-Calypso the goddess/Calypso the pirate-Madame LaVoie.
Odysseus washes up on Calypso’s island and, although she does not torture him, she does keep him there against his will. When we first see Odysseus in the story he is on Calypso’s shore, gazing at the horizon, weeping and tearing at his clothes because he wants so desperately to return to his family. Calypso is aware of Odysseus’s distress, but does not release him until ordered to do so by Zeus. She offers Odysseus immortality and his answer is no, ‘I will endure.’ Unlike Madame LaVoie, she does not come after him after he leaves her island.
Penelope, Odysseus’s long-suffering wife/Penelope, Chev’s wife.
I wanted to give my Penelope more agency—something she had created besides the funeral shroud Penelope weaves for her father-in-law (or, in my story, for Chev), and so I gave her a separate estate (I also had to work out some thorny guardian and inheritance issues specific to the Regency). Like Penelope in the Odyssey, she is wise, caring, kind and clever. Several of Penelope’s plot points in Eventide are directly from the Odyssey—her distress at hearing a song about her husband, her calling Anthony a brute and accusing him of trying to murder her son, her insistence that the suitors bring her gifts, and her planning the competition.
Penelope of the Odyssey asks to have the mysterious beggar brought to her. As in my version, Odysseus first refuses, but then meets her at twilight. In that first meeting, she asks him who he really is (a sign she realizes all is not what it seems)—and he asks her not to ask because his grief is too great for him to bear. She urges Anthony to allow the beggar to try his hand at the competition, and, of course, she gives Odysseus one, final test when she pretends to order their unmovable yew bed moved. In the end, they call one another extraordinary, and they take a twilight walk together. Although Penelope, in the Odyssey, is not certain of Odysseus’s identity until the very end and does not have any amorous encounters with Odysseus as a beggar.
And so we come to my Odysseus, Captain Lord Cheverley. As already mentioned, Odysseus survives a shipwreck and a raft wreck, was held against his will on an island, returns in disguise as a beggar, interacts with his former staff, his wife, and his son while in disguise, and claims his home by winning an archery competition involving shooting an arrow through twelve axes. Other points taken from the text but not yet mentioned include Odysseus’s encounter at the town fountain with the goatherd who insults him, his confrontation with Antinous where Odysseus chides Antinous for giving away another’s wealth (Antinous chucks a stool at him in response), and his fight with Irus (egged on by Antinous). In the Odyssey, however, Odysseus is not a second son, has a healthy relationship with both parents (although his mother does die of grief), and is not injured.
Cheverley appeared on the page in Her Duke at Daybreak already injured. I imagine that was because I’d been reading so much about Admiral Lord Nelson who had his right arm amputated after suffering a bullet wound. At the time, I hadn’t decided to merge Chev’s story with Odysseus’s story, although Chev’s wife was named Penelope and some deep wound (along with the Admiralty’s mission) was keeping him from returning home.
I thought a lot about my father while writing Chev’s story. My father was an artist, a gardener and a pianist who lost all the fingers on his right hand in a table saw accident when I was five. While he healed, he often showed us his scars and welcomed questions. By the time I was a teen, he was again painting and drawing, playing the piano and gardening (although he did give up the accordion). I was often surprised when new friends asked about his hand. I no longer noticed, although, on rare occasions, his phantom fingers itched.
My Dad loved history and tragic tales. He even read us Longfellow instead of traditional children’s stories. I think he would have liked the idea of retelling the Odyssey, and so the book is dedicated to him and to my mother.
I also thought a lot about my mother, whose right side was, for a time, paralyzed following a stroke this past January (why the release of this book was delayed). Her therapists trained her and my sisters to think of her right side as ‘affected’—never ‘bad’ or any other phrase that would have led to her developing an adversarial relationship with her body. I was awed by my Mother, the therapists, doctors and nurses who assisted her, and her fellow patients who showed such determination while finding their way through the abrupt devastation that often follows a stroke.
As for Chev learning to shoot with his teeth, amputee archers are quite common, and include London Olympian Jeff Fabry. My thanks to the men and women behind the many YouTube videos that describe in detail how bows can be modified. The longbow archers I spoke with gave me conflicting answers as to whether Chev could have managed shooting an English longbow using materials available in the early 19th century, but since the act of shooting through twelve axes is in itself a superhuman feat, I erred on the side of possibility and determination.
As for the special shirt and coat Penelope designed, the idea is based on the Raglan sleeve designed by the British clothing company Aquascutum for FitzRoy Somerset, 1st Baron Raglan, who lost his arm in the Battle of Waterloo. The style wasn’t conceived until the Victorian era, but I’m convinced resourceful seamstresses of earlier times could have designed their own seam modifications.
Fitting the shipwreck from the Odyssey into the Napoleonic wars was tricky. As one does not simply walk into Mordor, the Royal Navy would not have simply ‘lost’ a captain and his ship. Navy vessels, unless ordered otherwise, traveled in fleets. The seas were full of war ships, merchant ships, and shipping vessels, and the European coasts subject to raids.
The wreck from the book is a blend of fact and fiction—a version of the loss of the HMS Repulse, which had been attached to the Channel Fleet, gave chase to (and caught) a French privateer, but was lost in fog and then hit a rock off the shore of the Glenan Islands (Known then to the English as Penmar). The crew was taken prisoner, (with the exception of a few who had taken off in a cutter). They were eventually released from the French prison at Quimpar (which had been notorious during the War of the First Coalition). And, when the captain returned to England, he was court marshalled for the loss of his ship. The captain was acquitted and allowed to keep his rank, but was never called back into service again, despite the war raging around them.
Smaller nuggets from the Odyssey include the loyal renter no longer wanting to rent, the final prophecy of the planted oar, references to the ‘Wine-dark sea,’ and ‘dawn’s rosy fingers,’ and, finally, a reference to Athena making the night magic. There are also nods to the Odyssey in the description of Odysseus as ‘not just any man’ (when Odysseus blinds the Cyclops, he shouts out that he is ‘no man’), the fact he tied himself to a mast to avoid death by the Sirens, the river Styx, and the hostility of Poseidon.
Why would I identify Cheverley with the god that is the cause of most of Odysseus’s problems (although betrayals by his men and his own hubris don’t help)? Well, in the Odyssey, Poseidon hates Odysseus, but Athena comes to Odysseus’s aid. I took this as a metaphor—that within which is wild, elemental and prone to rage (Poseidon) can be tamed by wisdom, courage and strategy (Athena).
And healed, of course, by true love.
Acknowledgments
First, I’d like to thank Cora Lee for bringing together the A Legend to Love series. I’m thrilled to have taken part in her vision and was awed by her creativity, organization and patience. Likewise to my fellow series authors.
I’d like to thank Alison Delaine, Inara Scott, and Susan Sey for encouraging me to proceed with the concept, for their advice on the Cover Copy, and for being blindingly talented goddesses.
Thank you to Tamar Bihari, who talked me down from the ledge several times, and to Stacey Adgern who kept texting support, even when I disappeared for a while. Thank you also to Elizabeth Essex and Bill Haggart, who were generous with their knowledge about the Royal Navy. And I wouldn’t ever get anything done without weekly check-ins and support from Madeline Iva.
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p; I cannot thank editor Lindsey Faber enough for her comprehensive analysis and notes—I nearly wept with joy when I read them. I couldn’t have made the story come together without her. A huge thank you to proofreader Louisa Cornell, a talented historical romance author whose eagle eye for proofing & historical accuracy was a lifesaver. And merci beaucoup to fabulous author Adriana Anders for correcting my French.
On the day-to-day life side of things—much love & gratitude to my Mom, who kept smiling as she recovered from a very serious stroke last January, and love and gratitude to my sisters, who have been amazing. Somehow, we’ve made it through this past year, and I love them all even more for their humor and determination.
And, as always, thank you to my amazing friend Debbie and my husband Richard. I love him madly. And I swear to him that, one of these days, I’m going to learn balance and not panic halfway through projects.
A Legend To Love Series
When The Marquess Returns, Alanna Lucas
The Lady and Lord Lakewood, Aileen Fish
Lady Soldier, Jillian Chantal
My Wild Irish Rogue, Saralee Etter
Between Duty and the Devil’s Desires, Louisa Cornell
A Wulf In Duke’s Clothing, Renee Reynolds
The Promise of the Bells, Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Rogue of the Greenwood, Susan Gee Heino
A Gift From A Goddess, Maggi Andersen
The Duke of Darkness, Cora Lee
His Duchess At Eventide, Wendy La Capra
Excerpt from the second book of A Legend to Love series
Chapter One Excerpt from:
The Lady and Lord Lakewood
A Legend to Love
Copyright © 2018 Aileen Fish
Purchase The Lady and Lord Lakewood
June 1818
Near Glastonbury, England
A violent dream held Vivienne, the widowed Viscountess Avalon, deep within its darkness and wouldn’t let her escape. Shadowy figures swarmed around her, threatening and maleficent. Heavy fog kept her from seeing exactly where she was, but some inner sense told her it was the woods near Lake Avalon. The shadows gathered behind her, guiding her—no, forcing her—toward the shore. Her heart pounded in fear of what had taken control of her. She tried to run away, tried to hide in rotting log, but her feet were leaden. Trapped in the fog as she was, she held her breath as if the sound would reveal her location to the enemy, whoever or whatever it was.
When she cleared the trees, the fog thinned, allowing her to see a few feet ahead. Still the shadows closed in, and she stepped into the cold water to stay beyond their reach. Hesitantly she inched forward. First her half-boots grew damp, then her hems soaked up the cold water. Vivienne shivered both from the cold and from fear, but a glance over her shoulder showed the shadows still approached. What evil wanted to control her?
Lake Avalon shimmered in a radiating circle in the direction Vivienne felt compelled to go. Tiny waves rippled outward as if a pebble had broken the surface. In the center a face appeared. A kind, gentle face. Her great-aunt Nimue. She remained just below the surface. Vivienne’s heart raced in fear. Was this vision saying her aunt was going to die soon? Vivienne shook her head, pleading, “No, please no.”
Aunt Nimue raised her arms and a magnificent sword appeared in her hands. She lifted the weapon above the water while her body and head remained below the surface.
Compelled to reach for the sword, Vivienne hesitated to do so. “What am I to do with this?”
Aunt Nimue was silent, not even sharing her thoughts. She simply lifted the sword again, displaying it with both hands like a gift, and motioned for Vivienne to take it.
As soon as Vivienne did, the last of the fog lifted. The shadowy figures vanished and her aunt swam away. A gruff voice called her name from within the trees. Merlin, who some claimed was a magician, stood watching her.
“What am I to do with this?” Vivienne repeated, this time directing the question to him.
The old man with stringy white locks blending into his long, graying beard said, “You will know when the time comes. Since you are having this dream, the time must be soon.”
She hated answers like this. You will know... Would she ever trust her second-sight enough to be confident in what lay ahead?
“You will,” Merlin said, and Aunt Nimue’s voice echoed the words in a whisper from the distance.
Looking down at the magnificent weapon, Vivienne marveled at the workmanship. The bronze grip and hilt looked like a little primitive man. The cross guard curled downward on either side to look like legs, and the arms of the man curled upward around the head to create a pommel. It even had a face of sorts, and a belt etched into the middle of the body. It was heavy, with the broad blade of an old weapon of battle. Someone had put great pride and love into making it. Given the way the metal shone, it was clear others had polished it and cared for it in the centuries since. Who did it belong to?
And as she studied it, it faded away, leaving her hands empty. She lifted her gaze to Merlin only to find him gone, too. She was alone at the edge of Lake Avalon, her skirt and boots wet but nothing else to show for the odd events.
Then she jolted awake in her bedchamber, snuggled deep under her heavy woolen blankets, barefoot and clad in her linen nightgown. Moonlight streamed between the thick damask draperies on her window, and the castle was silent. Her dream was so vivid she felt certain she’d lived it, yet her nightgown was dry.
Vivienne hated these visions and the period of waiting afterward as she watched for clues to guide her toward the meaning. Aunt Nimue might be able to shed light on the clues, but she couldn’t visit her until daylight. Knowing she’d never get back to sleep, she got up, pulled on her robe and slippers, and went downstairs to make tea. Not having visited her aunt for several months, she’d enjoy a brief visit. The woman was a font of memories and the history of the village of Avalon, and their family’s part in it. Time spent with her was never dull.
~~~
Richard Bedivere, 3rd Earl of Lakewood, rode out at dawn with his friends, Sir Kay and Sir Cador, and their former commanding officer, Major-General Uther Pendragon, 1st Duke of Camelot. The air was brisk for a summer morning, but fresh, and the rising sun promised another beautiful day in Camelot.
They didn’t converse, even when they slowed to a walk, but that was normal for their rides. Not a daily occasion, they gathered together at least once a month to share memories of their battles in the Peninsular War and celebrate that they’d come home safe and sound.
That morning, early in their ride, the Duke of Camelot and his horse slowed. He pressed his arm against his belly.
“Are you unwell?” Sir Cador asked.
“Likely something I ate. Perhaps that apple was overripe. Or under ripe.” The duke gasped and his arm tightened. “I need a drink.”
The three men followed the duke to his pond, where he and the horse drank. He knelt on one knee, bracing an elbow there, and rested his forehead on the back on his hand.
“Should we get the wagon?” Lakewood asked. “Clearly you’re unwell. Sir Kay?”
“On my way,” said Sir Kay, wheeling his horse about and galloping away.
Lakewood and Sir Cador dismounted, Lakewood going to the duke and Sir Cador taking the reins of the three horses.
“His horse is overtired,” Sir Cador commented. “He’s breathing quite hard.”
Paying little attention, Lakewood kept his focus on his friend, uncertain how he could be of assistance.
Camelot was breathing hard, still clutching his midsection. Then he groaned, leaned further over and retched.
Lakewood grimaced and waited for the bout of nausea to pass.
The duke reached a hand into the pond, brought some to his mouth and drank. At the same time, his horse grew restless, neighing soft, short sounds, and pawing the ground.
“Easy boy.” Sir Cador patted the horse’s neck. “It’s almost as if he feels his master’s pain.”
“Don�
�t become fanciful on us,” Lakewood muttered, nodding toward their sick friend.
Camelot grunted, as close to a laugh as he could get. “That horse has no attachment to me. He likely hates me for rousing him so early.” He struggled to his feet.
His horse bobbed his head and pawed the ground. Then he began to drool.
“This animal is really sick,” Sir Cador said. He tried to lead him to water, but the horse fought the reins.
In the distance they heard the approaching wagon. Lakewood went to the duke, offering his shoulder to lean on. When the wagon drew to a stop, the driver and Lakewood helped the duke aboard, laying him in the back on a dirty blanket that happened to be tucked to one side. Lakewood hopped up beside him.
As they pulled away letting Sir Cador handle the horses, Camelot’s mount dropped to the ground, jerking about in a seizure. Lakewood’s gut tightened. Had the man and horse eaten something? Was the duke going to get as sick as the animal? “Let’s go, quickly!”
Camelot groaned once or twice, then grabbed the lapels of Lakewood’s coat and pulled him close. “Arthur.”
“He’s fine, I’m sure of it. Sir Percival is with him, isn’t he? If the boy took ill, they would have sent for the doctor.”
The duke’s son Arthur was only a babe, a mere three years old and if something happened to His Grace the boy was doomed to live without either parent, his mother having died giving birth to him. Someone would be appointed guardian until Arthur came of age, and his father’s men would protect him with their lives, but Lakewood’s heart ached for the empty future the boy would face. If the worst happened, it would be up to the duke’s friends to make sure Arthur knew the great man his father had been.
Lakewood’s thoughts tumbled and rolled with questions that didn’t need to be answered just then. His gut told him this wasn’t a simple illness, nor a rotten apple. This was a serious attack oon the duke.
His Duchess at Eventide: A Legend to Love (Mythic Dukes Book 2) Page 21
