Of course, these were always the times when Odin felt the least secure. The Old Man was perverse in so many ways, always believing the worst of folk; always suspicious; always on guard; never giving a thing away. When I got back from my trip with Thor, I found that Odin had been perched in his crow’s nest for the entire duration of our absence, talking only to his birds and to Mimir’s Head in its cradle of runes.

Why the fascination with a disembodied Head? Well, crossing back from the Land of the Dead gives a certain perspective. Sometimes it gives the power to foretell the future – though you know what I always say: ‘never trust an Oracle’. But Mimir’s Head, understandably, resented having been brought back to life and kept in an ice-cold spring for years, and so, although Odin could make it speak, it rarely did so willingly. Hence the time he spent with it, whispering over the secret spring, tracing runes on the water, trying to see his way in the dark . . .

No one knows when the Oracle first delivered the prophecy. Did the General force it to speak, or was it Mimir’s initiative? No one knows for sure any more, except the Old Man himself, and Mimir’s Head, if it still survives. But those thirty-six stanzas changed the world in which we lived; eclipsed our sun and moon and sent Odin’s ravens flying to the far roots and branches of Yggdrasil in search of . . . what, exactly? Understanding? Deliverance?

Death?

I had no problem with that, of course. As far as I was concerned, the gods had had it too easy for far too long. But my own position was hardly secure, and I was in no hurry to die, be it at the hands of the Aesir or in the bosom of Chaos. If All-father was spying on me (of which I was becoming increasingly sure), then I needed to understand why. I mean, he’d always known what I was. What did he think I was guilty of?

And so, having failed to work on Thor, I started work on Odin. I thought that if I could talk him into leaving Asgard for a while, I might find out the reason for the growing distance between us. He’d always enjoyed our trips abroad, and so I suggested an outing into the valleys of Inland, for a little hunting and fishing.

I asked Honir to make up the party – he was annoying but at least he had no particular grudge against me, which made him unique among the gods. Besides, the three of us had often gone hunting together, back in Asgard’s early days, and I hoped that Odin’s nostalgia for those days when we were still friends might prompt him to confide in me – or at least, to let something slip.