Excerpt: The Herb Knot by Jane Loftus
- Archaeolibrarian
- 10 hours ago
- 5 min read
Book details:
Book Title: The Herb Knot
Series: n/a
Author Name: Jane Loftus
Publication Date: May 8th, 2025
Publisher: HQ Digital
Pages: 336
Any Triggers: Domestic abuse / violence (not much, but two short depictions), implied sexual assault, attempted murder, actual murder.
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The Hundred Years' War comes to life in this spellbinding tale of love, betrayal and conspiracy …
A quest born on the battlefield will change a young boy’s destiny…
Rafi Dubois is five years old when his mother is murdered after the Battle of Crecy in 1346. Alone and lost, Rafi is given a token by the dying Englishman who tried to save his mother’s life: a half-broken family seal which he urges Rafi to return one day to Winchester.
Years later, when Rafi saves a wealthy merchant’s wife from a brutal robbery, he is rewarded with the chance to travel to England, taking the seal with him.
But when he reaches Winchester, Rafi finds himself in a turbulent world full of long-held allegiances, secrets and treachery. His path is fraught with danger and with powerful enemies working against him, Rafi falls in love with Edith, a market apothecary. But in doing so, Rafi unleashes a deadly chain of events which threatens to overwhelm them both…
The Herb Knot is a sweeping and passionate novel set in one of the most tumultuous times in English history, from a powerful new voice.
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Roger pulled up another stool. It seemed they were to have the pleasure of his company. Serlo scuttled across, a helpful little beetle with three mugs on a tray. Rafi had not asked for any ale. Adam grabbed his before the tray had even been set down. Roger cupped his, but did not drink.
Now Rafi could get a better look at him. The steward was wearing a badge on his worsted surcoat, which Rafi presumed marked him as Le Cran’s servant. His narrow face was deeply lined, especially around the sides of his mouth, like furrowed soil. A man could grow turnips on that face and still have room for a second crop. Coupled with his closely cropped hair, Roger looked like an angry cadaver.
Roger began to tap his long finger on the splintered, sticky trestle table. ‘Your master will want to speak to you tomorrow, so make sure you are sober by then.’
Adam grunted.
Rafi eyed the badge. No ducks, no geese, no trees. Le Cran was not the mystery owner of the seal – at least that much was resolved.
‘When you have quite finished, why not tell me what you are doing here. More to the point, explain how someone in such a state of dereliction is able to afford passage on a ship.’
By all the saints the man was rude, just as Adam had warned.
‘I have business here. Family business.’
‘Do you now. And what family business would that be?’
‘My own.’
‘You do not understand.’ Roger leaned forward. ‘You were on the Lady Cecily without permission.’
‘I paid.’
‘So you keep saying. But as soon as you set foot on board, your business became my business. I will ask you again, Frenchman. What are you doing here?’
‘I am from . . .’ Rafi caught the slight shake of Adam’s head.
Roger smirked. ‘No, you are not. I can hear it a mile off. I will tell you why you are here. You are . . .’
Adam snatched at Rafi’s mug. ‘He’s not going to tell anyone what was . . .’ Adam slurred more quietly, ‘what was on the ship. He didn’t know until we had cast off.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s the truth.’ Rafi was growing exasperated. How many times would he have to tell Roger that he had paid honestly for passage and had his own reasons for being here – reasons that had nothing to do with wool smuggling or whatever else Le Cran was up to.
Roger shook his head. ‘I do not believe you and I want you gone.’
‘Believe me, I do not want to be here. The sooner I can leave, the better.’
Adam had finished Rafi’s drink and now looked beseechingly at Roger’s. ‘C’mon. You are not going to drink it.’
‘And neither are you.’ Roger poured the drink into the rushes underneath the table.
Adam lurched forward, smashing his knee into the side of the table. ‘Jesu!’
‘Serves you right.’ Roger’s face was like granite. ‘Be in the workshop tomorrow by dawn, and if you are one second late I will have you cleaning the privies so fast your breeches will be covered in shit before you can count to ten, and as for you—’ the piercing, dark eyes bored through Rafi ‘—I will make sure you are out of here by the end of the week, if not before.’
‘You cannot tell me what to do.’
‘Oh yes I can. So you either tell me what you are really about or I have you thrown on the midden. Or, if I am feeling charitable, jail. What is it to be?’
The finger started tapping on the table again.
‘Why would you throw me on a maiden?’
Roger narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you trying to goad me?’
‘Midden, not maiden.’ Adam belched and let out a stinking breath. ‘The midden is the pile of shit outside the walls.’
‘Midden,’ repeated Rafi. ‘I didn’t know this word before.’
‘You’ll know it soon enough if you carry on with this caper.’
Jesu, this was not going well. There was no way Rafi could afford to be thrown out of Winchester before his search even began. He had no doubt Roger would do it. There was nothing for it, then.
‘I’m looking for somebody. They know who killed my mother and I have reason to believe they are here.’
Roger’s look of surprise was somewhat gratifying. ‘I must concede that I was not expecting a lie as elaborate as this. In Ghent, I take it? In which case, why not look there?’
‘No. Not in Ghent. From . . . the war, just outside Crécy.’ There was no point in lying about that at least. Roger had already worked out that he was no Fleming.
Roger’s face tightened, the lines deepening. He reached for the pouch at his waist and threw some money on the table. ‘Tell Serlo that is for the spilled ale. You can pay for your own, and his.’ Roger nodded at Adam. ‘But take my advice and get out of here.’
‘But I was telling you the truth!’
‘I doubt it.’ Roger scowled at Adam. ‘And make sure he spruces himself up or he will get a kick in the cods tomorrow.’
Jane Loftus gained a degree in 16th-century European and British history from Surrey before taking a postgraduate degree in modern political history. As a lone parent, she worked in Winchester Waterstones before returning to IT once her son was older.
Hugely passionate about the Middle Ages, she drew inspiration for this novel from the medieval layout of Winchester, which has been painstakingly documented.
Jane is originally from London but has lived in Winchester for over twenty years. When not writing, she is usually out walking or watching costume dramas on Netflix - the more medieval the better. She also plays far too many rpgs.
Author Links:
Website: https://janeloftus.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/janeloftusauthor/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/author/B0F3Q52X9Y
Tour hosted by: The Coffee Pot Book Club
Thank you so much for hosting Jane Loftus today, with a fabulous excerpt from her new novel, The Herb Knot.
Take care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club