Blurb
"The
sons of Cnute are dead men." The dying words of his brother's
assailant travel across the North Sea to the English
Midlands.
Harald, the king's second son, receives the warning while rebuilding a hall where he hopes to farm and lead a peaceful life with Selia, his Frisian wife. But as the hall nears completion, they learn the family who lived there before them all perished in a single night of bloodshed. Could the grounds be cursed?
Now the threat of unknown enemies casts a long shadow. Should they distrust the brooding Saxon neighbor or the two weapon-bearers they hired for protection? Should they suspect either of the two women they have taken on with the other hirelings? Only their Jewish warrior friend, Ravya ben Naaman, seems above suspicion.
Harald, the king's second son, receives the warning while rebuilding a hall where he hopes to farm and lead a peaceful life with Selia, his Frisian wife. But as the hall nears completion, they learn the family who lived there before them all perished in a single night of bloodshed. Could the grounds be cursed?
Now the threat of unknown enemies casts a long shadow. Should they distrust the brooding Saxon neighbor or the two weapon-bearers they hired for protection? Should they suspect either of the two women they have taken on with the other hirelings? Only their Jewish warrior friend, Ravya ben Naaman, seems above suspicion.
Excerpt
“But
come, Harald.” Erral motioned to the open doors. He gave orders to
a thrall to see to our horses.
Beornstan
and Kipp dismounted and followed.
“May
your hall be blessed,” I said, crossing the threshold.
Open-shuttered windows along the two sides let in a goodly amount of
light. Many folk inhabited the hall, standing, sitting, or preparing
the meal. Children played, and a few elders sat watching. The robust
aroma of roasting meat encouraged my stomach to rumble like thunder
in the hills.
Conversation
among the adults stopped at my entrance, leaving only the joyful
cries of the children to fill the hall. I believe Erral must have
given a meaningful and menacing look to his folk, for talk resumed as
my host took me round to meet everyone. Though a few of the older
men— uncles by blood or marriage— barely covered their hatred for
all things Danish with the demands of hospitality, most were friendly
and welcoming. Wihtlac, the brother-in-law, greeted me warmly and
presented his motherless but well-fed young daughters. I met Erral’s
sister and her husband, other in-laws, cousins, married and widowed
aunts. The mood grew in spirit; I believe most were honored to
receive a son of King Cnute— for whether loved, feared, or loathed,
my father was still ruler over them— and I am sure more than one
wondered if they were greeting a future king. And no one wondered
more than me.
Erral
ushered me toward an elder-woman who sat on a bench in a corner where
there were no drafts. She wore a coarse woolen blanket like a shawl,
green kirtle, and leggings. Her thin, white hair was braided and
coiled tightly, crowning a wizened, tired face furrowed with creases
and grooves that spoke of sun-baked toil and cold hardship. Her eyes
revealed the clouded, milky-blue dullness I had beheld on others who
could no longer see.
“Ealdemoder,”
Erral said. His grandmother looked up at the sound of his voice. “I
have brought a guest. This is Harald.”
“Your
health, Ealdemoder,” I said.
“And
yours, son of kings.”
I
had expected her voice to be higher pitched and frayed, but she spoke
in soft, measured tones, smooth like worn leather.
“Come
closer.”
I
dropped to one knee before her and leaned in. She reached out with a
hand, found my shoulder, and followed it with her fingers until she
reached my face. She felt the shape of my jaw and chin, cheekbones
and brow before lowering her hand. Her touch was gentle, as if she
reached across the gap between the dead and the living.
“Is
it not frightful what the old and unsighted can get away with?” She
laughed whole-heartedly and Erral with her.
When
I realized that I had been made the brunt of a jest, I laughed as
well. “I think you have a strong, pleasant face, Harald, son of
Cnute. No scars yet?”
“Scars
I have aplenty, Ealdemoder: I am missing a finger, there is a
serpentine scar on my forearm, the mark of an arrow high on my chest,
and a good-sized rent on my crown.”
“You
have been busy.”
“No,
my enemies have been busy.”
“Just
so. Give us your hand— I’ve already had my way with your face.”
The old woman’s lips formed a sly smile.
If
I had not enjoyed her wit, I would have felt like fresh meat for the
pot. I rested my left hand, the one with the missing finger, palm
upward on her bony thigh. She explored the contours and calluses of
my hand with care.
“A
strong hand.” She turned it over, caressing the knuckles. “You
have the love of a good woman, do you not?”
I
had not expected such a turn. “My wyf, Selia— my treasure.”
“Refreshing
to hear a man speak so of his wyf. Erral, too, loved his dear wyf.”
I
sensed Erral’s discomfort as he shifted his stance.
“She
was a fine, happy woman, my granddaughter. She died much too young,
but many do. Have you met her beautiful children?” She released my
hand.
“I
have. They are indeed worthy of your pride.”
“Ealdemoder,”
Erral said. “Supper is ready. It is time for food and drink.”
“Fine.
Snatch the young man from my clutches. If he stays much longer, I’ll
become wet in the loins, and that hasn’t happened in years.”
Erral
and I laughed together at the old woman’s brazen humor.
“Enjoy
the meal, Mother,” I said.
“And
you, Harald, son of kings.”
As
Erral and I made to leave, I heard her add, “Keep her safe.”
“What
was that? I asked, turning.
“Your
wyf,” the old woman said, her gaze set at nothing, “they will
kill her, too.”
Review
by Lisabet Sarai
Vikings
are popular figures in the romance genre. They’re typically
portrayed as the ultimate alpha males: bossy, quarrelsome, fearless,
a bit gruff, with few civilized graces. More often than not, they
overcome the resistance of the heroines with their sheer physicality,
seasoned perhaps with some rough charm and (not infrequently) a
spanking.
Although
I understand the appeal of these “Viking” heroes, they’re
basically indistinguishable from the billionaires, the rock stars or
the Navy SEALS that populate other romance sub-genres. They’re pure
fantasy, wearing a not-very-convincing historical mask.
Garth
Pettersen’s Vikings, in contrast, are the real thing – and they
break a lot of stereotypes. For instance, there’s the popular
notion that the Vikings swept down in vicious hordes to conquer
foreign lands, raping and pillaging their way across the country. In
contrast, Pettersen shows us the canny alliances and necessary
compromises made by Cnute, the Danish king of Engla-lond during the
11th century. Certainly there were battles, but Cnute
cemented his power by marrying the former queen of the country and
promising to put her offspring on the throne.
Then
there’s the supposed power differential between dominant males and
subservient females in Viking romance. In the The Cold Hearth,
many of the women characters
have an encouraging degree of
agency. They advise their sons
and husbands, engage in
political intrigue, even make war. In this period, women are free to
choose their partners. Rape is not unknown but the law requires
compensatory payments by the rapist if he is apprehended.
Harald
“Harefoot”, King Cnute’s second son and the hero of The
Cold Hearth, is courageous and
skilled in the military arts. However,
he shows none of the
arrogance, ambition or volatility we’ve come to expect from the
Vikings of romance. Instead, he demonstrates the qualities of a true
leader: patience, fairness, generosity and a tendency to think before
he acts. His most powerful motivation is his love for his wife Selia.
He deplores the weaknesses of his brothers who crave the throne, but
his own aspirations are more modest and reasonable – a comfortable
and prosperous homestead,
a beloved companion,
children and peace. Alas,
when you’re the son of a king, peace is difficult to come by.
Garth
Pettersen manages to bring medieval England to vivid life. I don’t
know much about this period. I was surprised and delighted by
some of the unexpected aspects of this fascinating novel: the
openness about sexual matters; the relatively egalitarian
relationship between men and women; the mostly
unspoken but ever-present
tension between Christianity and the old gods; the degree to which
society was governed by explicit laws as well as implicit customs;
the multi-cultural nature of the population, which included Danes,
Saxons, Normans, Jews and probably many other groups. We don’t tend
to think about the language our heroes speak. When Harald and Queen
Emma travel to France to confront his treacherous step-brothers,
Harald can barely understand them because of linguistic differences.
I thought this was brilliantly realistic.
One
other aspect of the setting made a deep impression. The
Cold Hearth shows us a sparsely
populated world of natural abundance. Harald’s England is green and
forested. Wild game is plentiful. The land is fertile and with hard
work yields its bounties. Life was difficult in the early middle ages, but
humans lived
in harmony with the earth.
This
book clearly involved extensive research. The author’s introductory
notes do an excellent job placing the characters in a historical
context. The Old English and Old Danish terms scattered through the
text provide a sense of authenticity without being confusing. They
never felt gratuitous, especially since the author provides a
glossary at the start of the book.
Overall,
I found reading this book a joy. I suspect that there will be a
fourth book in the Atheling Chronicles, in which a reluctant Harald
will briefly assume the throne. I’m putting myself on Mr.
Pettersen’s mailing list so I don’t miss it.
About
the Author
Garth
Pettersen is a Canadian writer living in the Fraser Valley near
Vancouver, BC. When he's not writing, he is riding horses or working
with young disabled riders. Garth's short stories have appeared in a
number of anthologies and in journals such as Blank Spaces, The
Spadina Literary Review, and The Opening Line Literary 'Zine. His
story River's Rising was awarded an Honourable Mention for the Short
Story America 2017 Prize, and his fantasy novella River Born, was one
of two runners-up for the Windsor Editions (UK) Short Fiction Prize.
Garth Pettersen's historical fiction series, The Atheling Chronicles
is published by Tirgearr Publishing. All three books available at
most online outlets (The Swan's Road, The Dane Law, and The Cold
Hearth).
Buy
Links
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-cold-hearth-garth-pettersen/1136409269
Social Media
Website:
https://www.garthpettersen.com
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/writeandride/
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/garpet011
Garth
Pettersen will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a
randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
