TEN

As soon as they were well clear of the demented trolls – and, incredibly, back on the path – the pair slowed to a gasping, gulping halt. In the distance, the mayhem continued, sounding like a series of small eruptions, sending whole flocks of waterfowl flying.

Leif was panting, eyes wild. ‘Trolls! Oh, Astrid! I’ve never been so scared …’

Astrid stared at him. ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘I’d have thought, being raised by dwarfs, you’d be more prepared for something like this.’

‘Oh Hel, Astrid, there never were any dwarfs! Come on; let’s get out of here.’

‘Oh, you’re not going anywhere!’ She was seriously cross now. ‘Not till you explain what you just said.’

‘Not right now, it’s not the time –’

‘Leif, it’s the perfect time. We’re alone. It’s still dark. We’ve got a lot of walking to do. And if you don’t start telling the truth – the whole truth – well, there’s no one to see me bury you in this bog. I’ll do it. I swear I will!’

‘Oh, I believe you.’ He was still struggling for breath, doubled up, hands on knees. ‘I made a mistake, I can see that now. I should have told you, Astrid. And I will. But promise me that this goes no further?’

She softened. They’d both just come through the fright of their lives, after all. ‘You, me and the fen. No further,’ she promised.

‘Then I’ll tell you.’ Slowly, shakily, the two began to pick their way northwards, and Astrid listened, as Leif told, once more, the story of his life.

‘Since I was born, I’ve lived in Hedeby. I never knew my father, just his name: he came from foreign parts, and soon moved on. He was a Jew, or a Muslim, I think – one of those ones who can’t eat pork, you know? My mother died in giving birth to me; her father died for Gnupa in the war against the Saxons, many years ago.’

‘Hedeby!’ Astrid let out a whistle. Hedeby was the richest town in Gorm’s kingdom, far down on the east coast, right by the German border. Gorm had defeated the young King Sigtrygg of Hedeby, son of this Gnupa, some six years before she was born, and now the place was a magnet for traders from across the whole world. She’d often longed to see it.

Hedeby, in other words, was about as much like a dwarven cave, as the moon was like a duck.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your family,’ she said. ‘But oh, I could so punch your face right now!’

‘Do you want to hear my story or not?’

She had no answer to this.

‘So, then: my mother’s father was a Dane. My mother’s mother was a Finn, who brought me up alone. She taught me all I know. She must have had some magic in her blood, and got by as a healer … and a witch. From her, I learnt of runes, and charms, and gods. She was a fine poet in her own right, though no one wished to hear a woman’s words.’

‘Don’t I just know it,’ Astrid muttered.

‘She loved me very much, and made a plan that, once she was no more, I’d come up north to earn my keep and win my name with Gorm. That story, with the fox and dwarfs, was hers: she thought that it would help to get me in. And, of course, explain away my dark skin … This plan – for my success – was all she had.’

‘But – hang on – if there were no dwarfs, then what about that sword? Even Weland’s never seen its like.’

‘My father left it, out of guilt, I think. It comes from Toledo, a city in the south; they call those letters “Arabic”. My grandmother told me I could go far with such a sword – but not by wielding it.’

‘I can believe all this,’ said Astrid, after a long pause. ‘I mean, I only half believed your last story: this is all far more convincing. But I still don’t know where I am with you. The visions, the magic …’

Anger was rising within her again like the uncoiling of a serpent. ‘And now I’ve heard both a troll and a witch say they recognise you, and that you’re, I don’t know, fated to make mysterious choices and avert some great danger. Just who are you, Leif? Who the Hel are you?’

‘I’m Leif. Just Leif. And, so I thought, your friend.’

She could tell she’d really hurt him this time, and tried to speak, but Leif went on. ‘You think I want to roll round on the floor? To be suspected by my only friend? I’ve no idea where those things came from. I didn’t ask for them, I didn’t want …’

He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. ‘I hadn’t planned to get lost in a bog, or stomped by trolls, or any of those things. I’m just a town boy, not used to the wilds. And Jelling’s not like home. The stones, the trees – the whole place hums with magic! If I knew I’d get these trances, then I’d never have come. The plan was simple, and it would have worked. But ever since that night, back in the gorge, so many things – odd things – it’s all so hard …’ He turned his face away.

‘All right, all right! No need to cry.’ She paused. Tried to be more helpful. ‘Though, if you wanted to cry, I wouldn’t be able to tell. It’s dark; you’re covered in slime anyway. Just so you know.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, wetly.

Astrid was beginning to brighten. ‘I suppose, if all you wanted was an easy life, arm-rings from the king and a good spot on the bench, it must seem more than you bargained for. But isn’t it exciting? All this dark foreboding, I mean. Jelling’s always been a strange place, but this is something else! Omens, trolls, some mysterious “beast” on the loose. It’s just like in Beowulf!’

‘Yes, all those things,’ he said. ‘And then … there’s you.’

‘Me? What do you mean, me?’

‘Oh, Astrid. Astrid … Tell you what; forget that I said that. But please … Astrid … trust me?’

‘All right,’ said Astrid. ‘All right. I trust you.’