C6 Chapter 6

Mikael hurried home to the camp in the early hours of dawn, accompanied by his own rapid heartbeat. Don’t dwell on it; don’t dwell on it; don’t dwell on it, his heartbeat told him.

Home? Where was home anyway? Was it the farm the Swedish troops had confiscated, and where they all slept in makeshift beds crawling with bugs? The puppy whimpered in his arms. Home? What did it even mean? The word was lost on him. Gosh, how he hated this place! It seemed that he was doomed to live there forever.

He was plagued with thoughts and imaginings as he made his way back to the camp. He had to get away from the estate as fast as he could! His breathing was laboured. No matter how fast he ran, his thoughts always managed to catch up with him. The puppy whimpered in his arms and he loosened his tight grip on the dog.

‘That’s why the woman was wondering who I was’, he thought. ‘Because I could see her! It had clearly never happened before. Good God, who am I? I’m one of the Ice People... and Tancred had said they were a special race.

Perhaps it was all a daydream. But the estate exists, I can see it. The estate must have been smaller when she lived there, but a pivotal part of the old estate still existed: the hall and the banqueting hall. That was where she might have stood when the news of Wilfred the Knight’s death at Tannenberg reached her. Maybe she went out to the main street to meet his funeral procession. Maybe she heard the rattling of armour from the sad march of warriors returning with their fallen commander.’

He heard the lament again, and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Magda must have gathered all her strength to defend the estate against the advancing armies. When the danger had blown over, she gave up on a life that no longer offered her anything. Yes, now he believed that it was possible to die from grief. To simply wither away. She was bound to have been able to do so, that strong-willed woman in black, Magda von Steierhorn...

He had not spoken the name aloud. But it seemed that it echoed across the deserted village like a cry of sorrow and despair.

Once again her beloved estate had been under threat, this time from within, by soldiers of fortune and vandals. She had looked on, powerless to do anything because she was only a spirit. Then he, Mikael Lind of the Ice People, had come. She had stood on the balcony and discovered that he could actually see her! No wonder she was amazed. Then she decided to make use of it. He was young and strong and courteous enough to obey any order from a lady. She was unable to move posts, open doors or light fires. But he could.

Of course, Birgitte had not seen her when they met on the way up to the house and nobody else had either. Maybe nobody had ever seen her in the two hundred and fifty years she had been buried in the small chapel, and her spirit had kept a vigil over the whole estate... But Mikael of the Ice People had seen her. No wonder he had always frozen in her presence. No wonder she could stand on the dilapidated gallery without it collapsing under her. Mikael was sure that she had wished her own, distant relatives to be dead, but this wish had not been fulfilled. She had clearly been satisfied with the return of the rightful owner, the one who had been locked up to die.

Was the gust of wind that started the fire her doing? He would swear on that, even if he couldn’t figure out how it had happened. Surely, she would never have set fire to her own, beloved estate? Perhaps it was all an accident.

The thoughts were buzzing in his head. He despaired because it was all beyond him. His mind was in chaos and he felt sick from all the bizarre things that had happened last night. Now he had reached the dreadful camp. He tucked the puppy underneath his tunic. Mikael entered his room just as the others were getting out of bed. He returned their greetings with an unintelligible murmur and flopped on his bed. Because he was an ensign, he was given one of the few beds, while the privates slept on the floor in bunks that reeked of sweat.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked his nearest bedfellow, a lieutenant.

“I don’t know,” answered Mikael. He looked in surprise at his trembling hands.

“Where have you been all night? And what the hell is that? A dog?”

Mikael held even more firmly to the puppy. “It’s mine. It’s got nobody but me. You mustn’t take it from me.”

“What a miserable little dog. Is that something to write home about?”

“It’s mine, it’s mine,” Mikael repeated agitatedly. “A life! Do you understand? A life to take care of.”

His comrades left the room hastily. Mikael remained in bed, shaking all over. He stroked the puppy roughly.

The lieutenant returned with the chief-of-command and the barber-surgeon.

“What’s wrong?” asked the major. “What's wrong with you, Mikael?”

Mikael was unable to reply. His teeth were chattering. He only stared at them defensively. Nobody was allowed to take the puppy!

“Now, you must pull yourself together,” said the major. “We’ve been told that the Tzar’s troops are standing at Peipus. We must be on our way today and ride to Poland as swiftly as possible and warn King Carl Gustav. We’ll be taking part in the campaign in Poland.”

Mikael’s head was aching and in turmoil. A campaign! That could last several months, maybe even years. The thought of it had filled him with loathing from day one. It would get him away from the village, but it also meant entering the war! Filth, disease, war, death, coarse witticisms, people he didn’t care for; orders that had to be obeyed; orders that had to be given; nowhere to go or be oneself. ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life,’ he thought, ‘I’m a failure, worthless, meaningless, displaced... war, war, war.’

“No!”

Mikael let out a heart-rending scream that went on and on. His lungs were hurting; he fought against people who were trying to hold him down. There were many shouts and screams in his ears, but he screamed even louder. Somewhere, a frightened puppy was yelping. Mikael’s legs were tied, his arms placed behind his back. He could feel tears on his cheeks, embarrassing tears, but he couldn’t stop them.

“You mustn’t take the puppy from me,” he yelled. “You mustn’t take the puppy from me! It needs me! It needs me!”

Then all was quiet.

When he opened his eyes, the barber-surgeon sat by his bed. He was a tough, seasoned man, who never minced his words if he sensed that the soldiers were trying to avoid danger. But in this instance, he could see that this was serious.

“Well, Mikael? Can you talk properly now? What’s wrong?”

Mikael had worn his voice out and could only whisper: “Four years. For more than four years I’ve lived a life that I’ve loathed from the first moment. I can’t cope with it any more.”

“What happened?”

“Where’s my dog?”

“It peed on the floor so the men put it out.”

Panic very nearly got the better of him once more. What if they had... He tried to lift his head. “Fetch it! Immediately!”

His obvious anxiety convinced the barber-surgeon, who got up with a sigh. A man walked in with the miserable little dog, and Mikael asked that it be placed by his feet. The barber-surgeon sat down again.

“Now, tell me!”

Mikael could feel how the puppy pressed itself under his knee where it snuggled up. This made Mikael feel calm. “Something... happened,” he began hesitantly. “Up at the estate, you see. Something so unfathomable and unlikely that I can’t talk about it, because I fear you’ll laugh at me. But people live there, you know. We need to go up and arrest some criminals, who tried to take the estate from the owner and kill him. I’ve promised that.”

The barber-surgeon gave Mikael a doubtful look. “We’ll be leaving the village now. Don’t you think they can deal with it themselves?”

“Yes,” said Mikael after a moment’s pause. He was so tired, depressed and in despair that he could hardly get the words out. “But then they need to be told. I’ve promised ...”

“That’s okay. Anyway, we’ll send a couple of men up into the village to tell them that the Russians are on their way.”

“Yes, please do! Immediately!”

The barber-surgeon got up and returned soon after. “I’ve left a message,” he said calmly. “But what do we do with you, Mikael? You’re not in any shape to ride all those miles.”

A wave of horror and nausea overwhelmed Mikael. Would he be left in the village beneath the roaring sky? With a ghost that followed him, with Birgitte that filled him with revolt, revulsion and shame? Was he to be left forever in a village that was doomed? Was he the only one who knew why it was doomed?

“I can ride,” he said hoarsely. “You mustn’t leave me in this damn place. I can manage to ride. I’ve calmed down now.”

The barber-surgeon seemed doubtful. “In your case I’d say that four years is certainly too much. There are mercenaries who haven’t been back home for twenty years, but they’re made of different stuff. You’re probably not a born soldier. You’re something else, though God knows what that is. I don’t think the army will have much more use for you. So we’d better see to it that you’re sent home.”

“So I won’t be taking part in the campaign in Poland then?”

“No, not as far as I’m concerned.”

Mikael leaned back, exhausted, on his pillow. “Oh, thank God!”

“Well, well! Now I’ve been promoted to God,” smiled the barber-surgeon. “My patients call me all sorts of things, but ‘God’ is a first!”

He summoned a couple of men. “You can loosen this man’s ties now. The crisis is over.”

Day after day they rode eastward. Mikael had made a small basket for the puppy so that it could join him on horseback. He dedicated all his time to the little creature, isolating himself completely from the other soldiers, and they let him be in peace. Among themselves, they said that he was somewhat odd because of this business with the dog, but they were wrong. It was, in fact, the dog that had saved him from insanity.

The barber-surgeon had given the dog medicine and gradually it began to get better. It no longer seemed to have pain in its ears, the wounds were healing, and its zest for life returned. It would probably turn into quite a big dog by the look of its big, clumsy paws. Mikael called him Troll.

Mikael was not given any duties. He was finished being a soldier now and would have had a more relaxed relationship with his comrades if his thoughts and senses were not so confused. The night at the estate had had an impact on him. Deep inside him lurked an anxiety, and Mikael knew that he would not find peace anywhere.

His life lay behind him like a stream that flowed slowly. He had only felt truly alive in fleeting moments. The meeting with Tancred Paladin, Marca Christiana’s lively presence, the puppy, the crush he had had on Birgitte.

He didn’t want to think of her anymore. His heart was filled with discomfort as soon as his thoughts touched upon her. It was not because of the crime against the real estate owner or the fact that she had deceived Mikael with her charms, knowing that he was naive and lonely. It was the brutal kick she had dealt the dog. That had killed all feelings for her.

The puppy meant everything to him. Without realising it himself, it symbolised something he had neglected or never had the chance to show these last four years: consideration for another living being. How were you to show it when you were forced to go to war to kill and maim?

Mikael had always been considerate as a boy, in gratitude to everyone who took care of him. Juliana had taken care of the orphaned child he once was. Johan Banér had taken pity on him, although he had no reason for doing so. Johan’s sister, Anna, who was married to Reich Admiral Oxenstierna, had been the next in line. Then Marca Christiana, his foster sister, and her husband. All along, Mikael had fought hard to please everybody, even setting his regard for others above his own well-being.

But consideration wasn’t love, and he deeply wanted to love. He had just been thwarted so far. For Anette, the wife he had never wanted, he could give no more than consideration. Birgitte, on the other hand, he had wanted to drown in pure, unsullied love – or so he had thought. For her, he would have done anything. But she had not been worthy of his love.

The dog, however, had nobody except him. It responded to his care with unselfish affection, which touched him deeply. As when it tucked its nose to his throat, sighing with pleasure, or when it humbly licked his hand, trying to obey his will even before he had even said anything. He loved the little creature.

Deep in his heart, he knew that the dog was merely a substitute for the son he had created without love. The son he had never seen and could never think about without getting a bad conscience. He had never loved the child’s mother, so, how was he supposed to regard the son as his?

The barber-surgeon sensed that everything was still not as it should be with Mikael Lind of the Ice People. His breakdown had released an enormous pressure inside him, there was no doubt about that, but something was still wrong with the young man. The pressure had built up from his hatred of being a soldier, which he had been thrown into at much too young an age, but there was more to it than that. Neither the barber-surgeon nor Mikael knew what the problems were. They were deep-seated and would take time to be revealed.

Mikael parted from the Swedish troops near Königsberg. The others were to proceed towards the south because after Warsaw had been conquered, King Carl Gustav and his men had continued to Krakow, where they robbed priceless treasures from churches and castles.

Despite widespread fear, the Russian army did not yet pose a danger to the Swedes. It was Poland, which was gathering momentum and ready to offer resistance, that was a threat. That country had immense human resources. The whole of the Ukraine belonged to Poland, and an army of Cossacks and Tatars came from there, placing themselves under the command of the Polish noblemen. Carl Gustav X began to realise that conquering the entire country would be more difficult than he had anticipated.

But Mikael didn’t care about any of it. He ignored the world around him and focused on the puppy. He arrived at Königsberg completely exhausted. A ship lay in the port ready to take wounded Swedish soldiers home. More of these ships were expected. After much discussion, Mikael managed to get the puppy with him on board. It cost him his best shirt and all his weapons. They set off and a few weeks later, with immense relief, Mikael saw the coast of Poland disappear. For him, the life of a soldier was now over. Or so he hoped.

By this time, spring had come, the air was warmer, and the ice had broken up along the coasts of the Baltic. On their way, they met a ship that – without their knowing it – brought sad tidings to Marca Christiana and her husband. Their two youngest sons had died of measles. They had been in the Riddarholms Church, and their coats of arms had been put up in Fasterna Church by Mörby. Now, all the Oxenstierna couple had was their eldest son.

When Marca Christiana was told about all this, it was too late for her to journey home. She was pregnant once more, and Gabriel Oxenstierna saw to it that she was sent to some relatives in Marienburg in Prussia. There she would spend her pregnancy in immense sorrow, saddened that she was unable to journey home to her only son and scared that, he too, would be torn away from her before she could return home.

But Mikael had no idea about Marca Christiana’s tragedy when he arrived home to Anette’s house by Mörby Castle one early summer’s day in 1656. He walked up the garden path with a pounding heart. His steps were slow, his soul filled with distaste.

The puppy, which was now fairly big, jumped about and sniffed while keeping an eye on Mikael. The two of them had shared ups and downs for several months now, standing together against snide remarks and abuse onboard the ship, travelling up through Sweden on horseback or on foot. Mikael had always shared the bits of food he had with the dog.

The house was a former hunting lodge, and it was beautiful – but then Marca Christiana would not have chosen anything else for them. A nobleman might not consider it big, but the peasants would have said that it was grand.

‘This isn’t my home,’ he thought. ‘I don’t know it at all. Nor do I know the woman or the child that live here. They don’t wish me back at all. I won’t be welcome.’

With a sigh of anxiety, he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. He was let in by a servant who looked confused, but then let out a scream when she realised who it was.

He was barely a seventeen year-old boy when he had left home almost five years ago. Now he was a man as he stepped over the threshold on this day.

Anette came out. She stared at him. His homecoming was most unexpected and she thanked the Virgin Mary that it was yesterday the French viscount had visited her. Not that there was anything between them, but the situation could easily have been misunderstood...

She did not remember her husband being so tall and handsome! Mikael had a well-groomed beard that suited him quite well. He was now of a stronger build and more confident, yet the expression in his eyes frightened her. He had a burning glance, tormented and wounded from unknown experiences. He seemed so absent-minded.

His clothes were worn; the scarf was no longer as white as it should be; the leather in his boots was cracked, and over the short, worn cape that was fastened at the shoulders, was a layer of dust. Even so, she had never seen a man make such a masculine impression. A strange, sad man had entered into her house and her life. She shuddered with fear.

“Welcome back!” she said, her smile trembling.

“Thank you.”

His voice had also turned deeper.

“Come into the drawing room!”

She went before him. She didn’t know what to say.

“Marca and Uncle Gabriel found this house for us.”

“It’s nice.”

He looked at his wife and could not feel anything for this fragile being with the arched eyebrows and deep-set eyes. She may not have been as slender around the waist as before, but she was very well-groomed and almost embarrassingly well-dressed. He felt total despair.

‘Am I always, always to walk alone through life?’ he thought.

This was one of the things that bothered Mikael and which was now revealed to him in all its hopelessness. He could never heal his loneliness because he always felt like a stranger with other people, especially in his own house.

In order to conceal her embarrassment, Anette bent down and patted the dog. It seemed that she felt a genuine love for animals. He had to admit that. For a while they spoke awkwardly about little Troll. He told her how lonely it had been and how he had carried it with him all the way from Livonia and Poland, across the Baltic Sea and through Sweden.

“Did they really kick him?” asked Anette, shocked.

“Yes. Can he live here?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask that. It’s your house after all!”

She rose after squatting in front of the dog.

“But why are you here? Is the war over?” she asked.

“No, but I was demobilised.”

Her smile paled. “Surely you’re not ill then?”

“Not physically.”

Anette shuddered. Sick in the mind? Was that what he meant?

Mikael could see her concern. ”I had been a soldier for too long ... and I broke down. I might as well tell it as it is.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “You look tired.”

“I know. I need some rest.”

“Well, you’ll be allowed to do just that.”

He sensed her confusion. How was she to house him, a sick stranger, in this small house?

Suddenly she turned towards him. “Goodness, you haven’t even seen ...”

“Dominic!” she shouted up the stairs. “Please come down!”

He noticed the gentle, loving tone in her voice, but also sensed a hint of anxiety. What was she afraid of?

Small, eager steps could be heard upstairs. A small boy about four years old stopped halfway down the stairs and looked at the stranger.

“Here’s your... Dad, Dominic,” said Anette, though she could hardly get the words out.

Now Mikael understood the nervous edge to her voice. She loved her child and was afraid of losing him.

Dominic was certainly a lovely boy. He had a gentle, half-inquisitive smile as he turned and looked at Mikael. His hair was dark and curly and had a tinge of copper. His features were fine and he was dressed in expensive velvet with embroidery... Mikael frowned. There was something about his eyes. What was it? He had never seen anything like it before. They shone like gold! Like amber.

The boy gave Mikael a nervous, puzzled smile. Mikael pulled himself together and moved closer.

“Hi, Dominic,” he said. “Your Mum has written and told me about you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

The boy walked down the stairs. He stretched out his hand politely and bowed deeply. “Hello, Dad.”

It was as if the words went straight to Mikael’s heart. The child he had never felt anything for now had form and substance and stood right before him. He was, after all, a stranger, but now he was real. From now on, Mikael would be able to see him before his mind’s eye. He was no longer merely a word, a pang of guilt.

Now it was up to Mikael to fill his role as a Dad without Anette having reason to be jealous or afraid that he would take the little boy’s love from her. How was he to do that, anyway? She had a four-year advantage.

“I’ve brought a puppy with me,” said Mikael gently. “It’s ever so sweet. Would you like to say ‘hello’ to it?”

While the puppy broke the ice, Anette hurried out into the kitchen to bring Mikael some food. She was confused and shaken, but mostly over her own thoughts. Now she realised that in her heart of hearts, she had wished that Mikael wouldn’t return. Maybe even that she would receive word that he had fallen on the battlefield. Then she would be free to marry somebody who she had been able to get to know and, more importantly, love. Or perhaps she could just be free to live alone with her beloved son. They had no need for a man in the house!

When she realised that this was what she had wished, she was so shocked at herself that she had to sit down in the butler’s pantry until her dizziness subsided. Mikael had not deserved that! He had always sent kind letters to her. Impersonal and absent-minded, but always kind letters.

‘I’m not a bad person,’ she thought. ‘I don’t wish death on anybody! But I don’t know the man. We slept together just one single night almost five years ago, and we were nothing more than children then, horrified at having been forced together like that. What does he really want of me?’

She pulled herself together and went out into the kitchen where she told the staff to put a proper meal on the table because the master of the house had come home. She tried to return the smiles the maids gave her along with their congratulations.

She had to stop outside the door to the drawing room while taking a few deep breaths before she was able to walk in. She let her hands glide over her dress, smoothing the creases that were not there, and straightening her hair.

She knew that she was not particularly attractive. But she had a few strong points: her dignified charm and her fragile appearance, her slight figure and her large, dark eyes.

She resolutely opened the door and entered with an artificial smile. But her smile died immediately when she heard the words which Dominic had just spoken to Mikael. They were both on their knees in front of the puppy, which rolled around in delight.

“You’re much taller and dirtier than Uncle Henri, Dad.”

‘Mon Dieu,’ thought Anette. ‘He mustn’t mention Henri, not now.’

“You seem to be getting to know one another,” Anette said hurriedly. “Food will be on the table in a moment ...Maybe you’d like to wash yourself and change, Mi-Mi-kael?”

Oh, dear, she was not used to saying his name! Learning the Swedish pronunciation with the stress on the first syllable and almost equal stress on the two last syllables was so difficult. French as she was, she found it more natural to say ‘Mikell’ or, what she would have liked the most, Michel.

He got up and stood there, overwhelmingly tall and masculine and strangely wild to look at. Anette was hardly able to concentrate. “Dominic, you’re to go and wash your hands because you’ve patted the dog.”

The boy obeyed immediately.

“I haven’t got any other clothes, Anette,” said Mikael quietly.

“Oh, uh ... uh ... well, then I don’t know. There aren’t any here. We must get some, they probably have some clothes at Mörby ...”

She stopped.

“But I’d like to wash myself,” he said quickly to get her out of a tight spot. “If it’s okay with you that I sit at table in these clothes?”

“Of course.”

She fled into the kitchen once more and let Mikael figure out how he could be washed. Dominic helped him, and then the meal could begin. None of the grown-ups commented that Dominic fed the dog at the table. Anette did not dare to, because Mikael might think that she didn’t like the dog, and Mikael was afraid of destroying the fragile bond with his son.

It was easy to see that Dominic was an intelligent boy. Mikael was a little irritated at seeing that Anette fussed over him all the time, but the boy seemed to take the exaggerated love and attention with utter calm. The dog was invaluable as a buffer between them all, and Dominic was thrilled when the dog took the food from his hand.

Many times, Mikael would look up and meet his son’s eyes. Those yellow eyes! Where did that peculiar colour come from? And they seemed so... clear-sighted. No, that was the wrong description. Searching. His eyes were searching... For what, though?

Mikael was so tired. Only now that his journey had come to an end was he able to sense how exhausted he really was. He felt a physical fatigue that threatened to knock him down on the spot. He could hardly concentrate. Each thought was a major effort, and his hands moved slowly across the table at the end of his leaden arms.

“Dad’s tired,” said Dominic.

Anette was in the middle of a long account of the measles and the tragedy of Marca Christiana’s two sons and how scared she had been that Dominic might suffer likewise.

“He seems so strong though. Of course, he had measles but- what did you say, Dominic? Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t seem to understand anything. But... what are we to do? Where will you sleep, Mikael? There’s only ...”

“Dad can sleep in my room,” said Dominic. “Then I can sleep with Mum.”

Anette heaved a sigh of relief. “Yes, of course. That’s a good solution. Your bed’s big enough for Dad.”

“Is it possible to draw the curtains there?”

“Yes, you can,” she answered, puzzled.

“And the room is right above this room, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She immediately called the chambermaid, who hurried upstairs to prepare the room. By now, Mikael was so tired that he was beginning to be very frightened.

“The dog,” he said with an effort.

“We’ll take care of the dog,” said Anette calmly. “Don’t worry – it will be treated like a lord!”

He liked her for her obvious concern for the dog. Not like Birgitte’s silly way of caressing the puppy, which was artificial. But for Anette, it seemed that taking care of the dog was the natural thing to do.

“Thank you,” he said with a tired smile.

The chambermaid came downstairs and said that the room was ready.

“I feel so impolite ...” began Mikael.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Anette hurriedly. “The main thing is that you get some rest. I’ll ...” She swallowed and tried once more. “I want so much for you to feel well.”

A slow smile lit his gaunt face. “Thank you. I’m sure I will. And ... thank you for taking care of Dominic and bringing him up so well.”

He had thought of saying “our son,” but couldn’t get the words out. They would have alluded to an intimacy that wasn’t there. But she still smiled happily at his thanks.

Five minutes later, Mikael was asleep. He had not had time to take a bath. The small wash he had had before dinner seemed terribly insufficient now as he crawled down between the snow-white sheets, and he rested his head on the clean pillow.

‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.’ That was his last thought before he fell asleep.