Thursday, 9 February 2017

Synopsis. Book Three in the Torc Trilogy

This book is currently on offer from Amazon.  For one week only the kindle version is available at just 99p (UK) and $1.25 (US)


(The Gordian Knot, second book in the trilogy will now be available from Saturday.  Same deal as above)





Synopsis


Two months after their disastrous holiday, Orlagh and Jerry are at home in Ireland recovering from their terrifying ordeal.
The Belgae Torc is at last on display at the National Museum and Orlagh is under increasing pressure to divide her time between her work at the museum and heading up an archaeological dig in County Meath.  She is convinced that an ancient battle between Iron Age tribes took place here and is determined to prove her theory, but as archaeologists begin to unearth the truth, they are faced with some unexpected surprises.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, Jack Harrington is making discoveries of his own and finds himself juggling personal and professional commitments.  His organisation is still recovering from recent events in the Mediterranean and is loathed to be drawn into another deadly conflict, but like it or not, there are unresolved issues that cannot be avoided.
The Phoenix Legion is about to implement the final phase of its master plan and this time Schiffer is convinced that nothing can stop him from realising his goal.

With the past merging with the present, the elements of a deadly conclusion are finally coming together.  Will history repeat itself or can another worldwide catastrophe be avoided?   

Chapter One free.

 I'm pleased to announce that the third book in The Torc Trilogy, Cutting the Gordian Knot (The Final Solution), is on offer from Amazon.  The kindle version is currently available for one week only at just 99p (UK) and $1.25 (US)

(The offer on the second book, The Gordian Knot begins on Saturday, same deal as above for one week only)


Following chapter one the story goes to Berlin 1944 before returning to modern day bringing this adventure to an exciting conclusion.



Chapter One

Jack was standing in the street looking up at a neat townhouse.  The brownstone building was typical of this neighbourhood and one that his mother would feel quite at home in.  She had moved here ten years ago having fallen in love with Manhattan and the vibrant life that surrounded it.  She had told him once that her only regret was having not moved to Park Avenue sooner.  He smiled at the memory, his mother had thrived on city, it was like an enchanting elixir that sustained her as the years rolled by.
The quiet country house where he was born had been her home for over forty years and he was surprised when she sold up and moved to the city.  Most people retired and moved to the country, but not his mother, she was an extraordinary woman.
Jack sighed and climbing the steps leading up from the wide sidewalk, he approached the polished front door and fumbled in his pocket for the key.  He tried to work out just how many times he had visited his mother in the last ten years and was appalled by his conclusion.  He could count the occasions on one hand.  Shrugging off his thoughts, he inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.
 His mothers scent assaulted him the moment he entered the property and he was compelled to call out to her.  Shaking his head, he made his way along the narrow hall passing a little polished side table where the cleaner had piled up a month’s worth of mail.  He decided to leave it for later then hesitated as he moved slowly towards the room at the front of the house.  Taking a deep breath he wondered what ghosts were waiting for him there and placing his hand against the polished wooden door, he pushed gently. 
He need not have worried; the room was full of warmth.  Sunlight was streaming in through a huge bay window that overlooked the street and wherever he looked, everything seemed clean and fresh.  His mother’s presence was stronger here, this had been her favourite room, it was where she sat every morning to enjoy the sun and look at the people passing by her house.
She had lived a stylish life, the furniture was old but of the best quality and he recognised many pieces from his childhood home.  Fresh roses filled a vase that stood on a table by the huge bay window.  He guessed that it was the cleaner who maintained the house because it was spotlessly clean; it was as if his mother had merely stepped out and was expected back at any moment.
Jack looked around taking in every detail and began to notice things that he had never seen before or had merely taken for granted.  A beautifully ornate French clock stood on a shelf above the fireplace; it had stopped so instinctively he reached towards it.  He was tempted to wind it and set the time, but he stopped himself.  The last person to touch that clock was his mother and it did not seem right, he was not yet ready to interfere with her things.
On a writing table that stood in the bay window, he found what he was looking for.   A neat collection of documents had been left for him and on top of the pile was an envelope with his name neatly printed on it.  Reaching forward he picked it up and slipping his thumb under the flap, ran it along the seal.  Inside he found his mother’s letter beautifully written on quality, embossed writing paper and the first thing he noticed was her crest.  A perfectly formed rose pressed into the expensive paper, this was her trademark.  He could not remember where the idea had come from, but the rose had been a constant throughout his childhood. 
Jack lowered himself down into a soft leather wingback chair, it must have been his mother’s favourite because as the cushion gave way it released more of her scent.  He sighed again, fighting off an unaccustomed emotion.  He had not arrived in time to see his mother before she died and he could not forgive himself for that, but it would do no good to dwell on such things.  If his mother had wanted him there, she would have sent for him sooner.  Rubbing his hand over his face, he took a deep breath and as he placed the envelope on his knee, something slipped out and fell to his feet.  Reaching down he found a small faded photograph.  The black and white print was so old it had almost turned sepia but he recognised the young woman instantly.  His grandmother as a young woman was smiling out at him, clearly from another place and time he got the impression that her smile was forced.  The detail was difficult to see but it was her eyes, her smile had not reached that far and as he studied it closer, it became clear that she looked shocked and haunted.  She was holding a small bundle close to her breast.  The weather must have been warm because the baby was wrapped in a thin embroidered shawl and his grandmother wore a short-sleeved summer dress.
Turning the photograph over he could just about make out a date printed in black ink.  August 20th 1944, it was five days after his mother’s birth.  He knew very little about his grandmother’s early life, she rarely spoke about the time when his mother was born.  Studying the photograph carefully Jack searched for clues but there was nothing.  He wondered where it had been taken.  During his childhood his grandmother had from time to time, ‘gone away’ and it was not until later on in life that he discovered the truth.  She had suffered with depression that often became so severe that she would be admitted to a psychiatric hospital.  Of course, his family never discussed this; it was an uncomfortable subject and not one to be dwelt upon.  What had happened to make her like that he wondered.  There was so much he didn’t know and he realised now that the truth had been kept from him during his mother’s lifetime.
Placing the photograph to one side, he turned his attention to the letter, but suddenly his cell phone began to ring.  Staring at the screen, he could see that it was Paul.  He decided to ignore the call; he was not yet ready to return to work.
My dearest son,
If you are reading this then I guess you are sitting in my favourite window seat.  Are you enjoying the view?  I love the way the sunlight filters in through the window. How are you finding the heavenly scent from my roses?
Jack smiled and continued to read.

My greatest regret was never having the opportunity to tell you about your family history.  Oh yes my son, there are a number of skeletons in our cupboards and I’m afraid the secrets they have to tell are rather disturbing.  Most of them concern wartime Europe and in many ways, it would be best to leave them buried, but there are things that you should know.  Before I go on you must understand that the world was a very different place then...

Friday, 3 February 2017

Pick up a bargain.

Synopsis of my novel The Gordian Knot, the second book in The Torc Trilogy.  The kindle version is on offer from Amazon at just 99p or $1.25 from Thursday 9th February for just one week only, so don't miss out, order your copy on Thursday.





Dr Orlagh Gairne and her partner Jerry Knowles leave Ireland for a well-earned holiday on the Aegean Coast of Turkey.   The last thing on their minds is the Belgae Torc, but soon after arriving at their hotel, they are drawn into a world of druid ceremonies and outdated Nazi idealism.
The Phoenix Legion, still reeling from a humiliating defeat just twelve months earlier, is planning the next phase of their quest.  They are in possession of the torc, but this is not enough to ensure total power so they must rely on the combined forces of the druids and the spirit world.

Jack Harrington and his team, whilst prospecting in the Sea of Azov, make an unexpected discovery and with the past weaving with the present they become involved in a deadly race against time.  Spreading his forces thinly, he must keep Orlagh safe from the clutches of the druids, whilst engaging the Phoenix Legion in a deadly battle to save mankind.

Special offer

My novel The Gordian Knot, the second book in The Torc Trilogy will be available from Amazon as a special offer from Thursday 9th February for one week only. The price of the kindle version will be reduced to just 99p or $1.25

Here is a preview.  
The story begins with a prologue then goes back to Berlin 1943 before returning to modern day where the adventure continues.





Part One
Fountain of Life

Thou shalt have no other gods before Me
Exodus 20:3








Prologue

A beautifully restored Junkers JU52, nicknamed ‘Iron Annie’ lifted her wheels from the tarmac and rose gracefully into the air.  Olga Zindel and her brother Ernst were at the controls, they were both wearing wide grins across their faces. 
‘Iron Annie’ was heavy and slow to react, but she was a pleasure to fly.  Her cockpit contained none of the refinements of a modern aircraft, but that was her charm.  Constructed in the 1930s, she had been designed using flowing lines and curves that were not just aesthetically pleasing but aerodynamically sound.  Her three BMW Hornet A2 liquid cooled radial engines were original but had been extensively overhauled and it was not just her engines that had been refurbished, her airframe had received a thorough examination and now the aircraft was once again fully operational. 
Olga eased the control column gently forward as the aircraft reached its operational height and at 4000 metres, they settled into level flight.   With the engines set for economic cruising, the vibrations running through the airframe subsided and now both Olga and Ernst could begin to relax and enjoy the ride. 
From the windows on the flight deck, they had a clear view over the mountain range that stretched out ahead of them; it reminded Olga of a wrinkled duvet.  The colour of the terrain was as varied as a patchwork quilt; rich greens indicating thick forest and vegetation interspersed with shades of brown and grey where the rocks and sandy soil formed mountaintops and valleys.
With Olga in the pilot’s seat, Ernst sat at the little navigation table situated just after the flight deck.  One of them would have to remain at the controls at all times; ‘Iron Annie’ was high maintenance, she had no autopilot or satellite navigation systems. 
Speaking into the intercom microphone attached to his earphones, Ernst gave his sister a direction heading and she made the necessary changes to their course.  The noise inside the cockpit made communication impossible; the only way they could make themselves heard was by using the intercom system. 
‘Iron Annie’s’ nose was now pointing due east and her controls were set for level flight, her trim was good and she required less muscle to hold her steady.  Glancing over her shoulder at her brother, Olga nodded her appreciation and a wide grin split her face, she would have it no other way.  She loved to fly vintage aircraft and had logged up many hours.  Ernst preferred to fly modern aeroplanes especially jets but he too had hundreds of hours logged flying old piston engined aircraft.
“Well that’s it.”  Ernst spoke into the microphone.  “I’m going to get us some coffee.”
Easing his long legs from the cramped space, he made his way back into the cargo hold and grasping at the overhead rail, ducked under a bulkhead rib before straightening up in the larger space beyond.  The fuselage resembled a long corrugated tube, the walls made from thin aluminium sheet vibrated and rattled especially when flying through turbulence, but this was nothing unusual.
There was only one crate strapped into the hold and reaching down beside it, he unstrapped his satchel containing a thermos flask and neat packs of sandwiches.
Ernst and Olga were a team, business partners struggling to make ends meet.  They were in the airfreight business but their ageing cargo jet would never pass another bill of health.  Their enterprise was sadly coming to an end as was their relationship with their financiers, so it was an opportunity that neither of them could have imagined when an organisation calling themselves the Phoenix Legion contacted them.  The job on offer was too good to miss; it was hardly a difficult decision to make.  On closer inspection, they discovered that a group of executives devoted to everything German ran the Phoenix Legion and both Olga and Ernst were patriotic enough to appreciate this. 
Glancing around the hold, Ernst had to pinch himself; he still couldn’t believe that he was actually flying a Junkers 52.  The level of restoration was breathtaking, it was as if the old aircraft had just rolled off the production line, but ‘Iron Annie’ was in fact older than he and his sisters combined age. 
He eyed the packing case.  Fabricated from wood, it stood waist high with dimensions that made it a perfect cube, but strangely, it looked a little out of proportion.  He wondered what it contained, they had documents relating to its passage, but the contents remained a mystery, the inventory simply stated archaeological artefacts. 
He was aware that the German high command during World War Two were fascinated by ancient treasures, he also knew that priceless items were stolen from Europe during the German advance.  Maybe this case contained such treasures; he frowned as his imagination threatened to run wild. 
Their destination was also a mystery; an abandoned airfield in northern Turkey, but he was professional enough not to ask questions, it was simply his job to deliver the goods.
Squeezing back into the cockpit, he sat in the co-pilots seat next to his sister and poured two mugs of coffee.  Handing her one he then turned his attention to unwrapping the packs of sandwiches.
“What do you think we are carrying?”  Olga glanced at him as she took the mug.
“I’ve no idea.”  He replied.
Usually she didn’t care about such things but today was different and as Olga chewed thoughtfully on her sandwich she had no idea why her curiosity was aroused, she simply had a burning desire to know what was inside that packing crate.  Earlier she had watched from the edge of the runway as men loaded it into the aircraft and it was then that something strange happened.  The hairs on the back of her neck had stood up and she had an overwhelming desire to look inside the crate.
Curiosity was an infectious thing; she was going to have to satisfy it before long.  Olga shuddered as she checked the instrument panel.  One of the engine temperature gauges was a little high and watching it intently, she realised that the needle was climbing slowly beyond the normal operating range.  There was not yet cause for concern but instinctively she reached for the throttle and reduced the revs to that engine.  This would make little difference to their progress and with a slight adjustment to the trim wheel she nodded with satisfaction.
“Just keep an eye on that Ernst, we don’t want to break it.”  She grinned before handing control over to her brother.
They had been in the air for almost two hours and were flying over a barren mountain range with peaks reaching to just over 3000 metres.  It was not a particularly hazardous journey, there were no high winds or pockets of turbulence to send them jerking across the sky.  The aircraft rose and fell gently in the Mediterranean air, the only thing to rattle the fuselage was the vibrations of the engines.   Olga left her seat and stretched her long legs out before disappearing into the cargo hold.  She was not as big as Ernst and was able to move around much easier in the cramped space.  Once she had used the tiny chemical cubicle, which had been added especially for their convenience, she eyed the packing case with interest.  Reaching out she rested her hand on the warm wooden top and could feel the vibrations of the aircraft running through her fingers.  Pulling her hand away sharply it was as if the case was alive and looking around she mumbled something under her breath, embarrassed by her childish reaction. 
She had to know what was inside.  No one would know if she lifted the lid, she would of course replace it once her curiosity was satisfied. 
Moving towards the maintenance locker, she found a small crowbar and used it to prise off the lid.  The nails came out easily and placing it to one side, she began to feel around with her fingers.  Pushing her hands into the packaging, the shredded paper was like straw protecting the items from a hazardous journey. 
Her fingers touched something solid and lifting it carefully from its resting place, she pulled out a silver flask.  There was no indication to its contents and once she had scrutinised it she put it down carefully beside the crate.  Going in again, she found a package wrapped in greaseproof paper.  Unwrapping it carefully her eyes widened as soon as she saw the light glittering from its twisted golden surface.  A beautifully crafted neck ring appeared in her hands and lifting it higher she knew it was priceless.  It was old; she had seen such things in museums, but never before had she held an object of such ancient beauty.  She recognised it as a Celtic torc crafted from finely twisted white gold and she revelled in its magnificence.  Looking closer she could see gold threads woven together to form a rope thicker than her thumb, the quality of the workmanship was exquisite; she had never seen anything so beautifully worked.  Finials of solid gold had been crafted into the shape of horses’ heads; these adorned the ends and a chain so fine she could hardly see the links.  Although delicately made it was strong even after all these centuries and moving closer to one of the windows set into the fuselage, Olga held it up until it caught the light.  She studied the symbols carved into the gold with interest, she had no idea what they meant; its message from the past was beyond her understanding. 
After the initial shock of her discovery, a wide grin settled on her face and she experienced an overwhelming urge to try it on.  It would do no harm to slip it around her neck.  As soon as the idea flashed into her head, her fingers were unfastening the golden chain, and lifting it up she slipped it over her head. 
The weight of it against her neck was satisfying, its significance as an object of power was re-assuring and it made her feel like a queen.  Wearing such a magnificent object, she could now begin to understand how a chief must have felt. The torc represented the wealth of a nation and she was proud to be wearing it even if it was for just a fleeting moment, besides it could have been her own ancestors worshipping the bearer of such a torc.  Turning towards the cockpit, she wanted to show her brother, the power of the torc was intoxicating, she must share it with Ernst.  She could feel its force running throughout her body, it was like a weak electrical current or a vibration against her skin then suddenly from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement.  Turning towards the tail section, she knew it was unlikely, there could not possibly be anyone there, but her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath.  Standing at the end of the fuselage was a red haired woman dressed in a long white robe.  Olga blinked, it couldn’t be true, in her heightened state of excitement she realised that her imagination must be running wild, but the woman continued to stare.  Vibrations running through the metal at her throat became stronger and the torc began to feel hot.  It was as if it was alive, like a serpent encircling her neck, it drew tighter and the first glimmer of fear touched her soul.  Moving her hands to her throat, Olga tried to lift the torc over her head.  She wanted rid of it, her breath was coming in quick gasps, and as the torc wound tighter around her neck she cried out in panic, but the sound of her terror was lost in the noise of the aircraft. 
The red haired woman moved slowly towards her and with every step, the illusion became more realistic.  Reaching out, her ice-cold fingertips stung Olga’s cheeks and moving backwards Olga almost stumbled.  She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the woman’s stare, her rich green eyes seemed to burn into her very soul and Olga shuddered as evil thoughts filled her head.  She had no idea where they came from but they occupied her mind until she could think of nothing else.
  Suddenly as if unable to support the overwhelming burden, her legs gave way and she struggled for breath.  The woman looming over her reached out and placed her hands on top of Olga’s head.  She could no longer move and as her eyesight began to fade the red haired woman seemed to enter her head, her evil grin devouring her soul and unable to resist, Olga took her final breath.
In the cockpit, Ernst felt the aircraft lurch and his eyes flew to the instrument panel.  The gauge registering the nose engine’s temperature was dangerously high and it no longer sounded smooth.  Gripping the throttle handle, he eased it back reducing power to the engine and immediately the noise began to subside as the engine responded.  Nudging the two remaining throttles forward, he increased the revs to both wing engines and resumed level flight, he then adjusted the trim wheel to compensate for the distribution of power before shutting down the ailing engine.  As soon as this was done, he opened the cowling flaps to allow cool air to rush into the engine compartment; this would help cool the overheated engine before any more damage could be done.  Slowly the needle on the temperature gauge edged away from the danger zone and Ernst sighed with relief, but then another shudder ran through the aircraft.  Suddenly the port wing rose as it rode an invisible cloud of turbulence and gripping the control yoke tightly, Ernst was experienced enough not to fight the aircraft.  Feeling for its movements, he coaxed it gently until the airframe settled down.
“Olga,” he called over the intercom, “I need you here sister.”  His voice was edged with urgency but there was no response.  Ernst frowned, and thinking the worst wondered if the sudden movement had unbalanced his sister, maybe she had fallen.  If she was injured, there was nothing he could do to help her, he had to remain at the controls his hands were full with flying the aircraft. 
Glancing worriedly over his shoulder, he could see nothing beyond the bulkhead separating the cockpit from the cargo hold.
“Where are you Olga?”  He spoke into the intercom again more urgently this time.
Suddenly the starboard engine began to clatter and glancing at the control panel Ernst turned his head to look out over the wing.  Smoke was billowing from the engine cowling, curling back in dirty black clouds over the wing and he could hardly believe what he saw.  There had been no indication that the engine was about to fail.  Instinctively he reached for the fire extinguisher switch and once activated he watched as black smoke turned to grey.  Ernst held his breath, the next few seconds were critical but with a sigh of relief, there were no flames, the extinguisher had done its job.  The temperature gauge was reading normal and the engine was still running, but he would have to close the cowling louvres.  If there were sparks around the engine the blast of air moving over it may fan them into something more serious, however by doing this the engine would soon overheat just like the first one.  All this ran through his head in a second.  Ernst reduced power to that engine and immediately the propeller began to lose momentum.  He checked his altitude, it was holding at just under 4000 metres, the peaks below fluctuated between 2000 and 3000 metres, this gave him an operational height of just a 1000 metres.  It was a slim margin but if the situation did not become any worse, he was prepared to live with it.  He knew that at some point he might have to trade altitude for airspeed, but with the engines in their condition increasing power and trying to climb was out of the question.
He adjusted the inner flap section of the wings, this effectively lowered the stalling speed and now the aircraft should remain airborne even if it lost more momentum then, easing forward on the throttle, he coaxed a little more power out of the remaining good engine.  The nose began to creep round so he applied pressure to the rudder bar to counter the yaw. 
He had no idea what was going on, what had caused the engines to overheat was a mystery; there must be some mechanical anomaly because none of them were running at full power.
“Olga, I really need you now.”  He shouted into the intercom.  His heart was hammering inside his chest and his mouth had gone dry.  Tightening his grip on the yoke, he could feel every vibration running through the aircraft, then without warning the starboard engine coughed and its propeller seized.  Pushing the emergency stop button he shut the engine down before it could destroy itself and damage the aircraft, then pushing the throttle on the remaining engine all the way forward the nose slewed sideways.  Using all of his strength, he fought against the pull and applying more rudder the aircraft began to side slip.  Frantically he searched for somewhere to land, they would not remain in the air for long, the strain on one engine alone especially at full power was too much. 
The terrain below was mountainous and barren, nothing was level and he realised there was little hope of getting down in one piece.  Turning the dial on the radio, he selected an emergency channel and began to send out a mayday.







Thursday, 19 January 2017

Working from home has its advantages!

Working in my study on the next book, a psychological thriller about a Cellist called Mia Ashton.
30,000 words now completed so I'm just over 25% done.  Looking for about 120,000 words.



By early afternoon I had arrived at a natural break in the plot so decided to go for a walk, clear my head and seek inspiration.  I live in a beautiful village in the south of England so just a stones throw from my front door I have magnificent views across the fields.  



This is the part of the main road running through the village, views from both directions.


The view from the roadside just after the pig farm.


At the top of the lane this footpath begins.  It goes across the Downs towards the pub about two miles away.  It was along this path that we picked blackberries during the summer.


This lane leads you down behind the village.  Although it was a bright and sunny day, frost remains at the roadside, the temperature just above freezing.



Along here we have beautiful views across farmland.  On a clear day you can see the sea in the distance about ten miles away.


The distant tree line in this photograph is another favourite walk through the woods.  This route leads to another little village pub!


The route back into the village.

This is one of my favourite walks covering about two miles.  Its an ideal forty minute stroll which inspires me to write the next chapter.

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Interview with Dr Pamela Rose

Extracts of an interview between Dr Pamela Rose and Katherine Kinsella for the Peoples Independent Irish news.

KK        Thank you to Dr Pamela Rose for agreeing to take part in this interview.  Dr Rose was one of the leading archaeologists who worked on a dig in County Meath this summer which proved to be the site of a significant Iron Age battle.  She is an expert in Viking history and has spent a number of years working in Sweden.
Good morning Dr Rose.

PR        Good morning, please call me Pam.

KK        Okay Pam, how did you become involved in this archaeological dig?

PR        I was invited to join the project this summer mainly because of my expertise in Viking history.  Many of your readers will know that over the years a number of Viking artifacts have been unearthed in this area.  Farmers have found items on their land and a few years ago someone found a Viking armband whilst walking along the river.

KK        Did you believe from the outset that you were digging in the right place?  Over the years arguments have raged between academics regarding the location of the battle site.

PR        It’s true that many historians believed that the battle must have taken place further along the river to the east of Drogheda.  Local legend suggests that an invading army came across the sea from England and that the battle took place nearer to the coast.

KK        Couldn’t an invading army have sailed their ships up the River Boyne?

PR        It’s true that ships could have come up the river as far as Drogheda, but it’s unlikely that they would have been able to navigate much further.  The landscape was much different then, there would have been thick forest where the fields are today and the banks of the river would have been tree lined.  Drogheda was not established then, but it would undoubtedly have made a perfect place for ships to anchor safely.

KK        Dr Orlagh Gairne from the National Museum was running the dig.  I understand that you are old friends.  How was it working with such a distinguished historian?

PR        Indeed, Dr Gairne and I go back a long way.  We have not worked together for many years.  She is an expert in her field, but my knowledge was invaluable to both the project and to those working on the site.

KK        You lived in Sweden for a number of years.  Was this move from England for family reasons or was it purely a professional decision?

PR        I have no family in Sweden.  I went there because I was offered a position at the Department of Archaeology and Classical studies at Stockholm University.  I spent most of my time excavating Birka, one of the first real towns to develop in Sweden.  Birka is on the island of Björkö situated on Lake Mälaren just outside Stockholm.  This UNESCO World Heritage Site is rich in archaeology.  My colleagues Dr Sven Larsson and Nils Holmgren have dedicated their lives to discovering the secrets that remain hidden in this rich landscape.

KK        You talk passionately about your time in Sweden.  Do you intend to return and carry on your work there?

PR        Only for holidays.  My work in Sweden is done and now it’s time to move on and find something new.  Working here in Ireland this summer has been an extraordinary experience.  I’ve been truly inspired and intend to remain in Dublin for a little while longer.

KK        You are working on a book.  Can you tell us anything about it?

PR        It’s not a novel, but an academic review of the Viking influence on the development of early Dublin.  Did you know for example that Dublin was a Viking slaving centre?  People captured from England and the Continent were brought here to be sold into slavery.

KK        I didn’t know that.  Is this the direction in which you see your future going, writing books about this period in history?

PR        No, not really.  It’s something that I’m interested in at the moment.  To tell you the truth, I prefer to be out in the field working with soil under my fingernails.  We’ll just have to wait and see what the future has in store for me.

KK        Do you intend to remain in Ireland for the foreseeable future?

PR        Yes I do, but not indefinitely.  There are many interesting opportunities opening up in Ireland, the UK and on the Continent.  I’m not sure at this point where I might end up.

KK        Will you be working with Dr Gairne on her next project?  She wants to establish the location of an Iron Age settlement close to where the M1 Bridge crosses the river Boyne.

PR        I’m aware of her intentions, but I don’t expect to be invited to take part.  If significant Viking artifacts are unearthed then I can’t rule out offering my services, but by then I should be well into writing my book.

KK        Thank you Pam for taking part in this interview.  I wish you well for the future and look forward to a signed copy of your book.

Katherine Kinsella, Peoples Independent Irish news.


Saturday, 19 November 2016

Meet the Author

Today I was at Canterbury Library promoting myself and my books.

The library, which includes The Beaney Museum and Gallery is a beautiful old building in the High Street.





This is one of the posters that staff at the library made for the event.



The Torc Trilogy, all three books on the library shelf.




A table full of books, leaflets and bookmarks.




Just added The Witness, a psychological thriller to the shelf.

Met some great people and had some interesting conversations. Hopefully they will now either buy my books or borrow them from the library.