Therein Lies the Pearl
By Catherine Hughes
Publication Date: January 19th, 2026
Publisher: Historium Press
Pages: 474
Genre: Historical Fiction
History books record the experiences of the powerful, the rich, the famous. Their voices dominate the pages, commanding us to accept their perspective as truth. But what if we could hear the whispers of those who were never given a chance to speak? How would this affect our understanding of the past?
Normandy, 1064
Celia Campion, a girl of humble background, finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when Duke William commands her to work as his spy, holding her younger sister hostage. Her mission: to sail across the sea to Wilton Abbey and convince Margaret, daughter of Edward the Exile, to take final vows rather than form a marriage alliance with the newly crowned king to the North, Malcolm III of Scotland. Preventing a union between the Saxons and Scots is critical to the success of the Duke’s plan to take England, and more importantly for Celia, it is the only way to keep her sister alive.
In this sweeping epic that spans the years before and after the Conquest, two women from opposite sides of the English Channel whisper across the chasm of time to tell their story of the tumultuous days that eventually changed the course of history. As they struggle to survive in a world marked by danger, loss, and betrayal, their lives intersect, and they soon come to realize they are both searching for the same thing--someone they can trust amidst the treachery that surrounds them.
Together, their voices form a narrative never before told.
Excerpt
“I have brought you some bread from the feast,” Margaret lifted the cloth and took another small step forward. “I was hoping we could pray together, if that would be agreeable to you.”
Slowly Ealdgyth shifted her body on the bed to turn a little closer toward her visitor. She laughed mockingly, “Pray? Pray to whom? To the God of armies? The God of kings? The God of monks and priests and bishops? The God who listens only to the petitions of men and hearkens not to the cries of women? Save your prayers for yourself, foolish girl. I will not waste my breath calling upon a God who delights in sending only more misery.”
She lowered her lips to caress the hair of the babe she cradled in her arms. “‘Our Father who art in heaven . . .’ Ha! What does He know of the agony of women, of wives, of mothers? He is no different from the men he created—manipulating, tormenting, and punishing according to His own whims.”
Margaret swallowed the girl’s pain, trying to understand her bitterness. She knelt down before the bedside and gently laid the cloth next to the mother and child, making a silent offering of companionship without judgment.
Ealdgyth was taken aback by Margaret’s serenity. Even so, she still lashed out. “Get up off your knees. I already told you there will be no praying today. Or any day, for that matter.” Ealdgyth repositioned the baby so that her arm was free to reach down and take a piece of bread.
“At least they do not starve us here. Someone brings food at morn and supper. And yet I am always hungry.” Gradually her tone was softening. Margaret’s grace was smoothing out the rough edges.
“Little Nest needs only me for nourishment, but it seems I can never get enough myself. Strange is it not, how the body demands survival even when the mind wishes otherwise?” She licked the honey off her fingertips after eating the first biscuit.
“So why are you really here, hmm? Have you come to convince me to be grateful to that cur? To be honored that he has chosen me to be his plaything, his toy? Well, you can forget it. Just be on your way. Tell your ‘granduncle’ you have failed in your mission. Tell them I hate being an acquisition, an object passed from one set of hands to another. I will not feign gratitude for being forced to do what I would never choose to do.”
When Ealdgyth saw Margaret gaze upon her with pity, her voice turned shrill. “And do not look at me like that, silly girl. Your fate will be no different than mine, so feel sorry for yourself too while you are at it then. Better yet, why do you not follow through on your plan and head to the chapel anyway—only pray by yourself instead of with me and beg for a future that does not include suffering a scoundrel’s seed entering your body and losing every dream you have ever had.”
Gruffydd’s widow jumped up in anger, breaking her connection with the nursing child. Stunned at the abrupt detachment, the babe squirmed and writhed in frustration until Ealdgyth helped her latch on again. She held her tightly to her breast while she paced back and forth in the room. Margaret meanwhile had risen from her kneeling position to take a seat upon the bed. She leaned forward with her elbows on her legs, eager to listen to whatever story Ealdgyth wanted to tell, whatever burden she wanted to discharge.
Very gently, she probed, “Mayhap it is grief that has led you to this loss of belief, this loss of trust in God—which is understandable given the circumstances. Your land, your people, your husband, they have all been taken from you. That surely gives you the right to question your faith and God’s role in allowing such terrible loss.”
Ealdgyth’s scornful laugh sent a chill down Margaret’s spine. “My land? My people? They were not mine and never were! And as far as my husband goes, I hope he is rotting in hell! One that matches the wretched pit he threw me into when he took me as his wife!”
Margaret’s hand involuntarily raised itself to cover her open mouth. She had assumed that Ealdgyth was heartbroken over recent events, yet here she was actually pleased about it all.
Relishing Margaret’s shock, Ealdgyth gloated. “Did not foresee that, did you, naive one? Well, it is the truth. I am glad I am out of that dreadful place and free of that vicious fiend.”
Ealdgyth’s voice cracked as did her rage. In its place flowed a stream of sorrow. “You would not understand. No one understands. I was a child, a mere child when he took me. I should have been singing nursery rhymes and collecting wildflowers. Instead, I was sent to a grown man’s bed to be torn asunder. And my father condoned it. He made the union happen. The two of them conspired together to do this. They ripped away my innocence, trampled on my heart. They crushed any dream I ever had about love.”
Margaret sat motionless, staring at her hands folded in her lap. Whatever could she say to all this? It was true that she did not know exactly what took place in the bed shared by husband and wife when the shadows of night fell upon them, but Margaret guessed that between Gruffydd and Ealdgyth it must have been awful. A violent
theft where the object stolen could never be recovered again. She lifted her eyes to look up at Ealdgyth, their luminous green color filled with a mixture of compassion and anguish.
Ealdgyth shook her head to reprimand herself. “And why am I telling you all this? A total and complete stranger?” She smiled at such odd circumstances. “Well, if you can take a lesson from me, then here is some advice. Join a convent. Pledge to be a novice at some abbey—choose one that is lenient with rules so you can be in charge of yourself. Then you can do what you will. Secretly take a man to bed if you wish, or keep your
sacred vows and remain chaste. It is quite appealing to have such authority, is it not? Not many women have that luxury—only nuns and harlots. One calls upon God, the other worships payment, and by doing so, their needs are satisfied.”
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Catherine Hughes
Award winning writer, Catherine Hughes is a first-time author who, from her earliest years, immersed herself in reading. Historical fiction is her genre of choice, and her bookshelves are stocked with selections from ancient, Medieval, and Renaissance Europe as well as those involving New England settlements and pioneer life in America. After double-majoring in English and business management on the undergraduate level, Catherine completed her Master's degree in British literature at Drew University and then entered the classroom where she has been teaching American, British, and World Literature at the high school level for the last thirty years.
Aside from teaching and reading, Catherine can often be found outdoors, drawing beauty and inspiration from the world of nature. Taking the words of Thoreau to heart, "It is the marriage of the soul with nature that makes the intellect fruitful," Catherine sets aside time every day to lace up her sneakers and run with her dog in pre-dawn or late afternoon hours on the beaches of Long Island. When her furry companion isn't busy chasing seagulls or digging up remnants of dead fish, she soaks in the tranquility of the ocean setting, freeing her mind to tap into its deepest recesses where creativity and imagination preside.
In Silence Cries the Heart, Hughes’s first book, received the Gold Medal in Romance for the Feathered Quill 2024 Book of the Year contest, the Gold Medal for Fiction in the 2024 Literary Titan competition, and the 2024 International Impact Book Award for Historical Fiction. In addition, the Historical Fiction Company gave it a five star rating and a Silver Medal in the category of Historical Fiction Romance. The book was also featured in the February 2024 Issue 31 of the Historical Times magazine and was listed as one of the Best Historical Fiction Books of 2024 by the History Bards Podcast. Therein Lies the Pearl is her second venture into the world of historical fiction.
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