Heimdall never warmed to me, though; and Skadi – who still came and went in and out of Asgard, spending six weeks in the mountains, then three or four days in Asgard before going back to her hunting grounds – sometimes looked at me coolly from those blue-gold eyes of hers, and I sensed that she was wondering exactly what part I’d played in the death of her father. I might have made her laugh once, but she was still a chilly piece, cold as the heart of the mountains, deadly as a killer whale, and I tried to avoid being too popular whenever Skadi was around.

Odin didn’t seem surprised at my new-found popularity. My brother already knew about fame; its fickleness; its transience. And maybe it suited him for me to be a little bedazzled – in fact, thinking back to that time, I wonder if Odin wasn’t the one who’d spread word of my exploits. His ravens, Hugin and Munin, flew off every morning, scouring the Worlds for gossip and news, while Odin himself remained aloof, alone except for Mimir’s Head. Perhaps I should have asked myself just what that Head was telling him, and why he seemed so preoccupied with rumours and stories of all kinds, but this new corruption – celebrity – had taken such strong hold of me that I’ll admit, I lost focus. Thrym had been my big break; my entrance into the premier league. And I had started to believe in the myth that had grown around me; to believe I deserved special treatment; that I was beyond the reach of the law. Pride, that most godlike of failings, had me by the short hairs, and I was blissfully unaware of the fall that awaited me . . .

It happened the time that Thor and I set off on a tour of the Middle Worlds. Touring, I’d found, was essential when trying to maintain a profile, and Thor was fond of travelling, while I was always happiest away from my wife’s attentions. We took Thor’s chariot out of Asgard, skirted Ironwood and went east, checking for activity among the Rock Folk. We skirted the Northlands, to ensure that the Ice Folk were still subdued. And then we crossed Inland in disguise, to hear what the Folk were saying about us and to spread a few more stories.

On our first night in Inland, Thor insisted on sampling local hospitality. He’d got it into his head that we should arrive at some hovel in human Aspect, to find out what kind of grass-roots support we really had in the area. I would have preferred a nice inn, with plenty to eat and a decent bed – and maybe some girls to warm it for me – but Thor wouldn’t hear of it, and eventually chose a humble turf-roofed cottage on the edge of a stretch of moor.