Six dead men, although they did not know it yet.

Now.

He howled as the berserkergangr came upon him, and then it was a turbulence of death, joy in chaos as he whirled through bodies in the night, killing by feel more than sight, blood soaring until it was done, tides of triumph in his veins, chest heaving, as he pushed down the urge to kill because only the woman was left and she deserved to live.

Calm.

And cold, like a dropped cloak as the madness fell away.

There it had been eight of them, it seemed, but the woman had used her daggers to good effect before they subdued her, leaving two corpses in the mud-strewn alley where they trapped her, while at least two of the men Wulf had killed bore wounds from her blades.

‘My name is Sunngifu,’ she told him, standing straight despite the tremble in her voice. ‘My father will reward you, if you see me safely home.’

Wulf had cut the ropes from her arms – they had bound her thumbs together first, not tying her ankles because of what they had in mind. The surprise was that they had snatched her in a decent part of Lundenwic, perhaps believing they might ransom her if she survived the rape, and even if she did not, so long as the family believed her alive.

‘I don’t need—’ Wulf began.

One of the men groaned, and Sunngifu whirled, dropping to one knee as a flash of silver descended to a wet thud, then silence.

‘—payment,’ he finished.

He checked again, this time making sure they were all dead.

‘It’s that way.’ Sunngifu, pale beneath the moon, pointed out the direction with one of her daggers. ‘You won’t mind if I keep my blades unsheathed?’

The first thing she had retrieved after Wulf cut her bonds had been her pair of daggers.

‘So long as you don’t sheathe them in my liver’ – Wulf grinned at her – ‘I’ll be happy to have you guarding me. My name is Wulf, by the way.’

Sunngifu stared at him, then: ‘Good name.’

Which did nothing to prevent her from keeping a dagger in each hand as they walked, but that was fine by Wulf. He talked softly, telling her where he lived now, and a little of his travels over the years, minus the killing. As they drew close to her home, they were clearly among rich folk, for rush torches burned in iron holders set on staves in the mud, bringing light to those who walked in the night.

Wulf’s thump on the door, and Sunngifu’s calling out: ‘It’s me,’ prompted the sound of two heavy beams being hauled sideways, and then the door swung open, a heavyset woman standing there, gaping. Then she turned to one of the young men further inside, grasped his tunic in her substantial fist and said: ‘Run and tell Swithhun she is found. Run fast and do it now.’

‘Er . . .Yes, mistress.’

‘Now.’

Then she turned to Wulf and added, ‘You have brought our daughter home, warrior.’

‘Er, yes.’

She dragged both of them inside, then hugged Sunngifu hard, raising her off the ground.

‘Your husband is out searching?’ asked Wulf.

‘With half the city guard.’

That was impressive. Wulf liked the guards he knew, but had not thought them dedicated enough to search Lundenwic at night, not with the manifold dangers that darkness brought, especially to someone who had already worked through the daylight hours.

Then he saw Sunngifu’s face properly for the first time.

She’s . . .

His heart stopped, just for a moment. Her face was long and evidently strong, her eyes were pale grey and staring at him without fear or shyness, and he could not take his gaze from her. The big woman, Sunngifu’s mother, whose name Wulf had not learned, looked from one to the other, and back.

‘Well.’ She crossed her arms, her bare forearms huge and strong. ‘Well.’

Sunngifu ignored her, being too busy returning Wulf’s stare.

. . . beautiful.

So strong, that was the thing.

When Swithhun, a bear of a man, came rushing in, it was to hug the women, Sunngifu first and then his wife Eadburga, before clapping Wulf on the shoulder. Then he roared for mead – servants ran for the skins and horns – before turning back to Wulf.

‘I did not know whether to think she was dead or eloped and betrothed,’ he said. ‘And if the former—’

‘She would have taken souls to Niflhel with her,’ Wulf told him. ‘She despatched three men, sir.’

‘Did she?’

‘Brave Wulf slew five others, Father, and truly, to be honest, a sixth. I just helped that one on his way.’

Her voice was steady now. And Swithhun was looking thoughtful

‘You know why Mercia is the greatest of all the kingdoms?’ he asked. ‘Because we are organised and disciplined. A man of fast decisions and bravery is exactly what we need in the city guard, and I’m getting too old.’

So that was why half the guard had been out looking for Sunngifu: she was the commander’s daughter.

‘Wulf already makes a living,’ Sunngifu said. ‘He sells—’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Wulf, and looked at her. ‘Join the guard, train them and exercise whatever command I’m given.’

That’s right.

Because when evil arrives – evil such as reavers or rapist-kidnappers – someone has to stand up for those who cannot fight for themselves. Someone has to respond, to run towards the danger and not hide themselves away or flee, when the helpless sound an alarm.

I’m a fighter and a killer.

The only question was, what was he fighting for? On whose behalf?

Who would he be willing to die for?

Sunngifu stared at him.

Snow fell on their wedding day, two days before Saturnalia, which was also, handily, the day that the Roman god Mithras was born, along with the Christ-Mass, so that everyone could feast together. Wulf kept his Thórr’s hammer beneath his shirt, and was content to join in whatever festivities his new family celebrated.

Two months later, when Sunngifu told him she had not bled for eight weeks, and had thrown up after breakfast that morning, Wulf waited until dark, then slipped from the house, with his crystal-tipped spear in hand, and jogged off into the night.

At the Roman walls where he had met Sunngifu and killed her attackers, he found a spot to bury the spear, close to a stone mask carved upon a wall in the guise of Mithras, and symbols representing the Mithraic Mysteries. Perhaps that old god could watch over a weapon that Wulf had no need of now, for there were no more troll-spirits to be slain, at least not by him. The crystal-tipped spear went beneath the soil, and then it was covered up, not forgotten but no longer relevant, like so much of his past.

‘My wise wolf,’ Sunngifu told him on his return, after hearing his long explanation. ‘My wise and careful Rathulfr.’

Her grandfather had hailed from the Danelaw, and she spoke the Tongue almost as well as Wulf himself. In private, for the rest of their lives and as they raised their many children, that was the name she would use for him: her Rathulfr, her wolf who was wise.

And he would try always, with a warrior’s strength, to live up to her image of him.

FORTY-FOUR

EARTH & SIGANTH SYSTEM, 2607 AD

It was the first of July, and the four hundredth anniversary of his wife’s death. Kian knew better than to visit the place where they had lived so happily: the body of water that he had called The Pond and Kat referred to as their lake was no longer there, and the site of their cottage, the last time he had been in Iowa, was a slow-morphing tower-town formed of slick blue-grey biocrete that looked like intestines. Instead, after his rendezvous with the courier in London, he made his way to Oxford, where back in the mid-twenty second century, his twin brother Dirk had been a student, here amid the mediaeval sandstone buildings that were so different from Caltech where he, Kian, had studied.