“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.”

“If you can master me, that look seemed to say, then you can master whatever else this wicked world might bring. I can see her now, standing amidst her deerhounds that had the same thin, lean bodies, and the same long nose and the same huntess eyes as their mistress. Green eyes, she had, with a kind of cruelty deep inside them. It was not a soft face, any more that her body was soft. She was a woman of strong lines and high bones, and that made for a good face and a handsome one, but hard, so hard. What made her beautiful was her hair and her carriage, for she stood as straight as spear and her hair fell around her shoulders like a cascade of tumbling red tangles. That red hair softened her looks, while her laughter snared men like salmon caught in basket traps. There have been many more beautiful women, and thousands who were better, but since the world was weaned I doubt there have been many more so unforgettable as Guinevere, eldest daughter of Leodegan, the exiled King of Henis Wyren.And it would have been better, Merlin always said, had she been drowned at birth.”

“Uncle Aidan?” Percy began.“Yeah?”“Don’t you think you ought to marry Emma?”Aidan jerked his head up, slamming it against the trunk lid. “FUCK!” he shouted as he saw stars before his eyes. A few more expletives escaped his lips as pain raged through his skull.“Nice mouth you got there,” John chided.Gritting his teeth, Aidan rubbed his aching head. “You mention that one to your mom, and I’ll tell her about your ball-sack comment.”John’s eyes widened. “Dude, that is so not cool!”“Yeah, well, deal with it.” Aidan started to resume gathering up the bags when he noticed Percy staring expectantly at him for an answer. Aidan sighed. “Perce—”His blonde brows knitted together. “Don’t you love her?”“Oh Christ,” Aidan muttered, raking his hand through his hair. He winced as pain once again shot through his head. “Did your mom put you up to this or something?”“No. When I asked her the same question, she just said that you were a cad.” Percy shrugged. “I don’t even know what that means.”“I’m pretty sure it’s a dude who acts like a douchebag to women,” John said.Aidan glared over at John. “I am not a cad!”

“I don't know why I said what I did. Maybe I wanted Hannah to remember something, or maybe I wanted to test her, but when she asked me my name I didn't even pause. "My name is Aidan," I said. "It means fire.”

“Start being honest with her. Aidan always let her know what he was thinking. And he fairly much treated her like a queen.”Lothaire sneered, “That’s the worst bloody advice I’ve ever heard!”Brandr bowed his chest. “And why’s that, leech? She cared for Aidan once—she will again.”“Precisely. She cared for Aidan,” Lothaire said. “I knew of Aidan the Fierce—no mortal could kill that many of the Horde without my hearing about it. And I know that he was a bold, blond Viking who was like a god among men. Women wanted him and men wanted to be him.” He sighed.“Reminded me of myself.”

“King Edmund of East Anglia is now remembered as a saint, as one of those blessed souls who live forever in the shadow of God. Or so the priests tell me. In heaven, they say, the saints occupy a privileged place, living on the high platform of God’s great hall where they spend their time singing God’s praises. Forever. Just singing. Beocca always told me that it would be an ecstatic existence, but to me it seems very dull. The Danes reckon their dead warriors are carried to Valhalla, the corpse hall of Odin, where they spend their days fighting and their nights feasting and swiving, and I dare not tell the priests that this seems a far better way to endure the afterlife than singing to the sound of golden harps. I once asked a bishop whether there were any women in heaven. “Of course there are, my lord,” he answered, happy that I was taking an interest in doctrine. “Many of the most blessed saints are women.”“I mean women we can hump, bishop.”He said he would pray for me. Perhaps he did.”