Usurper

Praise for Usurper‘Finch has written an authentically blood-soaked historical epic to rank with the best’Anthony Riches‘An action-packed, coming-of-age, adventure set against the upheaval and battles of 1066. Finch gives us Cerdic, a troubled hero thrown into the maelstrom of events outside of his control, and we follow him breathlessly as he deals with brutal Vikings, familial rivalries, unrequited love, invading Normans and more!’Matthew Harffy‘The grim world of Anglo Saxon England is brought evocatively to life by master storyteller Paul Finch as he thrusts the reader deep into the cold and mud and blood of a country teetering on the brink of a devastating war for survival. Usurper is a must-read for any lover of history, capturing all the rich detail of a turbulent time and stitching it through with powerful emotion’Mark Chadbourn‘Usurper is an authentic and vivid depiction of life in England in 1066, and a brutal, blood-soaked thriller that will be loved by fans of Cornwell’s Last Kingdom’Alex Gough‘With all the brutal power of a battle-axe to the head, Finch brings 1066 to life in new and vivid ways. Packed with blistering battle scenes and believable characters, this is a superb historical novel’Steven A. McKay For my parents, Brian and Margaret, both of whom instilled in me an abiding fascination for the past FOREWORDA TALE OF TWO KINGDOMSIt’s no secret that the period of history during which England belonged to the Anglo-Saxons ended on Christmas Day, 1066, with the coronation of Duke William of Normandy as King William I, later known as William the Conqueror.Even now, it remains one of the most tumultuous events in British history, not just because one dynasty replaced another, or because the reins of power passed from one nation to its deadly rival, but because, unofficially at least, it signalled the end of what we now call the Dark Ages, and the commencement of the Middle Ages.There is no hard and fast rule about that of course and, doubtless, historians of other nationalities will give me an argument. But in England, at least, the arrival of William the Conqueror was transformative. The old, archaic world of earls, thegns and long-halls was superseded by a physically very different one filled with barons, knights and castles. The English language, once spoken across the whole of society, was replaced by Norman-French at the higher levels, while the imposition of harsh penalties for the pursuit of game, fowl and fish – and even for the unlicensed collection of firewood – turned a vast landscape of woods, moors and mountains into a hunting park reserved exclusively for a cruel and foreign nobility.And yet, English civilisation did not end in 1066. A previously happy people might well have been reduced overnight to a state of ongoing pain, sorrow and impoverishment, but the hardy island race survived, and in due course adapted; and though there was much fighting, bitterness and further loss on both sides, it finally resumed a settled way of life. If the English never exactly came to admire their new masters, they were at least, in time, able to tolerate and eventually serve PROLOGUEHe was lying on his back in a world of abyssal darkness. Pain transfixed every part of him. His eyes were gummy orbs trapped under lids sealed shut by a gritty, sticky substance that coated his entire face. But his ears worked at least, because as he lay there, shifting about awkwardly, trying by instinct to twitch life back into his deadened limbs, he heard voices approaching, speaking a language he didn’t understand and yet somehow reviled.Sluggishly, sick to his guts, hands weak and shaking, he reached up and scraped the filth from his eyes. And found himself gazing into a beaked, feathered visage no more than an inch from his own.It was sleek and black, its beak curved, bloodied like an axe, its eyes unblinking blots of reflected flame. The boldest raven he had ever seen, it filled his entire vision as it sat there on his chest, peering down at him for what seemed an age, before suddenly lofting upward on its tar-black wings. Circling lazily, it finally perched on the bough of a nearby tree that was twisted and leafless, bristling with arrows, gashed by blades, spattered crimson in the flickering firelight.He couldn’t make sense of it, nor of anything else. That firelight was dim, cast by many sources, though most were distant from him and moving slowly back and forth. It was sufficient, though, to reveal the heaps of men lying hacked and dismembered on all sides. The sight might have jolted him with horror had he not by some means expected it; had he not already known they were there, smelled their opened innards, sensed their gaping mouths, slithered in the lake of blood they’d shed as it mingled and clotted with his own.The voices grew louder. They were coming this way.He turned his head leftward,