The Empty Throne (The Saxon Stories #8)

by Bernard Cornwell

I wondered why the gods no longer came to earth. It would make belief so much easier.

Always fight the horse, not the rider. Wound or kill the horse and the rider becomes a victim,

They smile and sing their psalms and preach that their creed is all about love, but tell them you believe in a different god and suddenly it’s all spittle and spite.

Fate is inexorable. We are given power and we lose it.

We live in a world where the strongest win, and the strongest must expect to be disliked. Then I am a pagan, and though Christians teach that they must love their enemies, few do.

“We live in a world of temptation,” she finally spoke, “and few of us aren’t tainted by the devil’s fingers. And the devil works hardest on men of God.

“Why should she be generous?” I asked. “Why should she give money to a woman who slept with her husband?” “She won’t,” Eadith said calmly, “but you will.” “I will?” “Yes, lord.” I winced slightly as she began wiping the wound clean. “Why would I give you money?” I asked harshly. “Because you’re a whore?” “Men call me that.” “And are you?” “I hope not,” she answered evenly, “but I think you will give me money, lord, for another reason.” “And what reason is that?” “Because I know what happened to Cnut’s sword, lord.” I could have kissed her and, when she had cleaned the wound, I did.

Instinct is a strange thing. You cannot touch it, feel it, smell it, or hear it, but you must trust it,

Pride, I suppose, is the most treacherous of virtues. The Christians call it a sin, but no poet sings of men who have no pride. Christians say the meek will inherit the earth, but the meek inspire no songs.

Indeed Brunanburh is the battle that, at long last, will complete Alfred’s dream and forge a united England, but that is another story.