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    The Broken Sword
    The Broken Sword
    The Broken Sword
    Ebook67 pages53 minutes

    The Broken Sword

    By Charlotte Jardine

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Northern Europe, 363 AD.

    A wedding feast should be a happy occasion. But treachery hides in the forest beyond...

    Viola prays the hand-fastening she attends will end more happily for the bride than her own arranged marriage. Her only joy in the marriage is her beloved four-yr-old son, Adafuns. When the Tervingi, their bitter enemies, attack, her distant husband, Unwén, is her and Adafun’s only hope of rescue. But does Unwén—a man more known for stealth than bravery—care enough to risk his life and rescue them?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCharlotte Jardine
    Release dateDec 2, 2018
    ISBN9780463212936
    The Broken Sword
    Author

    Charlotte Jardine

    Charlotte Jardine writes Historical Fiction, Contemporary Romance and Romantic Adventure. Her books feature courageous heroines, big-hearted heroes, adventure and love. Her love of history came from reading the adventures of Asterix and Tintin at a young age and continued into adult life, when she studied Classics and Roman History to postgraduate level at university. While working as a desk slave by day, she spends her evenings escaping into other worlds via her writing.

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      Book preview

      The Broken Sword - Charlotte Jardine

      The Broken Sword

      The Broken Sword

      Charlotte Jardine

      Griffon Press

      Contents

      Author’s Note

      1. The Wedding

      2. The Long Night

      3. The Flight

      4. The Bargain

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      About the Author

      Author’s Note

      In The Broken Sword, you meet a tribe called the Tervingi, but the series is called ‘The Visigoth Chronicles’. So why the different names?

      No written word penned by the Gothic tribes during this time has survived, so we must rely on the works of Roman and Greek historians to understand their history and vocabulary. These works contradict each other. Jordanes, a man of Gothic descent, who wrote his Getica in approximately 550 AD, calls them Visigoths. However, Ammianus Marcellinus, a Roman who wrote his Res Gestae in the 380s AD—so he lived through the time period covered by Visigoth Chronicles—refers to these same people as Tervingi. Many modern historians (but not all) consider the two words can be used interchangeably.

      After much thought, I decided to use the word Tervingi because their contemporary, Ammianus Marcellinus, used it, rather than Visigoths, and because it sounded more tribal!

      1

      The Wedding

      Northern Europe, 363 AD.

      Viola stared into the bonfire. Wind whipped the flames, so it sputtered and hissed like a cornered wolf. Her hands cupped her goblet, holding no more than a mouthful of bitter ale. The wedding feast had dissolved into drinking and laughter, as people drifted away from the tables under the stars.

      Couples stamped and whirled to another of Ardo’s bawdy songs, accompanied by Ervig, the bard, on his lyre. Others sat in small clusters, the rumble of their voices rising and falling like the breeze.

      Had her own wedding been this boisterous and happy? Her memories of the day were hazy—overlaid by fear. She’d been thirteen and the thought of marrying a complete stranger had terrified her. Today’s bride, Susa, had known her husband before her hand-fastening. Loved him, even.

      Despite being married for four summers, Viola and Unwén hadn’t found that happy ease that blessed some couples. She sighed. Unwén wasn’t a famed warrior, like the handsome Gesalac. Or funny, like Ardo. But he was a good provider and didn’t beat her.

      Her gaze drifted to their son Adafuns, the best thing to come from their marriage. As usual, he tottered after the older boys, desperate to keep up with them. She prayed he’d have his choice of wife one day. Some girl he loved with all his heart.

      Unwén appeared at her side. Come with me, wife, he whispered, his sapphire eyes shining.

      Around them, couples were melting into the surrounding woods.

      Viola frowned. What about Ada? We shouldn’t leave him.

      Unwén rolled his eyes. Adafuns will be fine. You mother him too much.

      He’s not yet four winters. I think he’s entitled to a little mothering—

      Unwén silenced her with a kiss. The Lady’s blessing rests on us tonight. If you lie with me, perhaps she’ll fire your womb once more? Maybe with that daughter you’re wanting? He swung a cloak around her shoulders. For us to lie on.

      Viola’s resistance melted. Unwén was right—the Lady blessed those who lay together on the night of a wedding feast. And she did so want a sister for Ada. She let her husband lead her away, her gaze flicking back to her son as they reached the tree line. Adafuns was a self-sufficient wee thing. More responsible than boys twice his age. He’d even worn his wooden sword to the wedding, ‘in case she needed protecting.’

      They wove their way between the alders, Unwén stumbling more from the ale than the uneven ground. Every few steps, they paused to kiss, and she laughed at the novelty. Her husband wasn’t usually a spontaneous man.

      You look beautiful tonight, Vi, he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek. The prettiest girl here. Prettier than even the bride, in your red dress.

      Thank you. She forced a smile.

      He’d claimed the dress after a successful raid on the Romans. Gesalac had brought back a whole chest full of clothes for his wife. And fistfuls of gold and silver jewellery. She pushed away the unfair thought and tried to lose herself in the moment. She’d been melancholy all night, despite—or perhaps because of—the joyful wedding.

      Watch your step, my sweet. Unwén pushed back a bramble branch so she could pass unscratched.

      Beneath the canopy

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