A Whimsical Interview with Helen Hollick

Helen Hollick is the author of the Pendragon's Banner Trilogy, the latest of which is book two, Pendragon's Banner. You can read a review of the book today at That's All She Read and a full treatment next week on Historical Novel Review.

In honor of the Pendragon's Banner blog tour, Ms. Hollick was kind enough to time travel to late tenth century Enlgand to meet with Kerrick Trevalyan, a Cornish harper of about sixteen summers, who will star in his own novel by Nan Hawthorne sometime in the hopefully near future.

Kerrick Trevalyan: God give you peace, Mistress Hollick. Thank you for letting me assk some questions about your book, Pendragon's Banner. You know my name is Kerrick Trevalyan. My father is the bard Morcant Trevalyan. We are both from Cornwall, Right now I live in Wintanceaster with my teacher, O'Quill. It's 985 AD for me.

Helen Hollick: Good day to thee young Master Trevalyan.

KT: I said I am Cornish. So was Arthur, right?

HH: Well not necessarily. Several places lay claim to Arthur – from Brittany to Scotland. I think of him more in the Summer Land – Somerset and the West Country, so called because, as you may know, it is literally summer land: in winter the land floods, so only the high ground of the hills and the Tor at Yns Witrin (Glastonbury) are visible. Arthur (if he existed – that fact is not certain) was British, and in pre-Saxon times, before Britain became known as Engla-lond – England – all the Country below Hadrian’s Wall was known as Britain. When the Saxons settled and gradually became dominant only the “edges” remained “British” and retained the original language, which would have been similar to Welsh. (The word Wealas iss English for “foreigner”!) Of course Cornish and Breton is also similar to Welsh!

KT: I like the stories about Arthur. I can't decide which is my favorite. Which is yours?

HH: Well young Master Kerrick, I would assume you like the tales of knights and daring-do exploits eh? In my stories I do not have knights, or the Holy Grail, or the round table. There is no Merlin, no Lancelot or Galahad, for these were stories from a time much later than the “real” Arthur would have existed. I decided to use the old, early tales about him, that set Arthur in the years 450-550 AD, as a post-Roman war lord.

My favourite scenes are some of the arguments Arthur has with Gwenhwyfar (they were great fun to write!) and those that bring back memories of when I was researching them. Any scene on Yns Witrin (Glastonbury Tor) for instance. I so remember standing up there one evening listening to the wind as it whispered through the grass. I also like Chapter 34 (page 166) the opening of a battle scene. I wrote the scene in my head while standing at the edge of the river, imagining the mist and Arthur’s men appearing out of the dawn…

Chapter 28 – page 138, sapped a lot of emotion from me, as this is one of the rare scenes when Arthur reveals his true self – his loneliness and vulnerability. The scene where Arthur was fishing totally drained me though, I was shaking when I finished it. I had stood by the River Wye as the sun began to set, watching the golden reflections…. Saw a kingfisher, heard something else plop into the water. It had been raining and the river was swollen, in flood. My daughter was with me, she would have been about five years old. I held her hand so very, very tight! Read the scene and you will know why.

KT: I read your book, Pendragon's Banner. I have never read a whole book before. How long does it take to write a book? Is it hard?

HH: Yes writing novels – especially ones as long as mine is hard. It takes a lot of dedication and determination to keep going. It took me about ten years to write what eventually became The Kingmaking and Pendragon’s Banner! Though I’ve got a bit quicker now. My novel Harold the King took two years to research and write. (This is about the Battle of Hastings in 1066 – you keep clear of those Normans Boy, they are a thoroughly rough lot!)

The first in my Sea Witch Series (called Sea Witch) about Pirates only took about four months to write. But then these stories are adventure fantasy, and while there is a lot of history in them (and the nautical references took a while to research) I write them more as fun rather than historical fiction. The nice thing about them though – as I made the hero, Jesamiah Acorne up, he does not have to die in the last scene as happens in most historical novels! He gets to live and star in the next book of the series!

KT: One thing puzzles me. Why does Arthur have such trouble with the
women in his life? I mean, he never really trusts them. They are always trying to trick him. How come?

HH: I wanted to make him – and Gwenhwyfar – into real people, people who laughed and loved and cried. People who became frustrated and had to deal with tragedy and “life”. It was also fun to write some of the women as “baddies” ! I love Winifred and Morgause – they are so utterly nasty!

Also, Arthur is a complex character, I saw him as someone who was always coming up against Trouble. I think you’ll find that he does trust Gwenhwyfar though – despite the fact that he often squabbles with her. He loves her very deeply.

KT: How come there is no Merlin in your book? I once heard Emrys and Merlin were the same person, but it doesn't seem like it in your book.

HH: Merlin was never a real person, he was invented by the writers of the Medieval tales of Arthur – there is no mention of him in the early “Welsh” stories. Some people say Myrddin (Welsh for Merlin) could mean “wise man” and several stories make him out to be a Druid.

I think your reference to Emrys and Merlin comes from Mary Stewart’s wonderful novels The Hollow Hills and The Crystal Cave – it was those books that set me onto liking Arthur in the first place!

I decided not to use Merlin though, as I wanted to write a “what might have really happened” story – so I set out to not use any magic or fantasy.

[Spoiler] KT: It is so sad what happens to all of Arthur's and Gwenhyfar's sons. It seemed like he was lucky because he has so many sons, but it just gets sadder. Will they ever have another son?

HH: Ah – be careful not to give the plot away to readers who have not started the book yet! Yes, there is another son. He is Medraut – perhaps you know him as Mordred? He will appear in book three – Shadow of the King – along with Arthur’s daughter, Archfedd.

KT: I like how you have the Romans gone but Ambroasius and some others
still think they are Romans. Why do they like Rome more than Britain? Why does Arthur not agree with them?

HH: It is easy for us, where we are in Time, to look back and wonder why the people of the 5th century did not realise that the Romans were never coming back, but in 450 AD those who had supported Rome must have clung on to the hope that the Empire would sort itself out and things would get back to “normal”. Don’t forget Rome ruled most of Europe – and Britain – for over four hundred years. People only knew the ways of Rome, they had no idea of anything else.

There must have been a lot of conflict between the Roman people, such as Ambrosius, and men like Arthur who welcomed the chance of independence.

KT: I understood how the British people were worried about the Saxons.
Arthur never knew, but they really did take over. The king of England is now Ethelred II. The only British people left in their own land are the Cornish. But I worry that the Saxons will take that over too. What do you think we will lose if the Saxons take everything over?

HH: I think you will be all right – the Cornish are a tough lot, aren’t you! And of course there are the Welsh, they remain safe from the Saxons for a while (although Harold Godwineson – later King Harold, did conquer Wales) It wasn’t until those Nasty Normans came on the scene in the form of Edward I that things started getting bad for Wales and Scotland. So don’t worry about the Saxons… it’s the Normans you will have to tell your grandchildren to be wary of!

KT: My grandmother believed in the Lady and the old gods. But I do
not. I am a Christian. Why doesn't Arthur become a Christian?

HH: Many soldiers preferred to believe in the god Mithras. In the 5th Century Christianity was still a very new, very young religion and the old faiths were still merging with it – it is from this period that we get the traditions such as Christmas, which was a Roman/pagan celebration feast of mid winter and Saturnalia. I did not want to make Arthur Christian as I wanted to get away from the later Medieval Tales of him, so to make him pagan seemed a natural choice. I also quite liked the few scenes where I blended Christianity with the Old Religion – the broach given to Arthur, for instance. The priest took the woman painted on it as the Madonna – Arthur thought she was the Lady.

KT: Is there really magic? My grandmother says there is, but I don't
want to believe her. Arthur doesn't even believe in God. Did he believe in magic?

HH: I suppose it depends on what you believe to be magic? I think to see a golden sunset, the stars in the sky, a new-born creature – animal or human – is surely magic? In modern times, science explains many things that people thought were magic, as does knowing the signs of nature. When Morgainne saw the birds rising from the lake she knew someone was coming. Or maybe she knew by magic?

KT: Do you like harp music? I play the harp. Shall I sing you a song about Arthur?

HH: Yes I like harp music. Thank you, I would enjoy listening to a song very much!

KT: I want to read your first book about Arthur. What is it called?
Where can I get it? When is the third book coming out? Is that all you ever get to do, write books? You must spend all your time writing.

HH: The first book is The Kingmaking – Arthur is a young boy, a little younger than you, at the start. Book three, Shadow of the King is due for publication in March 2010 – although it is available in a different edition from the UK if anyone can’t wait!

I spend most of my time writing, yes, or promoting them on the magic machine that is called a computer! At the moment I am working on the fourth book in my adventure fantasy pirate-based Sea Witch Series.

KT: How did you decide which stories about Arthur you would keep in
your book and which you would throw out?

HH: I used most of the early Welsh tales – none of the later Medieval ones. For the rest, I had to decide what fitted and what did not – that is the art of writing.

KT: Have you ever met a king? My master, O'Quill, has. He met Ethelred and also the High King of Tara. That is pretty exciting, isn't it?

HH: I haven’t actually met a King – or a Queen, but I have seen Queen Elizabeth II quite close up. She’s quite small in real life – not much taller than 5’ and is a very, very nice lady,. She has a lovely smile.

Incidentally another of my novels – A Hollow Crown – is about Aethelred’s Norman wife, Emma. She was married to him in the year 1002, and was to give him a son, Edward, who was later called the Confessor.

KT: 1002? That is really soon... and he has a different wife now! I better not tell anyone.

HH: Thank you for talking to me Master Kerrick, I have enjoyed meeting you.

KT: (Giggles, then blushess because he giggled.) It was really interesting. I don't know if we can get your book in the tenth century, but I will try to find out. (Whispers) I will sing you a song now, but can I ask a question? What is a "knight"?

Thanks for being such a good spot, Helen! Nan

Kerrick Tells a Ghost Story

On Ghostletters every year one of our stalwart members, David Webb, in the persona of Sam Malone, bar owner extraordinnaire, extends an invitation to all to come to Cheers and have a free drink.. if they tell a ghost story. We have had any number of interesting ghost stories, from kings and demons and even the Vice President of Hell. Here is Kerrick's offering. Do come join us on Ghostletters, won't you?

"But how do we get there?" Kerrick Trevalyan examined the scrap of parchment his harp master, O'Quill, had handed him, saying something about an invitation to a feast of some sort.

O'Quill shrugged. "Walk into Leofwen's alehouse and imagine we are walking into this other place of libation?"

The boy considered the Irish bard. "I guess that is as good a way as any. The worst that can happen is that we just go where we live anyway." He glanced at the parchment again. "Are we supposed to bring anything?"

O'Quill, fortyish, starting to spread a bit in the midriff, his dark hair unkempt, shook his head. ""It says the drinks are free, so it does, and I think that means we do not need any money. Good thing, too, as quite skint I am and have been for some time. D'ye have any yourself yourself?"

Kerrick frowned. "I do. But I need it. Do we take the harps?"

Pulling himself up to his not considerable height, the man said disgustedly, "I shall not be parted from my dear one, lad, and well ye know it."

The boy, his own hair a mousy brown, his eyes dark and shining, and his harp carved with arcane symbols. shrugged. "When do we go?"

With a Bill & Ted shake of his head, O'Quill replied, "Now then, how about now?" He hefted his harp, took Kerrick's elbow, and advance with him to the animal skin that served as a door to the alehouse where no one knew its name. He lifted the skin, and they, in unison, stepped through.

The two men from the tenth century stepped into a place like neither had ever beheld before. They seemed to be in a large room, paneled in wood, with wooden tables and chairs, a shining counter, and colorful lamps that glowed with a brighter light than any candle. People were
scattered about, some at the counter, some at tables, and a few standing.

"Don't bother, they're here," a woman wearing an abbreviated apron muttered.

In the room there was a distinct odor of malted beverages. "Ah, the sweet perfume of the best of alehouses," O'Quill cried rapturously. He propelled Kerrick to the bar,a s he later learned the counter was called.

"Hey, I gotta card you, kid," Woody called to Kerrick.

"Forget it, Woody. "The kid is either over a thousand years old or doesn't really exist." He extended his hand to shake. "You are our first guests from the Spiritual Telegraph. Welcome to Cheers! I'm Sam Malone."

"Malone is it? A fine Irish name, as is me own, O'Quill," the harp bearing multicolored clothing wearing Irishman declared.

Sam shook his hand. "Is this your son?" he asked, indicating Kerrick.

O'Quill considered the boy a moment. "One never knows, does one?" he grinned.

Kerrick had blushed. "No, I'm not. I'm Kerrick Trevalyan. I am from a small town in Cornwall."

Norm joked, "Oh thank God. When you came in with those harps, I thought you were angels and my time was up."

Sam quipped back, "When that time comes, the messengers will have pitchforks, not harps."

Norm raised his glass in a toast of agreement.

O'Quill was looking around. "Now then, was it a drink you were offering, my lad?"

Carla interjected, "Do you plan to tell a ghost story? The drinks are only for people.. and other things.. that tell stories."

O'Quill settled his gaze on Kerrick, "This lad sees the departed, my darlin', so he can tell you all the tales your heart desires."

Cliff asked, "You SEE ghosts? Really?"

Kerrick's blush had deepened. He frowned at his master. "Well I do not like for everyone to know. It's a curse."

O'Quill shook his head, "Indeed not, lad. 'Tis a gift." He cast his eyes about the group around the bar and explained, "He has it from his old grandma, so he does, but he is ashamed of old dearie. So sad."

"Shame on you, kid," Carla rebuked.

Kerrick whined, "I am not ashamed of her. I just do not like to... oh, hell. Let me catch my breath and I will tell you a story.."

Our story is interrupted by the arrival of a Hessian soldier who proves to be both that and a severed head.

The boy in early medieval garb took a deep breath. he was about to start telling his story when some kind of soldier came int he door and proceeded to tell his own story. kerrick was nervous, so he was glad of the interruption. When the man ook off his head and set it on the bar, he jumped behind O'Quill in fright.

O'Quill bowed and saluted to the man and the head. "Joy to ye, lads," he said jauntily. "Now where did that boy get to? Oh there you are."

Woody asked, "It's just a ghost. I thought you said you see them all the time."

Kerrick stammered, "Aye, I do, but they are always still all put together."

"C'mon, kid, tell us your story," Norm prompted.

"Well, all right," the boy said, eying the head warily.

This happened when I was still living in Cornwall. In fact, I was still a child. I used to go for long walks in the countryside. My grandmother was in charge of me, and she made me uncomfortable so I would slip away to get away from her.

"There ya go with that grandmother bit," Carla complained, having reappeared from the back room. "What was your problem with your poor old Nana, you little twerp?"

Kerrick looked offended. "I don't know what a twerp is, but aren't you being rather rude? I didn't like how my grandmother always talked to me about spirits and demons and little people and that sort of thing. The more I heard the more I felt like I could see the things too. I didn't want to, that's all." He gave Carla a defiant look.

"Well, why didn't you just say so," she responded in a sarcastic voice. She turned and Kerrick could just hear her muttered, "Twerp."

Sam glared at Carla's back. "Go ahead, kid," he prompted.

Kerrick began again.

Like I said, I would get out and wander the countryside. One time I came across a little brook near a standing stone. A little boy was playing there. He was dirty and his clothes were in shreds. He had a black eye and he didn't look like he got enough to eat. I hailed him. He looked scared and started to run away. I had some bread and cheese
with me, so I reached into my pouch and held the bread out to him. He hesitated and then started to inch back. he was too hungry to run but too scared to come close. So I went to the brook, slipped off my shoes, sat with my feet in the water and started to eat. I pretended he wasn't even there.

Well, that worked. I could hear him coming closer and he finally plopped down next to me. I offered him the bread, and he took it and wolfed it down ravenously. I brought out the cheese and gave it to him too. i figured I could get all needed, but this might be the last time he ate for a while. I sat with him for a while until he had eaten all I gave him. Then I asked him his name. He said, "Merryn." I asked him where he lived and he just shrugged. Then I asked him who hit him and blackened his eye. He looked really scared.

I changed the subject and he calmed down. I asked him if he played there often, and he nodded. I told him i would come back in a couple of days with more food.

I did. I came two days later and then several more times. The more time we spent together the more he came to trust me. He finally whispered in my ear, though there was no one around, that I should come with him and he would show me who had hit him. I let him take my hand and lead me through the fields and the woods. We came to a run down cottage. As soon as we got there I heard a child's scream from inside the cottage, then a man's loud voice. "That's my da. He is mad at my sister, Karenza. I am afraid he will do to her what he did to me."

I was really angry. In fact, I wasn't really thinking straight. I bunched up my fists and ran into the hut. It took some time for my eyes to get used to the dimness inside, but when I could see I couldn't understand what i saw.

"What was it?" Woody asked anxiously. "Was the bastard beating up the little girl?

"Nay. There was an old man, aye, but no little girl. There was an old woman though. She had a club in her hand and was about to strike the old man. He cried out to her, 'Karenza, no!"

I looked at the woman who was beating the very old man. I asked, "Are
you the grandmother of the boy and the girl, Merryn and Karenza?"

She had been glaring at me. Now she sneered. "I am no one's grandmother. My name is Karenza. My brother's name was Merryn. At least it was until this bastard beat him to death." I looked at her and then at the old man. She went on, "You just stay out of this, boy. This old man deserves his beating and more."

I didn't understand. How could the old woman be Merryn's sister? I went back out into the yard, but Merryn was gone. I called to him, but he did not answer. At last the old woman came back out. "Are you still snooping about?" I told her I was looking for Merryn. She shook her head. "I will take you to him." She set out through the woods and across the fields with me tailing not far behind. We ended up at the same brook near a standing stone where I had met Merryn. She stopped and pointed a bony finger at the spot where we had sat and he ate the food I brought. "The brook is fuller than it was then. Our da, after he killed him buried Merryn just there. Now be off with you.

"Did you ever go back to the spot?" Carla asked, drawn into the story.

"I did. many, many times. Every time I went there I left a little bread or cheese. I suppose the animals that lived nearby got it, but I like to think ;he did. Even the dead deserve our kindness. maybe more even than the living."

Kerrick sighed and smiled.

"Now how about that drink?" O'Quill said, leaning in to the bar.

Sam protested, "The kid told the story. He gets the drink."

"But he's a kid! he's under age." Norm said just as O'Quill was about to make some retort.

"Exactly what I was after sayin'. The lad's under age. It's a barbarcx notion, but it's true so he is. But we can't waste the drink now can we? So hand it over, my good man, and thanks."

Sam looked at Kerrick. "That was a good story, kid. And it really happened, huh?" he nodded to Woody to draw O'Quill a Guinness.

"Aye, it really happened."

"Give the kid a soda or somethin', Woody," Sam said.

Carla leaned towards Cliff and whispered, "You realize a fictional character just told Sam his story really happened, don't you." She sniggered and went over to take the orders of some new people who had come in.

FINIS

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