From the quaint town of Sausalito just north of San Francisco to Ajaccio on the west coast of Corsica unfolds an exceptional story of murder and romance. Falconi’s Gift follows a line of Viking triplet brothers through history. The familiar traits of the brothers carry over generations following Viking expansion and trade routes through the tenth to fifteenth century. As the Papal seat is moved from Rome to Avignon, their decendents are drawn into the vendettas and violence that threaten to end their line. From the distant past to the present day, three intertwined tales steeped in violence and love come together through the reading of the family journal. 

Note from the author: As a young boy I was always fascinated by stories of Vikings. Not the violence and the pillaging, but the adventure of sailing uncharted waters, opening trade throughout Europe, and colonization of lands distant from their homes in the north. In this novel I wanted to write about a Norseman, stranded on the island of Corsica in the Mediterranean, but link him to modern times as well as the time when the Pope, who was French, moved the Papal seat to Avignon. The linking of the three stories, provided a pleasurable challenge and one that I continued in the rest of the series.

Excerpt

Mats presented his coveted pass to the guardian librarian of the Bibliothèque before entering the fabled reserve of knowledge. Only the sound of pens against paper, balanced by the sound of strokes upon computer keyboards, broke the quiet as he passed through the main reading room with a feeling of awe. But once inside the labyrinth of scholars, Mats had a different feeling. The hallways were narrow and poorly lit. By the time he wended his way to the third floor and found the section for old manuscripts, he was even less impressed. Rare books might be displayed on the main floor rooms of the library like royalty, but the men and women who studied and restored them were not afforded such spotlights.

Checking the address on the note he had scribbled, he opened the door and entered a small reception area flooded with light that was almost blinding in comparison to the dimly lit hallway. He greeted the middle-aged man who appeared around the partition that separated the entry from the room behind.

"Hello."

"Bonjour!" The man was balding and slightly plump. He didn't try to hide his for Mats' use of English.

"My name is Mats Falcon. I have an appointment with Professor Gilbert." He made a great show of saying the man's name in proper French, Jheel-bare.

"I am Professor Jean Gilbert," the man said in French. "You are an American. I thought from my phone conversation with Commissioner Bluschel that you were French."

"Monsieur Bluschel is too kind." Having taken an immediate dislike to the man, Mats responded to the professor's French in English, enjoying the chance for one-upmanship. "I have the book with me that I believe Monsieur Bluschel mentioned."

"Ah, yes. An ancestor's diary, he said." The professor looked over the rim of his glasses at the small package in Mats' hand. "I will take a look at it." He extended his hand as if about to touch something unclean.

Mats' inclination was to turn and leave. Gilbert was not a man with whom he would work by choice. But he held himself back.

"I could not decipher it with just my high school Latin," he said as the professor opened the book and studied the script.

"With an old book, you can, in fact, tell a lot by its cover. The more important the book, the more accomplished the scribe assigned to copy it, and the more ornate and substantial the cover. This," he said, gesturing with the back of his hand at the book, "This is a poor example both of binding and penmanship."

"But can you translate it?" Mats' tone clearly showed his displeasure with the man's observation as well as with his general attitude.

"Parts of it. Although it would probably not be worth my time. It is only partially written in Latin. Some words are an idiom of the early French used in Normandy, and some are in a language whose origin I cannot even guess without further study. I can give you the Latin, but the early Norman French will require you to leave the thing. Perhaps in a month?"

"Is there someone else who can help me now?" asked Mats, losing patience with the man and showing it by leaning menacingly across the counter and grabbing the journal back.

Gilbert stepped back, protecting himself from Mats with the counter and increased distance. "Suzanne! Suzanne! Would you come out here, please?"

A young dark-haired girl wearing large glasses with maroon rims pushed up over her forehead came around the corner from a back room, taking more time to do so than the flustered Professor Gilbert would have liked. The rims of the girl's glasses matched the auburn highlights in her hair when the light struck it from behind.

"This . . . individual has a diary of some sort, written in a jumble of Latin and Norman French and God knows what else. He was referred by Minister Bluschel, so I guess we must help him despite his American manners. Would you please tend to it? I have important work at my desk."

With that, Gilbert, obviously relieved, bowed ever so slightly. "May you have a good day, sir."

"I'll try to salvage it," Mats said snippily, and turned to the woman, Suzanne. "What's he like when he's not turning on the charm?"

"Monsieur?"

"Never mind."

Suzanne reached under the counter, taking out a pair of latex gloves which she snapped over her slender fingers. That done, she held out her hand for the book, a slight smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

Mats handed it to her. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was stylishly if conservatively dressed. Her figure was camouflaged by the cut of her jacket and shoulder pads, although neither could conceal that she was a very poised young lady. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, and her lips and eyebrows carried only sparse makeup. Her eyes were dark and happy.

Mats decided that Suzanne's smile was occasioned by her superior's obvious discomfort. He smiled back and felt warmth passing between them. She slowly lowered her eyes to the book, which Mats had not released. Mats followed her gaze and let out a soft laugh. "I'm sorry. I think I got a little protective of this with Professor Gilbert. It's a family keepsake, very old, and despite what Monsieur Gilbert said about its worth, it is very important to me."

Suzanne gently took the book and opened it. She looked at Mats, wondering what it was that had upset her boss. "I overheard a little of what the professor said. He was correct, of course, when it comes to copied manuscripts, but this appears to be an original work. The vellum and ink quality are good. The binding is also good. I suspect from the look of the cracks that it has not been opened often until recently. The year on the first page, 1326, could be accurate. It can certainly be confirmed, if that is what you wish."

After Gilbert, this young woman seemed not only helpful but kind. "I don't think that will be necessary," said Mats. "I am virtually certain that this book was written by my ancestor in that year. Can you translate it?"

Suzanne carefully turned the pages, reading speedily, trying to take in the context of the narrative. On the second page she discovered one of the sources of Professor Gilbert's testiness. There were passages in ancient Norman, a language Gilbert was familiar with but by no means an expert in, and she guessed that he had relied on pomposity to hide his ignorance.