Title: Shakespeare’s Rebel
Author: C.C. Humphreys
ISBN: 9781492609902
Pubdate: October 6, 2015
Genre: Historical Fiction
Imprint: Sourcebooks Landmark
Summary
To be (or not to be) the man to save England
England’s finest swordsman and fight
choreographer at the magnificent new Globe Theatre has hit rock bottom.
John Lawley just wants to win back his beloved, become a decent father
to his son, and help his friend William Shakespeare finish
The Tragedy of Hamlet, the play that threatens to destroy him.
But all is not fair in love and war. Dogged by
his three devils—whiskey, women, and Mad Robbie Deveraux—John is dragged
by Queen Elizabeth herself into a dangerous game of politics,
conspiracy, and rebellion. Will the hapless swordsman
figure out how to save England before it’s too late?
Brimming with vivid periodic detail,
Shakespearean drama, and irresistible wit, Shakespeare’s Rebel is a
thrilling romp through the romantic, revolutionary times of Elizabethan
England that will delight historical fiction fans and Shakespeare
enthusiasts alike.
Author Bio
Chris (C.C.) Humphreys is an actor, playwright,
fight choreographer and novelist. He has written nine historical
fiction novels including The French Executioner, runner up for the CWA
Steel Dagger for Thrillers; Vlad – The Last Confession,
the epic novel of the real Dracula; and A Place Called Armageddon. His
latest YA novel is The Hunt of the Unicorn. His work has been translated
into thirteen languages. Find out more about him on his website:
http://cchumphreys.com.
Social Networking Links
Website: http://cchumphreys.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/humphreyscc
Buy Links
Indie Bound:
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781492609902
Excerpt
“Buffoon!” John
bellowed. “Whoreson dog! Do you think I have time to play with fools and
children? I am going to pluck out your liver and eat it raw before your
fading eyes.” Accompanying this with a great swish
down through the air with his cutting edge, he leaped forward, seeming
to cover a lot of ground while only taking a pace, then bringing his
back edge fast up, steel whistling through the air. Next, he put himself
into guard—but not in a quiet way, for as
he yelled again, he took the step back he needed for room, at the same
time sweeping his sword up in a great stroke against the edge of his
buckler, making the small shield clang. At shout and strike, the men
before him again slowed, so once more he brought
his sword hard down from the height, ringing metal on metal again,
taking another step back. Then, with a final retire and his guard low,
he jerked the sword tip hard up in an unmistakable severing of man’s
most precious part. All winced as he then aligned
his sword’s tip with his buckler, thrusting both forward, peering over
the twin steel even as he stepped back once more.
It was a true
swashbuckle. He had executed it well, perhaps lessening the memory of
his previous slide to the cobbles. A cheer came from the crowd, drowning
Silver’s “Oh, sir!” at this breach of English restraint.
Yet both men knew also that the noise had caused a distraction. Both
used it now.
John heard that
swish of steel beside him, a first yelp of pain, the last things he
heard. It was ever thus with him in a fight, the near silent place he
went to, entering it even as he launched himself. Thought
and action, one.
The main threat was
in the middle, so he avoided it directly, slamming the blades on his
right with both his own weapons, collecting his foe’s with a slight
circle of his own sword, before knocking aside the
first thrust at his side with a downward sweep of his buckler. The boy
who’d delivered it recovered with a step back, taking guard again,
giving John the moment to close right, keeping the rapier and dagger
he’d gathered with his sword while sweeping his elbow
up, driving it into the apprentice’s cheek.
His weight was
behind the blow. The youth went down, falling into the butcher’s boy,
blocking another advance—which gave John the second moment he needed.
As the apprentice on the other side lunged at his face,
from the crouch where his elbow strike had taken him John swept his
blade across and hard, knocking the weapon away, exposing the man’s face
to the buckler, driven in like a fist, a metaled fist, straight to the
nose. The youth cartwheeled backward, dropping
both his blades as he went, and smashed into the
eel cart.
“Oy!” the
stallholder screamed, steadying his stall, though not enough to prevent
some of his produce from flopping onto the cobbles.
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