Camino is a work of fiction, let me get that straight. it is dark history, no fantasy, no dragons. no magic. it is as accurate as i can make it. I Wasn’t there in 1230 AD, but i have walked all the places they talk of in its pages. there are four novels in the Series now, another is on the way. start with camino and follow the exploits of the wolfhounds.
i hope you can escape into the camino with me.
Why I Chose to write Camino
To walk the Camino gave me an incredible insight into the mindset of the medieval pilgrim. Many monuments, cathedrals, churches and pilgrim hostels have survived centuries of visitors, some barely changing, some now just ruins.
To feel the weariness and aching legs and feet, the uncertainty of where shelter would be found, the simple joys of companionship and sharing. These are all timeless on the pilgrim trail, so are blended into my novel, Camino.
The idea for Camino began, fittingly, with me writing my journal out for “Walking Towards Myself”. I had long been fascinated by the Camino de Santiago—the medieval pilgrimage that drew nobles, penitents, merchants, and thieves alike across the face of Europe. To walk the Camino was to move through a living artery of faith and commerce, a path where languages mingled and rumours travelled faster than armies. I saw in it not only a physical journey but a moral one: a narrow way between sin and redemption, truth and deception. That tension became the lifeblood of my novels.
Historical fiction has always been, for me, an act of recovery. The thirteenth century, the High Middle Ages according to scholars, with its blend of brutality and mysticism, offered a world where belief could heal or destroy. I wanted to explore the moment when reason first began to push against superstition—when friars debated scholars, and justice still depended on confession rather than evidence. Setting a murder within that landscape allowed me to examine how fragile truth can be when weighed against faith, hierarchy, and fear.
The Camino itself became a living thing, binding together courts, monasteries, and villages that existed in uneasy harmony. Along its dusty length, a traveller could meet the entire spectrum of humanity. In that crucible of movement, a single violent act—a murder—could ripple outward like a dropped stone, touching pilgrims from across the continent. The pilgrimage route gave me both confinement and scope: the intimacy of shared hardship and the vastness of a continent in motion.
I was also drawn to the paradox of pilgrimage. People undertook it to atone, to escape justice, or simply to disappear. The road was a sanctuary and a trap. By placing my characters—especially a Franciscan friar and a Muslim carrying the weight of another life—on that same road, I could examine the two approaches to a belief in God. The Camino offered a metaphorical spine upon which questions of guilt, redemption, and moral compromise could hang naturally and be debated between religions.
Researching the period deepened my fascination. The manuscripts, relic inventories, and travelogues of the time reveal a Europe at once alien and familiar: physicians diagnosing by the colour of urine; kings financing crusades while peasants prayed over the bones of saints. These details were not mere ornament but windows into a mindset that shaped modern conscience. I wanted readers to smell the tallow smoke, hear the clang of bells, and feel the uncertainty of a world still half-enchanted, bound in myth and legend. Tales passed around the fire as evening fell, were passed from generation to generation, embellished and shrouded in folklore and quasi religious events.
Ultimately, I chose Camino because it allowed me to unite three passions—history, moral complexity, and the human search for meaning—within a single book. The road to Santiago was never just a route for pilgrims; it was a mirror of the soul, reflecting every traveller’s secret motive. In writing Camino, I hoped to invite readers onto that same journey: one that tests conviction, confronts darkness, and asks whether truth can survive the pilgrimage of the heart.
Several years have passed now, twenty two since i walked the Camino frances. from Roncesvalles to santiago and beyond th cape finisterre. a lot has changed-internet, smart phones, cost of living and technological advances making the modern pilgrimage not so daunting. one truth remains-the pilgrim still has to put one foot in front of another and walk. the camino left its mark on my soul, for the better. i truly hope you experience the camino as much as i did. buen camino!