An English man-at-arms had his helmet split open and his skull with it, so that he rode wavering from the fight, blood pouring down his mail coat. His horse stopped a few paces from the turmoil and th...
Certainly strip him of his petty
You need mending? We all do. When we are young it is the spirit that breaks, and when we are old it is the body.
So, in the morning light, where they flapped in the drying wind, the bear and the star defied the Saxons.
Be mad enough, his father once said, and they will either lock you away or make you a saint.
You do like them thin, don't you? Pyrlig said, amused. Now I like them meaty as well-fed heifers! Give me a nice dark Briton with hips like a pair of ale barrels and I'm a happy priest. Poor Hild. Thi...
St George!’ the English shouted, but the saint must have been sleeping for he gave the attackers no help.
Just remember, Braithwaite. While you were learning to be a fool at Oxford I was learning to kill men. And I learned well.
Forward now. Forward to battle slaughter. Beware the man who loves battle. Ravn had told me that only one man in three or perhaps one man in four is a real warrior and the rest are reluctant fighters,...
But I hated Alfred. I hated him for humiliating me at Exanceaster when he had made me wear a penitent's robe and crawl on my knees. Nor did I think of him as my king. He was a West Saxon and I was a N...
The Christian god has nothing better to do than to make rules for us. He
Mostre-me um guerreiro humilde, e eu verei um cadáver
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....
Besides, as I have never tired of telling my Christian followers, we pagans rarely persecute Christians. We believe there are many gods, so we accept another man's religion as his own affair, while Ch...
— Mas o que é que você faria com o Graal?— Eu iria usá-lo.— Para quê?— Para livrar o mundo do pecado.— Seria um trabalho notável, mas nem Cristo conseguiu realizá-lo.— Você pára de eliminar ervas dani...
We cut off their long hair, for I liked to caulk my ships’ planks with the hair of slain enemies,
They’re mean bastards, those monks, I said. I was supposed to deliver a weekly cartload of firewood to Saint Rumwold’s, but that was a duty I ignored. The monks could cut their own timber. Who was Rum...
There’s a time for caution,’ I said, ‘and a time to just kill the bastards.
Latin! The language of God! Or perhaps He speaks Hebrew? I suppose that’s more likely and it will make things rather awkward in heaven, won’t it? Will we all have to learn Hebrew?
I was still screaming at the enemy, promising them death. I was Thor, I was Odin, I was the lord of battle.