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“A daughter,' Rowley scooped up the child and held her high. The baby blinked from sleep and crowed with him. 'Any fool can have a son,' he said. 'It takes a man to conceive a daughter.”
― The Serpent's Tale
― The Serpent's Tale
“Man provides his own goods and his own evils, neither God nor the Devil has anything to do with it.”
―
―
“I yield to nobody in my admiration for God, but he's no good in bed.”
― The Serpent's Tale
― The Serpent's Tale
“Love- however doomed, had the capacity to attach bouys to the soul.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“She had a quality he had never known- she WAS quality.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Welcome to the gates of heaven Adelia, and what did you do with your life? My Lord, I was a bishop's whore.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“She thought, watching him, 'I am in a bath, naked in a bath with no bubbles, and a man is washing me; my reputation is doomed and to hell with it. I've been to hell and all I wanted in it was to be alive for this man. Who carried me out of it.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“... Turn over that stone" - she pointed to a flint nearby - "and you will find a charlatan who will dazzle you with the favorable conjunction of Mercury and Venus, flatter your future, and sell you colored water for a gold piece. I can't be bothered with it. From me you get the actuality.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Adelia began to get cross. Why was it women who were to blame for everything—everything, from the Fall of Man to these blasted hedges?
“We are not in a labyrinth, my lord,” she said clearly.
“Where are we, then?”
“It’s a maze.”
“Same difference.” Puffing at the horse: “Get back, you great cow.”
“No, it isn’t. A labyrinth has only one path and you merely have to follow it. It’s a symbol of life or, rather, of life and death. Labyrinths twist and turn, but they have a beginning and an end, through darkness into light.”
Softening, and hoping that he would, too, she added, “Like Ariadne’s. Rather beautiful, really.”
“I don’t want mythology, mistress, beautiful or not, I want to get to that sodding tower. What’s a maze when it’s at home?”
“It’s a trick. A trick to confuse. To amaze.”
“And I suppose Mistress Clever-boots knows how to get us out?”
“I do, actually.” God’s rib, he was sneering at her, sneering. She’d a mind to stay where she was and let him sweat.
“Then in the name of Christ, do it.”
“Stop bellowing at me,” she yelled at him. “You’re bellowing.”
She saw his teeth grit in the pretense of a placatory smile; he always had good teeth. Still did. Between them, he said, “The Bishop of Saint Albans presents his compliments to Mistress Adelia and please to escort him out of this hag’s hole, for the love of God. How will you do it?”
“My business.” Be damned if she’d tell him. Women were defenseless enough without revealing their secrets. “I’ll have to take the lead.”
She stumped along in front, holding Walt’s mount’s reins in her right hand. In the other was her riding crop, which she trailed with apparent casualness so that it brushed against the hedge on her left.
As she went, she chuntered to herself. Lord, how disregarded I am in this damned country. How disregarded all women are.
...
Ironically, the lower down the social scale women were, the greater freedom they had; the wives of laborers and craftsmen could work alongside their men—even, sometimes, when they were widowed, take over their husband’s trade.
Adelia trudged on. Hag’s hole. Grendel’s mother’s entrails. Why was this dreadful place feminine to the men lost in it? Because it was tunneled? Womb-like? Is this woman’s magic? The great womb?
Is that why the Church hates me, hates all women? Because we are the source of all true power? Of life?
She supposed that by leading them out of it, she was only confirming that a woman knew its secrets and they did not.
Great God, she thought, it isn't a question of hatred. It’s fear. They are frightened of us.
And Adelia laughed quietly, sending a suggestion of sound reverberating backward along the tunnel, as if a small pebble was skipping on water, making each man start when it passed him.
“What in hell was that?”
Walt called back stolidly, “Reckon someone’s laughing at us, master.”
“Dear God.”
― The Serpent's Tale
“We are not in a labyrinth, my lord,” she said clearly.
“Where are we, then?”
“It’s a maze.”
“Same difference.” Puffing at the horse: “Get back, you great cow.”
“No, it isn’t. A labyrinth has only one path and you merely have to follow it. It’s a symbol of life or, rather, of life and death. Labyrinths twist and turn, but they have a beginning and an end, through darkness into light.”
Softening, and hoping that he would, too, she added, “Like Ariadne’s. Rather beautiful, really.”
“I don’t want mythology, mistress, beautiful or not, I want to get to that sodding tower. What’s a maze when it’s at home?”
“It’s a trick. A trick to confuse. To amaze.”
“And I suppose Mistress Clever-boots knows how to get us out?”
“I do, actually.” God’s rib, he was sneering at her, sneering. She’d a mind to stay where she was and let him sweat.
“Then in the name of Christ, do it.”
“Stop bellowing at me,” she yelled at him. “You’re bellowing.”
She saw his teeth grit in the pretense of a placatory smile; he always had good teeth. Still did. Between them, he said, “The Bishop of Saint Albans presents his compliments to Mistress Adelia and please to escort him out of this hag’s hole, for the love of God. How will you do it?”
“My business.” Be damned if she’d tell him. Women were defenseless enough without revealing their secrets. “I’ll have to take the lead.”
She stumped along in front, holding Walt’s mount’s reins in her right hand. In the other was her riding crop, which she trailed with apparent casualness so that it brushed against the hedge on her left.
As she went, she chuntered to herself. Lord, how disregarded I am in this damned country. How disregarded all women are.
...
Ironically, the lower down the social scale women were, the greater freedom they had; the wives of laborers and craftsmen could work alongside their men—even, sometimes, when they were widowed, take over their husband’s trade.
Adelia trudged on. Hag’s hole. Grendel’s mother’s entrails. Why was this dreadful place feminine to the men lost in it? Because it was tunneled? Womb-like? Is this woman’s magic? The great womb?
Is that why the Church hates me, hates all women? Because we are the source of all true power? Of life?
She supposed that by leading them out of it, she was only confirming that a woman knew its secrets and they did not.
Great God, she thought, it isn't a question of hatred. It’s fear. They are frightened of us.
And Adelia laughed quietly, sending a suggestion of sound reverberating backward along the tunnel, as if a small pebble was skipping on water, making each man start when it passed him.
“What in hell was that?”
Walt called back stolidly, “Reckon someone’s laughing at us, master.”
“Dear God.”
― The Serpent's Tale
“But God, having as little comprehension of the feminine mind as any male, did not reply.”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“. . . oh shit, you had to be bloody careful when you invoked God; He could amuse Himself by granting what you’d prayed for . . .”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“This infatuation must be dispelled; it is necessary for me not to admire you. I do not wish to fall in love.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“The scar, and her indifference to it, did something extraordinary for her, just as damage to some art object threw into relief how beautiful it had once been, tarnishing and tempering her face with the reminder of what humanity did to lovely things and how they bore it.”
―
―
“But it’s a pretense, it’s artificial,” Adelia protested. “Love, honor, respect. When are they ever extended to everyday women? I doubt if that boy actually practices what he’s singing. It’s… it’s a pleasant hypocrisy.”
“Oh, I have a high regard for hypocrisy,” the little nun said. “It pays lip service to an ideal which must, therefore, exist. It recognizes that there is a Good. In its own way, it is a token of civilization. You don’t find hypocrisy among the beasts of the field.”
“What good does the Good do if it is not adhered to?”
“That is what I have been wondering,” Mother Edyve said calmly. “And I have come to the conclusion that perhaps the early Christians wondered it, too, and perhaps that Eleanor, in her fashion, has made a start by setting a brick in a foundation on which, with God’s help, our daughters’ daughters can begin to build a new and better Jerusalem.”
“Not in time for Emma,” Adelia said.
“No.”
Perhaps, Adelia thought drearily, it was only a very old woman who could look hopefully on a single brick laid in a wasteland.”
― The Serpent's Tale
“Oh, I have a high regard for hypocrisy,” the little nun said. “It pays lip service to an ideal which must, therefore, exist. It recognizes that there is a Good. In its own way, it is a token of civilization. You don’t find hypocrisy among the beasts of the field.”
“What good does the Good do if it is not adhered to?”
“That is what I have been wondering,” Mother Edyve said calmly. “And I have come to the conclusion that perhaps the early Christians wondered it, too, and perhaps that Eleanor, in her fashion, has made a start by setting a brick in a foundation on which, with God’s help, our daughters’ daughters can begin to build a new and better Jerusalem.”
“Not in time for Emma,” Adelia said.
“No.”
Perhaps, Adelia thought drearily, it was only a very old woman who could look hopefully on a single brick laid in a wasteland.”
― The Serpent's Tale
“Sister Walburga ate some of the sausage she was taking upriver for the anchorites, but you'd think from her distress that she was a Horseman of the Apocalypse and the Whore of Babylon rolled into one.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Adelia, you must not quail. You are confounding inhumanity.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Man hovers between Paradise and the Pit,” Gordinus told her cheerfully. “Sometimes rising to one, sometimes swooping to the other. To ignore his capacity for evil is as obtuse as blinding oneself to the heights to which he can soar.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“But truth travels slowly and gets weaker as it goes. Suitable lies are stronger and run faster.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Will there be traitors, Father?” “There are always traitors. Trust nobody.”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“satanic.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“And then in response to a reply audible to no one but him, Gwilherm de Vannes, bravest of men, gave one last contented sigh and closed his eyes.”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“She was ushered into a passage where the only light came from the tallow taper in the rabbi's hand. The house smelled of chicken soup. In the thousand miles she and Rosa and the children had traveled from Siberia, passed along like parcels from settlement to Jewish settlement, sometimes in houses, often in huts, that smell had been the one constant, as if they had followed its trail by sniffing, like dogs. However poor their hosts, a hen had been killed in their honor because hospitality demanded it.”
―
―
“But truth travels slowly and gets weaker as it goes. Suitable lies are strong and run faster.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“You are a drab, she told herself, seduced into infatuation by a soldier’s tale. Outremer, bravery, crusade, it is illusory romance. Pull yourself together, woman.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“Mir je novac, Aarone, a novac je mir.”
― Mistress of the Art of Death
― Mistress of the Art of Death
“A thousand years of dominion went ringing across the Thames like a trumpet blast. Anglo-Saxon and Viking-Norman ancestry combined in a chord that had deafened and conquered nations. It expected the moon to bow the knee. If not, so much the worse for the moon.”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“And God was angry with His people of Somerset so that, in the year of Our Lord 1154. pm the day after the feast of Saint Stephen, He caused an earthquake that it might punish them for their sins…” Thus wrote Brother Caradoc in Saint Michael’s chapel in top of Glastonbury Tor, to which he’d scrambled, gasping and sobbing, so as to escape the devastation that God with his earthquake had wrought on everything below it.”
― Grave Goods
― Grave Goods
“She knew now why mercenaries unnerved her, not only because they were dangerous in themselves but because they were outside the only system on which her society, real society, was built, whereby everybody owed duty to somebody under feudal law, just as her tenants, free and unfree; her knights; and her manor holders had to pay her in various taxes and service, just as she, their tenant in chief, had to render taxes and service to the ultimate earthly authority, the king. Mercenaries were unattached from the only mechanism that gave order to the world; they floated free of all responsibility except to those who paid them, like disgusting flies sucking at a sweetness to which they had not contributed. That was why”
― The Siege Winter
― The Siege Winter
“The true faith, thought Adelia. They all claimed it: Christian, Roman, Greek Orthodox, Jew, Moslem, Cathar, every one of them assured that the right way to worship God belonged only to them.”
― A Murderous Procession
― A Murderous Procession
“Loyalty could come only of exchange and mutual regard.”
― The Serpent's Tale
― The Serpent's Tale
