C4 Chapter 4

Saga had forgotten that she would have not just two but three travelling companions. At least for the first day.

Paul von Lengenfeldt’s driver jumped down from the coach like a big, grotesque frog as she came outside in the early dawn. He really was a frightening creature, with a head that sat so low and protruded so far that Saga changed her first impression of a frog to a two-legged ox.

He scowled at Saga and didn’t greet her. He merely took her suitcase as if it was feather-light and secured it on the back of the coach.

Not that Saga’s suitcase was very heavy. She had deliberately left most of her belongings behind in Sweden. She had brought plenty of money because she thought she would be beginning a new life in Norway, buying everything she needed there. She had packed only the bare necessities for the journey and, of course, her inheritance – the most important thing of all: the Ice People’s treasure of medicines and magic herbs. Saga didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about the latter. The mere thought made her feel sick.

Some of the magic potions were kept in Norway, as was Shira’s vessel containing the water of life. That was, of course, no longer kept at Graastensholm or Linden Avenue, as they were no longer safe hiding places. It was securely locked in a place that only the Ice People knew about. However, Saga had brought with her the part of the treasure that Viljar had passed on to her when Heike and Tula died. She knew nothing about the task that awaited her, but she wanted to be as carefully prepared to meet the obstacles as possible. She feared that there would be many of them.

Standing there on the steps, gazing over the courtyard, where the dew lay cold over the gravel and grass and the morning fog was dense around the inn, hiding the small village from her, she suddenly felt extremely frightened. She couldn’t explain why. It was as if danger crouched like a hidden threat, ready to pounce on her. Run, Saga, run! a voice whispered inside her.

But she stayed there, hesitant and reluctant. Then she began to walk towards the coach like a sleepwalker whose legs move by themselves.

Paul von Lengenfeldt was already there, giving orders to the driver.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” he asked Saga. “I picked him up in the forecourt of hell.”

The driver looked at them angrily. Saga’s throat contracted.

“That was an unnecessary and unkind remark,” she said, choking.

Paul laughed. “Most certainly it was not. It was just said in irony. I hired him so that he could be my complete opposite. So that my handsome good looks could appear to best effect. Look at him – and you’ll see the difference!”

Saga replied grumpily, “I see a human being,” and went in to fetch the last of her belongings.

Marcel stood on the step, and suddenly a strong feeling of warmth spread inside Saga. He looked at her pensively. Once again, she longed for his support, for both obvious and more obscure reasons.

This morning has got off to a bad start, she thought as she walked through the taproom. What’s happened to my mood? My ability to find a ready answer that would take the sting out of my serious frame of mind? Right now, I just don’t recognize myself.

Saga didn’t understand how tense she really was. A lifetime of wondering would soon be over. The fact that she had recently lost her parents and her husband added to the strain. In fact, she was as tight as a spring that has been wound too hard and could break at any moment. Added to this was the vague anxiety that seemed to envelop the entire landscape around her, like a shapeless fear. All this might explain her need to have someone to rely on. Someone who could place his protective arms around her and lighten her burden and her immense loneliness.

Just as Shira had once felt in her hour of destiny, Saga felt desperately alone. She didn’t have the necessary energy for Paul’s obvious admiration; she couldn’t cope with the thought of flirtation and falling in love. It distracted her, knocking her off balance.

Marcel’s gentle calm and considerate look, however, was solace to her.

A cock was crowing in the hen house in the inn’s courtyard as the wheels of the coach began to move and they were on their way. The three of them sat inside Paul’s fine coach, with golden panels and red plush seats. Only the driver was exposed to the weather, but it wasn’t the worst possible morning. The rain had freshened the air and the clear morning chill would soon disappear. Nevertheless, Saga could not get rid of her sense of unease. It followed her into the coach and remained there.

Nobody had seen them leave: the whole parish was still asleep.

Saga thought about her fellow passengers in the stagecoach, who were still snoozing without knowing that their journey had ended. The travelling salesman and the little family. It would be impossible to travel with a young baby through the dense forest, so the count would hardly have been able to help them at all. Besides, his coach was much smaller than the public coach, so there wouldn’t even have been room for them. Nevertheless, she felt a bit guilty about the news of the cholera ... but perhaps they might be able to turn around? Make a return journey?

Like many other women, Saga had been born with a bad conscience. She was one of those who never thought they did enough or did the right thing. This seemed to be a feminine trait that was impossible to do anything about.

Now and then, they would catch glimpses of the landscape as the terrain rose and they climbed out of the fog. Otherwise, everything was a grey-white haze, which seemed to seep in through the cracks around the door.

“Now,” said Paul with his charming smile. “The time has come for Saga to tell us about the notorious Ice People.”

“How did you happen to hear about us?” she asked.

“Oh, I travel a lot between Sweden and Norway. I’m often in Christiania. That must be where I heard about them, a long time ago.”

Saga thought that sounded reasonable. The Ice People didn’t live completely isolated lives, and many of them, especially in Norway, had kept the name “of the Ice People”.

She gave a small laugh. “Surely I can’t be the only one who has a story to tell? The two of you must be hiding a lot, each in his own way.”

“That’s quite possible,” Paul replied, with a satisfied laugh. “But ladies first!”

“Then both of you must also promise to tell us about your lives!”

They promised that they would. Saga was sitting directly opposite the extremely handsome Paul, and she could hardly take her eyes off him. He was a work of art, right down to the finest detail. The big, light-blue eyes with the quivering eyelashes, golden hair, the soft look of his complexion, the perfect teeth ...

The Creator must have been in a good mood on the day when Paul von Lengenfeldt was created.

She wasn’t able to look at Marcel properly because he was sitting next to her. But she was strongly and primitively aware that a man sat by her side – it was as if vibrating currents ran through them.

Avoiding Paul’s knees was a bit difficult in the narrow space, but he affected her much less.

It was obvious that the coach had now left the populated region. It shook a lot and rolled from side to side, and its wheels and body creaked and moaned.

“Well, where am I to begin?” said Saga. “The history of the Ice People is long and complicated. It’ll have to be a broad outline.”

Then she told them about Tengel the Evil and the curse. About Tengel the Good, who had managed to modify the curse somewhat so that chosen members of the Ice People would be born. She spoke of Shira and Heike, whom they all missed. Paul protested several times. It couldn’t be true. Did she really mean that? Seriously? Marcel also seemed doubtful, even though he said nothing. Then she told them about the mandrake, which she had with her in her luggage, and how it was said to be a living creature, and if they wanted to see it later on, then ...

They gave in, asking her to continue, but she could clearly hear that they were sceptical.

How can I make them believe in me? I’m unable to conjure at all, and the mandrake hardly ever moves in my presence. Nevertheless, she carried on. She spoke about their ancestors who gave help to the unfortunate stricken ones, trying to rectify the imbalance, but who couldn’t reach the chosen ones among the Ice People.

She also spoke about the grey people Heike and Vinga conjured up, who had since seized control of Graastensholm. And about the strange demons that had actually helped the Ice People – especially Tula – in their struggle against Tengel the Evil.

“And that doesn’t make sense,” she said indignantly. “Demons belong to the evil powers! Whoever heard of kindly disposed demons?”

Paul merely smiled because she was agitated, but Marcel leaned back in his corner and replied: “Saga, in theory, what you say doesn’t sound so strange. We touched on this yesterday, didn’t we? Talking about the nature of evil.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to follow his learned explanation. But he made it easy for her by using simple words.

“From what I gather, in searching for the source of life and reaching the dark water, this Tengel the Evil must have touched upon the very core of evil. The earth must have been shaken to its very foundations.

“As you can tell, I believe in your account. Do you remember when we said yesterday that the Satan of Christianity is only a tiny fragment of evil? Well, the Church fathers faced a dilemma when they wanted to explain about the Devil. It was no good portraying evil as a power in itself, which already existed alongside God, because their God was the Father of the Universe, the only one! Everything had to be created by him. Including Satan. That’s why they mixed together two different, ancient accounts: the one about Lucifer, the angel that resisted the Lord ...”

Saga said eagerly: “Yes. I’ve heard that before. He was plunged into an abyss as punishment.”

Marcel smiled. “That’s true. But the Church fathers did violence to the old myths by asserting that he, Lucifer, became Satan – who was actually an age-old deity who had already existed for millennia.”

“So is Lucifer not evil?”

A smile flickered across Marcel’s face. “He’s certainly no longer an angel. I don’t believe that someone who was forced to live forever in an abyss would actually come to love humankind. After all, it was because of them that he was plunged down there.”

Saga said: “Yes, I can well remember that.”

“I think you have to take Lucifer at face value: as a fallen angel. The dark angel. Whether he’s good or bad isn’t for us to decide. He’s most likely to be the latter.”

Paul shifted a little where he sat. He felt ill at ease. His expression seemed to show that he wasn’t satisfied. Especially since Saga had emphatically turned down all his attempts to flirt with her.

Suddenly, the coach heeled over and she fell towards Marcel. He couldn’t avoid catching her, and for a trembling moment she felt his hands on her body. Shaken at her own reaction, she straightened up and apologized.

Paul said, with one of his most charming smiles: “I’d have liked to change places with you, Marcel!”

Saga was embarrassed. Then she said resolutely: “To return to the topic of demons ...”

“Oh, sorry. I tend to speak in long parentheses,” said Marcel with a smile, which Saga found appealing. She didn’t understand why it affected her so much: since the terrible moment when she caught Lennart red-handed, she hadn’t even thought of other men. Nevertheless, it was Lennart who had meant the most to her of the young men she had met and flirted a little with. But coming so close to Marcel had turned her life upside down. She had to gaze at the floor, and just couldn’t look him in the eye.

Marcel didn’t have time to give his explanation of demons before Paul interrupted: “All this business about demons is waffle, and nothing but hypotheses. I’d much rather hear about something more up-to-date, Saga. You mentioned your divorce. That sort of thing is almost scandalous! How could a nice girl like you agree to something like that?”

Her face twitched. The divorce still hurt. “I think you said it yourself, Paul. I was too nice.”

“Surely that’s impossible?” Paul said teasingly.

“Well. You see, I think it was all my fault.”

Although it was difficult, Saga told them about her cool, limping marriage to Lennart. About the emotions she didn’t possess and therefore couldn’t show, about her attempts to compensate by being a so-called good wife to him. And how she had thought that could work. With a downcast look on her face, she told them about the terrible day when her eyes were opened.

“Sometimes, I believe that I was too harsh,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap. “Other women would probably have remained silent and continued, maybe even forgiven. Accepted it. But I’m unable to compromise. I stayed in his house for as long as my mother lived, because I didn’t want to make her sad. But just looking at him disgusted me. When my dear mother died, I moved out the following day. You’re right Paul: I’m a cold woman.”

After a short pause, Marcel said: “I think you did the right thing.”

Paul agreed. “Yes. That chap wasn’t the right one for you. How brave of you to have the courage to look the scandal in the face.”

“Oh, well. Right now, I’m escaping,” she said, smiling.

“Don’t you think it’s rather your task that has made you set off on this journey?” Marcel said. “Paul must forgive us, but I owe you an answer about your demons, Saga.”

“Thank you,” she said. Paul sighed.

Marcel began pensively: “Anyway, I think that if Tengel the Evil came to power – heaven forbid – he’d also have power over all evil spirits in the world. That is what the demons fear. They don’t want to be ruled by Tengel the Evil.”

“All evil spirits?” asked Saga. “Like Satan?”

“Like the Satan of Christianity. Like Iblis of Islam, the Persian Ahriman, the Hindu Kali – yes, she’s both evil and good – Baal, Moloch ...”

“And Nga of the Samoyeds,” Saga interrupted.

“My word, Saga!” said Marcel with a smile.

“It’s just something it says in the books of the Ice People.”

“I’d like to read them one day.”

Saga liked that thought. A continuation of their friendship. “So you think the power of Tengel the Evil would be vast?” she repeated. She was unable to rid herself of the strange feeling that an evil power was a fellow passenger in the coach. It was absurd, of course.

“Tengel will have enormous power!” he said with an effort. “If what you say is true, and I’ve no reason to doubt it, then he’s really found the source of evil and where it stems from. If he wakes up, it will be a disaster, a global catastrophe. When gods and demons tremble, what will then happen to poor, defenceless human beings, who are unable to fend for themselves? If you look at the history of religions, you’ll see ...”

Paul, who had listened to their conversation with mounting irritation, now said: “My word, how you carry on! You know nothing, it’s pure ... You’re so theoretical, Marcel. You speak of demons and devils as if you are making a calculation. It’s nothing but emotional chit-chat. You could also say that it’s a matter of faith.”

The light fell on him from the side so that his eyes seemed quite transparent. It looked horrible, taking away much of the beauty of his face, even more so because he seemed so irritable. Saga had thought that he was one of those people who took life lightly, no matter what. Now she thought that he seemed ... well, almost demonic!

“My dear Count,” replied Marcel. “It goes without saying that it’s a matter of faith! Satan and all the others are nothing but symbols. Folklore. Surely, no enlightened person truly believes all this.”

It was as if Paul grew in front of their very eyes. Of course, it only seemed like that because in his anger he had straightened up and taken a deep breath so that his chest expanded.

“Now you’re being insulting,” he said vehemently. “You know perfectly well that evil can’t be expressed without what is good. Will you deny that the princes of light and darkness exist? Will you truly deny their existence? Believe me. I know better!”

This was beginning to be unpleasant. The coach was far too cramped for far-reaching, religious disagreements. Besides, Saga felt that Marcel’s arguments weren’t completely watertight. But perhaps this was how she felt because she was unable to follow the arguments.

Marcel replied calmly and seriously. “Saga, in no way do I deny the existence of either God or the Devil. They’re alive, but only because human beings have created them. The moment people stop believing in them, they die. For instance, where are Baal and Moloch today?”

Paul replied: “They’re idols.”

Saga, however, turned eagerly to Marcel. “Shama once said precisely the same to Shira.”

Marcel replied with a brief laugh: “He must have been a sensible chap.”

“He wasn’t a chap but a spirit.”

“Well, perhaps he was. Or an evil idol. Paul: the reason why I speak so passionately about the early Church fathers is because they’ve spoilt the Biblical accounts for us. We no longer know what is truth and what is embellishment. Take, for instance, the account of the land of Canaan, which the Lord promised His followers. The Bible ignores the fact that this land was already inhabited. Many thousands lived there – the children of Israel decapitated most of them and the rest were driven out into the desert. I don’t think the benevolent God had promised this land to his people, it must be a distortion, a way of relieving a bad conscience after a genocide. The god of the Old Testament was a terrible god, written by priests who wanted power over humankind. I believe in a truly loving God.”

Saga nodded, but Paul wasn’t satisfied. “We’ve said enough about this now. Don’t speak about things you know nothing about. Were you present at the time? I don’t agree with blasphemy.”

“Nobody is mocking God,” Marcel replied. “On the contrary. But you’re right, of course. I wasn’t present at the time. What’s more, our conversation has deviated, which is my fault. As soon as I have the chance to discuss things with intelligent people, I begin to offer my interpretations.”

Paul clearly mellowed at the expression “intelligent people”. So Marcel added swiftly: “Anyway, we were telling each other about our lives. Now it’s your turn, Paul. You must know that you’re a great mystery to us.”

With disarming self-irony, Paul made it clear that he liked what he heard.

Saga remembered something her mother had once said about strong personalities. That they could be carried to extremes. Their overwhelming, too-strong personalities became so crushing that they were a pest to others – no one could bear to be with them. This was the case with Paul. Somehow, Saga had expected that she would fall in love with this extremely handsome man, but she hadn’t.

He was so ... unlikely. Unreal somehow.

Perhaps there was also another aspect of him that repelled her – a side that had come to the fore just now. Saga’s mother had talked to her about such people. Paul didn’t enjoy participating in a conversation that he wasn’t the centre of. In fact, he had been miserably bored while Marcel made his little theological speech, and didn’t brighten up until attention was directed at him once more. Anna Maria had warned Saga against such people. She had said that they would be difficult partners in marriage, and Saga was sure that what her mother had said was true.

But now Paul was his usual, charming self. The transparent look in his eyes had gone and he no longer seemed so supernatural. Nevertheless, Saga felt ill at ease in his company.

Paul didn’t have time to begin his autobiography, because the coach stopped and the driver jumped clumsily down from his seat.

Paul opened the door. “What’s going on?”

“We can’t go any farther,” muttered the strange creature, turning his horrible face towards them.

They got out. They had been so absorbed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed how the forest had closed tightly around then. It was noon, but the sun only made its way through the fir trees as dancing spots.

The driver was right. Saga had noticed that the road was becoming increasingly uneven, but she hadn’t thought any more about it. Now they could see that they had been driving on an almost invisible forest track over small birch saplings, and with the sweeping branches of the fir trees above them.

The road in front of them was just a narrow trail.

Paul sighed. “Yes, this is where our comfort ends. Now we’ll have to walk. Where are we?”

The driver replied grumpily: “We’re close to the border with Norway. But I don’t know where.”

Saga remembered small glimpses of lonely lakes and beautiful but deserted areas during the last hour in the coach.

Paul asked: “Where’s the main road?”

The driver replied: “South of here. Quite far away, I believe.”

Marcel looked about. “We must be deep in the huge forest,” he said. “It stretches into both Sweden and Norway. Well, the only thing we can do is to follow the course of the sun and walk towards the west. Until we reach civilization on the Norwegian side.”

Paul said: “That could be quite a long walk. Let’s eat here!”

They settled down in an open spot in the dark forest. Saga didn’t need to look about in order to understand that elk had been feeding here. It was so difficult for the sun to work its way down to the ground that hardly anything green grew on the forest floor. It was mostly dry pine needles that covered the bare ground.

They asked the count to tell his story, but he brushed them off. He obviously didn’t want to speak while his driver was in the vicinity.

When they had finished eating, the driver lifted a small, two-wheeled cart off the coach and began to load their baggage onto it.

Paul exclaimed: “My Thespian cart!” He was in a brilliant mood now that he had eaten and had something to drink. They had shared a bottle of wine that he had brought with him in the coach. Marcel hadn’t drunk any wine, but Saga had drunk a bit and now felt less burdened by the thought of the long walk. There was no need to worry!

Paul said: “It’s a splendid little barrow. It’s very light, and I just can’t do without it.”

Saga looked with concern at his trunk, which had been loaded onto the barrow. By comparison, her suitcase seemed quite insignificant, and Marcel had hardly any luggage. Only his small bundle.

Marcel said: “It may be difficult to make our way through the undergrowth with this cart.”

“Not at all,” said Paul in a carefree tone of voice. “Not to worry.”

Saga wondered whether he had ever walked any distance before, which seemed unlikely.

She was standing all alone by the coach when she heard someone approaching with a heavy limp. The driver ...! She shuddered but stood still, arranging her overcoat. The men were over by the barrow.

The driver was much shorter than she was, but squarely built, as if somebody had once sat on him many years ago. He murmured some words as he passed her.

“You’re a nice person, Madam. You need to watch him! He’s not who he pretends to be! Stick to the other one!”

“What?” Saga whispered back without turning around. “What do you mean, he’s not who he pretends to be?”

The driver had stopped next to her and was loosening some of Paul’s belongings from the coach. He had bent his head and muttered quietly: “He’s a devil! Yes, I mean it! A real devil! He’s not human!”

Paul shouted something and the driver hurried over to him.

Saga was in turmoil. She could well imagine that Paul behaved like a devil towards the poor man. Suddenly, Paul let out a furious yell. “What? And you haven’t said anything about this until now?” Saga walked over to them to find out what the matter was. Paul was red in the face with anger. “This sad wretch of a driver forgot to tell us that there’s unrest in this forest.”

“What sort of unrest?” Saga asked, automatically placing herself between Paul and the driver. Marcel replied on behalf of the others: “There seems to have been some trouble in a small village in the forest. Drinking, fighting and a stabbing. An investigation team is searching for the knifeman, who has fled into the forest. He could be anywhere, couldn’t he, Paul? This forest is enormous, why should the disturbance be happening precisely where we are? The region is very sparsely populated, isn’t it?”

Paul replied: “Yes. Anyway, it’s too late now. Let’s just hope we don’t bump into the sheriff or anybody, then we’ll be all right. Once we cross the border into Norway, there will be nothing to stop us.”

The driver turned the horses and drove the coach away. Saga felt an uncontrollable urge to run after it. To be allowed to sit in that cosy coach on her way back to civilization. When the coach had disappeared out of sight, she felt completely helpless and lost. It was a stupid thought, but suddenly the forest seemed so empty. Horribly empty.

Then they began their risky journey into the unknown forest. They were unarmed. Paul had a pistol, it was true, but no gunpowder for it. Marcel had a long-bladed knife. That was all.

“Do we risk meeting wild animals?” Saga asked them.

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Marcel. “There are three of us so they are unlikely to attack, isn’t that true?”

“Yes,” Paul replied. “They had better not! I suppose there aren’t so many wolves and bears left, are there?”

Marcel replied hesitantly: “I don’t really know what it’s like in these parts. I don’t think so, but you can never be sure.”

Saga thought the prospect of coming across wild animals was quite frightening. The fact that she had the greatest respect for elk didn’t make her feel any braver. For her own safety, she walked between the two men. Paul had taken the place of leader with an aristocrat’s inborn superiority, leaving the wheelbarrow to the “tramp”, as he had once described Marcel.

It was still daylight. The track was fairly wide. Outwardly, they were in good spirits, chatting away as they walked.

Paul began to tell them about himself, and as he did so, Saga couldn’t help thinking of the driver’s words to her: “He’s not who he pretends to be.” So she listened with the greatest scepticism.

Paul explained that his family wasn’t Swedish, as they could gather from his name. This was why his family name didn’t appear in the register of noble families. (How convenient! Saga thought maliciously) They had been forced to flee their native country during the Napoleonic Wars, settling in poor Sweden.

“I showed some promise early in life,” said Paul in a charming, self-deprecating way that could, however, no longer fool her. “My family saw to it that I got a good education. So I have become a kind of ambassador for my country. I often travel abroad.”

You’re lying, Saga thought. She didn’t know why she was so sure, but she had felt all along that there was something slightly unreal about Paul, and now his driver had pointed it out as well. He seemed attentive, charming, carefree and superficial. Yet underneath the smooth surface, something else was lurking. Something ... dangerous?

Saga shivered despite the summer warmth. It was as if something big and terrible was waiting ...

Oh, she was just so stupid! Just because she was walking in a remote forest, why should she let her imagination get the better of her?

Paul chatted on. About parties and glamour and honour, life at court, women who had fallen out over him, adventures, all described in a blasé manner. Saga and Marcel listened in silence to the many things he had accomplished.

Then Paul’s tone turned slightly tragic, only for his infectious smile to show on his face a moment later. “I was chosen for something great. Everybody said so. But I was opposed. It was envy. People couldn’t bear my rise through the ranks. Important men don’t tolerate rivals, so the position I had been promised went to somebody else. But never mind! Paul von Lengenfeldt isn’t somebody to be discouraged! You see, I work away quietly and one fine day ... but I’d better not count my chickens until they’re hatched.”

Saga smiled behind Paul’s back. “No, you’re right.” After all, there was something irresistible about him when he was the Great One, full of enthusiasm. Then you could admire him solely for his confident manner. Because the world had produced something so perfect.

However, his next words shocked her a bit. He had turned around as he was speaking and now he said: “Oh, Saga, you’re fantastic when you forget yourself and smile like that! Then all a man wants is to take you in his arms, eliciting that smile forever. Seeing you so happy and divinely beautiful. Because that’s what you are, Saga! If only you would stop looking so sad!”

Saga corrected him. “When I’m serious I’m not feeling sorry for myself. It’s sorrow and anxiety that troubles me.”

“Yes, yes, but let’s not speak of that now! Don’t you understand that you’re the one I’ve been seeking for a thousand years? For thousands of restless years, I’ve been dreaming of you, Saga! At long last, I have found you.”

Self-consciously and theatrically, he had stretched out his arms in a grandiose gesture as if to take the sting out of his words. Then he laughed, unrestrainedly.

But Saga felt that he really meant what he said. He wanted her – and he was a man who was used to getting everything he pointed at.

Sudden she had a reprehensible thought: she wanted to look in Paul’s big trunk. Her intuition told her that the key to his secret lay in there.

If he had a secret, of course ... Yes, he was something other than what he claimed. She was sure of that. Where did such an incredibly handsome man spring from? Ought he not to have been world famous – a sensation? Surely he couldn’t just pop up like an ordinary wayfarer in the ghostly wolves’ fields? True, he had hinted something about a colourful past, and with his handsome good looks he could have achieved anything. However, Saga knew quite a lot about life at court through the Oxenstiernas, and she had never heard them mention a Count Paul von Lengenfeldt or talk about a remarkably handsome man. She thought it was unbelievable that she would never have heard anything about him. He wasn’t all that old. Somehow, he seemed timeless, but undoubtedly he was somewhat younger than Marcel. If she had to guess, she would say he was under thirty.

Had jealous competitors opposed him? Had he lost a senior position because of intrigues – or something similar? She didn’t completely remember what he had said.

Now she wanted to think about something more pleasant. “Now it’s your turn, Marcel!” she said. But Paul was no longer interested. He stopped.

“Hush!” he whispered. “Did you hear something?”

They listened. The forest was no longer so dense. It was more open, consisting mainly of fir trees whose trunks rose proud and straight, enabling them to see far over the grey-white moor.

All Saga could hear was a moaning cry, from far off, like the echo of words that had quietened a long time ago. Yet there was fear in the cry – it seemed to be directed at her, as a warning, while not believing that it was being heard.