‘It’s Wayland’s dog,’ said Hero.
‘I know. I’ve seen the brute watching us from the ridge above our camp.’
The dog stopped a hundred yards off and sat back on its haunches. Arne’s mouth framed some kind of invocation. ‘What does it want? Why does it sit there?’
‘It might be carrying a message. Let me go to it. I won’t try to escape.’
Arne looked round to see if any of his companions were in sight. ‘Make it quick.’
Hero approached cautiously. ‘Good dog,’ he murmured. It looked straight ahead, its chest pumping. Tied to its spiked collar was a small roll of parchment. Hero removed it.
Hero had no means to respond. He gave the dog a tentative pat and it rose and galloped back the way it had come. Hero returned smiling with the letter.
‘Show me,’ Arne demanded.
‘It’s only a message from my friend Richard. He hopes that I’m in good heart and assures me that your companions are being well treated.’
Arne peered at the script, then crumpled the letter and pushed it into the peat. ‘Thorfinn mustn’t know about this. He believes that Christian rune-makers cast malicious spells.’
‘Have you had any dealings with Christian missionaries?’
‘Three years ago a priest came to Thorfinn’s hall and showed him runes that he swore were the words of your god.’
‘The Bible.’
‘He said that this god … I forget his name.’
‘Jesus.’
‘He said that this god sacrificed himself to redeem the wicked and sinful.’
‘That’s true. Jesus was sent by his father-’
Arne held up a hand. ‘He said that the meek would triumph over the strong and that judgement and punishment belonged to god alone. Thorfinn asked what sort of god it was that gave up his life to save criminals and cowards. The priest would have been wise to shut up, but instead he continued preaching until Thorfinn asked him if he had the courage to follow his god’s example.’ Arne stopped. ‘No, you don’t want to know.’
‘I can guess,’ Hero said. He shivered slightly.
‘Thorfinn told the priest about his violent deeds — how he ate the livers of his enemies and cut the blood eagle on them. Then he said that if this god was real, the priest must be prepared to sacrifice his life to save Thorfinn’s soul. The priest was terrified and cried out to his god to save him. Thorfinn crucified him.’
Hero stared at the ground. ‘Did he go to his death bravely?’
‘Men die bravely only in battle.’ Arne stood. ‘We’ve been away too long. Thorfinn will be growing suspicious.’
Two days later they rounded the end of the peninsula and entered the White Sea, anchoring at twilight in an estuary overlooked by iron-grey cliffs capped with eaves of snow. In the calm of the anchorage, Hero used his compass to confirm their new course. His heart flew into his throat as a blurred iron arc splintered the thwart beside him.
Thorfinn bent and picked up the scattered parts. ‘What’s this?’
Hero scrabbled backwards. ‘A direction finder. It can show the way when clouds hide the sun.’
Thorfinn loured over him, his right cheek puffed up, his eye closed in an obscene wink. ‘You think I don’t know how to find my way?’ He flipped the compass overboard.
Hero’s fear flashed into anger. ‘You ignorant heathen,’ he shouted in Greek. ‘No wonder your expeditions end in failure.’
Arne pulled him away. ‘Idiot! The tooth worm’s driving him mad. The only way he can deal with pain is by inflicting worse suffering on those around him. You’re lucky he didn’t strike you dead.’
For the rest of the evening, Hero couldn’t stop trembling.
When he boarded the longship next morning, two Vikings pushed him into Thorfinn’s presence. His legs almost gave way at the thought that the chieftain had discovered his part in firing the longship. Thorfinn sat slumped on a thwart, his face swathed in a filthy bandage. He cocked his good eye. ‘You claim to be a healer.’
Hero fingered his throat. ‘I’m a physician, not a dentist. In my country we leave tooth-pulling to barbers.’
Thorfinn’s pale eye twitched. ‘I’m not in your country and I’m not asking for a shave.’
Arne nudged Hero. ‘You’d better do it. I’ve seen men die from the tooth-worm, and if Thorfinn goes, he’ll take you with him. Believe it.’
Hero linked his hands to stop them trembling. ‘I’ll need to examine you. Lie on your back.’
Pain and the hope of release from it can tame the most savage soul. Thorfinn reclined on a thwart and opened his mouth. Hero inspected the claggy teeth, tried not to breathe the fog of putrefaction. The seat of infection was a broken and rotted upper right molar. ‘You’ve got a bad abscess.’
‘Aargh.’
Hero considered lancing it with a fleam, but the relief might be temporary and the operation could make the infection worse. ‘The tooth will have to come out. Any of your men will be able to pull it.’
Thorfinn grinned horribly. ‘I don’t want any of those ham-fisted butchers messing about with my jaw. I want
Hero broke into a cold sweat. It would be like pulling a tooth from a bear. ‘I don’t have the proper instruments.’
One of the Vikings handed him a pair of blacksmith’s tongs. ‘These should do the job.’
‘No, they won’t. There isn’t enough tooth left to provide a firm purchase. The tongs will crush what remains and he’ll be in a worse state than before.’
Thorfinn patted his swollen cheek. ‘Enough talking.’
Hero glanced up at the yardarm. An idea came to him. He dismissed it as absurd, but he couldn’t think of an alternative plan and he kept coming back to it. ‘Show me the tooth again.’ He studied the craggy stump, isolated in the infected gum. ‘Who can make the neatest job of whipping a rope’s end?’
The Vikings backed off. ‘Arne’s your man.’
Hero looked at him. ‘I want you to whip a cord to the tooth, using fine gut thread. I’ll supply the whipping.’
Arne inspected the tooth. He shook his head.
Thorfinn clubbed him. ‘Do what the Greek tells you.’
Arne grimaced. ‘The pain will make him lash out. I won’t be able to tie the cord properly.’
Hero remembered the sleeping draught in his chest. He took out the bottle, unstoppered it and asked for a cup. He measured out half the contents of the bottle and passed the cup to Thorfinn. ‘Drink it. It will dull the pain.’
Thorfinn smelled it and blinked. ‘Are you trying to poison me?’
‘Your tooth is poisoning you. Drink.’
Thorfinn tossed off the potion.
‘We have to wait for it to take effect,’ Hero said.
Presently Thorfinn’s good eye began to wander and he broke into ragged song. The Vikings stared at each other. ‘By Odin, I don’t believe it. Our chief’s drunk as a lord on a few spoonfuls.’
Hero nodded at Arne. ‘You,’ he said to one of the Vikings, ‘hold Thorfinn’s head steady.’
‘Whoo-hoo,’ crooned the chief. ‘Iddy-biddy boo.’
