Mystery
![Martin Walker - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B001HCXTX0.jpg)
A Chateau Under Siege: A Bruno, Chief of Police Novel (Bruno, Chief of Police Series)
When an actor in a local play is attacked during a performance, Bruno must learn whether it was an accident, a crime of passion, or an assassination attempt with implications far beyond the small French village.
The town of Sarlat is staging a reenactment of its liberation from the British in the Hundred Years War when the play's French hero, Brice Kerquelin, is stabbed and feared fatally wounded. Is it an unfortunate prop malfunction-or something more sinister? The stricken man happens to be number two in the French intelligence service, in line for the top job. Bruno is tasked with the safety of the victim's daughters, Claire and Nadia, as well as their father's old Silicon Valley buddies, ostensibly in town for a reunion. One friend from Taiwan, a tycoon in chip fabrication, soon goes missing, and Bruno suspects there may be a link to the French government's efforts to build a chip industry in Europe-something powerful forces in Russia and China are determined to scuttle. Wading through a tangle of rivalries and secrets, Bruno begins to parse fact from fiction-while also becoming embroiled in some romantic complications, and, of course, finding time to put together some splendid meals.
The town of Sarlat is staging a reenactment of its liberation from the British in the Hundred Years War when the play's French hero, Brice Kerquelin, is stabbed and feared fatally wounded. Is it an unfortunate prop malfunction-or something more sinister? The stricken man happens to be number two in the French intelligence service, in line for the top job. Bruno is tasked with the safety of the victim's daughters, Claire and Nadia, as well as their father's old Silicon Valley buddies, ostensibly in town for a reunion. One friend from Taiwan, a tycoon in chip fabrication, soon goes missing, and Bruno suspects there may be a link to the French government's efforts to build a chip industry in Europe-something powerful forces in Russia and China are determined to scuttle. Wading through a tangle of rivalries and secrets, Bruno begins to parse fact from fiction-while also becoming embroiled in some romantic complications, and, of course, finding time to put together some splendid meals.
Readers Top Reviews
Stephen Spencerda
I have read and enjoyed all the Bruno books, but felt this one lost it's luster. All the references to Balzac what a wonderful dog he was and every one in the whole world loved him got on my nerves. The ending could have been so exciting yet was a dud, Bruno shot the end ! It had had such a build up all through the book but failed to deliver hardly a Chateau under siege, this is my last Bruno book.
Poppy1Stephen Spe
I love these books. The familiar characters, their interaction and the description of the surrounding area. Where would we be without Balzac. I also love the recipes and look forward to Bruno's cookbook.
GreenKnightdjhoyl
I finished and thought I missed the second half of the book, it was like half a story :(. This is one of my favorite series but it was a big miss. It had such promise but the plot didn't go anywhere and no changes with the lead character. Great writing as always though. I hope 17 is better.
Loretta GreenKnig
Book came in good condition on time and was an interesting read.
CascadianaDeborah
Sad to say, this one is a dud. There was virtually no additional character development (except that I guess we now know that Bruno and Florence are never going to be partners). The plot bordered on ridiculous, and Bruno's ESP powers exceeded those of the highest ranking French officials. Balzac didn't even get to dig for truffles. This series has inspired me to visit this region - I knew that 16 books ago. For that, I am grateful. But I don't think more Bruno antics are adding much at all anymore, and this book may sorrowfully end my reading of this series.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Bruno Courrèges, chief of police for the Vézère Valley in the Périgord region of France, was deeply fond of the medieval square of Sarlat, but he had never seen it from this angle before. He was seated among his friends on one of the top rows of benches, and it felt uncomfortably high. Erected each year for the town's theater festival, the benches were being used for a new venture, the reenactment of the Battle of Sarlat in 1370, when the town had been liberated from English rule. As a former soldier, Bruno was interested to see how this mock battle would unfold.
"Sarlat was the traditional capital of the Périgord Noir dating back to Gallo-Roman times, and Charlemagne himself donated holy relics to the abbey here," said Pamela. She sat on Bruno's left and was reading aloud from a guidebook as Bruno gazed fondly at this former lover who had since become the closest female friend he'd ever known. "That's how it became rich, attracting pilgrims who ensured its growing prosperity. Over time, the monks established eighty-five daughter churches whose parishes by the year 1200 stretched nearly two hundred kilometers to Toulouse."
"All while preaching the virtues of poverty," grumbled Gérard Mangin, sitting on Bruno's right. As the mayor of St. Denis, Mangin had hired Bruno to be the town policeman more than ten years earlier, and Bruno, an orphan, sometimes thought of him as the father he had never known. The mayor was a staunch Republican who only went to church when baptisms, funerals or his civic duties required. Weddings, he believed, were civic events for him to officiate rather than any priest.
A dozen of Bruno's friends from St. Denis were clustered around them. The baron, one of Bruno's hunting partners, sat on the far side of Pamela. Fabiola, a local doctor, and her partner, Gilles, a journalist, were on the bench below, beside Bruno's cousin, Alain, and Rosalie, the woman Alain would marry later that year once their twenty years' service in the Armée de l'Air was complete. On the row below them were Miranda, Pamela's partner in the riding school, and Miranda's father, Jack Crimson, a retired British diplomat. The only one missing was Florence, a local science teacher, who had lost the toss of a coin with Miranda to see which of the two mothers would babysit their young children, all of them exhausted after a long day around Pamela's pool.
It had been for Bruno a perfect day, undisturbed by any of the sudden crises that had ruined his previous Fridays and Sundays, nominally his days off. Three traffic accidents, two lost children and a drunken duel between two Dutch tourists in kayaks had consumed his supposed free time. But today had been spent in and around Pamela's swimming pool with his friends, and while preparing lunch for them all, he'd enjoyed showing the children how to make deviled eggs.
They had watched him halve the hard-boiled eggs, scoop out the yolks, crush them with a fork and then make mayonnaise. He'd added a little red wine vinegar and some Dijon mustard, and then whipped up the mixture with a little sunflower oil until it slowly began to thicken. He added a squeeze of half a lemon and whisked some more until the mayonnaise reached the firmness he wanted. Next he used a fork to mix in the crumbled egg yolks, then scooped the egg and mayonnaise mix into a dozen of the eggs for the grown-ups. He asked the children how they liked their eggs. "With ketchup," they replied, so Bruno put the remaining mayonnaise into a dish and showed them how to stir in ketchup until it turned pink. He added the crumbled yolks and scooped the mixture into the halved whites, and grinned as the kids darted away to show off their pink deviled eggs. He smiled to himself at the memory, until Pamela interrupted his thoughts to ask whether today's planned reenactment was historically accurate.
"As usual, that depends on whose version of history you read," the mayor said. "Only later did English and French historians make it a matter of national patriotism. At the time, most people in this region accepted that their local lord was the Duke of Aquitaine, who happened to be half English. And if he didn't speak their language, nor did the king of France because everyone around here spoke Occitan. The English duke's taxes were usually lower, and England was the main market for our wines."
"Whoever built Sarlat, they left us a lovely town," said Bruno. He never tired of visiting the old town, a jewel of medieval and Renaissance architecture so well preserved that it had become a mainstay of French historic films. Its markets and festivals for the local delicacies of truffles and foie gras were renowned. Sarlat was woven deeply into the history of France. It was lost and then liberated in the Hundre...
Bruno Courrèges, chief of police for the Vézère Valley in the Périgord region of France, was deeply fond of the medieval square of Sarlat, but he had never seen it from this angle before. He was seated among his friends on one of the top rows of benches, and it felt uncomfortably high. Erected each year for the town's theater festival, the benches were being used for a new venture, the reenactment of the Battle of Sarlat in 1370, when the town had been liberated from English rule. As a former soldier, Bruno was interested to see how this mock battle would unfold.
"Sarlat was the traditional capital of the Périgord Noir dating back to Gallo-Roman times, and Charlemagne himself donated holy relics to the abbey here," said Pamela. She sat on Bruno's left and was reading aloud from a guidebook as Bruno gazed fondly at this former lover who had since become the closest female friend he'd ever known. "That's how it became rich, attracting pilgrims who ensured its growing prosperity. Over time, the monks established eighty-five daughter churches whose parishes by the year 1200 stretched nearly two hundred kilometers to Toulouse."
"All while preaching the virtues of poverty," grumbled Gérard Mangin, sitting on Bruno's right. As the mayor of St. Denis, Mangin had hired Bruno to be the town policeman more than ten years earlier, and Bruno, an orphan, sometimes thought of him as the father he had never known. The mayor was a staunch Republican who only went to church when baptisms, funerals or his civic duties required. Weddings, he believed, were civic events for him to officiate rather than any priest.
A dozen of Bruno's friends from St. Denis were clustered around them. The baron, one of Bruno's hunting partners, sat on the far side of Pamela. Fabiola, a local doctor, and her partner, Gilles, a journalist, were on the bench below, beside Bruno's cousin, Alain, and Rosalie, the woman Alain would marry later that year once their twenty years' service in the Armée de l'Air was complete. On the row below them were Miranda, Pamela's partner in the riding school, and Miranda's father, Jack Crimson, a retired British diplomat. The only one missing was Florence, a local science teacher, who had lost the toss of a coin with Miranda to see which of the two mothers would babysit their young children, all of them exhausted after a long day around Pamela's pool.
It had been for Bruno a perfect day, undisturbed by any of the sudden crises that had ruined his previous Fridays and Sundays, nominally his days off. Three traffic accidents, two lost children and a drunken duel between two Dutch tourists in kayaks had consumed his supposed free time. But today had been spent in and around Pamela's swimming pool with his friends, and while preparing lunch for them all, he'd enjoyed showing the children how to make deviled eggs.
They had watched him halve the hard-boiled eggs, scoop out the yolks, crush them with a fork and then make mayonnaise. He'd added a little red wine vinegar and some Dijon mustard, and then whipped up the mixture with a little sunflower oil until it slowly began to thicken. He added a squeeze of half a lemon and whisked some more until the mayonnaise reached the firmness he wanted. Next he used a fork to mix in the crumbled egg yolks, then scooped the egg and mayonnaise mix into a dozen of the eggs for the grown-ups. He asked the children how they liked their eggs. "With ketchup," they replied, so Bruno put the remaining mayonnaise into a dish and showed them how to stir in ketchup until it turned pink. He added the crumbled yolks and scooped the mixture into the halved whites, and grinned as the kids darted away to show off their pink deviled eggs. He smiled to himself at the memory, until Pamela interrupted his thoughts to ask whether today's planned reenactment was historically accurate.
"As usual, that depends on whose version of history you read," the mayor said. "Only later did English and French historians make it a matter of national patriotism. At the time, most people in this region accepted that their local lord was the Duke of Aquitaine, who happened to be half English. And if he didn't speak their language, nor did the king of France because everyone around here spoke Occitan. The English duke's taxes were usually lower, and England was the main market for our wines."
"Whoever built Sarlat, they left us a lovely town," said Bruno. He never tired of visiting the old town, a jewel of medieval and Renaissance architecture so well preserved that it had become a mainstay of French historic films. Its markets and festivals for the local delicacies of truffles and foie gras were renowned. Sarlat was woven deeply into the history of France. It was lost and then liberated in the Hundre...
