
Arthur’s Wrath
“He made worthy widows wail with sorrow,
Weeping and howling they wrung their hands.
And everywhere in his wake he wasted through war
Their wealth and their houses, and awoke their woe.” […]
“He made worthy widows wail with sorrow,
Weeping and howling they wrung their hands.
And everywhere in his wake he wasted through war
Their wealth and their houses, and awoke their woe.” […]
“Then they wished their father and mother a good life and set off on their way, journeying until they reached King Hrolf.” […]
“Dromund took hold of the sword and immediately wielded it and struck at Hook. The blow hit him on the head with such force that it sank down to his jaws. Hook dropped down dead to the ground, ignobly.” […]
“Next morning, when they were on the point of setting out, the hot wind came down on them and stifled them all, so that not one survived to carry back the news to their lord.” […]
“The young man took it, turned to one side, unfastened the peace straps and drew the sword. When Thorkel saw that he said, “I did not give you permission to draw the sword.”
“I did not ask your permission,” said the lad.” […]
“Then he rode into the host, hacking through helmets,
Riving off rivets and ripping through shields,
Causing carnage in the ranks but keeping his course,
Rampaging through the rearguard and riding onward,
Then reigning back, that right royal battler,
And returning to the ranks of his own Round Table.” […]
“Frodi invited him to remain there, offering him a half-share of everything. But Bodvar declined. He thought it wrong to kill people for their wealth, and so he prepared to leave.” […]
“Lunging at Paris, he grabbed his horsehair crest, swung him round, started to drag him into Argive lines and now the braided chin-strap holding his helmet tight was gouging his soft throat – Paris was choking, strangling.” […]
“Her husband replied, ‘It’s about time that you reveal the sort of woman that you really are. Where is the man whose voice was booming just now? I expect you think he sounds better than I do.'” […]
“In case of need, they will ride a good ten days’ journey without provision and without making a fire, living only on the blood of their horses; for every rider pierces a vein of his horse and drinks the blood.” […]
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