the Herbs. Let us give thanks for the riches of the land. And let us pray for those close to us who fight for our freedom on the battlefields.”
The congregation bowed their heads. Even her dogs were quiet. Marion mouthed a silent prayer for her husband. Dear Lord, fill the void in my heart and send my Gottfried back to me, safe and sound.
Sisi returned wearing the traditional yew-green velvet dress embroidered with gold wheat sheaves and light green herbs, perfectly offsetting her smooth complexion. Her daughter was growing up and starting to look like her, with that slightly square chin, deep-set eyes, strong brow and high cheekbones. Seated on the harvest throne, Sisi was beaming from head to toe as the parlour maids decorated her with posies of flowers and strands of straw.
Ursula snapped at them