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News and Views

A bit of book IV...

8/4/2019

1 Comment

 
Progress. With the stress on the first syllable, and the 'o' round (for any Americans reading!). 

“Oh no, that is not what I mean. I mean that you will choose as you will, and that you can find justification for it in that it is in the interest of the king, even if it contradicts his actual wish.”
“I have not found myself in that situation.”
“The only cause to pledge your loyalty to, James… It’s God. It has always been God, and it shall always be God.”
“You think the king is a heretic, George.”
“He is a heretic. If you were truly loyal, you would tell him so, and you would correct him.”

“I do not have the ability. I do not have the wish, either.”
“Because you agree, or because you don’t care?”
“Because, George, I think that a man should be free to practise his religion. Or not, if he so chooses.”
“Strelley again.”
“No.” Longshawe looks down, then around at his soldiers, who are maximising their rest time by lying on the ground, stretched out in the mid-morning sun. “Fletcher.”
De Winter shakes his head. “Do you think that pagans and heretics should be free to spread their evils?” He frowns. “What about atheists?”
“I am not called to religion as you are. Strelley and Fletcher have not set out to rid the world of religion either. It is just that God does not speak to them.”

De Winter crosses himself. Then, after a pause in which he holds Longshawe’s gaze for a moment too long, he says, “I shall pray for you. And for them.”


1 Comment
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12/5/2022 05:02:57 am

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    Andy Richardson

    When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
    I summon up remembrance of things past,
    I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
    And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
    Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow,
    For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
    And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
    And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:
    Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
    And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
    The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
    Which I new pay as if not paid before.
    But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
    All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.

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