Showing posts with label shieldwall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shieldwall. Show all posts

Thursday, 17 September 2015

AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Justin Hill

Of all the novels I read while writing The Serpent Sword, two stand out in my memory: The Wake, by Paul Kingsnorth and Shieldwall, by Justin Hill. Both are set later in history than my Bernicia Chronicles, but they stood out for each using language to evoke the time and place of Anglo-Saxon England. The Wake is quite radical, with a so-called “shadow tongue” used by Kingsnorth. A mixture of Old English and modern English to conjure up a “word-scape” of what it might have been like to live and talk in England a thousand years ago.


Justin Hill’s writing is easier to digest, but his love of the language of the period shines through each page of Shieldwall. His use of words that are firmly rooted in Old English and his poetic cadences that bring to mind the epic phrases of Beowulf, elevate the book beyond other novels set in the same era. I once joked when editing The Serpent Sword, that I could see the point when I had started to read Shieldwall during the writing -- my prose suddenly got better! Justin Hill’s writing is powerful and poignant. Few writers make me revel in the language they use in the way that Hill does in Shieldwall.


So, having explained that I am a fan, it should come as no surprise that I am extremely happy that Justin has agreed to do an interview with me. I hope you enjoy reading his responses as much as I did.

Your first books were about exotic (at least to me!) locations, such as Eritrea and China. What made you choose to write Shieldwall, which is set in England in the 11th century?

Well, first of all, thank you so much for the comments about Shieldwall. The initial inspiration for the book was the language I would use in telling. It sets the mental geography for the reader. It’s subtle, but hugely important part of the book.

With the exotic locations – well, I spent my twenties avoiding a career. I worked as a VSO (Voluntary Service Overseas) volunteer for most of that time, and so the books I was writing were largely based or inspired on the places I was living.


Shieldwall was a home-coming, in many ways. I’d always loved the Anglo Saxon and Viking periods of history, and I didn’t want to be pigeon-holed as a writer who only wrote about exotic foreign places and so had been looking for an English story.

Having grown up in Yorkshire, in the 1980s, with both sides of my family having grown up in mining villages, I’d originally tried a novel that portrayed life twenty years after the miner’s strike. It didn’t really work. The first few chapters of that novel are languishing on a hard drive somewhere.
I was living in Ireland at the time, and there was a lot of talk about ‘800 years of English oppression.’ It seemed a little lazy, historically, as the first 200 odd years were Norman, not English oppression, and then it seemed that of all the countries subdued by the Normans in the early medieval period, it was the English who had lost most: our language, literature and literary traditions, our geo-political position spanning the Scandinavia and Europe.

No one had written about that period, and so I started looking at the Battle of Hastings, and the story grew from there. It was clear that the story of Hastings had to start with the Danish Conquest of 1016, as it puts into play the characters and storylines that end in 1066.

Shieldwall is part of a trilogy. Tell us a bit about the other books. When are they due out and at what stage of the writing process are you at?

Yes, Shieldwall was originally planned as the first of a trilogy, but I am open to a longer sequence of books. I’m finishing up the second book, which is working under the name Viking Fire. It picks up the threads from Shieldwall, and carries them forward. It is the story, essentially, of Harald Hardrada, commonly thought of as the last Viking.

You have recently written the novelization for sequel to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, The Green Legend. How did you go about getting that gig and how has it affected you as a writer?

I’m on a fairly short list of writers who have written successfully about modern and historical China. I also knew the agent for Wang Dulu’s family (the writer of the original novels) and so I think I was a fairly obvious choice.

It was very liberating to work on. Firstly it was a pleasure to be back in the Chinese landscape and working within a landscape which I could embroider with all the fabulous wealth of Chinese traditions.

The biggest impact it had was exploding everything I thought I knew about writing. I’d previously said that I couldn’t write a book if I knew what was going to happen at all stages of the story. Essentially, the writing process was as much a journey of discovery for me as it was for the readers. With Crouching Tiger, I was given a copy of the script, and asked to plan out a synopsis of the novel.
The script wasn’t long enough to base a whole story, so I went back to the original Chinese novels, and framed something that linked to the first film, and then continued along the path of the script.
The other challenge was that there were only six months to finish the whole novel, so I cleared the decks and powered through, finishing 8,000 odd words a week to get the first draft done.
It was incredibly invigorating to be doing something so fresh and original, and I’m hoping to bring some of that speed and efficiency into my future writing. I’m generally frustrated by how long it takes me to write a book, so would love to speed this process up.

How did the process of writing based on a screenplay work? What was the biggest surprise for you while writing The Green Legend?

A film script was couriered to me from LA. Each page had my name printed across it so I kept it under lock and key as I worked on a synopsis.

We were looking for a style vaguely along the lines of Game of Thrones set in China, so I worked on a few style pieces, to make sure we were all happy with the tone and style, and then I worked on the overall synopsis.

We’re all familiar with the way the screen condenses stories; this worked the other way round. The script was too short for a full length novel, so I went back to the original books and brought in some of the storylines from that. The original Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was based on the fourth of five books, but it deviated from the books in some major ways.

I worked to make it all comprehensible and cohesive.

You lived until recently in Hong Kong where you taught at university. You have now returned to the UK. Are you planning on being a full-time writer now, or will you be teaching again, or perhaps you have other plans?

I’ve decided to go back to writing full-time. There’s a lot on my plate, but it’s an exciting time for historical novels, so I’m aiming to get the books out better and faster.

I’m really enjoying being back in the UK – especially the change of the seasons. Hong Kong doesn’t do seasons in the same way – I’m watching the first couple of trees that are starting to turn. I can’t wait for autumn and winter.

I’m hoping all the changes will feed into the writing…


What writer or book has had the biggest influence on your work?

Undoubtedly JRR Tolkien in that he turned me from a slow reader who liked kits of batteries and light bulbs, to one who devoured books.  I remember being amazed by the way Tolkien created a fantastical world which still felt so real. I closed Lord of the Rings and thought ‘I want to do that!’
So, at ten years old I went from wanting to be a fireman to wanting to write books. I never changed my mind. That was a huge help, I think, in actually getting published. Single-mindedness and stubborn determination.

My reading varies wildly, though. I loved the work of David Gemmell and Julian May as a teenager. At university Thomas Hardy completely bewitched me. I think the next gob-smacking moment was discovering the writing of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and the Tang Dynasty Chinese poets, who remain a great source of inspiration.

Now I’m very eclectic in my reading. I read pulp, literary fiction, academic literature (often an oxymoron!) poetry and histories. At the moment I’m reading English Historical Documents Volume I, which covers the years up to 1042.

I like to hear characters voices in the original. They speak to you more directly.

What are the best and worst things about being a writer?

The best thing is the first page of a novel, when anything can happen. It is the five star review on Amazon, when someone gets and loves the book. It is the email from a reader. It is the sweaty palmed reader who waits to talk to you after a reading. It is the first public reading of a new novel, when the audience goes silent, and the for the first time the book comes alive in the minds of an audience.

The worst thing – huh – not sure I can think of anything. The pay, perhaps: but we don’t write for pay.


What is the best book you've read in the last twelve months?

It has to be Bring up the Bodies by Hilary Mantell. I found Wolf Hall too easy to put down and not pick up again, and still haven’t got to the end, but Bring Up the Bodies was a much more focused and compelling book with all the literary flourishes of Thomas Cromwell.

What is the most exciting experience you've had as a result of writing?

My first novel – The Drink and Dream Teahouse – was an explosion of all kinds of themes and ideas.  It was six months from beginning to end, and in some ways it’s as good as anything I’ve written since. It’s ballsy, confident, ignorant and naïve in a way many first novels are, and went onto be a Washington Post Book of the Year, which was all an extraordinary experience.


Once you have completed the Conquest trilogy, what’s next? More historical fiction? More film adaptations? Or something else entirely?

I don’t see myself exclusively as a historical novelist, so have a lot of interesting ideas. I find it takes me a long time to bring together my ideas and themes for a modern novel, so they’re a long time coming. I’d like to write about Hong Kong, which would be a modern novel. But I’d also like to go back to non-fiction. What gets called Creative Non Fiction, CNF, these days. Not sure what that would be – but I’m thinking something along the lines of an almanac.

And now for the quick-fire questions:

Tea or coffee?

Tea. Jasmine tea, or Yorkshire Gold.

Burger or hot dog?

Burger.

Villain or hero?

Hero.

Beer or wine?

Wine. Preferably a Pomerol or a Chablis Grand Cru. Or even better, one of each.

Movie or TV series?

TV series. Sopranos style.

Happy ending or tragedy?

Tragedy. Bitter sweet like Lord of the Rings, or Tess of the D’Urbervilles.

In the car, audio-book or music?

Music. Sing a long stuff.

Thanks so much for taking the time to answer my questions and for all the support you have given this debut novelist!

Connect with Justin Hill:

www.justinhillauthor.com
https://www.facebook.com/justinhillauthor
Twitter
Amazon Author Homepage

Friday, 25 July 2014

A bit of writing revisited - the power of editing

Way back in December 2012, when I was only halfway through the first draft of THE SERPENT SWORD, I posted a small sample of the novel here. Well, since then I completed the draft and then made quite a lot of changes in subsequent edits and I thought it might be interesting to compare the same passage in the version of the manuscript that is currently under consideration with publishers.

Have a look at the before and after if you like and let me know what you think. Anything surprise you about decisions I have taken? Are there any bits that you think are significantly better? Or worse? Any comments, don't be shy.

Before you get into reading the sample, just a quick mention about where I am at with the sequel and how the search for a publisher is going.

I am still waiting to hear back from some publishers, so fingers crossed and watch this space. Positive thoughts, everyone!

The sequel to THE SERPENT SWORD, working title, THE CROSS AND THE CURSE, is now at 104,000 words of the first draft. I can see the light at the end of the creative tunnel. I'm looking forward to completing it and then having a break before getting stuck into the edits.

Until then, enjoy the summer and I hope you enjoy this snippet from chapter 3 of THE SERPENT SWORD.

Comments welcome.

Extract from THE SERPENT SWORD


Bassus woke Beobrand the next day before dawn. Men were readying themselves all around them. Many were vomiting, leaving steaming puddles dotted throughout the encampment. Bassus handed him his spear and made sure he was holding his shield correctly. Bassus was wearing his full armour and in the dark he looked like a giant from a scop's tale.
"Here, take this." Bassus handed Beobrand a seax. It was short, not much more than a knife, with a simple bone handle. The single-edged blade shimmered with the patterns of finely-forged metal. "It doesn't look like much, but it is a good blade and holds its edge well. Once we are in close, you'll find it more use than the spear. Your brother gave it to me and it served me well. He would have wanted you to have it."
Beobrand thanked him and they walked together towards the edge of the camp. The shieldwall was forming there. Edwin had taken Bassus' advice and set up camp to the east of the Mercian and Waelisc host, so that when they attacked, the sun would be in the eyes of their enemies.
Nearing the centre of the line, Beobrand saw that Edwin and Osfrid were standing there, metal-garbed, battle-ready and proud, with their gesithas around them. They parted and allowed Bassus and Beobrand to take up places in their ranks.
Beobrand looked along the line. Spears bristled, held aloft, a deadly winter forest. Armour and weapons jingled. Somewhere a man laughed. A short, wiry man to his left drew a stone slowly along the length of his seax with a grinding rasp. Beobrand's whole body thrummed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
Bassus said in a calm voice, "Easy now, Beobrand. This is your first battle and you will not be wanting to die in it, so listen to me." Bassus took off his helmet and Beobrand could just make out the scar running above his left eye. "Use what I have shown you. If you stick by me, you'll be all right. And remember, if I get one of their shields down, get in quick and skewer the bastard."
Beobrand nodded and turned his attention towards the enemy. Cadwallon's and Penda's hosts had seen the Northumbrians readying for battle and they were forming their own shieldwall. They stood in a ragged line at the top of a small rise, the sky behind them a dark purple. In between the land was flat and boggy. To the centre of the enemy line Beobrand made out a standard bearing a wolf's head and several wolves' tails. To the left of that he saw another banner, this one carried a human skull and a crossbeam from which dangled what appeared to be human scalps. The men below those standards were lifting up spears, and hefting shields. Preparing for battle. Preparing to kill.
Smoke billowed from the campfires behind them, mingling with the ground fog.
Would one of the men he could see in the dim pre-dawn light kill him soon? He felt sick all of a sudden and started breathing through his mouth in an effort to calm his stomach. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the ash haft of his spear.
Images from the last six months flooded his mind. Edita's tiny body, swaddled in a shroud being lowered into the ground. Rheda, sweet Rheda, her hollow eyes boring into his as he mopped her burning brow with a cool cloth. She tried to smile for him even then. His mother, shaking with fever, lying on the straw-stuffed mattress, soaked in sweat, reaching out to clench his hand in a grip that belied her frailty.
"Don't stay here, Beobrand!" she had hissed. "You have nothing to bind you here now. I know you wish to be gone, to seek out your brother. You were meant for greater things than tilling the land, my son." She had closed her eyes. Her breathing was so shallow he'd thought her spirit had left.
Then her eyes had opened again and she had spoken for the final time, summoning all her strength to say those last words.
"You...are...not...your...father's...son..."
What had she meant? He would never know. Her breath had left her with a sigh and his father's bones now lay in the charred remains of his house.
 "Wake up, boy!" Bassus' gruff voice brought Beobrand back to the present. To the battle. To kill or be killed.
All of his dreams with Octa and Selwyn had come to this. He had taken heed of his mother's words and left Hithe. His father had confronted him for the last time. He was a farm boy no longer. He was a warrior in Edwin of Northumbria's warband.
He cast a glance at Bassus and the huge warrior flashed his teeth in a grin.
#
The sun was just beginning to peak out over the trees, shedding a pale light over the battlefield. The Northumbrian warriors cast long shadows in front of them.
"Come, my countrymen!" shouted Edwin. "The moment of truth is now upon us. You have answered my call to the fyrd and stand here shield to shield with your kinsmen in defence of the land that is ours by right of blood.
"I am Edwin, son of Aella, direct descendant of Woden. The blood of the old gods flows in my veins and the new God, the Christ, is on our side. Paulinus has blessed us in His name and I have promised to build Him a great church when he grants us victory.
"We cannot be defeated this day. Together we will send these pagans to hell where they belong.
"I will quench my sword's thirst in the blood of these Waelisc and Seaxon Mercians."
He flourished his fine battle-blade above his head. It glinted in the dim sunlight.
"Take up your weapons with me. Guide them with cunning and might. 
"Kill them all! Attack them now and kill every one of them!"
"For Edwin!" came back the raucous response from the host, Beobrand's voice as loud as the next man's.
The shieldwall surged forward. Beobrand felt his shield bang against the man on his left as they ran. He tried to keep pace and to hold his shield in the right position. He could hardly believe what was happening; what had been a distant dream was now vivid reality. And then there was no more time for thinking. The men around him let fly their javelins with shouts of defiance. At the same time, the enemy threw theirs. Beobrand had no javelin but he watched as the light throwing spears were silhouetted against the sky. Those of each side mingled together at the apex of their flights, and then he could see the burnished point of one spear glinting as it fell straight towards him.
He raised his shield above his head and kept running. Something hit the rim of the shield, but he was not wounded. The man to his left screamed, tripped and fell. Beobrand caught a glimpse of a javelin piercing the man's right leg just above the knee. He looked away. The enemy were mere steps away.
The two shield lines crashed together like waves hitting a cliff. Beobrand's shield smashed against another. He pulled back, trying to get an opening at the warrior in front of him. As he did so, he realised it was a mistake. His opponent, a brutish, red-bearded Waelisc, wearing a leather helm, pushed hard as he stepped back. Beobrand lost his balance and fell sprawling to the muddy ground. The Waelisc warrior, smiling at how easily he had broken through the shieldwall, pulled back his spear for the killing blow. Beobrand tried to rise, but the Waelisc moved in too quickly for him to get to his feet.
But at the moment the spear point came hurtling towards Beobrand's exposed chest, Bassus turned and parried the blow with an over arm swing of his barbed spear. He swung with such force that the warrior lost his grip. The spear fell harmlessly to the ground next to Beobrand.
With practised skill and uncanny agility, Bassus thrust his spear into the Waelisc's wooden shield. The barbs caught, and Bassus leant on the spear shaft, using his weight to pull the shield down.
"Now, boy!" Bassus shouted, struggling to hold on to his spear and avoid the cleaver-like blade the Waelisc had unsheathed. Beobrand scrambled to his feet. He snatched up his spear and, letting out a roar that was lost in the tumult of battle, thrust his spear at the Waelisc's midriff. The man attempted to parry, but was hampered by his trapped shield. He only succeeded in deflecting the spear upwards towards his unprotected face. With all Beobrand's weight behind the thrust the point grazed over the man's right cheekbone and pierced his eye. He collapsed instantly and the sudden dead weight on his spear pulled Beobrand down. He stumbled, landing in a heap on the warrior's twitching corpse.
The anvil sound of metal on metal and the screams and grunts of warriors crashed around him. He struggled to free his spear from the eye socket of the warrior, but it was lodged fast. He pulled for a few heartbeats and then remembered the seax that Bassus had given him. He unsheathed it. It felt natural in his grip and with abandon, he threw himself into the rift in the shieldwall. He had killed an enemy and all his fear had vanished like morning dew in the light of the sun. The noise of battle subsided around him and an inner calm washed over him.
A snaggle-toothed man with blood-shot eyes, peeked over a shield in front of him. Beobrand's seax flicked out over the shield and rammed down the man's throat. Bassus was screaming beside Beobrand, hacking and slashing with his sword, splinters from the enemies' shields making a dusty cloud about him. The Northumbrian line was moving forward. A fallen warrior clawed at Beobrand's leg, whether friend or foe, Beobrand neither knew nor cared. Battle lust was upon him and he had no time for the wounded. He stamped on the man's fingers, feeling them snap under his foot and pushed his shield forward to meet the next enemy.
The enemy shieldwall parted and a grey-haired man wearing a fine suit of scale mail stood before him. He was wielding a blood-drenched sword and there was a pile of corpses at his feet. Beobrand thought not of the danger. He saw a gap in the line and walked forward to fill it. The old warrior looked surprised and almost saddened as Beobrand, with no armour and only a splintered shield and short seax for protection, walked towards him.
Something in the warrior's grim features penetrated through the red mist that had descended on Beobrand. He looked around to see where Bassus and the other Northumbrians were, searching for aid against this mighty warrior. Too late he saw that he had become cut off from his shieldwall. The tide of the battle had shifted and the Mercians and Waelisc had outflanked the Northumbrians. Edwin's host had fallen back towards the encampment, leaving Beobrand stranded and surrounded by enemies.
END OF EXTRACT

Sunday, 24 March 2013

Ten great historical fiction novels or series

Historical fiction is a massive genre with many sub-genres. There are different historical periods and approaches to books. Some writers take a real historical figure and write about their life. Others create purely fictional characters set in a historical setting. This is often used for historical romance novels. The time and place is fixed in history, but most of the characters and events are purely fictional.
Lots of novels that could be considered historical fiction are really a different genre, placed into a time in the past. An example of this would be Umberto Eco's, "The Name of the Rose". It is really a whodunit thriller, but happens to be set in a medieval monastery. The ambiance of the place and time work with the story and have a considerable impact on people's actions, but in essence, the story is about a detective catching a killer.
The novel I am working on is set in a real historical period (the first half of the seventh century) and includes several real historical characters and events, but the story is told mainly through the eyes of a fictional protagonist and other people who exist only in my imagination (and hopefully the imagination of those who read the book once it is published). This is a popular format used by many other historical fiction writers and allows the freedom to explore things outside the scope of known historical fact.
Here I have presented a list of ten great historical fiction novels or series of novels with a short description. They are in no particular order and I have not written a lengthy review of each book, as I am sure that anyone reading this can find a wealth of information and reviews using Google.
Click the book titles to find more information.


Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry


Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of epic proportions. Set in the American West towards the end of the nineteenth century. No other novel I've read has deeper or richer characters and plot, woven together with the eye of a master writer.
Violent, shocking, at times funny, poignant, sad and joyful. A triumph of a book. One of my all time favourite books of any genre. The TV miniseries is good too, but read the book first.
The other novels in the series, whilst still enjoyable reads, pale into insignificance against the original book, "Lonesome Dove". Don't be tempted to read the prequels first. Read "Lonesome Dove" and then, if you love the characters, which you probably will, read the sequel, "Streets of Laredo".


The Warlord Chronicles by Bernard Cornwell


The story of Arthur retold in gritty, action-packed realism. All the main characters are there. Merlin is magical, but it is never clear whether he real wields mystical powers or if he simply knows the ways of nature and the minds of men.
Native Britons defend their kingdom from the advance of the Sais (Saxons). Battles, betrayals, love and death.
Dark Ages Britain has never been so much fun to read.


The Saxon Stories by Bernard Cornwell


Bernard Cornwell again. This time a few centuries later and based firmly in historical fact. The story of Alfred of Wessex and the struggles against the Danes as told from the point of view of the larger than life character of Uthred of Bebbanburg.
Not quite as good as the Warlord Chronicles in my opinion, but great books nonetheless.


The Conqueror Series by Conn Iggulden

Conn Iggulden is firmly in the vein of Bernard Cornwell's action-packed storytelling, but focusing more on the actual historical figures rather than fictional characters involved in the events.
This, his second series of historical books, follows the rise of Genghis Khan and the Mongol nation. Gripping stuff.


The Emperor Series by Conn Iggulden


Conn Iggulden's first series follows the life of Julius Caesar. You may think you know all about the Emperor of Rome, but the story stretches over four books and never gets boring.
If you like Roman history, this series is a must.
Update: There is now a fifth book in the series - "Emperor: Blood of Gods". This tells the story of the bloody aftermath of Caesar's assassination.


Shieldwall by Justin Hill


I've only just read this book but think it deserves a place in this list. It is the first in a series leading up to the Battle of Hastings. Justin Hill's clever use of language that is directly derived from Old English and the meter of his prose that could so easily be imagined echoing in a great mead hall as part of a scop's epic saga, lends this page-turner a real sense of authenticity.
Strong characters, bloody battles and beautiful prose. What's not to like?


The Aubrey-Maturin Series by Patrick O'Brian


The absolute master of historical fiction. The best praise for this series is that it feels as if it could have been written in the early nineteenth century - the time the books are set. The attention to detail is incredible and the main characters, Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, are so well formed that you feel you know them like members of your own family by the end of the series.
The writing can be hard going, especially to start with, but persevere and you'll be rewarded with twenty of the best historical fiction novels ever written.


The Troy Series by David Gemmell


David Gemmell is not best-known for historical fiction, he is much more famous for his fantasy writing, but this series, set around the battle of Troy is rich with historical details and Gemmel's usual flair for strong characters and exciting story lines.
Gemmell sadly died before finishing the last of the three books in the series and his wife, Stella Gemmell finished the book. The aptly named "The Fall of Kings" has an added poignancy as a result, but unfortunately suffers from a lack of consistency.


The Chronicles of Iona by Paula de Fougerolles


I have to admit that I haven't actually finished this one yet, but from what I have read so far, the writing evokes the time and place with aplomb. The characters of Columba and Aedan are robust and engaging and it is a story I know little about. It is set some eighty years before my own novel starts, so I was particularly interested to see how she deals with the location and the period.
So far I am not disappointed.


Legend by David Gemmell



OK, so this isn't really a historical novel. It is David Gemmell's first novel and set in his fantasy setting of Drenai. It tells the story of the siege of Dros Delnoch and introduces his wonderful character, Druss the Legend. Anyone who likes action-packed adventure, battles and great characters will love this book.
It is escapism at its best and one of my favourite books.

Sunday, 10 February 2013

Rugby: The Modern Shieldwall?

I've been quiet for the last couple of weeks, but I've kept busy with the writing. I've now written 79,495 words of the first draft and I have only got a couple of chapters left to write to get me to the finish line. So I'm  pretty much on track according to my plan. I'm getting quite excited now by the prospect of actually getting the draft complete and then starting to edit and clean it up a bit before the next stage.
I did my writing today just after watching England beat Ireland at rugby in the Six Nations and I couldn't help but wonder whether the men who today play professional rugby are similar in physique and temperament to the warriors who would have stood shield-to-shield in the shieldwalls of Dark Ages Britain.
They are strong and heavyset, seemingly oblivious to pain or intimidation, willing to throw themselves into the fray with little or no thought to their own well-being. They are purely driven by the goal to beat their opponents and to help their teammates.
Look at the scrums in rugby, with the mud, blood, screams, pushing, stamping and roars of exertion. It is not too difficult to imagine similar, if a lot more deadly scenes, over a thousand years ago as two war bands of opposing nations clashed in battle. They would have wielded seaxes, swords and spears. And they would have worn armour and borne shields of linden. But in essence there would have been two groups of savagely-competitive men vying over a small piece of muddy earth. Of course, there would be no physios for muscle strains and losing the game would mean death!

There is something almost gladiatorial about rugby, with the terraces of thousands of baying fans in Colosseum-like stadia, but if you removed the crowds and placed the men in a field somewhere, I think it would be reminiscent of those early battles of the past.