"The last thing Reeve saw was the hilt of a sword coming toward his face
before he blacked out."
We have an Englishman, Scots, and swords--doesn't get better. Please join me in welcoming author Hazel West!
Did you plan to be
a writer or did it just happen?
I
think, like so many of us, it really just happened. Does anyone really plan to
be a writer? I always loved making up stories, but eventually they began to
find their way onto paper, and then I couldn’t stop writing. There’s no real
accounting for what writer’s go through. I mean, we hear people talk to us in
our heads and force us to write things down; we stay up all hours of the night
slaving over one scene. We can either resign ourselves to the fact that we’re
most likely crazy, or just decide to become a self-proclaimed writer!
What is your
favorite non-writing pastime?
Reading,
most definitely. There are so many books out there that inspire me, so I have
to read something every day just to keep my inspiration going. And I have to
support my favorite authors as well, of course. Other than reading, I like to
sketch, choreograph fight scenes in my backyard, and drink coffee.
What has been your
greatest challenge in writing On a Foreign Field?
I
think the hardest part about writing “On a Foreign Field” was the fact that I
wanted to portray things that I had never gone through personally, though,
obviously, no one living has been in a medieval battle either, so that’s
understandable. But for writing most of the book I had to rely on instinct more
than actual experience. There was a lot of times writing this, that I really
had to just sit back and put myself into the characters’ places even though it
was hard both mentally and emotionally. There are some things that, as writers,
especially of historical fiction, that we will just never be able to fathom.
But I hope that this novel does not fall flat in that case.
Tell us about your favorite
character in this book!
Oh
dear, well, who to pick? I do love Reeve, the main character, but I think
besides him, I’d have to say Gavin is my favorite. Gavin is one of those people
who you might not like the first time you meet him, and he might not like you,
but once you win him over to your side, he’s the most loyal friend anyone could
ever have. He has somewhat of a wry sense of humor and he likes to play jokes
on people, but he never does it to hurt anyone. I also have a soft stop for
Gaelyn who’s sort of my tortured soul in this book. He lost his family to the
English and blames himself for it because he was not there when they were
killed. He’s a very dynamic, angsty character, and I always enjoy writing
characters who I can pour a lot of feeling into.
What is your
favorite scene in On a Foreign Field?
Well,
let’s see. I have a few favorites, but I’ll share a couple that won’t give
anything away ;-) I think one of my favorite scenes in the book was when we are
first introduced to Robert the Bruce at Wallace’s knighting. I regretted the
fact that I could not put a lot of Bruce into this story, because I have always
found him a very interesting and dynamic character, but in this scene, I think
I was able to capture at least the character I think he possessed from what I
read about him. There is also a part where Reeve and Gavin have a
knock-down-drag-out, and that was quite a fun scene to write!
Which character in the book will be the most
difficult to part with?
Oh, all of them. I loved them all.
When writing a book, I always feel like I am working with a cast of actors and
actresses, and it’s sometimes very hard to say goodbye to them. These were some
of my favorite characters I have ever written about (don’t tell the others!)
because I really took the emotional journey with them when writing “On a
Foreign Field”. There were so many things I never would have thought of if not
for having to put myself into the character’s shoes. But I will probably miss
Reeve most of all since he was who started this whole thing.
What kind of
research was involved for the book?
Truthfully,
not all that much, but let me explain the facts behind that J This is not the
first Wallace novel I have written as I previously published “Freedom Come All
Ye” a novel about William Wallace as a teenager, and I had also written an old
version of Wallace’s story that is not much good now, but it had extensive
research put into it, and since I had all the notes saved, and had collected
all the books I needed and knew which ones were good and bad, I really only had
to do a refresher, particularly for the battle scenes since those are more
precise than others. But when I originally researched Wallace in depth, that
was a venture of several months, and I’ve only learned more since, so if you
count it all up, I’m probably something of a expert on the matter.
Seriously,
my greatest pleasure in being an author, is being able to meet other authors
and writers. I have met so many wonderful people since I became a published
author and even some before that who have been with me from the beginning. I
love to have people I know I can turn to for an honest opinion if I get stuck
on something. I wouldn’t know what to do without my writer’s in arms!
As
for personal success, just seeing my books in print is amazing enough! Three
years ago, I was only dreaming of being a published author before I decided to
take the plunge into independent publishing. It was a long journey, and I’ve
gotten much better at marketing and everything since I started and was clueless
*laughs* but it was worth it for the end result.
What type of hero
do you like best?
I
personally like flawed heroes. I’m not big on the Superman types (unless they
are epic heroes like Beowulf or something). Heroes who never falter or can
never be wounded are, frankly, boring. If nothing ever happens to them, if they
never make stupid mistakes, we’re not going to be interested in them, we’re not
going to pity them, and no reader is ever going to be able to relate to them. I
also like grey heroes, ones who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. You
know the types; just because the judge let the bad guy go, doesn’t mean he
can’t meet his end ‘accidentally’ some dark night ;-)
What type of
heroine do you like best?
Okay,
I’ll admit I am a very picky reader when it comes to female characters. It
takes a really good heroine for me to read a book with a female protagonist and
here’s why: While I like strong leading ladies, who are not the damsels in
distress all the time, I do not like ones who are man-haters, and think that
they can do anything they want with an attitude because they’re a girl and girl
power rocks. No. That will make me lose respect in a book. I like a heroine who
will work alongside the hero, not get in his way, and not make him look like an
idiot because she’s a girl and he’s not. The two female characters in “On a
Foreign Field” Adeline and Maggie are two examples of the kinds of female
characters I don’t mind reading about. Adeline is the quiet sweet one, who is
still not stupid, and Maggie is the fiery, strong, and even a bit dangerous
kind of heroine. She’s a true Scotswoman and while she does what needs to be
done, she does it because of that and not because she’s trying to prove a
point.
Is there any place
and time in the world and in history that you would like to visit?
I
would love to visit the Victorian era, I just love everything about it. It was
such a different time period because things were changing, all these really
neat inventions were being made, the clothes were awesome, and of course
there’s Sherlock Holmes ;-) And it would have to be Victorian London. Yes, I
know it was smelly and filthy, but it would be amazing to see it all as it
really was.
What appeals to you
most about your chosen genre?
I
will always write historical fiction because I love the past. I’ve always been
a history buff, since I first learned about the American Revolution in third
grade and I’ve kept my love of history ever since. There are so many amazing
events that you can write about in history and craft to fit your story and
characters. I also love those historical mysteries where no one knows what
really happened. Those give a writer lots of liberties to play around with! I
also love how historical writers have the chance to take the historical figures
we might be somewhat in awe of and make them human. They aren’t just that name
in your high school textbook, they’re a real person; that’s why I love
historical fiction. Because I think in certain respects it is more real than
your average historical account.
Which authors and
books have most influenced your writing style?
Rosemary
Sutcliff for one; she was a major inspiration for “On a Foreign Field”, but for
my other books, I will add Alexandre Dumas, and Louis L’Amour as well as Robert
Louis Stevenson. They are some of my favorite authors as well.
Are
there certain characters you would like to go back to, or is there a theme or
idea you’d love to work with?
I’m toying with the idea of
bringing the lads from “On a Foreign Field” back perhaps, either in a novel
featuring Robert the Bruce, or in short stories, but that will be far in the
future, so I’m not making any promises on that right now. I would love to bring
them back again, but there are many other plots that are vying for my
attention. As for themes, I always love to write about brotherhood, especially
when the characters are not blood brothers. I also have an upcoming novel that
has a very strong father-son relationship between two characters, which is
something I haven’t really written yet, but I like just as much. I have nothing
against romance in general, and I always end up having a bit of a romantic plot
in my books, even if I didn’t plan it, but my favorite books are about
camaraderie, and brotherly relationships. There’s none of the annoyance that
can sometimes come about in romances and the relationship between the two or
more characters in brotherly relationships is just as strong. Brothers in arms
stories are definitely my favorites!
Is there a book you’ve ever read more than five times? Which
book and what drew you back to it?
The Princess Bride by William
Goldman. I love that book, and I’ve watched the movie even more times than I
have read the book. There’s just something about it; the classic adventure, the
humor, the quirky characters, it’s just good writing. It’s an ‘old friend’ book
to me and I pull it out whenever I just need something to wind down with.
The Book
Sir Reeve Montgomery is an Englishman born and bred,
proud of his heritage and the right to serve his country fighting against the
Scottish rebels. But when the tide is turned unexpectedly during the Battle of
Stirling Bridge, he is wounded by an English arrow, left for dead by his
comrades, and taken captive by Wallace's army. Wounded, and alone on a foreign
field, he knows he should expect nothing but torture and death at the hands of
the Scottish rebels who are known to be complete savages. But as he comes to
know this tight brotherhood better, and sees Wallace's utter devotion to his
men and the cause of freedom, Reeve begins to wonder whether the English are
right to oppress them. Faced with these troubling thoughts, Reeve must decide
whether he will stay true to his king, or join this brotherhood of freedom
fighters, thus turning his back on everything he has ever known or believed in.
This new novel by Hazel West is a thought-provoking, heartfelt read about the
true meaning of loyalty and brotherhood.
The Author
I spend a good bit of my time writing historical fiction
about brave men and women who have graced the pages of history, trying to bring
more light to their legacies so readers of all ages will enjoy them. My
favorite things to do are writing, obviously, listening to and playing Irish
and Scottish folk music, practicing with all eras and types of historical
weaponry, drinking GOOD COFFEE, and reading good books. I currently live in
Florida.
An Excerpt
The Scots
had charged at them in two columns, trapping the English in the middle. The
archers released their deadly rain and arrows found targets as they fell onto
the opposing army. Reeve and his companions spurred their horses on
immediately, knowing that to stand still was to die. Reeve swung his sword from
its sheath and urged his horse forward at the charging Scotsmen, swinging the
blade in a flashing arch and shouting out a war cry of his own. There was a
huge clash that sounded as the two armies met head on. Reeve was immediately
separated from Harold and Gerard in the mess. A lot of the knights realized too
late that they had been led into a marsh and their horses were sinking in the
muck, weighed down by armor. Reeve hoped neither of his friends were caught in
the mire to be easy prey for the Scots. He wanted to go back and look for them,
but he knew how foolish that was in a battle. You looked ahead, only at your
enemy and you killed and killed again until it was done; only then could you
spare the time to look for lost comrades.
He hacked
left and right with his sword, catching a spear wielded by a screaming Scotsman
on his shield with enough strength behind it to bruise his shoulder. He gritted
his teeth against the pain as he stabbed downward with his blade and took the
man through the chest. He felt hands grip his tabard from behind and he spun
just fast enough to stop the man from hauling him from his saddle where he
would be sure to meet a grisly end at the point of the long broadsword the man
carried. He jerked his sword pommel-first into the man’s head and his attacker
fell back instantly.
Reeve
suddenly caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned with his
sword swinging up for a blow but the man who had been there was already gone.
Then his horse lurched under him and whinnied in pain, rearing up before it
bolted.
Reeve was
flung from the back of the beast, realizing that he had been victim to one of
the Scottish dirkers; lithe, fast men, who ran around the field, ducking
underneath horses and jabbing their bellies with their dirks to make them throw
their riders. Reeve was flung onto the boggy ground, hauling himself up with
difficulty in his heavy armor. He quickly un-buckled the plates that covered
his shoulders and the greaves protecting his legs. There was no need for them
now on the ground; they would only hamper him, and if he was going to have to
swim the river...
He quickly
looked around at the warriors and knights who were rushing past. He caught
sight of a fearsome Scotsman running toward him, his giant claymore upraised.
Reeve stood his ground and met the man head on, ducking under the great sword
and swinging a blow to the man’s legs. The Scotsman leapt to one side and with
a wild yell, swept his heavy sword at Reeve.
The knight
flung himself to the ground and rolled just in time, coming up several feet
away only to be struck from behind by an arrow. He staggered forward as it
drove into his side, cutting through the chain mail and the padded tabard under
it to his flesh. He gasped at the sudden pain and subconsciously thought in one
of those oddly perceptive moments in a time of danger, that it was one of their
own armor-piercing arrows. He looked back up at the Scotsman who had been
fighting him. The man was sneering now, raising his sword for the final strike.
Reeve got his sword up just in time, but the man swung lower than he had
judged, and the tip kept going, cutting deeply into Reeve’s thigh. The
Englishman gave one last wild yell as he lunged forward with his sword and
stabbed the Scotsman through the middle, his leg giving out at the last minute
so that he fell headlong into the boggy ground.
He hauled
himself up again, breathing heavily from the pain. He could feel himself
weakening from blood loss and he knew he had to get out of there soon before he
was killed; perhaps find a horse to ride. He suddenly looked up at another
knight, recognizing the tabard he wore.
“Gerard!”
he cried and his friend looked over at him before he ran to his side. He too
had lost his horse, it seemed. Reeve ripped a piece off of his tabard to tie
around his leg wound, trying to get to his feet. His leg had no strength,
however, and every move he took jostled the arrow in him, making him groan and
clench his teeth.
“Reeve!
You’re wounded,” Gerard said, getting an arm under his shoulder and hauling him
to his feet. “Come on, they’ve called the retreat! There’s nothing we can do.
Cressingham’s been killed and the Scots have us trapped. We have to go now!”
Reeve
barely heard what he was saying as he was keeping all his mind on just putting
one foot in front of the other. Gerard hauled him away as well as he could.
“Come on,
Reeve, just a little farther,” he said. “Come on, I’m not dying here today!”
Reeve tried
to pick up the pace, but he fell again, his wounded right leg was bleeding
profusely and the arrow still sticking from him twisted and dug deeper as it
was pressed against Gerard’s side where he leaned against him. Reeve cried out
in pain and crumpled on the ground. Gerard cursed and tried to haul him to his
feet again. Reeve looked behind him, panting, and saw that a group of Scots
were coming toward them. Gerard saw them too and looked down at Reeve, fear
clearly written on his face.
“Get up!
Get up!” he screamed. “They’ll kill us!”
“I can’t,”
Reeve told him weakly. “Make a stand with me, we might be able to hold them
off.” Somehow, he realized, he had still managed to hold onto his sword. He
made an honest effort to get to his feet and he swore he would fight to his
last breath.
Gerard
looked back again and then started to back away, dropping Reeve’s arm from his
grasp. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“Where are
you going?” Reeve asked him, trying to haul himself to his feet again with the
aid of his sword.
“I’m sorry
Reeve. Elizabeth—I—I can’t leave her. I’m sorry.” And just like that he
sprinted across the field with the retreating knights and Reeve was left
stunned, not knowing what to think. When he got his voice back he finally
screamed after him.
“You
coward! You leave your comrade on the field?! Coward!”
“Look what
we have here!”
Reeve spun
around as hands grabbed him and hauled him up and he found himself looking into
the wild face of a dark-haired Scotsman. He struggled to get out of the man’s
grasp, but his sword was knocked disdainfully from his hand and he was too weak
to fight them single-handedly with only his fists. The man struck him across
the face and he fell into a puddle, sprawling out on his back. The Scots
laughed as he was hauled upright again, gasping in pain as the arrow dug
deeper.
“A knight
is good for a ransom, I’m thinking. Perhaps we shall take him back to camp and
we might get some money out of him.”
“He’s no worth it, Gavin. He’s damaged goods,” said
another man.
“Well, he
can always be our camp tràill. Someone needs to do the mending and wash the
dishes.”
Reeve
struggled up again but the man’s foot was on his chest and he was grinning down
at him.
“Don’t
bother yerself,” he said in mock pity. “You have no strength left. You should
rest.”
“I have all
the strength I need,” Reeve spat then gritted his teeth with a bitten off
scream as the man nudged the broken-off arrow shaft sticking from his side.
“I think
you might do better with a little rest,” the Scotsman told him in a mock kind
voice. “Sleep tight, Sassenach.”
The last
thing Reeve saw was the hilt of a sword coming toward his face before he
blacked out.
