Altar of Blood

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‘Bructeri warriors, your king is dead!’

The gathered warriors of the tribe, five hundred of the bravest and best men sent from all over the tribe’s lands raised their gazes to look reverently at the bearded man lying on the funeral pyre around which they were gathered in the torch-lit darkness. As one they chanted the words expected of them in response to each pronouncement by the dead man’s brother.

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

‘He ruled over us with a fair and strong hand!’

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

‘He made us stronger, to resist our enemies!’

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

‘His life was long and fruitful, and he fathered a strong son!’

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

‘His life is ended, and he goes to greet his ancestors with pride!’

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

‘Now is the time for him to leave us!’

‘Wodanaz, take him!’

The noble took a blazing torch from a waiting priest and put it to the pyre’s wooden base with a symbolic flourish, then handed it back to allow the holy man to ensure that the fire was properly lit.

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