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In England, I imagine there are months devoted in history classes to the reign of Charles I and the rise of Oliver Cromwell, Parliament and Puritan rule--The English Civil War. In the States, it is almost a passing mention in an attempt to cram all of World History into a single year of study. I love the way a historical novel such as this one can help to painlessly fill the gaps in a wanting education.

Then, there is Cornwall. My ancestry is almost exclusively English, I have found through my genealogical research, and if asked I would swear that there is something planted in my DNA that links me to Cornwall. I love it that much. Of course, it might just be my choice of authors, among them Daphne du Maurier, who manage to take you there and make you feel it is home.

I have seen the shadows creep on an autumn afternoon from the deep Pridmouth Valley to the summit of the hill, and there stay a moment, waiting on the sun. I have seen, too, the white sea mists of early summer turn the hill to fantasy, so that it becomes, in a single second, a ghost land of enchantment, with no sound coming but the wash of breakers on the hidden beach, where at high noon, the children gather cowrie shells. Dark moods too, of bleak November, when the rain sweeps in a curtain from the southwest. But quietest of all, the evenings of late summer, when the sun has set, and the moon has not yet risen, but the dew is heavy in the long grass.

The magic of Daphne du Maurier is that she can take what would be a romance in the hands of another author and turn it into such a deeper, more meaningful tale, without losing one bit of the fire, passion or mystery. The King’s General is nothing if not romantic. On its surface, it is the story of two star-crossed lovers who lose their chance at happiness but are never willing or able to lose one another. I think it is no mistake that Richard Grenvile’s love should be named Honor Harris, however, for the importance of truth and honor is at an understanding of his heart and the heart of the novel.

Where I am from we despise the memory of Tucumseh Sherman, but he did say something very wise and true, “War is hell�. He probably wasn’t the first to say it. Many men who have watched the unnecessary loss of life and property in many a war must have said it, if only to themselves. It takes a particular kind of man to make a good soldier and only a very select group make great generals. The King’s General, Richard Grenvile, was such a man, and those kinds of men operate on honor, duty, and a willingness to do whatever must be done to win. Sherman burned Atlanta to the ground, Richard destroyed everything he should have held dear; both did it in the earnest belief that the cause they championed was the right one, the only one.

There are so many serious questions one encounters during the course of this novel. There are questions of love, what it should or can overlook in the beloved, what causes it to bloom and what keeps it alive, and if it is true, can it ever die? And what of bonds between fathers and sons? What does one owe the other? What is honor and can any act of contrition clear a dishonored man? What is strength? Physical prowess, mental sharpness, the willingness to die for something you believe in, the willingness to put everything you love at risk?

Daphne du Maurier answers some of these questions and leaves us pondering the others. In the process, she creates a host of characters that are unforgettable and gives us a glimpse of a war and a time that is all but forgotten. History is never so real as when you can put an individual experience to it, when the man hanging on the noose has a name and a smile, when the tomb that is sealed has a person inside and not just a name and dates on its stony surface.