Beneath a Crescent Moon

By Denise Cory Blake

Beneath a crescent moon, a clash of cymbals, as Christian and Arab nations met in mortal combat, through the ages.

They fought for supremacy amidst the arid, desert sands, in the present, as much as the past. One, was a part of the other; No dividing l

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637670064

Denise Cory Blake

I have been writing historical novels for the last four or five years now. This is my latest offering, born of an inquisitive, inquiring mind, which despite my advancing years refuses to lay dormant. I keep coming up with new storylines. Long may I do so!

Book preview

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Copyright © 2021 by Denise Cory Blake

Paperback: 978-1-63767-007-1

eBook: 978-1-63767-006-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of nonfiction.

Ordering Information:

BookTrail Agency

8838 Sleepy Hollow Rd.

Kansas City, MO 64114

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Music!

Music Soothes the Savage Breast

And lay still others to peaceful rest,

It stirs emotions,

Deep devotions,

Spirits soar, people dance,

And spare more than a glance,

Like crazy antelopes at play.

None, can say nay

To its infectious beat,

Nor retreat,

With downcast eyes,

Trying to disguise,

All that the song betrays.

Everyone answers the musicians call,

No one resists the baton’s fall,

With the pluck of the violin strings,

The music begins,

And where it leads,

Where the story unfolds,

No-one knows.

It carries one from the present

To the past,

And a crescent

Moon,

Where ladies swoon,

And knights of old

Doth make bold,

With a mighty sword,

And the cross of the Lord.

CHAPTER ONE

The music from the auditorium

drew her to it, as it invariably did. There was just something about it which grabbed her by the heart and led her as if spellbound towards it. She sneaked in, unobserved, settling into a back-row seat, letting the haunting, beautiful music surround her, invade her mind, take up residence in her soul. She was carried away into a different dimension, different world. Oh, how she wished she could compose music like that! Even have strains of something, other than the ordinary, there, floating aloft in the ether! It was a vain hope, a vacant wish, one she knew in her heart of hearts would never happen. As much as she tried, when it came to studying music, composition, or anything of that sort, she was completely devoid of talent, artistry. Her mind was empty of an original note. Perhaps a discordant note? She had plenty of those to offer up. She remembered well, those disastrous piano lessons her parents had insisted she undertake, in the vain hope she might be good at it, when she was anything but, and admitted to defeat, only after a long line of music teachers had run screaming from the house in despair. What on earth had ever made her believe she could study even a short course in music, or musical appreciation? She guessed she was always up for a challenge?

She let the music wash over her tired brain, and felt her eyes begin to droop. She always listened to music with them closed, it cut out any distractions which might occur. It did not mean she was falling asleep! Honest!

I am sorry miss, but this is a private rehearsal, not open to the public. a gruff voice sounded in her ear. She started visibly, jolted out of her bliss.

I am not public. she murmured in her defence, at being so accosted. I am a mature student here. Leastways, that’s what they call me, as I am over a certain age. Anyone outside of their 20’s, (which she was just), having reached the mature age of 30, just a few days ago.

Oh. He had managed a smile. Even so, I am afraid, this is a closed session. Even students, are not allowed in unless invited by Mr Irving himself.

Mallory Irving? The composer? She’d gulped. I didn’t realise. Whilst I apologise for any offence caused, I absolutely love his music. I have studied it here, in this very building. I ought to have recognised the piece as one of his. Music, was one of the few diversions she allowed herself, in her otherwise humdrum life.

The strains of music continued but were being silenced for seconds at a time, as the conductor, paused to turn his head irritably toward their voices. He obviously didn’t appreciate the interruption.

I am sure he would be most gratified to hear that my dear, but I must insist…. He was continuing, as a voice from the auditorium itself, rose up to meet them. Can I please have some silence! I am in the middle of trying…. And I mean trying to play my new composition for the first time! The ‘eyes of the sun’, is proving to be a difficult composition to master. I know what I want, but my orchestra is struggling,

I knew he would be annoyed! The man reiterated smugly.

I am annoyed! And if you don’t shut up Dexter, I’ll personally thump the living daylights out of you!

Okay, old man. I’ll just escort the lady out.

The lady can stay, if she wants, she is making far less noise, than you are. At least she appears to appreciate good music when she hears it. Which is more than I can say for you!

Thanks a bunch! After everything, I have done for you. All those worldwide tours, I’ve arranged! The man, was more than a little disgruntled, as he straightened up, pulling his waistcoat into place. Can’t help it, if my taste is more jazz than classical, can I?

Irving, threw down his baton in disgust. I give up! Let’s call it a day. He said to his orchestra. Thank you all for your time and efforts. We will try again tomorrow, when we will not have the distractions. I feel there are one or two improvements to be made to the score. Oboe’s, you are a bit off today. I suggest you practise before tomorrow. In fact, I will get Devon Collier, he referred to a younger colleague at the conservatoire, who showed a talent, and some promise, who he had taken under his wing, to run through your pieces separately with you all, before we try the whole once again. A collective sigh escaped the orchestra at the mere mention of the young man’s name, for he was not well liked, showing in their opinion, a lack of in many instances’ appreciation for the original composure’s piece, and certainly a lack of patience, in his treatment of the orchestra generally. Irving did not miss this, and a slow smile appeared on his face. Now, now gentleman. Show some respect, some decorum please. Give the young man a chance. He instructed them before he allowed them to disperse. As one or two passed him, he heard them mutter. English upstart! Again, reference to Collier, He never keeps to the score, almost bastardizes it! Thinks he can improve on it, by changing things around. Throws the whole piece array, causes confusion. A slight frown settled on the composers cum conductor’s face. He had not been aware just how disliked Collier was. "Practice!