Читать книгу The Ice People 14 - The Knight - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

While the glittering, colourful ball was taking place in the hall, the castle’s commandant stood next to the court physician, gazing over the courtyard from a window in the stairway.

“I see that all your men are on guard today,” the physician said.

The commandant looked about to make sure nobody could hear him. Then he said:

“Yes. An occasion like this one is always difficult. His Majesty is in greater danger now than usual.”

The commandant was a nondescript person. A man in uniform. Middle-aged, of average height, average in every way. The physician was rounder, more interested in people noticing him and therefore dressed more ostentatiously, with an authoritatively protruding chin. However, there was nothing unsympathetic about either of them.

“You haven’t got hold of them yet?” the court physician asked discreetly.

“No. All we hear are rumours. Rumours and gossip. But we daren’t let up on our vigilance.”

“I can well understand. If only half of what is talked about in corners is true, then they’re extremely dangerous.”

They looked over the streets of the city, on the other side of the courtyard. There, where it faced the street, the courtyard was bordered with dense leafy trees that cast deep shadows over the gates. A small inn stood in the deep shadows and under the trees they could make out three men in dark capes. Three men who, because of the shadows, seemed unnaturally tall.

“They’re the ones people are whispering about, right?” the court physician asked in a low voice as if the men could hear them.

The commandant shuddered slightly. “They’ve been standing there for a week now. My men have approached them, but before they reach them, they disappear. As if they were all nothing but ... shadows. An optical illusion from the castle up here.”

“And you assume that they belong to the secret order?”

“Assume?” The commandant was slightly hesitant in his reply. “That’s what’s being said.”

“What is it this sect call themselves: ‘Guardians of the true religion’?”

“No, no. It’s not a sect but an order. They call themselves ‘The Guardians of the Rightful Throne’.”“An attack on the King then. Do they have another candidate for the throne?”

“It’s much worse than that!”

“I know so little about them,” the physician said. “Don’t they have an air of occultism about them?”

“Yes, precisely. But you know how rumours can distort things.”

“Sometimes it’s wise to listen to the rumours. Tell me about them. I’m no better myself.”

The commandant smiled wryly. Then he turned serious. “We’ve many kinds of orders in Denmark. Esoteric ... “

“What does that mean?”

“That they surround themselves in secrecy and that their rituals are only for the initiates. Most of these societies do good deeds out of the public eye. But these Guardians of the Rightful Throne are a different matter. They’re downright venomous and deadly dangerous. Certainly, according to the rumours about them. Nobody knows anything for certain.”

“What is it that makes them so dangerous?”

“They’ve been digging too deeply. Have you ever heard people speak about the bog men?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The physician smiled. “You mean those creatures that live in bogs and under the moors?”

“The indigenous population of Denmark, yes. Those who lived here before human beings spread into Denmark – and who then went underground. These legends exist in many countries. In Norway they’re called wood spirits. In England and Ireland, they’re known as elves. The Celts knew about them. We also have elves in Denmark.”“What have they to do with the Guardians of the Rightful Throne then? How do they fit with that kind of belief?”

“Now listen. Whether you want to believe this or not is up to you. These Guardians have found old manuscripts, very old things in which a lot of witchcraft is involved. Of course, it’s primitive and stupid. But they follow old rituals, make sacrifices and horrible things of that kind when they gather. Their principle objective is to reinstall the bog men in their rightful place. To give them back their land.”

“Good heavens,” the physician moaned. “Stupid rumours!”

“Well, I’m inclined to believe that it’s these Guardians that are stupid. They’re the ones who believe in the bog men. The rumours assert that the Guardians have been in touch with these mystical indigenous beings. Of course it’s not true, but the Guardians seem to believe in it.”

“What are they actually planning to do?”

“Overthrow the King. Kill him ritually. Then the bog men can occupy the castle and their king can be installed on the throne.”

“But these are old wives’ tales!”

“I’m not so sure. Of course, it’s nothing but fantasy; bog men don’t exist. However, the threat to the King is very real. These fantasists are serious about their objective.”

“Are there many of them?”

“We don’t know.”

“But the castle is well guarded!”

The commandant’s expression became stony. He looked out of the window again at the three long shadows. “There is an unpleasant rumour that they are also inside the castle. That they’ve infiltrated the court and the life guards.”

“Good heavens!” the physician whispered. “That is frightening!”

“If only I could find out where they hold their meetings,” the commandant said absently. “Then we could capture them all at once. It makes no sense to seize one here and another there. They’ll simply multiply like mosquitoes on a summer evening.”

“Well, honestly, I think the rumours must be groundless. An alliance that’s so secretive would never allow so many rumours to escape about itself.”

The commandant looked at him, eyes expressionless. “We know where the rumours come from. We know the source. A young man, more adventurous than intelligent. The day after the Guardians’ existence came out into the open, he was found dead. Hanged head down like a slaughtered animal on a house wall. Emptied of blood.”

The physician shuddered violently. “But it still doesn’t make sense to me. If they want to get hold of the bog men, surely they’ll have to search in the bogs and the moors. Not in a city. Cities are far too civilized and modern.”

“Copenhagen hasn’t always been a city,” the commandant said in a low voice.

“Do you mean to say ...?” The physician shuddered again.

“They say that they’ve succeeded in getting down to the spot where the bog men lurk. They are said to be in regular contact with these beings.”

“I’ve a relative in Norway who believes that the subterranean wood spirits are actually kindly disposed.”

“She’s probably right. So are our elves, provided you don’t fall out with them. But not the bog men. They’re utterly vicious.”

“Do you believe in them?” the physician asked swiftly.

“Of course not! I’m merely repeating the rumours, believing in all this would be something quite different. But I believe in the Guardians of the Rightful Throne. They’re dangerous because of their rituals, their adoration of evil and their belief that they’re in touch with the bog men. Frighteningly dangerous, like all fanatics.”

“Do you know of any blood sacrifices? Apart from their own member whom they slaughtered?”

“Nothing definite. I’d imagine that cockerels and other small animals might be used in such ceremonies, but I really wouldn’t know. But small children – and adults as well – have vanished in Copenhagen and we don’t know where they’ve gone. There may be natural explanations.”

“So they’re after the King then? I’ve a good mind to walk over and take a closer look at the bandits on the other side of the square.”

“That would be pointless. They won’t allow anybody from the castle to get close to them.”

“But they’re so tall. Where do they come from?”

The commandant had a strange look on his face as he answered. “You’d think that the bog men would be small, round beings living down under the ground, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but those down there are just guards.”

“Then you haven’t heard very much about the bog men of ancient times. They were said to be exceptionally tall men and women.”

The physician stared incredulously for a while. Then he slowly turned to look out into the courtyard. The three dark shadows had disappeared. They had glided into the darkness under the trees and had dissolved away. The party was loud and noisy.

But under cover of the commotion, something was about to happen.

The physician and the commandant were right. The three men on the other side of the square had vanished, but not into thin air.

The landlord of the small, dingy inn nodded to them as they came down the stairs to the taproom, just as he had nodded to many other silent men that evening. The beer-drinking guests didn’t notice the new arrivals, who quickly glided through a door behind a curtain in the darkest corner of the room. They had heard that there was a room in here that select guests could hire.

Except that there was no room behind the door. When the guests had unlocked the door and passed through to the other side, they stood at the top of a staircase leading to the basement. They walked down the well-trodden steps. An oil lamp hissed down there and they made their way to another door, another staircase leading down – until they stood in a secret tunnel.

It was a very old passageway, as the ancient stones in the wall showed. Here and there other lamps glowed, so far apart that it was only just possible to figure out the way to the next lamp. Small creeping things darted quickly along the walls.

The tunnel was humid. They were passing under a waterway – the canal, which served as a moat for the castle.

Then the atmosphere was drier again, the walls dry but mossy. They stood in front of a new door.

They pushed open the heavy stone door with difficulty and now stood in a crypt that was so old, that the stones were crumbling.

No one in the great hall above noticed that several guests, who had remained in the background, now made themselves scarce, retiring towards the basement stairs. The chain of guards was thinning – so discreetly that the commandant would never notice that some had vanished.

Down in the castle basement, they entered a rarely used vault. There they moved a couple of heavy floorboards, exposing a stone flag fitted with an iron ring. As it was lifted, a centuries-old stench hit them. They walked down a long stone stairway to reach the ancient crypt. The old castle in Copenhagen had been built on the ruins of a long-forgotten monastery. It was to this monastery crypt that they came, and this was where they met with the men, who had arrived through the tunnel, dug under the moat in ancient times by the monks to give them a shortcut to the convent on the other side.

All this was forgotten by the Copenhageners. The Guardians of the Rightful Throne had discovered the crypt by chance. Later, when Copenhagen Castle was rebuilt, these underground chambers disappeared forever, but in King Christian V’s time the crypt and the tunnel still existed as a threat to His Majesty’s safety.

All the men changed into brown cowls, which they kept outside the holiest crypt. “Holiest” might be a blasphemous word to use here, but for them it was all sacred.

The crypt wasn’t very big. Tallow candles were burning everywhere, partly for light and partly to give warmth down in the dank basement. In the middle of the earthen floor there was a low circular wall around something like a well, and this was precisely what it was. Not a water well, but a shaft dug directly down into the soil.

There were thirteen people in the room. Thirteen – the correct number for a witches’ coven.

The figures all had something in common: they were very tall. There were therefore no women among them, because such tall women hardly existed in Denmark in the 1600s. Their faces were hidden under their cowls, which were pulled well down in front.

Twelve of them stood in a semicircle, facing the well. The thirteenth stood alone on the other side of the well.

He lifted his hands.

If you could have seen their faces, you would have seen that some of them were tough, evil and cold. Others were frightened. This moment was the worst for these young participants, who had joined the group out of a romantic love of adventure and were drawn towards the occult. They had never imagined what was to happen at these meetings. But now it was too late to withdraw. They knew the fate of the one who had been too open-mouthed. If you wanted to pull out of the order it was regarded as treachery, which was dealt with in the same macabre way.

There were two young men who had joined in error but hadn’t dared to admit it. They were terrified of the others in the order. These deadly serious men nursed a hatred so fervent and so incessant, that nothing would stop them. They were capable of anything! This magic, that stirred up things that ought to remain hidden. The two young men didn’t believe in bog men. They were no longer sure about the others in the order. Were they living creatures or ...?

The three, tall, pale men were the ones who frightened them the most. Those three never showed their faces properly, not even among their own people; now and then you could catch a fleeting glimpse of deathly paleness. Icy cold eyes that reminded you of lizards. Where did they live and where did they come from? They tended to appear only on evenings when there were meetings. Now and then, they would stand under the trees outside. Now and then they were already here in the crypt when you turned up – no matter how early you came. None of the others were as tall as these three.

You weren’t allowed to ask about the other members, nor to speak with them during sessions or afterwards. The two young men had been allowed to take part at the recommendation of the talkative youth. After his death, it was as if they were stuck in quicksand with no possibility of breaking loose. Sometimes they could sense the searching glances of the others ...

But it was also exciting. The mystical had appealed to them ever since they were children, and now here they were in the middle of the worst they could imagine. So they fought their anxiety and took part in the ceremony, although it often made them uneasy to watch it.

The man on the other side of the well spoke an incantation in a language they didn’t know. It sounded archaic, pagan, guttural. The young men knew that this was the language that was written on the secret manuscripts they had found. It was the language they believed the bog men had used.

After he had spoken for a while, whirling steam began to rise from the well. This was something they had seen many times before, and they were no longer frightened by it. But the voice that rose from down there always sent shivers down their spines. They would take an unconscious step closer to one another. Then one of the three frightening men would immediately shoot a look towards them from his lizard eyes under his cowl.

The two young men knew it. They were being closely watched. The others didn’t really trust them.

A dialogue began between the man on the other side of the well and the voice from deep down inside it. The vapours almost hid the man, the voice from below was deep and hollow, expressing cold words with an exaggerated, clear pronunciation.

The man who stood by himself replied. Then the conversation stopped.

The man turned towards his brothers in the order while he appeared increasingly clearly as the mist drifted away.

“Our friends demand a sacrifice,” he said. “At the next full moon they want proof of our loyalty.”

“What do they want?” one of the others asked.

“A blood sacrifice,” the man answered coldly. “And not an animal this time.”

“Do they mean ... our greatest sacrifice?”

“No. The time has not come yet. They want young blood. The blood of a virgin.”

One of the two young men was scared. The other had to suppress a giggle with a cough.

The rest gave him a stern look. He managed to save the situation, but it was a narrow escape. He couldn’t help finding all this exaggerated and theatrical.

Nevertheless, he knew that the matter was serious. Sacrifices had taken place here, that he would rather forget ...

Later, cold fear came creeping out of the stone walls, enveloping him in a nauseating cloud. The rituals that followed were nothing to giggle at.

Definitely not! He felt icy cold all over as the pagan song slowly rose from the depths of the shaft.

And up in the hall, the dance and flirtation continued. Their Majesties treated their courtiers to entertainment, music and dancing. Meanwhile, little notes about secret meetings were smuggled back and forth between men and women – married, but hardly to each other. The court was at play, in vain lavishness.