History books record the experiences of the powerful, the rich, the famous. Their voices dominate the pages, commanding us to accept their perspective as truth. But what if we could hear the whispers of those who were never given a chance to speak? How would this affect our understanding of the past?
Normandy, 1064
Celia Campion, a girl of humble background, finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when Duke William commands her to work as his spy, holding her younger sister hostage. Her mission: to sail across the sea to Wilton Abbey and convince Margaret, daughter of Edward the Exile, to take final vows rather than form a marriage alliance with the newly crowned king to the North, Malcolm III of Scotland. Preventing a union between the Saxons and Scots is critical to the success of the Duke’s plan to take England, and more importantly for Celia, it is the only way to keep her sister alive.
In this sweeping epic that spans the years before and after the Conquest, two women from opposite sides of the English Channel whisper across the chasm of time to tell their story of the tumultuous days that eventually changed the course of history. As they struggle to survive in a world marked by danger, loss, and betrayal, their lives intersect, and they soon come to realize they are both searching for the same thing--someone they can trust amidst the treachery that surrounds them.
Together, their voices form a narrative never before told.
Excerpt
Taking the cue from his wife, William laid out the terms. “It is settled. You will go to England—that is, if you ever want to see your sister again. She is under my power, and she will remain my hostage until I am satisfied that you have fulfilled your mission. If you choose to run away or if you perform the task half-heartedly, your sister will disappear. Hostages do have a way of disappearing, do they not, my dear?” He turned to his wife for affirmation.
Matilda picked up the thread. “And what a pity it would be to see so beautiful a child reduced to rags and enslaved to some filthy plowman somewhere.”
Celia despised them both. Her hands shook with rage.
“My love,” William patiently corrected his wife, “you know I am not fond of enslavement. Better it be to dispose of the urchin immediately. We have had a good deal of success in the past with tainted food or adulterated drink, have we not? Quick, tidy, and effective.”
Celia had heard enough. Dropping to her knees once more, she lowered her head to kiss the ground before the Duchess’ feet. “I will do as you wish. I will go to England. I will discover all I can about this girl and her brother and her suitor. I will not fail.”
Hearing Celia’s acceptance, Matilda reverted back to the sweet sovereign she was purported to be. “There, there, my girl. I knew you could come around to our way of thinking. I told you some time ago you were special. But sometimes even a viper needs to be reminded of where and when it needs to strike.”
Celia wanted to scream out loud to drown out the Duchess’ compliment. Matilda’s words made her feel dirty and ashamed. She hated how she was forced to perform for them like some marionette at the mercy of another’s pull. And she despised herself even more for being too powerless to free herself or her sister from their demands.
But what else could she do? And did it really matter anyway, if she continued to be a sinner while she pretended to be a saint? If she must send the Saxon girl to the convent or her grave, then so be it. She felt nothing and owed nothing to this stranger. In fact, she hated this “Margaret” already because it was she who would determine whether Vivienne lived or died.
William kissed his wife’s cheek with heartfelt admiration. Wrapping his arm about her waist, he guided her toward the door. Before leaving, they stopped long enough for him to add, “The boat departs at dawn. Do not fail to be there.” The Duchess tucked her arm in his as they moved together as one.
In the empty room, Celia sat alone with her shame. She did not move for quite some time, reviewing her predicament over and over again. There was no decision to be made. She had no freedom to make one. Their will would be done. Was it shameful to commit wrong in order to preserve a greater good? She did not believe it to be so. There was no disgrace in that. What did it matter anyway? She had no choice.
Swiftly and stealthily she would work, embodying the spirit of the perfect novice—obedient, contemplative, kind, patient—qualities normally foreign to her. Indeed, she would be so convincing that a figurative halo would glow about her head. Benevolent confidante. She would make the Saxon girl forgo marital vows for solemn ones, binding her to the church and not a king.
Tomorrow it begins. She would ride across the sea to keep Vivienne alive here. Her success depended on her ability to fit in, her capacity to blend in seamlessly with her new environment. But is that not what vipers do best? Teardrops borne of helplessness melted away as her lips turned upward in a knowing smile. The white veil would disguise her true intent. She rose to her feet as Sister Celia, leaving behind any trace of the woman she once was.
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