They all agreed. And that was how, eight days later, the Thunderer, dressed in one of Freyja’s gowns, drenched in her perfume, arms and legs waxed, fingernails gilded, wearing Freyja’s necklace and an expression of murderous rage (happily, hidden under the veil), set off on the road to the Northlands with Your Humble Narrator at his side.

His chariot left a furious trail of scorch-marks and potholes behind it, visible for miles around. It was Thor’s usual way of travel, of course, but a purist might have condemned it as a little too aggressive for a lady on her way to her forthcoming nuptials. I’d managed to shield the signature that would have proclaimed his presence in a broad red stripe of glam all the way from Ida’s plain into the northern glaciers, but there was nothing I could do about the collisions on the way, or the grinding of Thor’s teeth under the jewelled bridal veil.

On arrival, I explained to our host: ‘Freyja was keen to arrive, Lord Thrym. Besides, we women charioteers . . .’ I shot him a smile from beneath my handmaid’s headdress. I make a more convincing woman than Thor and, being beardless, had no need to wear a veil. In any case, Thrym seemed to approve, and chucked me under the chin, and said:

‘If the mistress is half as pretty as the maid, I think my luck is in tonight.’

I giggled. ‘Oh, you! Get away!’

Then, avoiding Thrym’s roving hands, I ushered the fake bride into the banqueting hall of the Ice Folk, where tables had been laid for a feast. Haunches of meat, whole salmon, pies, mountains of cakes and candied fruit. Branches of candles everywhere, giving the place a festive glow. And mead, lots and lots of mead; enough for an army of drinkers.

I could hear Thor muttering to himself, and hissed at him, ‘Be quiet. All right? Let me do the talking.’

Thrym’s people led us to our place at the table, on Thrym’s left side. I cleverly manoeuvred Thor away from the place where the warriors sat, and settled him with the women.

Thrym was nearby, but not near enough for any hankypanky. The man had wandering hands, all right, and I didn’t want Thor losing his temper – at least not until we had the hammer, at which point Thor was free to run amok as much as he liked.

‘Just try to eat something, my Lady,’ I hissed, poking Thor in the ribs. Then, turning to Thrym, ‘She’s a little shy. I’m sure she’ll unbend when she’s eaten.’