A black box with a golden disc.
'Balduur … Balduur ...'
She muttered the name softly and removed the lid.
A dark face stared up at her. The close-cropped hair retained some of its ginger but little else remained. Mould covered the lips and eye sockets. Decay was evident throughout. She picked up the head and held it in her hands.
'Balduur ...' her voice fell to a whisper.
The tallow lamps flickered as if in recognition.
'Balduur ...' She repeated the name. 'You who called yourself High King. For all these many years I have held you captive. Now, by some trick, you are slipping away. Soon your soul light will escape into the void, ready to be reborn. No one can foretell what misfortune that will bring.'
Her mind strayed back to when, as a young girl, she had plucked the head from the frozen ground on Baddon Plane and fresh blood had sprayed onto her white dress.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
'Majesty, Thunder son of Lightning is here.'
She returned the head to the box and replaced the lid as a sandy-haired man was ushered in by the girls of the guard. He was dressed as a warrior: blue cloak, red tunic and tartan pants. When the door was securely closed, she pushed the box towards him.
'Take a look at that.'
Thunder scrutinised the contents.
'Maggots, Majesty ...'
'Aye,' the queen grunted. 'They're eating away at the back of his skull. His soul light will soon escape.'
Thunder pointed a finger at a gaping eye socket. 'With any luck he'll be reborn as one of those nasty little creatures.'
'That's not what the oracle foretold.'
'But we don't believe in oracles, Majesty'
'What we believe doesn't matter. It's what the people believe that counts.' The queen adjusted her shawl. 'At the battle of Dunavon, it wasn't force that defeated our enemies. They weren't beaten when my father met Balduur in single combat. But, when they saw their War Master struck down and his head in my hand ... they lost heart.'
She pointed to the box.
'For these many moons we've held Balduur prisoner. Now we've failed in our duty. What alarm will that breed in the hearts of our people when they next see him?'
Thunder fingered the waxed ends of his moustache.
'We'll have to make sure they don't.'
'There's no way.' The old woman banged her stick on the floorboards. 'At the next moon, at the Festival of Rebirth, we'll have to exhibit the head as we always do.'