A Roman statesman named Cato the Elder is said to have ended
every speech in the Senate with the words “Carthago delenda est,” calling for
the destruction of Carthage, Rome’s ancient enemy.  Well, I may have to begin all future blogs by
issuing a call to Helen, a winner of my last book giveaway.  Helen was one of the two winners, posting on
July 17^th, and she has yet to get in touch with me.  So….Helen, you have a book waiting for
you.  You can contact me at this link on
my website.   http://www.sharonkaypenman.com/contact_penman.htm

            I am
currently bogged down doing research for a critical chapter in Ransom and so I
have had to keep the real world at bay while I struggle out of this swamp.  But I noticed that it is going on three weeks
since I’ve posted a new blog.    What to
do?    I came up with the idea of giving
you all a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the making of a novel—hopefully, it
won’t be as messy as the making of sausage or laws.  Today’s blog is going to be the original
Prologue for Lionheart—the wedding night of William Marshal and the young
heiress, Isabel de Clare.  It ended up on
the cutting room floor because we decided to make two books out of
Lionheart.  Because of this surgery,
William Marshal disappears from the story early on and does not re-appear again
once the action moves to Sicily, Cyprus, and the Holy Land.   So my editor thought it no longer made sense
to begin the book with Will and Isabel and I did a second Prologue.  This left the old Prologue gathering dust,
though—until it occurred to me that some of my readers might like to read it;
who doesn’t like William Marshal, after all?    
So….I now give you the original Prologue for Lionheart. 

*     *    
*     *      *

PROLOGUE

AUGUST 1189                                                              LONDON, ENGLAND

    William Marshal had taken care to make his
bride’s deflowering as easy as possible, and in the afterglow of their
lovemaking, he was pleased, both with his performance and her responsiveness.
“Oh, my,” she’d murmured once she’d gotten her breath back, amusing him then by
pulling aside the bed covers to look for the requisite proof of innocence,
proudly showing him the trickle of blood staining her thighs and the sheet.

     Will had harbored no doubts about her
virginity; few heiresses were given the opportunity to yield to temptation, and
Isabel de Clare was a great heiress indeed. Her father and grandfather had been
earls, her mother the daughter of an Irish king, and she brought to her husband
much more than an impeccable pedigree. She brought him, too, vast estates in England, Normandy,
South Wales, and Ireland.
Even though she was an earl’s daughter, Will did not become an earl himself by
wedding her, for only the king could bestow that title upon him. But he was now
a very wealthy man, influential beyond his wildest dreams, and he owed it all
to the girl-woman who was curled up beside him like a kitten, tickling his
chest with each swish of her long, silky hair.

     “My ladies said I was fortunate that you
are no longer young,” she told him, hers the forthright candor of the indulged
and highborn. “They said young men were keener on their own pleasure, but an
older man would not be so urgent or greedy, would be able to take his time. Is
that why it did not hurt as much as I expected, Will?”

     “Probably,” he agreed gravely, biting back
a smile. “A man of my advanced years
is not as likely to spill his seed too soon, the way a green lad might.”

     Isabel propped herself up on her elbow.
“Just how old are you?” she asked archly, and feigned shock when Will said his
years were forty and two. “I am eighteen. So I am young enough to be your
daughter.”

     She paused for dramatic effect and to see
how he’d react to her teasing. She had been very pleased when the justiciar had
told her she was to be wed to William Marshal, for he was a celebrated knight,
famous for his tournament prowess, envied by other men and favored by kings. It
troubled her not at all that he was more than twenty years her senior, for that
was often the way of their world. And Aine, her down-to-earth childhood nurse,
had pragmatically pointed out that an aging husband could be a boon to an
unhappy wife, as he was likely to die first.

     Isabel did not think she’d need to worry
about that, though. From the moment she’d laid eyes upon Will, she’d marveled
at her luck, for her renowned husband-to-be was also tall and well formed, his
brown hair curling neatly at the base of his neck and the corners of his mouth
hinting at a suppressed smile.

     She’d not had the time to form any
conclusions about his nature, though, for their marriage was done in haste, so eager
was Will to claim her as his. The sheriff of London, Richard Fitz Reiner, had generously
offered his own residence for the wedding, insisting, too, upon taking the
costs upon himself, for although Will had a lord’s expectations, he still had a
knight’s budget. They’d been wed that noon in the stately cathedral a stone’s
throw from the sheriff’s townhouse in Friday Street, and in the morning, they
would depart for Stoke Dabernon in Surrey and the manor of one of Will’s
friends, where they’d spend a few days together before Will must answer the new
king’s summons. So when Isabel and Will exchanged their vows on St Paul’s porch, she’d yet
to be alone with her husband.

     She’d not been nervous, though. Will’s
calm demeanor was reassuring and his de-termination to wed her as soon as
possible was flattering, for she knew she was pretty as well as rich, having
been blessed with the blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair coloring so esteemed by
minstrels and troubadours. She’d studied Will covertly during the Marriage Mass
and at the wedding feast that followed, and by the time they were ushered up to
their bridal chamber for the bedding-down revelries, she’d concluded that her
groom was good humored, proud but not boastful, a man who’d be easy to live
with, yet one who’d fiercely protect what was hers—and now his—and that, too,
was reassuring.

     What she’d not known, though, was how
quick he’d be to laugh, even at himself, and she waited now to find out,
watching intently as Will rolled over onto his side so they were facing each
other, moving somewhat stiffly for he’d lacerated his leg on the voyage from Normandy to England. “I suppose so,” he agreed
amiably. “But this I can tell you for true, lass. The way I feel about you is
not in the least fatherly.”

    The words were no sooner out of his mouth
than his bride was in his arms, her breath warm on his throat. “Oh, Will, thank
Heaven you are not one of those dreadful, dour souls who would not know a jest
from a juniper bush!”

    Will smiled to himself, touched by the
giddiness of youth, for she was very young, this new wife of his. He had never
hoped to be given such a prize, could still remember his astonishment when the
old king had promised her to him, a deathbed reward for years of steadfast
loyalty. He remembered, too, thinking that his bright future was lost when King
Henry drew his last tortured breath at Chinon Castle.
But the new king, Richard, had confirmed Henry’s dying promise, and at that
moment Will had begun to believe in miracles.

     Even before he’d arrived at the Tower of
London to claim her, he’d felt an over-whelming tenderness for Isabel de Clare,
his bridge to a world he’d never expected to enter, for he was just a younger
son of a minor baron, a man whose worth had been measured by the strength and
accuracy of his sword-arm. Deeply grateful to the girl who would make this
transformation possible, he’d vowed to treat her like the treasure she was, to
do whatever he could to make her contented with her fate. His thankfulness had
turned to awe upon finding that she was fair, lively, and not at all loath to
wed him. Cradling Isabel’s warm curves against his body now, he kissed her
gently, then smothered a yawn, thinking drowsily that life with Isabel de Clare
was never going to be dull.

     “Will…Master Reiner told me that you’d
unhorsed Richard during the old king’s flight from Le Mans. Is that true?”

     Will swallowed another yawn, but he could
not resist telling her the story, one that put him in a very favorable light.
“True enough, lass. Richard and the French king had forced their way into the
city. It was already on fire, and we had a devil of a time convincing King
Henry that he had to flee. When he finally agreed to retreat, it was almost too
late. Richard had not taken part in the assault itself, but when he heard that
Henry had escaped, he set out in pursuit, even though he had neither hauberk
nor shield.”

     Isabel was listening, wide-eyed. “What did
Richard mean to do once he overtook Henry?”

    Will’s shoulders twitched in a half-shrug.
“I would guess that he wanted to spare his father the humiliation of being
captured by the French king’s men. I’d remained at the rear to cover Henry’s
flight, and when Richard saw me bearing down upon him, he cried out that he was
unarmed and tried to knock my lance aside. I had no intention of killing him,
of course, but I waited until the last possible moment ere I shifted my lance
and plunged it into his stallion’s chest. I think that may have been the first
time that Richard felt the fear of death like other mortal men.”

      “And did you really curse Richard to the
flames of Eternal Hellfire, Will?”

     “No, I told him that I’d let the Devil be
the one to kill him.” Will’s smile was wry, for that bit of bravado could have
cost him dearly, and for a time he’d thought it would. “I never regretted it,
though,” he said, “for I gained the old king the time he needed to get away.
But it was a brief reprieve. Less than a month later, he was forced to
surrender to Richard and the French king at Colombieres, so ill he could barely
stay in the saddle. We had to take carry him back to Chinon in a horse litter,
and there he learned that his youngest son, John, had betrayed him, too…” 

      “How sad,” Isabel said politely, for
she’d never known the old king. It was Will’s role in this royal drama that
held her interest. “Richard is a very prideful man, is he not?” And when he
nodded, she reached for his hand, entwining her fingers in his. “Yet he forgave
you for publicly shaming him, Will…why?”

      “I did not expect him to be so
magnanimous,” he admitted. “But he said he bore me no grudge, and then he told
me and the other knights who’d stayed faithful to his father that we had
nothing to fear, saying dryly that loyalty to the king was not a trait he’d
want to discourage.”

     “And then he said he’d honor his father’s
promise,” Isabel interrupted, “and you sailed for England
in such haste to wed me that you fell off the gangplank at Dieppe and gashed your leg open.”

     “I see my squire has been telling tales,”
Will said, settling back comfortably against the pillows. The gangplank had
actually given way under the weight of too many men, not because he’d been so
eager to board ship. Isabel looked so pleased with his squire’s version,
though, that he didn’t correct it. It had been a long day and he was drifting
toward sleep when Isabel jarred the bed by sitting up suddenly, wrapping her
arms around her knees.

     Although Isabel’s father had been stricken
with a fatal infection when she was just five, her mother had seen to it that
she received as good an education as her little brother, well aware of the
fragility of young life; and indeed, Isabel’s brother died before his tenth
birthday, leaving her as the sole heiress to the vast de Clare holdings. She
enjoyed reading, and her favorite books were a French translation of Geoffrey
of Monmouth’s history of ancient Britain and Chretien de Troyes Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart.
Intrigued as she was by these tales of the fabled King Arthur, his beautiful
Queen Guinevere, his evil nephew Mordred, and the most famous of his knights,
Sir Lancelot du Lac, Isabel thought that Henry Fitz Empress and his
controversial queen, the strong-willed Eleanor of Aquitaine, were just as fascinating.

     She knew the outlines of their story. The
son of the Count of Anjou and the Empress Maude, Henry had done what his mother
could not–claimed her father’s crown. By twenty-one, he was King of England,
wed to a woman as mythical as Guinevere, a great heiress who was a great
beauty, too, former wife of the King of France. The French king had rejected
Eleanor for her failure to give him a male heir; she gave Henry five, four of
whom survived to manhood. But just as Arthur and Guinevere’s marriage had been
shattered by treachery, so had Henry and Eleanor’s union been doomed by
betrayal.

     Guinevere had taken Arthur’s friend
Lancelot as her lover. Many felt that Eleanor’s sin was even greater, for she’d
joined her teenage sons in a rebellion against her own husband, king, and liege
lord. Isabel had heard a number of reasons offered for Eleanor’s treachery.
Most people seemed to believe that she was a jealous wife, outraged by Henry’s
love affair with a Marcher lord’s daughter. Others wondered if she’d been
bewitched or that she came from doomed and damned stock. But Isabel’s mother,
Aife, had laughed at these conjectures, for the daughter of a king understood
better than most the dynamics of power. The queen had resented Henry’s meddling
in her duchy, she’d told Isabel, for Eleanor had always seen herself, first and
foremost, as Duchess of Aquitaine, not as Henry’s consort. And Aife had
insisted that his inability to share that power even with his sons had been his
fatal weakness.

     Isabel did not know if her mother was
right about Eleanor’s motivations. She could say with certainty only that
Eleanor had rebelled and was held in comfortable confinement for the next
sixteen years as her sons were forgiven, then rebelled again and again. She had
high hopes, though, that Will would be able to answer many of her questions,
for he’d been the mentor of Henry’s eldest son, Hal, and had joined the royal
household after Hal’s sudden death in the midst of yet another senseless war.

     “I do not understand how a son could take
up arms against his own sire,” she confided. “And yet all of King Henry’s sons
turned against him, even John, his favorite. I’ve heard men call them the
Devil’s Brood. You knew them all, Will. Tell me how it really was. Tell me the truth,
not the legends or rumors or romance.”

     Will sighed, for his body was yearning for
sleep. But he did not want to disappoint his bride upon their wedding night,
and he did his best, giving her a concise account of the Great Rebellion in
1173 that had cost Eleanor her freedom and Henry his peace of mind.

     “He could forgive his sons, but not his
wife; that was too deep a wound to heal. He tried to mend fences with the lads,
to no avail. They were bitter that he continued to hold their mother prisoner,
Richard most of all, and infuriated that he continued to refuse to delegate
authority to them. And because he could no longer trust them, he tried to bribe
or coerce them into staying loyal. It was an utter failure. Hal died in
rebellion, repenting when it was too late, when he was on his deathbed. Hal’s
death broke his father’s heart,” Will said huskily, for he, too, had loved Hal,
so beguiling and good-hearted and utterly irresponsible.

     “What of the other brothers?” Isabel
prompted. “After Hal died, why did the king favor John? Most men pay little
heed to younger sons. Why did Henry risk so much for John Lackland’s sake?”

     “John Lackland….that was part of the
problem, lass. Hal was to be king. Richard was to inherit his mother Eleanor’s
duchy of Aquitaine,
and Geoffrey was betrothed as a lad to Constance, the Duchess of Brittany. When
John was born, there was little left for him, hence his father’s joking title,
Lackland. But Henry was bound and determined to provide for John, too. So when
Hal died and Richard became the heir-apparent, Henry wanted him to yield up Aquitaine to John, reasoning that Richard no longer
needed the duchy now that he was to inherit an empire: England, Normandy,
and Anjou.
Richard did not see it that way, though,” Will said, smiling grimly at the vast
understatement.

     Isabel was still listening raptly and he
stifled another yawn before resuming. “Henry made the same mistake with
Geoffrey, withholding a large portion of his wife’s Breton inheritance as
leverage for Geoffrey’s good behavior. He only succeeded in driving Geoffrey
into rebellion, too, and he’d allied himself with the French king when he was
killed in a tournament outside Paris.

     “That left Richard and John, and because
Henry stubbornly refused to publicly pro-claim Richard as his heir, Richard
began to suspect that his father meant to bypass him in favor of John, a
flickering flame that the French king was all too eager to fan into a roaring
fire. It eventually came to war. By then Henry was ailing and did not want to
fight his own son. But Richard no longer believed in his peace overtures, and
the result was that shaming surrender at Columbieres. But the worst was still
to come. Seeing that his father was losing, John abandoned him and made a private
peace with Richard and King Philippe.”

     Will fell silent, for so long that Isabel
feared he would not continue. After a few moments, though, he said softly, “It
can be argued that Hal and Geoffrey and Richard all had genuine grievances. But
John….John abandoned his dying father to save his own skin and that was King
Henry’s true death blow.”

     “I wonder if Chretian de Troyes has
thought of writing about the Angevins,” Isabel mused. “Of course he’d have to
change their names, but someone ought to suggest it to him. Do not stop now,
though, Will. Tell me about the queen. I was told you once saved her from
capture when you were a young knight, and when you were captured, she paid your
ransom. What is she like? When she was young, was she as beautiful as men say?
Why did she really rebel against Henry?”

     Before she could say more, Will leaned
over and stopped her words with a kiss. “Not tonight, Isabel. Your aged,
elderly husband is desperate for sleep. I will right gladly satisfy your
curiosity about the royal family. It will have to wait, though.”

     Isabel ducked her head to hide her pout.
She was disappointed that he was bringing this interesting conversation to an
end, but that was of minor moment. Her dismay was due to the fact that she was
wide awake, no more able to sleep than she was able to walk on water. What was
she to do whilst Will slept beside her? She could not very well bring a candle
and book to her wedding bed. The prospect of all those wakeful hours till dawn
was a daunting one, until she had an inspiration.

     “Of course, Will,” she said demurely.
They’d thrown the sheet back for it was a humid August night, and she suddenly
pointed to a white welt of a scar that zigzagged along his inner thigh. “Oh,
what a dreadful wound! What happened, Will?” She was already reaching out,
caressing the path of that old injury, and soon got the response she’d been
hoping for. Admiring her husband’s swelling erection, she thought it was lovely
that men could be so easily aroused, even “aged, elderly” ones, and she glanced
up at him with an impish, triumphant grin. “It seems you are not as tired as
you thought, my lord husband.”

     “No, it seems I am not,” he agreed, and
pulled her down on top of him. He’d have to do penance for this, as the Church
considered any position in which the woman was not under the man to be
unnatural and thus sinful. But he needed to ease his injured leg by letting his
bride do some of the work, an innovation Isabel was quite happy to embrace, and
their wedding night came to a very satisfying end for the Marshal and his young
wife.

*     *    
*     *     *

September 4, 2012

I recently received some very good news from my British
publisher, Macmillan.  They have
expedited their schedule for my British e-books and we now have a tentative
date of July 26^th for the release of The Sunne in Splendour, Here Be
Dragons, Falls the Shadow, and The Reckoning.  
To say I’m over the moon about this is a typical British
understatement.   And yes, I do expect
that When Christ and His Saints Slept and Time and Chance will be available as
e-books, too, before the year’s end. 
Since Macmillan has already published Lionheart in the e-book format and
Penguin released Devil’s Brood as an e-book several years ago, that will mean
that all of my historical sagas will finally be available as e-books to my
readers in the UK and Down Under.  I am
afraid Justin de Quincy and company are still wandering in the wilderness, but
I hope I’ll eventually be able to send out a search party for him.  And now that The Queen’s Man was released as
an e-book in the US this past spring, at least all four mysteries are now
available on this side of the Atlantic.

            I got to
see Macmillan’s jacket for the paperback edition of Lionheart, which will be
published in early January.   I really
like it, and will try to get Melusine to let me add the photo to this
blog.   Ballantine has come up with a
striking jacket for the American paperback edition of Lionheart, too, which
will be out on December 26^th of this year; I wish I could include it
here,  but it was among all the e-mails
that Melusine dispatched to computer limbo last month.  The curious can see it, though, on
Amazon.com, as it is already available for pre-orders.  I am very happy with all four of the book
jackets for Lionheart and I haven’t always been able to say that in the
past.    So to celebrate, I am giving
away a signed copy of one of my books. 
Anyone who posts a comment on this blog will be in the drawing, and the
winner can choose between a hardback copy of Lionheart, Devil’s Brood, Time and
Chance, or The Reckoning.  If you already
have copies of these books, you can always give it away to a friend,
right?    I think giving copies of my
books as gifts would be a wonderful custom to establish and ought to be
encouraged whenever possible.   

            I continue
to spend all of my waking hours (at least it feels that way) working on A
King’s Ransom.   To reassure you that I am exercising due
diligence to meet the deadline, I am going to conclude with a few passages from
A King’s Ransom.   The first one occurs
in Chapter Two, when Richard and his men are caught in a savage winter storm on
their way home from the Holy Land. 

*      *     
*

            The ship
shuddered, like an animal in its death throes. 
Its prow was pointing skyward, so steep was the wave, and the men
desperately braced themselves, knowing the worst was to come.  The galley was engulfed, white water breaking
over both sides, flooding the deck.  And
then it was going down, plunging into the trough, and there was nothing in
their world but seething, surging water. 
Richard heard terrified cries of “Jesu!” and “Holy Mother!”  Beside him, Arne was whimpering in
German.  The bow was completely submerged
and Richard was sure that the Sea-Wolf was doomed, heading for the bottom of
the Adriatic Sea. 

            “Lord God,
I entreat Thee to save us, Thy servants!” 
Richard’s voice rose above the roar of the storm, for he was used to
shouting commands on the battlefield. 
“Let us reach a safe harbor and I pledge one hundred thousand ducats to
build for Thee a church wherever we come ashore!  Do not let men who’ve taken the cross die at
sea and be denied Christian burial!”

*     *     
*

            His prayer
would be answered and for centuries to come, the city-state of Ragusa, today’s
Dubrovnik, would hold the memory of the English king called Lionheart in high
esteem, as the vast amount he pledged was used to rebuild their cathedral. 

            The second
passage occurs in Chapter Eight.   Eleanor
has been living every mother’s worst nightmare for weeks, not knowing her
missing son’s fate.   On this rainy
January night in 1193, she learns from his cousin Andre de Chauvigny that
Richard is still alive but a prisoner of the Holy Roman Emperor.   She takes the news hard, of course.     

*     *    
*

            His mouth
contorting, Andre said bitterly, “That craven swine on the French throne means
to put in his own bid for Richard, and if he does…”

            There was
no need to finish the sentence, for Eleanor understood the consequences fully
as well as he did.   She was sitting up
straight now, no longer slumped back in the chair as if her bones could not
bear her weight, and he saw that color was slowly returning to her cheeks; that
sickly white pallor was gone.  As he
watched, it seemed to him that she was willing her body to recover, finding
strength from some inner source that defied her advancing years, and he felt a
surge of relief.  It had shaken him to
see her looking so fragile, so vulnerable, so old.  She was on her feet now, beginning to pace as
she absorbed the impact of the emperor’s letter, and when she turned to face
Andre, he saw that her hazel eyes had taken on a greenish, cat-like glitter,
reflecting nothing at that moment but a fierce, unforgiving rage.

            “They will
not get away with this,” she said, making that simple sentence a declaration of
war.  “We shall secure my son’s freedom, no
matter what it takes.  And we will
protect his kingdom until he can be restored to us, Andre.” 

*       *     
*

            And of
course she did.  The ransom demanded was
a staggering sum, estimated to be the equivalent of several trillion
dollars.  If not for Eleanor’s steely
determination, men might have been reluctant to defy John, who would be king if
Richard died in a German or French prison, which seemed very likely.   But as I have Richard’s chancellor, Guillaume
Longchamp, thinking later as he watches the queen mother in action, “King
Richard had been blessed by the Almighty in many ways, but above all in the
woman who’d given him life.”    She would
prove to be a match for all of her son’s enemies.    Such a pity that Henry couldn’t have seen
what Richard did and made use of Eleanor’s formidable intelligence and
finely-honed political skills.   If he’d
done so, maybe we could have written a happier ending to their turbulent
marriage.  

            But that is
another one of those fascinating, frustrating What Ifs that we like to
speculate about.   I’ll probably keep this
blog up for a few weeks so that there will be plenty of time to enter the book
drawing.  Now…back to the 12^th
century and Rome, where Joanna and Berengaria have been stranded for fear of
Heinrich.   

July 16, 2012

I am delighted to offer this interview with a rising star of
historical fiction, C. W. Gortner.   I am sure many of you have read his novels The
Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici., both of which I enjoyed
very much.  His latest novel is THE
QUEEN’S VOW, about the tumultuous rise to power and early reign of Isabella of
Castile. Born and raised in southern Spain, C.W. has been fascinated since
childhood by the legend, and contradictions, of this legendary queen who sent
Columbus to America. In our Q&A today, we talk about his passion for
powerful women in history, his views on writing historical fiction, and he
shares a special animal rescue story.

1) Tell us about The
Queen’s Vow. How did you get the idea?

As mentioned, I grew
up in southern Spain, in a seaside town near the city of Malaga. There was a
ruined castle that had once belonged to Isabella of Castile near my house,
where I often played. Today, it has been fully restored but in my childhood it
was a ruin— a circle of battlements and towers, open to the sky, one in which I
could let my imagination run free. In school, I learned about Isabella, about how
she conquered Granada and united Spain, and sent Columbus across the sea. But
it wasn’t until years later that I realized how little I actually knew about
Isabella’s early years, about her struggle to become queen and assert her power
in a time when women rarely ruled.

I had depicted
Isabella’s later years and death in my first novel, The Last Queen, about her daughter, Juana. In that book, we meet Isabella upon the fall of Granada:
she is the strong, somber queen, devoted to her realm and, frankly, rather
forbidding. When I decided to write about Isabella in this novel, I wanted to
explore who she was before that momentous achievement; how she became the Isabella we think we know. Her love affair with
her husband Fernando of Aragón, for example, is a historical rarity; he was
forbidden to her, and her decision to marry him sparked a civil war. As with
most legendary figures, there’s far more to Isabella than we’ve been told. She
was both extraordinary and extraordinarily fallible, a product and exception of
her era.

2) Isabella is
strongly associated with the Inquisition. Can you talk about this?

There’s a lot of
controversy surrounding Isabella’s role in the Inquisition. I knew she’d
sanctioned its revival in Spain and used it against her subjects; I was interested
in understanding why she did it, rather than trying to exonerate her. I’m not
that invested in making my characters sympathetic; I do, however, want them to
be understandable, even when we don’t agree with them. There is no excuse for
the Inquisition, but to my surprise I discovered that Isabella’s decisions
surrounding it were more complex than popular history depicts. She wasn’t
innately cruel – in fact, she detested bull fighting, for example, and forbade corridas held in her honor – and the
documentation from the era proves that she delayed implementing the Inquisition
for several years, despite the urging of councilors and her husband.
Nevertheless, that said, Isabella took her faith and any threat to it very
seriously.

It’s tough to be a
writer of historical fiction when faced with issues of religious
intolerance, cruelty to animals, any kind of persecution. I’m a very liberal
man. I can honestly say, I’m glad I was not born in the 16^th century,
which is an era defined as much by its injustice as its glamour. Yet I can’t
write about a Renaissance queen, or indeed a Renaissance person, and ignore
these unsavory traits, because in their world, faith in particular was a
life-and-death issue. They sincerely believed in heresy and the damnation or
salvation of the soul based on how one worshipped. While it was challenging at
times for me to get inside Isabella’s skin and view the world as she did, I
also think that we’re not all that different today. We need only look to
fundamentalist churches that condemn gay people and women’s rights, among other
things, to understand that as much as we may change, much also, sadly, remains
the same.

3) What kind of research did you do to get inside Isabella’s
skin?

As with all my books,
the research began several years before I actually started writing. I read
as many biographies and books about the era as I could, as well as extant
documentation from the era that was available to me. I also took several trips
to Spain, including one in which I followed in Isabella’s footsteps from
Seville to Granada, site of her most famous triumph. The alcazar of Segovia,
though much transformed over the years, carries a strong echo of Isabella’s
early trials; as does the walled city of Avila and several other sites in
Castile. I read her letters and that of her contemporaries, as well as
ambassadorial accounts of her court. Isabella has left very little in her own
hand that reveals her inner thoughts— she was private, not given to public
displays of her feelings—but careful examination of what does exist, together
with the aforementioned documentation and her actions during her lifetime,
offered the framework that I used to create the flesh-and-blood woman she may
have been. 

4) Now, tell us about your new cats, My Boy and Mommy. How
did they come into your life?

My Boy and Mommy are son and mother; I’d been feeding them for over 4 years in the park where I walk
with my dog, Paris. I first spotted Mommy as she streaked past me in the
undergrowth one morning; she was very feral and had just had a litter of
kittens. The kittens were fascinated by Paris, who isn’t aggressive, so I
decided to trap them. I got all of them but Boy, who eluded the trap for
months. The kittens were all adopted through the SPCA; I then turned my
attention to trapping Mommy and Boy, with the help of a lady who feeds more
than 12 feral cats in the area. By the time we ended up getting them, both
Mommy and Boy had bonded with me. At the advice of the feral cat program,
however, after they were spayed / neutered, we re-released them in the park,
with the caveat that we’d continue to care for them.  But in February of this year, Boy showed up
to his daily feeding with an injured paw. He’d either been attacked by a coyote
or dog. Coyotes have been sighted in the park more of late, but people, too,
were very disrespectful about leashing their dogs in the cats’ area: they acted
as if they had the right to let the dogs chase the cats, which of course only
adds to a feral cat’s stress. That day when I arrived with the food, Boy was
limping. He sat at my feet, as if to say he needed help. It was raining, too,
and I knew that if I left him to fend for himself, a dog might get to him. I’d
rigged up shelters under the walkway where the cats ate but between dogs and
raccoons knocking the shelters over, exposure to the elements, and the cats’
bond with me, I was finding it increasingly difficult for me to leave them. I
put Boy in a carrier and took him to the vet. He needed stitches; they told me
we’d have to keep him confined for a week while he healed, so my partner and I
decided to bring him and Mommy home, to see how they’d fare. You never know
with ferals, we were warned: most can’t adjust to being pets.

It’s been almost
four months now, and so far, so good. The cats have settled in; they seem very
happy, with the run of the upstairs spare bedroom. They love belly rubs and
kisses. Paris was a little miffed that she must now share her home but she’s
adjusting, too. She’s gentle, and I’m sure it’ll work out in time.

Thank you so much for having me, Sharon. I’m a great fan of
yours and I sincerely hope your readers enjoy THE QUEEN’S VOW. I’m always
available to chat with book groups via Skype or speaker phone; to learn more
about me and my work, please visit me at: www.cwgortner.com

 Thank you,
Christopher, for this fascinating and insightful interview.  You very eloquently addressed a problem that
historical novelists often face; we live in an age in which many of us consider
tolerance to be a virtue, and I am so glad of that.  But that was not true in the Middle Ages,
where all people of faith were convinced theirs was the only true religion.   Like you, I would not have wanted to live
back then, however much I enjoy writing about the medieval world.   As an opinionated woman and a lapsed
Catholic, I probably would not have fared well. 
  I am looking forward to reading about your
Isabella, for I am sure you do her justice while staying true to the tenor of
her times.   And thank you, too, for rescuing My Boy and
Mommy; it is a story sure to resonate with my readers.   I know Paris is a rescue, too, and I also
know that you began rescuing animals in need back in your boyhood in
Spain.   God’s creatures would have
happier lives if only we could clone people like you!     I believe your next novel is going to be
about the enigmatic Lucrezia Borgia—I hope you’ll come back to talk about her,
too. 

June 27, 2012

This may be one of the funniest blogs I’ve run yet, an interview with my fellow writer, Susan Higginbotham.  Full disclosure—Susan is a Lancastrian at heart (or at least a non-Ricardian) but a nice person for all that!   She is the author of a number of well researched and well written historical novels, including The Queen of Last Hopes, The Stolen Crown, and The Traitor’s Wife.  Her newest is Her Highness the Traitor, about one of history’s more intriguing and tragic figures, Jane Grey, the nine days queen, who would go to the block in her seventeenth year.  I was delighted to learn that Susan was writing about Jane, who definitely deserves some time on center stage.    I asked her to stop by for an interview or guest blog.   She has responded with Twelve Tips for Writing About Lady Jane Grey.  Warning:   Do not read this blog while you are drinking any sort of liquid, for you are likely to half-strangle yourselves when you start to laugh.   When you are done laughing, you will want to buy Her Highness the Traitor, which is available on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle format and I am sure it is available as a Nook, too.    So….here is my guest for the day, Susan Higginbotham.

Twelve Tips for Writing about Lady Jane Grey

Thanks to Sharon for hosting my guest post! Having just published a novel, Her Highness, the Traitor, that includes Jane Grey as a major character, I thought I would share some time-saving tips for other authors who might be writing about this time period. Just follow these 12 handy steps, and you won’t have to do a lick of research!

1. Frances Grey, Jane’s mother, must always be portrayed as grossly obese. The fact that the portrait that this depiction is based upon is not actually of Frances is entirely immaterial. Helpful Hint: Have Frances gnaw on a big turkey leg to underscore your point.

2. Jane Grey must be whipped by her parents at least twice in your novel: once before her wedding day and once before that as a warm-up whipping. The truly dedicated novelist will even allow the Greys to whip their daughter after she becomes queen, just to remind the reader who’s boss. (Be sure to dwell in loving detail on the welts caused by the lashing.)

3. Guildford Dudley can be either effeminate or brutish, depending on your preference. (The experienced novelist can make him both effeminate and brutish, but this isn’t recommended for beginners.) Whether you’ve made him effeminate or brutish, however, Guildford must behave like a sniveling weakling on his way to the scaffold. Bonus: If you ever write about the Wars of the Roses, Guildford’s character can be recycled for use as Edward of Lancaster’s. All you need to do is change the names and costumes.

4. Mary, Jane’s supposedly dwarfish sister, must be hidden away by her parents, who will refer to her at every convenient occasion in the novel as a freak or a monster, preferably to Mary’s face. Ignore the temptation to Google, which will bring you to records showing that Mary Grey accompanied her family on social visits, including one to Princess Mary. Google is your enemy here.

5. Adrian Stokes, Frances Grey’s second husband, must be half Frances’s age. The fact that there is a source showing his precise date of birth, making him only two years younger than Frances, must be studiously ignored. Don’t worry: ignoring the records about Mary Grey will have given you ample practice in doing this. Susan’s Special Tip: Have Frances sleep with Adrian during her marriage to Henry Grey, as well as with the odd stable boy or two. Susan’s Even More Special Tip: Have Henry Grey sleep with Adrian as well, as well as with the odd stable boy or two.

6. Speaking of Frances Grey, it is well known that Frances was the only person in Tudor England, or indeed in England before the twentieth century, to hunt for sport. If Frances isn’t committing Bambi-cide within ten pages of the opening of your novel, while Jane and the local chapter of PETA look on in horror, you need to do a rewrite.

7. While it is important to make Jane’s parents uncaring, brutal, and stupid, the novelist should not go overboard and make them downright evil, because true evilness must be held in reserve for the Duke of Northumberland. If the reader doesn’t come away thinking that “evil Northumberland” is a tautology, you have failed utterly as a writer and need to beg to have your day job back.

8. Edward VI must be sickly from birth; however, he must not die a natural death, but must be poisoned at the hands of Northumberland (who must be, remember, evil). Don’t forget to have Northumberland switch the king’s body with that of a murdered nobody; omitting this detail is the sort of carelessness that can trip up an unwary novelist.

9. Jane must be meek, mild, and terrified of her elders. Ignore the letter written by Jane to Thomas Harding in which she denounces the poor man as the “deformed imp of the devil” and the “stinking and filthy kennel of Satan.” Jane was probably just having a bad day.

10. Jane’s dreadful parents must be bitterly resentful of her scholarship and must attempt to drag her away from her books at every possible juncture. Disregard the fact that Jane’s father was a patron of scholars, and by all means don’t complicate things by making the reader wonder why, if Jane’s parents hated their daughter’s learning so much, they simply didn’t dismiss her tutors and confiscate her books. Historical fiction should not be complicated.

11. Mary I can be allowed some strength of character just long enough to fight the (evil, don’t forget) Northumberland for her throne. Immediately afterward, however, she must turn into a pathetic, lovesick drip, who sends Jane to her death solely to guarantee her marriage to Philip of Spain. (Who can be evil too. But not as evil as Northumberland.)

12. Finally, the “P” words—“puppet” and “pawn”—are vital when writing about Jane Grey. Using just one is the mark of the amateur; the astute novelist will use them both. If you can use them both in the same sentence, why are you reading this list?

Susan, I thank you, my readers thank you, and I am sure that, wherever she is, Jane Grey thanks you, too.

June 12, 2012

Kathryn Warner recently wrote a
wonderful blog about writing historical fiction.  Followers of my blog and Facebook pages know
I tend to be obsessive-compulsive about historical accuracy.  I think my fellow writer Laurel Corona said
it best when she said very succinctly, “Do not defame the dead.”   Kathryn has elaborated upon the premise very
eloquently.  If I ever had unlimited
power over the universe—admittedly a scary thought, even to me—I would make
this required reading for anyone who has the slightest desire to write a
historical novel.   As a benevolent
dictator, I would also “suggest” that all readers of historical fiction read
it, too.  But until I become queen of the
universe, I will have to make do by re-posting, with Kathryn’s permission, her
blog. 

In the interest of full disclosure,
I should mention that Kathryn is a friend of mine; in fact, she has won my
enduring gratitude by translating relevant portions of the German biography of
Richard I by Dr. Ulrike Kessler, Richard I. Lowenherz, Konig, Kreuzritter,
Abenteurer.   Kathryn is also the creator
of a must-visit website for anyone interested in the Middle Ages; here is the
link. http://edwardthesecond.blogspot.com.au/

Now, without further ado, I give you
Kathryn Warner. 

Ten Commandments For Writing About
History And Discussing It Online

10) If you wouldn’t refer to Roger Mortimer as Isabella of France’s ‘straight
lover’, to Alice Perrers as Edward III’s ‘female lover’, or to John of Gaunt’s
‘heterosexual relationship’ with Katherine Swynford – and of course you
wouldn’t – then you shall remember that there is no reason to call Piers
Gaveston or Hugh Despenser Edward II’s ‘gay lover’ or to talk about their
‘homosexual relationship’. Merely ‘lover’ and ‘relationship’ or ‘sexual
relationship’ will suffice; it will be readily apparent to your reader that
Edward, Piers and Hugh were all men and that their relationships were therefore
evidently same-sex. Furthermore, you shall remember that making lame statements
such as “It’s different when men love women” in an attempt to justify
why you think Edward’s (presumed) adultery with men is nasty and icky while his
grandson John of Gaunt’s adultery with Katherine Swynford is fabulously
romantic, looks bigoted. There are ways that we can discuss prejudices of other
eras without making it look as though we share them and expect our readers to
do so too.

Thank you, Kathryn, for allowing me to re-post your blog
here.   I am sure my readers will find it
just as interesting and persuasive as I did.

May 28, 2012

On May 12, 1191, Richard and Berengaria were married at
Limassol in Cyprus.   I’ve mentioned
before that Berengaria has four unique distinctions—she was the only Queen of
England to be married and then crowned in Cyprus, the only royal bride to spend
her honeymoon in a war zone, and the only English queen who never set foot on
English soil; John did issue her several safe-conducts during her long
widowhood, but there is no evidence that she ever used them.  I recently realized that she has another
distinction, a very sad one—she is the only medieval English queen who did not
provide her husband with an heir. 
William Rufus did not even bother to get married, Richard II’s Anne was
still young enough when she died to have harbored hopes, Richard III’s Anne became
terminally ill soon after their son’s death, and once we leave the Plantagenet
dynasty for those ubiquitous Tudors, their fertility track record was a sad
one.  But only Berengaria had to struggle
with history’s cruel judgment of being a “barren” queen, and it is likely she also
blamed herself, although Richard was certainly at fault, too, given how little
time he spent with her upon his release from his German captivity and the
criticism he got from the Bishop of Lincoln for his flagrant adulteries.     Berengaria
is one of the least-known of the English queens and has not been treated very
kindly by historians, many of whom assumed that she must have been dull and
boring and not lively enough to hold her husband’s attention.   This is obviously unfair and lets Richard
off the hook for the part he played in the deterioration of their
marriage.    Lastly, I think she has the
most beautiful name of any English queen—not the clunky Berengaria, but her real
Spanish name, Berenguela.

            A little
while ago, I’d promised to quote from the contemporary chronicles from time to
time.  So here is what they had to say
about Richard and Berengaria.

From the Itinerarium, translated by Helen Nicholson:    “While they were each making arrangements
to begin the journey, messengers came running to inform King Richard that his
mother Queen Eleanor was hurrying after him. 
She had traveled a great distance, but was now very close, and had
brought with her a noble young woman, daughter of the King of Navarre.  Her name was Berengaria and she was the
king’s intended wife.  Attracted by her
graceful manner and high birth, he had desired her very much for a long
time—since he was first count of Poitou. 
So her father the king of Navarre had entrusted her to King Richard’s
mother so that she could take her to King Richard and he could take her as his
wife before he set off on his planned journey across the sea.  Everyone was delighted at their
arrival.” 

The Itinerarium describes the wedding as follows:   “On the following day, a Sunday, on the
Feast of St Pancras, Richard and Berengaria were married at Limassol.  The young woman was very wise and of good
character.  She was there crowned queen.  The Archbishop of Bordeaux was present at the
ceremony, as was the bishop of Evreux and the bishop of Bayonne, and many other
magnates and nobles.  The king was merry
and full of delight, pleasant and agreeable to everyone.”

These passages are from Ambroise’s The History of the Holy
War, translated by Marianne Ailes.

“He (Richard) then made his way beyond the straits, straight
to Reggio whence news had been sent to him that his mother had arrived there bringing
to the king his beloved.  She was a wise
maiden, a fine lady, both noble and beautiful, with no falseness or treachery
in her.  Her name was Berengaria; the
King of Navarre was her father.  He had
given her to the mother of King Richard who had made great efforts to bring her
that far.  Then she was called queen and
the king loved her greatly.  Since the
time when he was count of Poitiers she had been his heart’s desire.” 

Ambroise describes the wedding:  “The next morning the young woman was married
and crowned at Limassol.  She was
beautiful, with a bright countenance, the wisest woman, indeed, that one could
hope to find anywhere.  There was the
king in great glory, rejoicing in his victory and in his marriage to the woman
to whom he had pledged his troth.”

            What is
immediately striking about these accounts is that both chroniclers were under
the impression that Richard was quite smitten with his bride.   I find that very sweet, but I tend to be a
bit skeptical, in part because royal marriages were not love matches and
because I personally don’t think Richard had a romantic bone in his body.   But it is interesting to see what Richard’s
contemporaries thought of his relationship with his bride.  

            For a more
cynical view, I give you Richard of Devizes, who was not present for these
events, here describing Richard’s departure from Sicily.   “The fleet of Richard, king of the English, put
out to sea, and proceeded in this order. 
In the forefront went three ships only, in one of which was the queen of
Sicily and the young damsel of Navarre, probably still a virgin.”   Richard and Berengaria were plight-trothed and
in the MA, that was often considered as binding as the marriage ceremony
itself, so the chronicler thinks Richard may have jumped the gun, so to
speak.  Not very gallant of him to
speculate about that, of course, but he was always a bit snarky.   Listen to what he said about Eleanor, “Queen
Eleanor, a matchless woman, beautiful and chaste, powerful and modest, meek and
eloquent, which is rarely wont to be met with in a woman, who was advanced in
years enough to have had two husbands and two sons crowned kings, still
indefatigable for every undertaking, whose power was the admiration of her
age…”  

So far so good, right?   (Although this must surely be the one and
only time that anyone described Eleanor as “meek.”)  But then he cannot resist making a snide
allusion to the scandal in Antioch, more than forty years in the past.   “Many knew what I wish what none of us had
known.  This same queen, in the time of
her former husband, went to Jerusalem. 
Let none speak more thereof; I also know well.   Be silent.” 

This same monk is the only one to
cast aspersions on Berengaria’s appearance. 
He described her as “a maid more accomplished than beautiful,” though
this is sometimes translated as “more prudent than pretty.”    Richard of Devizes never saw Berengaria,
though.    William of Newburgh, a very
reliable contemporary chronicler, called her “a virgin of famous beauty and
prudence,” although he never saw her, either. 
I find it interesting that historians have usually chosen to quote
Richard of Devizes’s unfavorable assessment of Berengaria’s looks over that of
Ambroise, who actually did see her, possibly because they think royal brides
were described as beautiful as a matter of course.  But why, then, do they accept at face value
the praise given to other queens and princesses?   I think their willingness to see Berengaria
as plain ties in with the tendency to blame her for the failure of her
marriage.    But since both Ambroise and
the author of the Itinerarium believed that Richard had desired Berengaria long
before he wed her, it is unlikely that she was plain, for medievals were as
superficial as we are today and expected their heroes to be handsome and
dashing and their heroines fair and chaste. 
Okay, we’ve done away with the chaste requirement.   J    

To show that medieval chroniclers
were not like today’s press agents for Hollywood stars, I thought I’d conclude
with some descriptions of historical figures that were far from
flattering.  

Katalina of Lancaster,
daughter of John of Gaunt and Constanza of Castile, wife of Enrique III of
Castile (1372-1418)
“The queen was tall of body and very fat. She was pink and white in her
complexion and fair. In her figure and movements she seemed as much like a man
as a woman… she was not very well ordered in her body and had a serious affliction
of palsy which did not leave her tongue properly loose or her body movements
free.”
From the Generaciones y semblanzas of Perez y de Guzman

Guifred Pilosus, Count of
Barcelona (died 897)
“…[H]e was hairy in places not normally so in men…”
From the Gesta comitum barcinonensium

Frederick II, Holy Roman
Emperor, son of Heinrich von Hohenstaufen and Constance de Hauteville.

“The Emperor was covered with red
hair, was bald and myopic. Had he been a slave, he would not have fetched 200
dirhams at market.”
From the Muntazam by Sibt Ibn al-Jawzi

Kálmán, King of Hungary, son
of Géza I and Sophie of Looz, father of István II (1170-1116)
“…shrewd and learned… hairy, shaggy, squinting, hunchbacked, lame, and
stuttering.”
From the Chronicon Pictum Vindobonense

Amaury I, King of Jerusalem,
son of Fulk and Melisende of Jerusalem, husband of Agnes of Edessa and Maria
Komnene, father of Baldwin IV and Isabella (1136-1174)
“He was a man endowed with worldly experience, very shrewd and circumspect
in his deeds. He had a slight impediment of the tongue, not so much that could
be considered a defect, but so that he had no elegance in spontaneous, flowing
speech… His body was of pleasing stature, as if it had been measured
proportionally so that he was taller than the average, but smaller than the
very tall… His face was attractive… His eyes were bright, and somewhat
protruding; his nose, like his brother’s, aquiline; his hair yellow, and
slightly receding; his beard covered his cheeks and chin with pleasing
fullness. However, he had an uncontrollable laugh, which made him shake all
over… He was fat beyond measure, in such a way that he had breasts like a
woman, hanging down to his belt…”
From the Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum of William of
Tyre (c.1130-1185)

The description of King Amaury of
Jerusalem comes from Deeds Beyond the Sea by the man considered one of the
greatest medieval historians, William, Archbishop of Tyre.   He also gives us a fascinating glimpse of
William de Montferrat, older brother of Conrad de Montferrat, who was wed to
Sybilla, Queen of Jerusalem, later the wife of Guy de Lusignan.  He describes William as handsome and bold and
intelligent, but then adds that he was inclined to drink too much and when he
did, he was very quick to anger.   Such a
pity he died in 1186, for I’d have loved to have read what he would have said
about the English-French feuding during the Third Crusade!    

Well, it is time to return to the
dungeons of Trifels Castle, where the most dangerous enemies of the Holy Roman
Empire were imprisoned and where Coeur de Lion spent a few very uncomfortable
weeks in April of 1193.    Once I can
spring Richard from Trifels, I will surface again. 

May 12, 2012

I know you have quite a few rescue animals that are now part
of your family.  Can you tell us about
them?

I’d love to… Considering all my
children have fur, I could talk about them all day long!  My pack is almost a manageable size these
days, although much smaller than in the mid-90s.  There was a time in our early years when we
had over a dozen dogs and several dozen cats. 
That’s the point at which I realized the line between helping &
hoarding had become far too thin! 

We currently have 2 donkeys, 5
dogs, and 5 cats, along with 2 foster dogs and 2 foster kittens; all of which
are rescues.  Although each one has an
amazing story of rescue, I’ll just give you just the basics here. 

Dominick is 12, and was our
first donkey saved from a farm in north FL where he was being bullied by their
horses.  He was very well cared-for, but
the family knew he’d be better off on a farm without equine.  Dominick is a very sweet & sensitive boy
who loves affection.  Shortly after he
arrived, we realized Donkeys are pack animals and he needed a friend, so we
sought out a 2^nd donkey to keep him company.  A local family with over 100 acres goes to
the auctions every month and buys all the pregnant female donkeys and sells
their offspring to afford to save more moms. 
Jasper came to us at only a few months old and is now almost 5 years
old.  Although he’s far less affectionate
with us, he & Dominick are best-buds. 
Little did we know then that donkeys can live to be 40+ years old and
will likely outlive us!

Amos is our oldest dog, a 14 yr
old flat-coat retriever, chow mix.  At a
few months old he was found outside a convenience store with an old man hugging
a bottle of wine.  The dog was begging
everyone for food.  Alan asked the man if
the dog was his, and the man said “You can have him for $5.”  Alan gave the man $5 and named him after his
grandfather, Amos Starnes.

Mai Peanut (Pnut for short) is a
puppy-mill puppy and at 12 years old has always been the most sickly of all the
dogs I’ve ever had.  She has Discoid
Lupus disease, incontinence, and a severe obsession with tennis balls.  She is also the love of our lives!  Pnut is the sweetest, most sensitive and
loyal dog anyone could ever hope for, and we have been very lucky to have her
in remission – for almost 2 years now!

Bella & Luna are twins and
are my 3 year old Echo Dogs.  Rescued
from a neglectful home in Nebraska, they are the reason I volunteer to help the
white shepherds of Florida.  In 2009, I
completed Echo Dogs’ adoption application stating that I wanted a bonded pair
of young females.  I didn’t care of their
color, or if they were mix-breeds, but preferred sisters. Our first two
shepherds, Barkley & Tasha were sisters and after they died – well into
their “teens”, we wanted another bonded pair. 
I was warned it could take a long time to find such a pair, but I
assured them I was patient.  Six long
months later, Laura with Echo Dogs contacted me about “the twins” and we jumped
at the chance to get them.  Laura drove
from Chicago to Tennessee, and we drove from FL to meet her and bring our girls
home.  Bella is also known as Sugar Belle
– the sweetest, smartest southern belle you’d ever meet.  Unlike her sister, Luna is about as loony as
they get, and has limited eyesight. 
She’s very untrusting, reserved, and skeptical, but loves me with her
entire heart.

Willow is the newest addition to
our pack – and also an Echo Dog.  She and
her sister were incarcerated at a FL animal control together and Echo Dogs
agreed to pull them both on a Sunday night. 
By 8 am Monday morning her sister was already dead, so a fellow rescue
angel rushed to the kennel and got Willow out immediately.  Willow’s foster had to leave town for a week,
so she came here – and never left! 
Despite her foster’s willingness to take her back, and then finding the
“perfect” adopter, Alan decided Willow was HIS dog, and so she is.

As for the cats, they mostly
just “show up”.  Leo’s mom was a pregnant
stray and we chose to keep Leo and adopted out his siblings.  He’s 13, and a long-haired orange tabby.  His mom, Baby Doll lived out her life here as
well.  Tigger is 7 and Sissy is 5 and are
both long-haired orange tabbies.  They
simply arrived at our home looking for food – probably from being dumped in the
orange grove next door.  Tater-Tot is 5
years old and is a short-haired orange tabby. 
I’ll get into his rescue story shortly. Truffles (sweet as chocolate)
was found trying to cross a busy road at 3 weeks old.  He was so tiny, he took up residence in a
Kleenex box and still had room to move around. 
He’s now 4 years old and is a grey tiger-stripe tabby.  All touched our hearts and became part of our
family instead of being adopted.  And as
you can see, it helps to be an orange tabby if you’re a cat looking for a home
in our neighborhood!

Two Foster Dogs:  Gee is a long-coat, pure-bred white German
Shepherd Dog.  He’s 5 years old,
neutered, micro-chipped and up to date on shots.  Gee is a very strong-willed dog and will need
an experienced handler that can continue his training.  Snoopy is a German Short-Haired Pointer,
Beagle mix.  She’s 2 years old, spayed,
micro-chipped and up to date on shots. 
Currently going through heartworm treatment, Snoopy will be available
for adoption on May 1^st.  She
is a very sweet girl who loves belly-rubs, playing with balls and runs like the
wind.  She is great with kids & dogs,
but should not be in a family with cats or birds.

Two Foster Kittens:  As of March 25^th are about two
weeks old, found in an abandoned home and currently with a loving foster being
bottle fed around the clock.  They will
be available for adoption on 4/28, or got to my vet for adoption.  Both long-haired, one is white with a few
charcoal spots and the other is a grey tabby.

Sometimes it’s a tough call on
who to keep and who to adopt out.  I
often think it would be better for them all to go to a family where they’d be
#1 or #2 rather than having to settle into such a large pack here with us.  And that’s what happens most often; we end up
keeping the “unadoptables” and letting the most balanced and friendly pets go
to other homes.  But every now and again,
some just worm their way into our hearts and we find a way to spread our love
just a little bit further.

            One of the
many benefits of adopting Tristan is that we’ve become friends.  You’ve told me some amazing, unforgettable
stories about the animals that you’ve rescued over the years.  Could you share a few of your more memorable
experiences with us?

I’ve often said that some of my
most treasured friends were brought to me by strays.  And that was certainly the case with you and
that big, goofy boy of yours!  Aside from
Tristan, one of my most memorable rescue experiences was my own kitty,
Tater-Tot; mostly because it gave me the opportunity to impact a young human
life as well as a pet.  So often as
rescuers, we get fixated on “saving the pet” and sometimes forget the human
aspect that goes along with it.  Or, we
become so hardened to humans because of all the abuse to pets we see at the
hands of humans.  But Tater-Tot was
different…

In 2008 I received a call from a
young girl about a cat she’d found while here on vacation with her family.  They were staying in the neighboring city of
Kissimmee at her aunt’s house and this orange tabby cat showed up, weak &
hungry.  Hannah made it her mission – on
her summer vacation – to help this kitty find a home.  Her call to me was to see if I’d take him
into Catnip Trails and get him off the street. 
Keep in mind that I receive hundreds of calls & emails like this
every month, and cannot take them all in. 
So, I told her that the right thing to do was to first see if he was
merely lost and try to locate his family. 
I created some flyers and had her post them in the neighborhood and drop
them off at their local vet.  I had
spoken to her mother who agreed to help and urged me to guide her daughter
through this process.  Hannah was about
10 years old. 

She spent the next week
interviewing her aunt’s neighbors and vets offices to see if she could find his
rightful owner, but sadly, no one who knew the cat she was calling Chester.  Throughout the week, she emailed me with
updates on her progress, letting me know all the steps she’d taken to find him
a home.  She was determined to not leave
Florida without this cat being safe.

The night before her family was
to go back north, she called me in despair. 
Her aunt would not continue caring for the cat and was going to turn it
loose once they left.  She was
heart-broken.   We realized we had an
opportunity to not only save a cat’s life, but to make a positive impression on
a young girl’s life.  If she left here
defeated at trying to help an animal in need, she’d possibly never try to help
again.  If she left here knowing all her
hard work paid off, maybe – just maybe – she’d be a rescuer one day. 

When I got there, Chester was in
a carrier on the back porch and Hannah was beaming from ear to ear.  Her mother took me aside and thanked me for
teaching Hannah the responsible way to help this cat, for making her “stick
with it”, and for showing her that hard-work pays off.   As I was loading Chester (soon to be
Tater-Tot) into my car, Hannah gave me the biggest, little-person hug ever,
with tears flowing down her face.  She
reached into her pockets and pulled out 3 one-dollar bills and a handful of change.  She told me it was what she and her sisters
had left over from their vacation money and she wanted to donate it to
Chester’s care.  Knowing I was about to
refuse the money, her mother put her hand on mine and said “I wish we could do
more – please take it.  You are the only
one who responded to Hannah’s plea for help.”

While Tater-Tot’s rescue had a
positive impact on a little girl’s life, it’s also had a huge impact on
mine.  “Toot” as he’s affectionately
called is the most awesome, loving, and special kitty we have.  And by special, I mean he’s my “Forest Gump”
of kitties.

One more story is of Red – a
senior golden retriever I found tied to a pole at the post office on a hot
Sunday afternoon.  I had just flown into
town and stopped to check my mail on the way home.  I didn’t see him on my way in, but coming
back out the door, there he sat, panting & frothing, parched from the
heat.  There was also a sheriff sitting
in his air-conditioned car in the parking lot. 

I walked up to the dog and he
wiggled and whined.  I checked his collar
for a tag – none.  The officer got out of
his car and asked if I was his owner which I declined.  He told me the dog had been there all day and
he had come back to wait for animal control who was called in to pick him
up.  I said “You know at his age, they’ll
just kill him.”  He nodded in
agreement.  I asked if he’d had any water
while he was there “all day”, and he replied that since animal control was
coming and we knew the inevitable, he saw no need to give him water. 

I unhooked his leash and led him
to my car.  The sheriff asked if I was
claiming the dog, to which I replied, “No, but I am taking him for a drink of
water.”  I put him in my car, drove home,
and never looked back.  Red River, as we
learned his name to be, was microchipped to a woman in NC.  Unfortunately, the contact information was
more than five years old and she never kept it up to date.  The phone number listed was no longer in
service and there was no forwarding number. 
Sleuth that I am, I took his picture and faxed it to every vet in my
county and to the county where she used to live in NC.  No one knew this dog.  I did a white pages search for her name and
called every listing – but no one claimed poor Red.  So, being that we live in one of the most
popular retirement areas of FL, I forged on to the obituaries, and there she
was.  She had died earlier in the week in
a neighboring city, and evidently her family decided they didn’t want her
dog.  I didn’t bother tracking them down,
and instead advertised him for adoption.

Red River, although a senior at
9 yrs old, adopted out very quickly to a wonderful family who still sends me
updates.  I’m so thankful that he’s now
being shown the love & respect he deserves. 
I’m sure it was very confusing for him to lose his mom, and then his
home, but dogs are so forgiving of us humans. 
They love unconditionally even after abandonment or abuse.  Red River is one of the lucky ones – he will
be cherished for the rest of his life!

            Joan, I’ve
said this so often to you and my friends in Echo Dogs, but I have so much
admiration for what people in rescue work do.  
I think most of us feel sympathy or sadness when we see a lost animal or
encounter a dog that is being neglected or abused.  How do you keep from utter despair when you
see so much suffering on a daily basis?  
Do you have any suggestions how the rest of us can help animals in
need?     

Unfortunately, Sharon there is
no magic potion to ward off the despair, and ultimate burn-out all rescuers
experience from time to time.  I feel it
in my heart, and sometimes it takes its toll on my health as well.  Stress is very powerful, yet that’s what we,
as rescuers all feel when we look at the hundreds of faces we know we can’t
help in time.  I sometimes feel like I’m
having a heart attack, but know it’s merely my heart breaking… once again.  But that’s not what it’s all about.  If we focused on the “RIP” albums (yes, there
are RIP albums to pay our respect to those we were unable to help), we’d never
be able to continue our work. 

It takes a great deal of strength
and courage to forge past those albums and onto creating the “Success Stories”
that keep us going.  And Tristan is a
prime example of one of my most triumphant rescues.  Not a week goes by that I don’t look at
pictures of him, Oliver, Riley, Baroness, Josie, Lucy, Ginger, Bear, Buddy,
Sugar & Spice, Peaches, Kodi & Gracie, Zorro, Muffin and hundreds more
that were saved because we force ourselves to continue – despite the
losses.  I can only hope that those whose
help didn’t come in time, did not expire in vain; that somehow, someone’s life
was touched enough to make a difference in the life of another pet.

Aside from opting to adopt,
there are so many ways people can help animals in need.  Fostering is probably the single, most-valued
service rescuers need.  Without foster
homes available, rescues cannot pull a pet without putting him/her in
boarding.  And saving one from death just
to have him/her sit in a kennel for months is not rescue.  Foster homes provide a temporary residence
while a permanent home is found.  They
further evaluate the pet’s behavior with humans and other pets, and provide
training when necessary.  Mostly, they
provide a loving environment for a pet to blossom in, and cash-in on lots of
sloppy kisses!  Most rescues (Catnip Trails
and Echo Dogs included) pay for all medical expenses while the pet is in
foster, so the only expense is usually food. 
Many people say they could never foster because it would be too hard to
let the pet go to a forever home.  I find
that curious, and although I too am a “failed foster” by adopting Willow, I’d
much rather see a pet leave me to go to a good home, than never have had a
chance in the first place. 

Other ways to help include:

• Always opt
  to adopt instead of shop for your next pet; and remember a pet is a
  lifetime commitment.  Almost 40% of
  the pets in shelters are pure-breds. 
  Not all shelter pets come with problems – many are there due to the
  unfortunate circumstances, or ignorance of their former families.




• Always have
  your pet spayed/neutered to stop reproduction.  Having just one litter increases your
  female pet’s chance of cancer.  Not
  having a male pet neutered increases his chance of cancer by an astounding
  90%.  And with over 4 million pets
  being put down every year in our country, over-population has become an
  epidemic.




• Ensure your
  pet always has a microchip or wears a tag.




• Volunteer
  your time at a local facility or no-kill shelter.  Most shelters won’t ask you to scoop
  poop or clean kennels – many just need dog walkers and people to play with
  the pets to further their social skills. 
  What’s more fun that playing with dogs & cats?  Others could use help posting animals in
  need, providing transports (usually 60 miles or less), or simple office
  work.




• Take your
  dog to obedience training.  He
  doesn’t understand the rules until you show him, and an abundance of dogs
  are surrendered for simple obedience issues that could have been avoided
  with just one obedience class.




• Never, ever
  offer pets as “free to good home”. 
  Ask for a donation, find a rescue, or use your local SPCA if you
  have no other choice in surrendering your pets.  Free to good home pets often meet a fate
  worse than death.




• Teachers:  Invite a Humane Education speaker into
  your classrooms.  If you’re in
  central FL, I’d be happy to speak at your school.




• Vote!  Support legislation that protects
  animals.




• If you find
  a lost pet, stop and pick it up. 
  Then contact a local rescue for resources on finding its rightful
  owner or a shelter to take it to. 
  Although shelter-life often has a bleak outcome, it certainly
  offers better odds than starvation, traffic, or worse.




• Teach your
  children the humane treatment of animals.




• Report
  abuse, chaining/tethering, and neglect to your local officials.




• Keep your
  donations local!  The Humane Society
  of the United States shares less than 1% of their donations with shelters
  that actually house animals.  Find a
  local chapter or a no-kill rescue – we are all over-extended with pets and
  vet bills, and short on funds. If you cannot afford to donate money, bring
  them an extra bag of pet food, towels, collars, leashes or pet toys. 




• If there’s a
  family in your neighborhood or social circle with pets and you know they
  are financially struggling, bring them an extra bag of pet food.  Help your community keep their pets in
  their homes and out of shelters. 
  Seniors are most often in need of a little extra help – and need
  their pets more than ever in their golden years.




• Become
  familiar with the “No-Kill
  Equation” and other shelter reform documents through the No Kill
  Advocacy Center.  Don’t be afraid to
  ask your county animal facilities if they follow such protocol, and help
  promote the No Kill vision when possible.




• Remember,
  you don’t have to adopt every pet to make a difference, just join the
  village and get involved on some level.

Joan, thank you so much for
agreeing to this interview.  You are an
amazing person and I feel proud to call you my friend.   Tristan is sleeping right now on his bed,
utterly relaxed with all four feet in the air, and you made this possible for
him—and for dogs and cats (and donkeys) beyond counting.   My readers interested in learning more about
Joan’s rescue, Catnip Trails, and Echo Dogs White German Shepherd Rescue can
visit their websites here.   http://www.catniptrails.com/       http://www.echodogs.org/

May 5, 2012