Witness the rise of the Tudors in the stunning conclusion to Conn Iggulden's powerful retelling of the Wars of the Roses. 'An utterly compelling page-turner full of historical facts. A fascinating read' Sun England, 1470. A divided kingdom cannot stand. King Edward of York has been driven out of England. Queen Elizabeth and her children tremble in sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. The House of Lancaster has won the crown, but York will not go quietly. Desperate to reclaim his throne, Edward lands at Ravenspur with a half-drowned army and his brother Richard at his side. Every hand is against them, every city gate is shut, yet the brothers York go on the attack. But neither sees that their true enemy is Henry Tudor, now grown into a man. As the Red Dragon - 'the man of destiny' - his claim to the throne leads to Bosworth Field and a battle that will call an end to the Wars of the Roses . . . 'A tough, pacy chronicle of bloody encounters, betrayals and cruelties. Superb' Daily Mail 'Iggulden is in a class of his own when it comes to epic, historical fiction' Daily Mirror 'Superb, fantastic, extraordinary' Sunday Express

The Ravenspurs are wealthy and well respected British family, but they seem to have some sort of mysterious curse upon them. In a short time distance, several members of the family fell as a victim of a mysterious tragedies in their family home. Few of the last remaining members are destined to solve the mystery before the family gets extinguished. Frederick White (1859–1935), mostly known for mysteries, is considered also as one of the pioneers of the spy story.

A grand old castle looks out across the North Sea, and fishermen toiling on the deep catch the red flash from Ravenspur Point, as their forefathers have done for many generations. The Ravenspurs and their great granite fortress have made history between them. Every quadrangle and watch-tower and turret has its legend of brave deeds and bloody deeds, of fights for the king and the glory of the flag. And for five hundred years there has been no Ravenspur who has not acquitted himself like a man. Theirs is a record to be proud of. Time has dealt lightly with the home of the Ravenspurs. It is probably the most perfect mediæval castle in the country. The moat and the drawbridge are still intact; the portcullis might be worked by a child. And landwards the castle looks over a fair domain of broad acres where the orchards bloom and flourish and the red beeves wax fat in the pastures. A quiet family, a handsome family, a family passing rich in the world's goods, they are strong and brave—a glorious chronicle behind them and no carking cares ahead. Surely, then, the Ravenspurs should be happy and contented beyond most men. Excepting the beat of the wings of the Angel of Death, that comes to all sooner or later, surely no sorrow dwelt there that the hand of time could fail to soothe. And yet over them hung the shadow of a fear. No Ravenspur had ever slunk away from any danger, however great, so long as it was tangible; but there was something here that turned the stoutest heart to water, and caused strong men to start at their own shadows. For five years now the curse had lain heavy on the house of Ravenspur. It had come down upon them without warning; at first in the guise of a series of accidents and misfortunes, until gradually it became evident that some cunning and remorseless enemy was bent upon exterminating the Ravenspurs root and branch. There had been no warning given, but one by one the Ravenspurs died mysteriously, horribly, until at last no more than seven of the family remained. The North-country shuddered in speaking of the ill-starred family. The story had found its way into print. Scotland Yard had taken the case in hand; but still the hapless Ravenspurs died, mysteriously murdered, and even some of those who survived had tales to unfold of marvelous escapes from destruction. The fear grew on them like a hunting madness. From first to last not one single clue, however small, had the murderers left behind. Family archives were ransacked and personal histories explored with a view to finding some forgotten enemy who had originated this vengeance. But the Ravenspurs had ever been generous and kind, honorable to men and true to women, and none could lay a finger on the blot.

The brilliant retelling of the Wars of the Roses continues with Bloodline, the gripping third novel in the new series from historical fiction master Conn Iggulden. Winter 1461: Richard, duke of York, is dead—his ambitions in ruins, his head spiked on the walls of the city. King Henry VI is still held prisoner. His Lancastrian queen, Margaret of Anjou, rides south with an army of victorious northerners, accompanied by painted warriors from the Scottish Highlands. With the death of York, Margaret and her army seem unstoppable. Yet in killing the father, Margaret has unleashed the sons. Edward of March, now duke of York, proclaims himself England’s rightful king. Factions form and tear apart as snow falls. Through blood and treason, through broken men and vengeful women, brother shall confront brother, king shall face king. Two men can always claim a crown—but only one can keep it. Following Margaret of Anjou, Bloodline is the third epic installment in master storyteller Conn Iggulden’s new Wars of the Roses series. Fans of the Game of Thrones and the Tudors series will be gripped from the word “go.”