The Empty Throne (The Saxon Stories #8)

by Bernard Cornwell

I carried Raven-Beak and my seax, Attor. Attor means venom and she was a short-sword, good for the crowded work of a shield wall. She stung, and it was her venom that had killed Sigurd.

Uhtred son of Uhtred son of Uhtred

I am Uhtred Uhtredson, the true lord of Bebbanburg, and I was nervous that day.

I am half a pagan, maybe less than half, but even my father had been known to say a prayer to the Christian god. “There are many gods,” he had told me so often, “and you never know which one of them is awake, so pray to them all.”

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,

“Earsling,” a harsh voice challenged me from beside the Wheatsheaf’s hearth. “What rancid demon brought you here to spoil my day?” I stared. And stared. Because the last person I had ever expected to see in Æthelred’s stronghold of Gleawecestre was staring at me. “Well, earsling?” he demanded, “what are you doing here?” It was my father.

Honestly love this so much

Many men do not beat their wives, even though the law allows it and the church encourages it, but a man gains no reputation by beating a weaker person. Æthelred had beaten Æthelflaed, but he was a weak man, and it takes a weak man to prove his strength by striking a woman.

Wyrd bið ful āræd. 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.

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.