Sword of Kings (The Saxon Stories, #12)

by Bernard Cornwell

There are times when knowledge comes from nothing, from a feeling, from a scent that cannot be smelled, from a fear that has no cause.

“There’s only one cure for seasickness, father!” Gerbruht bellowed from the stern. “Sit under a tree!”

“Anger leads to savagery,” I said curtly, “and to stupidity.”

“No,” Finan answered. “He must fight. He’s Uhtred of Bebbanburg. He doesn’t lie in a bed feeling sorry for himself. Uhtred of Bebbanburg puts on his mail, straps on a sword, and takes death to his enemies.” He stood in the room’s doorway, the sun bright behind him. “Merewalh has five hundred men here, and they’re doing nothing. They’re sitting around like turds in a bucket. It’s time to fight.” I said nothing. My body ached. My head hurt. I closed my eyes. “We fight,” Finan said, “and then we go home.” “Perhaps I should have died,” I said, “maybe it was time.” “Don’t be such a pathetic fool,” he snarled. “The gods didn’t want your rotten carcass in Valhalla, not yet. They haven’t done with you. What is it you like to tell us all the time? Wyrd bið ful ãræd?” His Irish accent mangled the words. “Well, fate hasn’t finished with you, and the gods didn’t leave you alive for no reason, and you’re a lord, so get on your damned feet, strap on a sword, and take us south.”

This is why Finan is probably my favorite character in the series.

Sometimes we do not know why we do the things we do, we are driven to it by fate, by impulse, or by mere stupidity.