In re-reading this book, I am astounded at how (by this book) Cornwell had put together the entire series. It is clear here that he is foreshadowing things that don't happen until close to the end. It is a magnificent job of plotting and a compelling story about how the fictional Uhtred has a key role in Alfred the Great's plan to unite Britain. Yes - "Fate is inexorable."
Here are some of my favorite quotations from this book:
"“You are to be king, Lord Uhtred,” Bjorn said, then gave a long moan like a creature in pain. “You are to be king,” he sobbed. The wind was cold. A spit of rain touched my cheek. I said nothing. “King of Mercia,” Bjorn said in a sudden and surprisingly loud voice. “You are to be king of Saxon and of Dane, enemy of the Welsh, king between the rivers and lord of all you rule. You are to be mighty, Lord Uhtred, for the three spinners love you.” He stared at me and, though the fate he pronounced was golden, there was a malevolence in his dead eyes. “You will be king,” he said, and the last word sounded like poison on his tongue. My fear passed then, to be replaced by a surge of pride and power. I did not doubt Bjorn’s message because the gods do not speak lightly, and the spinners know our fate. We Saxons say wyrd bi ful ãræd, and even the Christians accept that truth. They might deny that the three Norns exist, but they know that wyrd bi ful ãræd. Fate is inexorable."
"According to the treaty between Alfred and Guthrum this land was Saxon, but the Danes are land hungry and Guthrum could not control all his thegns. So this was battle land, a place where both sides fought a sullen, small and endless war, and the Danes were offering me its crown. I am a Saxon. A northerner. I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg, but I had been raised by the Danes and I knew their ways. I spoke their tongue, I had married a Dane, and I worshipped their gods. If I were to be king here then the Saxons would know they had a Saxon ruler while the Danes would accept me because I had been as a son to Earl Ragnar. But to be king here was to turn on Alfred and, if the dead man had spoken truly, to put Alfred’s drunken nephew on the throne of Wessex, and how long would Æthelwold last? Less than a year, I reckoned, before the Danes killed him, and then all England would be under Danish rule except for Mercia where I, a Saxon who thought like a Dane, would be king. And how long would the Danes tolerate me?"
"I remember a priest, a clever fellow, visiting me to ask for my memories of Alfred, which he wanted to put in a book. He never did, because he died of the flux shortly after he saw me, but he was a shrewd man and more forgiving than most priests, and I recall how he asked me to describe the joy of battle. “My wife’s poets will tell you,” I said to him. “Your wife’s poets never fought,” he pointed out, “and they just take songs about other heroes and change the names.” “They do?” “Of course they do,” he had said, “wouldn’t you, lord?” I liked that priest and so I talked to him, and the answer I eventually gave him was that the joy of battle was the delight of tricking the other side. Of knowing what they will do before they do it, and having the response ready so that, when they make the move that is supposed to kill you, they die instead."