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I have often observed that it took a Frenchman to introduce adultery to a good British story.
The Irish were Britons, but they had never been ruled by the Romans and for that reason counted themselves better than the mainland Britons whom they raided, harried, enslaved and colonized.
there was a time, Derfel, when we could do those things, when we lived with the Gods and we pleased them and we were able to use their power to keep Britain as they wanted it kept. We did their bidding, you understand, but their bidding was our desire.’ She clasped her two hands to demonstrate the point, then flinched as the pressure hurt the cut on her left palm. ‘But then the Romans came,’ she said, ‘and they broke the compact.’
It was thus made plain to most of us in the hall that Morgan, even if she had been uttering in Merlin’s voice, had nevertheless spoken what Tewdric had wanted her to speak. King Tewdric of Gwent might have been a good Christian, but he was a better politician and knew exactly when to have the old Gods support his demands.
‘What do you think a soldier’s job is, Derfel?’ he asked me in that intimate manner that made you feel he was more interested in you than anyone else in the world. ‘To fight battles, Lord,’ I said. He shook his head. ‘To fight battles, Derfel,’ he corrected me, ‘on behalf of people who can’t fight for themselves. I learned that in Brittany. This miserable world is full of weak people, powerless people, hungry people, sad people, sick people, poor people, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to despise the weak, especially if you’re a soldier. If you’re a warrior and you want a man’s
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Arthur believes, but he keeps his beliefs very silent. That way the Christians think he is one of them, or might be, and the pagans believe the same, and so both serve him the more willingly.
‘It was where people worshipped Mercury,’ Guinevere said, ‘but now we’re to have a shrine for a dead carpenter instead. And how will a dead carpenter give us good crops, tell me that!’
Lancelot was sometimes at a fight, but always a mile behind so that he could be first back to Ynys Trebes with his news of victory. He knew how to tear a cloak, batter a sword edge, rumple his oiled hair and even cut his face so that he staggered home looking the hero, and then his mother would have the fili compose a new song and the song would be carried to Britain by traders and seamen so that even in distant Rheged, north of Elmet, they believed that Lancelot was the new Arthur.
A child is like a calf; if the thing is born crippled you knock it smartly on the skull and serve the cow again. That’s why the Gods made it such a pleasure to engender children, because so many of the little brutes have to be replaced.
Once you write something down it becomes fixed. It becomes dogma. People can argue about it, they become authoritative, they refer to the texts, they produce new manuscripts, they argue more and soon they’re putting each other to death. If you never write anything down then no one knows exactly what you said so you can always change it.
‘Some men are better at knowing than doing, Derfel. Ban was very wise, but not practical. I have to be both.’
Do Gods need men? Or are we like dogs barking for masters who don’t want to listen?’ ‘We aren’t dogs,’ I said. ‘We’re the creatures of the Gods. They must have a purpose for us.’ ‘Must they? Maybe we just make them laugh.’
he worsens the mix by always believing that people are inherently good, even the worst of them, and that is why, mark my words, he will never have peace. He longs for peace, he talks of peace, but his own trusting soul is the reason he will always have enemies.
‘I believe the Gods hate to be bored, so I do my best to amuse them. That way they smile on me. Your God,’ Merlin said sourly, ‘despises amusement, demanding grovelling worship instead. He must be a very sorry creature. He’s probably rather like Gorfyddyd, endlessly suspicious and foully jealous of his reputation.
