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Chapters (88)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. I
  4. I
  5. II
  6. III
  7. IV
  8. V
  9. VI
  10. VII
  11. VIII
  12. IX
  13. X
  14. XI
  15. II
  16. I
  17. II
  18. III
  19. IV
  20. V
  21. VI
  22. VII
  23. VIII
  24. IX
  25. X
  26. XI
  27. XII
  28. XIII
  29. XIV
  30. XV
  31. XVI
  32. XVII
  33. XVIII
  34. XIX
  35. XX
  36. XXI
  37. III
  38. I
  39. II
  40. III
  41. IV
  42. V
  43. VI
  44. VII
  45. VIII
  46. IX
  47. X
  48. XI
  49. XII
  50. XIII
  51. XIV
  52. XV
  53. XVI
  54. XVII
  55. XVIII
  56. XIX
  57. XX
  58. XXI
  59. IV
  60. I
  61. II
  62. III
  63. IV
  64. V
  65. VI
  66. VII
  67. VIII
  68. IX
  69. X
  70. XI
  71. XII
  72. XIII
  73. XIV
  74. XV
  75. XVI
  76. XVII
  77. XVIII
  78. XIX
  79. XX
  80. XXI
  81. XXII
  82. XXIII
  83. XXIV
  84. XXV
  85. XXVI
  86. XXVII
  87. EPILOGUE
  88. Afterword

‘No,’ Sihtric said firmly. ‘I have puzzled over this phrase, lord. It’s not to be taken literally. I believe it means you must embrace the Northmen.’

‘What, Harald Hardrada?’ Harold laughed.

Sihtric pressed, ‘Make your peace with him, lord, before he has a chance to strike for the crown.’

Harold glowered, clearly not liking what he was hearing. ‘And then what?’

Sihtric took a deep breath. ‘And then, when William comes, you will be ready. “The north comes from south/to spill blood on the wall.”’

‘Ah. You think this means the Normans? Northmen who will attack us from the south. Their blood spilled on our shield walls.’

‘Yes! You have it, lord. English and Norse together will face the Norman Bastard, and crush him. And that will be the conclusion of the programme of the Menologium - the fulfilment of all these steps across the centuries - and the Rome of the north will be built.’

‘And if not,’ Harold said gloomily, ‘if England falls to the Normans, what then? England will turn south, not north, I suppose, and will fall under the sway of the Popes. And the butcher of Normandy will be loose in our land ... But I can’t make peace with Hardrada. It would be like tupping a wild bear.’

Sihtric was sweating now, as he saw the prize was all but in his grasp. ‘But we are brothers now,’ he said. ‘We and the Northmen. After two centuries of blood spilled and blood mixed - you yourself, King of England, are half Danish. And consider this.’ He turned to Godgifu and Orm. ‘My own sister, this Viking warrior - lovers! Here is the proof.’ And he produced a scrap of blood-stained sheet. ‘I don’t preach omens, lord. But what is this but a symbol of the unity to come?’

Orm tensed. He was weaponless, here in the King’s chamber, but he felt he could throttle the priest with his bare hands. But Godgifu held his arm, silently urging him to be still.

Harold, watching this, said evenly, ‘I doubt your sister will forgive you for this, priest.’

Sihtric, sensing he had made a terrible blunder, rowed back. ‘Lord - I only meant to show you that—’

‘Put that disgusting rag away, you fool.’

Sihtric did so, and stood, tense. ‘My case is made, lord.’

‘Is it indeed? Well, I’ll tell you what I think—’

The door crashed open, and a thegn rushed in. ‘Lord - I am sorry - there is news.’

It was Tostig. The exiled brother had gathered a fleet and had sailed from Flanders. It appeared he was heading for the English south coast. Harold threw down his mead cup and walked out without another word.

Sihtric hurried after him. ‘You should have killed Tostig,’ he said, panicking. ‘This is not in the prophecy. Everything could unravel. Even now, all could be lost ...’

But the King did not look back.

XII

XII