Lady Rowena's Ruin. Carol TownendЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Duty, Honour, Truth, Valour
The tenets of the Knights of Champagne will be sorely tested in this exciting Medieval mini-series by
Carol Townend
The pounding of hooves, the cold snap of air, a knight’s colours flying high across the roaring crowd—nothing rivals a tourney. The chance to prove his worth is at the beating heart of any knight.
And tournaments bring other dangers too.
Scoundrels, thieves, murderers and worse are all drawn towards a town bursting with deep pockets, flowing wine and wanton women.
Only these powerful knights stand in their way.
But what of the women who stand beside them?
Find out in
Carol Townend’s
Knights of Champagne
Powerful swordsmen for passionate ladies
Arthurian myths and legends have been popular for hundreds of years. Dashing knights worship beautiful ladies, fight for honour—and sometimes lose honour! Some of the earliest versions of these stories were written in the twelfth century by an influential poet called Chrétien de Troyes. Troyes was the walled city in the county of Champagne where Chrétien lived and worked. His patron, Countess Marie of Champagne, was a princess—daughter of King Louis of France and the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine. Countess Marie’s splendid artistic court in Troyes rivalled Queen Eleanor’s in Poitiers.
The books in my Knights of Champagne mini-series are not an attempt to rework the Arthurian myths and legends. They are original romances set around the Troyes court and the town of Provins, which is also in Champagne. I wanted to tell the stories of some of the lords and ladies who might have inspired Chrétien—and I was keen to give the ladies a more active role, since Chrétien’s ladies tend to be too passive for today’s reader.
Apart from brief glimpses of Count Henry and Countess Marie, my characters are all fictional. I have used the layout of the medieval cities to create the Troyes and Provins in these books, but the stories are first and foremost fictional.
Lady Rowena’s Ruin
Carol Townend
CAROL TOWNEND was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read History at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and non-fiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk.
To Susie with love and sincere thanks for many years of help and encouragement.
Contents
May 1175—Jutigny Castle, near Provins in the County of Champagne.
It was some time since Sir Eric de Monfort had visited Jutigny Castle and it was strange to be back. As a boy, the place had once been his home. Leaving his horse in the capable hands of one of the grooms, Eric crossed the bailey with his squire, Alard, and headed for the steps leading to the great hall.
Jutigny hadn’t changed much, the keep towered over everyone just as it always had done, and the pale gleam of new wood on the walkway up on the curtain wall proved that Lord Faramus de Sainte-Colombe was keeping his defences in order. There was the familiar string of outbuildings, the chapel, the cookhouse...
Sir Macaire, the castle steward and an old friend, was standing in the hall doorway, talking to a castle sergeant. His face lightened. ‘Eric, thank God you’re here! Lord Faramus is getting impatient, you can go straight in.’
‘I need a mug of ale first,’ Eric said, going to a side table and picking up the ale jug. ‘I’ve been at the fair in Provins all morning and I’m parched. Lord Faramus didn’t mention that the matter was urgent. What does he want?’
Sir Macaire grimaced. ‘I’m not at liberty to say, lad, but your ale will have to wait. Lord Faramus and Lady Barbara have been waiting for you up in the solar for nigh on an hour and as you know, the count is not known for his tolerance.’ Sir Macaire threw a dark glance in the direction of a knight sprawled on the bench nearest the stairwell. ‘Besides, if you don’t go up straight away, I’ve