The Winter King (The Warlord Chronicles, #1)

by Bernard Cornwell

Magic, she said, happened at the moments when the lives of the Gods and men touched, but such moments were not commanded by men.

I had been raised on the Tor where we came from all races and all tribes, and though Merlin was himself a tribal chief and fiercely protective of anyone who could boast the name of Briton, he did not teach a hatred of other tribes.

‘She could be wonderfully kind,’ I said after the pause. ‘She knew how to make the sad happy, but she was impatient with the commonplace. She had a vision of a world that did not hold cripples or bores or ugly things, and she wanted to make that world real by banishing such inconveniences. Arthur had a vision, too, only his vision offered help to the cripples, and he wanted to make his world just as real.’

Talking of Guinevere

‘You try to suck all the joy out of it, Derfel,’ Igraine said crossly, though she was never truly angry with me. ‘I want it to be the poet’s Camelot: green grass and high towers and ladies in gowns and warriors strewing their paths with flowers. I want minstrels and laughter! Wasn’t it ever like that?’ ‘A little,’ I said, ‘though I don’t remember many flowery paths. I do recall the warriors limping out of battle, and some of them crawling and weeping with their guts trailing behind in the dust.’ ‘Stop it!’ Igraine said. ‘So why do the bards call it Camelot?’ she challenged me. ‘Because poets were ever fools,’ I said, ‘otherwise why would they be poets?’

The building that was being destroyed had been a Roman temple. ‘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!’ These last words, ostensibly spoken to me, were said loud enough to disturb the dozen Christians who were labouring at their new church.

‘The old Gods are gone,’ Galahad insisted. ‘They abandoned us because we are not worthy.’ ‘Arthur is worthy,’ I said stubbornly, ‘and so are you.’ He shook his head. ‘I am a sinner so vile, Derfel, that I cringe.’ I laughed at his abject tone. ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘I kill, I lust, I envy.’ He was truly miserable, but then Galahad, like Arthur, was a man who was for ever judging his own soul and finding it wanting and I never met such a man who was happy for long.

Imagine elevating meekness into a virtue! Meekness! Can you imagine a heaven filled only with the meek? What a dreadful idea. The food would get cold while everyone passed the dishes to everyone else. Meekness is no good, Derfel. Anger and selfishness, those are the qualities that make the world march.’

Merlin

Poor Uther. He believed that virtues are handed down through a man’s loins! What nonsense! 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.

Merlin

‘What of him? He’s a man, he’s got a sword, he can look after himself. Fate is inexorable, Derfel. If fate means Arthur to win this war then it doesn’t matter if Gorfyddyd masses the armies of the world against him. If I had nothing better to do then I confess I would help Arthur, because I like him, but fate has decreed that I am an old man, increasingly feeble and possessed of a bladder like a leaking waterskin, and I must therefore husband my waning energies.’ He proclaimed this pathetic state in a vigorous tone.

Merlin talking

‘I envy your Christian God. He is three and He is one, He is dead and He is alive, He is everywhere and He is nowhere, and He demands that you worship Him, but claims nothing else is worthy of worship. There’s room in those contradictions for a man to believe in anything or nothing, but not with our Gods. They are like kings, fickle and powerful, and if they want to forget us, they do. It doesn’t matter what we believe, only what they want. Our spells only work when the Gods permit. Merlin disagrees, of course. He thinks that if we shout loud enough we’ll get their attention, but what do you do to a child who shouts?’ ‘Give it attention?’ I suggested. ‘You hit it, Lord Derfel,’ Iorweth said. ‘You hit it until it is quiet. I fear Lord Merlin may shout too loud for too long.’