final day of the gods, Odin will fight a creature called the Fenris Wolf. That creature will kill the god. The appearance of this wolf here in middle earth will indicate who Odin is. It will come to kill him.’
‘So you prove yourself king of kings by dying?’
‘Just as your Christ did, eh?’
‘That is sacrilege.’
‘Calm yourself. The way I see it is this. If we can fulfil this prophecy, get this wolf to turn up, then I can rewrite destiny.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll kill it. I’m good at killing things, it’s been my only profession. That way we make our own myths. I will be Odin in triumph. If it kills me, I have a hero’s death and renown down the ages. I really don’t see how I can lose.’
‘And if it doesn’t appear?’
‘It will. If we can get hold of your lady.’
‘What has she got to do with this?’
‘Our Raven has a sister. She is a prophet of a sort and she has identified your lady as the key to the appearance of the wolf. Odin has come to earth before, fought the wolf before, and in some way this girl, who has lived before, was caught up in all that. Where she goes, the wolf will follow. That’s why we want her.’
Jehan swallowed. He thought of what Aelis had told him in the church. It was becoming clear to him what had happened now. She had heard the rumours of what the Norsemen intended for her and it had given her nightmares. As it would anyone.
‘And why does the heathen sorcerer try to kill her?’
‘He doesn’t agree that I’m Odin. He thinks the wolf has not come yet. If he can kill this girl before the wolf catches her scent, so to speak, then he can weaken it or even avoid his master’s death. It’s like your seers who read the future in the night sky. Could they shape the future if they could reach to the heavens and snuff out a star? The Raven believes that is possible and your lady is the star he wants to snuff out.’
‘You don’t think that is necessary?’
‘I believe the god — me — can cheat his destiny too. We just want to go about it in different ways. I want the girl to live, to snare this wolf. Then I beat it in combat, as I’ve beaten everything that has stood before me. He wants her to die sooner. It’s a difference of theological opinion.’
‘This is poisonous nonsense,’ said the confessor.
‘Maybe and maybe not,’ said Sigfrid. ‘I have seen enough of prophecy to know that it can be true. Why not then the gods? I am supposed to be of the line of Odin. Maybe I’m the god; maybe I’m not. All I know is that if I can get this wolf to turn up and then kill it, our friend Raven will declare me a god.’
‘There is one god, one almighty power, Jesus, who is Christ, risen and glorious.’
‘Well,’ said Sigfrid, ‘why don’t we put that to the test? You prophesy where the girl is and I’ll convert to your god. I’ll have to do it on the quiet of course, but I’ll convert openly once all the armies and the warlords have rallied to me and sworn allegiance. Really, I will.’
‘Prophecy is a gift from God: he will not send it under such circumstances.’
‘He must.’
‘I will not do this thing. Use your heathen Raven woman if you must, for all the good it will do you.’
‘I’m afraid she’s not really up to that at the moment. The methods for obtaining prophecy are rather’ — Jehan heard the king tap on something in thought — ‘draining, I think it fair to say.’
‘Do not look to Christ for your answers. He has only one answer for the likes of you, and it is eternal damnation.’
‘You refuse me help at your peril.’
‘I am not afraid of death.’
‘Well good, because I think you’re about to meet him.’
The smell of putrefaction became overpowering and Sigfrid heard the lady draw in breath. There was a light step upon the reeds.
‘Saint,’ said Sigfrid, ‘this is the Raven Hugin. He has already half killed his sister pulling prophecies from her; he can quite easily do the same to you.’
11
The thing’s eyes seemed to bore straight through Aelis, the same glittering black gems that had looked at her in the attic. She felt herself trembling and backed into the shadows. Had it recognised her? It looked down at the priest. Perhaps it hadn’t.
It came forward into the candlelight and she could see it properly. It was bone-thin and wrapped in a cloak of black feathers, its black hair stuck into a shock with an oily tar, feathers within it sweeping up into a sort of black crown. Its face, now she could see it more clearly, was a terrible mess of scars, deep but tiny wounds, some festering and swollen, some healed and some still seeping blood. The creature reeked of corpses.
Aelis watched as it approached. The monk flinched as it bent close to his ear and spoke in Latin. ‘The prophet,’ it said. ‘Are you Jehan, who they call Confessor?’
‘I will have no dealings with devils.’
‘I am not a devil. You will work for us, prophet. If you have the gift I can show you how.’
‘How do you speak our tongue, monster?’ said the confessor.
Jehan felt himself shaking, as he often did when he was angry and cursed himself knowing that his enemies might mistake it for fear.
‘I was raised as a monk, for a while.’
‘So you turned your back on Christ.’
‘At Saint-Maurice he found me-’ the man clasped his fist, fingers up, ‘-and then at Saint-Maurice he threw me away.’ He cast his hand down to the floor. ‘Conversions can go both ways, Confessor.’
Jehan swallowed. He recognised the name of the monastery. Saint-Maurice was an Augustinian house to the east, in the mountains of Valais. It was one of the great centres of Christendom, known for its treasures and relics and the song of ages, the laus perennis — the monks had begun to sing the psalms nearly four hundred years before and, working in shifts, had never stopped since. How had this monster come out of such a place?
‘How do you know me?’
‘I have heard of you. I should fear you, I have been told.’
‘Fear God,’ said Jehan, ‘for he reserves special torments for the likes of you.’
The creature smiled. ‘And for you, it would seem.’
Aelis tried to place the thing’s accent. Northern certainly, but not a Dane’s. It was nearer to the merchant’s.
‘Can you make this monk find the girl?’ said Sigfrid. Aelis didn’t understand him but she guessed what he said from his urgency and his gestures.
The Raven nodded, though it replied in Latin. ‘In a short time perhaps, perhaps not. Given longer, yes.’
The king became angry, waved his arm to indicate the whole camp and, Aelis could tell, asked the Raven to be as quick as possible.
‘Then we will try. The method will be quick. It will kill him but we will have our revelation.’ Again the Raven spoke in Latin. Aelis knew that by speaking in a tongue the king understood poorly the creature was in a weird way expressing its superiority, its power even, over the king. And he was threatening the monk.
The king said something in Norse.
‘He thinks you are a risk to him alive, Confessor. Doesn’t he know they will come after your bones, your relics? Should I grind them to dust?’
‘No one will seek me,’ said the confessor.
‘Not so. Even dead you are a rallying point, but let’s not run ahead of ourselves.’
