New Stories on An Involuntary King: The Stories

Viking sea battle, borrowed from Hurstwic.

"The Road to Paris", a series of stories satisfying your desire for more accounts of the journeys of our two Irish bards, Shannon O'Neill and Rory McGuinness, has commenced on the An Involuntary King: The Stories.

There are alreadt a few hundred stories that range from letters between characters written by my friend Laura and me in about 1964 to our later attempts at storytelling and finally to  my own efforts to recapture "The Story" as we called it starting in 2006.

I knew that soon enough I would have posted every single item ever written, so not wanting this incredible period of my life to end, I decided just to keep the stories going.  You may recall that I published a poll of some basic story lines, and "the journeys of the two Irish bards" got the most botes.

"The Road to Paris" takes place about two years after two major events in the series I had written for the collaborative creative writing group, Ghostletters (to which you are enthusiastically invited to join): Shannon's apparent suicide by drowning then later return from Norway with a wife on his arm, and Rory's final relinuishing of his bow to the Queen and his own subsequent marriage to Ceridwen. 

It take sup the tale as Shannon begs his friends, Rory and Ceridwen, to help him find out what has happened to his wife, Falni, the Norse captain of a fighing vessel.  She is long overdue and no one has seen her.  There are raiders in the North Sea, taking the cargoe of other ships and doing things you would rther not hear to their crews.  What happened to Falni?  Is she all right?  Can Shannon find her and rescue her?  Will the future Holy Roman Emperor, Karl, better known as Charlemagne to future generations, be involved in some way?

Come find out for yourself by visiting and subscribing to An Involuntary King: The Stories.

You might enjoy the novel, too!

Pick a Plot!

An Involuntary King: The Stories

Well, it's over..  The old letters and stories from the 1960s are there, as well as all the authorized and unauthorized stories written from 2006 to this past December, most of which wound up part of the novel   There are even stories about a 21st century detective helping Rory find the queen when she runs away!

But as of June 20 every last cotton pickin' story will be up there.  There are no more.. nil.. zip.. nada... squat.

But that cannot be borne!  I want to keep writing them.  So I will let you express your interests in possible plots.  That is what the poll is for.

 Sorry, no Elerde plots.  The dastardly but sexy Breton mercenary is getting a novel all his own later on.

Check out An Involuntary King: The Stories  if you are intrigued and want to know more before you choose.

Which of the following plots would interest you as we continue the stories on http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com?

• Adventures of a dispossessed king's son.
• Journeys of two Irish bards.
• The voyages of a Danish merchant sea captain.
• A queen goes to the aid of a monastery that was destroyed by Vikings.
• Two royal sisters, a nun and the wife of a king, help each other.lp each other.
• Stories about the common people living near an Anglo Saxon stronghold.
• Villagers forced into banditry by a greedy overlord.
• The characters in An Involuntary King when they were children.
• How the not-so-nice mercenaries met.

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The Outlaws of Sherwood Forest, a parody

The following is from the continuing stories, authorized and otherwise, based on characters from An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England, by Nan Hawthorne, which you can find at http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com/.

Rory and Shannon, by Laake

Now you didn't think there was only one set of outlaws in that forest, did you??

As the two minstrels headed north from Nottingham into the north half of the forest on the old Roman road through the heart of Sherwood Forest, Shannon leveled a considering look on Rory.

Rory, who had been smiling at some inward thought, looked back at him and asked, "What?"

Shannon replied, "So what was all that back there at Mary's house?"

"What was all what back there?" Rory countered peevishly. He was mixed up enough in his own mind, without being interrogated.

Shannon just smiled a slightly sardonic grin for a moment. "All that, 'I may ne'er see ye again but..'" He said the last in a mock dramatic voice."

Rory thought, "I can be after doin' without this particular Shannon O'Neill.. the unsmiling and sarcastic." To Shannon he said, in a soft voice, "Shan, me friend, I dinnae know… I just dinnae know."

Shannon gazed at him a while longer, then turned his eyes to face the direction they were walking and kept silent.

Rory was becoming accustomed to this silence, so out of character for the normally buoyant friend of his childhood. So he was startled when Shannon quipped, "D'ye know why they call it Sherwood Forest?"

Rory looked over, "Och, nay, I dinnae know that."

Shannon gave him an impish grin. "For the reason that if ye ask a forester if he'd like a drink, he always says, 'Sure and I would.'"

Rory stopped and looked after his friend. Then he laughed, one single guffaw. "Does me heart good to hear ye jest, even if 'tis a terrible jest," he said, and started to walk again.

Shannon's face was already sour again. "Well, dinnae get used to it.. ye heard what Mary said, I be not out o' the woods yet.." He looked around at Rory. "And that was NOT a jest."

Just as the two started into the forest, which would someday be the most famous one in England in spite of the fact its most famous resident had never existed, Rory happened to see a small girl sitting on the stone at the place where two different paths converged into the one leading into the forest. He was struck by her look. She was maybe six years old, had straight flaxen hair, and was dressed in a pale blue dress. Blue was a hard color to come by for dyes in that time.. in fact in Ireland, only the High King of Tara was even allowed to wear it. He also noticed how clean she was. This was no trivial matter. Small children in the countryside were never clean since they played int eh dust all day and probably never got a bathing.

As they approached she smiled brightly at Rory and Shannon. Rory bowed graciously and took off his hat to her. Shannon just nodded. The girl giggled but said nothing and did not move. "Pretty wee thing, "Rory commented after they had passed. Shannon grunted assent inn reply.

Rory had a great deal of time to think about anything he wanted as they took the winding road through the forest. Even the Romans, with their road building skill, could not straighten out a path through the ancient oaks and other trees in this old forest. He thought about Shannon and the depths to which he had sunk in Nottingham. Rory had seen him drunk to the point of stupor, but never distraught as he had been.

He took his heart in his hands and asked, "Shan, what happened that night?"

Shannon shot him a look that said, "Watch ye'rself!" He glared at Rory for a minute, then his shoulders sagged.

"I cannae remember all o' it." He continued walking, his head bowed except for brief glances up along the road they were traveling. "I gave ye the slip, I remember, and found another tavern. As soon as the innkeeper saw me lute, he was all smiles and tankards of ale and urgin' me t' sing. The same happened at the next inn, and the next."

He sighed and his face took a pained look. "Then I met this colleen, pretty thing, shapely. I was very drunk by then, it seemed almost more than I usually get when I've had that much. She plied me with drink, then said we should go out into the street for some lovin'. I dinnae know if I could have followed through with the lovin' part, but I was game t' try. Me Heather was the furthest thing from me mind."

Shannon reached up and touched his broken nose. His eyes were both blackened. He walked with a slight limp from being kicked in the kneecap. He moved his jaw painfully. Mary had not been sure if it was broken too, like his nose. Rory winced just looking at his friend's swollen and bruised face.

"Sure and as soon as we got outside and I was after startin' to kiss her, I was grabbed from behind. There were two thugs a-standin' there, grinnin'. They told me they wanted me money.. I told them I dinnae have any. They dinnae believe me. One o' them held me while th'other searched, all the while the wench stood and smiled. O' course, they dinnae find any. "

He walked along in silence for a while. "The bigger one flew into a rage and snatched me lute. I cried out to leave it, but that just made the blackguard grin and he threw it into a puddle. When I tried to get it, th'other one tripped me. I felt them both kickin' me, and one kick found me knee." He leaned down to rub it. "Then one o' them pulled me up and they took turns punchin' me in the face. I dinnae know if I stayed conscious. I barely recall ye comin' t' find me. All I know is I wanted to crawl under somethin' and die."

Rory nodded, "Ye were that bad hurt."

Shannon shook his head. "'Twas not that. I felt like that big an ass. All me brave words and promises. I dinnae know how I got here, Rory. How did I become this besotted man?"

Rory knew there was no comfort, no answer for that. Perhaps it took that to make his friend find a way out. "Ye reached the bottom, Shan, I think. I don't think ye can fall any further. It will be all uphill from here."

Shannon looked at him, considering. "I hope so," he said, then fell back into silence.

Robin Hood's Merry men were not the only outlaws, real or imaginary, to people the many haunts of the Forest. Many rather less romantic brigands lived there and kept close watch on travelers, robbing from everyone to give to themselves. The two types of travelers that generally went unmolested were poor friars.. and minstrels. Musicians and players were known to bring more joy than gold into the huge track of woodland. Rory knew that at some point they would be waylaid, but all that would be stolen from them is some time and music.

He and Shannon were well along their way to Sheffield in the north of the forest when at last they came to a small band of outlaws standing casually in the road. Rory bowed elaborately and Shannon, looking wary, nodded his head. The man who seemed to be in charge of the small party stepped forward.

"Well met, good fellows. I see ye are musicians by this fellow's lute. Come and entertain us at our camp." Both of the minstrels knew this was not an invitation and Rory, acting as spokesperson, accepted the command graciously. He and Shannon followed the men deeper into the forest away from the road.

Rory tried to come next to Shannon to warn him to be careful not to anger their "hosts". He feared Shannon would refuse to sing as he had done at their inn. He would look over at his friend and see him staring warily at the outlaws, and never could get a moment to speak with him. So instead he went up to the leader and explained, "Please, me good sir, me friend is terrible sick. He cannot sing or play. I shall entertain ye."

The man laughed. "He be not sick, man. He be thrashed. If he keeps himself calm, we will not bother him."

"Let me be after tellin' him, then," Rory requested.

The leader eyed him suspiciously. "Nay, I will not. He is on his own."

They were taken to a clearing with numerous campfires and makeshift cottages, with men, women and children all about. The minstrels' appearance drew the attention of all, and they crowded around. A path was made among them for what was obviously the leader of all these people, a man with no nose and one missing ear and a long throw from the handsome Robin Hood. He eyed them and spoke, "Where are ye from, minstrels?"

Rory answered, "Me friend Shannon here and I are from Ireland, in the north counties. But we be employed in the court of Lawrence in Christenlande."

The man looked pleased. "Ah, aye, many years ago I was an outlaw in Christenlande, and that same King gave me a chance to come out of outlawry. Had it not been that outlawry was my nature I should still be there in Lawrencium. Welcome, Shannon and.." He paused for his name.

"Rory. Rory McGuinness."

Rory found himself suddenly staring at a half dozen daggers pointing in his and Shannon's direction. They lifted their hands and the dagger Rory wore was taken from him.

The outlaw leader said, "Ye cannot be Rory McGuinness. Rory McGuinness is dead. He was hanged. Everyone knows that.'

♫ (Ballad of Rory McGuinness, performed by Druidsong.)

Rory tried to laugh, "Och, ye mean that song. Here be the man who wrote that song, Shannon O'Neill. He will tell ye that it was a mistake. He thought I was hanged, but sure and I was rescued."

The leader stared at Shannon. "Be this true?"

Shannon croaked out a weak, "Aye, 'tis true. I am O'Neill and this is McGuinness and we are both livin'."

The leader watched them both from under glowering eyebrows. "How do I know ye are speakin' the truth? "

Rory and Shannon exchanged looks. Shannon ventured, "What if I sing the ballad, will ye believe me?"

"Everyone knows the ballad. Everyone can sing it. What would make your singin' it prove who ye are?" The daggers were still pointing in their direction along with some cocked arrows and a sword or two.

Shannon actually smiled, one of his old grins, and asked in a cheerful voice, "But can everyone sing so the women faint all about?"

The leader considered this. He nodded and signaled his men to step back. "Let's see what ye can do."

Rory and Shannon were ushered to a stump in the middle of the camp and quickly surrounded by all manner of outlaws and their families. His lute had been taken from him on the march to the camp, and now it was handed back to Shannon. He began to tune it, worried that the soaking it had taken would have ruined the sound. While he did this, Rory leaned to him and whispered, "I hope ye can do this. Ye are not exactly a handsome man at the moment."

Shannon's irritable retort was cut off by a warning from the leader of the outlaws. "No plottin' an escape or nothin'."

Shannon gave Rory a resigned look and said, "Sure, and here goes." He geld his lute and began to sing the song. Rory as usual joined in a higher voice on the chorus.

The outlaws were clearly enchanted. Shannon's voice was not its usual fine self but it was a far piece finer than any these people had heard. Rory worriedly watched the younger women, who unfortunately did not seem particularly moved. The outlaw leader occasionally dragged his attention from the singers too, to look at the listeners, and frowned.

"Sing a tooralay tooralay farewell me son, For Finnegan O'Donnell his evil has done."

Shannon and Rory finished and, their hearts in their throats, waited. An old crone made her way to where the outlaw leader stood and whispered something in his ear as he leaned low for her to reach him. Rory saw the woman shake her head.

"Och, sweet Jesus," he heard Shannon breathe. "Looks like I may get my wish after all.. and today I dinnae want it so much." They waited to learn the verdict.

The leader came over to the two of them and gave each a grim look. He reached and put one hand on each man's shoulder. He looked sharply at them and said, "My old mother said she does not belief this is O'Neill." The minstrels' hearts sank. Shannon started muttering a Pater Noster. The man continued. "She has seen both men some years back. She tells me this may be an older O'Neill. But she knows ye, McGuinness. So ye must live, as this other man claims." He smiled broadly and clapped them both hard on the shoulders. "So c'mon, give us another song!"

Shannon found that if he kept singing, while he had been given a tankard of ale, if he just did not drink it, tempting though it was, and he kept on singing, it was not refilled. He and Rory entertained the outlaws for almost three hours, with no intermission. They shared songs of all kinds, funny tales and inspiring tales, and were a complete and unarhuable success.

In the morning they were taken back to the road and deposited there, with claps on the back and much thanking and farewells. As the outlaws left them, the leader leaned to Rory and said, "Ye should get this poor man a drink. He'd be the better for it." Rory smiled and nodded.

When they were alone, he turned to Shannon. The leader said ye need a drink."

"Perceptive man," Shannon replied. Then he smiled wanly. "D'ye still have that drinkin' skin of water?"

Want more?  You can read what led up to and what happened after this episode by searching for "Shannon's and Rory's journey" at http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com -- where there are many, many, many more stories.

Back to reviews of the new Robin Hood movie tomorrow.

Rain: A Dust Bowl Story, Guest Post and Invitation from Shelley Shaver

How to survive hard times is a challenge many American women are facing today. Riah McKenna is a young farm wife. Along with her husband, her son, and her best friend, the outcast Louise Kemp, she is struggling to survive the worst economic and environmental disaster in our nation's history.

This is a new epic launching with one new mini-episode put up each day. A blog invites you to contribute your reflections on how people respond when the chips are down.

Three ways to enjoy this new literary work:

(1) Movable Feast Method: start at the beginning and read a little each day,
(2) Diet Method: with coffeecup in hand, read one episode a day (takes about a minute), or
(3) Bakery Window Method: pick out individual episodes at random to find out more about Riah and her friends.

Click on: http://dustbowlpoetry.wordpress.com/

(There will be widgets and gadgets as soon as the author can get her daughter's boyfriend to tell her what those are. Until then, your patience and your participation are invited.)

There is something about the Americans who survived the Depression--our parents' and grandparents' generation--that has always fascinated me.

I think it takes a unique kind of courage to deal with hard times. It requires facing up to discouragement day after day. Our parents and grandparents did just that. My dad grew up on a cotton farm much like the one I describe in my work.

I spent 10 years writing this epic and 20 years waiting for it to find a platform.
I studied oral histories and went to Washington D.C. There I was allowed to hold in my hands letters hand-written by farmers during the 1930's to President Roosevelt. Looking at those yellowing pieces of paper, I felt the living presence of that time. And I listened to my dad's stories of those years.

When you reach middle age, you begin to feel more strongly the desire to pass something on, pass something down. Literature and history are meant to do just that. As I add one episode a day to the Dust Bowl Story, I am hoping that the failures and successes of the characters in that story will be a support to us now.

Here’s a sample mini-episode. It takes place in a farmhouse in the 1930s, and Louise, Riah’s new friend, has come over to get a permanent. Riah is very quiet; Louise is very loud. But she is grateful to be at her friend’s house rather than with her husband. Riah has a good marriage; Louise does not.

64. The Permanent Goes On

Fine idea, Louise thought,
To come here.
True, the wave solution
Burned in rings around her ears
And down her cheeks.
“Ow! Ow! Riah, Lord,
You’re blinding me!”
Her companion’s damp cloth
Wiped her eyes.
“All right,” said Louise,
But with a pout.
Good with her hands,
Riah liked to learn.
All intent,
She scanned the diagram.
Wielding combs
As if they were dirt hoes,
She would part the wet hair,
Row by row.
Each finger-width was daubed
In wave solution,
Cracked blue bowl.
Soaked, Louise’s hair
Turned russet-hued,
Dark as homespun.
Riah’s fingers stretched it
And then rolled.
Awkwardness now gone,
She wound quick,
Expertly tucking ends.
That solution stinks
To the high heaven, thought Louise.
She shut stinging eyes,
Tilting her head. Noses ran
As odor thick as incense
Wrapped both Riah and her client
In its mist,
Invading every nook.
Riah’s fingertips were
Dabbling, plashing.
Out back, chickens
Scratched, fussed amiably.
Louise stretched her shoulders.
She made believe
That she lay on a beach:
The big river
She’d known as a girl.
“Do you know, Riah–”
She half-drawled the sound out,
Teased the name–
“I saw the Mississippi?”
“Well, I swan,” said Riah,
Busy marveling:
How well she rolled!
A novice, too.
Miffed by her absorption,
Louise tried
For more impressive news:
“My folks came from New Orleans.
Ma was born there.”
“New Orleans,” said Riah.
Patty’d had a permanent.
The others talked about it–
Now she knew.
“Your people–where they
From?” inquired Louise.
“Grandfolks, Massachusetts
Come through Arkansas.”
Louise eased in her chair.
She yawned. Her scalp was tender–
Riah didn’t hurt at all.
The flies kept distant,
Bumping on the wall.
She wiped her face once more.
“Do you know,”
Louise said, sleepily,
“What women call the curse
In New Orleans?”
“What?” said Riah,
Not much keen to hear.
She wound up a roller
Nice and tight.
“They call it,” Louise replied,
“‘The flowers.’”
Laying her head back,
She closed her eyes. She laughed
To herself.
Outside, hens were scratching.
“They say,
‘Got the flowers,’”
She said, low.

You can contact Shelley Shaver.

An Involuntary Christmas, or How Lawrence and Elerde Found the True Meaning of Christmas

Read a story written just for those of you who have read my novel, An Involuntary King, at

An Involuntary KIng: The Stories - An Involuntary Christmas

And a Happy Holidays to you all!  May you be showered with great novels throughout 2010!

"An Involuntary King" Outtake

One of the fun things about writing novels is the relationship one builds with characters. I don't know how many authors do this, but I have had character panels and even written myself into the stories from time to time.

Here is one of the latter instances from my novel, An Involuntary King, meant to fit into the point in the first draft where Lawrence leaves Josephine alone while he waltzes off to his new fortress. Incidentally, my "co-author" Laura did not like this story at all. Unlike me she prefers not to admit to a personal relationship with the characters... ahem.

See old, new and outtakes stories from An Involuntary King on the An Involuntary King: The Stories blog.

The King and Queen were about to take their leave of each other, she to stay behind and he to go off to his new capital.

Suddenly out of nowhere two women appeared near them. One was short and stout and had long currently red hair and they both appeared by 8th century standards to be in their late 30s but were in fact in their 50s. Both were dressed very oddly.

The red haired one strode over to where Lawrence was preparing to mount his horse. Before anyone could move, she had grabbed him by an earlobe and was dragging him to one side. "You, my dear Lawrence, need a Timeout," she said, reprovingly.

Meanwhile the other woman with one hand on her hip was in Josephine's face waving a scolding finger. "Are you ever going to get a spine, Josephine?" Josephine stepped back, but the woman just advanced on her. "Why are you two always making yourselves miserable?"

The woman who had pulled Lawrence aside was similarly berating the King. "OK, so your willy doesn't work right now.. that doesn't mean you have to go off and pout. I thought you were supposed to be so devoted to Josephine. Why are you going off and leaving her alone with your child. Do you have any idea what that could lead to?"

The woman with Josephine heard this and added, "Yes, with your pathological need to be loved and adored.. don't you know what that does to men?"

Josephine looked over at Lawrence. "His willy isn't working?"

Lawrence blushed. The woman with him snapped, "Oh grow up. You were wounded.. it happens. You'll get over it." She pressed a button on her watch and a quiet man's voice said the time. "In fact any time now."

Lorin, who was standing watching all this, came up and cleared his throat. They all four looked at him. "Well met,. Laura. Well met, Nan."

Laura and Nan exchanged glances.

Lorin, in his dignified way, simply went on. "Begging thy leave, mayst I remind thee that thou wrote all this nonsense."

Nan looked defensive. Well yeah, but we were teenagers."

Lorin's look was withering. "Aye, but thou art not teenagers now. "

Laura crossed her arms. "Well what do you want, Lorin? To leave him enchanted and out of his mind or in a coma for the umpteenth time and her running off to France, managing to conceive twins immaculately?"

Now it was Lawrence and Josephine who exchanged glances and looked puzzled.

"Enchanted? A coma?" he asked.

"Twins? Immaculately?" she repeated.

Nan protested, "Yeah, at least this is more realistic."

Lorin gazed at his two authors will ill conceived irritation. "If thou canst rewrite it that far, then why cannot thou make them happy for once?" He looked over at his very pregnant wife Anne. "And now thou art going to kill off my Anne." Behind him Anne gasped.

Nan muttered, "Well there are rules about these things..."

Laura affirmed, "It wouldn't be The Story anymore if we change things too much."

Lawrence and Josephine had left their respective authors and were now clinging to each other for support.

Lorin said, "All I am saying, my ladies, is that do what thou wilt, do not chide thy creations for doing what thou hast made them do."

Again Laura and Nan looked at each other. Then each went to her respective creation.

"Jo, it does get better.. eventually," Laura said.

Nan nodded as she gave the King a hug. "I'd say keep your pecker in your pocket but then Tavish would never be born." She turned to Josephine and gave her a hug too. "He adores you, you know."

Laura nodded, "And if I thought you'd remember this for more than ten minutes, I'd tell you, Lawrence, that she is never in love with anyone but you."

And they winked out.

Lawrence breathed, "Those two scare the shit out of me." His wife nodded and buried her face in his chest.

Sorry, Laura.

Image: A drawing I did at about 15 of what Lawrence and josephine would have looked like in the 1960s.

Stuff and Nonsense: Three Web Previews

Book Giveaway!


Brandy Purdy's The Boleyn Wife won't be released untilJanuary 2010, but you can get a free, autographed book right away by visiting That's All She Read by the end of this week.

Check out the look of my new web site!


To see it live, just go to Nan Hawthorne, Historical Novelist

Facebook Fan Pahe for An Involuntary King


Visit the fan page and check out the stellar names you will find in the members list!

While you are there, click on the link to see a short slideshow illustrating the progress of the War in Affynshire, now being chronicled at An Involuntary Kintg: The Stories.

Biographies: Elerde of Leon

Elerde of Leon is the "tragi-nasty semi-villain" of An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England. To find more bios from the novel, visit An Involuntary king: The Stories.

Elerde of Leon [741-c. 800 AD]

Elerde was born in Leon in Cornouaille, one of the kingdoms that later became Brittany, the younger of two surviving sons of a nobleman, Ewen of Leon. As his brother Mihail was expected to inherit Ewen's title and lands, Elerde was destined for the Church.
He was drawn to learning, spoke, read, wrote several languages, and had a particular interest in Ancient Roman poets and military writers. As a boy, however, he trained in the arts of war with his brother, and when he was sent off to Rome in 757 to begin his seminary education, he instead used the money his father had given him to buy himself the armor, weapons, horse and other gear and looked for a lord in whose service he could fight. Not finding one willing to take on such a young man, Elerde joined a band of adventurers and traveled about the Italian peninsula for some years. In 762 he returned to Rome where he found a message that his father had died. Knowing his brother was to inherit, he decided there was no hurry for him to return and he took more than a year before returning to Leon.

When he arrived at his family's stronghold in Leon, he learned that his brother Mikail, an inveterate gambler, had gotten so far into debt that he had had to turn over his lands and all upon them to a more powerful lord in Leon. Elerde, stunned, set off to find his brother. He located him as the young man was about to embark for England to become a soldier of fortune. Elerde, though deeply angry with his brother, chose to go with him. They joined the army of Æthelberht II, king of half Kent, as mercenaries, until Offa, King of Mercia, defeated him and assumed all of Kent into Mercia. Elerde, who had become disgusted with Mihail's drinking and gampbling, left his brother to cope as he could and having shown himself a more than capable leader, formed his own band of mercenaries. He sent to Leon for men he had known as a youth, and many came at his inbitation to join his mercenaries, including his childhood copamio9ns Lagu and Heraral.

For the next few years Elerde and his small company sold his sword to any lord who could afford them. In 766 he found himself in the employ of Gadfried of Tetforde, the cousin of Lawrence, King of Críslicland. Gadfrid commanded him to join the king's service in border battles with some Mercian lords. Gadfrid wanted to ingratiate himself with the king but also commanded Elerde to send reports about battles and plans to him at Tetforde. When the king was seriously wounded in battle, Elerde took the news to Lincoln to the young queen, Josephine, of Críslicland and Affynshire. The two shared a love for Roman poets and soon became friends. One day Elerde, thinking the queen reciprocated his growing passion for her, attempted to seduce her. She spurned him. When the king learned of the Breton's advances, he sent him away to Affynshire's frontiers to strengthen the garrisons there.

While in Affynshire, Elerde ran across malcolm of Horsfort, whom he had fought alongside as mercenaries. The two began to plan a coup in Affynshire, allying themselves with a discontented nobleman, Maegwig of Cross Gates, and old comrades in arms, Ricbeorht of Flanders, Sveun Ormyngel, and Finn O'Donnell. On Beltane, may 1, of 768 the coup was done, Elerde having been given the stronghold of Keito Uxello, Queen Josephine's family's hereditary holding. He had learned just prior to the coup that she was to be there on a visit to her ailing uncle, Earl Ceretic. When the two met he let her go, telling her to get out of Affynshire as he believed the other conspirators would not be squeamish about how they used her to bargain with King Lawrence.

Elerde was, in the meantime, also staying in touch with his former employer, Gadfrid. Whe he learned the queen had only just left the country after a reunion with her husband who was leading the effort to unseat the conspirators and these conspirators began to suspect Elerde was hiding or protecting the queen, he decided to leave the country and return to Críslicland. He arrived sometime after the queen and joined in the usurping of the throne by Gadfrid. Again, participating solely to protect and have access to Josephine, he sent Lagu, one of his soldiers, to find and kill the king. Lawrence's disappearance did not have the effect on the queen he wanted, but he was able first to help her free her imprisoned brother and then to persuade her to flee with him to Northumbria with her children.

When upon their arrival Josephine took refuge at the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne and told Elerde she would not continue to flee with him, he left in despair with his company to find "a battle so fierce I cannot possibly survive."

This biography will continue in the near future.

Imahe: Yes, that's Ioan Gruffud as Lancelot in the 20041 film King Arthur. Wanna change your vote?

What a Sixteen Year Old Girl Hath Wroght

Besides all the romantic stories my friend and I wrote from 1964 to about 1970, we had not gotten old enough yet to let lack of talent stop us from drawing. The drawings below are from 1968 and depict scenes from the story line about Elerde saving Josepnine from the fire and Lawrence's reward for his balor.


Josephine visiting Lawrence in his sickbed. This one by Nan.


Elerde finds Josephine in the burning tower. Laura, age 15, drew this one, as well as writing the scene.


Elerde receiveshis commission from a bedridden Lawrence.

Book Giveaway! "The Last Apocalypse" by James Reston, Jr.

Everyone loves a freebie, especially when it's a fascinating book about the Middle Ages, right?

The book we are giving away is a brand new copy of James Reston Jr.'s The Last Apocalypse. In what he calls "history without footnotes" Reston recaptures some of the notable events and people of the last fifty years of the First Millennium, 950-1000 AD. He draws on the popular sagas and tales and other sources from the period to paint a time not when people were panicking as we did for Y2k but faced it with a willingness to see the Kingdom of Heaven at hand. Reston's position is that in fact the Messiah did indeed return, but in the shape of the Christianization and civilization of Europe. Whether you buy what he's selling or not, he's book contains fascinating people whose conversion changed the history of their lands forever.

Now just how do you win a copy of this book? Easy.. and fun! Go to the blog set up for An Involuntary King at http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com and read and post a comment on one or more of the posts you read there. I have already chosen one of the posts to be the one that will contain the prizewinner. It is not necssarily one that is already there. Those who have left comments on that particular one will be entered in a drawing for the winner of the book. Anyone anywhere is eligible. Either post your email address or, if you prefer not to, send it to me at the time you post your comments. The more posts you read and comment on the more chances you have to read the right one. The deadline will be the post for June 1. I will announce the winner on June 2.

In the meantime, enjoy reading the letters and stories I wrote when I was a teenager!