Openers

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.


Okay, this is the 1st draft of the 1st page of 'Emma'.

It's taken a few efforts to find the right place to start from.
I've decided to start not at the very beginning but still early on, where Emma meets Ernest.I chose this point mainly because he is a largely hostile witness to her story.

Any comments are most welcome


Emma was enchanting, that is why I stole her from Mephistopheles. I confess that my acquisition of her services was not based solely on the prospect of financial gain. She had unearthly looks, not great beauty but it was hard to take your eyes off her. She looked ethereal but her character was that of a scheming minx. I found that combination of fragility and deviance irresistible and fell in love with her.
Having told you that my emotions were involved you may understand why my later judgement in regard to Emma Butcher was flawed.

I saw her for the first time on stage at the Alhambra. She made a brief appearance each night as a Fairy captured by that incompetent illusionist.
Mephistopheles, such an arrogant stage name, placed the girl in a box and made a vast bother with chains and padlocks, even throwing the keys away before her cries from captivity softened his heart and he ‘magically’ freed her.
It was a tedious climax and the applause was directed to the pretty assistant rather than the Conjurer.

I sat through this performance on three consecutive nights before I confirmed my first impression; that he had no right to the girl and that I owed it to her to rescue her and make her a central part of my own superior act.

I had learnt that she was not his daughter; back stage gossip said that he’d fetched her home with him one night to the great annoyance of his wife. Apparently Emma had attempted to pick his pocket and instead of beating her he chose to make her his new assistant. He told Flossie his wife that the girl was very agile, she’d wriggled like a worm on a hook when he caught hold of her.

This wiriness was not obvious because people tended to be held by Emma’s large eyes and silvery hair and failed to see that her thin body was muscular and lithe.
Flossie had reluctantly agreed that the girl could squirm into the small compartments used in Mephistopheles stage paraphernalia and so Emma had been a part of the act for several weeks.
I went to visit Flossie.
The conversation had run along these lines;
‘ I wanted to visit you Madam to offer my praise for your husband’s act. He is a master of illusion. I have seen him often in years past and always admired his skill, but I am concerned. May I ask is he quite well?’
Flossie looked puzzled and I went on.
‘It’s only that I feel his assistant may be failing him; she does prance about a lot and her shrieks from the box are really quite irritating. He almost dropped the magic curtain too soon last night. I was right side in the wings and she was still clambering up on the box, she is clumsy I fear.....’
The lady was looking discomfited now.
‘ Please don’t think Madam that this is a criticism of your husband I only fear that he may be too close to the girl to see her faults and that perhaps he is sickening for something?’
‘Yes Sir you may well be right.Thank you for your kind words. I shall speak with him.’

I made my goodbyes and left feeling quite smug. The very next day Emma was thrown out and was running down the street pursued by a furious Flossie when I stepped out from an alley and pulled Emma into a doorway.

‘Hush keep still. If the old girl catches you she’ll knock you senseless.’

Emma struggled in my arms, but I had the measure of her.

‘ You are back on the streets my girl and that’s not the place for you.’

She tossed her head ‘ And you’d be knowing where I should be do you? If you want a personal whore you’ve got the wrong girl here.’

‘Emma, dear girl. I am offering you a good position. You will be on a stage alone with all eyes on you.’

‘You think that’s where I ought to be ?’ She’d relaxed a little.

‘I do and so do you. Come with me and I’ll explain over some pie and mash.’

That did the trick, Emma admitted to being ravenous. Flossie had half starved her while she’d lived with them.


----------

Next section Ernest explains act and they start out on life tog.

The Hunnish Princess

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

I had this notion for a collection of Traveller's Tales told in a medieval caravanserai. This is the first and so far only one.
The idea for this one came from a bit in Bruce Chatwin's 'Songlines' where he briefly relates seeing a grave excavated in Eastern Europe, the grave contained female bones with an eagle's corpse on her breast.

Tales from the Han: number one

The Hunnish Princess

A great many years ago in the wild lands between Istanbul and Novgorod there once lived a beautiful girl. She had no fine jewels, but she had rich furs to keep her warm on horseback. She had no solid house but she had gaudy silks to decorate her tent.
She was a Hun, a girl who had sat her own saddle since she was four years old and whose hunting skills filled the bellies of family and friends.
Her name was Salska and it was her curse to be loved by two men.

The man who first loved her was called Hunye. He stayed always close by her and so he had saved her from a fire that killed her sister. Afterwards he took Salska and her mother under his protection.
Despite his love Hunye never asked Salska to marry him although her mother begged it. He said someone so lovely deserved a young and virile partner not an ageing horse-master with burns that scarred his face. But he always cared for Salska and dreamed of her at night.

The other man in Salska's life was called Uman and he was a handsome youth.
He watched the black hair fall across Salska's face when she skinned rabbits. He sighed when the sun shone in her eyes as she strung her bow. In short he adored her.
Uman was an elder son and likely to inherit the leadership of his clan. This made him a worthy suitor; so when he came to ask for Salska her mother sighed and agreed the dowry. There were no flaws in Uman's nature, other than those of all young men and Salska was not in love with Hunye or anyone else therefore when at last he summoned his courage and told her to marry him she accepted the decision.

But her dead sister didn't.

Maykor, when living, had made all the decisions. She was older than Salska by an entire morning, having been born as Dawn rose while her twin hadn't struggled free of the womb until after Noon. Maykor had never let Salska forget this or do anything without reference to her. Salska being easy in her nature had never objected to this state of affairs and when Maykor died Salska simply waited for someone else to tell her what to do. Sometimes at night Salska had strange dreams. She dreamt of flying far up in the sky to where the blue turned black, but her days were bound up with the tasks of women. When she had free time she played with the dogs and the babies. When her husband demanded her attention she gave it to him.

Maykor was unable to prevent the wedding, her spirit now was constrained in the body of a Golden Eagle, but she began to haunt Salska. At every opportunity Maykor came to Salska and called her name. She flew past low and fast when Salska rode, she sat on the poles of her sister's tent, she hopped after her sister when the girl collected berries. It didn't take long until Salska recognised the voice of her sister in the eagle's cry.

"You must kill Uman. He must die and you will get his gold. Then you can marry Hunye and be happy for my sake." As Salska rode Maykor repeated this message day after day. Her sister stopped her ears. Maykor grew ever more frustrated and ever more angry. Whenever the clan made camp the Eagle would pester Salska and the other women began to mutter that she was bewitched.

To gain peace Salska eventually spoke to the bird. " I do not want to kill Uman. He is a good husband to me. He loves me as he should: men sing of his deeds. He gets much ransom and he brings me silken trophies. Why should I kill a good man?"

"You must kill him in order that you can marry Hunye. Uman is too strong to die of a fever or a fight."

"But why do you want me to marry Hunye? He is kind and always thoughtful, but he is old and spends too much time with horses."

" Because I love him, stupid girl. On the night of the fire I asked Hunye to come to our tent. I wanted to give myself to him. He is wise and gentle and I longed for soft hands on my skin; the likes of Uman are always rough men."

"I still don't understand." said Salska "How could my marriage to Hunye help you, it would surely make you jealous to see me in his arms."

Maykor's voice had laughter in it " Once you are married to Hunye we can exchange places. You have lived three summers since the fire. I want my turn."

Salska paled and could no longer bear the Eagle's fierce gaze.

" You must agree that it is only fair. You have a good man. Life as an Eagle has it's compensations, but I have longed for Hunye every day. I will give you only a short time to think, I have had too much brooding. Meet me tomorrow and I will instruct you how best to take Uman's life."
The Eagle slipped sideways from it's perch and soared into the clouds above.

That night Salska could not find sleep. She lay in Uman's arms while the tears rolled into her hair. Finally understanding came into Salska's mind; she cared for Uman, she wanted to give him sons, she loved her life and it was not her fault that Maykor was dead. She didn't want to do as Maykor ordered, she wanted to fight her sister.

Eventually Salska fell into an uneasy sleep, in which she dreamt of the Eagle's eyes boring into her and stealing her spirit. She cried out and reached for Uman, who covered her face with kisses. Salska rubbed her breasts and moaned. He grunted and pulled her to him.

Before daylight Salska was awake again. In her sleep she had dreamt of going to seek Hunye. As she crept through the tent-flap Uman woke. He said nothing but feigned sleep. He watched his wife steal away and collecting his bow he chose to follow .

"Hunye. Hunye." Salska walked around the ring of horses calling for him. A figure pushed through the steaming flanks.

"Why are you here." He asked soft and smiling.

"My sister wants me to kill Uman. Come with me please and speak with her. I fear her reason has gone. You can talk with horses, perhaps you can talk sense to an Eagle." Salska hurried off towards the rock where she had last seen the Eagle.

Hunye followed, he'd heard the women's talk. He dropped back as he saw the great bird swoop, then settle on the rock. It's voice, the voice of Maykor came clear to him.

" Ah sister, you are prompt. Look at the ground and you'll see a mound of berries, poisonous but kind. Mix these in Uman's beer and he'll not notice. He will sleep deep enough so you can smother him."

"What then, what happens next?" Salska asked loud enough for Hunye to hear.

"Then you raise the alarm. I do not want you blamed for this. Cry bitter tears, rend your clothes and when Uman is cold go to Hunye and declare your love. At that point you and I will change places. I shall have Hunye and you shall soar above my wedding feast ."

Hunye had heard enough, he left his hide at a run and shouted. "No. You cannot do this Maykor. I have never loved you. I love Salska. You shan't harm her."

The Eagle screamed when she saw Hunye.
"Treacherous bitch!" Maykor flew direct at Salska's face with talons spread.
Hunye leapt in and grappled with the bird, stabbing at it with his knife.

The shrill shrieking and shouting ended abruptly as an arrow sang its way into the melee.
All movement was caught in a heart's beat.
Then the bird fell to the ground, Hunye's knife sticking in it's breast. Hunye held Salska on her feet as blood ran from the arrow in her back.

Uman ran to her and sobbed. "My lovely Bride. How could she plot my death with you Horsemaster?"
He pulled Salska into his embrace." I loved you always Salska and pity me I still do."

The girl's eyes focussed and she whispered.
" I never loved you till last night. Forgive me. But I never loved Hunye at all.."

Hunye said "She speaks the truth as we all must at point of death. It's true I loved her, but Salska never looked my way. Maykor did offer herself to me, but she had no value in my eyes. I rejected her and it soured even her new life." He touched the feathers caught in Salska's hair.


The men stood a long while over the grave. Salska was lain in the ground wearing her wedding gown. Her mother placed evergreens all around her. Uman laid gold leaf on her breast, then Hunye spread the Eagle's body over Salska with it's wings stretched protectively.


Hunye cut his beard and the mane from his mare and dropped these offerings onto the corpses. He said " In the next life may they both be always happy. I look forward to our next meeting" and turned his face away.
Uman slashed his arm and let copious blood drip on the ground. "This woman shall be mourned without tears, but with my blood in token of our reunion."

He gave the order for the grave to be filled. Then Hunye fetched the horses and the clan rode away.
==================

A Dark Night

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.


A piece of flash fiction, inspired by wondering what flash fiction was and entered for a Guardian competition with a Late Night theme. I think my story didn't quite fit the bill.......

It was late. You could tell that even in this place without time. There were subtle changes: pearls of moisture on a wall, a hazing of heat near the entrance, indistinct bird chirrups outside. Dawn would come, they would arrive and it would be too late.
This must happen under the secrecy of dark; rich, intense, all covering blackness. When the story got out there must be no witnesses. There must be mystery or it was all for nothing.
However there were several eyes watching.
A spider swung on her line. She saw the matted hair; this could be a great spot to anchor her web.She observed the head thoughtfully but noted no life breath so she spun her silver. She hurried to secure her snare and only glanced at the man. She was concerned to finish before Day brought the flies
Wandering across the sandy slab a beetle bumped into cold flesh and dislodged a flake of dried blood.The beetle skittered but his collision disturbed no-one.The beetle was hungry but wanted no accidents. He maneouvred his smooth cased back between the corpse and the blood. He felt afraid but started to move his feast to a secure place.
They worked hard but Spider snd Beetle both felt it immediately, their bodies jerked as particles of air trembled. If there’d been time they might have believed it was an earhquake, but time ran out. Searing blue light transfixed the creatures while immense power surged through them. For long seconds both of them expected to die. Then it was over. The beetle staggered and fell on his back because body and bloodfleck had disappeared. The spider swung loose in the charged air, her knots tying nothing in place.
The man was gone, only a sweet smell remained.

In the Tub

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.


Here is the first of my short stories. This is one of a tiny collection of stories featuring Archimedes and Mrs Archimedes. The other stories aren't yet fit to be seen


In the Tub


Archimedes best ideas came in his bath. This, he told Ariadne, was the sole reason he resorted to the bathhouse so often. Tonight playing with his sponge, he mused.

“Of course the sponge doesn’t displace much water in this large volume of suds. I myself dislodge considerably more.”

Wifely curses and hammering echoed through the night and ruffled the surface of the water. Archimedes sighed as the waterlogged sponge sank.
Moments later Ariadne bustled in. She proffered wine. Her other hand grasped a crucible of molten copper.

“Something new for dinner. Pizza. I’m baking it in the ore furnace. Don’t be long or I’ll give it to the dog.”

She disappeared. The hammering resumed.
Archimedes frowned. True, Ariadne’s talent for invention extended to the kitchen, but she was fonder of the dog than of him.Slurping wine he lounged, staring through the rushes at itinerant stars; the constellations invariably soothed his discord .Supine and buoyant it occurred to him that stars might also float.

” A liquid sky; such volume of stars would need a considerable sea.
Well, that would stop Helios’ chariot setting Heaven afire wouldn’t it?”

He drank deep and filed that thought. Ariadne returned carrying skeins of wet yarn.

“ What do you think of this colour? I used those weeds above the shit-tank.”

“Will we ever hear the last of your drains, Ariadne?

He glanced at the dripping mess.

“Yes it’s a nice blue, like a Summer’s sky.”

Archimedes reached for the flagon.

“Blue sky. Why not pink sky do you suppose? Why choose that colour?”

Ariadne shook her head and departed.
Archimedes sat up abruptly.

“Eureka. It’s because the sea is blue. Such universal harmony, such design ! The sky another ocean with stars instead of islands.”

He liked this phrase so much he repeated it.

“Stars instead of islands.”

Water dripped onto the dog. Archimedes, inspired now, shouted.

“If there is water, perhaps there are also fish in the sky.”

Ariadne’s voice interrupted this revelation.

“ You’ll rot like stinking fish in that tub someday. My mother’s arriving tomorrow. She thinks you’re insane, so no bathing allowed while she’s here. Use the shower I built last month, it saves water too.

“More to the point, dinner’s ready”.

“Coming my love.”

Archimedes squelched free of the bath. Starry reflections shimmered briefly on the water, then spiralled down the wastepipe and were gone.

It might kill several birds with the same stone

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Well I've signed up for a 2yr novel course now. I'm intending to write another story set in the same period as 'Lizzie' but a different character who has a different life, although the two of them will meet.

It might kill several birds with the same stone

Offline work is going slowly with 'Lizzie'. I'm currently working out her timeline and thinking about what outside events I want to set in to her story; I think that's what got me started on the other novel idea.

I really enjoy researching and I'm enjoying playing around with this material more than anything else I've attempted.

A little general info about 'Lizzie'

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

The novel that will be taking shape here is set in the mid 19th century. It takes place in England, Greece and France. The heroine is Lizzie and that's the working title too.
I shall be attempting to write something that has realism, drama, romance (just for starters).
It may be a woman's story but I want my male characters to be interesting too so I'll be particularly glad of comments on them.
The first draft, unedited, chapter of Lizzie is below.

Best of luck to all of us!

Having just finished NaNoWriMo today I am too whacked to consider editing it now.
BUT I shall edit my masterwork after Christmas and post it here.

Still here then

I was really chuffed to find the old place is still here.
I need to do some dusting, but there'll be some new furniture arriving before long.

On the Rocks

Still on the rocks theme we had lots of fun; or at least I did, exploring ruins.
You were consistent in damning 'piles of old rocks' whenever I mentioned the charms of a proposed trip, but I must have been convincing because you always came along.
In fact the last successful outing we made was that January visit to the Roman remains over the mountains. We both enjoyed wandering among those fallen columns and we still had hope for the future. There was a wistful note to that day because you were about to start chemo, but we planned to return in the Autumn when you would have more strength.

I'd rather think about the time we found the US army fort.
Southern Utah is big. We'd been in search of dinosaurs and found their footprints. I still have photos of you measuring the beast's shoe size. It had taken a couple of hours to find the tracks, they weren't well sign-posted and when all's said they were mementos of a few minutes activity a very long time ago.

We found the fort afterwards. It was set on a bend of a dry river. The buildings were above the Spring flood line and still solid to waist height. They were scanty and mean sized and I doubted there was any comfort to be had inside.
We talked over what a dreadful life the soldiers must've led. Months longing for any kind of traveller to break the monotony. No trees, no women only dust and wind.

We were a lot in love that day, so the isolation made us feel exhilerated and lucky to be together.
Nothing else living passed by us all day; no rabbits, no snakes, no flies, no vehicles, no dust clouds, no con-trails in the sky.That fort was the closest I've ever come to the Middle of Nowhere but I remember it for you, kissing me under that empty sky.

If I could have those moments back.

I'd have the moments when I said 'I'll be there in a while' as I finished a row or two of my knitting.

I'd want those moments when you'd annoyed me and I was sulking, purposely delaying the 'kiss and make-up' time.

Give me the moments when I took so long in the bathroom getting 'beautiful' when you'd already told me I was lovely enough.

All those moments and many more I wish I'd just spent hugging you. If I could have them back now they'd probably add up to several days and I could really use those days now!


We kissed and hugged plenty , but there were never enough kisses stored away to last me through these long nights. There were'nt enough hugs kept safe to keep me warm now.

The love we shared then ; well I squandered it.

I gloried in our happiness and thought the days of plenty would always be here. I should have put some in the bank, but I never expected a time to come when there'd be a shortfall. Is that how all spendthrifts are?



I need to write down memories of you and us. I can't lose them a second time. They'll have some extra life here and I can look and read whenever I want. Other people can too, I don't mind. I'm happy for our love to be known; that keeps it real.


So sometimes I'll use this page to put down the good stuff, the funny stuff. There really wasn't any bad stuff before the end.

Rocks of All Sizes
A memory came to me yesterday in the pet shop. Wandering around killing time I was pricing the fish tanks till I noticed some decorative rocks.

Remember we had lots of pretty rocks in the cafe aquarium. You remember those goldfish and how the kids liked to watch them?

You knew I liked rocks because I was always bringing home selections from the beach and our flat was full of them.

After we retired you even helped me fetch rocks back in the car to decorate our new garden. One day I found a lump of something volcanic that I lusted after. It was big and mostly yellow with lumpy pink streaks, maybe it wouldn't be to everyone's taste but I wanted it.

I tried to excavate around it and for half an hour I struggled to free it from the sand.You and the dogs were off walking somewhere. By the time you returned I was reduced to tears of disappointment; this was one big heavy lump and it wouldn't budge.

We went home with some pebbles.

A few days later you went out alone in the car.When you came back the dogs were bouncing everywhere as you staggered in through the gate lugging my prized rock.

The thing weighed at least 10 kilos and you'd carried it uphill from the beach and fetched it home for me. That rock sat on our living room floor for two years and was my prized possession.

But I'm sorry I had to leave it behind when I left, it was too big to pack.


I have another 'rocky' memory.

One time we'd driven down to London on a winter Sunday to trawl the street markets. We arrived very early and enjoyed breakfast in someone else's cafe. Then we passed some 'arty' shops and in a window I saw some work I thought was really good.

The artist had taken pieces of stone and had bored holes large enough to take one or more tealights, around these holes he'd set tiny metal figures.
Little ape-men who warmed themselves at the candle flames. The shop was shut and 'though I really loved one particular piece I knew I couldn't get it because we rarely came to London.

Christmas came that year and among my presents was a small heavy bundle. It was my little ape-man at his fire.

You'd phoned the shop and arranged to buy the piece.
I still have that little man and I often warm his cold body with candles.


If i didn't say it at the time I was more thrilled with those two rocks than any of the other lovely things you gave me.

Stuff

I have written nothing, zilch, nada at all since completing Nanowrimo in November '05.

I shall be writing again in '07.

There'll be some bits of long stuff and probably some short stuff too; I really have no idea what I'll do but whatever comes out will show up here.

I DID IT

I really did. Here it is the 29th of November and
I've logged up 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo.

I'm amazed,now I think I am a writer at last.

43,327 and staggering

That was my word count at the end of yesterday.
I'm racing to the deadline.

No I lie I'm staggering towards it. I'm starting to hate this bloody book. Once it's done ,and it will be. I shall throw it in a corner and forget the Roman Empire for at least six months.

Over The Hump

Running total 26,152 words. I'm past the halfway mark with 10 days to go.

Squeaked past

Squeaked past the 20,000 mark last night. Still way behind, but I can get there.

I need some meaty drama. Time for a battle methinks.

NaNo Plodo

Just over the 17,000 word mark now. This is not great, but I am getting to enjoy it now.
I'm making enough progress to keep me working and that's good enough for me.

There's another excerpt below if anyone can bear the deathless prose.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unusually it was Luci who was silent and unresponsive this morning. Drusilla was skipping through the ripples on the sands. Her mind still full of the dream she’d have the night before. A dream where Guto had ridden up to the Legate’s house and demanded that Drusilla be given up as a hostage. Julius and her mother had handed Drusilla over to the warrior Briton with tears in their eyes. Drusilla had laughed in the dream at the sight of them crying over her.
Guto had reached down from his sturdy pony and she’d clasped his hand. He’d swung her up behind him and they’d galloped off into the hills. Drusilla had felt his body hard and warm under her hands. She’d smelt that musky honey aroma from his skin and she’d wriggled in anticipation of the kisses he would give her when they reached his stronghold.
The dream had ended before the ride, but Drusilla had cuddled down under the blanket and continued to imagine the arrival at a beautiful hall . A hall made from living trees with branches full of birds overhead. Guto had ridden the pony straight into the hall. Then he’d lifted her down, set her on her feet and pulled her close. His lips were just about to press hers when Kalliope’s hand shook her shoulder.
“Get up Miss lazybones . I need you to do chores for me. Hurry the tide is on the turn and I want you at the beach before the seaweed dries too much.”

Now Drusilla picked up strands of the green hair-like weed and waved them in the air as she danced along. She was in love. The world was a wonderful place. The sun was shining and the water glistened in shallow mirrors, each reflecting her happy face. The little crabs scuttled around her feet and she smiled as she skipped to avoid them. The sky had a blue-ness unlike any she’d seen before. This was the realm of gods surely. Venus must have been born on a day like this.

“Come on Luci. You’ll get a chill sitting on that damp rock. Come here and dabble your toes in the water. It’s warm and there are lots of little creatures to see.”

Lucilla looked thoroughly miserable. Her shoulders were rounded, her head was down and her hands played with each other in a restless manner. Drusilla became concerned. She stopped jumping about and walked up the beach to her sister’s perch.

“ What is the matter? Have you lost something? Are your menses paining you today? Please cheer up Luci. I’m feeling so happy that I may just burst unless I can share it with someone.”
Luci looked up but said nothing.
“Come on. Last night you wanted to know where I’d been and all about Guto. I didn’t want to tell you then, but I do now. Give me a smile and I’ll tell you why he is so wonderful. I’ll tell you all about the dream I had last night too.”

“You had a dream?”

“Yes. It was wonderful. Guto was so powerful. So masterly. I wanted to give myself to him right in front of mother, but he took me to his palace.”

“ Oh you had a love dream about your tame Briton. I have the same dreams about Quintus you know.”

“I don’t care about Quintus. You can have all the dreams you want about him. You can marry him if you want. In fact I shall tell mother what a good idea it would be for you to marry Quintus instead of me.
For one thing he likes you better. Julius likes you too. Everyone would be happy. Then I could have Guto.”

“ If Guto’s people accepted you, which is unlikely.”
Drusilla stuck her tongue out.
“Why wouldn’t they want me? I am rich and I am strong. “

“You are silly too.They’d probably want to sacrifice you. Those Druids are supposed to be fond of human sacrifice.”

“Guto would protect me.” Drusilla’s voice wavered because she was less sure of this than she wished to be.

“I had a dream too.” Luci’s voice interrupted this uncomfortable thought.
“Yes you said so already. What was it about?”

“I dreamt about a battle. I was in the middle of it. I was in a chariot. The chariot was a small one, the kind they use in the Coliseum. It was small and cramped because you were in it too. I was crouched in the well of it keeping my head down because there were arrows zinging through the air and flames all around. I was wearing a shift and I had a stabbing sword in my hand. The sword was sticky and my tunic was sticky. It was blood. I was covered in blood. It was all over the sword and my clothes and my arm was red to the elbow. I had a shield in the other hand. You were standing up and holding the reins of the horses. You were like a great warrior. Your legs were braced in the straps and your hair was streaming from your head like the fires around us. You had on a black robe. Your arms were bare ,but you had great bracelets of gold on them and a huge gold torc around your throat. I was afraid of you. You looked at me and I didn’t recognise you at first. You had tattoos on your forehead and your face was so fierce and cruel. I thought you’d gone mad. You were screaming and grinning. It was horrible.”

“Where was this battle and who were we fighting?”

“I don’t know where it was. There was smoke and lots of fires. I think there were firepits. It was some big open space, no trees, but there was a stream. I remember that because some men were lying in the stream and their blood had turned the water red. There were bodies all over the field. Some of them were naked, but painted with blue markings. Some had leather and furs. There were women’s bodies too. They wore black tunics like yours.

Lucilla swallowed and reached out to grab Drusilla’s arm

“And there were Roman bodies. Men with their throats slit. Men screaming with their stomachs open. Breastplates and spears and shields in heaps.

“We were with the Romans?”

“No Drusilla. We were with the Britons. You and I were leading the Britons in battle against the Roman army.”

Fatal procrastination!

Only another 3,500 words since my first posting.
I changed my mind about the plot and dithered for a day or two.

However I am getting to like my characters, so maybe I can get into their story as it staggers along.

First Chunk

I'm publishing some of my efforts just as they come out.
This is un-edited first draft. It may never get beyond this stage anyway, but it's how I write!
This is a 'Young Adult' novel.


NANWRIMO 2005

The Speaking Tree

……………At first it was hard to see, but slowly her eyes adjusted. The light came from torches tied to spears and the central fire flared as fat from the bones thrown on it caught. The room was large but it was full. Dogs squabbled in the gloom. Slaves moved around the walls. They carried glistening sacks from which came sweet smelling drink. She could smell sweat and urine; she could feel the heat. There seemed to be no women present. The space around the fire was packed with men. Their eyes glittered and their teeth shone when they laughed. There was a lot of laughter, there was plenty of talk too, but she couldn’t make out what they said. She realised that some of the words were slurred anyway. Some men were propped against pillars; they gazed blurrily at their friends and waved their hands in the gestures drunks use instead of speech. She watched as one man pushed himself upright and vomited towards the fire while at the same time, he held his cup out for more drink. His neighbours laughed as the nearest slave refilled the man’s cup. The smell of sour milk carried to her.

She’d decided by now that no woman would be safe here. These were dangerous men. They all looked alike. Their eyes were hard. Their hair was black and curled tightly. They all wore beards and their arms were sinewy and scarred. She didn’t like what she saw.

Surely this vision would fade soon! But the smells grew sickly strong, the heat was oppressive and the hubbub rose ever louder.

Then one voice came through the din, not loud but clear and strong. All the faces turned in one direction. She hadn’t seem this area of the room before but now she could see that there was a clear space behind one man sat upright on a fur-draped chair. There were slaves standing at either side of him.

He was big, not a giant but a man of great height. His chest was broad and his shoulders far apart. His clothes were the same as the other men; his hair and beard were as dark as the others, but he had an aura of command. That voice; she didn’t know what he was saying but the sound held her attention.
The man held a dagger in one huge hand. He had paused to speak in the act of spearing a chunk of meat.

She saw now that his eyes were clear and that he was looking straight across the fire in her direction. ………….




Chapter One

Lucilla yawned as she walked towards the boats. Her mother was still inside the port master’s house so Lucilla didn’t bother to cover her mouth. It was that kind of morning; lazy and stretchy. She could feel warm sun on her back although ahead the sea’s edge was grey and there was mist rolling across the water.

It had rained yesterday and the sun brought out the smell of damp earth. Lucilla sniffed and smiled. She loved days like this, but they seemed rare in this land.
Lucilla was a native of Rome and had spent little time outside the city before her mother had married Julius. In the last year she’d come to love fresh air and open spaces. It was so different here, maybe it was better than Rome? Lucilla pushed this treacherous thought aside. If her step-father felt that Lucilla was becoming a tom-boy like Drusilla he would send her back to Italy immediately.

Julius had said that Drusilla would never get a husband because she was far too independent. He’d criticised Kalliste for bringing her eldest daughter up as if she were a boy. However Julius Agrippa approved of Lucilla. He was sure she would catch the attention of a suitable young officer in the Legion or better still in the regional capital at Sulis.

Sulis had proved a disappointment to Lucilla. She’d been told how fast the city was growing, due in large measure to the patronage of Roman citizens from all over the southern part of this land. The waters from the springs were sacred and health giving, or so it was said. Lucilla thought they stank and her health needed no supplements anyway. It was true that there’d been plenty of people in Sulis but most of them had been fat merchants.

Lucilla was interested in thin men. She was thirteen years old and had decided that she could afford to wait a year or two if the men of Sulis were typical of the available males in Brittania.
Lucilla had asked Drusilla’s opinion, but Drusilla had muttered something about the fine Arab mares that she’d seen at the horse fair and Lucilla realised that her sister hadn’t even noticed the lack of suitable men.

Lucilla sighed. She loved Drusilla and thought she was brave and clever, but she could be extremely boring.

By now Lucilla had reached the beach. On close inspection the beach turned out to be a mud bank and Lucilla teetered on the grass. She had no wish to get mud on her slippers, but she did want to see the ships better. She liked ships. Her father had been Commander of a fighting galley and she liked to imagine that he wasn’t dead, but instead was sailing the wild oceans. One day he would come back and take Lucilla away to an exotic land where Fauns played and Nymphs made music. Lucilla would find her True Love there and everything would be right with the World.

“Lucilla. Lucilla Come here at once.”
Kalliope her nurse was yelling and waving from the portmaster’s verandah.

“We’ll be leaving shortly and your mother doesn’t want you looking like a ragamuffin. Come quickly Lucilla”.

For a slave Kalliope had a domineering manner. She had been bought as a child companion for Kalliste nearly thirty years earlier. She’d stayed on as a personal maid. Then she’d nursed Drusilla when she was a baby and Lucilla after her. Kalliope was given great control over the daily lives of Kalliste’s daughters and Kalliope was the final arbiter on all matters of appearance and manners.

Lucilla waved and started to walk back to the house.

--

Drusilla heard Kalliope yelling at Lucilla. It was a relief to find that she was not the target for the little woman’s wrath, at least not yet.

Drusilla had also snuck out of their quarters. She had been eager to see the sun rise this morning.
She settled herself on a wall and hugged her shawl closer to her.

For the first time in weeks Drusilla felt excited. She wanted to get to the fortress. Drusilla wasn’t anxious to see her stepfather. She knew Julius’ opinion of her too well. She wanted to see the local tribes.
Drusilla had been asking about the Silures ever since she’d arrived at Isca in the Spring. There were plenty of native Britons to be seen near the great fortress at Isca Dumnoniorum and Drusilla had been intrigued to meet people so different with their tempestuous history and uncivilised behaviour.

The Dumnonii were interesting. Drusilla liked the confident way the women walked around the settlement with small children scampering behind them. These people were easy in their manner. They carried their heads high and looked straight through Drusilla. The men of the tribe had been harder to see, they spent a lot of time hanging around in groups that were always at the edge of the town. Whenever a roman patrol came by these little knots of men would fade further into the background. The women would tease the soldiers and the men always seemed to disappear.

The salacious stories she’d heard from Kalliope of naked fighting men had not interested her, but Drusilla had been captivated by talk of the Druids. In the lands of the Dumnonii she’d seen no Druids, but she fully expected her hopes would be fulfilled here in this wilder land.

Drusilla knew she wasn’t a typical Roman girl, nor would she ever be. Her mother was Greek, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, which was a handicap to marriage in the higher circles of Roman life. Her father had died when Drusilla was a baby. He’d been a sickly man and although he had been of good family he’d never been strong enough to join the army or spend time in Rome making friends with the powerful. He’d lived on his country estates and Kalliste had been fetched sight unseen to marry him after reports of her beauty had encouraged Drusus Magnus to get himself an heir.

After his death Kalliste had been assigned a guardian because she’d inherited Drusus’ lands. With her beauty and her wealth Kalliste had soon been married off again, to the man who had fathered Lucilla before he’d been lost at sea.

Drusilla had been brought up as if she had been the male heir her father had demanded of Kalliste. Drusilla had learnt to read and write. She kept her mother’s correspondence for her. She knew about horses because Drusus had kept a fine stable. She had learnt the history of Rome and it’s conquests. She’d learnt the laws of Rome and all the skills that a son would need so that her mother could ask any fact of Drusilla and her daughter could fill the lack in her mother’s education.

Drusilla knew that her mother had fallen in love with Lucilla’s father and Lucilla was her mother’s delight, but she knew that she was the one Kalliste relied on and this gave her some comfort................