King and the Casket

David Charles

Description

It is the year 1311, Jeref Moor, a twenty year old adventurer, from Constantinople lands in Aberdeen, Scotland. He unexpectedly meets Robert Bruce and, some hours later, he is fighting for his life when he encounters Edward II and his troops on a Scottish hillside. Initially held captive, our young hero eventually joins the English royal household where he becomes inadvertently embroiled in a switch of royal babies.Edward III is raised by Jeref's enigmatic English wife, Helen, who is also the baby's real mother. Racked by conscience, Jeref lays clues about the switch of babies and the sixteen year old King Edward is allowed to discover a mysterious casket.In the meantime, Jeref and his close loyal companions, helped by a band of mysterious monks, overcome a plot by Roger Mortimer to wrest control of the English crown. Just as Jeref leaves on a pilgrimage his brother, Omar, arrives and helps to unravel the clues about the switch of royal babies.As all is becoming clear, there is one final twist.The truths, half-truths and myths of the time combine with the skulduggery and connivances which permeate a royal household to make this an exciting and stirring tale. However, matters of English royal lineage are puzzles to be resolved only by what we believe we know and, inevitably, a royal household is an extraordinarily secretive institution. Such is the level of research, combined with a story taut with intrigue and vivid characterisation, it is easy to forget that this book is a work of fiction.The rest, as it is said, is history.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Pneuma Springs Publishing
• Date de parution: 09 septembre 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782281436
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The King
and
the Casket






David Charles
Copyright
First Published in 2009 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
The King and the Casket Copyright © 2009 David Charles
Kindle eISBN: 9781782281238 ePub eISBN: 9781782281436 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782281177 Paperback ISBN: 9781905809745
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: [e-mail] W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
Dedication

For my Mother and Father
The Novel
1
From continental France to Scotland sailed, A Moorish man who never had a doubt, That south of Scotland did his future lie. And for a groat, a beggar helped him out.
Aberdeen, Scotland, in the year 1311
It was a perfect summer’s day in Aberdeen. In the small harbour the midday sun warmed the sailing ships as they nodded gently up and down, creaking as they jostled against the grey stones of the jetty wall. The arrival of a French merchant ship added to the clamour in the busy market square where men and carts bustled around as the wooden hulks were unloaded and then reloaded for their return voyages. The two men walked down the timber planks and stood unnoticed on the quayside. Once on the warm flagstones they stretched their arms and took in the sunshine as they turned to take a final look at the ship that had brought them from France.
The smaller of the pair was a French sailor dressed in breeches held up with string and a waistcoat that covered his otherwise bare torso. His pointed cap flopped to one side of his narrow head and he carried a leather satchel containing his few personal possessions. The other man was neither Scottish nor French and his dark swarthy skin was matched by his dark clothes. Much bigger than his French companion, his smart leather tunic with its straps and buckles fitted him well whilst his leather breeches covered his strong sturdy legs. His well-made leather boots showed him to be a man of more than modest means. Over his shoulder a leather strap supported a heavy rolled bundle, which hung against his hip.
The two men turned back towards the market square to take in the busy scene that was Aberdeen on market day. The fronts of the small houses were barely visible through the throng of people pushing and jostling round the heavily laden market stalls.
‘Well, my friend,’ said the Frenchman, with a heavily accented tongue and scanning the busy scene in front of him. ‘Now what are your plans? I really can’t believe you intend to stay in this heathen country any longer than you have to. Do you intend to stay in Aberdeen?’
The dark swarthy man smiled at his small companion. ‘Aberdeen will suit me fine,’ he said, in a deep rich voice which carried a suggestion of an Arabian accent. He nodded as he looked about him, taking in the unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells which were his new surroundings. ‘I’ll stay here for a few days while I sort out what I am going to do.’
‘Do you have money?’ asked the Frenchman.
‘Enough for now.’
‘Right then,’ the Frenchman continued. ‘Let me show you round the town and I will help you find some lodgings. I have been here many times. The town is busy with travellers at the moment but we should be able to find somewhere to rest for a few days.’
The dark swarthy man did not reply. He was absorbing his new surroundings and wondering how to bring his plans to life. The two men stood together in silence for a while, moving only to get out of the way of sailors who pushed past them on their way on and off the ship.
The Frenchman was the first to speak. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if we are going to be companions for a few more days you should tell me your name.’
‘Jeref,’ said the dark swarthy man.
‘What? What sort of name is that?’ queried the Frenchman.
‘It’s just my name.’
‘So that’s what I should call you then... Jeref?’
‘Yes. If you like.’
The Frenchman turned to look at his new friend. ‘Good. You can call me Henri.’
‘Henri? What sort of name is that?’
‘Well, it’s just an ordinary French...’ he began to explain, before realising that his companion was making fun of him. ‘There are lots of Henris in France.’
‘Yes, I’ll wager there are, and there are lots of Jerefs where I come from,’ replied Jeref, with a wry smile. He continued to watch the crowds of people.
Whilst the Frenchman was thinking of a clever reply, his new-found friend strode forward into the heavy throng. After some moments the Frenchman ran after him, weaving through the crowd. It seemed to part easily enough for his companion but it always closed behind him again making it difficult for the small Frenchman to keep up. Eventually the two men found themselves in a tiny back street, less crowded with just a few poorly-dressed individuals scurrying about. The Frenchman caught up with Jeref and gasped for air as he walked alongside him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked the Frenchman, breathlessly, surprised at his companion’s sudden urge to explore on his own.
‘Nowhere in particular,’ replied Jeref. ‘Just getting my bearings.’
‘We’re coming up to the Black’s Head. It’s just around this corner. They usually have spare cots.’
‘The Black’s Head? I don’t like the sound of that!’ said Jeref, half joking.
‘It’s the name of an inn. Lots of sailors use it because it’s cheap and they do a good mutton stew.’
The two men turned the corner and walked down the narrow street until they reached the front door of the inn. They stood in the small doorway and peered into the gloomy interior. Henri went in first and settled onto a bench seat next to a small table in the darkest corner of the room. Jeref followed him and let his heavy bundle drop onto the floor then sat down beside the Frenchman.
‘It’s cooler in here,’ said Henri, ‘and it’s good to get off that damned ship. I wouldn’t care to make those long Mediterranean voyages. France to Scotland and back is just right for me.’
Jeref smiled. His companion was inclined to chatter but he had been welcome company on the voyage, answering Jeref’s questions about Scotland and its lifestyle. The Frenchman might also be able to provide some useful advice on how to get to England. In the mean time Jeref avoided further conversation and lapsed into thought.
He remembered how, six years ago, he had left his Moorish family in Constantinople. The city was one of their many stopping off points as they travelled between Europe and Asia, trading goods as they went. He recalled how his wealthy father had given him money and letters of introduction so that he could finish his education in Europe. He reflected on his time in Rome and Paris and he smiled as he fondly remembered how, in France, he had developed a fascination with armaments and the skills of warfare. He also remembered how he had heard about the great English households, which hired their own armies; the Percys in Northumberland, the Nevilles in Westmoreland, amongst others. In particular he recalled the day he had decided not to return to Constantinople to seek out his family but had chosen to travel on to England. He had believed he could lead a useful and challenging life there. He remembered how his decision had made him sad. But Jeref had also realised that he could not travel the direct and short distance across the channel from France to Kent. France was at war with England and any stranger found in the southern English shires would almost certainly be captured and put to death. Not least of all, Northumberland and Westmoreland were in the north and, with many noble English families fighting each other; he decided to enter England from Scotland. And Jeref stood out. He was the colour of ebony. Tall, strong, intelligent and fluent in the important European languages, he was still a foreigner and knew he could not take unnecessary risks.
And so it was that Jeref decided to pay his way to Scotland on a French supply ship and to work his way down into England from Aberdeen. Unfortunately he could not enquire directly of anyone about the route to England as Scotland, like France, also considered itself at war with England. He knew he would have to get his information second-hand, listening in on conversations, or asking strangers about their travels between the two countries. On his own he knew he would be treated with suspicion and so Jeref decided to stick to the Frenchman for a few days until he found out what he needed to know. And what he needed to know was how to find a suitable and relatively safe means of getting from Aberdeen to England.
Jeref let his thoughts take over and he was dozing comfortably when he suddenly became aware of another person standing next to them. Henri was talking to a short fat man with no hair and a dirty apron around his ample middle.
‘Yes, two jugs will be fine. And make sure it’s your best. We weary travellers need to get our strength back. And bring us some of that mutton stew I had last time. That was good that was. And some bread. Bring us both some stew and bread.’
Jeref stretched and yawned. He was surprised how tired he was after the week-long voyage. He had done virtually nothing but think about his family in Constantinople, his years in Italy and France and his future in England.
‘So what’s happening?’ asked Jeref, through another yawn.
‘The landlord says we can stay as long as we like so long as we have money,’ said Henri. ‘He says we can have the spare cots in the old stables. We can go and look later but he’s bringing us something to ea