For the love of a Barbarian - by Vijaya Schartz

DAMSEL OF THE HAWK just released in the medieval fantasy series Curse of the Lost Isle. The story is set in 1204, after the sacking of Constantinople by the Crusaders, and I had lots of fun with the research. My hero is one of the mysterious Kipchak warriors who served in the Byzantine emperor's personal guard. Savagely loyal, fearless, and deadly, the Kipchak offered their skills for gold, and Constantinople had plenty.

As barbarians go, the Kipchak are full of surprises for a westerner like me. Raised in France, I always considered the hordes from the east a bunch of uncivilized demons on little horses, eating raw meat, killing, and pillaging. Although some tribes were more violent than others, and despite the fact that many lived in tents, these barbarians of the steppes, when they settled, could build beautiful cities, temples and palaces. There is also a gap in centuries between Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan, who was on the rise at the time of the story.

The Kipchak also brought with them a number of amenities we still enjoy today. They didn't eat their meat raw, they grilled it, and many of us still like a good Mongolian Barbecue. They brought us medicine herbs and spices from the orient. They traded silk and precious gems as they controlled the roads between the continents. They enjoyed fermented drinks, made from goat milk, oats and barley, and they could drink great quantities of it. They could hold their liquor like no one else.

While the Crusaders used a crossbow and fired their bolts in volleys, the Kipchak used a small composite bow of wood, horn and sinew, with incredible precision. They could hit their mark from a great distance, with a single arrow, from the saddle of a galloping horse. The Kipchak's skills as riders reached the point of acrobatics. Their horses, small in comparison to the enormous destriers of the western knights, could travel great distances in very little time, even in mountainous terrain.

Always close to nature, the Kipchak raised horses, sheep and goats, and they loved and respected their animals, although they rarely named them. They even had a white dog deity named Kopec. Of course, that's what I named the hero's white sheepdog in the story.

But there was also gold in the Caucasus Mountains between the Caspian and the Black Sea, and the Kipchak weren't immune to the fascination of precious metals. The women wore headdresses and heavy necklaces made of gold coins, especially the khan's wives and concubines.

Their beauty was legendary. The term Caucasian comes from their look. Part Asian and part Viking (the Russ tribe that invaded from the north), they had golden skin and clear eyes, very little body hair, and the men kept their hair short under the turban. They bathed often and kept good personal hygiene, compared to the often smelly Crusaders.

I will miss my close relationship to these Kipchak warriors as I move on to writing the next book in this series, which will be set in Poitou and Aquitaine (France), and will feature Melusine the Fae, the infamous lady of Lusignan.

Here is my new release:
DAMSEL OF THE HAWK
Curse of the Lost Isle Book 7 (standalone)
from Books We Love Ltd
by Vijaya Schartz
in eBook and paperback
http://amzn.com/B01CH93SNM

1204 AD - Meliora, immortal Fae and legendary damsel of Hawk Castle, grants gold and wishes on Mount Ararat, but must forever remain chaste. When Spartak, a Kipchak warrior gravely wounded in Constantinople, requests sanctuary, she breaks the rule to save his life. The fierce, warrior prince stirs in her forbidden passions. Captivated, Spartak will not bow to superstition. Despite tribal opposition, he wants her as his queen. Should Meliora renounce true love, or  embrace it and trigger a sinister curse... and the wrath of the Goddess? Meanwhile, a thwarted knight and his greedy band of Crusaders have vowed to steal her Pagan gold and burn her at the stake...

HAPPY READING!

Vijaya Schartz
Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com

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Earworm Mozart

My Mozart at Amazon

I've fictionalized the creation of The Magic Flute in two novels, Mozart's Wife and My Mozart. Nanina Gottlieb, who sang the role of the heroine, Pamina, is the teen narrator of the latter.  Therefore, I thought I'd write about it, with all its "earworm" songs, and produced during the composer's hectic last year.


It has been said that The Magic Flute is a "pipe dream in which the ultimate secret is revealed, only to be forgotten again upon waking.” The opera is full of occult and masonic references, which would suit both the popular taste of the times (1791) for “magic,” and also the taste of Mozart and his friend Emmanuel Schikanader, fellow Masons.

Magical numbers--three Ladies, three Genii--and the multiple, nine--Sarastro’s Priests--appear repeatedly—and, because this is Mozart, in the music too. There are also a host of pairs and opposites among the symbolic characters: male/female, day/night, noble/common, perfect union/dischord. 

 

There are trials to be endured before the lovers may unite. Some believe that because Masonic "secrets” are revealed in the course of the action, the Brotherhood may have been responsible for the composer’s sudden demise. While I don’t subscribe to this notion, there certainly are lots of occult and masonic references scattered throughout the rather muddled story.

It is muddled, too, because Mozart had already begun to set music to a script (or "libretto") when he realized that The Theater am Weiden’s chief competitor, the Leopoldstadt Theater, had already launched a singspiel (those tuneful forerunners of Broadway) based on the exact same story. Their musical was called The Magic Zither.

Upon learning this, the writers and the composer simply changed The Queen of the Night from a good character into a bad one. Similarly, they changed her husband, Sarastro, from an evil tyrant into a benevolent “Philosopher King.”  This late tinkering with the story/music is obvious, for initially the emissaries of the Queen of the Night, the Three Ladies, give the  Prince not only helpful advice, but the magic flute of the title, to help him save the abducted princess.   Here, The Queen of the Night appears to be the injured party. Later, we learn that she and her ladies are now in league to thwart the Prince’s quest for enlightenment and the hand of her daughter.  

No one much cared, in the end, about logic. The music and the spectacle were (and are still) sufficient to create a luminous piece of theater.

Goethe’s mother wrote: “No man will admit he has not seen it. All craftsmen, gardeners…and even the “Sachsenhausers” (a rough rural suburb of Frankfort), whose children play the parts of apes and lions, are going to see it. There has never been such a spectacle before.”

This is high praise, even if the German word for spectacle carries a double meaning: “show” and “uproar.”

To quote Frederic Blume's essay “Mozart’s Style and Influence”: 

“To compose music for all; music which would suit both the prince and his valet…to compose music that had to be both highly refined and highly popular was a new and unprecedented task.”

Two-hundred and twenty-four years since this opera premiered, it's still going strong, a perfect way to introduce young people to this unique western art. Attending a first-rate production is easier and a lot less expensive than it used to be, for the Metropolitan Opera now broadcasts as many as ten operas every year directly into local movie theaters. Here's a cute clip (endure the undie commercial) :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6s3Vsf9P0hE

 

In December I enjoyed a re-run of Julie (she of Lion King fame) Taymor's  inspired 2006 Met production. My only quibble being that I missed favorite arias, which were cut to make the show last only a tidy 90 minutes.

Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Amadeus!

 

 

~ Juliet Waldron

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KRAMPUS CHRISTMAS

An antidote to our relentless diet of Christmas sugar is the Krampus, a German/Austrian devil who comes to winter celebrations, usually on December 5, which is also Saint Nicholas' day. For a very long time in Bavaria and in the territories of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, he’s been the dark companion to their Good Spirit of the season. He’s doubtless a good deal older than the red-coated, croizier-toting saint, with his horns, furry pelt, and long tongue. Krampus arrives to punish bad children, right beside Saint Nicholas, in, some commentators have noted, a kind of bad cop/good cop routine. He carries chains which he shakes and a bunch of birch twigs, with which he threatens punishment.

 

Old Christmas cards from the region, especially from the 19th Century, show Krampus—sometimes portrayed as a female—delivering spankings in classic bondage attire. However, I believe that Krampus is in essence, male, particularly because of the enormous horns, trophies taken from the iconic mountain Steinbock, which are usually part of the headgear. Surviving from ancient times, despite more than a thousand years of intervening Christianity, there’s still a magnificent horned god who dances in German streets during this cold, sunless time. 

 Nature, in the form of the Teutonic Goddess, Mother Perchta, is no longer fertile, no longer generous to her children. The Wheel of the Year has turned. Now she whips the land with winds, ice, and snow. The birch is sacred to her, and is represented by the rune Berkana.  Are these demonic creatures wielding birch rods her minions?
Are they  avengers--or the agents--of Evil? After all, they are said to carry bad children away in sacks for late-night snacks! 
Are they chasing Winter away or are they the pain and cruelty of Winter itself?

The answers to these questions were lost a very long time ago. 

For the second part of my “Magic Colours” series I wanted to create a shape-shifting creature who lived in the Austrian Alps. Krampus came at once to mind, so I decided to use his legend, changing it here and there to fit my ideas about the character. 

In Black Magic, a disillusioned young soldier, Goran, returns home from the Napoleonic wars to find his family estate semi-abandoned in the wake of more than a decade of European war. During the "year without summer" (1816) thousands of  people in the northern hemisphere sickened and starved, for beside the cold and dark, there were torrential rains. (We now know this was caused by the cataclysmic eruption of the Tambora volcano.) In the alps, all the extra precipitation caused devastating avalanches.

Home at last, depressed, and aimlessly wandering, Goran stumbles into the seasonal celebrations of his tenants. It appears to be a traditional Summer Solstice party, celebrating the start of a warm and sunny year. There is food, beer and the possibility of sex, but after the talk, the drinking and dancing, he finds, too late, that he's walked into a trap. His tenant farmers have their own ideas about what their newly returned young lord can do for them.

When he awakens the next day, he finds himself changed into a sort of local god, not only the horny talisman of fertility, but an avenger of wrongs, a caretaker of man and beast. Now another link in an ageless chain, Goran will “wear the horns” and share, whether he likes it or not, the life of all who dwell on his  mountain.


~Juliet Waldron
 http://www.julietwaldron.com/

BLACK MAGIC is available at these sites:

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Constantinople, the Gate to the Orient - by Vijaya Schartz

While researching Constantinople for my novel Beloved Crusader, Book 6 in the Curse of the Lost Isle series, I came upon some fascinating details, and decided to write for this blog a description of the ancient city as it must have appeared to the First Crusaders, when they reached the famed city in late December of 1096 AD. Enjoy.

From the vantage point of a hill, one could see over the ramparts in the distance, the seven hills, the imperial mound with its white palace, and the cupolas of the Hagia Sophia basilica. Constantinople, the jewel of the orient, shone like ivory and gold in its protective stone case. Red and yellow pennants, boasting the two-headed eagle of Byzantium, floated atop the massive, square watchtowers. The salty sea breeze carried the faint scent of spice and roasting lamb.

The front rampart walled the entire width of the peninsula, defending the city from an attack by land. The fortifications, almost as thick as they were tall, gleamed white in the bright sun. Elegant horizontal stripes of red and ochre bricks decorated the length and the edges. Square merlons crenellated the top, revealing the wide path atop the wall, where archers and soldiers in pointy helmets and short armor gathered, like an army of yellow and red ants, watching the legion from a distance.

The city gate, ensconced into the thick rampart, and protected on both sides by protruding walls, seemed impenetrable. The fortifications also surrounded the ancient metropolis on all sides, jutting out from the sea along the entire coast, forbidding invasion by an enemy fleet. Emperor Constantine the Great, seven centuries ago, had designed his fortress to be impregnable.

A wide open space fronted the fortifications. No doubt, past emperors had stripped bared this strategic area to gather and move their armies at will, and control the road in times of unrest. In case of enemy attack, it also provided an open battlefield, and a perfect killing ground, exposing the attackers.

Other, well traveled paths converged toward the city gate. A long line of carts and loaded camels, donkeys and bleating goats waited to be granted entry, alongside Bedouins in strange desert attire, with swaths of cloth covering their heads and most of their faces.

Above the gate, hung a monumental golden effigy of the two-headed eagle. The paved streets inside the city teemed with the traffic of merchants, horse carts and camels. Display tables, like an open market, overflowed with silks and spices from the orient, amphorae of wine or oil, and olives. Chattering monkeys stole fruit from the displays. The aroma of incense and perfume wafted in the air, along with so many enticing scents.

An enormous creature walked by, led by a turbaned man. An elephant. The beast trumpeted, causing the merchants to hold on to their wares, least they might fly away. A little farther, in a large bamboo cage, a big feline paced, tail twitching. A yellow-eyed tiger with black stripes. Close by, several alley cats feasted on the remains of the tiger's meal, a bloody pile of steaming entrails.

The calls of merchants in many languages mixed with animal sounds and smells, and the faraway toll of a church bell added to the strange music. The architecture of the city evoked the streets of ancient Rome, with colonnades, and balconies on the flat roofs of the two-story villas, so close together, they almost touched.


Varied people in colorful garb attested to the presence of many tribes from the confines of the known world. Some had flat, golden faces. Tribal women with shiny dark skin, wore scant clothing and many multicolored necklaces and bracelets... along with amulets and Shamanic symbols. Some had intricate markings on their hands and faces. Others hid their hair and body under long, silky veils, and black lines emphasized the contour of their eyes. Others yet wore anklets with tiny bells that jingled with each step like the tinkling chimes of a tambourine.

Further along, on a square, a large group of richly attired men surrounded a platform, where a few pale-skinned women stood, cowering as they attempted to hide their nudity. The sturdy blond man with a fur hat, who harangued his customers to examine them closely, looked like a Viking.

"Interested in some quality slaves from the land of the Russ?" The Viking trader winked at his customers from the height of the platform. "These beautiful Slavic girls and women, are all fertile and ready for hard work or pleasure."

The Egyptian obelisk still stands

Farther inland, stood a monumental theater of elongated shape. The hippodrome, used long ago for chariot races. The center strip was occupied by tall columns, statues of ancient Roman gods, unknown heroes and magnificent horses. An Egyptian obelisk, was mirrored by another square obelisk, covered with inscribed metal plaques that reflected the blinding rays of the afternoon sun. At the end of the central row of statues and obelisks, stood a disturbing pillar, entirely wrapped by the coils of a gigantic serpent. At the very top, the three heads of the serpent held a large golden vessel.

And crowning the hill, the white marble palace and the domes of the basilica, on a backdrop of deep blue sea.

Vijaya Schartz, fiction author
Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com
http://bookswelove.net/authors/vijaya-schartz/

Sharing the Impetus to Write Ellie's Legacy by Ginger Simpson

The Courthouse

I lived in Sparta, TN when I first moved to the state.  I was so inspired by the old architecture and history that surrounded me, I was inspired to write Sparta Rose...which has  been renamed and re-released by Books We Love as Ellie's Legacy.

 It appears more and more authors are writing about the historical west,  because readers want more about
Cowboys and Indians...and even romance. There are some who consider TN to be on the wrong side of the Mississippi to be western, but the lifestyle was one and the same. To me...it's definitely a western historical romance, and a key factor in writing historical novels is to pepper enough history throughout  to help the reader learn something aside from your fictional story.

In Ellie's Legacy, my heroine, Ellie Fountain, lives in Sparta TN...actually an unincorporated area above called Bon Air, but Sparta was where the stores, churches, and civilization existed..  I've tried adding facts throughout the story to help describe the period.  Today, I'm adding some more that people from TN might not know.

Sparta became the county seat in 1809, and was the first capitol of Tennessee.  When state legislators decided to change the location, Sparta lost to Nashville by one point.

I loved living in Sparta.  It's a small community that really gave credence to "Southern Hospitality."  I think forming friendships is a main benefit of living in a place where the population isn't inflated.  Unfortunately, we were forced to move because the median wage there is just above poverty, and employment benefits died when most of the businesses went to Mexico.  Those who remain are employed by the retail stores and few business that stayed or residents farm the land.  I can't believe I made a whopping $7.55 per hour to be correction's officer at the local jail...but that conjures up a whole different story...one I wrote in another genre...and I'll blog about that another day.

The Rock House

Situated between, Knoxville and Nashville, Sparta was a hub for travelers. The historic Rock House, nestled in the incline to Bon Air,  was built as a stage stop to allow passengers a rest during a long  ride and still stands today as a monument and testament to the times.

Beautiful Fall in an Orchard in Sparta

The Calfkiller River was also something I mentioned in the book as it winds through Sparta and joins with the Caney Fork River.  The White Mountains provide a beautiful display of red, oranges, yellow, and green during the fall, when the trees display nature's pallet, and even more beautiful, nearby you can travel to a place called Fall Creek Falls..even camp is you wish.

Sometimes authors have an uncontrollable urge to respond to those less than favorable reviews left on Amazon.  I had one that questioned the accuracy of mining in Sparta...claimed she knew better.  To her, here...I offer this proof:

White County was the site of a very large saltpeter mining operation during the Civil War. The Cave Hill Saltpeter Pits (No. 1 and No. 2), located on Cave Hill near the mouth of England Cove, were intensively mined and still contain numerous relics from that operation. Saltpeter is the main ingredient of gunpowder and was obtained by leaching the earth from these caves.   Note: I used creative license to make the deserted caves old coal mines, instead of explaining saltpeter.  I should have stayed true to history and made sure readers understood what was mined and what it was used for.   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_County,_Tennessee

Back to Sparta:  For those of you who are a fan of old country music, one of the first things you'll see when you enter the city, is a memorial to Lester Flatt of Flatt and Scruggs fame.

Anyhow, I'm doing an interview here...so let's get on with it.  But you can bet, I offer up historical tidbits throughout my novel...and doing accurate research to assure your facts are correct is essential...I made one faux pas as I mentioned.

INT – So, Ellie, tell the readers a little about Ginger's story.

 RF – *Smiles and smooths her hands down her pant leg.* Well, I can’t give away too much. Ginger would skin me alive, but I’m sure she won’t mind me tellin' you the story's got a little romance, a lot of western, and even more feistiness than her last historical romance. My problems begin when Pa hires Tyler Bishop as the ranch foreman. I kinda figured Pa always wanted a son, and Ty proves me right. Their relationship gets me pretty riled up. I have a bad temper at times… I think it comes from this red hair. *pulls a strand forward and grins*.

INT – So, besides your jealousy of Ty, is there any adventure involved.

 RF – Oh, you bet. *Squares herself in her chair*. The polecats livin' on the neighborin' ranch are aiming to get Fountainhead away from Pa. Dude Bryant and his twin boys are meaner than snakes… well at least Dude and Jeb are. Joshua comes across as quiet and a follower. But, *balls hands into fists* I’ll be danged if they’re gonna get my legacy. I actually bought a gun and taught myself to shoot.

 INT – A gun?  What for?

RF – Protect Fountainhead of course. I’m aim to show Pa he don’t need Tyler Bishop around when he has me. I just wish Ty wasn’t so dang good lookin’.

 INT – I haven’t heard you mention your mother. How does she feel about you owning a gun?

RF - *Lowers her eyes*. My ma died when I was very young. I suppose that’s why I took up with the ranch hands and spend so much time workin’ outdoors... and dress like this. *Raises a steely gaze*. But, now that Ty’s in the picture, Pa wants me to spend more time in the house doing womanly things and actually wear a bunch of petticoats under an ol' stiff, uncomfortable gingham.

 INT – Would that be such a bad thing?

 RF – Of course it would. I don’t much care for makin' vittles and cleanin’. We have Cook for that. I’d much rather brand a cow as fry one.  And wearin' dresses? *gives a dismissing wave*  Pshaw...that's for goin' to church and such.

 INT – So what about the romance part of the story?

 RF – *Chews her bottom lip for a moment* Well, I accompany Ty to a dance in Sparta, and as usual, he gets my dander up there, too. I never should have gone, but those eyes of his make my knees weak. My better judgment flew right out the window. *Takes a deep breath* What happens from then on, you’ll have to find out for yourself. I may look and act young and naïve, but I’m sure not silly enough to give away the whole story. Miz Ginger is countin' on sales to help pay for some sort of operation to make her look younger  *cocks head and wrinkles forehead*  Can they do that?

 INT – I don't know anything about that, so let's get back to story. I've read the book and know the dance holds a key to the suspenseful part of the story, but I certainly wouldn’t want you give away too much. You’ve already given us enough of a teaser to stir some interest. Hopefully we’ll see you on a best seller’s list somewhere.

 RF – That would be right nice. It just may happen cause remember, I have a gun. *Slaps hip and fakes a draw*.

 INT - Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to use it. *laughs*. Thank you so much, Ellie for being with us today. And good luck in the future.

 RF – Oh, yeah. I almost forgot to tell you that Ellie's Legacy is on something called the “Innernet” at, *reaches in pocket and pulls out a slip of paper; reads it* http://www.bookswelove.com/gingersimpson.php *looks up*.  Boy, ain't that a mouthful. *looks back a paper*.  Oh...and her publisher is called Books We Love *stuffs paper back into her pocket*.  Boy, I don't understand all this http stuff, but I'm hopin' everyone else does.

 INT – I've sure they do, Ellie. Thanks again for being here and sharing information about Sparta and your legacy.

Old London Bridge by Katherine Pym

Old London Bridge 1745

Old London Bridge was a world unto itself. Not considered London, it was a Liberty, or suburb. People were born, lived, married, and died there, some without stepping off the Bridge the whole of their lives. 

Built in the years between 1176-1209, began by King Henry II, the first Plantagenet king of England, and finished during the reign of King John (who was forced to sign the Magna Carta), it was a massive structure that acted like a dam. It stood stalwart against heavy tides, ice during cold winters, and prevented invading ships to pass upriver. 

Ice Fair on Thames with Bridge in background

So strongly built, the Old London Bridge lasted 622 years before being pulled down in 1830's. The location of the current London Bridge is some 180 feet upriver from the old. 

It was a stone structure of 19 arches and a wooden drawbridge. Houses, shops, churches and other assorted buildings stood on the bridge. The anchors holding the bridge in place were called starlings. Massive and feet-like, they were comprised of broken stones and rubble. The starlings compressed the river flow into one-third of its width, causing the tides to rush through the arches like heavy waterfalls. The rush of water going out to sea could be as high as 6-8 feet, depending on the phase of the moon. 

It brought out the reckless, usually young men, to 'shoot the bridge'. Boats would gain speed and if the water wasn't too high wherein heads scraped the tops of the arches, or be drowned, they'd fly through and shoot out the other side, over London Pool. After a moment or two dangling above the Pool they'd drop like a rock to the water. Many died upon a wager, or from mishap by getting pulled into the fast current.

If one were lucky, the wherriman pulled his boat to the river's edge. His passenger got out to walk around the end of the bridge, where he'd catch another wherry in the Pool and finish his journey. 

The bridge had a row of houses on either side of its length with shops at road level. This made the actual road from London to Southwark no more than 12 feet across. Sources state there were about 140 shops at one time, the two story chapel of St Thomas a Becket, Nonesuch House, and the gatehouse (no name). The bridge, with its heavy flow of water, sported water-wheels, corn-mills, and on the London side the water works that supplied running water into surrounding houses. 

Heads on Pikes over London Bridge

Then, there was the gateway at the Southwark side where heads of traitors were displayed. The Keeper of the Heads had full managerial control over this section of the Bridge. He impaled newly removed heads on pikes, and tossed the old ones into the river. When the original bridge was pulled down, workers found skulls in the mud. 

Sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction. While researching the Bridge, I came across the following: 

Sir Thomas More 

When King Henry VIII demanded Catholicism no longer be the favorite religion of the land, Sir Thomas More refused to follow his liege. As a result he was beheaded. His body was placed in a coffin and his head put on a pike above London Bridge. After the allowable time frame where the Keeper of the Heads knew seagulls had feasted and nothing should remain but putrid flesh and hollow eye sockets, Sir Thomas' daughter beseeched him not to throw her father's head in the river. Instead, she requested the Keeper give her the head so she may join it with the body, and they be interred together. 

The Keeper agreed, but was amazed when he removed the head. It remained pink and whole as if still alive... 

Reference: Old London Bridge, the Story of the Longest Inhabited Bridge in Europe by Patricia Pierce, Headline Book Publishing, 2001. 

http://bookswelove.net/authors/katherine-pym/#