C3 Chapter 3

It was hot, very hot!

The sun was baking, and inside the coach it felt like a oven. Everything was damp and sticky; dust lay like a crust on your skin and clothes, and crunched between your teeth, and your neck and palms were wet and clammy. Your clothes felt tight, your pulse throbbed in your chest and temples. Those shiny, bright red faces – and the smell! It was easy to tell who was clean and who had forgotten to change their clothes in the last couple of weeks.

The journey was extremely uncomfortable, almost unbearable, in the closed, rocking, shuddering coach. Saga was tired and felt under the weather; her whole body was aching, but she maintained her lofty indifference as much as possible. The windows couldn’t be opened, the heat was stifling, and the stale air was being re-used by straining lungs.

There was a baby who screamed all the time: the mother grew hysterical and yelled impatiently, “For goodness sake, be quiet!” which, of course, had quite the opposite effect. The father, a nice, quiet man without show, tried to quieten the little one and shield her from her mother’s slapping hands. The mother had started flirting with a travelling salesman whose attempts at elegance were somewhat threadbare. His black, double-breasted coat was worn at the sleeves and neck, his hat had a greasy rim and his narrow striped trousers had seen better days. This would have been forgivable if it hadn’t been for his exaggerated joviality, which masked a certain nervousness. Saga doubted that he could be relied on in business matters, and most certainly not in love affairs. He was quite good-looking, which he was perfectly aware of. When he first boarded the coach, he had taken a quick look around and had immediately picked out Saga. But since she was unsympathetic to his advances, he had begun to flirt with the young wife, which was much easier. Saga suffered with her husband, who merely bent his head over the child, looking sad. Now the heat had quashed the man’s desire to flirt, and there was irritation in the air.

An elderly farmer’s wife dozed in a corner of the coach.

They had been travelling for a couple of days, and Saga knew the routine by now. The stops, the inns, the passengers that got in and the others that got off. She realized what a comfortable and sheltered life she had lived until now. This journey was teaching her to compromise. The previous night she had had to share her room with the farmer’s wife, who had probably found it harder than she had. Imagine having to spend the night with such a sophisticated and elegant young lady when your own clothes were so shabby. But Saga had handled this new situation brilliantly. She, who lived in a world of her own, just smiled her cool smile and talked gently and graciously, and understood perfectly well the other woman’s embarrassment. They embarked on a kind of cautious friendship, from time to time exchanging swift glances and everyday remarks where appropriate. They sat at the same table for meals, after cautiously enquiring whether the other one minded.

Saga looked at the woman in her corner and suddenly noticed that she had turned completely grey. She knocked on the roof to alert the driver. He pulled up the horses, and she opened the door, looked about and then shouted: “Please drive over to the brook over there! One of the passengers is feeling unwell in the heat.”

They quickly drove there while Saga tried to cool down the farmer’s wife by fanning her face. The weather was so hot that even the air outside the coach was oppressive. Heavy black clouds loomed on the horizon. Nevertheless, it was a relief to get out of the coach. After all, the air didn’t stand completely still.

“There’s thunder in the offing,” said the salesman.

“That’s just what we need,” the young wife muttered wryly. Her husband helped Saga get the farmer’s wife out of the coach. She couldn’t stand on her feet, but slumped heavily between them. The driver and his assistant joined them, and together they managed to take her down to the brook, where they sat her on the grassy bank. Saga wetted a handkerchief and moistened her forehead with it.

“How is she?” asked the driver.

“I don’t know,” replied Saga. “I’ll try to loosen her clothes a bit around her neck and waist.” Despite all her efforts, the farmer’s wife was still poorly. She lay with her eyes closed, breathing shallowly and intermittently. Her complexion was dreadful to look at: grey with red blotches. Saga looked around. There was a man sitting under a tree not all that far from them, but she couldn’t see him clearly in the heat haze. She was just about to shout to him when another coach came driving along the road, going in the same direction. The coach stopped. A roll of thunder could be heard in the distance.

A man got out, and Saga couldn’t help staring.

She had never seen anyone like him. She had never thought that there could be anyone like this tall man who was walking towards her. He seemed to come from above, stepping off the coach with the sun behind him so that his handsome, blond hair formed a halo around his face. He carried himself well – regally, Saga thought – and as he came closer, his features appeared more clearly. He was a revelation, neither more nor less.

The big eyes smiled at her, the nose was straight and noble and the teeth white and strong. His face was perfect down to the tiniest detail!

The others stared at him as well. In a pleasant voice, he said to Saga: “Have you had an accident? Can I be of any help?”

Saga came to, and explained with a stutter about the heat in the coach and how the poor woman hadn’t been able to take it.

“My coach is a lot cooler,” he said in his soft, melodious voice. “Why don’t you bring your friend over to my coach? Then you can both join me.”

While Saga struggled to come up with a suitable answer, she could see out of the corner of her eye that the man under the tree had got up and was walking towards them. In a chaotic second, Saga got the impression that this was all destined, as if she was a part of a drama, or a dream. They all turned to the new arrival.

Saga wrinkled her brow. Where had she seen that man before? She didn’t have to wait long for an explanation. The young wife exclaimed: “Heavens! Are you brother and sister?”

Now Saga saw the resemblance. The black curls that framed the square face, the eyes that seemed so bright against the dark complexion, the slightly dreamy, distant expression ... It was as if she was looking at herself, albeit in a more masculine version!

He too had noticed the similarity. She saw this immediately in the surprised twinkle in his eyes. However, there was no time to go more deeply into the coincidence. He knelt down by the sick farmer’s wife, stroked her face and tried to find her pulse ...

“Are you a doctor?” Saga asked, surprised, because he didn’t look like one. His wide, dark-brown cloak resembled a worn monk’s habit more than anything else, and his simple sandals seemed to have experienced a bit of everything.

“I was once,” he said curtly. “But I was forced to give it up.”

This was all the explanation he gave.

The distinguished, handsome blond man stood next to Saga, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder as if to support himself as he bent over the farmer’s wife. Saga drew back very gently. Since her whole approach to life was noli me tangere – don’t touch me – she found it difficult to accept bodily contact with strangers. The wound that Lennart had inflicted on her had added to this feeling. Although this stranger seemed extremely nice on top of all his other good attributes.

The dark man looked up at her. Saga was surprised that both men addressed all their remarks to her, although this didn’t surprise her travelling companions in the least.

“She’ll recover shortly,” he said quietly, in a slightly hoarse voice. “I think she should sit up on the bench next to the driver. That would be best for her.” The coach driver nodded. The man stood up and the woman on the ground came round with a moan, placing her hands in front of her face. Then the dark stranger bowed lightly to Saga and left – before she had time to comment on the remarkable likeness between them. But then it was nothing but a coincidence. The handsome, blond man also bowed. “My coach is still at your disposal,” he said. “It would suit you better to travel in comfort.”

“Thank you very much,” Saga replied with a smile. “I’m quite happy with the stagecoach. However, I’m concerned for my fellow passenger.” He didn’t seem quite so eager to offer the farmer’s wife a lift.

He smiled: “I think she’ll be fine up on the driver’s bench. She just needs to shield herself from the rays of the sun. May I introduce myself: I am Count Paul von Lengenfeldt.”

“And my name is Saga Simon.” She had taken back her maiden name because she couldn’t stand the thought of having Lennart’s name any longer. “Thank you for your kindness and assistance, Sir, but now I think we’d better be on our way.”

His coach left before theirs. Saga watched as it disappeared around a bend. She hadn’t seen much of the driver, but had an impression of a bent, almost deformed creature on the bench. However, the memory of the nobleman was vivid before her mind’s eye. He was so incredibly handsome, like a fairy-tale prince – or an archangel?

What nonsense, she said to herself and smiled. Everyone else had boarded the coach and she took her seat. A storm was brewing.

It was dark when the coach swung into the courtyard in front of the place where they were to spend the night. It was a somewhat better-quality inn than usual. Someone told Saga that they were well into Värmland, so more than half the journey was behind her – thank God! It was certainly strenuous. She got a room – this time to herself – washed and changed before going downstairs for a late supper. They were in the middle of a violent thunderstorm, and rain poured down as if a cloud had burst just over their heads. It was nice to be sitting indoors at a well-provided table.

The farmer’s wife had left the party, because she wasn’t travelling any farther. The travelling salesman thought that he could do with a bit of excitement now, so he had put on a clean shirt and a spot of perfume and downed a few tankards of beer before and after the meal. For quite a while, he vacillated between Saga and the young woman with the child. The baby was sleeping so there were just those four at the table – the young couple, the travelling salesman and Saga.

Over at a table in the corner, Saga saw the dark wanderer who looked so much like her father and most of all like herself. She wondered what had brought him here. Somebody must have offered him a lift. A physician who no longer worked as a physician? Why was he on the road? Saga felt that she had no right to judge another person before she had heard his story. He interested her. Although she rarely looked at him, she was aware that he seemed to look at her constantly. He is wondering at the similarity, she thought, just as I am.

There was a loud clap of thunder and the young wife let out a yell, throwing herself into the arms of the travelling salesman, who immediately closed them around her.

Saga became angry. “Stick to your husband,” she told the woman sharply. “This is absolutely ridiculous!” Her words had a dampening effect on them all and she regretted them, especially since the travelling salesman laughed at her and asked if she was jealous. Anyway, the young wife had been given the spiritual box on the ear that she needed and she immediately stopped her extramarital foolery.

“Please forgive me,” said Saga, embarrassed. “I didn’t intend to be a spoilsport. It’s just that ...”

Well, how was she to explain it? But now she had to go on. “I’m slightly off-balance at the moment. My parents died recently and their marriage was an extremely happy one ... I just can’t bear to see genuine love being made a mockery of with cheap, random, unnecessary foolery. No, forgive me. I have no right ...”

She still didn’t have enough courage to mention her own shipwrecked marriage.

The mood at the table was uneasy. Then the travelling salesman laughed and patted her gently on the hand. “You’re much too serious! We all know that this young lady and I have no evil intentions.”

He looked about the room as if to ask for help from the others at their tables. “You in the corner over there! Come here, you shouldn’t be sitting all by yourself. We already know one another!”

After some hesitation, the man got up and came over to their table. Saga was able to study his face secretly. His features were pure, with deep-set eyes and jet-black eyelashes. His mouth was sensitive, and appealing when he smiled. His black curls fell over his face and down towards his shoulders.

Saga thought there was something sad about him. When he had sat down – humbly, as if he wanted to apologize for intruding – the travelling salesman said: “It’s simply astonishing how much you two resemble each other! Are you sure you’re not siblings?”

“Absolutely sure,” replied Saga, looking searchingly at the man. He was probably about thirty-five years of age, roughly ten years older than herself. “Since you look very much like my father, who came from Wallonia, I must ask you if that’s also where you’re from?”

He brightened up in a charming smile. “Wallonia? Well, yes, I am. What was your father’s name?”

“His name was Kol Simon. No, wait, he was christened Guillaume Simon.”

The man thought for a moment. “Simon ...? My grandfather had a sister who married a Simon, but he died. And she remarried. Wasn’t it said to be an unhappy marriage?”

“My grandmother’s second marriage? Yes, she married someone who wasn’t from Wallonia.”

The man gave Saga a warm smile. His eyes were kind and gentle. “Then we’re bound to be second cousins, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we must be!” said Saga, shaking his outstretched hand cordially. “How nice! It’s so nice to get to meet somebody from my father’s side of the family. What’s your name?”

“Marcel. Let’s not bother with my surname. It’s far too long and complicated.”

Saga smiled. “Well, of course, it must be a Walloon name. Oh, I’m so happy!”

“Me, too!” he replied, though it didn’t lift the expression of sadness in his smile. Saga gleaned that his life hadn’t been easy.

“Where are you going?” he asked Saga.

“To Norway.”

“So am I,” he said, with a slightly broader smile.

“Won’t you join me in the coach?”

He shook his head. “Can’t afford it.”

“But I can ...”

Marcel stopped her immediately. “Don’t say it! Now and then I get a lift on a cart, which is good enough for me.”

“Well, in that case we must talk this evening! We ...”

She was interrupted by someone entering the room. All of a sudden, it was as if the entire taproom was illuminated.

Saga thought that it must be because of his golden-blond hair. Or the radiant expression on his face. He seems so elevated, so ... supernatural. His bearing – he looked as if he owned the whole world! His overwhelming personality... She had never seen anyone like him!

Count von Lengenfeldt walked straight up to their table. “I say, it’s my friends from the road,” he said. “May I join you?”

Of course, they agreed: they were flattered to have him at their table.

He was extremely well dressed: he carried a tall hat in his hand, and his cravat and accessories were strikingly coloured, but otherwise he wore the discreet and elegant fashion of the day. Saga’s relative, Marcel, looked shabby by comparison – like a pilgrim returning from his long, arduous journey.

The count was also on his way to Norway, to Christiania. That was all he said. He was completely silent about the purpose of his journey.

Once again, Saga had to explain the relationship between her and Marcel, as the count told them he was baffled by their similarity. It seemed to amuse him, making him quite light-hearted. The travelling salesman did most of the talking, under the influence as he was. Now and then the count tried to steer the conversation on to more interesting topics than buttons and bows and grumpy counter-jumpers, but the salesman could spoil any topic with his vulgar remarks.

Saga often caught the count’s gaze, which made it very clear what he thought of their chatty fellow passenger. Occasionally, his incredibly beautiful eyes seemed to have a very devilish expression in them, showing another side to his personality. Despite his manifest generosity towards the world in general, Saga sometimes had the feeling that he was playing a role, but it was difficult to decide what his true nature was.

Beer does have an unavoidable effect. The travelling salesman was growing sleepy. He began to gabble unintelligibly and he placed his sticky and unwelcome hands more and more often on Saga’s knees and shoulders.

Finally, he felt the call of nature. He left the table and staggered away to the privy, then went upstairs to his room for the night. The young couple also retired, and Saga was just about to join them. But the count stopped her: “Won’t you stay just a little longer? You seem a cultured lady, I would like to chat a bit more.”

Saga looked questioningly at her relative, who nodded. So she stayed. She couldn’t see anything wrong in doing so.

It turned out to be an interesting conversation. Both men were very erudite, and Saga had to make a great effort to keep up with them.

After an hour, the count said: “You’re an attractive girl, Saga. Absolutely lovely. But you’re far too aloof and serious. Let go of the warmth I know you have inside – I see traces of it in your eager moments but you quickly close down once more. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

Saga looked down. “I ... I have my reasons ...”

“May we hear them?” asked the count encouragingly. “I’m sure you can understand that people feel the urge to coax out the warmth in you. Don’t you agree with me, Marcel?”

Marcel didn’t reply immediately, but gave her an arch smile. Then he said slowly, “Yes ...”

“Well, tell us, Saga.”

“Much of it is undoubtedly because I’ve just been through a terrible divorce and have lost confidence and belief in myself. However, that isn’t the most important thing right now ...”

It felt right to tell these two people. They would understand, and Saga hadn’t had many opportunities to discuss her turmoil.

“You see, it happens that I was born to be ... born to carry out a major task. It is a great burden, and perhaps this is why I seem a bit hard.”

“You’re not hard,” said the count. “Just cool and somewhat reserved.”

“We have noticed that,” Marcel said in his soft voice.

“You have an air of great strength,” agreed the count, who wanted them to call him Paul. “I know about these things because I’m slightly out of the ordinary myself.”

“I’d say that you’re very much out of the ordinary,” Saga breathed.

The count laughed – he liked what she said. “Anyway, tell us about your task!”

“It’s a long story!”

“We have the whole night.”

Saga hesitated. “Well, I don’t think there’s any harm in telling you ... I’m allowed to speak about the Ice People.”

“The Ice People?” repeated the count. “Haven’t I heard that name before? A cursed clan, sold to Satan?”

“No, not to Satan,” Saga corrected him. “To evil really. Even if Christians call the evil power Satan, it’s more than just that, surely? More comprehensive?”

“Yes,” nodded the dark Marcel. “Christianity’s Satan is only a small fraction of evil.”

Paul didn’t answer. He seemed ill at ease at the turn the conversation had taken. Saga wondered if he was deeply religious? Or perhaps he didn’t like the fact that she was a divorcée?

The rain beat against the window. They could hear water pouring into newly formed streams out in the courtyard.

Saga said anxiously: “You mustn’t think that I’ve been sold into the service of evil. My task is to fight it. But I don’t yet know how.”

“Can’t we hear a bit more about the Ice People?” Marcel asked.

Saga reflected on this man’s enormous authority. He was handsome, although by no means as overpowering as Count Paul. In a way, she found great comfort in Marcel’s calm demeanour. He was the type of person you could seek protection from, even if he was just as poor as the other was rich. In addition, Marcel had something undefinable about him, something the neglected Saga didn’t recognize as sensuality. She was drawn towards it without really understanding what it was, except that it made her uneasy. The light-grey eyes in the dark, closed face, the smile that you knew could show itself there and which you wanted to trigger once more – it all seemed immensely attractive to her.

It wasn’t Marcel’s fault that he was completely overshadowed by Paul. A man so handsome that it made you gasp for breath now and then, and so charming that it almost hurt.

Paul was a man with two sides: archangel – and devil? That might be taking things to extremes, she thought with a certain irony.

She never began the narrative of the Ice People, because at that moment the driver and his assistant walked in.

“Oh, here’s the young Miss,” the driver said. “You gentlemen were also going to Norway, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Have the other passengers retired for the night?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you. There won’t be any journey to Norway.”

“What? Why not?” Saga exclaimed. “But I must get to Norway.”

“I can’t help that. They’ve closed the border. It would seem that there is an outbreak of cholera in this area, and the Norwegians won’t allow it to spread to Norway.”

“Cholera?” Saga said weakly. “Here? Well, so there might be cholera in this inn?”

“The landlord says no, you can rest assured. There’s nothing wrong with the food here. But we won’t be going any farther, I’m afraid. The mail must wait here until the border is opened again. And I’ll be on my way back. Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

They had all got to their feet and were now staring at one another. Saga noticed that she was the shortest of them, which wasn’t surprising. Marcel was almost a head taller than her, and Count Paul seemed over-dimensioned, even if the two men were really equally tall.

The thunderstorm had drifted away and could be heard roaring in the distance; occasional, distant flashes lit up the crooked panes. It was late, and the three of them were now the only ones in the taproom.

“I simply have to get to Norway,” Saga repeated.

“So do I,” said Marcel.

“Me, too,” said Paul resolutely. “We’ll take my coach.”

Marcel objected: “We’ll never be able to cross the border.”

“We will, if we follow the roads over the wolves’ fields.”

“What roads do they have there?”

Saga shuddered. She had heard about the wolves’ fields. They were wild forest regions that straddled the border between Finland and Norway. Remote moors and bogs, dotted with small groves and the occasional pine tree. And deep spruce forests where only silence, bears and wolves ruled – hence the name. This was a realm of wild animals, where mysticism lived in the shriek of the horned owl and the wail of the loon, and where legends of witchcraft bred and grew, like all the other nameless creatures of the scrub and the water.

Count Paul went on in a low voice. “We’ll take the coach as far as possible along the forest road. We’ll leave tomorrow morning, before dawn, before the others are awake. Right now, it’s raining too hard and the horses are tired – and so are we,” he said with a smile. “Then my driver will have to wait with the coach and try to cross as soon as the border opens again. We’ll cross on foot.”

Marcel looked questioningly at Saga: “That’s fine with me. I’m used to walking, so I’ll say yes, please. But what about you, my girl? Can you manage it?”

It was really nice to be called “girl” when you were twenty-four and divorced.

“Yes, certainly, I’m strong. I’ll also say yes, please, Paul.”

They arranged with the innkeeper to be called in the morning and paid their bills. Then they went up to their rooms – except Marcel, who was going to sleep in the stable.

Saga was confused. Everything was happening much too quickly. So many new impressions and new friends ...

And the men she had met! They triggered fantasies in her that she had never been troubled with before! Urgently, anxiously: “You don’t have time, Saga! You simply haven’t the time for this. You must be on your way to Graastensholm. This is unexpected, it’s a trap: don’t rise to the bait, break loose!”

Her dream was very unclear, and in the morning Saga found it difficult to decide whether it was fact or fiction. Besides, how much could you rely on a dream? Wasn’t it her instinct telling her to back out because she was embarking on something dangerous? That she shouldn’t venture into the fatal wolves’ fields with two strangers? She shuddered as she got dressed in the grey, cold morning. Everything was quiet outside. The rain had stopped, but steam rose like floating fog banks above the ground, moving in the direction of the forest.

At that moment, the wolves’ fields seemed far away and the thought of them was extremely frightening.

Why? When she was never scared?

She had to admit that her attitude to life was certainly changing! She was faced with something entirely new!