Knights in the Age of Chivalry by Rosemary Morris

 

For more information on Rosemary's books please click on the cover. 

Knights in the Age of Chivalry

 

My novel, Grace, Lady of Cassio, The Lovages of Cassio, Book Two, sequel to Yvonne, Lady of Cassio, begins in the reign of Edward III. It will be published in October 2021.

At heart I am a historian. My novels are rich in historical detail which requires intensive research, some of which I am sharing in this blog.

 

The Path to Knighthood

At the age of seven a knight’s son served in another knight’s household, often his maternal uncle’s, where he trained to fight, first with a wooden sword. At sixteen, he knew knights should be courteous to each other and had been taught the four cardinal rules of chivalry - piety, prowess, loyalty, and moderation. Before being knighted, he had learned the skills necessary for an expert jouster. As a knight his raison d’etre was to fight.

Prior to being dubbed a knight, a squire bathed him before he dressed in white clothes and a red robe. At night, he stood or knelt in front of the altar in the chapel or Church for ten hours in solitude and silent prayer. At dawn, he attended Mass before presentation to his lord by two sponsors. The lord presented him with the sword and shield which were on the altar during the vigil. After an older knight struck him on his neck or cheek with his hand or the flat of his sword, the young knight swore a holy oath to dedicate his sword to justice, piety, the orphaned, the oppressed, the church and the widow.

Tournaments.

In tournaments aristocratic knights fought for fame and glory.

Jousting was dangerous. A late 14^th century knight wore armour weighing 80-100 lbs. He sat on a high saddle, charging at a closing speed of 40 miles per hour on a destrier weighing 200 lbs. He bore a lance with which all the potentially lethal force was concentrated on a steel tip. Jousts of peace with capped lances were less dangerous although a knight might fall from his horse, die, or be seriously injured.

A Perfect Knight

Although a knight was a fighting machine, when he removed his armour, he was expected to be courteous, gentle, devout, and cultured. John of Salisbury, a cleric, listed some of a knight’s duty. To defend the Church, to assail infidelity, to venerate the priesthood, to protect the poor from injuries…to pour out his blood for his brothers (as the formula of his oath directs him).

Tenants in Chief

Lords who had been knighted held their principal estates from the king and were called tenants-in-chief. They received a summons to attend each parliament and constituted the House of Lords. They were bound to serve the king with their retinues at their own expense for forty days each year at home or abroad.

Household knights.

Household knights promised to serve an overlord loyally for life in peace and war, wherever he was needed. He would serve at his overlord’s expense, be clothed by him, and provided with a suitable horse.

Clergy. Military Orders

 

The Order of the Temple abolished in 1308) and The Hospital of St John of Jerusalem (Hospitallers) Orders of knights were originally established to protect the routes to the Holy Land.

 

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

 

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

 

Writing and Working from Home with Cats by Diane Bator

 

Writing and Working from Home with Cats

Every book I write, I create with a partner. Usually my cat Jazz who has become like a barnacle at my side daily and hates when I have to get up for any reason.

I am one of those people who have been working from home for the past nine months. There are a lot of good and bad that go along with that. For example, I’m thrilled to finally have a home office, but that only happened because my youngest moved out mid-pandemic. I also love that the bathroom is so much closer to my new office—but so is the kitchen. Rewarding myself for doing a good job has meant I wear yoga pants to work daily.

I have also had to juggle work and writing with two cats. While they weren’t too impressed with me being home every single hour of every single day, they seem to have adjusted. I can no longer sit in the livingroom during office hours. I can’t even go outside for a walk or run to the store without a lecture when I get home. Since my older cat Jazz is part Siamese, he can become very vocal.

Considering my normal job is selling tickets for a live-stage theatre, things were pretty quiet at my desk. Things have picked up a little now that we’ve moved to online performances. Still, there are days where I don’t have a great deal to do but stuff envelopes or help troubleshoot—and keep my cats amused.

So here are my top 10 ways I’ve kept busy over the past nine months:

1.  Cleaned and set up my new office.
2.  Rearranged my new office because there is only one set of plugs in the room.
3. Added a throw blanket and a rug under my desk because there is no heat vent in my office.
4. Weighed the pros and cons of moving the coffeemaker to my office from the kitchen which is ten feet away…then considered the lack of empty surfaces to keep said coffeemaker and the creamer. There may or may not be a hoarding issue in that room.
5. Added a second chair to attempt to keep my cat Jazz off my desk.
6. Stocked up on wipes since Jazz still feels the need to walk on the four inch path between me and my laptop at least twice during every Zoom meeting and leaves a trail of white hair behind.
7. Added another rug for my other cat Ash after stepping on her when she took to sleeping beneath my desk on the first rug.
8.  Started taking lunch breaks in the livingroom because Jazz feels the need to get away from the computer for several hours a day to have my undivided attention.
9. Started wearing slippers because Ash has claws and loves to play with my feet under my desk.
10.  Occasionally getting actual work done once Jazz and Ash are fed and appeased. Considering moving their food dishes ten feet closer to my desk…

I’m happy to say I have accomplished a little writing in between meetings and moving the cat off my desk. This year I have two new books coming out as well as a novella I wrote some time ago. I’m looking forward to another productive year. It helps to keep things light. A great sense of humour goes a long way!

                                                                     

By the way, Jazz has now become an honorary member of our staff as well as a couple writing groups I belong to. He loves to see who is on the screen during each meeting and sleeping next to me no matter what I do.

Ash is a lady of leisure. She prefers to keep her distance and join us at her own discretion.

As for me, I’ve been out of the office for the holidays. I’m currently organizing my calendars for 2021 and writing in my livingroom soon…

Happy New Year, everyone! 

 Diane Bator

 http://bookswelove.net/bator-diane/

The Man With The Hat

 

 

The Man with the Hat

Buying a first home is exciting at best. Our purchase was just that. An older home, needing much work, but it was ours. The first night my husband went back to work after we moved into our almost century old home, I went to bed exhausted, but happy.

Just as I dozed off, a noise came from the basement.  Our dog started barking. Scared half out of my wits, I picked up the phone and called my sister, who lived two streets away. She sent her husband over to check things out.

Doug looked around the house and didn’t see anything unusual. However, my dog refused to come into the dining room.  She stood in the hall growling and barking. Normally, a quiet dog, this was unusual for her.  Doug called her from the kitchen. She didn’t move. I called from the living room. She refused to come to either one of us. Her gaze focused on something across the room. Neither Doug nor I saw anything. Surely, if it was a mouse, she would have chased it. Her actions perplexed us.

Doug, seeing my fear, suggested we pack up my kids and spend the night at their house. I’m sure he just wanted to go home to bed.

In the morning, we returned home and all seemed normal. All day our dog ran through the house with the kids. Nothing distracted her.

That night the same thing happened. This time, as Doug started down the basement steps, he stopped, came back, and took a knife out of the kitchen drawer.

He swore someone was watching him. He checked out the basement and everything seemed normal. Again, we spent the night at their house. 

This went on for several nights. Doug came over and took us to his house.  The nights Roger was home we didn’t hear anything and the dog remained calm. Roger insisted it was my imagination, but Doug confirmed the actions of the dog.

When Roger went to work, it happened again. This time Doug brought a tape recorder to our house and set it up in the dining room before we left.

The next day, we played the tape.  Sounds of our dog growling and barking were predominant, but in the background were other sounds that we couldn’t identify. Sounds like chains being pulled across the floor and others noises sounding like scratches and moans.

No doubt, Doug was getting tired of picking us up every night, and I’m sure my sister, although she didn’t say anything, was tired of us intruding. Besides, I I wasn’t crazy about waking my kids every night. Eventually, I’d have to stay home. Noise or no noise. I’d just have to get used to it. This was our home after all. Somehow, I tuned out the noises, quieted the dog and managed to sleep.

A few days later, my three daughters played upstairs in their room.  They screamed and ran down stairs.  “There’s a man up there,” they cried in unison.

Since we’d been home all day, it was impossible. But to appease them, I went up to check.  They insisted a man with a hat had been watching them.

Of course, no one was there.  I explained it was a shadow of a bird going past the window.   Although the room felt much colder than normal, and I had an eerie feeling.

My daughters described him clearly, a tall man, in a brown suit coat, wearing a hat. They couldn’t make out his face, but they said he watched them play.

After that, they refused to play upstairs, and I often had a hard time getting them to go to bed at night.

Up until then things had been normal during the daylight hours. Now it seemed our nightly visitor had decided to appear when it was light out, too.

Also, until then, Roger thought it was my vivid writer’s imagination.  That is, he did, until one day, he was working in the basement.  He came upstairs, white faced.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“I just saw a man wearing a hat watching me. At first it was a shadow. But as I stared at it, his form became clearer.”

That shook me up. He described the man the same as the kids, we had a ghost. Roger now realized the noises weren’t my overactive imagination

I finally met some of the neighbors and told them my feelings of being watched.  I didn’t mention the man.

One neighbor said it was probably our nosy neighbor looking in the windows. I knew this wasn’t the case, but didn’t elaborate.

I asked another neighbor about the people who lived there before us.

“Oh, a nice old couple lived there. The wife died a long time ago. Her husband, John lived alone for a long time,” she said.   

Later I found out John died in the very bedroom I slept in.  Eventually I told my friend about some of the things that were going on. I asked about John and she said he was a nice old man, who kept mostly to himself. “He loved to work in his garden and yard. Funny,” she said. “He always wore a brown suit coat and a hat.”

John was our ghost. He appeared many times after that. Roger often saw him, especially when we remodeledthe kitchen. One of my sons said John used to sit on a chair upstairs and watch him play.

I never saw John, but I heard him and often smelled cologne or after shave. Several years later he simply disappeared.

You can find all of my books here. 

BWL Publishing Inc. New Releases January 2021

 

Just like jumping out of a plane without a parachute while holding a one-year-old baby in her arms, Janet and her husband, Ted, leap from the stability of family, friends, and financial security into the uncertainty of fulfilling their dream of owning and operating a floral business. Going against the norms of 1976, believing a woman’s place is in the home, she spends sleepless nights wrestling with how she can balance motherhood with the demands of working outside the home.

 With no knowledge or experience operating a business or selling fresh flowers, can they safely land on their feet? The shop owners, Nellie and Jack, whom they’d just met, assure Ted and Janet the flower business is healthy, and they will help them learn how to run the operation. But can they be trusted? Janet and Ted face the monumental task together to nurture their baby daughter and their new business.

 Follow their inspiring story, filled with the joy and triumphs and the obstacles and failures experienced by these blossoming entrepreneurs as they travel along the turbulent path of turning dreams into reality.

A Harrington House New Year’s Eve by A.M.Westerling

 

https://bookswelove.net/westerling-m/ 

Sleet and howling gusts of wind battered the windows of Harrington House but inside the drawing room, a fire crackled merrily in the grate and candles set in freshly polished silver sconces cast a golden glow throughout the room. Lady Evelyn Harrington wandered about the room, fingering the beribboned evergreen boughs and adjusting the sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway. Nothing must be out of place, everything must be perfect. She lifted her nose and inhaled the spicy fragrance of fresh cut evergreens. New Year’s Eve, seeing out the old year and bringing in the new, was quite the event in the Harrington household. Her teenage daughters, Sophie, Leah and Catherine, enjoyed it as much as Christmas.

Footsteps clumped down the hall and in strode her husband, Lord Oliver Harrington. “I see you’re making sure all is set for the evening’s festivities.”

She nodded then dropped into the nearest armchair. “Although I am rather afraid the weather has hampered our guests as they’re late. I do so hope nothing has happened to them.”

He winked at her. “Invitations to your evenings are highly sought after. Only out and out disaster would stop people from coming.”

A warm flush spread through her and she knew if she looked in a mirror her cheeks would be crimson. “Really, Oliver. You speak too highly of me.”

“Am I? I think not.” He crossed over to her and dropped a kiss on her nose before making his way over to the side table to pour himself a cognac. He sat down across from her and raised his glass before taking a sip.

Evelyn nodded. “I look forward to spending the evening with Vicar Sinclair and his wife and daughter.”

“Very thoughtful of you to invite them, my dear.”

“And it will be lovely to share our New Year’s Day feast with them tomorrow. House parties are delightful and it’s been far too long since we’ve held one.”

Her husband shook his head. “Yes, it shall be nice to put our troubles aside for awhile. The estate hasn’t been productive this past while but in the new year things shall be better, I’m sure. I’ll hire a new estate manager.”

Evelyn bit her lip and considered her husband’s words. Poor weather this past year and a shoddy performance by their previous overseer had affected their harvest. The man had been let go for thievery some weeks past but not until the damage was done. Although Oliver had posted notices to fill the position, no one in this isolated corner of Cornwall had responded, leaving Oliver to deal with the daily matters of running the vast Harrington estate. It filled his days until late in the evening.

The patter of soft soled slippers on bare floors almost drowned out the hubbub of girlish voices before their daughter Sophie burst through the door closely followed by her sisters. “Leah and Catherine are determined to see who stays up the latest,” she announced. “But it shall be me as I am the eldest.”

“If you stay up the latest, then I shall be the one to cream the well.” Leah cast a triumphant glance towards her elder sister.

Catherine, the youngest, said nothing, just looked at her both her sisters. “I don’t understand the fuss over drawing a bucket of water from a well,” she said finally. “It sounds like dreadful work to me.”

Evelyn chuckled. “None of you shall cream the well. That is only for young ladies looking to snare a husband and none of you are of an age.  If anyone is to cream the well, it shall be the vicar’s daughter. Gossip has it that the new constable is courting her. No, we’ll have no drawing of water” she continued. “Rather, once our guests arrive and before we usher out the old year and ring in the new, I should like Catherine to play Auld Lang Syne on the pianoforte accompanied by Sophie and Leah.”

The girls responded with a chorus of “Yes, Mama.” Leah and Catherine settled themselves on the settee but Sophie remained on her feet and twirled about slowly, inspecting every detail. “The drawing room looks ever so festive,” she said before dropping into the nearest armchair.

Evelyn leaned back against the thick cushions and regarded her daughters: Sophie, the independent one who preferred riding and outdoor pursuits as much as she enjoyed making her own decisions; Leah, the prim and proper miss who spent many hours with her poetry but had recently become obsessed with marriage; and Catherine, the quiet one who played the pianoforte beautifully but consequently spent many hours on her own. The eldest two were tall and dark like their father; the youngest blonde and curvy like Evelyn. She shook her head, marveling how she and Oliver had produced three wonderful, yet entirely different, daughters.

A knock sounded and Montgomery, the butler, inserted his balding head. “I’m afraid I have rather bad news for you, my lord.”

“Oh?” Oliver swiveled his head to regard him.

“It’s the weather, sir. The vicar and his wife have sent their regrets. Do you wish to send a response with their man servant?”

“I suppose I can’t really blame them.” Evelyn tried to keep her disappointment in check. The party was meant to lift Oliver’s spirits. It appeared disaster had happened after all for their guests to cancel. They would have to make the best of the evening on their own, she decided. “Do send the poor fellow to the kitchen to warm up and make sure he gets something to eat and drink. I’ll send them a note in a day or two to reschedule.”

The butler nodded and withdrew from the room.

“Ha. Then I shall be the one to cream the well after all.” Satisfaction filled Leah’s voice.

“It’s silly anyway. Who cares if you’re the first to draw a bucket of water,” Sophie sniffed. “Besides, it’s a useless endeavour for to be truly effective, one’s sweetheart must drink of the freshly drawn water.” She slanted a glance to her sister. “You don’t have a sweetheart.”

“Oh, there’s still good use for the first bucket. We’ll set you to washing the cow’s udders with it,” teased Evelyn. “To ensure they give plenty of milk in the new year.”

A horrified look cascaded across Leah’s face. “Oh no,” she said. “I’ll not touch them.”

Another knock sounded on the door and this time Montgomery stepped fully into the drawing room. “The hearths are clean and all ashes, scraps and rags consigned to the dust bin. Cook has done her best to clean out the larder and there will be a fine supper later. Whatever she can’t use will go to the household staff and tenant farmers.”

“Yes, a thorough cleaning invites good luck for the upcoming year.” Evelyn nodded. A spot of good luck is just what we need, she thought. She glanced over at her husband. Although he tried to put on a brave face, worry rimmed his eyes and deepened the creases on his cheeks. Did she imagine it or did more streaks of grey lighten his brown hair? The situation with the estate manager had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“Then as midnight approaches, we shall sit in a circle and Papa will open the front door to welcome the new year and Montgomery shall open the back door to usher out the old.” Leah clapped her hands.

“The cold winter air is invigorating.” Sophie smiled. “I love it. It clears one’s head.”

“Hmmph. Cold air makes it difficult to work one’s fingers on the keys.” Catherine frowned then brightened. “But I accept the challenge.”

Dear girls. They’d tried to keep things as normal as possible for them even though recently Oliver’s time of necessity was taken with managing their affairs meaning he hardly saw his family at all. Evelyn understood this but sometimes children didn’t.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck seven, its chimes crashing through the air as heartily as those of the many church bells in London. Evelyn loved the sound. It reminded her of their courting days and wedding – they’d been married in that great city. “It’s a bit early,” she said, “but why don’t we arrange our seats in a circle already and play a round of Cross Questions and Crooked Answers while we wait for our dinner?” Soon laughter, jests and shouts rang through the room as they played the game and time passed quickly.

At nine pm, a line of footmen brought in platters of food which they placed on the side table. The Harringtons helped themselves to a fine repast of baked fish, sliced venison, lamb cutlets, beetroot, peas and asparagus, salad, cheese, nuts and buttered bread, followed by chocolate cream and a trifle.

“You’d scarce know the cook was using up the larder,” remarked Evelyn as she filled her plate. She returned to her chair and sat down, carefully balancing her full plate on her lap before unfolding her napkin and grabbing a lamb chop by the bone. She bit into the fragrant meat and savoured the flavour. No one could best the Harrington cook at preparing lamb.

“Mrs. Winston always fixes nice meals for us.” Sophie placed her plate on the arm of her chair and picked up her fork to stab at a piece of venison.

“It’s nice not to always be so proper,” Catherine chimed in. “I like eating with one’s plate on one’s lap. It’s like having a picnic indoors.” She finished her fish and tackled the asparagus.

“It can be rather messy, don’t you think?” Leah patted her lips with her napkin and placed her fork precisely in the centre of her plate.

“Oh, don’t be such a sour goose,” Catherine said. She waved her fork at her sister. “You can let your hair down every now and again, you know.”

Leah scowled. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Girls, this is not the night for your arguments,” interjected Evelyn. “Come, there’s still so much left to eat, let’s have another round, shall we?” She got to her feet and made her way to the table still overflowing with food.

By the time they finished their dinner, it was almost eleven.

“Should we play a hand or two of Speculation while we wait for midnight?” Evelyn looked around the room.

“Splendid idea.” Oliver pulled over a low table and positioned it between the circle of chairs.

Cards were shuffled and dealt and several hands played until Sophie was pronounced the winner. She sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. “That was fun, don’t you agree?”

“You’re only saying that because you won. You’d be pouting otherwise.” Catherine wagged her finger at her sister.

At five minutes to midnight, Oliver got to his feet and rang for the butler. “Time to open the doors.”

He returned just before the hands of the clock pointed to midnight. Twelve stately gongs rang out and they all got to their feet and raised their glasses in a toast. Thereupon, Catherine took her seat at the pianoforte and they joined in with Auld Lang Syne which ended with a burst of applause.

“Well, that should do it. All good luck through the front and bad luck through the back. We can shut the doors now.”

“When you return, we could play another round of Speculation. Or Charades,” suggested Evelyn. “It is New Year’s Eve after all. We needn’t end the party quite yet.”

Oliver nodded and left the room. The minutes passed and still he did not return. Despite the girl’s casual chatter while they waited, a frisson of fear scuttled across Evelyn’s scalp. What delayed him? She kept glancing to the door and was about to get to her feet in search of her husband when the front door slammed, rattling the windows and sending a gust of cold air barreling down the hall. The wind must have caught it.

Then the murmur of masculine voices drew closer until Oliver entered the drawing room followed by a tall, handsome, dark haired man with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. His clothes were serviceable yet clean, his boots new. A working man, thought Evelyn, but successful to sport such fine footwear.

The stranger bowed. “I’m afraid I’d hoped to be here sooner however the inclement weather slowed my progress. I saw your lights on and hoped you wouldn’t mind the intrusion at such a late hour.” He inclined his head. “Niall Smithers.”

“Mr. Smithers has come about the overseer’s position.” Oliver smiled. “It appears our new year is off to a lucky start.”

Leah’s eyes popped and she smoothed her skirts before her gaze wandered to the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. Evelyn shook her head. She knew exactly what her middle daughter was thinking: Here was a fine man to set her sights on. Mercy, she must have a word with Leah sooner rather than later about the proper comportment of young ladies around gentlemen, no matter their station. Sophie and Catherine, on the other hand, appeared immune to the man’s charms for the first idly flipped through a picture book and the latter stifled a yawn.

“How did you hear of us?” Evelyn asked. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you do sound Scottish. You are a long way from home.”

“My sister is married to one of your tenant farmers. She knew I was seeking employment and sent me a letter. Our parents are dead and she is my only sibling. I thought it a fine idea to move closer to her.”

Oliver held up a letter. “Mr. Smithers comes with the finest of references from the Duke of Abernathy. I offered him the position immediately.”

For the first time in weeks, his face lost that pinched look. Gratitude and relief flowed through Evelyn and she sagged back against the cushions. “So it seems these New Year’s Eve traditions do work.” She held out her hand and Oliver came over to grasp it and tuck it firmly in his fist.   “The Scots believe in first footing,” she continued. “The first visitor to cross the threshold after midnight on New Year’s Eve will determine our fortunes. One who is tall, dark and handsome is the best omen.” She eyed Mr. Smithers. “I should say that’s correct.”

“But it wouldn’t be complete without a fine bottle of whiskey for good cheer.” Smithers pulled a bottle out of his rucksack and placed it on the table.

“Then I should say a toast is in order,” Oliver said. “Here’s to better fortune for the Harrington estate.”

“I like the man,” Evelyn remarked later as she and Oliver readied themselves for bed.

“Yes. The Duke had nothing but the highest praise for Mr. Smithers. I feel fortunate to have engaged such a capable fellow. Already 1805 has taken a turn for the better.”

“Indeed it has.” Evelyn climbed into bed and held out her arms.