The Fugitive’s Sword
by Eleanor Swift-Hook
Publication Date: 8th October 2024
Publisher: Schiavona Books (author’s own imprint)
Pages: 305
Genre: Historical Adventure
Autumn 1624
Europe is deeply embroiled in what will become the Thirty Years' War.
A young Philip Lord, once favoured at King James' court, has vanished without a trace, under the shadow of treason.
Outside the besieged city of Breda, Captain Matthew Rider faces the brutal reality of wintering his cavalry in the siege lines, until he crosses paths with Filippo Schiavono, a young man whose courage and skill could change everything.
Kate, Lady Catherine de Bouqulement, arrives in London prepared to navigate the dangerous politics of King James' court to ensure troops are sent to her mistress, the exiled Queen of Bohemia.
Within Breda’s walls, a foundling named Jorrit unwittingly stumbles into a lethal conspiracy when Schiavono hires him, supposedly to help sell smuggled tobacco. But Schiavono’s plans go awry and they are compelled to flee the city, only to be captured at sea.
If Schiavono is unable to prove his loyalty and ruthlessness to a savage Dunkirker privateer captain, both he and Jorrit will face certain death.
Meanwhile, in London, Kate is forced to fight her own battle against those seeking to coerce her into their schemes and finds herself trapped in a terrifying and deadly power struggle.
Driven by violence, treachery, and the sea's merciless tides, their fates collide.
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Excerpt
Inside the besieged city of Breda, November 1624
“Love maketh lean the fat men’s tumour,
So doth tobacco.
Love still dries up the wanton humour,
So doth tobacco.”
Jorrit heard the voice raised lightly in song and scrambled out from his hiding place behind the tavern’s cesspit. The Englishman. If Jorrit was quick enough he might get to him before any of the other boys, as he had on a previous occasion. Then he might hope to earn some pennings. Many pennings indeed. The last time he had helped the Englishman he had been rewarded with a whole dubbeltje. Incentive enough to send Jorrit scurrying.
“Love makes men sail from shore to shore,
So doth tobacco.
‘Tis fond love often makes men poor
So doth tobacco.”
Having some understanding of English, Jorrit heard the words and knew what the Englishman would be bringing. He was a tobacco smuggler.
Breda had had plenty of time to prepare itself for the siege and was well provisioned with just about everything from ham and cheese to bread and fruit, and there were animals and stocks of grain ready at need. Everyone, even Jorrit, knew they could last until next year easily and no one thought for a moment the Spanish would stay so long as that. It was late November and once the winter really began to bite, they would die like flies and those who were left would desert or withdraw. That was of course if the Stadtholder Maurits, half-brother to Justinus von Nassau who commanded the garrison here, did not before that bring an army in strength and sweep the Spanish into the sea.
Jorrit had heard all this, and he had no reason to doubt it. But he also knew that when the burghers had laid their plans and made provision in their stocks and supplies, they had thought of wine and beer, but no one had considered that they might need a supply of tobacco. He knew because everyone complained about it.
Which was why the Englishman came sneaking into the city. Tobacco here was worth ten times what he might get for it in Amsterdam or Haarlem or even amongst the Spanish outside the walls. The Englishman was just one of the men risking his life to penetrate those Spanish troops and reach the defences where there were many eager to help him inside with his precious cargo. And then he needed boys like Jorrit to help carry the load and distribute his wares.
“Love makes men scorn all coward fears,
So doth tobacco.
Love often sets men by the ears,
So doth tobacco.”
To Jorrit’s delight there were no other boys in sight. But then it was not yet dawn and the only people who were up were those preparing for the working day. If he had not been out early to try and fish, Jorrit himself would have been curled up in his truckle in Moeder Machteld’s attic. As it was, he had not managed to fish at all and had even lost his line and the carefully collected bait. One of the men he had cozened out of five duits the previous day had also been out fishing and, seeing him, had given chase. Which was why Jorrit had concealed himself behind the cesspit in the first place.
If Moeder Machteld knew he had been out thieving again she would box his ears and maybe even throw him out of the house. If he could get honest work with the Englishman, he could bring her the money in good conscience and she would not believe the tales that the fisherman might take to her.
He caught up with the Englishman and then had to half run still to match his broad stride. He was carrying a huge pack, but the weight of it seemed not to slow him at all.
“You need a runner again, sir? I can help you, sir. You will remember I was very useful to you last time. I’m the boy who can speak English.”
The Englishman stopped and looked down at him. Despite himself Jorrit shivered inside. The man’s eyes were as cold as the sea in winter and the turquoise colour of it on a clear day. He wore a sword with a basket hilt and looked as if he would be happy to use it given any excuse. He had hair that was white, but not from age—far from it, he was not at all an old man. In fact, he looked no older than Pieter who’d just turned sixteen and had once been one of Moeder Machteld’s boys but now worked for her, keeping the house in good repair and turning away those who came to the door and were unwelcome. The Englishman was taller than Pieter though, but his shoulders were not so broad nor his chest as deep. He frowned now, as if annoyed that Jorrit had troubled him.
“I know my numbers,” Jorrit said quickly., “I can read and write too.” Moeder Machteld had seen to that as she did for all the boys she took under her roof. She made sure they all went to school at least two or three mornings each week and then made them read to her from their pocket books.
“If I remember, you are called Jorrit,” the Englishman said. “Last time I was here you found out some information for me.”
He had not forgotten.
Jorrit nodded and grinned. It had been easy enough. The Englishman had wanted to know the size and strength of the Spanish and defending forces around the southern gate and needed a sketch of the defences there so he could see if that might offer him a better route into the city. As time went on and the Spanish lines drew ever more tightly, Jorrit knew it was becoming harder for men to sneak in and out and new routes were needed.
“That’s me, sir. Can I help you again today, sir?”
The Englishman was looking at him with a little more interest now.
“I’m not sure, can you?” He hefted the heavy pack on his shoulders then slid it to the ground. “Here, you look strong enough. You can carry this.”
Eleanor Swift-Hook
Eleanor Swift-Hook enjoys the mysteries of history and fell in love with the early Stuart era at university when she re-enacted battles and living history events with the English Civil War Society. Since then, she has had an ongoing fascination with the social, military and political events that unfolded during the Thirty Years’ War and the Wars of the Three Kingdoms.
The Soldier's Stand, book two in Lord's Learning and the sequel to The Fugitive's Sword, is now available for preorder and will be released on 25 February, 2025.
She lives in County Durham and loves writing stories woven into the historical backdrop of those dramatic times.
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Thank you so much for hosting Eleanor Swift-Hook today, with a fabulous excerpt from The Fugitive's Sword!
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
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