So excited to have Angel Martinez as part of History Week Part II today!
The Perils of the
Historical for the History Buff
Some musings on writing Fortune’s Sharp Adversity…
Did you realize that the old city of Amiens
in France
had not one wall, but two? Were you aware that farmers punted in on the canals
to the Saturday market from marshes on the north side of the city? Do you have
any idea what would have been sold at these markets?
No? None of it? And I’m positively batty for getting all hyperventilated
and starry-eyed about it?
Understandable. But this is what happens when you set a
history buff loose on historical fiction. The phrase Fortune’s Sharp Adversity comes from a set of lines in Chaucer,
which set me thinking about loss and regret. The request from my publisher to
“write something set in a French speaking part of the world” then set me
thinking about French cathedrals, the glorious, soaring gothic ones to be
exact.
From there I fought a losing battle and had to dive into
research before I could even think about character and plot and, you know, the
story. I spread maps of Amiens
on my desk from various centuries, trying to pinpoint the famous cathedral and
all the landmarks that would have been important in the late medieval period. I
devoured research on the Cathédrale Notre-Dame d'Amiens, one of
the most stunning and, at the same time, most surprising of gothic cathedrals.
Research followed on local farming and industry, rulers, bishops and wars
during construction. The completion of the marble meditation labyrinth in 1288
gave me a final date. The discovery that (oh joy!) the stone sculptures
decorating the massive doorways had been painted
provided vector and velocity.
But this is what a historical should be
about, this need, this obsession with detail. What did people wear? What did
they eat? How did they live and how did this influence their attitudes?
Sadly, much of the history of Amiens
Cathedral has been lost over the centuries in various fires, but with a little
imagination, and a feast of research, we can fill in the blanks where we must.
Philippe is very much a product of his times,
an artisan who has seen the best and worst of mankind, and Etienne…well, you’ll
have to read about Etienne.
It’s a little jaunt into past material
culture and the next best thing to time traveling, this research gig. (Fortune’s
Sharp Adveristy is part of the AmberPax collection “The French Connection.”)
Blurb:
In the year 1288, Amiens Cathedral is still a hive of
construction. Philippe works as a painter, cheerfully decorating the stone
carvings. Lamed in the crusades, alone in the world, he feels he has found the
perfect life, with a safe place to sleep and work he loves. He tells himself he
is content, that is, until the night he spies a man in a scarlet cloak,
kneeling in the sanctuary, clearly distraught. For Philippe, the world will be
forever changed.
Lord Étienne
Michelant has fallen far and fast. Once the beloved youngest son of a powerful
family, now he has nothing and, unbeknownst to church officials, he lives atop
the cathedral’s unfinished tower. In Philippe, he finds everything he ever
wanted in a man, and he curses fate that they met now. Tangled in dangerous
secrets and arcane enchantments, Étienne knows any hope of love is futile.
It will be up to a
crippled painter to try to prove Étienne wrong and to navigate his way through
the maze of enigmas surrounding him.
Excerpt:
The tension eased
from Étienne’s jaw. His thumbs stroked the backs of Philippe’s hands. “What
shall we do this evening, eh? If we were at my home, I could court you
properly, with lute and song and poems scratched out in my atrocious hand.”
Philippe couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped from him. “Is that what you’re doing? Courting me?”
A little smile quirked a corner of Étienne’s mouth. “I did say I wasn’t doing it properly.”
“Ah, well, as long
as we’re set on impropriety.” He leaned in carefully, as if Étienne might
startle like a wild stag, and brushed his lips over that upturned corner.
Long fingers
clutched Philippe’s hands tight and Étienne’s breath caught, short and sharp.
“Philippe…”
Not accustomed to
being pursued, are you? He freed a hand to cup Étienne’s face, steadying him and making his intentions clear. The
fathomless longing in those green eyes threatened to stop his heart. Whatever
the cause of Étienne’s troubles, he couldn’t imagine that this wry, gentle man
was a murderer or a thief, and a heretic would hardly seek sanctuary in a
church. “There will be an answer, Tien. Whatever troubles you, there is a
solution for everything.”
“So simple for you
to say.”
Philippe’s brow
creased. The man had no inkling when to stop talking sometimes. He slid his
hand back and tangled his fingers in the thick mass of Étienne’s fawn-brown
hair. By rights, Étienne should have smelled terrible, and had a few days’
worth of beard, but it wasn’t so. Smooth skin met his lips when he feathered
kisses along that strong jaw, a hint of clove and anise clinging to Étienne.
With a hesitant nuzzle,
Étienne turned his head, and searched after Philippe’s lips, capturing them
finally in soft nudges, holding them hostage with a swift succession of tender
assaults.
Bonfire sparks
leaped in Philippe’s veins. He let go a ragged moan and wrapped Étienne tight
in his arms. Étienne’s arms slid around him in answer, his strength stealing
Philippe’s breath in a rib-creaking embrace. The hard muscles spoke of arms
accustomed to heavy exercise. A nobleman,
but not a soft one. This one can wield a sword.
The tip of Étienne’s
tongue licked along Philippe’s lips, pleading for entrance. He opened to the
wordless request, sucking Étienne within the heat of his mouth. Their tongues
dueled, the kiss turning fierce, hands roaming over backs and shoulders, both of
them panting through their nostrils like rutting bulls.
Étienne pulled back
first with a soft laugh. “Did you neglect to have supper this evening? You
threaten to devour me whole.”
“A different sort of
hunger.” Philippe combed his fingers through Étienne’s hair, pleased when his
eyes closed and he leaned his head against Philippe’s hand. “Do you wish
for…more?”
“Perhaps.” Étienne
stroked Philippe’s arm in slow circles, raising goose flesh along his skin.
“Perhaps soon.”
“But not tonight.”
Étienne shook his
head, still gulping for air. His all-too-infrequent smile flashed. “We are
courting, after all.”
About the Author:
Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres.
Her experiences as a soldier, a nurse, a banker, and an underpaid corporate
drone give her a broad view of the world and a deep appreciation for the
astounding variety of people on this small planet. She currently lives part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware and full time inside her head. She has one husband of over twenty-six years, one son, two cats, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.
To contact Angel with praise, adulation, sarcasm, and
complaints to the management (any management, she’s not picky, but it might not
solve your flight reservation issue) please try these linky things:
Email: ravenesperanza@yahoo.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amartinez2
Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/angelmartinez
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