‘As you know this part of northern Germany was the homeland of the Scandians. It was the Saxons who first founded the village of Hamm. The Franks and the Slavic Obertriten conquered it and made it Hammaburg. And then came the Vikings of Denmark. Look at Altona – right at the heart of modern Hamburg – that was a Danish city until the eighteenth century. Ours is the blood of Vikings … among others, of course. The gods worshipped here were Freya, Balder, Thor, Loki … Odin. These Norse gods were far from perfect. They were moody, petulant, envious, greedy … angry. Wise Odin, father of the gods, the Nordic Zeus, was no exception. It was his favour above all that our ancestors craved.’ Dorn paused. He reached over to the desk and picked up two volumes. ‘Odin demanded sacrifice. Like all the gods. But the greater the god, the greater the sacrifice. For example, Adam of Bremen wrote in his chronicle about, well, I suppose you could call it a “festival” at Ubsola – or Uppsala, as it’s known today. This festival was held every nine years and lasted nine days. Everyone – king, chieftain or commoner – had to send offerings. In fact, one Christianised Viking king – King Inge the Elder – was deposed for not taking part. On each of the nine days of the festival, nine of all living male things – cattle, fowl and humans – had their throats cut and were hung upside down in the grove beside the temple. Amazing. All because the number nine had some significance in the worship of Odin. Well, my point is that Odin demanded human sacrifice. And one form that that sacrifice often took was that of the Blood Eagle.’

‘Which was?’ Fabel could feel the adrenalin course through his system.

‘It was an offering that made its own way to Odin’s lair. A human being given the wings of an eagle.’

‘And how did that work exactly?’ Fabel asked, although he already knew the answer.

Dorn looked Fabel directly and unblinkingly in the eye. ‘You would take a prisoner. Perhaps a woman brought back from one of your Viking raids. You would strip her and tie her down, spread-eagled. Then the Priest of Odin would take a broadsword and slash open her abdomen …’

Fabel felt his heart begin to pound as Dorn spoke.

‘These priests had the skill of a surgeon. Their blows would slice the victim open, supposedly without damaging essential organs and killing her. Then they would tear the lungs out of the sacrifice and throw them over the shoulders. The wings of the Blood Eagle, do you see? Wings with which they could fly to Odin.’

Fabel sat and stared at Dorn. He felt as if he were standing at the heart of a silent explosion: in a street where a thousand alarm bells had started to ring. ‘This is a documented historical fact?’

‘Documented, yes. Historical, yes. But how much of documented history is fact depends on the perspective of the chronicler. The Vikings were feared above all other raiders. Portrayed as demons in the chronicles of the time.’ Dorn flicked through the pages of one of the volumes. ‘Yes, here we are. Victims could be of either sex. For example, here’s an account of an English prince taken prisoner and held for ransom by the Vikings. The ransom wasn’t paid so he was sacrificed to Odin as a Blood Eagle. There are a number of other documented incidents.’ He stopped at another page. ‘This is an account of a bishop on one of the Scottish isles.’