He grew even harder. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. . . There were more of us back then, and we weren’t seen as ghouls, in fact, in Greece and the time before we were worshipped as gods. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner.
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