Word!

It's been a few years since I wrote Art of Love, which is set in the 12th century abbey schools that eventually became the University of Paris. But the recent debate on "facts" brought this passage to mind.

“The Pharisees did not write the Gospels, so we do not really know what they thought, only what they did.” Alain rose as he spoke. If he had drawn a sword he could not have commandeered more attention. “The apostles wrote the Gospels, and you could argue they were setting doctrine, not history.”  

“Master Alain.” Orleans’ voice was cold even as he squinted in Alain’s general direction. “I was wondering when you would speak up.”  

“This is my argument,” Abigail said. Both men ignored her.
“Continue,” Orleans ordered.  

Alain nodded. “I am not saying the Gospels are fallible. That would indeed be heresy. However, the answer to your question is more complicated than it would appear. Fact and truth are not interchangeable. Like faith and reason, fact and truth are twins, each incomplete without the other and incomplete in our definition.”  

Despite being furious that Alain jumped to her defense, Abigail was impressed.  

“In the beginning was the word and the word was of God and the word was God, and then God said, let there be light,” he continued, his voice like medicine laced with honey. “God spoke the universe into existence, and Saint John describes our Redemptor as the word. We reason with words. We dispute with words. We pray with words. We write words, read words and hold our thoughts, our memories and our observations in words. Whether it is Abelard and his logic or Herodotus and his histories, we cannot go beyond words. Fact and truth have the same symbiotic relationship. Our words are our facts; however, the truth is dependent upon our viewpoint.”  

“Are you suggesting truth is subjective?” The question staggered out of the master’s mouth. Orleans looked confused and his dim eyes missed Alain’s predatory smile.  

“Plato said it was comparative.” 

“You are on the verge of heresy, Scotsman, take care with your next words.”  

Abigail waited, holding her breath. Heresy could turn on something as precise as tense.  

“Our argument is not about truth, but facts. Plato’s good man was based on comparison with other men because he had no access to the ultimate good. Saint Paul wrote that we see through a glass darkly. Even now, we do not know the truth, only where to find it. God alone has all the facts, and therefore, the truth. Anything written by man contains neither all the facts nor the truth. We are right to question Herodotus and Abelard both. We err when we judge them by different standards.”  

“That is what I said!” Abigail cried. Again, both men ignored her.  

“And Abelard was right to question God?” Orleans exclaimed. 

Alain shook his head in exaggerated exasperation. “Job questioned God and was not condemned for it. Abelard questioned accepted practices, not God. It is not the questions, but the conclusion that leads us astray. Therefore, we best serve the present and the future by discussing only what we know to be fact. Otherwise, innocent men might be falsely accused of pederasty or heresy or treason because of half truths.”  

Abigail looked up in time to see pure hatred flash across Orleans’s face. She turned and saw Alain meet the hatred head on. 

The Luxury of Equality

 Over the weekend, my family had a lively discussion about the whiplash of women’s status through the ages, comparing gender equality in ancient Egypt and the modern Western world vs. women’s status in ancient Greece and some modern Middle Eastern countries.

Why would women let that happen? One nephew asked.

But the thing is, women didn’t let it happen. When a civilization collapses and you’re fighting for survival for yourself and your children, men’s superior physical strength quickly unlevels the playing field. 

The fall from equality to second-class citizen with the legal status of a child might be quick or slow, but I suspect it’s always a shock to the individuals involved—and it chafes future generations of women no matter how much time passes.

Because I write medieval romances, I think a lot about the tensions between men and women within the society. Medieval women knew they deserved better and many got better from individuals, but they still faced institutional misogyny.

In An Unexpected Gift—available tomorrow as a stand-alone novella—the heroine is at her most vulnerable. She’s pitted against a society that sees her as someone to exploit or protect, but not stand beside or respect.

Ada is probably my most traditional heroine in that she is at a powerless moment in her life. She’s brave and strong and resourceful, but ultimately she cannot rescue herself, a fact that she hates.

She must place her faith in a stranger—a man who could be her savior or someone even more dangerous than the man who wants to kill her and her unborn child—and that is where the story begins.

Keena Kincaid writes historical romances in which passion, magic and treachery collide to create unforgettable stories. You can find out more about her books here. 

The stove or the store?

As I was cleaning my stovetop this morning, I started wondering what my current medieval heroine would think of kitchen.

This is a question I ask with each book I write because, well...it says a lot about the heroine (or hero) and gives me an idea of what they like least about their daily life.

Tess (from TIES THAT BIND) was endlessly fascinated by the idea of a shower.

Liza (ANAM CARA) couldn't get past the grocery store--particularly the produce aisle.

William (ENTHRALLED) didn't like guns, calling it dishonorable to kill your opponent without his knowing you were trying to kill him. Only thieves and Frenchmen did that. He liked globes, though, and the GPS feature on my iPhone. He loved the idea of always knowing exactly where you are wherever you go.

Alain (ART OF LOVE) wanted to hang out in the emergency rooms and forced me to watch a lot of medical shows on TV. Unlike William, he was perfectly fine with killing people in anyway that got the job done, but found it a intriguing that our medical skills improve in tandem with our people-killing abilities.

King Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine make special appearances in three of my books, TIES THAT BIND, ENTHRALLED, and ART OF LOVE. Henry found the idea of democracy intriguing in a "how does that work without exploding like a rotten corpse" kind of way. Meanwhile, Eleanor dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I know best," she said.

My newest couple, Johanna and Giric from A QUIET NIGHT AT THE HAPPY MONK (ONE HOT KNIGHT, an new anthology from my publisher) were both surprised at how little drinking establishments have changed.

Johanna, who runs the student hangout The Happy Monk in Paris, wanted to know the profit margin for each drink. If she were to exist in this time and place, I see her attending business school and running a string of tiki bars along the southern coast.

Her hero, Giric, said: "Yer bars still smell of old beer and tae many people." I have a feeling he'd buy a boat and be responsible for the catch of the day at Johanna's waterfront establishment. He's not what we'd call a "people person" in any century.

Getting back to the stove, as I was cleaning it, Emma was enthralled by the simple fact that I could put something in the oven, set the timer and walk away without worries that it would burn, set the house on fire, or the fire would go out.

It's the little things that have changed the most.