led him to kill the hanged god. Saitada had performed her role in a ritual set out by a god to draw his killer to him.
She had welcomed the wolf then. Not now. She thought she had revenged herself on the god for taking her children. No. She had done his bidding without knowing it — killed him on earth so he might live on in his heaven.
As Elifr had gone from her, her despair had deepened, opening doors to knowledge in her mind. She had seen the howling rune, the slinking and crawling rune, the rune of the wolf, of the trap and the storm. That was the fetter that held down the wolf god, prevented him from rising and slaying the old deceiver Odin. It lived within a woman, always within a woman. She had seen her before when she lived before. Saitada wept to know how her sons had been drawn on by love. That couldn’t be allowed to happen again. The rune would have to be dug out of the woman who carried it. By death? Very likely. But only the waters could tell her, so the woman who bore the rune inside her would have to be brought to the well.
She had gone into Kiev and Bollason had welcomed her.
‘At the moon and the star is our fortune,’ she had said.
A day later the Prince of Kiev had offered the Varangians to the Emperor of Byzantium and she was on her way down the Dneiper with six thousand men. They would take possession of the Numera when they had worked out the lie of the land. There would be a battle, and it was fitting men should spill blood to oppose the will of the gods, a sacrifice and a statement of will.
‘I do not pretend to understand this,’ said Bollason.
‘There is no understanding it,’ said Saitada, ‘there is only the water. Down there in the earth, where Odin went. We find the girl and we take her there.’
‘How will you recognise her?’
‘I have seen her before.’
‘And what of Elifr?’
‘He must be opposed. I know what is required of me in there, and he will also oppose me. He means me to live.’
‘Don’t you mean to live?’
‘I hope to live. But above all I mean to play my part. That is all I am required to do.’
‘If we find the wolfman, I will kill him. It will strengthen your purpose. You cannot go forward to fight with gods while you have ties to bind you in this realm.’
She shook her head. ‘If anyone is to kill him, it is me.’
‘Why?’
‘You asked what I could give more than my eye. I can give him.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t shirk from your purpose through too soft a heart.’
‘I won’t. But everything must be done according to what I find in the well. There is one clear way forward and around it — thorns and briars.’
‘I would kill him.’
Her face became stern. ‘From boyish jealousy that he has more of my affections than you do. He is my son; you cannot think I would love you more. When I told you there was fortune in the east, you took on the enterprise like a man. See it through as one.’
‘My courage is fine. For myself I will face a thousand enemies. But for you, as you face this magic, I am a coward. I fear for you and I confess I am fond enough of you.’
Saitada smiled.
‘Stem what tender feelings you have. They are a snare to you. I cannot be loved, Bolli. The dead god’s shadow is on me. Don’t let it fall on you too.’
‘My mother gave her life for you. I am ready to do the same.’
‘Then give it well. Do not throw it away through too soft a heart.’
The man laughed. ‘You would have made a fine wife. You are a warrior, Saitada, though your sword is your tongue and your spear your beauty.’
‘I am old, Bolli.’
‘And finer than a girl. You are beautiful.’
‘I am death to you, and any man who gives himself to me.’
‘It’s fifteen years since I first killed a man in battle, and I have sent many to the All Father’s halls in that time. Odin is impatient for my company at the mead bench, I feel it. Warriors know when their time is upon them. So did my father. One day soon I must die — I can’t be lucky for ever. I will give up my life for you. It is no great thing.’
The woman swallowed and stood.
‘It is,’ she said, ‘but I think it leads to peace.’
‘You would find peace with me. I have treasures many and gold enough to please any woman. Marry me, Saitada, for I will place an otter’s ransom at your feet.’
Saitada smiled at Bollason’s attempt to use fine language. She thought of the myth in which the god Loki kills an otter who is not an otter but a man in that form. The man’s father captures Loki and makes him swear to pay weregild for his son’s death. Loki steals a ring from a dwarf, but the dwarf curses the ring and it brings only misery to the mortals when Loki passes it on.
‘I am the otter’s ransom, Bolli. I am the cursed gift. The fates have wed me to the gods not men.’
‘Then divorce them. It can be done with a word.’
‘No word I know how to speak.’ She reached to touch his hair. ‘Who knows, I may find it in the well.’
‘When will you go to the water?’
‘When can you get me in?’
‘My men are ready. I have deals to do first, but I think in two or three days we should take this place.’
‘Deals?’
‘With the emperor. I have sent messengers. His troops are not up to the job — they’re losing control. Even now people are fleeing. We’re working on him to let us replace his bodyguard. Then the city is ours.’
‘The Greek guard will resist.’
Bollason tapped his sword. ‘I said I was ready to die for you.’
‘Just get me in to the building that sits in the shadow of the dome. Your death is not required. We need to hold that place until the time is right.’
‘When will the time be right?’
‘When I have summoned the courage.’
‘Then it will not be long, Vala.’
The woman smiled at him. ‘No, it will not be long.’
18
Azemar tested the bonds behind his back. They were firm, and tight enough to render his fingers numb. He was in some sort of cellar, he thought. It was very dark, though a weak light came through the floorboards that made up its ceiling.
No one had given him any explanation of why he was there or who had taken him.
Then, when the sickly light of the day had faded and the cellar dropped into complete darkness, he heard footsteps. Azemar mentally crossed himself and prayed for deliverance. He knew he had not fallen into the hands of common robbers because he — in his monk’s habit and tonsure — clearly had nothing to steal. Kidnappers then? It wasn’t unheard of for monks to be ransomed back to their monasteries, but he was so far from home that it could take years for a messenger to reach the abbey at Rouen. And Lord Richard certainly wouldn’t pay for his release,
