In Knights of the Hawk, the third in his Conquest series, James Aitcheson promises an unashamedly action-packed tale, an aim which he achieves with great skill. While the narrative is certainly colourful, however, the colour is often a little too blood red.

Aitcheson’s use of the first person evokes the feeling of a medieval chronicler recounting his story, a sense of authenticity increased by his choices of contemporary place names such as Cantebrigia for Cambridge and Elyg for Ely. The story is set in 1071 and is told from the point of view of Tancred, a Breton knight fighting the remaining rebels in England following the Norman invasion.  His voice and character have admittedly had the two previous instalments of the series to develop, but for the main part of this book Tancred appears too steadfast and arrogant to be interesting. He seems to be driven by ‘battle-hunger’ and a ‘thirst for adventure’ rather than any aim for personal (and therefore character) development. That said, in the latter half of the book, Tancred gains a new vulnerability; testament to the sudden but effective transfer of the action across the Irish Sea, from The Fens (a nod to Cambridge here from Aitcheson, an alumnus of Emmanuel) to Dublin.

In his description of ‘The Bloody Aftermath’, as the subtitle reads, Aitcheson must be praised for his use of tightly written and fast-paced action. In this respect, Tancred proves an asset to the story. From hostage taking on punts, to Fen mud wrestling, the unexpected military turns are a clear cut above the long descriptions of dry battle formations and repetitive hand-to-hand combat that can plague even the best of historical fiction.

The author’s general knowledge of the period is impressive, which is unsurprising considering that he wrote his third year dissertation on the Norman Conquest. The nod to Harold Godwinson’s death at the Battle of Hastings, with Tancred’s quipping that he’d ‘met several men who claimed theirs was the arrow that had struck him’, is just one example of how historical knowledge is intertwined intelligently with the fiction. This happens so successfully and to such a degree that, if it were not for the useful historical note at the end of the book, it would be unclear where the real chronicles end (Orderic Vitalis, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle et cetera – for the hardcore medieval historians out there) and Aitcheson’s imagination begins. Aitcheson’s background in the period also aids the reader in imagining a vibrant contemporary setting, through descriptions of foodstuffs, towns, pageantry and so on.

It is a shame, however, that Tancred’s tale does not engage with the historical context in a more robust way. King William appears cut off from the narrative and the reader therefore sits superficially above the real changes (or lack of change) caused by the Norman Conquest, instead placed on a rather easy military trajectory.

When the focus changes part way through the novel to once again look at  Tancred’s personal journey, we see the narrative always looking forward to the goal; the whens, whats, wheres and hows, rather than the whys. The novel sometimes gets caught up in action and detail, sometimes leaving behind any questioning of the reasons for the action. The character of Godric appears more intriguing in this sense, as he develops on a steep learning curve and forces Tancred to teach and protect rather than solely to pursue military and personal quests.

As the thriller that it sells itself to be, Knights of the Hawk offers a vigorously unfolding plot, which at no point becomes obvious or clichéd, and is embellished with rich description. The use of Tancred as narrator certainly carries this energy forward. Although the strong-headed tactic at the centre of the novel can become a little overpowering, and a more nuanced approach to voice and context would be welcome, these additions would only improve what is already a compelling read.