The Burning Land

Why do we fight?" he asked."Because we were born.

The gods are capricious, and I was about to amuse them. And Alfred was right. I was a fool.

‎"He sang the song of the sword, keening as he fed his blade, and Rollo, standing thigh-deep in the creek, ax swinging in murderous blows, blocked the enemy's escape. The Frisians, transported from confidence to bowel-loosening fear, began to drop their weapons.

He wanted to improve the world, while I did not believe and never have believed that we can improve the world, just merely survive as it slides into chaos.

Folk tell their children that success lies in working hard and being thrifty, but that is as much nonsense as supposing that a badger, a fox and a wolf could build a church. The way to wealth is to become a Christian bishop or a monastery's abbot and thus be imbued with heaven's permission to lie, cheat and steal your way to luxury.

Some oaths are made with love, and those we cannot break.

I just gazed at the smoke haze above Lundene, the darkness darkening a summer sky, and wished I were a bird, high in that nothingness, vanishing.   Haesten

Thou shalt not kill, they preached, then screamed at us warriors to slaughter the pagans. Thou shalt not steal, they preached, and forged charters to take men’s lands. Thou shalt not commit adultery, they preached, and rutted other men’s wives like besotted hares in springtime.

Children are easily swayed by religion, which is why it is a good thing that most eventually grow into sense. Chanting monks led the procession, then came children with green boughs, more monks, a group of abbots and bishops, then Steapa and fifty men of the royal guard, who walked immediately in front of Alfred and his guests.

Uhtred of Steapa - He might be dumb as a parsnip but he knows how to fight.

É uma coisa estranha que notei com relação aos cristãos. Eles afirmam que nossos deuses não têm poder, no entanto temem às maldições feitas em nome desses deuses.

I don’t care if he’s got a tail and tits, just take me to him.” The

The hall’s door was framed by a pair of vast curved bones that had come from some sea monster.

Bishop Asser was an earsling, which is anything that drops out of an arse.

Just then a bee landed on my right hand that was still resting on Æthelflæd’s shoulder. I did not try to brush it off, for I did not want to take my arm away. I felt it first, then saw it crawling dozily toward my thumb. It would fly away, I thought, but then, for no reason, it stung me. I swore at the sudden pain and slapped the insect dead, startling Æthelflæd. “Rub an onion on the sting,” she told me, but I could not be bothered to hunt for an onion, so I left it alone. I knew the sting was an omen, a message from the gods, but I did not want to think about it, for it could surely be no good sign.

I spoke in English because the language of the Frisian people is so close to our own.

To gain everything, a man must risk everything.

... our lives are like a voyage across an unknown sea and sometimes we get tired of calm waters and gentle winds, and we have no choice but to slam the steering oar's loom hard over and head for the grey clouds and the whitecaps and the tumult of danger.

Folk tell their children that success lies in working hard and being thrifty, but that is as much nonsense as supposing that a badger, a fox, and a wolf could build a church. The way to wealth is to become a Christian bishop or a monastery’s abbot and thus be imbued with heaven’s permission to lie, cheat, and steal your way to luxury.

... we cannot decree what we would wish. Making an oath is like steering a course, but if the winds and tides of fate are too strong, then the steering oar losses its power.

I was without a lord. I was outcast. I was free. I was going Viking.

superb book Mercia and the Making of England (Sutton Publishing, Stroud, 2000).

...intelligence is a weapon that has a sharp edge and a long reach

We're not puppets in God's hands. We are his instruments. We earn our fate.

If we do nothing then Wessex will spread like a plague. There’ll be priests everywhere.” We seek the future. We stare into its fog and hope to see a landmark that will make sense of fate.

... when the lust dies then mercy takes its place

You want to be a Dane, but you don’t have the courage.

My gods tell us that the world will end in chaos, so perhaps we are living the last days and even I might survive long enough to see the hills crack and the sea boil and the heavens burn as the great gods fight. And in the face of that great doom, Alfred built schools. His priests scurried like mice in rotting thatch, imposing their rules as if mere obedience could stop the doom. Thou shalt not kill, they preached, then screamed at us warriors to slaughter the pagans. Thou shalt not steal, they preached, and forged charters to take men’s lands. Thou shalt not commit adultery, they preached, and rutted other men’s wives like besotted hares in springtime.

The spelling of place names in Anglo Saxon England was an uncertain business, with no consistency and no agreement even about the name itself. Thus London was variously rendered as Lundonia, Lundenberg, Lundenne, Lundene, Lundenwic, Lundenceaster and Lundres.

But Alfred could not live long. He was already an old man, well past forty years, and now he was looking to the future. He