Issoudun. That was the name of the castle and town that was unfortunate enough to be caught in the line of fire between the English and French kings. It was also the reason why I lost a lot of sleep. The chroniclers reported that Richard raced for Issoudun after learning that the French had seized the town and forced his way into the castle. The problem for me was that I knew the town was enclosed by walls, but I did not know if those walls had been erected by 1196. And this made a great difference in how I would write the scene. So I tried to find the answer to that question, with some invaluable help from my friend John Phillips. That turned out to be as challenging as the search for the Holy Grail. I finally struck gold with a French history of Issoudun; local historians are often the answer to a writer’s prayers. This book not only confirmed that the walls were indeed there in 1196, it also included a map of medieval Issoudun, which was like winning the lottery. Of course this did make life more difficult for Richard and me, since I now had to figure out a way to get him into a walled town. But it is such a gratifying feeling to be able to approach a scene like this with confidence, knowing it will have a sound factual foundation. And as an added bonus, another book I bought in my search for Issoudun’s elusive walls, Le Berry du Xe siècle au milieu du XIIIe siècle, contained the story of André and Denise de Chauvigny’s troubles with the Archbishop of Bourges, which I’d found in no other history of the period; the author, by the way, shared my suspicions that the French king was behind this harassment of Richard’s cousin. The “Issoudun episode” is the perfect example of why I love historical research—and why it takes me so long to write each of my books.
My readers know by now of my m.o. when it comes to writing historical novels. I rarely use fictional characters, Morgan and his family being the exception to this rule. I am admittedly obsessive-compulsive about historical accuracy, and I think the Eleventh Commandment for historical novelists should be the one articulated so eloquently by my fellow writer Laurel Corona: Do not defame the dead. I do have to fill in the blanks more often than I’d like, for medieval chroniclers could be utterly indifferent to the needs of future novelists. We have to rely upon charters and chronicles to find out where someone was on a particular date. Naturally, kings are easiest to track. But women were well-nigh invisible, even queens.
We know Eleanor passed most of her time at Fontevrault, that Joanna visited her there, and Berengaria eventually established her own household at Beaufort-en-Vallée. But for much of the years between 1194 and 1199, the three queens were like elegant ghosts, leaving few footprints. So I felt free to let Eleanor attend Joanna in the birthing chamber, for it seemed logical that she’d want to be with her daughter at such a time; she was with her daughter Matilda when she gave birth in 1184. And while no chronicler thought to mention that Berengaria and Raimond visited the ailing Joanna at Fontevrault Abbey, I do not doubt that they did. We may not always know where someone was on any given day, but we do know what they were likely to do. For better or worse, human nature has not changed in the past eight centuries.
I did a mea culpa in the Lionheart Author’s Note, and I am continuing the practice here, for this is the way to reach the largest possible audience. I have a “Medieval Mishaps” page on my website in which I alert my readers to past mistakes. But a time-traveling grey squirrel is far more forgivable than the bizarre blunder I made in The Reckoning, where I inexplicably had Edward I tell Roger de Mortimer that the crossbow was more difficult to master than the longbow. I can’t explain it, can only publicize it as much as possible to lessen the chance of a new reader taking it as gospel.
A King’s Ransom is my farewell to the Angevins, although I do hope to let a few of them infiltrate my next novel, The Land Beyond the Sea, set in Champagne and the Holy Land. It is not easy to let them go, not after letting them camp out in my brain for nearly twenty years. I have listed my contact information in the Acknowledgments. Readers can time-travel back to see Richard’s spectacular castle, Chateau Gaillard, as he would have seen it in this trailer for the Battle Castle documentary: http://tinyurl.com/kpsye57. And this link will allow you to listen to “Ja Nus Hons Pris,” the haunting lament written by Richard during his German captivity, performed by the late Owain Phyfe, a wonderful singer and musician who is greatly missed: http://youtu.be/RVRjmTdM4c8.
OCTOBER 2013
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
IN SOME WAYS, writing a novel is a very solitary endeavor, for it involves isolation, forcing a writer to keep the real world at bay. But in other ways, it is like a team sport, for there are always people who support us in that endeavor—at least, if we are lucky, there are. I have been particularly blessed with my team, starting with my “coach,” my editor at G. P. Putnam’s, Marian Wood. Other authors are astounded and envious when I confide that Marian has been my editor since the start of my writing career, more than thirty years ago. In my first novel, The Sunne in Splendour, I said that she “shapes and polishes words and ideas with the precision and skill of a master diamond-cutter.” That has not changed in the three decades since Sunne’s publication.