C3 Chapter 3

After a short training period, Mikael was posted to the Swedish territory on the coast of the Baltic Sea. He loathed being in the army from the very beginning and nothing got better as time went by. He became increasingly quiet and withdrawn, so the other soldiers left him to his own company – he seemed to prefer it that way.

He rarely got a letter from home but he did get one saying that Anette was pregnant. That made him smile a bitter smile. He wrote to her, expressing his happiness, which he really did not feel. Actually, he felt nothing for the child that was on the way. Somehow, he felt it had nothing to do with him. Besides, he didn’t know if the letter would even reach her.

He was often posted in different places, which meant that he had seen most Swedish territories: The islands of Usedom and Wollin, then Western Pomerania and Wismar. Over a two-year period, he moved farther and farther westwards. But he was rarely close to the battlefield and that pleased him.

One day he received a letter that had taken a long time to reach him. He now had a son, a beautiful little boy. Anette had decided to call him Dominic after her own father. Mikael wrote back to say that he liked the name, and that he was looking forward to coming home to see the baby.

The night on which he had been told about the birth of his son, he sat under the stars for a long time, thinking. ‘I wonder whether you’ll be just as lonely as I am? God grant that you won’t inherit my loneliness, my melancholy and my yearning.’

From time to time he would ponder over the fact that he had a son. But he had no relationship to him or to his wife. He could not really see himself as a father. It seemed unreal.

In Wismar he got to know the daughter of the house in which he was quartered. She made it very clear that she liked this handsome young Swede. Mikael talked nicely to her in his own, absent-minded way, and he would look at her through the corner of his eye. However, he had a sense of honour. He was a married man and therefore had to be faithful to his wife, even if he felt nothing for her. So that story came to nothing, ending with a short, sad moment of farewell where he finally had the courage to stroke her cheek. Then he forgot her and she soon found another handsome Swede to comfort her.

In 1654, Queen Kristina abdicated the Swedish throne and became a Catholic. The Duke of Pfalz ascended to the throne as Carl Gustav X, and now the campaigns really got moving. Poland and Russia were at the top of the list.

By then Mikael was close to Bremen, not far from the North Sea. He was a non-commissioned officer in a roving corps of guards, so he didn’t stay very long at any one place. Then came the autumn evening when Mikael Lind of the Ice People met his relative, Tancred Paladin, by the banks of the Elbe.

The rendezvous turned Mikael’s life upside down. He was deeply unhappy at having to leave Tancred so quickly. He was on his way to Ingria and he hadn’t even had the chance to ask everything he wanted to. But he soaked up all of Tancred’s words like a sponge.

He had been given an identity! Members of the Ice People clan lived in Norway and Denmark. They looked like him and the immediate feeling of solidarity he had had with Tancred had truly shaken him. Mikael, the dreamer, who felt there was a wall between him and other people, finally found somebody he could speak to openly, naturally – and knew that he would be understood.

But he hadn’t mentioned his wife and son to Tancred. He should have done so. After all, he was at war and could be sent to the battlefield at any time... All of a sudden his son became immensely important to him. Dominic Lind of the Ice People. A little boy who had relatives he didn’t know about. Dominic belonged to the Ice People, and according to Tancred they were a special race.

Mikael now hated the war more than ever. He wanted to flee, shoot his way home – but desertion wasn’t allowed. Even if he escaped in secret, how was he to cross the Baltic Sea? He rose in the ranks without doing anything for it. From private to officer, and from officer to ensign.

However, Mikael never got to Ingria. Carl Gustav X’s plans against Poland had awakened the Russian tzar, and vast armies had gathered in the east to prevent Poland being under Swedish ‘protection’. Now the Russians marched through Sweden’s largest Baltic province, Livonia, towards Poland. So this was where Mikael’s journey stopped.

The situation of the Great Powers was complicated. The German emperor was worried at seeing Sweden conquer practically all the coasts of the Baltic Sea. Poland wanted Livonia back. England, the Netherlands and Denmark kept a close eye on developments in these provinces because they feared that the battling powers might grow too strong. In eastern Europe, the Russian bear roared because it was cut off from the important Baltic Sea. In particular it was Ingria, the Swedish territory around the estuary of the River Neva, that was a thorn in the tzar’s side. Livonia was also of interest to the Russians, not to mention the arch enemy, Poland.

Mikael was not particularly interested in all this. But during his travels in these remote parts, something happened in a small village that put a full stop to his vagrant life. Whether it was for the better or not is a different matter.

Mikael’s unit arrived in snow-covered Livonia prepared for a Polish and Russian invasion, though there were not enough men to resist an advance if it did happen. They were there more as observers who could pass on information to Carl Gustav X’s army, which was in Poland after swiftly conquering Warsaw. The Swedes came across one deserted village after the other, and in one of them they came to a halt awaiting a foreign advance. But nothing happened. The winter days passed by, cold and beautiful. There was no sign that the Russian army was approaching despite the fact that the Swedes knew that they were on their way.

Mikael would often roam about in the small village underneath sparkling, silvery birches. His steps creaked in the snow. Here and there, a farm was still inhabited, typically by old people, who could no longer escape. But he never saw them. Only the white smoke rising from the chimneys was a sign that there were still people nearby. Everybody else had fled to safer parts of the province.

A few clusters of migratory birds high in the sky was a sign that winter was drawing to an end. Mikael would often stop and listen. He thought that there was something strange about the village. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard moaning cries echoing in the distance. It was as if the town itself had succumbed to an unspeakable tyranny. Of course, this wasn’t how it was. It was just that Mikael’s lively imagination had gotten the better of him.

Every day he would walk past a big estate, which was somewhat separate from the village. It was so unbelievably beautiful, so perfect, lying there quiet and deserted in a snow-covered park. He could stand for ages gazing at it, thinking about its great past, overwhelmed by a heartrending sadness that still vibrated in each corner of the house, in each corner of the park.

Many Germans with large estates were still here, and he had been told that this estate had once belonged to the German nobility. Mikael knew that his mother had been German, but it would seem that he had not inherited her personality. Marca Christiana had said that Mikael had only inherited her dark eyes and arched eyebrows. His mother, Cornelia of Breuberg, was said to have been very lively, mercurial and self-centred. Mikael believed that he had not inherited any of these traits. Marca Christiana had also said that he mostly looked like his father, Tarjei Lind of the Ice People, in personality and disposition. The only difference was that Mikael was far more absent-minded and often walked about in a daydream. After he had met Tancred Paladin, he sensed that there was another world, a different world for him. He had his roots in Norway.

Oh, God, how he longed to be in Norway! Imagine meeting the Ice People, and other people who were like him; getting to know more about himself; discovering his qualities and why he felt different. Marca Christiana had said that his father, Tarjei, had many fine qualities, and she had never been able to fully make him out.

‘I can’t make myself out, either’ thought Mikael bitterly.

He now stood in front of the open gates to the large estate. He looked up and started because a black figure was standing on the balcony. It was a woman and she stood out sharply against the snow and the white house. Everything was white, apart from this tall figure, all in black. Surely nobody lived in the house? Everything was so cold and deserted and virgin snow covered the driveway to the house.

The woman gazed at him, puzzled and intent. The distance was too big for him to be able to see her clearly. Mikael stood for a moment without knowing what he was to do. Then he turned round and walked back to his cold, dismal camp. An elegy about some past tragedy of the village echoed in his mind. ‘I wish I didn’t have such a very vivid imagination,’ he thought, and then everything around him fell silent.

Later that same evening he asked a friend: “Does anybody live in the large estate outside the village?”

“No,” answered the friend, “a German noble family used to live there but they moved before we arrived. You see, the Germans have always been difficult for the Swedish to rule here in Livonia. The Prussian nobility have never acknowledged us as rulers. Nor have they ever acknowledged the Poles.”

“What about the Russians? Will they acknowledge them?”

“I don’t think so. They want to rule Livonia themselves. It’s said that they have crazy ideas that their time has now come. They believe they can become liberated once the Russians, Poles and Swedes have killed one another.”

“That sounds unrealistic. Either one or the other will become the victor and then they’ll be in a tight spot again.”

“The Germans don’t think so. They believe the Russians are interested in Poland, not Livonia.”

“I saw a woman up at the estate today,” said Mikael suddenly.

His friend smiled. “It must have been a ghost. Or a peasant’s wife who wanted to see whether there was anything to steal.”

“No,” said Mikael. “It wasn’t a peasant’s wife, it was an aristocrat. If I’m wrong, I’ll eat my hat.”

“You must have seen an apparition. Did you talk to her?”

“No. I’ll take a look tomorrow and see if she’s still there.”

“Don’t forget to say The Lord’s Prayer first,” smiled the friend.

Sweden was gripped by a mood for war. Gabriel Oxenstierna, who had now become Councillor, had accompanied His majesty on the honourable journey to the battlefield, and his wife was now to join him. Higher-ranking officers often had their wives join them on the field, at an adequate distance from the battle lines, of course.

Marca Christiana was excited at the thought of the journey. If everything went well, she might have the opportunity of seeing her beloved Löwenstein again.

When the campaign first began, she had been unable to join her husband because she had just given birth to a son, the third in a row. Now he was almost a year old and was to remain at home in Sweden together with his brothers and a collection of nannies. She would miss the young boys, but she and Gabriel had agreed that she needed a break from the usual crowds and intrigues at Court. It could be a strain at times, especially for a foreigner.

She spent most of her time at Mörby Castle north of Stockholm. When Gabriel was on duty as Councillor, they would often reside at the Royal Palace in Stockholm, but Marca Christiana much preferred being out in the country. Anette and her son Dominic also lived at Mörby, in the so-called hermitage, which was more like a small castle.

Marca Christiana was packing her clothes for the journey. Her face looked concerned as she recollected the last conversation she and her husband had had before his departure.

“Gabriel, shouldn’t Mikael be on his way back home soon?” she had shouted from her room.

“No, not yet. The more time he spends in the field, the quicker he’ll advance through the ranks.”

‘Surely there’s more to life than officers’ ranks,’ she thought.

“But he’s been away for four years now!” she said. “He’s never seen his son, Dominic. And... ”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like the way the French viscount waits on Anette. She seems flattered. I don’t like it.”

Gabriel Oxenstierna had entered her room. He was still young and handsome with the broad, dark eyebrows, so characteristic of his kin.

“Is that so? Well, we’d better look into it. Mikael must be in Livonia by now.”

“Is that where we’re to disembark?”

“No, we’ll disembark at Szczecin or Königsberg, which is not very far from there.”

“Have you heard from Mikael at all?”

“They say he’s doing well. Conscientious and quiet. A good soldier.”

“Well, the real question is, is he alright? His letters seem to say so, but reading between the lines I think something’s wrong.”

“Nonsense! You’ve always had such a lively imagination. I like his letters, they are short and typical of men in the military. Mikael is developing in the right direction. He’s bound to thrive at what’s he doing. When I was in the battlefield... ”

Marca Christiana closed her ears to her husband’s stories of his life as a soldier. She had heard them umpteen times before. How wonderful that he was soon to experience something new in this respect!

She was wondering whether she would need her bottle-green riding habit on the journey when she heard somebody in the hall. Oh, it was Anette and the boy! She smiled.

“Do come in, Anette. I’m in the middle of packing, you are more than welcome to help me choose the right clothing!”

For a while, they were focused on Marca Christiana’s clothes, but then they sat down to talk. Anette looked admiringly at her young son who was playing on the floor. She adored him. Her whole existence revolved around the boy, and she was so absorbed in him that Marca Christiana would occasionally shake her head admonishingly.

“It’s not good to focus on him like that,” she said. “Neither for you nor him.”

“No, but he’s just so wonderful,” said Anette defensively.

“Of course he is. But it’s a shame that Mikael can’t enjoy him while he’s young.”

She stretched out her arms towards the little boy who came over to her at once. Dominic would soon be four years old.

‘My word, how time flies,’ thought Marca Christiana.

Anette looked jealous as young Dominic embraced Aunt Marca.

“Mikael?” said Anette absent-mindedly as if she could not really remember who he was. “Well, yes. But Dominic mostly takes after me, doesn’t he.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Marca Christiana slowly. “He has a lot of his Dad in him and even more of his Granddad, Tarjei. Of course, his colouring is yours. But the eyes, Anette - how on earth did he get them? Both you and Mikael have dark eyes but young Dominic... ”

She was silent. The two women looked amazed and ill at ease at the attractive little boy. “I wonder what Mikael will say to that?” murmured Marca Christiana. Marca put him down and he carried on playing on the floor.

Another trait that she had noticed with the child was even more thought-provoking. Since she discovered this particular characteristic with him, she had tested several times to see whether this baffling phenomenon was true, and it was. But it would appear that Anette had not discovered it. Anette was blind to everything other than how sweet and cute her little boy was and how wonderful it was to hold him in her arms.

Marca Christiana thought, ‘Walk over to the window. Go over and bring me my pin cushion, which I’ve forgotten.’

Dominic looked up at her with his peculiar, clear gaze. Then he got up and walked over towards the window. His hands groped at the window sill.

‘The pin cushion,’ thought Marca Christiana. ‘No, not there. There, yes, that’s right!’

Immediately afterwards he walked over to her and handed her the pin cushion. She thanked him.

“Good boy,” said Anette. “Could you really see that Aunt Marca had forgotten her pin cushion there? You’re so clever”

‘Oh, dear. You haven’t grasped it,’ thought Marc Christiana. ‘You’re so ignorant, so unsuspecting and stolid. Am I the one who’s capable of telepathy?’ she wondered. ‘Am I a witch?’

No. She knew that she was perfectly ordinary. She had merely discovered that Dominic was not. She wondered what Mikael would say to that...

Mikael could not get the lonely female figure, dressed in black, out of his mind. If people lived there, maybe they needed help? The following day he was free and walked over to the great estate again. The fields were covered in fresh snow and the only footprints he saw were his own.

The estate was surrounded by the trees of the park and fine, tall birch trees stood outside the house. His eyes sought the woman but the balcony was desolate. He didn’t know whether he was disappointed or relieved. Maybe it was just a vision?

As usual, he stopped by the gate. There were tracks and trails in the snow this time – a small, twisted track that came from the house and disappeared under the bushes next to the fence.

An animal. A cat? No, it wasn’t a cat. Could it be a fox? The paws were too small and round. Foxes make long marks with traces of claws first and they always walk straight. They don’t roll from side to side like these tracks.

The woman from the balcony was nowhere to be seen. It was a dark day and grey clouds hung low in the sky. Would there be more snowfall? A weak whimper reached Mikael. It sounded somewhat pathetic. He looked towards the bushes.

A small creature, nervous and insecure, came hesitantly towards him. A puppy that could be no more than a few weeks old. It had put its tail between its legs, as if it expected to be beaten, but still couldn’t help getting close to human beings.

Mikael squatted down and spoke softly to the puppy. Like most of Silje’s descendants, he had a soft spot for animals, and this poor, miserable puppy looked as if it needed lots of love. After much hesitation, the little dog came over to him.

Mikael could not tell what kind of dog it was, but it was not a crossbreed. He was sure of that. It was a pedigree dog – you could see it in the way it was built. He was sorry that he hadn’t brought some food with him.

The puppy lay on its back, twisting and turning in total subjugation. Mikael lifted the little creature, held its four, tiny, freezing cold paws with the one hand and chatted with it. The little dog shivered because it was so cold.

“You’ve been out for far too long, little friend,” said Mikael gently. “I can see that you’re a little male dog. And you’re weak – I can feel your ribs. That’s not how a puppy’s stomach should be. It’s supposed to be round and satisfied.”

He looked up in the direction of the estate. He decided that he now had a pretext to walk up to it.

Mikael had no idea that he was being observed. Three pairs of eyes followed his path through the snow.

“That damned puppy,” said a German voice. “How did it get out? I thought you’d wrung its neck a long time ago. Now the troublesome Swedish soldier’s coming up here. What do we do now?”

“Why don’t we try to make use of him?” a woman’s voice answered. “He can tell us about the plans of the Swedish King, and we can pass it on to the Russians. Then maybe we’ll be allowed to stay here.”

“Brilliant idea! God knows that we could really use this fine house. I’m fed up of belonging to the poorest branch of the family.”

“Fed up of being bossed about,” nodded his wife. Then she turned towards the third person present: “Birgitte, it will be your job to take care of the Swede. Try and get whatever you can out of him about the war plans of the Swedes against Poland, about their rule here in Livonia and their relationship with the Tzar. It’s bound to be bad news.”

Birgitte nodded. “You can trust me, Mum.”

Mikael walked up to the main entrance of the estate. The only tracks in the snow were those the puppy had made. He hugged the shivering puppy closely and was puzzled by the ugly wounds on its small body. Mikael could see now that the tracks had come from the back of the house. However, he thought it best to knock on the main door.

His knocks echoed in the large house. He was just about to give up and was thinking of going to the back of the house when he heard quick steps inside and the door was opened. A young girl looked at him with a curious expression on her face.

She was so sweet that for a moment Mikael lost his composure. He just stared. Blonde hair framed a beautiful face with big, dark blue eyes.

The girl was the first one to say anything. “Oh, you’ve found my little dear,” she chirped, lifting the puppy from him. It let out a weak whimper. She squeezed and chatted softly to it while expressing how surprised she was at the way it looked. “Oh, dear. Whatever has happened to you, my little darling? Where have you been all this time?”

Mikael tried to explain. German was his mother tongue, so he had no problem speaking the language. “I found it here outside the gate and felt that it needed to be taken care of. I just wanted to know whether it belongs here.”

“Yes, it’s mine and it’s been missing for several days. But do come in. Thank you so very much.”

“Well, I ...”

“No, do come in so that evil eyes won’t see us. You see, the Russians can come at any moment, so we pretend that we’re not home.”

“But how can you not keep a fire?” he asked. “I’ve never seen any smoke from the chimneys here.”

“That is because we live in a small house in the middle of the yard. It’s so low that the smoke dissolves before it reaches above the roof of the big house. So you can’t see it from the road. But do come into the drawing room. We’ve lit candles to make the place a little warmer.”

The large hall was freezing cold. Flags and armour were mounted on the walls, dating back to the Knights of the Sword and the Teutonic Order. A few helmets were decorated with horns, and looked as if they had belonged to grotesque, evil knights from the underworld.

They entered a large hall that was probably the banqueting hall and into a more pleasant parlour. The furniture here was also extremely old, but cozy. Nevertheless, Mikael could not help feeling that he had wandered into a dream world, from days long gone by.

Two people got up and welcomed him. Mikael looked searchingly at them without saying a word. The woman was short and stocky. She could not have been the one he had seen on the balcony. Then it must have been the daughter, although he didn’t think that the figure on the balcony had looked like a young girl, more like a dignified older woman. But then appearances can be deceptive.

The man was also plump and the top of his head was as shiny as a marble ball. Although he seemed quite friendly, his smile did not reach his eyes.

A servant entered and the older lady ordered refreshments that were then brought to the young Swede. He had no chance to decline. They were so considerate and talked so incessantly that there was never any opportunity for him to object. He soon found himself sat at a table filled with dishes he had not tasted in years. Once more he had to explain how he had found the dog. It sat in the daughter’s lap and although it could have been his imagination, it seemed to Mikael that the puppy was looking at him in desperation, appealing to him for something.

They told him that they were members of an extremely old German family of knights, that they were the last descendants and that if they left the estate to its own fate, they might lose it. This was why they had remained and their intention was to defend it against the terrible Russians at any cost.

Mikael saw a movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw a woman standing at the top of the gallery that ran along one wall. He was just about to greet her, but she put her fingers to her lips and shook her head. His hosts sat with their backs towards the gallery so they hadn’t seen the woman. She clearly didn’t want to be seen either.

It was her - the woman from the balcony! There was no doubt about it. She was youngish, tall, pale, straight-backed like a born aristocrat and completely dressed in black. She possessed a unique, vague beauty that was impossible to describe. Crisp and fleeting like a note of music.

Mikael listened to the plump lady on the sofa. “I’m sure you realise that little Birgitte feels so lonely here,” she said. “It’s so nice for her to see somebody of her own age. There’s nobody of her rank in this small peasant village.”

Mikael knew very well that there were very few places where the contrast between the nobility and the peasantry was bigger than here in Livonia, a stronghold of the old Teutonic Order. The poor peasants had been harshly subjugated for centuries. Keeping Birgitte company wouldn’t bother him at all. She was the sweetest girl he had ever seen, and the quick, shy smiles she sent him hit him right in the pit of his stomach.

Mikael had never been in love. All the symptoms that love poets had described so elaborately came to him, one after the other, as he sat there at the table and was hardly able to concentrate on the conversation. He gleaned that the family name of his hosts was von Steierhorn and their kin could be traced back to the Knights Templar when the Teutonic Order of Knights had fought side by side with the Knights of the Sword. This estate had a fantastic history. The house had been rebuilt and enlarged several times but the centre – the hall and the banqueting hall – still stood from the time when the Knights of the Teutonic Order fought Alexander Nevsky at Lake Peipus, which was not all that far away.

’I sensed there was real grandeur and history to this place,’ thought Mikael.

When the parents had ascertained that the young ensign was receptive to their daughter’s beauty, they retired, claiming that they had affairs to attend to. However, they asked him to stay and keep their daughter company a little longer.

Birgitte knew the art of entertaining an admirer. She conversed easily and effortlessly and Mikael felt that he had never before spent such a pleasant time with anyone.

“I’m afraid that you won’t be staying here for very much longer, Mr. Mikael,” she said, pouting. “Sooner or later people leave this godforsaken place. Will you be on your way to Poland?”

He opened his mouth and was about to answer when, once more, he caught sight of the figure on the gallery. She had been standing motionless the whole time but now she shook her head in warning.

“To Poland?” said Mikael slowly. “I don’t know. We’re never told where we’ll be posted in advance.”

Birgitte shrugged her shoulders and changed the topic. The woman upstairs withdrew.

When Mikael said that he could not stay any longer, she asked him, if possible, to return the following day.

“I’d be happy to, Miss Birgitte!”

He lifted the puppy up from her lap, gently caressing it. “Do see to treating its wounds,” Mikael said. “And give it a proper meal. It suffered out there.”

“I will. Let me follow you to the door.”

Mikael put the puppy down. “I’ll be back again tomorrow to see how you’re doing,” he promised the little dog. Then he followed Birgitte out and into the hall.

“The armour pieces are impressive,” he said to draw out the time. He didn’t want to part from this attractive being.

“Yes, they are, aren’t they? I always stand in awe when I look at it. This one belonged to my ancestor, the first von Steierhorn, and this one was carried by the most famous of them all. He took part in the battle on Lake Peipus. Do take a closer look at the armour – from the damage it has suffered, you can tell that he was killed on the battlefield. This one is newer. It dates back to the Battle at Tannenberg in 1410 when the Knights of the Teutonic Order were unjustly defeated by the Poles. Mr. Wilfred, who owned this piece of armour, was killed at Tannenberg. Then his wife, the beautiful Magda, bravely defended this estate against all attacks. After the Teutonic Order of Knights fell, the properties were the lawful bounty of the Poles. However, she and her people succeeded in warding off the enemy, and when she was convinced that the estate was in safety, she drew her last breath from the grief of losing her deceased spouse.”

Mikael frowned. “I’ve never believed that you can die from grief. You can’t just lie down and pass away simply because you want to.”

Birgitte laughed. “It almost sounds as if it’s something you’d like to try – just to be allowed to die?”

“Yes,” said Mikael, baffled. “I suppose I do. But not now, not anymore,” he finished with a laugh.

He said goodbye and promised to return. Then Mikael Lind of the Ice People returned to his camp with a spring in his step.