In a land of fog and desperate tribes, Tristan fights to protect western Briton from Saxon invaders. In the wake of battle, he returns to Kernow bearing grave news, and the order of power shifts.
As Tristan defends the west, his uncle, King Mark, faces enemies to the east beyond the sea: the Irish Bloodshields. Mark is determined to unite the tribes of Briton and Ireland and forge an alliance that would see an end to war and the beginnings of peace.
Iseult, the daughter of Irish kings and a woman of the blood, resigns herself to her inevitable fate: marriage to Lord Morholt. A bloody duel changes her course, and she finds herself stranded on the coast of Kernow bringing with her the possibility of peace. But when she loses her heart to one man and marries another, her future and that of Briton flutters grey.
Three people and a hope that will never fade, this is a story of promise; the legend of love.
Tristan and Iseult reached 1816 in the Amazon US, and a bestseller ranking of #9 Romance, Historical, Medieval in the overall paid sales chart.
Reviews include:
"Narrated in an enchanting, almost whispered voice, the story never misses a beat, and I was mesmerized from start to finish."
"The characters are vividly drawn and the plot convincing. How tough life was, what with warring tribes attacking from East and West, and social conventions dictating one's relationships. We feel the tensions."
"I had difficulty putting it own, even when I didn't want to read what came next."
"This novella is a masterclass in succinct, intelligent writing that doesn't have to be full of verbose descriptive passages to bring to life a remarkable story set in a remarkable period of history."
"A beautiful rendition of the Celtic legend, with an all-pervasive sense of atmosphere and location, this is historical fiction in 3D."
Rustling emanates from the dense forest, even though the wind has dropped. White mist shrouds us. I tense to stop cold shivers taking hold. The rain is fine, yet a hand through my hair proves it is wetter than the streams in springtime and my footing slides on the muddy grass as we pick our way through undergrowth.
Beside me, Rufus glances at our scouts dotting the countryside. His expression unconcerned as he tries to appear calm.
‘I cannot believe the Saxon scum have moved this far west. Who would have thought it, eh, when we were boys?’
Just sixteen. Still a boy, I think. And I am only three years older.
‘I wish we were back in Kernow, instead of here in this forsaken place,’ he continues. ‘I miss the coast and the sea breeze and decent meals.’
I look around. I have little knowledge of how far these lands extend. We are further east than I have ever been, called upon by our neighbour, the King of Dumnonia, to provide a defence, and with luck push the Saxons back. I am told beyond here lies Atrebatia and Lundein, but no Briton has trodden either ground since the invaders claimed them.
‘I think this winter is harder than the last,’ Rufus says. ‘I cannot feel my feet. The bastards better arrive today before we freeze!’
I nod absently. I hear a noise in the distance. Horns, I think, but I cannot be sure. Some say your mind begins to play tricks on you after a while. The cold and the quiet and the waiting; they let thoughts run too free.
Ground mist and fogging breath look the same. Rufus is right: I can no longer feel my toes, despite the layers binding them. Then I know I hear it. The horns … and drum beats.
‘Your silence makes me uneasy,’ Rufus says
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Luiz Antonio de Albuquerque Filho
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Eliana Lera
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