The second novel about Hild, Menewood, is out now in North America in hardcover, audiobook, and ebook, and in the UK in audiobook and ebook, with the hardcover available in late November.

It has a gorgeous cover by Anna and Elena Balbusso—the same artists who painted the Hild cover. And, as with Hild, I forgive the anachronisms because it’s just too beautiful to mess with. The Balbusso twins actually read the books they illustrate (you’d be amazed at how many people in the publishing industry never read their own product) and they are brilliant at capturing the essence of the place, people, and story. I love this cover: it’s autumnal and rich and textured and layered, just like the book itself. And they capture that thousand-yard stare perfectly.

• US: Hardcover, ebook, digital audio available 3 October, 2023
• UK: Digital audio and ebook 3 October, hardcover from 21 November, 2023

All the information about the plot, lots of reviews, all the buy links and list of book events I’ll be doing can be found on the book’s new page.

I like some of the quotes so much I made nifty little quote tiles:

From the Publisher:

Historical Note:

The book has a long Author’s Note, the first part of which is the Historical Note. It’s always interesting trying to write something for the general reader who would like to know more but that won’t irritate Early Medievalists. Here it is. Let me know how I did.

Hild was real. Almost everything we know of her comes from a single document, the Ecclesiastical History of the English People, written by Bede, a Christian monk, about fifty years after her death. If we are to believe Bede—who was a careful historian but writing with an agenda and within the cultural constraints of his time—Hild was born circa 614 CE, probably in the north of what is now England, and died in her bed 66 years later as the Abbess of what is now Whitby. We know her mother was Breguswith and her father Hereric; Hereric was poisoned in Elmet (West Yorkshire) when Hild was three. When she was about 13 she was baptised in York alongside her (great-) uncle, Edwin Yffing1, king of Northumbria, and was recruited into the church when she was 33. Of the rest of the first half of her life—including the years covered in this book, January 632 to March 635—we know only that she was "living most nobly in the secular habit." We don't know where, or doing what, or with whom.2 
	However, during the second half of her life, as abbess, we know "her wisdom was so great that not only ordinary people, but even kings and princes sometimes asked for and"—the part that made me sit up and pay attention—"took her advice."3 In other words, the powers-that-be of seventh-century Britain, who took and held power with the sword, regarded Hild as smart and knowledgeable enough of their arenas to offer valuable counsel. We know she was also an efficient and well-respected facilitator and administrator—she hosted the history-changing Synod at Whitby—a teacher (she trained five bishops), a forward thinker (she saw the value in using vernacular literature to convey ideas), and made an indelible impression on others (she is still venerated as a patron saint of learning and education 1350 years after her death). Finally, she possessed a determined sense of fairness: the community she ran held all possessions in common and all were treated equally. As people rarely have complete personality changes in their early 30s, we can assume Hild had these qualities to a degree before she joined the church—and on that assumption rest the events of this book.
	While we don't know much about Hild the person, we do know something of her contemporaries and the bloody events of their time. It would take more space than I have here to detail which specifics in this story are documented (or inferred from material finds) and which purely fictional, but the broad outlines of wars and regime change are true.
	The book's first main battle, usually referred to by historians as the Battle of Hatfield, is dated by Bede to Oct 12, 632.4 Edwin of Northumbria and his son, the ætheling Osfrith Yffing, are killed by the combined forces of Penda of Mercia and Cadwallon of Gwynedd at a place Bede names Hæðfeld, usually taken to refer to what is now Hatfield Chase near Doncaster. Eadfrith Yffing, another son and ætheling, is captured and later killed by Penda. Edwin and Osfrith are dismembered and their heads and limbs staked out on the battlefield. Over a year of chaos follows, with the thrones of Deira and Bernicia variously claimed by Osric Yffing (a cousin) and Eanfrid Iding (eldest son of a rival dynasty, living in exile among the Picts). Both are slaughtered by Cadwallon, who was "utterly barbarous in temperament and behaviour. He was set upon exterminating the entire English race in Britain, and spared neither women nor innocent children putting them all to horrible deaths with ruthless savagery, and continuously ravaging about the whole country." This time "remains accursed and hateful to all good men…hence all those calculating the reigns of kings have agreed to expunge memory" of the whole thing from their kinglists.
	The second main battle, often called the Battle of Heavenfield, occurred at an unknown date in 634. Oswald, son of Æthelfrith Iding (the king of Northumbria who was killed by Edwin), returned from exile in Dál Riata with a small band. The day before the battle he raised a cross at a place "called in English Hefenfeld." Then in a surprise attack Cadwallon died just south of Hadrian's Wall by Deniseburna, what is now Rowley Burn. Oswald became king of Northumbria. 
	Bede's version of Hæðfeld needs only a little fictional intervention to make sense. Essentially, the combined armies of Mercia and Gwynedd march up the most convenient Roman road from their respective territories to Edwin's—even 200 years after the tax-and-maintenance structure of Roman occupation collapsed, these roads were the best routes for rapid troop movement—to invade. They are met by Edwin's army where the Roman road crosses from disputed territory at the edge of Lindsey and Mercia into Edwin's territory. Edwin loses. Penda and Cadwallon march north to claim Northumbria.5
	On the other hand, the Battle of Heavenfield/Deniseburna, as written, makes no sense to me whatsoever. According to Bede, Oswald Iding, half brother of Eanfrid Iding, "mustered an army small in numbers but strong in the faith of Christ; and despite Cadwallon's vast forces, which he boasted of as irresistible, the infamous British leader was killed at a place known by the English as Deniseburn." Oswald was an ætheling in exile in Dál Riata (what is now the western seaboard of Scotland and north-eastern Ireland—a long, difficult journey to Hadrian's Wall). If he had a warband at all it would have been a small number of personal followers. Cadwallon, already a proven commander, had a victorious army and had been accumulating men and materiel for over a year; he was also based in territory he knew very well. How could Oswald travel so far and arrive not only in good enough shape to beat an enemy who heavily outnumbered him but unnoticed enough for his attack to be a surprise?
	There are accounts of Oswald and this battle not only from Bede but also Adomnán (writing a little before Bede), and the compiler of the ninth-century Historia Brittonum. They couldn't make the battle make sense either—or for some reason were offended by what really happened—because to differing degrees they all lean on divine intervention to explain it.
	I prefer a more satisfying explanation: a combination of a smart, knowledgeable, observant, influential, persuasive and charismatic royal whose counsel on the dynamics of power was sought by kings (who at this stage were little more than warlords), and the fickle nature of the landscape. In my version of history, the deciding factor is not divine intervention but Hild and the weather.
	Is this what really happened? It could have. It makes sense of all the disparate pieces we have and none if it contravenes what is known to be known.6 But in the final analysis Menewood is fiction. I made it up.

1 I use 'Yffing' as a family name for Edwin (and Hild's) dynasty but this is not how it would have been used in the seventh century. Similarly, I doubt anyone in Hild's early life used the world 'Northumbria'.
2 I suspect that while Bede admired what Hild achieved, he did not wholly approve of how she lived. The (very few) other women he bothers to name in HE are admired for being "holy virgins" or "consecrated virgins" or—in the case of one queen married for more than once, the second time for 12 years—having "preserved the glory of perpetual virginity." Hild is a conspicuous exception.
3 The original, "quaererent et invenīrent", translates literally as "would seek and would find." I read it as "would take", but it could equally be "would accept" or "would receive".
4 Dates are disputed, depending on the source, the calendar they used, and their translator. Some argue the year of Hatfield was 633 or even 634; some sources suggest the date of Oct 14.  
5 The only thing that does not make sense to me is why Cadwallon stayed in Northumbria but Penda did not, and why he harrowed the north: destroying everything and making no attempt to build a base of power. 
6 But, oh, we know so little! Having said that, if anyone tells you that they know—that it's perfectly obvious—that seventh-century women never were and never could have been warriors, feel free to laugh. There is so much data suggesting that over the last ten thousand years women have hunted and used weapons in armed combat that I honestly don't know where to start.

The Author’s Note continues with sections on names, languages, and pronunciation. There’s also a glossary, a family tree, and Cast of Characters. (There are over 200 named characters in this book. For the sake of sanity I only list about a third of them.) And in the front of the book are the lovely maps.

And the book is beautiful. Yes, I know all authors—like all mothers (My baby is gorgeous! My baby is the smarest baby to ever crawl the earth!)—are biased. But, well, My book really is beautiful!

The Physical Reading Experience

On my personal blog I’ve already talked about how Menewood works as story—why I divided it into the Books, Parts, and Chapters that I did. Here I’ll focus on the physical mechanics.

After the gorgeous cover, my guess is that the first thing a reader will notice is how big the book is. And it is BIG: 270,000 words, 720 pages, and 5.5cm thick. When I first picked it up I expected it to weigh a ton but…it’s light! I discovered that when I was taking pictures of it: it’s lighter than Hild even though it’s 25% longer. Cool, I thought, and went on taking pictures. (Really, authors really are like besotted parents; I love this book with a mad crazy love and want to take pictures of it in every light and circumstance and company…)

Three days before publication it was my birthday. Kelley and I went to the pub. I took along a copy of Menewood so we could leaf through it and find a couple of nifty readings for upcoming events. I ordered a pint of Guinness, opened the book, and set it on the table.

And that’s when I discovered something terrifically, amazingly, magically cool about this delicious book: whatever page you open it to, IT STAYS PERFECTLY FLAT!

Seriously, perfectly flat. Unless like me you have small hands, or perhaps compromised arm strength, you have no idea what a boon that is. I don’t mind admitting that when I first saw this book I was worried: I thought the size and shape and weight would make it unwieldy. But when you add the lightness to the fact that it lies perfectly flat without any weight to hold it open, it starts to feel miraculous.

I was so taken with this that when we got home I experimented. The first thing I did was open it right at the beginning, to the Table of Contents and facing map.

Look at that: perfectly flat and nothing holding it open. I can read this book all day if I want and not get tired.

How is it possible to make a book open just 0.01% of the way through—8 pages on one side and 712 on the other—and lie perfectly flat?? It’s magic, it has to be. I always knew book designers were wizards but, wow. I am amazed. Here are more pics to prove it—and, bonus, maps!

For a refresher on how the book is structured, and why, see Three Books, Seven Parts, 38 Chapters

These maps are based on my Photoshop files, which have been prettied up by a professional with better fonts and fancy frames, but if you’re interested in what the originals looked like, here’s a reduced-size file of my original of Deira. One day I may post the large-format full-colour version of the entire British Isles—but today is not that day.

But why is it so big?

Menewood begins four months after the end of Hild, and covers less than four years of Hild’s life, but those years are some of the most tumultuous in Early Medieval British history: the north of Britain saw, shall we say, rapid regime change. The book therefore is epic and intense, full of the extremes of war. (If you imagine it as a trilogy in one volume you might get a sense of what to expect.) Hild experiences almost every emotion a person can—love and lust, war and victory, grief and loss, belonging and savage joy—all while guiding others past their own fear and ambition. Through it all she grows and changes, coming to truly understand power and how to make, break, and shape kings.

But Menewood is also full of quieter moments: peace, pleasure, contentment; forgiveness, friendship, and farewells. It is a book about life—how it feels, what it means, why it changes—set against the backdrop of total war and regime change.

If Hild was about a child relying on her agile mind and acute observations of nature and human behaviour to stay one step ahead of the whims of a volatile king, then Menewood revolves around a young woman becoming herself—learning to live life on her own terms; to build, hold, and wield power—exploring and really inhabiting who she is. And that all takes time: you can’t just bounce back from grievous losses and say, Oh, hey, I’ve decided I’m basically going to save the entire north of Britain between the Humber and the Forth from Cadwallon, lets go! Especially after Cadwallon has destroyed everything—people, crops, pasture, and infrastructure—and you’re starving and injured and hunted. to take just one eample, how do you go from one fat pony, a pregnant mare, and no fodder to a herd of hard, sleek, well-fed warhorses? It takes time—and for the reader to believe the progression you have to shiow how much work that is, how much planning, and luck.

Above all, though, Menewood is about Hild. She is on every page, the burning heart around which events turn. And, just as in the first book, Hild is most at home in nature, so the book is full of water, sky, and high wild places. I can’t wait for you to read it.