Historical Fiction Virtual Blog
Tours Presents…
The Way of Glory
By Patricia J. Boomsma
Cate, a teenage girl from
twelfth century England, joins her brothers and aunt on a crusade to save
Jerusalem that stops in Hispania to battle the Moors. Life on a battlefield
strains the family’s closeness as they confront the terror and contradictions
of holy war. Cate’s dreams of sainthood change to those of a husband and
children when she falls in love with a soldier, but she finds no peace even
after the family settles on land taken from the Moors. Cate’s friendship with a
conquered Moor soon leads to impossible choices as she faces the cost of
betrayal and the loss of all she’s known.
Praise for The Way of Glory
“One of
the many impressive things about The Way of Glory is how lightly it wears its
scrupulous research. This fine novel invites you to lose yourself to the
compelling character and tumultuous life of a young woman trying to find God
and love at the heart of a crusade rooted in greed and hate. This is a remarkable
debut by a writer to watch.”
Naeem
Murr, author of The Perfect Man
“The Way of Glory convincingly portrays a place, a
time, and a people vastly different from our own. Historical fiction is a
fantastically difficult genre to get right, but Pat Boomsma manages it with
aplomb.”
Pinckney
Benedict, author of Dogs of God
Excerpt
Galan’s House
Lent 1147
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Stars
still shone as the dawn began to lighten the edges of the clouds when Willard
trudged toward Galan’s house. The only sounds were of birds gathering in the
trees and Willard’s feet cracking the thin skin of ice over puddles in the
street. He dreaded this part of a priest’s job, sitting with families grieving
over their dead. And this time it was Oxa, a young child, an only son!
As
he neared the house, Willard put on his compassionate face. He was sympathetic,
but angry too. Outraged. He knocked softly, and Father Simon greeted him with a
sad smile then left.
Acha
slouched near the smoldering fire, handing Galan a bowl of pottage. She
silently offered Willard a trencher. He shook his head, then kissed then marked
the sign of the cross on Oxa’s forehead. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but
couldn’t stop himself, seeing the blues and blacks and yellows along Oxa’s
cheek. He wanted to check Oxa’s hands and feet but decided to ask Father Simon
instead. This family had seen enough. Willard moved slowly toward the bench
along the open window, pulling his hood up against the wind. It was going to be
a long, sad day.
Galan
left quickly, mumbling “work to do” in Willard’s direction. Acha dropped onto
the bench, shoulders hunched forward.
“Sleep,
Acha,” Willard said, taking her hand. “I can watch alone, and there will be
neighbors coming soon.”
Willard
could see her stubbornness battling her exhaustion as she looked up at him.
Then she nodded and lay down on a pallet as far away from the body as possible.
Willard could tell she wasn’t sleeping but was glad not to have to make
conversation. What is there to say?
he thought. That Oxa looks peaceful? He
does not. That he is in a better place? True, but she would hear that too much
in the next few days. That this wrong will be avenged? Willard feared it
wouldn’t, at least not in this life.
Willard’s
thoughts drifted as he sat in the stillness. He wondered how Cate was handling
all this. What good were soldiers on the walls if they couldn’t tell when
someone dumped a body? Lazy, useless Normans. Cate was inconsolable last night
in her muddy clothes, her eyes shining with tears. It was all he could do to
maintain his priestly reserve and direct his sympathy toward Acha instead of
holding his sister close in his arms. She seemed very young then, young and sad
and confused.
Was
it just yesterday morning Cearl was teasing Cate about getting married? Willard
stifled a sigh. Families. He knew Cearl’s mockery hurt Cate more than she let
on. Why didn’t Cearl see it and leave her alone? Willard had seen the tears
forming in her eyes as her parents discussed her marriage prospects. Cate had
told him more than once she’d rather live in a convent than marry. Was that
fear or religious feeling? He guessed a little of both. He knew from watching
Cate with Sperleng’s friends that she was not immune to the attractions of men.
But she also loved the stories of saints and fervently prayed on holy days. Not
that their parents could afford to buy her a place. But how could he dismiss
her desire for a religious life when he’d lived with similar dreams?
Willard
knew Cate was more like him than the rest of their practical family. He often
wondered when he watched his huge, strong brothers if he’d been a foundling,
dropped off at their door one winter night. He knew they loved him, but
sometimes it felt like the love of an adult for an infant or a stray kitten.
The protectiveness of the strong for the weak.
He
had tried to find humor in men’s comments about the local midwife’s
voluptuousness and the sights she has seen but could not. He preferred Father
Simon’s stories about Jesus’s travels with his disciples, the prophets, St.
Augustine. But he never should have told Cate the stories of female saints or
of holy women who refused marriage like Christina of Markyate. It had filled
her head with impossible dreams.
And
who could tell if a sister was beautiful, attractive to men who might want to
marry her? He guessed she was pretty in her own way, taller than most girls,
with light brown braids that blanched in the sun. He just loved her. Cate had
the energy and joy of a child, but was responsible too, cleaning scraped knees
and herding back a wandering child. He’d often seen her in the lanes surrounded
by children grabbing her skirts and demanding kisses. Oxa had been especially
attentive to her, running whenever he saw her, hugging her leg and handing her
rocks to throw for a game or wanting to hear her tell a story. Willard guessed
Oxa found Cate’s quick smile and hugs a welcome change from the quiet stiffness
of his mother. Willard shook his head and glanced toward Acha. Some women just
didn’t seem to know what children needed from them.
Willard
got up and looked again at Oxa’s face, checking to see if by some miracle he
breathed again. Wouldn’t that be glorious? But he saw nothing and walked to the
window, barely noticing the smoke lifting from nearby houses. Oxa had been a
fine boy, always interested in Willard’s stories about the saints. He was
likely in heaven already. Willard wondered what Oxa’s life would have been like
had he lived. Would he have been pious and silent like his mother? A generous
drunkard like his father? So many expectations were put on an only child.
Willard brushed a tear from his face.
A
loud knock roused him from his reverie. “Acha,” he said softly, “They’ve come.”
Giveaway
During the Blog Tour,
we will be giving away a paperback copy of The Way of Glory Enter:
Giveaway Rules
• Giveaway ends at 11:59 pm EST on March 19th. You must be
18 or older to enter.
• Giveaway is open to the US & Canada only.
• Only one entry per household.
• All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any
suspicion of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and
entrants may be disqualified at our discretion.
• The winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.
Pick up your copy of
AMAZON
BARNES AND NOBLE
INDIEBOUND
Patricia J.
Boomsma
I grew
up in a far southwestern suburb of Chicago among the trees and sloughs of the
Cook County Park District, then attended college in Michigan. After graduating,
I dreamed of an academic life teaching English literature and began a Ph.D.
program at Purdue University. There I concentrated on medieval studies,
receiving a Master’s and continuing on for four more years before realizing
that no one I knew was finding a permanent, let alone tenure-track, position.
So, instead of writing my dissertation I went to law school. I moved to Arizona
to escape the brutal midwestern winters and have been practicing law there for
over thirty years. My first novel, The Way of Glory, is, in part, an extension of my love
for all things medieval.
Fabulous except. Your book sounds amazing. Patricia!
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