When Men Abound, Create Women, an essay by Terri Lewis, author of Behold the Bird in Flight

Welcome to Terri Lewis, who's here with an essay exploring the characters of her biographical novel, as well as their motivations. Her Behold the Bird in Flight was published this month.

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When Men Abound, Create Women

Terri Lewis  

Two sentences in a book bought at Windsor Castle introduced me to Isabelle d’Angoulême, abducted from her fiancé by King John, married, taken to England, and crowned queen. For weeks I pondered her story—what she left behind, what she faced— until it took over my imagination, and I decided to write a biographical novel.

I’m a pantser, meaning I don’t outline. I imagine my main characters, read, establish a timeline, then dive into writing. As Geraldine Brooks has said “historical fiction is taking the factual record as far as it is known, using that as scaffolding, and then letting imagination build the structure that fills in those things we can never find out for sure.”

In doing research, I encountered some surprising difficulties.

The main characters were obvious—Isabelle, John, and Hugh, her fiancé. Reams of material exist about John and his kingship. About Hugh, perhaps less, but his family included well-known crusaders and a famed castle, so even without specifics there was enough on which to build his character.

For Isabelle, the story’s heart, I found only lineage—her mother was granddaughter to a French king—and the dates of her marriage and her children’s births. The men who wrote the English chronicles provided scant and derisive mention: a harlot who caused wars and kept John in bed until noon. Those assessments I intended to upend, trusting that assiduous research would reveal a real person.

I should explain that I’ve loved medieval history since college and my shelves were heavy with books to help flesh out the story. I began with The Medieval Reader, which included letters, essays, travel journals, ballads, and religious discourse. Period documents explain everyday lives better than the usual text book dates and battles, so I’d search for information about women in 1200, a pivotal year in Isi’s life. (Yes, I’d given her a nickname.)

The book contained chapters about popes, saints, Charlemagne, and various nobles until, a hundred pages in, “Margery Kempe: Autobiography of a victimized woman.” Definitely not what I had in mind. My Isabelle would grow into strength, learn to use what little power she had, and come out a winner, as she’d done in real life. But I’d had a strong foretaste of my research: So. Many. Men.

Finding male secondary characters was easy. John was surrounded by barons and knights, some with multiple biographies, ready to step into the novel. For example, Peter De Roches, bishop of Winchester through John’s grace, or Fitzwalter who led the baron’s revolt. Terric the Teuton, to whom John wrote, urging him to keep Isabelle safe. All three make appearances in my story, but most important was William Marshal. A loyal knight and a great fighter in his youth, but by the time Isabelle arrived on the scene, old and limping. Luckily, I discovered that when he was a child, his father had handed him over as hostage to an enemy. That little anecdote animated him; I made him John’s confidant.

The women were more difficult. Isabelle’s mother merited brief historical mention because of her grandfather and her three marriages, but mothers, even unsung mothers, are important, so I struggled to build her out. Finally, deep in my reading, I discovered that courtesy books— lists of manners (written in Latin!)—were becoming popular. Perfect. I could make Maman strict, insisting that Isabelle follow the rules, learn Latin, and practice wifely skills like turning the vinegar barrels or measuring out the expensive spices.

To set the novel in motion, I created an unexpected death that sent young Isabelle to a neighboring castle for safety. Alone, among strangers, she needed friends. Historians don’t write about women’s friendships; I’d have to conjure them. Every castle teemed with cooks, laundresses, and chambermaids, but they’d be busy and unsuited. Back to my book shelf. Medieval Woman, Illuminated Book of Days depicted dozens of women preparing food, caring for the sick, or surprisingly, painting portraits. Spinning and weaving appeared often, understandable since clothes were made from scratch. I added a spinning room to the castle, filled it with women, old and young, and let Isi find companions there.

Once she had friends, I struggled to make them active. Teenage boys trained for jousts and battle; girls studied embroidery and spices, hardly the stuff of drama. However, Isabelle was almost a teenager—at the age when girls begin to wonder about sex and love—allowing me to create discussions with her best friend about kissing and the marriage bed. The friend’s answers came to shape Isi’s life.

Once Isabelle was queen, she needed a lady’s maid. Maids are historically anonymous. I decided John was jealous, pondering the fiancé left behind, so he chose a woman who would spy, a threat to hang over Isi. Then I realized the low-born maid couldn’t write to John when he traveled. Another problem to solve. I eventually killed off the spy and allowed Isabelle, who’d grown into some power, to confront John, asking for her own French maid. John ignored her.

As I struggled to bring the story to life, I often thought of novels about Tudor women or small-town English girls and their romances. Jane Austen. Philippa Gregory. How had they held my attention? The trick seemed to immerse the reader in the era. I’d read about dances and musical instruments, about church holidays and tapestry and a stray Yule log setting a room on fire. All fascinating; all impersonal.

Finally I realized Isabelle, as queen, needed to acknowledge the political unrest of early 13th century England. She needed a friend with power, to explain the wars and John’s problems with the barons, to guide her. She needed William Marshal. I’d already made him kind to her, in contrast to John. As she grew in understanding, she could work to influence John’s decisions. I was sorry she couldn’t turn to another woman for help, but only men acted in the political arena.

Behold the Bird in Flight was built on deep research for “scaffolding,” and for the fun of filling in the gaps with music, gardens, dances, and yes wars, the Pope’s interdict and the rebellious barons. But always, always creating Isabelle’s story, bringing her to life on the page..

Effigy of Isabelle in the Abbey of Fontevraud. She was buried not with her husband, but with her parents-in-law, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, and her brother-in-law, Richard the Lionhearted.

Chinon Castle, a favorite of the Plantagenet kings and place where Isabelle makes a sacrifice to save someone she loves. The walkway between two sections of the castle plays an important part in the story.

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Terri Lewis fell in love with medieval history in college. Not the dates or wars, but the mysterious daily lives of the people. Building on this love, she read and traveled widely, marveling at Europe’s preserved towns and castles. Finally, two sentences in a book bought at Windsor Castle led her to write Behold the Bird in Flight. Terri’s writing has been honed through workshops with Jill McCorkle, Laura van den Berg, and Rebecca Makkai, and she has published in literary magazines. She lives with her husband and two lively dogs in Denver, Colorado. She won the 2025 Miami University Press Novella Award.

Contact Terri:
Website: TerriLewis1.com
Facebook: Terri Lewis Author
Instagram: terri.lewis1