“But nine months later, when he came out of his house, there was a baby on the doorstep all covered in gray hair. After that he was afraid ever to go out at night. I don’t know what happened to the baby.”
“So they aren’t animals, then. They can breed with us, like,” reflected Osmod. “Maybe there’s some truth in Cwicca’s story.”
“Maybe we better leave Karli out for the troll-women,” came a suggestion.
“Yes, and then if there’s any trouble from any old troll-daddy, he can just knock him down.”
Outside, ignoring the laughter coming from the dark hut, Brand was trying to talk seriously to Shef.
“I tell you,” he said, “she’s dangerous. Deadly dangerous. The most dangerous thing you’ve met since you stepped on the gangplank to face Ivar. Worse than him, even, because when you faced him he already knew he was bound to lose in the end. She doesn’t think that. She has more to play for.”
“I don’t know why you’re worried,” said Shef. “I’ve never so much as spoken to her.”
“I saw the way you looked at her. And her at you. What you need to realize is that she’s only interested in one thing, and that’s her son Harald. There are prophecies about him. First people thought the prophecies meant his father. Then they switched to thinking it meant him. Ragnhild certainly thinks it means him.
“But now you come along and people start saying maybe you’re the one, the big king that everyone’s been waiting for, the one who’ll rule all Norway.”
“I wouldn’t even have got to Norway if they hadn’t bought me off Hrorik and brought me here.”
“Well, you’re here now. And people like Thorvin—he means no harm, but he’s responsible just the same—people like Thorvin telling everyone you’re the son of the gods and the one who comes from the north and I don’t know what else. You have visions, you’re in visions, Hagbarth says one thing and Vigleik says another. You have to expect people to listen. Because behind it there are things no-one can just laugh off as old wives’ tales: you’re a thrall who got to be a king, I saw it myself. You put Alfred to one side, and he was one of the god-born, descended from Othin, even the English admit that. You took the surrender of the king of the Franks. What are a few hedge-wife prophecies to that? Of course Ragnhild thinks you’re dangerous. That’s why she is.”
“What happens tomorrow?” asked Shef.
“The priests of the Way meet in holy circle. They have to decide about you. You won’t be there. Nor I.”
“What if they decide Thorvin is wrong? Surely then they can just agree I’m nothing to do with them and let me go. After all I have supported the Way, I wear its pendant, I have helped them establish themselves on Christian soil. Any of its priests are welcome to come to my kingdom any time and pursue new knowledge. More than welcome,” Shef added, thinking of what he and Udd had discussed.
“And if they decide the other way, that you are the one they seek?”
Shef shrugged. “If there’s going to be any change in the world, I’m more likely to start it in England than stuck up here where no-one ever comes.”
Brand frowned, displeased to hear Norway disregarded. “And what if they decide you are not the one they seek, but you have been masquerading as him? Or even more likely, that you are not the one they seek, but a rival and an enemy. That is what Valgrim the Wise thinks, and he has a point. He is sure that the great change in the world which shall destroy the Christians’ power must come from Othin. And everyone agrees you are not from Othin.”
He tapped Shef on the chest with a mighty forefinger. “Though you go round looking as if you ought to be, with your one eye and that damned spear. Valgrim thinks you are a threat to Othin’s plan. He will try to have you condemned for that.”
“So Valgrim thinks I’m a threat to Othin’s plan. And Ragnhild thinks I’m a threat to her son’s future. And all because I learnt to build the catapults and the crossbows, to twist rope and forge wheels and bend steel. They ought to realize the real danger is Udd.”