“Lord Derfel, you do insult a man so very easily. What was it to be? My head in a pit dunged by slaves? What a paltry imagination you do have. Mine, I fear, sometimes seems excessive, even to me.”

“Tell me how Gisela can be married to a man she's never met?'Aidan glanced across at Guthred as if expecting help from the king, but Guthred was still motionless, so Aidan had to confront me alone. 'I stood beside her in Lord Ælfric's place,' he said, 'so in the eyes of the church she is married.''Did you hump her as well?' I demanded, and the priests and monks hissed their disapproval.'Of course not.' Aidan said, offended.'If no one's ridden her,' I said, 'then she's not married. A mare isn't broken until she's saddled and ridden. Have you been ridden?' I asked Gisela.'Not yet.' she said.'She is married.' Aidan insisted.'You stood at the altar in my uncle's place,' I said, 'and you call that a marriage?''It is.' Beocca said quietly.'So if I kill you,' I suggested to Aidan, ignoring Beocca, 'she'll be a widow?”

“Did you become a Christian in your nunnery?' I asked her.'Of course not.' she said scornfully.'They didn't mind?''I gave them silver.''Then they didn't mind.' I said.'I don't think any Dane is a real Christian.' she told me.'Not even your brother?''We have many gods,' she said, 'and the Christian god is just another one. I'm sure that's what Guthred thinks. What's the Christian god's name? A nun did tell me, but I've forgotten.''Jehovah.'There you are, then. Odin, Thor and Jehovah. Does he have a wife?''No.''Poor Jehovah.' she said.”

“Who do you serve?” Lanferelle asked.“Sir John Cornerwailled,” Hook said proudly.Lanferelle was pleased. “Sir John! Ah, there's a man. His mother must have slept with a Frenchman.”

“I am no Christian. These days it does no good to confess that, for the bishops and abbots have too much influence and it is easier to pretend to a faith than to fight angry ideas. I was raised a Christian, but at ten years old, when I was taken into Ragnar’s family, I discovered the old Saxon gods who were also the gods of the Danes and of the Norsemen, and their worship has always made more sense to me than bowing down to a god who belongs to a country so far away that I have met no one who has ever been there. Thor and Odin walked our hills, slept in our valleys, loved our women and drank from our streams, and that makes them seem like neighbours. The other thing I like about our gods is that they are not obsessed with us. They have their own squabbles and love affairs and seem to ignore us much of the time, but the Christian god has nothing better to do than to make rules for us. He makes rules, more rules, prohibitions and commandments, and he needs hundreds of black-robed priests and monks to make sure we obey those laws. He strikes me as a very grumpy god, that one, even though his priests are forever claiming that he loves us. I have never been so stupid as to think that Thor or Odin or Hoder loved me, though I hope at times they have thought me worthy of them.”

“- Ti amava - protestai.Lei mi fissò. Pensavo che stesse per esplodere, ma si limitò a sorridere e a scuotere la testa. - Mi venerava, Derfel - disse in tono stanco - e non è la stessa cosa che essere amata.Si lasciò cadere su uno sgabello, accanto alla cassapanca di legno. - Essere venerata, Derfel, è una cosa che stanca, a lungo andare.”

“I forgot to mention,” Father Christopher said, smiling seraphically at Sir Martin, “that I am also a priest. So let me offer you a blessing.” He pulled out a golden crucifix that had been hidden beneath his shirt and held it toward Lord Slayton’s men. “May the peace and love of our Lord Jesus Christ,” he said, “comfort and sustain you while you take your farting mouths and your turd-reeking presence out of our sight.” He waved a sketchy cross toward the horsemen. “And thus farewell.”