The saga of Agnew the Miffed and the Rake of Hel E-Book

Lee Kite

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 519

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Agnew and his motley band of Viking warriors are stranded on their ship, sinking fast in a terrible storm. In answer to Agnew's desperate prayer, Hel, Queen of the Underworld, offers to rescue Agnew and his men but on the condition that they retrieve Hel's rake, a powerful death-wielding weapon, which also happens to be a convenient and highly functional item of gardening equipment. Agnew and the crew must hunt down the formidable Guthrun Doombringer, who has stolen the rake from Hel and thus incurred her wrath. However, the other Norse gods and goddesses soon begin to meddle in affairs, and Agnew and his band must survive these nefarious plots if they are to retrieve the rake and live to see another day. Their fate, it seems, is in the hands of the gods.

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2024 novum publishing

ISBN print edition:978-3-99146-979-7

ISBN e-book:978-3-99146-980-3

Editor:Charlotte Middleton

Cover photos: Lenapix, Alla Batiuk | Dreamstime.com

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Prologue

They came in the night. Heavily armed with murder in mind. At their head Gudrød the Hunter stood at the prow, hand clasping and unclasping the haft of his axe. The dragon boats glided silently under black sails towards the entrance to the fjord. Riding low in the water, even if anyone had been on lookout, they would have struggled to spot the sleek vessels as their forms merged with the dark sky and even darker sea, little more than vague ethereal shapes sweeping closer.

Gudrød’s helmsman guided their boat towards the lights of King Harald Granraude’s great hall and the settlement about. With the other boats forming a loose V behind, they entered the shelter of the fjord, the crews moving quickly to furl the sails and un-ship the oars before straining manfully against them to accelerate towards the settlement, beaching their boats upon the shingle where the fjord met the land.

The men leapt ashore, shields readied, swords, spears, and axes in hand and stormed forward with purpose. The first warning Harald’s people had of the impending doom was of dogs barking. The first to fall to the invaders were those who ventured out to see what was causing the hounds’ distress; unprepared, they were dispatched with ease. With malicious intent the men swarmed towards the great hall. They failed to spot one young boy who had also gone to see what had alarmed the dogs, and on spying the warband he rushed to the King’s Hall to raise the alarm, but it was too little, too late.

King Harald Granraude, his son, Gyrd, and those warriors gathered in the hall grabbed what weapons they could and stood to face the onslaught. They fought hard; they died well. Their heroic stand would earn them places at the fabled hall of the fallen in Valhalla. For the women left behind, no such honour awaited them, only rape, murder, or both as Gudrød’s men cut a vicious swathe through the town, until the prize they had come for was secured – Asa, daughter of King Harald.

Asa was discovered, raped, and bound but went defiantly, cursing Gudrød for his cowardly attack, and the oath breaker he was, beseeching the gods to punish him.

Most of the gods could care less, but one goddess watched the slaughter, witnessed the treachery but more than that saw the part another god played in the brutal raid, missed by all but her, and for that alone she accepted the call of vengeance, a call which would pit men against men and the goddess against the other gods.

Unaware of what he had begun, Gudrød sailed away, leaving the dead behind to rot.

1

There has been many a great heroic tale told of the good, the mad, bad, bloodthirsty, and downright psychotic warriors of the dark ages. Tales such as Beowulf have survived the centuries to delight small boys who like stories of men with swords beating up creatures like Grendel and his mum.

However, as well as the mythology the histories have also recorded the feats of real warriors, adventurers, pirates, and kings – such men as Eric Bloodaxe, Bjorn Ironside, Erik the Red, and Ivar the Boneless. Yes, he really was called Boneless. Why? Well, because he had no bones as such, hence the name, okay? Hey, I am not making this up, you know. Anyway, these men, the giants of their day, blazed a trail across the Dark Age world bringing fear, hero worship, and some unsavoury practices with monks to the rich tapestry which was life.

But there is one man who has been overlooked – a man of stature, a descendent of Siegfried himself, a pagan, a warrior, a man with exceptional hair. This is his saga, the saga of…

Agnew the Miffed

The saga starts on a storm-ravaged sea, aboard Agnew’s dragon ship, a ship which is currently being bounced around like a child on a bouncy castle, leaving most of the crew wishing they had stayed home.

‘Agnew, this is madness. I fear any moment the Midgard Serpent will rise from the ocean and snap us in two. Never have I seen the sea so angry. We must find land.’

Agnew, middling of height, lean, dark-haired, clean-shaven and not at all fitting the archetypal stereotype of a Viking warrior, spared a moment from his position hanging over the side of the ship, where he was diligently throwing up, to face his best friend.

‘Tostig,’ groaned Agnew, ‘this is not a good time right… oh, by Odin’s bea… heugh!’

Tostig, who by contrast was every bit the archetypal Viking warrior – big, strong, heavily bearded – watched his friend with some concern.

‘Sorry, Agnew, I forgot you had a weak stomach.’

‘Weak? I’m throwing it as far as I can… euuuuwh!’

‘Agnew, the men can’t take much more; the ship can’t take much more.’ Tostig’s normally gruff voice broke with worry. ‘This is not a way for a warrior to die.’

With a groan Agnew forced himself away from the side of the ship and stood to his full height, which along with his pasty complexion did not exactly make him look imposing.

‘We can’t head for land, Tostig.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t know where the nearest land is.’

‘You jest,’ Tostig replied more in hope than conviction.

‘No; I’m lost.’

‘But how? You are a master navigator!’

‘No, not really.’

‘Did you not find the fabled land of Atlantis? And were you not Naddodd’s navigator when he discovered Iceland?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Agnew, who at least had the decency to look guilty, ‘but we just sort of ran into Iceland. I swear, one minute it wasn’t there, just fog, then suddenly CRACK and there we were, run aground on the place. I can’t really say I navigated us there.’

‘And Atlantis?’

‘Ah, yes, Atlantis, a good one, that. I just made it up.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, never existed. I was drunk. Helga, you remember Helga?’

‘Blonde, buxom, eaten by a bear?’

‘Yes, that was the one. Well anyway, she was saying, “Oh you never do anything great; all the other lads are off finding places and bringing back stuff. What have you ever done?” So, I said I had found Atlantis.’

‘But those beads and that exotic pottery you brought back? And what about those slave girls that were all dusky and very accommodating?’

‘Hispania. I had been to Hispania. The girls were just left over from a party and thought it would be cool to see Norway.’

Tostig, for once his indomitable spirit crushed by Agnew’s blithe apology, slumped down into the ship, back against the bulwark, head in his hands. ‘We’re doomed. Your lies have doomed us.’

‘Look, don’t worry, these things usually have a way of sorting themselves out.’

‘You can lie to the rest but not me,’ sniffed Tostig. ‘How long have we known each other?’

‘Since the day we were old enough to get our first axe.’

‘Yet knowing that you have still brought me on a fool’s errand to an angry sea. I shall drown. We shall all drown, Agnew, and it’s your fault,’ Tostig yelled angrily over the roar of the howling tempest.

‘That’s a bit unfair. I can hardly be blamed for the weather,’ Agnew yelled back grumpily.

‘The gods are punishing you for your deceptions and are taking us with you. We should die a heroic warrior’s death in battle, not be pulled to our doom by Ràn’s daughters.’

‘I’ll be honest – I don’t see how this is any worse than a warrior’s death,’ said Agnew with remarkable candour. ‘I mean, if it’s a choice between drowning or having someone shove three feet of cold iron through my guts, well, drowning doesn’t sound so bad.’

‘But we are warriors. It is our birthright to die gloriously in battle, where the Valkyrie will carry us to the fabled halls of Valhalla, there to sing, to quaff ale, to satiate our lusts on the buxom serving wenches during the nights, to fight during the day, ready for the final battle at the time of Ragnarök.’

‘Okay, I get the point,’ snapped Agnew. ‘Glory in battle, wenches, honour, blah, blah, blah…’ Agnew began his tirade only to look down at where his friend was slumped, and apart from wondering where Tostig had learned the word ‘satiate’, his mood softened. It was hard not to be touched by the fervent gleam in Tostig’s eyes when he spoke of Valhalla, especially the bit about the serving girls. In truth, the bit about the wenches was the only part of the afterlife which appealed. You could keep the fighting day in and day out for all he cared. He was also not entirely sure of the validity of the entry criteria for getting into Valhalla. It had always seemed odd to Agnew that the heroes the gods chose to represent them in the final battle against Loki’s brood were those warriors who had not been good enough to survive a battle in this life. Surely the ones you want are those who survived to a ripe old age – you know, the wily, clever ones who had not got hacked to death in some random battle, but hey, who was he, Agnew, son of Grimor the Furious, to question the will of the gods, insane though they most obviously were.

Sighing slightly and still feeling a bit queasy, Agnew hunkered down by his friend. ‘Cheer up, Tostig,’ he said brightly. ‘If it’s a warrior’s death you want then it is a warrior’s death you shall have.’

‘You swear?’

‘Yes.’

‘But the sea? The gods?’

‘Damn them all, I’m not drowning today, and neither are you. If this ship were going to break, she would have by now, yet see how she still rides the waves.’

‘Agnew, we’re sat in a foot of water,’ observed Tostig gloomily.

‘What’s a foot of water?’ Agnew said strongly, his words carrying across the roar of the wind. ‘We can bail. Tostig, get the men bailing, bailing for their lives, and I shall steer this ship. If they keep us afloat, I will get us to land. And then we shall quest to find you an enemy worth fighting, worthy of your warrior’s soul, and should you fall, it will be celebrated by the bards till the end of time.’

As Agnew stood there damning the gods, Tostig felt his spirits lift and with a bellow of defiance he stood steadily against the roll of the ship.

‘You with me?’ demanded Agnew.

‘I’m with you!’ roared Tostig and thumped Agnew on the arm, proof of his belief.

‘Then get these whoresons off their arses and start bailing.’

With a determined grimace Tostig turned away from Agnew and went from man to man, rousing them from their cold seasick terror to turn their hands to saving the ship. Agnew, rubbing his arm where Tostig had just thumped him,damn, that hurt, he thought, stumbled to the steering board, unlashed it, and took a firm grip. He had no idea where he was, no idea where he was going, but if he could steer this thing through the storm, and providing they did not sail off the edge of the world, he was confident they would hit land at some point. Providing he looked confident the men would continue to bail. At least that was the plan.

Watching the men wearily set to their task, Agnew could not help but think this was going to be a very long day.

2

When you joined us, Agnew was taking charge of his storm-ravaged ship with every intention of sailing it to safety. Now, the usual convention at this time would be to flash forward to a calm sea under an azure sky with our battered but happy vessel being rowed smoothly to the sound of raucous song, but alas this is the Dark Ages, so no such luck.

As we look down through a tumultuous sky, we see an angry sea doing everything in its power to swamp a Viking ship as it bravely battles the elements. The ship is clearly not having the best of it, and if this were set in the future you just know there would be a Scottish engineer screaming, ‘She cannae take it, cap’n!’ right about now.

On board, Agnew knew his actions were fruitless. He could feel the ship becoming ever heavier beneath his feet, feel it struggling to respond to his attempts at steering and all the time he felt his own hope being washed away with every cold, salty wave which broke over his head. All in all he was not having a good day.

The men, seeing him standing there seemingly unflustered, were either bailing or rowing gamely, but the hours of strain had taken their toll. Burning shoulders and blistered hands meant their efforts were becoming nothing more than a token effort. Another monstrous wave broke against the side of the ship threatening to capsize it, yet once again it righted, though now Agnew could feel it wallowing even more horribly than before.

One more like that, thought Agnew,and we are done for. And so, for the first time in a long time, Agnew implored the gods for help. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the gods, he did, he had been raised a good heathen, but he generally thought it best for man and gods to leave each other alone. The less they poked their noses into his affairs the better, but now, it seemed, they were his only hope. He couldn’t help thinking that coming back to them, contrite and desperate, they were going to have the last laugh, but with a mixture of trepidation and not a little scepticism, Agnew pleaded for the lives of his crew to any god listening, and should any god see fit to save them they would have Agnew as their most gracious servant. In times to come Agnew would wonder if it would not have been better to have stayed quiet and let the sea have him, but the prayer yelled to the sky for any god to hear was out there and there was no taking it back. Little did Agnew and his crew know their real troubles were just about to start.

The ship heaved over as a flash of lightning split the sky accompanied by an almost instantaneous crash of thunder as another wave swept the deck. Agnew braced himself against the tiller, ready for the impact, the cold grey water hitting him with the force of a war hammer, forcing him off his feet. Desperately he reached out to grab at something, anything to stop him being swept overboard, but his hands clasped nothing but air, and with resigned dread he went over the side.

Agnew instinctively screwed up his eyes and gulped in as much air as he could, ready for when he hit the sea, which seemed to take an age, and then he hit… the floor.

What the… he thought as he realised he wasn’t in the sea. Slowly, cautiously, he opened one eye and then the other, and then as his breath began to give out, he remembered to start breathing again. Agnew sat up. Not only was he not in the sea but he was also not on his ship either, which given his recent circumstances was a little bit strange. He wasn’t even laying on a beach or rock with the sea crashing about him. Wherever he was, he was underground.

Agnew stood up carefully and shook the sea from his soaking hair, and if ever a man was made for a L’Oréal advert, it was him. The moment he stopped shaking his head his hair fell back into place in a style which can only be described as windswept and interesting. In years to come, Hollywood leading men would need an army of stylists to achieve the same effect. Agnew, though, being of Viking stock was completely unaware of what a model agency’s dream he would have been and instead put his mind to more practical matters.

‘Where in Thor’s name am I?’ he asked no one in particular.

‘Where do you think?’ said a cold voice behind him.

Startled, Agnew spun round, drawing his sword in one fluid motion only to stumble backwards in fear, his sword wavering at the terrible apparition before him.

‘Lower your sword. It will do you no good here.’

‘I’ll be damned if I will.’ Agnew’s voice quavered even as he toughened his stance.

‘Have it your way,’ said the woman, if woman it was, for she was half ebony black and half pallid white, partially skeletal where her thin, aged, translucent white skin pulled tight across her frame, split in places with bone and sinew breaking through, with a face which was cold, hard, and devoid of compassion. She lifted a bony finger and touched it to the point of Agnew’s sword, which Agnew dropped instantly with a howl as a soul-numbing cold spread down the blade into the haft, burning his hand with its intensity.

‘Who… who are you?’ asked Agnew, cradling his damaged hand.

The woman rolled her eyes in disbelief. ‘Look at me,’ she said angrily. ‘Do you know of anyone else who looks even remotely like me? Your people tell stories of me; they fear me. Think, man, how many half-black half-white girls do you know?’

‘Well, none, but I’ve never been here before. All the girls here may look like you.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed dangerously ‘Choose your next words carefully or they may be your last, Agnew.’

‘You know me?’

‘Of course.’

‘But how?’

‘You called for help; I answered.’

‘But, I mean, I didn’t expect… Then that means…’

‘Go on, you almost got there,’ the partly skeletal creature taunted sarcastically.

‘But that would mean that you’re a…’

‘Are you really this stupid? Who amI!’

Agnew stared at the woman, at her terrifying form, took in the less-than-cheerful surroundings, and as the tales from his childhood came flooding back, he blurted, ‘HEL!’

‘Hurrah! Finally,’ said Hel. ‘How is it no one ever recognises me? I would say I’m pretty distinctive.’

‘Distinctive, yes. I’m not so sure about the pretty…’ began Agnew then backpedalled desperately, ‘though you are a goddess, so the being pretty is not that important, I guess? I mean, you’re a goddess; what does pretty even mean to a goddess? Nothing, I’m sure.’

‘Carry on like that and I will throw you back in the sea, where Ràn will claim you,’ the goddess of the Underworld growled tetchily.

Agnew did not move. He did not speak, though he had a lot of questions – primarily, was he dead?

‘You aren’t dead,’ said Hel as though she had read his mind. ‘I merely plucked you from your ship and brought you here. You are quite alive… for now.’

‘My crew?’

‘Still alive. I think they may be wondering where you have got to.’

‘You have to put me back; I have to save them. Put me back now,’ demanded Agnew.

Hel regarded the sopping-wet Viking coldly, but then Hel tended to regard everything coldly. Being the goddess of the Underworld did tend to colour one’s judgement of humanity and life in general, and given the typical Norse propensity towards doom and gloom, her domain had done little to lighten her mood down the years.

‘I could put you back…’ she began.

‘Good. Then do it.’

‘But your ship will sink before your men pull another stroke. No Valhalla for them, for which they will hold you responsible until Ragnarök finishes us all. Or you could accept my help, and you and your men will live to fight another day.’

‘What’s the catch?’ asked Agnew, more astutely than most would have given him credit for.

‘You will owe me, but then that was the core of your prayer, was it not?’

‘Err, yes, I suppose.’

‘Suppose nothing. Either you accept my help and my conditions or I toss you back and leave you to Ràn’s tender mercies. Your choice, but hurry up, I don’t have all day, you know.’

Agnew shuddered. He knew for his proud warriors a death at sea was as bad as dying in one’s sleep. As we have already determined, Agnew had wondered about the attractions an afterlife which consisted of fighting all day and drinking all night offered. He had always been less than enthusiastic with the idea of being slain in battle, as that just sounded bloody painful. So potentially being slain daily till the final battle at Ragnarök was a bit disconcerting, though the drinking all night and partying with buxom wenches did hold more allure. When put together, pain in the day and pleasure at night was a much better afterlife than was likely to be offered by Ràn, which only offered shame and misery.

‘Well?’ said Hel. ‘What’s your answer? I am quite busy; I do have an underworld to run, you know, so choose, NOW!’

‘Save my crew and I will do whatever you require of me,’ Agnew answered humbly.

‘I was hoping you’d say that, aaaaaaaaaaahahahahhaha haaaaaaaaaaaa…’

‘Oo-kay,’ said Agnew as the cackling goddess’ laugh drifted away, ‘could you save my crew now, please?’

‘Humph.’ Hel sniffed disappointedly. She had hoped for more of a reaction to her best maniacal laugh. ‘It’s done,’ said the goddess, clicking her fingers. ‘Now, let’s you and I talk business.’ Putting a semi-skeletal arm around his shoulders, the goddess led Agnew deeper into her realm.

3

So, as our hero is taken on a tour of Hel’s abode, and a more cheerless place you could not imagine – it certainly will not be topping anyone’s list as a tourist attraction any time soon, that’s for sure – we should maybe go look at what is happening to his ship instead.

Let us slip back in time to the moment a certain Viking with film-star good looks was washed overboard. Take a moment to drink in the heady brew of fear, anger, consternation, and not a little disappointment at Agnew’s sudden disappearance, for as the wave which spelt his doom cleared the ship, the crew were left staring at an unmanned tiller bar. For Agnew’s close friend, confidant, and drinking partner, Tostig, it was almost too much to bear.

‘Agnew! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

For little Snorri Alfsson, it was a moment to declare in doom-laden tones what all the others had been thinking. ‘That’s it; we’re finished. No warrior’s death for us. We have been led to ignominy.’

‘Ignominy? What’s ignominy?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Maybe it’s an island?’

‘What, like Iceland?’

‘No, then he’d have said we’ve been led to Iceland, not ignominy.’

‘So, where is this ignominy? I can’t see any island round here – it’s just the sea.’

‘Maybe it’s only small?’

‘If it’s so small we can’t see it, why have we come here?’

‘Search me; I wasn’t steering.’

This discussion could have gone on for ages. Well, when you are stuck out at sea far from land and a good pub you must make your own entertainment. Luckily for us but not so lucky for our bunch of sea-sodden Vikings, a sickening crack from the ship’s hull brought their attention back to their precarious predicament.

Grim-faced, the crew turned to Tostig for guidance, which proved how desperate they were. That is probably not a fair assessment of Tostig. If you wanted guidance on how best to cleave a man in two or how to throw a screaming maid over your shoulder in one sweeping motion whilst hacking her husband’s head off, then yes, Tostig’s your man, but guidance on sailing? Well, that really wasn’t his strong suit.

Tostig stared back at the faces staring at him and fear gripped his soul. There was not much which scared Tostig. In fact, only two things really scared Tostig. One was the thought of not dying a hero’s death, a bit like now really, hence his current palpitations, and the other thing was bats. The gods alone know why a small flying rodent should reduce him to a quivering wreck, but it does. Isn’t it strange how the human mind works? But enough of that. With Agnew gone and with the ship about to break apart, his fear of a less-than-heroic death led him to the only decision left open to him.

‘Grab your weapons.’

Without hesitation, the Vikings, warriors to a man, drew their weapons.

With a voice which sounded like it consisted entirely of gravel, Tostig yelled above the storm, ‘We are warriors; we are not meant for a watery death. We demand death by sword and axe!’

‘HURGH!’ his men roared.

‘It’s our birthright!’

‘HURGH!’

‘The field of battle our resting place!’

‘HURGH!’

‘But we have no enemies here, only the sea. The only weapons, our own.’ Tostig stated the obvious

‘True.’

‘He has a point.’

‘Bit shit really.’

‘So,’ Tostig took a deep breath then uttered the words that to you and me must sound like utter madness, ‘we only have one option – to take each other’s LIVES!’

‘Er?’

‘What?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s hardly death in battle, is it?’

‘What, you want me to kill Audolf? But he’s my best mate!’

Tostig responded to the crew’s lukewarm uptake of his idea. ‘Do you want to spend the afterlife in the halls of misery?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to be accursed to an afterlife of shame?’

‘Not really, but…’

‘Or do you want to spend a glorious afterlife drinking, wenching, and fighting?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘To stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Odin, Thor, and Tyr as they vanquish their foes?’

‘Well, when you put it like that…’

‘Enough talking. Grab your weapons, face each other, and for the sake of our warrior souls, kill the man in front of you.’

The men looked to each other uncertainly as Tostig stood bristling, and once again unenthusiastic dissent broke out.

‘Will this work?’

‘Buggered if I know.’

‘I’m not sure it’s in the spirit of the thing.’

‘What if you insult me first and I insult you? Then we would have a grievance against each other, and it would count as death during a quarrel.’

‘By Odin’s beard, SILENCE!’ Tostig roared above the howl of the wind. ‘This is our only hope of reaching Valhalla. It may not be death in battle, but it is still death by sword and axe. We will all die with weapon in hand. It counts; it must count. If we don’t kill each other, we will drown and be nothing more than a plaything for Ràn. Do you want that? Do YOU?’

The men looked at Tostig, carefully considering his words, and as the ship creaked and cracked and the sea started to flood in, his reasoning took hold, and death at each other’s hands seemed the better option. I know to you and me it sounds stupid, but these are proud Norse warriors, and they live by a different code, and frankly drowning is simply not an option. Look, this isn’t my religion. I don’t make the rules. You will just have to accept it.

The crew quickly paired off, friend-to-friend, warrior-to-warrior, and, each placing a hand behind the other’s neck, pressed their swords or knives against each other’s chests and braced themselves, ready for the final thrust.

‘Okay, on my count of three,’ yelled Tostig. ‘ONE, TWO, THR–’

WHOOOSH.

‘ARGH!’

WHOOOOMP.

Silence fell briefly, then as the shock wore off from suddenly being in a flying spinning ship, which dived, folded, and twisted through a giant whirlpool only to be spat out the other side, the groaning started.

‘What the…?’

‘My ears are bleeding…’

‘My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? I thought the sword was supposed to go through my chest?’

‘Are we dead?’

‘I don’t feel dead.’

‘How would you know?’

‘No idea. I’ve never been dead before.’

‘Where in Odin’s realm are we? Tostig?’

Tostig was dazed, confused, and feeling like he had been turned inside out. Like the others his head was thumping, his ears were ringing, and he felt sick. This was not how he had imagined death. He was also surprised to find himself still on board the ship.

Tostig got unsteadily to his feet and stared over the side. What he saw did not fill him with glee. Instead of seeing the Bifrost Bridge with Heimdall ready to welcome them to Asgard and send them on their way to Valhalla, instead he found himself staring at the inside of a large cavern, dim and cold. A grim, rocky shore was off to his left, which ran up to the cavern wall and with no way out other than into an even darker more foreboding cave. However, even the cave seemed inviting compared to what he saw when he looked down.

Their ship was afloat, just, though no longer on the sea but on a large underground river, which flowed past them with a strange slith, slith, slith sound.

Those watching Tostig suddenly saw his shoulders sag despondently. He slowly turned his back against the bulwark and slid down to the ship’s deck.

The crew looked to one another uneasily then all rushed to the side of the ship to see what Tostig had seen. As the grim realisation of their fate struck them, their faces turned white beneath their beards. Tostig, from his crumpled position, could only murmur repeatedly, ‘We were too late, too late, too late!’

4

Hel sat back on her throne and simply said ‘Well?’

Agnew, seated in a less grandiose chair, stared up at the goddess with a mix of apprehension and resignation, none of which was helped by his surroundings, which even by Norse standards were miserable. Dark Age Norse habitats were not light, airy places full of IKEA furniture. Instead they tended to be dark, smoky, and heavily wooded with lots of animal skins and weaponry strewn about the place. Hel’s chambers took the same basic theme but added a damp and chill atmosphere with a soundtrack of wails, moans, and much gnashing of teeth, and for good measure threw in a dash of menace coupled with a smidgen of foreboding. I suppose if Dulux did the colour scheme it would probably be called Misery with a Hint of Despair.

With Hel’s question hanging heavily before him Agnew swallowed hard. With a deep sense of unease he answered, ‘Yes, I will hunt down your rake and return it to you.’ From the gleam which flickered in Hel’s eyes he almost immediately wished he hadn’t, though in truth he didn’t really have much choice.

Agnew had lost track of how long he had been in the Underworld. There was no sun, no day or night by which to gauge the passing of time, just an endless gloom punctuated here and there by candlelight and the occasional fire or flaming torch. It felt like he had been here for some considerable time. His body ached, and he felt tired, though that could just be the aftereffects of the battering he had taken in the storm. Although Hel had made him walk some distance to her hall, once there she had fed him and given him ale, so although not the prettiest hostess in the world she was at least mindful of her visitor’s immediate needs.

After hearing his reply, Hel stood and beckoned Agnew to do the same.

‘Your answer pleases me. This will be beneficial to us both. I presume you want to get back to your ship and your men. The quest is waiting, so off with you.’

‘Er?’ said Agnew as he was half-coaxed half-ushered out of Hel’s hall by some fawning dwarven lackey.

‘Let your men know who saved them. Oh, and Agnew…’

‘Yes?’

‘I will be keeping a close eye on your progress. If I get any sense that you are backing out of our bargain, trust me when I say you will rather I had let you drown.’ Hel finished menacingly with a smile colder than a Norwegian fjord in winter.

By contrast, and primarily because he wanted away from the goddess of death as quickly as was possible, Agnew smiled warmly and said with as much conviction as he could muster, which was not much, but given his situation it was as good as it was going to get, ‘We’ll get it back for you, have no fear.’

‘I haven’t,’ replied Hel, ‘but you should.’

Agnew gulped. ‘Show me out, dwarf,’ he said, hurriedly turning away from Hel, giving the dwarf a push.

The dwarf led Agnew out of Hel’s hall and into the dark and dreary passages of the Underworld. As they walked, he caught glimpses of the dead, souls which mooched about in a state of perpetual misery and depression with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and saddled with a sense that their lot was a worthless pointless one, a bit like being from Milton Keynes but without the concrete cows.

‘Tell me, dwarf, why don’t the dead try to leave this place?’

‘My name’s Delling.’

‘What?’

‘My name isn’t dwarf; it’s Delling,’ Delling said indignantly.

Agnew stopped and stared down at the dwarf. ‘And?’

‘There is no “and”. I would just rather you call me by name than call me dwarf. I don’t call you man, so you shouldn’t call me dwarf.’ Delling’s rich baritone rumbled at the sleight.

‘How about midget?’

‘Sod off!’

‘Haven’t I seen you in one of those wandering shows that come to the village from time to time?’

‘If you don’t shut it…’ Delling bristled.

‘My, you are a tetchy little fellow,’ Agnew taunted. He was miffed, on edge, and taking it out on the dwarf was making him feel better.

‘I’m warning you…’

‘I bet my sister would think you’re cute.’

‘I’m not cute.’

‘Yes, you are, yes, you are, yes, you are.’

‘Say one more thing, just one more, and I’ll bloody have you…’

‘Can I give you to my sister as a pet?’

‘Right, that’s it, I’ll bloody kill ya!’ Delling snapped and swung his battle-axe, admittedly quite a small battle-axe, well, it would have to be small – he was a dwarf – after all, no point having a… Anyway, that is not the point. The point is he hefted it into his hands and swung with all his might at Agnew.

‘What are you doing?’ Agnew laughed, stepping out of the way.

‘Stand and fight, you piece of shit.’

Grinning, Agnew skipped out of range of Delling’s clumsy attack. ‘You’ll never hit anyone swinging your axe like that.’

‘Fight me, damn it! Why won’t you fight me?’

Agnew took a step backwards, avoiding the wickedly sharp axe head as it swiped past his midriff harmlessly. Infuriated, Delling reversed his swing and lunged at the laughing Viking, who deftly kept just out of reach of the dwarf’s whirling blade. Like a mad dervish Delling kept up his attack, only for his laughing tormentor to step away from each killing blow. Eventually Delling’s frenzied attack slowed as his energy ran out. ‘Stop… uhngh… laughing… argh… at… uurg… me!’

‘I’m… hahahahahahahaha… sorry, but you… hahahahahahahaha… you’re… aaaaahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa… very, very… ha-ha-haaaaaa… funny!’ Agnew could barely get his words out, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

‘Bastard!’ swore the dwarf as his attack ground to a halt. Breathing hard and sweating profusely, Delling rested wearily against his axe.

Agnew, his sides aching, tried to get his laughing under control. Looking at the despondent dwarf he felt the slightest tinge of guilt. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, wiping the tears of laughter away from his eyes, ‘but you looked ridiculous swinging that thing around. Have you ever actually fought anyone for real?’

‘What? Why?’

‘I’ve seen children with more idea of how to attack someone with an axe than that. You were all over the place.’

‘So?’

‘So, if I had half a mind, I could have cut you in half without blinking.’

‘And if you had even just half a mind, you’d have never wound up down here beholden to Hel,’ snapped Delling nastily.

Agnew stiffened at the insult but, staring down at the panting dwarf, conceded the point magnanimously. ‘Fair point. I asked for that.’

‘That you did.’

‘Okay,’ Agnew composed himself, ‘how about we start again, Delling?’

Delling cocked an inquisitive head but said nothing.

‘I’ll not call you dwarf. I’ll use your name, and you can call me Agnew. But no more of your attacking nonsense, okay?’

Delling nodded begrudgingly. ‘Okay,’ he said and held out a hand.

Agnew grasped Delling’s forearms and shook them. Delling re-shouldered his axe and the pair set off once more.

‘You never answered my question,’ said Agnew.

‘What question?’

‘Why don’t the dead try to leave here?’

‘They do, but they get stopped.’

‘What stops them?’

‘Haven’t you heard the tales?’ asked Delling with a touch of surprise.

‘Yes, but I never really took much notice. I was raised expecting to die in battle and go to Valhalla. What happens in the Underworld was usually skimmed over. That was considered talk for women and the old.’

Delling looked up at Agnew askance. ‘You mean you have no idea what is down here or what Hel represents?’

‘Should I?’

‘You may have thought twice about invoking Hel’s help if you had.’

‘To be honest I didn’t expect to be saved.’

‘Then why plead to the gods if you didn’t expect an answer?’

‘I was out of options.’

‘So, you called on Hel?’ Delling sounded amazed.

‘No – I threw it out there for any god to hear. I must admit I was hoping for a different god to answer.’

‘Let me guess – Thor, Odin, Frey, perhaps?’

‘Now you come to mention it.’

‘Huh, fat chance. They don’t care about anything but themselves.’

‘You lie. They watch over us.’

‘Bollocks. They’re the biggest self-serving bunch you are ever likely to meet.’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

‘But they are the gods. They created us, gave us life and purpose.’

Delling gave Agnew a friendly pat on the lower back. Well, he couldn’t reach Agnew’s shoulder. He decided to put the fearsome warrior straight. ‘It’s not your fault that is what the gods have led you to believe, but it’s a crock of shit. The gods are not great. Thor is not a hero; he’s just an immature thug. Odin is a doddering old fool who refuses to accept change and believes nothing good has happened since 684 and as for Frey, well, they say he sleeps with his sister. Mind you, I’ve seen his sister and given half a chance I would sleep with her too.’

‘Lies.’

‘No, really, I’d be all over her like a rash.’

‘I meant you lie about Odin and Thor.’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘Well, because, I mean, then again…’

‘Exactly, I have no reason at all. The gods are, for the most part, a bunch of drunken idiots, and why wouldn’t they be? They all know their days are numbered and that they are going to cop it when Ragnarök comes storming along. They have foreseen their own demise, and if that isn’t enough to drive anyone loopy, then I don’t know what is. If you knew exactly how and when you were going to die, wouldn’t you be a bit depressed and start drinking heavily?’

‘Well, I…’

‘And wouldn’t you go just a little bit mad, looking to find new ways to amuse yourself and have a bit of fun before it all ends in a nasty blood-soaked catastrophe? And that’s exactly what the gods have done. Thor is always drunk and looking for a fight. Why do you think the weather is so bad and stormy up above in your world? It’s because Thor is forever bashing folks with his hammer and brawling, and when he does that, the weather goes mental. He doesn’t care who he thumps either, friend or foe alike. I tell you, if Thor turns up after having a few jars everyone does a runner – even Odin makes himself scarce. As for Odin, he gets his kicks messing with you humans. He loves nothing better than sticking his nose into your affairs, sending men off on stupid quests and having his way with your women. He’s just an old letch at heart.’

‘And Frey?’ asked Agnew, grey-faced.

‘Let’s just say the less said about Frey the better.’

‘Even if what you say is true…’

‘Believe me, it is.’

‘Okay, so even if it is, what’s your point?’

‘My point is that no god or goddess will come to man’s aid unless there is something in it for them. I mean, why would they go to all that trouble for no good reason? Takes a lot of power to mess with the world and simply pluck people out of harm’s way at a whim.’

‘But the gods are all powerful.’ Even as he said it, Agnew’s long-standing doubts about the gods made him question himself.

‘You think? Huh, even the gods have to play by certain rules, so for the most part they don’t answer prayers unless they want something in return. In your case it was Hel who needed something, so here you are. To be honest, if it were me, I would have probably chosen death.’

‘You’d choose death here rather than a chance to die heroically and go to Valhalla?’

‘I’m a dwarf; our afterlife is different to what’s saved up for you lot, but yes, if I’d have been you, I’d have taken an afterlife with Hel or Ràn, seeing as how it looked like you were about to drown, rather than go through the hell, pardon the pun, you and your men are likely to go through now. I have seen men on gods’ quests before and it never ends well. Also, Valhalla is not all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me, fighting and dying every single day can get a bit wearing.’

Agnew let Delling’s disparaging remarks, which just confirmed what he had always feared, settle over him like a blanket of gloom. He fell silent as he contemplated what he had gotten his crew into, talking of which, where were his men? Deciding he would not like the answer, Agnew kept his question to himself and simply followed Delling further into the Underworld.

Eventually, feet throbbing, Delling brought him to a wooden jetty which reached out into a dark underground river teeming with swirling knife blades. On the edge of the jetty was a bell with a metal striker dangling from a rope attached next to it. Delling took hold of the metal striker, which had the form of a small hammer, and struck the bell sharply three times, which clanged dully. With nothing else to do Agnew sat down on the jetty, back resting against the wooden pole, and waited. Nothing happened for some time, and just as he was beginning to get bored and considered ringing the bell again, he began to hear what sounded like the steady splash of oars. As the sound of rowing grew closer, out of the gloom a low, dark shape with what looked like a mountainous misshapen blob rising from it pulling upon a pair of oars appeared. As it got closer, so the blob became a man, only three times the size of any normal man, heaving on oars twice the size you would find on any longship.

With a deft twiddle on the oars the giant raised them smoothly from the river and turned them, so the paddles rested on the ferry’s deck as it came to rest gently against the jetty.

‘Who rang for passage?’ the giant boomed from beneath his cowl.

‘I, Agnew, son of Grimor the Furious, son of Hardrada the Restless, son of –’

‘I do not need to know your entire history. Agnew will suffice,’ interrupted the giant. ‘Why should I give you passage? You know the dead cannot leave here. On whose authority ha… oh, hello, Delling, didn’t see you there. This one with you?’

‘Farbauti,’ the dwarf answered with a curt nod, ‘yes, this one is with me. He has Hel’s authority to leave.’

‘Are you sure?’ the giant’s deep voice conveyed severe doubt. ‘Because you know that’s what the last one said and look what trouble that has caused. I swear I will never hear the last of it.’

‘Aye, well, we all make mistakes,’ replied Delling sagely, ‘and he was carrying her rake, so I think I’d have thought the same, but we are where we are.’

‘Alas, so, I will just have to take my punishment with dignity,’ the giant grumbled unhappily.

‘Surely Hel can’t have been that harsh with you? You’re her grandad.’

‘Delling, she has me ferrying souls across the Slidr. If she had any regard for family, she would have given me something better to do eons ago.’

‘True, true,’ said Delling pursing his lips, ‘but you’re okay with this one. Agnew here is the one chosen to put right what was done.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘What, him?’ said the giant, looking down at Agnew with a mix of surprise and contempt.

‘Fraid so.’

‘Hey, what do you mean, “Fraid so”?’ challenged Agnew.

‘Well, you’d best get him on board then,’ said the ferryman, ignoring Agnew. ‘Are you coming as well or are you just here to wave him off?’

‘Wave him off? What in Niflheim do you think I am?’

‘Hel’s lackey,’ the giant smirked.

‘Don’t you start. I’ve had enough with him earlier.’ Delling jerked an angry thumb towards Agnew.

‘Hey! I can hear you,’ snapped Agnew.

‘Good, then get on the ferry,’ ordered Delling.

Giving Delling a dirty look which suggested he was likely to throw the dwarf into the knife-infested river at any second, Agnew hopped aboard the ferry, grumbling. Once he was on and joined by Delling, Farbauti started to row the vessel away from the jetty.

‘Don’t I have to pay you?’ asked Agnew.

‘You can if you want; I won’t stop you,’ answered Farbauti.

‘But I thought you always collected payment?’

‘Off the dead, yes, but you are not dead, or are you?’

‘No, I’m alive, at least that’s what Hel told me.’

‘Then there is no fee. You work for Hel, and I work for Hel, so work rates.’

‘Thanks,’ Agnew replied dubiously. He took a seat, staring back at Farbauti.

‘What?’ asked the ferryman tetchily after a few minutes of staring from Agnew.

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Then stop staring at me. Anyone would think you hadn’t seen a giant before.’

‘I haven’t, but it’s not that.’

Farbauti shipped his oars and stared back at Agnew, ‘Then what is it which has you so interested in me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then stop staring or I’ll toss you over the side.’

‘Is he allowed to do that?’ Agnew asked Delling.

‘It’s his ferry. I reckon he can do whatever he wants.’

‘Oh.’

‘So? What’s your problem, Viking?’ growled the giant.

‘It’s nothing really, just wondering what you do with all that money?’

‘What?’

‘The money the dead have to pay you to ferry them across the river. What do you do with it all?’

‘Well, sometimes I need a new cowl, or I need to replace an oar. Have you any idea how much they charge for one of… anyway, why do you care what I do with the money?’

‘Just curious?’

‘That sort of curious will get you killed,’ Farbauti replied threateningly.

‘Oo-kay. You lot really are touchy down here,’ said Agnew.

‘Wouldn’t you be if you were consigned to work in the Underworld? It’s all right for those up top in Asgard – lots of wide-open spaces, sun, ice flows, mountains – ah, how I miss it. Instead, I’m stuck down here ferrying ungrateful souls across the river. You would think they would be happy for my help, but oh no, they just whine, “Oh, I’m so sad, I’m so damned, why am I down here?” Miseries; I should make them swim across and really give them something to whine about,’ the giant grumbled morosely.

Rather than answer, Agnew decided it was best just to let his question go and leave the giant to his grumbling. He settled down on the ferry alongside Delling and stared out into the gloom as the River Slidr sliced by.

5

I could regale you with Agnew’s ferry trip along the River Slidr, but to be honest it was hardly like sailing leisurely up the Nile, so I won’t. It would only depress you. Instead, we will skip time on a bit and take you to the moment the ferry finally brought Agnew within sight of his ship.

As soon as he saw it, he instantly felt his spirits lift, which is no surprise, as his spirits had taken a bit of a battering of late, plus you must remember that by Dark Age standards a Norse longship was a thing of young boys’ dreams. This was the Ferrari of its time. If they had posters back then you can bet every boy of about ten years old would have had a poster of a longship hung up in their bedrooms. Well, that or some shield maiden scratching her arse.

The longship was a thing of beauty – sleek, purposeful, and unlike a Ferrari, reliable and big enough to take all your mates out on a raid at the same time.

Slowly the longship came closer. However it did not take a genius to realise something was wrong.

‘Where is everybody?’ Agnew asked Delling.

‘What?’

‘My men – where are they?’

‘They should be on board. It’s not like they could have gone anywhere.’

‘Then why can’t I see them? Someone should be on lookout. And why are they just drifting in the middle of the river? Why haven’t they rowed to the shore and moored up?’

‘Search me. I’m a dwarf; boats really aren’t my people’s thing.’

‘If Hel’s done anything to them then the deal’s off.’

Delling looked up at Agnew and had to admire the way his hair seemed to bristle with rage and yet still manage to look heroically coiffured at the same time.Some folks have all the luck, he thought as he scratched at his bald pate just under the rim of the metal helm he wore primarily to conceal his baldness.

‘Where are they?’ asked Agnew suspiciously.

‘Dunno. Have you tried calling them? They could be sleeping?’

‘Sleeping? All of them?’

‘They’re your men, so how should I know?’

‘They know better than to all sleep at the same time. Someone should be on watch. If they are all asleep I’ll have their gizzards.’

‘Nice image.’ Delling smiled. ‘Sure, Hel will love you killing your own men and reducing your chances of success. Yep, she’ll really admire that.’

With a soft bump the ferry came alongside and rested up against the hull of the longship. Barely waiting for Farbauti to steady it, Agnew reached up to the side of the ship and half-leapt half-pulled himself up and over the side onto the deck. He landed lightly then abruptly dived for cover as a spear thrust towards him from out of the gloom.

‘Die, foul Hel spawn!’ Tostig roared, coming from behind and hacking at the dodging Agnew, who only just avoided the whirling axe only to find another spear coming at his midriff from another quarter.

Agnew twisted sideways, feeling the spear point slice across the leather of his jerkin. Deftly he wrapped his arm up and over the spear shaft, locking it to him, and wrenched forward, pulling the unsuspecting spear man off his feet only to have to drop the spear immediately and fall backwards as Tostig’s axe threatened to lop off his arm. Agnew was unable to avoid the kick Tostig planted firmly on his chest, sending him crunching onto the deck, arms flailing loosely. At Tostig’s mercy, Agnew could only stare up as with a ferocious yell his friend stepped forward, chopping down at his prone body.

Just as it seemed Agnew must be cleft in two, a giant oar deflected the death stroke then swept back, upending at least three Vikings and clattering four others into the ship’s mast.

The attacking Norsemen were momentarily stunned into inaction as they faced the oar-wielding giant, who loomed over them.

Breathing heavily, still on his back, Agnew scrambled to his feet praising his lucky stars, and more importantly Farbauti, for his continued existence. His crew, over their immediate shock, seasoned warriors that they were, yelled a battle cry to Odin and charged the giant. Farbauti swung his oar at the attacking Vikings, but this time they were ready and skilfully parried the giant’s attack, pressing home their advantage. Before they could skewer the giant on any number of blades, Agnew swept up the spear he had dropped seconds before and struck it down where the deck met the hull to give himself a pole to swing around the giant and come in feet first into the side of the front two attacking men, bowling them over into their comrades. Reacting quicker, Agnew pulled the spear free, spinning it viciously before him, forcing the other attackers back and giving them little way through without risking being diced by the slashing spear point. Knowing he had only brought himself seconds, Agnew yelled desperately, ‘TOSTIG! CALL OFF THE MEN!’

‘Agnew?’

‘YES.’

‘AGNEW?’

‘YES!’

‘Is that you?’

‘YES! Call off the attack, NOW!’

‘How do I know it’s really you and not just some foul trick?’

‘Call them off, Tostig, or I’ll tell them all about you, Ilse and the…’

‘WHOA! EVERYONE, HALT! STOP FIGHTING!’

There was a momentary pause as all on board weighed up their next move, then slowly the Vikings backed away from Agnew’s whirling spear and lowered their weapons. Only when he was convinced they were not going to chuck an axe at him did he slowly bring the weapon to a halt.

From among the clustered men watching him wearily, Tostig stepped forward, dropped his axe, and clasped Agnew in a bear hug which threatened to break his spine.

‘Agnew, I thought you’d drowned.’

Desperately, Agnew patted Tostig feebly on the shoulder and gasped, ‘Tostig, I… I can’t breathe.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t bre…’

Tostig dropped his friend, laughing wildly, slapping him hard on the back as Agnew tried to drag some much-needed air into his lungs.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ croaked Agnew.

‘Hey, what’s going on up there?’ said a voice from below the ship.

‘Can someone pull him up, please?’ asked Agnew, still breathing heavily.

Tostig turned to two of the men, gesturing for them to do as Agnew commanded, then turned back to Agnew and whispered quietly in his ear, ‘You promised you’d never mention that time with Ilse.’

‘I didn’t have time to think of something else which only you and I know about.’

Tostig regarded him closely for a moment and then, with a wide grin which threatened to split his face in two, grasped Agnew in another bear hug, only this time allowing Agnew just enough air to breathe.

It took some time for calm to return to the ship, as all the crew cheered, roared, and took part in much back slapping and playful thumping of Agnew, who would swear later they had cracked a couple of his ribs and almost dislocated his shoulder. Still, no matter – these were burly warrior types and a mere battering delivered by friends wasn’t about to spoil the mood.

Agnew introduced Delling and Farbauti to the men, who sheepishly apologised to the giant ferryman who, it must be said, accepted the apologies with good grace before returning to his ferry, leaving Agnew, his men, and, surprisingly to everyone else, including Agnew, Delling behind.

‘Are you not leaving with Farbauti?’ asked Agnew.

‘No. I’m coming with you.’

‘What?’

‘You didn’t think Hel was just going to let you wander off without someone to keep you focused on your quest, did you?’

‘She sent you to spy on me?’

‘I prefer to think of it more as providing a liaison between you and the goddess. Besides, you need me.’

‘Really? How is that then? I’ve seen you fight, remember. What skills can you possibly offer us?’

‘Are you always this dismissive of other folks?’

‘This isn’t about me,’ Agnew replied sharply, ‘this is about you. What do you bring to this expedition? You cannot fight, you are too small to row, come to that you can barely see over the side of the ship without standing on a box, so you aren’t even going to be much of a lookout.’

‘All true, but tell me, oh great Agnew, how do you propose to get out of the Underworld?’

‘What?’

‘I asked you how intend to leave the Underworld.’

‘Well, I, we’ll just… bugger!’

‘Exactly,’ said Delling smugly, ‘you haven’t a clue, have you?’

‘No.’

‘So, you need me. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ admitted Agnew peevishly.

‘Good. Now that we have that sorted, we should really get going. Get your men together and follow my direction and we will be on our way.’

Agnew stared down at the smugly smiling dwarf, cursing Hel for lumbering him with him, and stomped off, calling back over his shoulder, ‘You’ll have to wait a bit longer, Delling. I need to talk to my men.’

‘Hel doesn’t want any delays.’

‘We don’t go until I say so. Hel will have to wait,’ Agnew growled defiantly.

As Agnew gathered his men together for a quick consultation, Delling, standing on tiptoe, looked forward from beside the rising prow of the ship and along the black ribbon which was the Slidr and smiled. It had been ages since he had been allowed into the world of men and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

From the centre of the ship Agnew addressed his men. ‘Okay, first off, why did you lot attack me when I climbed on board?’

‘We thought we had drowned and were cursed to a life in the Underworld, but then we got to thinking that we didn’t feel dead, and nothing which happened met with the tales about what happens in the Underworld, so we opted to fight anything which boarded us so that we could still die fighting and get to Valhalla. It just happened you were the first thing to board. We didn’t stop to check if it was you or not,’ answered Tostig reasonably.

Agnew looked at Tostig with a new respect. ‘Did you come up with that idea?’

‘No,’ answered Tostig honestly, ‘I thought we’d drowned and were cursed to a death in the Underworld. It was Erik who decided we weren’t dead.’

‘Clever lad,’ said Agnew, turning to Erik. ‘How did you work that out?’

Erik, who had been quiet up to now and had been lurking in the background held up his left hand, which was more of a bloody stump now, missing three fingers and wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage.

‘I put my hand in the river and the blades tore my hand to ribbons,’ he answered sadly. ‘I was bleeding too much to be dead.’

Agnew shook his head and sighed despondently. He had hoped that they had worked out they were not dead by using their heads, not by sticking their hands in knife-infested waters to see what happened, bloody idiots.

‘Okay,’ said Agnew, ‘here’s what’s happened – why, why we’re down here and still alive.’

His crew settled down to listen. Some time later, story finished and after quite a few questions, especially from Ragnar, who seemed a bit over-fixated on Hel for Agnew’s liking, they were ready and up for the challenge, which came as a relief.