ISLAND OF TYRANTS.

A novel set in Late Roman Britain. By J.C.M.Hood. 

In AD 475 the former Roman provinces of Britannia have lost contact with the imperial government in Rome. The Romano-Britons of the province are forced to defend themselves against Picts, Scots, Irish and Anglo-Saxons. Island of Tyrants is a story set in these turbulent times. 

History tells us that the Romano-Britons were led by a hero known as Ambrosius Aurelianus, the 'last of Roman Race.' In an effort to achieve legitimacy through imperial appointment, Aurelianus sends an embassy to Rome. This is the story of those who are sent from far-off Britain to the imperial city, and of their struggle to travel through the lands of the barbarians. They must also contend with factional warlords who do not want the embassy to succeed.

Scroll down to read some extracts from Island of Tyrants.

Island of Tyrants paperback copy can be obtained by writing to the author

or you can obtain a digital copy from Amazon:

EXTRACTS from Island of Tyrants

The Story begins:

Morrigan’s children flew down to feast on the dead. The battle had summoned them from the moorland, and they patiently circled the struggle below until one side had turned and run, the other to pursue. Arthur’s army had driven their enemy back into the hills, leaving only the bleeding remains of the fallen. The ravens now began to glut themselves, grim reminders that Morrigan, fairy queen of strife, the ‘woman of the hateful laugh’ still waxed strong on the violent passions of men.

Atticus meets a wood nymph

Some feeling made him turn slightly to look behind him, and he stiffened with fright. In the dappled light of the forest stood a wood nymph, her tangled brown hair wreathed in light. She was clothed in a short tunic of unbleached wool, and her bare legs seemed long and slender. He stared at her, then he stood up slowly and turned to face her, showing his open hands. She was about twelve years old. Her face and limbs were streaked in dirt, and her hair was matted and laced with nettles. She looked down at him with wide, liquid eyes for a moment, serene and self-assured like a goddess, then, with a swift and graceful movement, she turned and ran into the woods, leaving him alone in the fading light.

Maurana hunts for food

The moon was well up, the ship shrouded in silence, when Maurana cautiously pushed her head out from under the tarpaulin and looked about. She could see the empty deck clearly in the pale light. Alert and tense, she eased her aching body from the hiding place and stood upright, massaging the muscles of her neck and shoulders and wincing with pain from the throbbing ache inside her temples. The ship was empty. They were all on shore, gathered round the warmth of that orange-red glow, preparing their evening meal. It was the time of slack water, between ebb and flood, and the river was calm, reflecting back the cool glint of moonlight from its surface and lapping in gentle little eddies against the hull of the ship. The receding tide had left behind an oozy expanse of mud flats, crowded with the black shapes of curlews and godwits, their heads bobbing constantly in the bright light of the moon as they waded across the mud. Beyond the mud was a dark, shadowed marshland, and beyond that, thick swathes of reedmace, standing sharply against the blackness of the further forest. Surely this fertile place would provide something to satisfy her hunger?

Brant meets the golden-haired woman.

He suddenly looked up, warned by a sense of dread, and saw a golden-haired woman watching him from the shadows. She wore a green stola, unbelted, and her hair hung down her back like a cascade of fire.

Brant was too frightened to do anything other than stand and stare. He knew that the Otherworld could sometimes reach out and take the living captive. He wanted to turn and run, but whatever spell the spirit had placed upon him held him tight. He shivered.

The woman suddenly beckoned to him, and he felt himself drawn to obey her summons. She led him towards the eastern gate of the town, keeping a distance from him but always calling him on. Suddenly she turned her back and vanished through the gateway.

He followed like an unwilling slave. The ancient gates were terribly eroded by time but somehow the solid stone offered him a refuge against the ethereal world of magic. He held on to an outcrop of masonry, scanning the shadows outside the town. A narrow pathway led amongst dense vegetation to a moonlit open space, in which stood the golden-haired woman, waiting for him.

Island of Tyrants can be obtained by writing to the author

or you can obtain a digital copy from Amazon: