By then, I had already found out that there was as much xenophobia in Order as in Chaos, especially among the Vanir, of which Heimdall was the worst. In my experience, it’s always the mixed-race types who are the most sensitive, and being half-born of Chaos themselves, they felt a special need to express their moral superiority over such scum as Yours Truly.

Among them, besides Heimdall, there was Frey, the Reaper, and his twin sister Freyja, a bold-eyed hussy to whom Odin had given the title of Goddess of Desire. Both were tall, bronze-haired and blue-eyed and drawn to reflective surfaces.

Then there was Bragi, the Bard, and his wife, Idun the Healer, keeper of the Apples of Youth – both lute-playing crystal-gazers of the most tiresome kind, who believed in the healing power of song and liked to wear flowers in their hair. Then there was Njörd, the Fisherman, who spent much of his free time standing in rivers, tickling trout; and Aegir, the Sailor, who, with his glaucous wife Ran had assumed the role of Lord of the Waves. Their hall was underwater, guarded by luminous jellyfish, and they ruled there on thrones made of mother-of-pearl, their long hair waving like seaweed.

On the side of the Aesir, there was Odin’s eldest son Thor, known as the Thunderer (I assumed at first for his unruly bowels), a muscle-bound oaf with more beard than brain and a love of sports and hitting things. His wife was Bright-Haired Sif, a blonde prone to excess poundage, whom Odin had accorded (not without humour, I thought) the title of Goddess of Plenty.

Then there was Frigg, the Enchantress, Odin’s calm, long-suffering wife; Honir, nicknamed the Silent for his apparent ability to speak without ever stopping for breath; Týr, the god of War, a strong and mostly silent type with an underbite like a bulldog’s; Hoder, Odin’s blind son; and his brother Balder, nicknamed the Fair, whom I hated on sight with a particular intensity.