Free Simon's Lady by Julie Tetel Andresen Page A

what the Danes would call them,” she said, shifting her eyes back to the women. “I do not know the word in Norman, or whether such a word exists.”
    Interested, he demanded, “Who—or what—are the Norns?”
    She raised her eyes to him, and he allowed his gaze to be drawn into her violet pools. “They are the wise women who tend the world tree, Yggdrasil, which, according to Norse legend,” she said, “holds our world in place. The Norns also decide the destinies of all creatures, mortals and gods alike.”
    “Gods?” he scoffed, with an edge of reprimand in his voice at her blasphemy.
    She lowered her eyes modestly and said, “I hope that I am a good Christian, and I assure you that the Northumbrians came to the true religion long ago. However, before the one Christian God was made known to us, there were other gods that ruled heaven and earth, and other creatures, too, that inhabited it.”
    “Other creatures?”
    “Elves and dwarves and such.”
    He waved dismissively. “And the gods?”
    “There was Odin,” she said, “who created the earth and sky.”
    He shook his head. “The Father of the Trinity was the creator of the universe.”
    “Yes, of course,” she acknowledged, “but Odin was different, for he was not part of a trinity. He was the father of all other gods, and he was married to the goddess Frigg.” She seemed to know to fill the silence, and he was pleased to permit her to. “Odin slew a giant and made the earth from his flesh,” she went on, “the mountains and rocks from his bones and teeth and the rivers and seas from his blood. He made the dome of the sky from the giant’s skull and tossed his brains in the air as clouds. He then fashioned the first man from an ash root and named him Ask and took an elm root for his wife, Embla.” She added, “Odin was an Aesir, or warrior god.”
    He looked away from her then. “A warrior god,” he repeated, considering. Although he was in no danger of believing a pagan account of the world, he thought Odin’s work a reasonable way to begin a universe. He stretched out his hand to fiddle with the cup of wine, turning it this way and that, keeping his eyes fixed on the play of light on the ruby liquid. His curiosity caught, he asked, “Were there other warrior gods in addition to Odin?”
    “Oh, many!” she assured him. “Perhaps the most interesting to you would be Thor, the thunder god, who was Odin’s eldest son. He was huge, even for a god, and incredibly strong. He had wild hair and a beard, and a temper to match. His main weapon was a hammer, and he had a belt that doubled his strength when he buckled it on and iron gauntlets that allowed him to grasp any weapon.”
    He was rather entertained by her account of this Thor. He slanted his eyes to Gwyneth. Her cheeks, he noted, had faded to their customary immaculate ivory. He could not interpret her calm any better than he could her flush. He knew only that he wished to hear more.
    “Thor sounds a fearsome fellow,” he commented.
    “In a way, but he was also trusting and good-natured and the most popular of the gods,” she replied. “His symbol was the oak tree.”
    It made sense to him. He nodded approvingly.
    “The warrior gods lived in a great hall called Valhalla,” she continued, “the walls of which were made of golden spears and the roof of golden shields. Some of the earthly warriors slain in battle were chosen to join Odin in Valhalla, where they would feast and make merry every evening.”
    “But so many men are slain in battle,” he pointed out, still fiddling with his cup as he listened. “How did Odin choose among them?”
    “Only the bravest were chosen, but Odin did not select them. That was the work of the Valkyries, the female warriors—”
    His eyes cut to hers, his brows raised.
    “Yes, female warriors,” she repeated, with the hint of a challenge.
    His eyes rested on her a moment longer. He was having difficulty imagining a female warrior who was