by Gregory
Bellarmine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Italy.
A tough master of novices, Father Dante encounters the bold young priest
Antonio who challenges his identity and accuses him of being the Saint
Nicholas. But despite the Father faking his death, a determined Antonio
discovers a rather alive Dante arrayed in kilt and armor.
In
return for Antonio’s silence—and to protect the town from attracting all manner
of darkness—Dante agrees to tell his life story. Without explanation, Dante
orders Antonio to meet him at night in the abandoned Cathedral, the site of a
former battle that the Church has kept secret for a generation.
Until
today.
The
Criskindl. Ice Steeds. The Unborn. Saint.
From
the Dark Ages’ when Poet-Sorcerers ruled kings, to the Holy Land when a new
civilization was rising, to Revolutionary France where love is lost and gained,
Father Dante pursues the one responsible for both his master and his mother’s
deaths: Black Peter, his brother.
Excerpt
"As you see, I'm not overweight, and of being jolly
I've never been accused. Moreover, I find the pagan ritual of indulging
children's greed quite loathsome. Rewarding a year's worth of insolence merely
encourages more childish behavior and prevents the child from becoming the man.
Secular excess goes against everything I believe about how to upbraid the
sinner. In fact, I can't name a single child who should get anything other than
the strap for Christmas."
He sat back in the creaky chair, then wove his fingers
together and hooked his thumbs into his silver buckle. The white of Father
Dante's priestly collar contrasted the Cathedral's late-night shadows. Diamond
eyes—blue crystal pools that appeared half-blind but which studied all—snared
the candelabra's golden light with a glint. Red among gray streaked the trimmed
whiskers at his chin, and cardinal flecks peppered his mane.
November gusts rattled the stained-glass windows and
shuddered the main doors where we sat in the foyer. I glanced right to the rows
of freshly varnished pews, then above to the painting of Sebastian's Martyrdom
on the dome, and hoped the Abbot slept soundly. On the curved roof was a gothic
spire, and that was where the young Abbot took his brief hours of rest. He
claimed he felt closer to God there.
Dante shifted his broad shoulders. "Were a man like
that to exist, do you really believe he'd be sitting across from you now?
They're myths. We made them up to teach women to pray at least as much as they
gossip. Really, Antonio, you surprise me."
Gregory
Bellarmine is the author of the bestselling Monthly Roman Breviary. He lives a
happy though sometimes sleepless life in the UK with his wife, two children and
rather cheeky Parson Russell Terrier.
Email:
frgregory@latinmass.org.uk
Gregory’s
blog is http://www.fatherdante.com
@VRevGB
Book Trailer -
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QF_LaW215X4
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18660010-the-blood-that-cries-in-the-ground
Amazon USA:
http://amzn.com/1907436472
Kindle:
http://amzn.com/B00G24AQRA
“The Blood
That Cries in the Ground will grab the reader by the throat with a death grip
from which it is impossible to break free.” -Reviewed by Bil Howard for
Readers' Favorite
Great looking cover and an intriguing premise~ I'd really enjoy reading this. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteilookfamous at yahoo dot com
It sounds like the kind of book that got me into reading: suspense, fantasy, mythology mixed with distorted history; even religion, perhaps? At any rate, it sounds like a book that I would thoroughly enjoy. Thanks for the excerpt
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