A Wessex Warrior

 Last week I posted an illustration of a group of warriors entering Winchester as part of the royal entourage depicted in Courting Trouble. This week's drawing from my sketchbook is up close and personal. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley.

The men carried broad round wooden shields with decorated iron bosses in the middle. I noticed one huge warrior whose front teeth were missing. His shield was covered with deerskin and had an iron bar across it. The dome of his boss came to a cruel looking point and had probably poked out more than one man’s eye.

Embroidery, Medieval Style

In Courting Trouble the stepmother Waldberg supplements the family income by creating embroideries and illuminations for the church. This is how she works with metallic thread:

She was working with two needles. One sewed a gold thread on the surface of the work, very close to the previous gold thread she had laid down. With the second needle she sewed tiny silk stitches across the gold to anchor it to the cloth. She had explained to me once that this technique was used so that the expensive gold thread was not wasted on the wrong side.

St. Rumwold the Infant Prodigy

Abbess Cynethrith and the Bishop are chatting in the opening scene of Courting Trouble.

“Abbess, do you remember blessed St. Rumwold, the infant prodigy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Though he only lived on this earth three days, God gave him the gift of speech, and do you know what he preached about?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He preached about the most blessed and heavenly Trinity.”

“Yes,” I said. “I often wish the young would hold their tongues.” Because I’m old, I can get away with remarks like this. People think I didn’t understand what they said.

Meet the Troubled Court: King Beorhtric

Meet the characters who populate Courting Trouble. Today we'll feature His Majesty King Beorhtric (pronounced (BEE OR Trick), with an excerpt from the book that describes the heroine's first glimpse of the drunkard king.

I entered the chamber. The light was dim and the first thing I noticed was the smell. The sour breath of the sleeping monarch hung in the air like the still fog of a summer morning. I set down the pitcher and turned to look at Beorhtric. He was lying on his back on the bed, his legs apart. His tunic had worked its way up above his waist, and his penis was practically lost in a great mass of gray and black pubic hair made even more eye-catching by the pale white of his skin. A linen sheet, intricately embroidered along one end with colorful interlocking beasts, covered only his chest and then trailed onto the floor. There was a pillow under his neck, and his head fell back, diminishing the effect of the great wattles of flesh beneath his chin. His mouth was open. He snored loudly and with great inventiveness.