Raven 03 - Odin's Wolves by Giles Kristian

Author:Giles Kristian [Kristian, Giles]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2011-06-06T20:35:31+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I WAS WOKEN BY A CLAMOROUS, EAR-POUNDING BELLOWING. Nearby, on the large square base stone of some long-vanished statue, a massive bull was fighting ten men who were red-faced and straining to hold it still so that Asgot could get into the right position to cut its throat. The dawn was mostly grey and dank and the river mist seemed heavier than normal, clinging to the banks of the Tiberis and soaking into our clothes. But neither that nor our aching heads could dampen the mood that was spreading through the camp like fire through dry grass. Today was the day. Soon we would know which of our warriors would have the honour of fighting in the Amphitheatrum Flavium. Onions sizzled on hot iron. Men shredded fried fish on to warm bread and others were cutting wedges from a wheel of smoked cheese, and excited voices interwove, creating a hum to equal the river’s murmur.

‘I’ve got a good feeling in my bones about this,’ Bram said, tossing Bjarni a fish straight from the iron, which Bjarni caught and passed from hand to hand, blowing on it. ‘I’m itching to show these scrawny Danish whelps how we do things where we come from,’ Bram went on. The bull gave one last bellow of rage then Asgot’s blade sliced deep and an impossible amount of blood gushed out, splattering on to the stone and steaming in the fog. The beast’s forelegs buckled and its knees crashed down, then it slewed sideways and men were suddenly leaping clear, narrowly avoiding being crushed as other men laughed and Asgot invoked Týr, Lord of Battle.

‘I’m sure the Danes and the people of Rome will enjoy watching a warrior who was taught how to fight by Grendel,’ Bjarni said, trying not to smile, ‘but I imagine that they would rather watch someone with some skill. That is why Týr will choose me.’

‘Hah! I’ll wager the only reason you left your furs last night was to piss in the river,’ Bram said, and men chuckled at that.

‘It’s time,’ Sigurd said, placing a hand on Bram’s shoulder. A flock of screeching gulls passed overhead, following the river towards the sea and the fishing boats that would be casting off. Suddenly everyone was talking at once and converging on the bull around whose corpse was spreading a pool of blood and piss. The beast was a worthy sacrifice and I hoped it had been enough to lure the one-handed god Týr who was the bravest of the Aesir. ‘Asgot will draw from the bag three times,’ Sigurd said, holding up three fingers. His cloak, I noticed, was fastened with a leaping stag brooch that shone dully in the grey morning light and I guessed that his wolf’s head brooch was in the bag in Asgot’s grasp. ‘Each possession drawn will reveal which of us the gods want to see fight in the Romans’ arena, for it is the Aesir that grip the tiller on this journey.’ But it

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