With my opening encounter with cancer in 1992, I had a bi-lateral mastectomy. In the six clear years that followed, I wrote six books.

For the first part of this time, I was working with a co-author. Mary and I had a prosperous relationship through the first six books of the series (from The Novice’s Tale through The Murderer’s Tale), but by the end of them she had grown tired of medieval England and our vision for the stories had drifted somewhat apart. She wanted to write warmer murder mysteries – cozies; but I simply do not feel cozy about murder and prefer to explore the deep effects of it on everyone around a wrongful death. Mary so loathed Giles in The Murderer’s Tale, however, that before we were done she could not work on chapters from his point of view. (We will not consider what this says about me, that I was willing to be in Giles’ head.) After that, we parted friends – leaving me in medieval England while she began a new career as Monica Ferris, writing mysteries centered around a modern needlework shop.

I was lucky with The Prioress’ Tale, my first solo effort in the series: Both my agent and my editor told me I waited far too long to kill anyone in it. They said I could get away with it once, but that I should never do that again.

Then it was nominated for an Edgar Award, and after that I was allowed to kill people whenever I wanted to.

From there it was The Maiden’s Tale – story I had been wanting to tell for a very long time – and then on to The Reeve’s Tale. It was while I was working on The Reeve’s Tale in 1998 that the cancer made its first return. The damnable stuff was in my sternum this time, eating a large, tumor-filled chunk out of the bone, and as you can see from the sudden heaping of dedications at the front of Reeve’s, I wasn’t sure I would live to write another book.

This was also when I began my long career of not trusting what oncologists said to me. You see, I had been told that if I made it five years without the cancer coming back, I was cured, in the clear, a success. But at one of the scans to determine what the cancer was doing in the bone, a technician asked me if this was my first time with breast cancer, and when I answered, no, I’d had it six years ago, the technician said casually. “Oh, yes. Six years is when it usually comes back if it’s going to.”

I was left speechless.  I had been annoyed at insurance companies because I’d been told none of them would give me health insurance for seven years after the breast cancer had been treated.  That had seemed eminently unfair, given the oncologists’ claim – made boldly and often – that if a woman goes clear of cancer for five years, she’s cured.  But now I had to consider that the insurance companies had a very good reason for their seven-year limit – and that if the insurance companies knew about the six-year cycle of recurrence, then the cancer community’s claim that “five years and you’re cured” was someone’s cruel, self-serving statistical game to make a good-looking “success rate”.

What makes me a tad bit more bitter is that if I had not accepted the “five years and you’re cured”, I would have figured out far sooner that the excruciating pain in my chest was likely cancer instead of the strained muscle I supposed it was and kept trying to ease, and I would have gone to the oncologist far sooner.

Since then, with fourteen more years experience, I have become wary of the almost-truths and avoidances too many doctors practice to keep control over us (for our own good, of course).  Rather than blindly trusting what oncologists or any other physician tells me (no matter how desperately I wish they would just save me), I listen, I judge, I research, I make my choices – often against the advice of my various oncologists over the years – knowing full well that a choice I make could be the wrong choice and kill me.  But doctors make those choices for us all the time, all too often “by the book” and without due regard for our personal responses to medications, and their choices also kill.  Frankly, if I had been a “good patient” and done as I was told at every turn through these past years, I’d have been dead long since.  As it is, I grope onward, hoping for the best.

– Margaret

Most of The Murderer’s Tale takes place at Minster Lovel, the church and manor house of the Lovell family. As I mentioned in my author’s note for the book, this is a real place. You can still visit the ruins, which are both beautiful and haunting:

It was strange to so recently revisit a place filled with such life and hope in The Murderer’s Tale and then see these beautiful but utterly different photographs from centuries far-removed.

– Margaret

The Lovell family and their manor of Minster Lovell were not made up for this story.  The effigy of Lord Lovell mentioned here is still in the parish church, and the ruins of their lovely manor house can still be visited beside the Windrush River under Wychwood in Oxfordshire.  I recommend it.

As for Lionel Knyvet’s affliction, epilepsy has been known throughout history.  It takes many different forms and is better understood now than ever before, with ways to often control the seizures, but through most of the centuries it was seen as either a mental disease – madness – or else as a spiritual one – possession by either demonic or shamanistic spirits, depending on the culture in which the person lived (and lives; such beliefs persist in many places) – or of course as madness brought on by demonic possession.

In medieval English law, madness was a recognized defense.  The legal ramifications of Lionel’s supposed crime, given he had apparently committed it while mad, were as compassionate as laid out in the story.  Instead of a legally-recognized madman’s property being seized into the king’s hands and lost after he was found guilty of committing a crime, his property would be held in trust for him, in the hope of him regaining his wits, whereupon his property and his freedom would be restored to him.

Of course the law also includes a warning to beware of someone feigning madness in order to avoid punishment, which goes to show that human nature holds true through the years – and that medieval lawyers and juries were no fools.

– Margaret

Kindle Edition / Nook Edition
Other Editions

A book trailer for The Murderer’s Tale.

Other trailers:

The Outlaw’s Tale
The Bishop’s Tale
The Boy’s Tale

The Murderer’s Tale has been released for both the Kindle and the Nook. It can also be read on any iPad, Android, Windows PC, Mac, or Blackberry device using either the free Kindle Reading Apps or the free Nook Apps for those platforms. It will also be available through the iBookstore shortly, but Apple takes much longer to process new e-books than Amazon or B&N.

THROUGH A MURDERER’S EYES…

Caught under the tyrannical thumb of her new prioress, Dame Frevisse finds welcome relief in leaving St. Frideswide nunnery on pilgrimage. But the road brings with it unwelcome company: The wealthy Lionel Knyvet has been possessed by a foul demon. Seeking relief from the horrific terrors visited upon his body each fortnight, Lionel has dragged his entire household on an endless pilgrimage across the breadth and length of England. Frevisse wants nothing more than the peaceful bliss of travel, but must instead endure the incessant chattering of a mob.

Lionel’s possession, however, may only mask a darker sin. When the pilgrims make their way to the manor house at Minster Lovell, Frevisse begins to unwind the bitter poisons of jealousy and betrayal eating at the hearts of both Lionel and his brother Giles. Against her will, the innocent nun is drawn into the vilest depths of the human soul and there she unlocks the mysteries of a blackened heart. But even when the truth comes out, can justice be done? The pure of heart will find no peace when murder and death come knocking at the manor’s door…

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PRAISE FOR THE MURDERER’S TALE

“Frazer has created the most despicable villain since Iago.” – Patricia W. Julius, Detective as Historian

“Historical readers will be charmed with the story; feminists will be delighted with the strong female characters. Ellis Peters has a worthy successor in Margaret Frazer.” – Meritorious Mysteries

“Expertly captures the flavor of the period with vivid descriptions and creates dimensional characters true to the times.” – Rendezvous

“A diabolically smooth and logical frame-up… Frazer springs substantial surprises. A moving portrait of how afflictions torment body and mind and a meditation on selfless friendship. It’s a treat, with memorable characters and a thoughtful, bittersweet ending.” – S.M. Tyson, The Armchair Detective

The Murderer’s Tale was the last book that my then-co-author and I wrote together, before she gave up on medieval England and went to cozy needlework shop mysteries.  We planned the book together, meaning from the very first to tell the story from the murderer’s point of view, and thereby came the parting of our ways, I think.  She had always said she wanted to write light murder mysteries, murder mysteries that were essentially cheerful – what are now called cozies.  I seem to be of a darker nature; nothing about murder seems cozy to me, and when – as was our wont – I began the first draft of Murderer’s inside the title character’s head, it was a nasty place to be.  Given the crimes Mary and I had planned for him, how could it be otherwise?  Nor did he get any nicer as the book went on.  Unfortunately, he proved too much for Mary.  She hated him so much that she finally refused to have anything to do with his chapters at all.

Now I have said elsewhere that I don’t identify with only my main character – that I identify with all my characters, turning inward on myself to find some part of me that — if cultivated instead of bypassed – could become what this character is.  Then I explore that part of me, and it becomes the warp on which I weave a character.  So exploring and creating Giles was not a pleasant experience for me.  Nor was doing the same with Domina Alys in the next book.  But it seems to me that if I am going to write about murder, then if the story is going to be worth telling at all, I have to look at the ugliness within a murderer, and not only the ugliness within a murderer, but the cruel changes that ugliness makes in the lives of the people around him or her.  Hence, as Dame Frevisse is forced to deal with murders over the years, she grows and deepens.  And because, through her, I have had to look far closer and deeper in the dark hearts of murderers (meaning into the dark corners of my own heart, as it were), I’ve grown and changed, too, have come to value kindness and generosity of spirit with far more passion that before and have a very focused hatred of cruelty.

This leads to occasional odd moments, such as when – working at the rewrite of a later book in the series – I found myself railing at the murderer for the cruel, vile, treacherous way he had killed his victim.  How could he do such an ugly thing?  How could he . . .  Oh.  Wait.  I was the one who had written the scene that way.  The whole thing was my fault.

So maybe it’s best if you just forget what I’ve said above about me being part of all my characters.  It could make the next time we meet rather awkward if you find yourself wondering “Who is she today?”

– Margaret