Andrea Japp is one of the grandes dames of French crime writing, with over twenty novels published. She is a forensic scientist by profession and weaves this knowledge into her books, giving them particular authenticity. She’s also the translator of Patricia Cornwell’s novels into French, and has written for television. The translator of the books, Lorenza Garcia, translates from French and Spanish and has recently worked on The Marais Assassin by Claude Izner and Trouble In My Head by Mathilde Monaque. The Agnes de Souarcy series has sold over 124,000 copies in France.

Each book features a detailed list of the main characters in the front, and the later books also have a synopsis of the previous books for easy reference. An appendix details and explains historical references found in the story, to give you a real understanding of the events of the time. There is also a glossary of terms which may be unfamiliar to the general reader and notes on the text itself. The books provide a real window into 14th century France, and are written with true expertise.

The Season of the Beast

The first book in the series, The Season of the Beast was originally published in 2008. It’s 1304, and the King of France and the Church are locked in a battle for power that will also decide the fate of the Knights Templar and Hospitaller. Meanwhile, in the Normandy countryside, young widow Agnes de Souarcy, the beautiful lady of the manor, is fighting to retain her independent way of life, aware that her spiteful half-brother will do anything to destroy her. These two different worlds collide in the forest near Souarcy, where a terrifying creature begins to kill and mutilate a succession of monks on their way to deliver a secret message of momentous importance. Andrea Japp offers the reader a fast-paced, multi-layered mystery within a richly imagined portrait of medieval France.

The Breath of the Rose

This second book in the series begins in Alençon, in September 1304. Agnes is a prisoner of the Inquisition. Though innocent of any crime, she faces interrogation and torture. And with friend sand allies powerless to help her, she only has her strength of character to draw on as she fights for her life. Meanwhile, at Clairets Abbey, the religious community is shaken to the core when a nun is horrifically poisoned by a murderer hidden in its midst. What links these seemingly disparate events to Francesco de Leone, a Knight Hospitaller who, following an ancient quest of global import, has come to Normandy in search of a secret holy text? An intricate and spellbinding story told in Japp’s addictive prose.

The Divine Blood

In this brand new third volume, published in the UK at the start of August 2009, Agnes has survived the medieval Inquisition, but remains the focus of an ancient quest. Her protectors must do battle with the powerful enemies of the quest who will stop at nothing to see it fail. Where friend and foe are hard to tell apart, few are truly who they seem and all have something to hide. Who is the poisoner at Clairets Abbey? Where is the sacred papyrus to be found? And what is the link to the Vatican and the King of France? ‘Five women, in the centre the sixth’ are the enigmatic words foretelling Agnes’s destiny. But as events come to a head, will she continue to live simply as a woman of her time or fulfil the role that has been prophesied?

“…captivating characters… and vivid descriptions.” Le Figaro

“…enthralling, page after page.” Encre Noir

In this extract from The Divine Blood we meet a ruthless lady and her equally ruthless benefactor:

Aude was orphaned at a young age and placed under the tutelage of an uncle. The old scoundrel had been quick to confuse family duty with droit de seigneur. Admittedly not for long, for the toothless scoundrel had died an agonisingly painful drawn-out death – exactly as his ward had envisaged. She had stood over him devotedly, dabbing his perspiring face with a cloth impregnated with poison. At the tender age of twelve Aude had discovered that she had a flair for poison, murder and deceit equalled only by her beauty and brains. She would soon put her precious talents to work in order to inherit two substantial bequests – one of them from an elderly husband. However, she made the mistake of sparing the husband’s very young nephew; the boy was so delightful and entertaining that Aude hadn’t the heart to send him to an early grave – a serious mistake that would nearly cost her her life. The sweet young collateral heir proved to be every bit as venal as his young aunt by marriage. He alerted the chief bailiff of Auxerre’s men to the misfortune that appeared to have befallen all of Madame de Neyrat’s relatives, and demanded his inheritance. Aude was arrested. A horde of treacherous rats immediately came out of the woodwork should have to accuse her of a range of sins from poisoning to fornicating with demons. Honorius Benedetti, a simple bishop at the time, was passing through the town during her trial. Madame de Neyrat’s striking beauty had bowled him over. He had made sure he took part in her questioning.

Aude recalled every last detail of their first encounter in the vaulted room at the château in Auxerre. Despite the chill of those thick stone walls, Benedetti was perspiring and fanning himself with an elegant fan made of fine strips of mother of pearl, a gift from a lady in Jumièges long ago, he had explained with a knowing smile. The prelate standing before her was slim and small. He had graceful, slender, well-manicured hands; feminine hands. He had urged her to confess her sins. And yet something in his manner had suggested to the young woman that she should do the exact opposite. Aude had confessed nothing and, much to the delight of Honorius – himself a past master at the art of sophistry, had ensnared her judges in a web of lies and deceit. She learnt later that he had done everything in his power to clear her of the serious charges hanging over her, and had even accused the beleaguered nephew of aggravated perjury. The youth, alarmed by the bishop’s implicit threats, had retracted his accusation and had begged forgiveness of his dear aunt, whom he confessed to having seriously misjudged.

One night, one remarkable and inevitable night, Benedetti had joined her at the town house she had inherited from her deceased husband. Between the sheets, dishevelled by their delightful folly, they had discovered that they were two of a kind, equal in strength. Aude had sensed that she was Honorius’s only carnal transgression since taking his vows. In the morning when he had taken his leave of her, she had known – without needing to suggest it tactfully herself – that he would not return. Closing his eyes and smiling; he had kissed her hand and murmured:
‘I thank you for this sublime night, Madame, for I do not sense in any way that it was compensation for having taken care of your trial. Thank you equally for having provided me with a few hours of bitter regret and sweet memories.’

* * * * * * *

A pox on memories.
Aude de Neyrat went on, intrigued:
‘My dear friend… Were you really such a sentimentalist that first time we met, when you saved my life?’
‘A sentimentalist? Why else would I have saved you when I knew you to be guilty?’
‘Because it amused you and perhaps because you desired me a little?’
‘All those things at once. And because you moved me…’
‘I moved you?’
‘You stood alone against all those men, most of them hypocrites. You were fearless, and yet they would have crushed you. In reality, the choice was a simple one. I could fight on your side, or give them free rein and allow mediocrity to triumph over brilliance. I made my choice.’
‘That is undoubtedly the most wonderful compliment I am ever likely to receive and I thank you for it,’ she avowed, with unusual earnestness. ‘And now I must prepare for my trip if I wish to arrive post haste in the charming county of Perche.’
‘You will be stopping off in Chartres on the way, my dear.’
He reached into a drawer and retrieved a fat purse and a few sheets of vellum covered in his small, nervous scrawl.
‘Here is enough money to cover your immediate needs, as well as a few recommendations, instructions, names and addresses. I implore you, Aude do not fail me…’
‘I don’t recall ever having failed… at anything. We shall meet again very soon my friend, to celebrate your success.’

* * * * * * *

A fresh breeze had risen in Saint Peter’s Square that lifted her veil like a wing. Aude de Neyrat walked hurriedly. Ever since Benedetti had evoked his emotion during their first meeting, she had been seized by a potent desire – unexpected and inopportune, given the number of arrangements she must make before her imminent departure. What of it! She would do better to satisfy her hunger as quickly as possible without another thought, and Aude knew how.
She made her way toward Ponte Sant’Angelo, which spanned the river Tiber. Dusk already provided her with some cover. She entered a maze of streets which, though scarcely squalid, were certainly no place for a lady of her position to be wandering at any time of the day or night. The early evening breeze dispersed a little the suffocating stench of humanity, of dirt and detritus that seemed to emanate from the rows of hovels. A man approached her. She looked him up and down. He was ugly, dirty and too old. As for his rotten teeth, they disgusted her. She waved him away. On the other hand, the lithe young figure she noticed loitering next to the stairs leading down to the seedy Bianca Donna tavern took her fancy. Aude drew level with him. He was handsome, very handsome indeed. He looked not yet twenty. He stared at her boldly and paid her a crude compliment.
Aude retorted in perfect Italian:
‘Please don’t speak. You will ruin my pleasure.’
She pulled two shiny coins out of her purse and said:
‘You will do exactly as I say. No more, no less.’
Suddenly sobered, the young man pocketed the money and nodded.

With thanks to Ruth Hunter, Bertram’s Booktime magazine

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