Promo: The Fugitive's Sword by Eleanor Swift-Hook
Today, I'm delighted to welcome historical fiction author Eleanor Swift-Hook to Ruins & Reading. We're showing off her fabulous new novel, The Fugitive's Sword, the first in an exciting new series, with an enticing excerpt. Have a read!
The Fugitive's Sword is currently on blog tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club. Find other interesting posts HERE!
Aboard the Dunkirker privateer, Star of the Sea, November 1625
Jorrit’s early days on the ship, from the moment he and the Schiavono were kicked awake that first morning, were the worst days he could recall of his entire life. He could never remember having been as exhausted and afraid for so long. Forced to work so hard that his muscles were crying out to be spared and his flesh was bruised from casual beatings.
Whatever the pecking order was on the ship Jorrit was sure he was at the very bottom of it. He learned that the ship was run by Captain Vroomen and the Ship’s Master Carrasco, a Spaniard. Then there was Bootsman Dirkx who kept the crew in order. Of those three Master Carrasco seemed the nicest. He never spoke to Jorrit, of course, but sometimes Jorrit saw him talking to the Schiavono, a thoughtful expression on his face. There were other men with ranks as well but as far as Jorrit was concerned everyone could, and did, order him around.
It could have been worse, he knew.
It could have been a lot worse.
If it wasn’t for the Schiavono.
One night a couple of days after they had arrived on the ship, one of the crewmen had come over to where he and the Schiavono were sleeping and shaken him roughly awake.
“Come with me.”
Jorrit had already learned the price of not obeying fast enough so clambered blearily to his feet without asking why.
But the Schiavono was suddenly there, standing between them.
“What do you want him for?”
“What do you think?” The sailor gave a strange laugh that lacked humour but held something else. The laugh Jorrit had heard men share when they talked about the way a woman looked.
“He’s mine,” the Schiavono said, and something in Jorrit lurched at that. No one, not even Moeder Machteld, had ever said that he belonged with them.
“So? What’s that to do with anything? Tell you what, if you are so careful of him, I’ll have you instead.”
It was dark so Jorrit didn’t see when the Schiavono moved but he heard the gasp as he punched the breath from the other man. Then the two were struggling, wrestling and shouts went up around them.
It had not ended well.
Neither the Schiavono nor the other man would tell the captain who started the fight or what it was about. So, the next day he had them both flogged. No one thought to ask Jorrit, but he would not have said even if they had asked. He did not understand why the Schiavono would not say what had happened, but he would have died rather than betray him in any way.
After it was done, the Schiavono lay face down on his mat for two days. The ugly weals left by the whip were covered with some greasy lotion that one of the other men brought for Jorrit to use saying it would help the wounds to heal.
On the third day Captain Vroomen ordered the Schiavono back to work, despite his back still being raw and cut. Jorrit tried to do more so the Schiavono would have to do less, but it seemed there was always more work than time or men to do it. Jorrit could not imagine the pain it caused the Schiavono. Sometimes Jorrit saw him draw a sharper breath or his eyes would widen abruptly, but he never complained.
After that though, the man who had fought with the Schiavono seemed to treat him with a strange respect. And as he was one of the men who others in the crew seemed to hold in regard, the rest began to do the same.
As if he had passed some kind of test.
When Jorrit asked him about it as they lay side by side on the mat where they slept, sharing a blanket and bodily warmth, the Schiavono answered briefly.
“I saved his life,” he said.
But Jorrit could not see how that had happened.
“Why did you?”
For a long time, he thought he would get no answer. Then he realised that was because the Schiavono had been thinking.
“Someone once told me,” the Schiavono said at last, “that life is like a game of chess. It is not enough to consider what you most want or need right now. You have to keep thinking at least three or four moves ahead—more if you can. That is how you survive and prosper.”
Jorrit had never learned to play chess but thought he understood. It was only a very long time after that he realised, he really hadn’t grasped how it was for the Schiavono at all.
Autumn 1624
A young Philip Lord, once favoured at King James' court, has vanished without a trace, under the shadow of treason.
Outside the besieged city of Breda, Captain Matthew Rider faces the brutal reality of wintering his cavalry in the siege lines, until he crosses paths with Filippo Schiavono, a young man whose courage and skill could change everything.
Kate, Lady Catherine de Bouqulement, arrives in London prepared to navigate the dangerous politics of King James' court to ensure troops are sent to her mistress, the exiled Queen of Bohemia.
Within Breda’s walls, a foundling named Jorrit unwittingly stumbles into a lethal conspiracy when Schiavono hires him, supposedly to help sell smuggled tobacco. But Schiavono’s plans go awry and they are compelled to flee the city, only to be captured at sea.
If Schiavono is unable to prove his loyalty and ruthlessness to a savage Dunkirker privateer captain, both he and Jorrit will face certain death.
Meanwhile, in London, Kate is forced to fight her own battle against those seeking to coerce her into their schemes and finds herself trapped in a terrifying and deadly power struggle.
Driven by violence, treachery, and the sea's merciless tides, their fates collide.
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About the Author:
Eleanor Swift-Hook
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