The Soldier’s Stand , the second book in the Lord’s Learning series by Eleanor Swift-Hook, is out today!
In 1626 Europe is ablaze as the supporters of the exiled Elector Palatine, who was also briefly King of Bohemia, challenge Emperor Ferdinand. The emperor’s new general, Wallenstein, has achieved a crushing victory over the feared mercenary commander Mansfeld at Dessau, but Danish King Christian IV is on the march in Lower Saxony.
Amid this turmoil, Captain Matthew Rider must somehow manage both his part of Wallenstein’s war effort and his troublesome young lieutenant, Filippo Schiavono. Schiavono’s knack for finding trouble deepens when one of his three close companions is murdered. Jorrit Musykens, Schiavono’s loyal servant, comes close to being accused, but evidence points to another of the friends, who confirms his guilt by fleeing.
Mark Turnbull, author of ‘Charles I’s Private Life’ says of it: ‘A masterpiece of 17th-century historical fiction – immerses the imagination in murder and mystery, against the brutal backdrop of war.’

The Elbe, near Rosslau April 1626
Battles could be dangerous things, he knew that, but they were also great opportunities. No better chance to make sure someone you found inconvenient could conveniently perish in the chaos. Who was to say what really happened to them or which sword it was that cut them down?
He tried three times.
The first two failed because just as he got close, he needed to give his attention to the enemy in full, and the man he wanted dead was needful to his own survival—another sword arm lifted to defend his life and, grudgingly, he had to admit it was a strong one.
But then that was not what this was about.
Being strong, capable and worthy was not the point. If it came to it all four of them were those things. He would not waste his time and effort securing the friendship of those who were not. That way he kept them close at hand, their strength and skill at his disposal—and he could be sure where to find them if they became inconvenient.
No. This was about making sure of advancement, because advancement brought with it glory, title, land, wealth, status, a fine marriage—all the things he knew he deserved and had long been denied.
When it came to advancement only one of the other three really stood in his way. Only one held the patronage as well as the ability. Patronage that spoke with a louder voice than merit.
The third time he nearly succeeded.
It was a crazy plan they were following, but then Schiavono’s plans were always crazy. Someone must have dropped him on his head as a baby.
Blowing up the powder wagons.
The risk was insane.
And the opportunity was too good to pass up. All he needed to do was make sure that they exploded before everyone could get clear and once the fuse was running nothing could stop it.
His hand lifted to deliver a blow that would leave nothing to chance, but then he was there. Schiavono. Calling on them to go and insisting on finishing the work himself.
So the chance was lost.
Never mind.
He still had time and there would be other opportunities.
He would just have to be patient…

You can now keep reading The Soldier’s Stand which is out today!

A selection of rhymes by Jane Jago, made age appropriate for those for whom their second childhood is just around the corner…

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty, bald as a coot
Ran around Tesco in his birthday suit
All of the doctors, security too
Couldn’t catch Humpty who hid in the loo!

Dominant, Dominant

Dominant, dominant fly away home
Your house is on fire your subbies all gone
All except one and that’s little Mabel
The one you left tied to the dining room table…

You can find this, and other whimsical takes of life in On The Throne? a little book of contemplation from Jane Jago.

Will you follow me? He whispers
And his eyes are liquid love
His noble head is crowned with flowers
Pale the moon that floats above
Am I so brave that I can follow
In the footsteps of his breath
Can I dare to bet tomorrow
Be his child from now to death

©️jj 2024

Sometimes we walk the edges of reality…

The scene looked more solid now, as if it had come into focus, there was a stall selling candyfloss just opposite and two children with balloons bobbing on strings ran past, groups of teens and families. There was something strange about them, most of the young men had longer hair, the girls wore a lot of ethnic look clothing and they all seemed to favour jeans with flared boot-cut legs. 
“Come.”
Jess glanced at Annis who was reinforcing her request by taking hold of Jessica’s hand and pulling on it.
“I’m not sure it’s a good – “
“Come!” Annis was frowning now. “Show you.”
Reluctant to leave the relative sense of security this enclosed place gave her, Jess found herself gripping the hand of the child quite tightly. She was not able to avoid a gasp as the huge felines slid out of the door ahead of them. Annis paused in the doorway and looked back.
“You not talk, the Old One hears you. Not hear me.”
“What is this Old One?”
Jessica recalled the cold feeling she had felt before when Annis had made her hide with the cats. Even their warmth had not stopped her shivering. 
“Old One is ancient – is Blood Eater. Come.”
Jess still resisted the tugging hand.
“Blood eater? You mean blood drinker? Like a vampire?’
And that was what Annis had called Roald. For some reason the idea fitted with him well.
“No,” Annis said, almost crossly, she was getting impatient as if driven by some urgency. “Blood Eater. It eats you.” Either the girl had no real idea of what she was saying or she lacked the vocabulary to say what she wanted, because she pulled again at Jessica’s hand. “Now come, not talk.”
Jessica gave in and followed the girl, her mind full of Bram Stoker and HP Lovecraft. It was not a very comforting state of mind to be in as they left the sanctuary of the small cabin Annis had made her home. 
This time there was no twisted tangle to clamber over, this time there was a ladder and the space above their heads was filled with looping rails, not lit up like the rest of the rides and booths around them. Annis led the way to a gated barrier and produced a key from somewhere to open it so they could get through. There was a sign on the outside of the gate which declared the roller-coaster closed for… Jessica would have read more about it, but Annis was pulling her hand again, finger to lips to remind her not to talk.
It was a dream, of course. She had fallen asleep in the car, in the carpark and was dreaming all this. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. It just felt real. But then Jess had lucid dreams sometimes, like the one where she was naked on the clifftop and –
“Jessica! Jess!”
Roald. She could not see him but his voice was close by. It did not sound like an: ‘I’ve just spotted you’ attention grabbing shout, more of a call in the hope that she might hear and answer. 
“Jessica! I know you are going to be frightened, but it’s alright. I can protect you. Come to me, my princess, I’ll keep you safe.”
It was strange though, that his voice carried over the noise of the fairground music, the sirens that wailed about the start and end of the rides, the thunder of the machinery itself and the cheerful shrieks of the crowd. But despite the noise, his voice sounded clear to her. Almost as if she was wearing an earpiece. Then he was there. Right in front of her and she froze.

Part 9 of Maybe by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook will be here next week…

Things that make us go poop…

Granny and the ‘ladies’ darts team of The Dog and Trumpet alphabetically collate their collective contempt for the inhabitants of the twenty-first century.

P is for Posh Words, or what Desperate Danielle of the darts team defines as ‘La-di-da diction’.

We all know people who use posh words for everyday things.

You know who I mean, the kind of person who invites their pals over for drinks of an evening and calls it a ‘soirée’ or for a coffee in the morning and offer you a ‘latte’. They don’t have a bedroom like the rest of us mortals they have a ‘boudoir’ and they don’t eat chips, it’s ‘pommes frites’.

They have everything ‘au gratin’ when they usually just mean it’s got cheese on it and then eat it ‘al fresco’ rather than outside.

Seeing a pattern here? I am.

Call it something in French or Italian and you posh it up beautifully.

So if you’ll excuse me I’m talking my chien to il parco for a pisciare and a merde!

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

Jane Jago

Down to earth advice straight from the mouth of the mystic’s moggy!

Whilst reclining on the motheaten velvet of a window seat in the sun, one idly tuned into the conversation between the wispy female human one owns and a thin male dressed as if it were some sort of a bloodsucker or nightcrawler.
“Of course, the ancient Egyptians worshipped cats,” he said, as his narrow hands fiddled with the fringes on the table cover.
One pricked up one’s ears, and her muddledness nodded.
“They did indeed, and felines are so in tune with the moon and the stars.”
Which is, of course, arrant nonsense.
“Is he psychic?”
Wispy laughed, a sound she sees as tinkling bells, but one that grates on feline ears. “She is, indeed.”
He seemed to lose interest then, suddenly leaning forward and staring into the myopic pallor of her eyes.
“Why does nobody understand my poetry?” His previously carefully modulated voice degenerated into a childish whine and he flapped his hands like the wings of a demented butterfly.
The wisps of handprinted cheesecloth that serve one’s particular human as garments waved and undulated as his breath disturbed the air around her skinny frame. One wondered, briefly, if the young fool might attack her, but for all her fey ways she is adept at handling bruised egos and she there-there’d and patted him back to some semblance of adult behaviour.
While she stroked his over-inflated ego I regarded him in some hauteur. It seemed to me as if they were both missing the point of this interview— the fitting of a sadly deluded human for a better and more useful life. As I turned widdershins thrice and settled back to sleep it came to me that the phrase he would find most useful in his lifelong career would be ‘do you want fries with that?’

Ailuros the Mystic’s Mog predicts she will be offering more advice sometime in the future!

Telling an entire story in just one hundred words…

It was not so easy to train Jake. There was no two ways about it he was just very slow on the uptake. He’d stand there, head cocked looking a bit bemused, as if he knew there was something being asked of him but he was not quite sure what.
Meg spent the best part of two years working on training him and by the end of that time he’d pretty much grasped the meaning of ‘walkies’, ‘go pee in the garden’, ‘bed time’ ‘dinner time’ and a few other key phrases.
But Meg persisted because she loved her human.

E.M. Swift-Hook

A selection of rhymes by Jane Jago, made age appropriate for those for whom their second childhood is just around the corner…

I Had a Little Igloo

I had a little igloo
I built it in the snow,
It was warm and cozy
though the temperature was low,
The neighbours came to visit me
they brought their children too,
Who threw me out into the snow
and stole my small igloo.

You can find this, and other whimsical takes of life in On The Throne? a little book of contemplation from Jane Jago.

I used to live in that cold world
Never comfort knew
No luck for the skinny girl
Until I met you
Now I sleep in blankets warm
Far from icy fog
Sheltered from the pain of storm
No longer a street dog

©️jj 2024