Here Be Dragons (Welsh Princes Series #1) by Sharon Kay Penman, Paperback | Barnes & Noble
Here Be Dragons (Welsh Princes Series #1)

Here Be Dragons (Welsh Princes Series #1)

4.7 109
by Sharon Kay Penman
     
 

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"A masterful picture of Wales in the 13th century...vivdly pictured as grandly beautiful, its people volatile, stubborn and mystic."
THE SAN DIEGO UNION
Thirteenth-century Wales is a divided country, ever at the mercy of England's ruthless, power-hungry King John. Then Llewelyn, Prince of North Wales, secures an uneasy truce with England by marrying the English

Overview

"A masterful picture of Wales in the 13th century...vivdly pictured as grandly beautiful, its people volatile, stubborn and mystic."
THE SAN DIEGO UNION
Thirteenth-century Wales is a divided country, ever at the mercy of England's ruthless, power-hungry King John. Then Llewelyn, Prince of North Wales, secures an uneasy truce with England by marrying the English king's beloved, illegitimate daughter, Joanna. Reluctant to wed her father's bitter enemy, Joanna slowly grows to love her charismatic and courageous husband who dreams of uniting Wales. But as John's attentions turn again and again to subduing Wales—and Llewelyn—Joanna must decide to which of these powerful men she owes her loyalty and love.
A sweeping novel of power and passion, loyalty and lives, this is the book that began the trilogy that includes FALLS THE SHADOW and THE RECKONING.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“A masterful picture of Wales in the thirteenth century . . . vividly pictured as grandly beautiful, its people volatile, stubborn, and mystic.” —The San Diego Union

“There is everything in Here Be Dragons but dragons: princesses held captive in stone towers, bloody wars, princes scheming to dethrone their own brothers, castles under siege, maidens in distress, power struggles for half of civilization, rampant infidelity, lusting, mead guzzling, wine drinking, love affairs that topple kingdoms---how did England survive the thirteenth century? . . . History and fiction bound up together in historical novels have always had their own uneasy alliance. . . . Penman deftly makes the mesh work.” —The Washington Post Book World

“Remarkable. . . . Her writing is faultless, deftly interweaving the threads of the various story lines into a glowing, living tapestry. . . . This is storytelling at its finest.” —United Press International

“With a fidelity to historical detail, a deep understanding of the period, a lucid, felicitous prose style, a sensitivity to nuances of character, and a sure sense of drama, the new novel by the author of The Sunne in Splendour is an engrossing tale.” —Publishers Weekly

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780345382849
Publisher:
Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
05/28/1993
Series:
Welsh Princes Series, #1
Pages:
720
Product dimensions:
5.07(w) x 7.97(h) x 1.19(d)

Read an Excerpt

Here Be Dragons


By Sharon Kay Penman

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 1985 Sharon Kay Penman
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-312-38245-2



CHAPTER 1

Shropshire, England

July 1183


He was ten years old and an alien in an unfriendly land, made an unwilling exile by his mother's marriage to a Marcher border lord. His new stepfather seemed a kindly man, but he was not of Llewelyn's blood, not one of the Cymry, and each dawning day in Shropshire only intensified Llewelyn's heartsick longing for his homeland.

For his mother's sake, he did his best to adapt to the strangeness of English ways. He even tried to forget the atrocity stories that were so much a part of his heritage, tales of English conquest and cruelties. His was a secret sorrow he shared with no one, for he was too young to know that misery repressed is misery all the more likely to fester.


It was on a Saturday morning a fortnight after his arrival at Caus Castle that Llewelyn mounted his gelding and rode north, toward the little village of Westbury. He had not intended to go any farther, but he was bored and lonely and the road beckoned him on. Ten miles to the east lay the town of Shrewsbury, and Llewelyn had never seen a town. He hesitated, but not for long. His stepfather had told him there were five villages between Westbury and Shrewsbury, and he recited them under his breath as he rode: Whitton, Stony Stretton, Yokethul, Newnham, and Cruckton. If he kept careful count as he passed through each one, there'd be no chance of getting lost, and with luck, he'd be back before his mother even realized he was gone.

Accustomed to forest trails and deer tracks, he found it strange to be traveling along a road wide enough for several horsemen to ride abreast. Stranger still to him were the villages, each with its green and market cross, its surprisingly substantial stone church surrounded by a cluster of thatched cottages and an occasional fishpond. They were in truth little more than hamlets, these Shropshire villages that so intrigued Llewelyn, small islands scattered about in a sea of plough-furrowed fields. But Llewelyn's people were pastoral, tribal, hunters and herdsmen rather than farmers, and these commonplace scenes of domestic English life were to him as exotic as they were unfamiliar.

It was midday before he was within sight of the walls of Shrewsbury Castle. He drew rein, awed. Castle keep and soaring church spires, a fortified arched bridge spanning the River Severn, and the roofs of more houses than he could begin to count. He kept his distance, suddenly shy, and after a time he wheeled the gelding, without a backward glance for the town he'd come so far to see.

He did not go far, detouring from the road to water his horse at Yokethul Brook, and it was there that he found the other boy. He looked to be about nine, as fair as Llewelyn was dark, with a thatch of bright hair the color of sun-dried straw, and grass-green eyes that now focused admiringly upon Llewelyn's mount.

Llewelyn slid to the ground, led the gelding forward with a grin that encouraged the other boy to say, in the offhand manner that Llewelyn was coming to recognize as the English equivalent of a compliment, "Is that horse yours?"

"Yes," Llewelyn said, with pardonable pride. "He was foaled on a Sunday, so I call him Dydd Sul."

The other boy hesitated. "You sound ... different," he said at last, and Llewelyn laughed. He'd been studying French for three years, but he had no illusions about his linguistic skills.

"That is what Morgan, my tutor, says too," he said cheerfully. "I expect it is because French is not my native tongue."

"You are not ... English, are you?"

Llewelyn was momentarily puzzled, but then he remembered. The people he thought of as English thought of themselves as Norman-French, even though it was more than a hundred years since the Duke of Normandy had invaded and conquered England. The native-born English, the Saxons, had been totally subdued. Unlike us, Llewelyn thought proudly. But he knew the Normans had for the Saxons all the traditional scorn of the victors for the vanquished, and he hastened to say, "No, I am not Saxon. I was born in Gwynedd, Cymru ... what you know as Wales."

The green eyes widened. "I've never met a Welshman before," he said slowly, and it occurred to Llewelyn that, just as he'd been raised on accounts of English treachery and tyranny, this boy was likely to have been put to bed at night with bloody tales of Welsh border raids.

"I'll show you my cloven hoof if you'll show me yours," he offered, and the other boy looked startled and then laughed.

"I am Llewelyn ab Iorwerth ..." He was unable to resist adding, "Ab Owain Fawr," for Llewelyn was immensely proud that he was a grandson of Owain the Great, proud enough to disregard Morgan's oft-repeated admonition against such bragging.

But the younger boy did not react, and Llewelyn realized with a distinct shock that the name meant nothing to him. He seemed to want to respond to Llewelyn's friendliness, but there was a certain wariness still in his eyes. "I am Stephen de Hodnet." He hesitated again. "You do not live in Shropshire, do you? I mean, if you are Welsh ..."

The implication seemed clear: if he was Welsh, why was he not in Wales where he belonged? Llewelyn was more regretful than resentful, for this past fortnight had been the loneliest of his life. "I'm staying at Caus Castle," he said coolly, and reached for Sul's reins.

"Caus Castle!" The sudden animation in Stephen's voice took Llewelyn by surprise. "Lord Robert Corbet's castle? You're living there?"

Llewelyn nodded, bemused. "For now I am. My lady mother was wed a fortnight ago to Sir Hugh Corbet, Robert's brother. You know them?"

Stephen laughed. "Who in Shropshire does not know the Corbets? They are great lords. My papa says they have more manors than a dog has fleas. In fact, he hopes to do homage to Lord Robert for the Corbet manor at Westbury." And he then proceeded, unasked, to inform Llewelyn that he was the youngest son of Sir Odo de Hodnet, that the de Hodnets were vassals of Lord Fulk Fitz Warin, holding manors of Fitz Warin at Moston and Welbatch, that he was a page in Fitz Warin's household at Alberbury Castle.

Llewelyn was a little hazy about the intricacies of English landholding, but he did know that a vassal was a tenant of sorts, holding land in return for rendering his overlord forty days of military service each year, and he was thus able to make some sense of this outpouring of names, places, and foreign phrases. What he could not at first understand was Stephen's sudden thawing, until he realized that the name Corbet was his entry into Stephen's world. It was, he thought, rather like that story Morgan had once told him, a tale brought back by the crusaders from the Holy Land, of a man who'd been able to gain access to a cave full of riches merely by saying the words "Open Sesame!"

This realization gave Llewelyn no pleasure; it only reinforced his conviction that English values were beyond understanding. How else explain that he should win acceptance not for what truly mattered, his blood-ties to Owain Fawr, the greatest of all Welsh princes, but for a marriage that he felt should never have been? All at once he was caught up in a surge of homesickness, a yearning for Wales so overwhelming that he found himself blinking back tears.

Stephen did not notice, had not yet paused for breath. "... and my papa says Caus is the strongest of all the border castles, that it could withstand a siege verily until Judgment Day. Tell me — is it true that Lord Robert has a woven cloth on the floor of his bedchamber?"

Llewelyn nodded. "It is called a ... a carpet, was brought back from the Holy Land." He could see that Stephen was on the verge of interrogating him at tiresome length about a subject that interested him not at all, and he said quickly, "But I know naught of castles, Stephen. Nor do I much like living in one. We do not have them in my land, you see."

Stephen looked incredulous. "None at all?"

"Just those that were built by the Normans. Our people live in houses of timber, but they're scattered throughout the mountains, not all clustered together like your English villages."

It was obviously a novel thought to Stephen, that not all cultures and societies were modeled after his own. They were both sitting on the bank by the stream and he rolled over in the grass, propped his chin in his hands, and said, "Tell me more about the Welsh."

Llewelyn no longer had any reservations about boasting of his bloodlines. Stephen was so woefully ignorant that it was truly a charitable act to enlighten him, he decided, and proceeded to acquaint Stephen with some of the more legendary exploits of his celebrated grandfather, giving his imagination free rein.

"And so," he concluded, having at last run out of inspiration, "when my grandfather died, his sons fought to see who would succeed him. My father was deprived of his rightful inheritance, and Gwynedd is now ruled by my uncles, Rhodri and Davydd."

Welsh names were falling fast and free — to Stephen's unfamiliar ears, much like the musical murmurings of Yokethul Brook. But one fact he'd grasped quite clearly. A prince was a prince, be he Welsh or Norman, and he looked at Llewelyn with greatly increased respect. "Wait," he begged. "Let me be sure I do follow you. Your grandfather was a Prince of ... Gwynedd, and your lady mother is the daughter of a Prince of ...?"

"Powys. Marared, daughter of Prince Madog ap Meredydd. My father was killed when I was a babe, and ere my mother wed Hugh Corbet, we lived with her kin in Powys ..."

Llewelyn had not begun talking until he was nearly two, and since then, his mother often teased, he seemed bound and determined to make up for all that lost time. Now, with so satisfactory an audience as Stephen and a subject that was so close to his heart, he outdid himself, and Stephen learned that among the Welsh there was no greater sin than to deny hospitality to a traveler, that Welshmen scorned the chain-mail armor of the English knight, that Llewelyn's closest friends were boys named Rhys and Ednyved, and the ancient Welsh name for Shrewsbury was Pengwern.

The sun had taken on the dull, red-gold haze of coming dusk as Llewelyn obligingly gave Stephen a lesson in the basics of Welsh pronunciation. "Say Rhys like this: Rees. And Ed-nev-ed. Now try Gruffydd; it sounds like your Griffith. In Welsh, the double 'd' is pronounced as 'th.' So my little brother's name is spelled A-d-d-a, but we say it as A-tha, Welsh for Adam." He paused, his head cocked. "Do you hear that? Someone is calling your name."

Stephen scrambled to his feet so fast he all but tumbled down the brook embankment. "My brother! Jesú, but he'll flay me alive!"

"Why?"

"I coaxed him into taking me with him to Shrewsbury this morn. We agreed to meet at St George's bridge and I ... I just forgot!"

"Well, cannot you say you're sorry and ..."

Stephen shook his head, staring at the boys now mounting the crest of the hill. "No, not with Walter. He ... he's not much for forgiveness ..."

The approaching boys looked to be about fourteen. The youngster in the lead had Stephen's butter-yellow hair. He strode up to Stephen and, without a word, struck the younger boy across the face, with enough force to send Stephen sprawling.

"We've been looking for you for nigh on two hours! I've a mind to leave you here, and damned well should!"

As Walter reached down and jerked Stephen to his feet, Llewelyn came forward. He'd taken an instant dislike to Walter de Hodnet, but for Stephen's sake, he sought to sound conciliatory as he said, "It was my fault, too. We were talking and ..."

Walter's eyes flicked to his face, eyes of bright blue, iced with sudden suspicion. "What sort of lowborn riffraff have you taken up with now, Stephen?"

Llewelyn flushed. "I am Llewelyn ab Iorwerth," he said after a long pause; instinct was now alerting him to trouble. At the same time Stephen burst into nervous speech.

"He is a Welsh Prince, Walter, and ... and he's been telling me all about Wales ..."

"Oh, he has?" Walter said softly, and Stephen, who knew his brother well enough to be forewarned, tried to shrink back. But Walter still had a grip on his tunic. With his other hand he grasped a fistful of Stephen's hair and yanked, until Stephen's head was drawn back so far that he seemed to be staring skyward, and was whimpering with pain.

"That's just what I could expect from you. No more common sense than the stupidest serf, not since the day you were born. So he's been telling you about Wales? Did he tell you, too, about the crops burned in the fields, the villages plundered, the women carried off?" Releasing Stephen, he swung around suddenly on Llewelyn.

"Suppose you tell him about it now. Tell my lack-wit brother about the border raids, tell him how brave your murdering countrymen are against defenseless peasants and how they run like rabbits when we send men-at- arms against them!"

Sul was grazing some yards away, and for several moments Llewelyn had been measuring the distance, wanting nothing so much as to be up on the gelding's back and off at a breakneck run. But with Walter's taunt, he froze where he was, pride temporarily prevailing over fear. He'd never run like a rabbit, never. But there was a betraying huskiness in his voice as he said, "I have nothing to say to you."

Walter was flanked by his two companions; they'd moved closer to Llewelyn, too close, and he took a backward step. But he dared retreat no farther, for the brook embankment was at his back and he did not know how to swim. He stood very still, head held high, for he'd once seen a stray spaniel face down several larger dogs by showing no fear. They stepped in, tightening the circle, but made no move to touch him. He was never to know how long the impasse might have lasted, for at that moment one of the boys noticed Sul.

"Damn me if he does not have his own mount! Where would a Welsh whelp get a horse like that?"

"Where do you think?" Walter, too, was staring at the chestnut, with frankly covetous eyes. "You know what they say. Scratch a Welshman, find a horse thief."

Llewelyn felt a new and terrible fear, for he'd raised Sul from a spindle-legged foal; Sul was his pride, his heart's passion. He forgot all else, and grabbed at Walter's arm as the older boy turned toward Sul. "He's mine, to me! You leave him be!"

It was a grievous mistake, and he paid dearly for it. They were on him at once, all three of them, and he went down in a welter of thudding fists and jabbing elbows. He flailed out wildly, desperately, but he could match neither his assailants' strength nor their size, and he was soon pinned down in the trampled grass, Walter's knees on his chest, his mouth full of his own blood.

"Misbegotten sons of Satan, the lot of you!" Walter panted. "Bloody bastards, not worth the hanging ..." And if the profanity sat self-consciously on his lips, flaunted as tangible proof of passage into the mysteries of manhood, the venom in his voice was not an affectation, was rooted in a bias that was ageless, breathed in from birth.

"Know you what we mean to do now, Welsh rabbit? Pluck you as clean as a chicken ..." He reached out, tore the crucifix chain from Llewelyn's neck. "Spoils of war, starting with that chestnut horse you stole. You can damned well walk back to Wales, mother-naked, and just thank your heathen gods that we did not hang you for a horse thief! Go on, Philip, I'll hold him whilst you get his boots ..."

Sul. They were going to take Sul. His bruised ribs, his bloodied nose, hurt and humiliation and impotent fury — all of that was nothing now, not when balanced against the loss of Sul. Llewelyn gave a sudden frantic heave, caught Walter off guard, and rolled free. But as quick as he was, the third boy was quicker, and before he could regain his feet, an arm had crooked around his neck, jerking him backward. And then Walter's fist buried itself in his midsection and all fight went out of him; he lay gasping for breath, as if drowning in the very air he was struggling to draw into his lungs.

"Walter, no!" Stephen had at last found his voice. "He's not a nobody, he's highborn and kin by marriage to Lord Corbet of Caus! He's stepson to Hugh Corbet, Walter, and nephew to Lord Robert!"


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kay Penman. Copyright © 1985 Sharon Kay Penman. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Sharon Kay Penman is the author of six critically acclaimed historical novels and four medieval mysteries, one of which was a finalist for an Edgar Award for Best First Mystery from the Mystery Writers of America.

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Here Be Dragons (Welsh Princes Series #1) 4.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 102 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This fascinating novel is a must for any lover of court intrigue. It's based on the life of Joanna, the illegitimate daughter of King John. She is married off at an early age to help cement the peace between her father and Llewelyn the Great, king of Wales. Once in Wales, she must establish herself as a wife and a queen in a culture whose rules are quite different from those of England. What follows is as captivating as any romance novel. Even better is knowing that the story, though fictionalized, is based on real people and events. "Here Be Dragons" is highly recommended for readers of Philippa Gregory and anyone who likes their historic fiction to be firmly grounded in historic fact.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Read this book at least 3 times. I am from Wales and just loved how the author described the Welsh people and Landscapes, all so true. A really good read into life of the 12th century.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Beautiful read...simply sorrowful to put it down. (Deep and satisfied sigh)
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was the first Penman novel I read and it's a whopper. I had serious doubts about it in the first chapter...I wasn't certain I'd be able to keep all of the historical figures straight and my unfamiliarity with anything Welsh made it difficult to follow at first. But as it turns out, after that first chapter, I simply could not put this book down. This is not a cheap romance book, folks. Rather, it is an extremely compelling historical novel in which Penman takes real-life people and fills in the historical blanks (personal details which we have no way of knowing for certain). Her research is absolutely meticulous and where historical mistakes are made, she acknowledges them on her website. Whether you are a medieval historian or just curious about this period of history, Penman will deliver a first-rate history lesson and a great tale at the same time.
jtchun3 More than 1 year ago
This is one of my favorite books. It was great to reread this book. She is a really good and writes historical fiction with the best of them.
acjmom More than 1 year ago
I have been reading historic fiction since I was about 12. Penman has ruined me for any author. She is that great. That fact she uses so very few fictional characters makes her books all the better. I always say she does not romanticize the story, but instead humanizes these people from the past and makes them so alive. I believe they said and did these things she has written. Her woman are so contemporary and vital. The men so human, flaws and all. I hate whenever I finish a book, but love to start the next. Unfortunately, I've read them all.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I stumbled upon Sharon Kay Penman's books when looking for historical fiction about Eleanor of Aquitaine. What a find! I am only sorry that I have now read most of her books, so don't have too much to look forward to. She brings the characters and medieval times to life and I have a real problem putting her books down. If you enjoy historical fiction, you will love this author.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Only read this if you can dedicate the hours it takes to complete the book. It is an amazing time suck. Sadly I learned more about history (minus the authors character liberties) than sitting for an entire semester through Western Civilization pt. 1
MKMar More than 1 year ago
Loved this book, it was so interesting and informative. Never had I realized what Wales went through at the hands of the British--I thought it was just Ireland. It was a book I found hard to put down. I love historically accurate novels and this is one of my favorites.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I saw all those reviews of people who had read this book only three times and well I have read it so much that the book is falling apart. I absolutely think that this is the best book for someone needing a good get away read. The characters are enchanting and their lessons still hold true today.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
After reading the 3 books in the trilogy I confess that I can't forget Llewlyn and Joanna.... What an amazing story...I keep saying to myself "he took her back". I wish that every queen could be so loved. I am ready to read the books again. I did not want it to end. The series is informative and interesting with enough romance to be engaging. What a view of history. You will laugh and cry and talk to yourself and you will love it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Penman never disappoints -- another page-turner.
jmn246 More than 1 year ago
Sharon Kay Penman writes a wonderfully rich story. She makes the scenery come alive. In this story she has made history an easy read. I definately recommend this book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Really enjoyed it. You can tell she researched her material thoroughly.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Sadly I never knew much about Wales and now I am fascinated. This story and the entire saga was addicting from start to end. I couldn't get enough. Sharon Kay Penman has out done herself again.
drsped More than 1 year ago
I will admit that it took about 75 pages before I started to 'get into' the book but once I did, I could not put it down. I am now wanting to read the other books in this series. Penman does a great job of bringing a history with spare written accounts to life. I enjoy reading historical novels and overall was impressed with her ability to write an intriguing story.
janalee1951 More than 1 year ago
Excellent and I just did not want the book to end. I realize this is historical fiction, but I loved the way Penman developed the characters and I can't wait to read the rest of the trilogy. I find myself googling a lot of the events in the book just to get more background and Penman is always right on target with the historical events. I knew nothing about Welsh history until I started this book, which has caused me to look up more information on the time period and events. I will say I'm glad I read the Penman's Henry and Eleanor of Aquataine trilogy first because it helped a great deal to lay the ground work for the Welsh trilogy and a glimpse of the Welsh history prior to Joan going to Wales. My goal is once I finish this trilogy is to read the rest of Penman's books.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I picked this book up our library which sells donated books. It looked interesting, so I gave it a try. I was hooked and read it in 3 days. Then I went out and got all of Sharon Kay Penman's books. I can't wait to read the newest one. Her books arefilled with mystery, intrigue and yes, accurate historical facts.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Mary Kay Penman, in my view, has a golden touch with her research, study, and historical fiction about a period that still captures many around the world. I couldn't put it down, and upon finishing it, I had to scarf up all the others. Mary, Great Job, Thanks, Please consider other periods as well. Although the misteries are great, your historical fictional ones capture many hearts, it has mine....
Guest More than 1 year ago
This is my third reading of this book, and 'wow', it still ranks on top of my list. What a maginficent story! Why did it end? If not for the little time and the many books I want to read, I would have started to read it again the very moment I finished it. Never have I missed characters of a book so much as I missed Llewellyn Fawr! The reading of this book made me visit Wales, and since that first time, I have been there so often that a part of me belongs in Gwynedd. Truly! I fell so much in love with Llewelyn that after this book I have read everything that I find on this subject. I have read all of Ms. Penman's books and loved them all, but HERE BE DRAGONS has a special place in my heart! Thank you, Ms. Penman, for giving us such a magnificent book!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I picked this up to help grasp the time period for a project and I couldn't put it down! I've read every book of hers and I keep waiting for her to release another trilogy
Guest More than 1 year ago
I had happened to pick up this book several years ago after reading the Sunne in Splendour...and I was blown away. I had no idea that Wales was at one time a separate country until I read it!! The descriptions of the landscape are vivid and colorful, while the characters seem like they are almost real. For those interested in this particular time period or this history of Wales in general, this book is a must read. Simply my favorite book ever.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
JaneReads More than 1 year ago
Very good historical fiction about 13th century Wales. Lots of historical and political detail and some well-drawn characters.
avidreader5001 More than 1 year ago
Do not be put off by the "Welsh Princess" subtitle. The book is actually about the constant confrontations between the Welsh and Normans (England) during the time of King John (1300s). It is amazing how the history is inter-woven with a compelling story. Of course, in addition to conflict there are relationships that are comparable to modern day conflicts. Finally, it is a love story. First bought the book in 08 and have read it many times. It is a stand alone, but you will want to continue to read the other two because of wondering , What happens next? Please read this book, you will not regret it!