Читать книгу The Ice People 09 - Without Roots - Margit Sandemo - Страница 6

Chapter 1

The fate of the Ice People was spun from many threads. One thread began in the south of France, in Béarn by the foot of the Pyrenees, far from Graastensholm Parish.

The bells rang out in the empty church and far beyond. A carriage turned out of the church square and drove up to the castle that rose above the town, which was bathed in golden sunlight. Inside the carriage, a mother and her fifteen-year old daughter sat next to each other. People they saw along the road greeted them humbly.

“Anette,” said the mother without turning her head. “Don’t look at the mob! Remember how things turned out the last time you waved to them.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Although it had happened several days ago, Anette could still feel her cheek stinging after her mother had boxed her ears.

“Remember that they are our subjects,” continued her mother, almost without moving her lips. “People are only here because of us. Don’t ever forget that. I noticed that you smiled... At a boy! Haven’t I taught you-”

“Yes, Mum.”

If Anette had hoped to ward off a lecture, she was disappointed. Her mother rattled on in an expressionless voice:

“You’re nearly grown-up and of course you’ll be married off. Anything else would be unsuitable. And you know what we women must suffer in marriage. I’ve told you what I had to endure while my poor husband was alive. We women must endure men’s carnal pleasures for as long as we want them to give us children. But after that you have no further duties to him on that score. Remember that! You can always escape by saying you have a headache or, better yet, a migraine. You can also pray to the Virgin Mary that your husband loses his carnal desires once he’s provided you with the children you want.”

“But Mum!” exclaimed Anette, shocked.

“Just you wait. You’ll wish for the same as me, because men are either pigs or lechers. If they don’t get what they want at home, they visit prostitutes, which you’ll have to conceal, and that’s exhausting.”

“But Dad wasn’t like that, he was so nice.”

Her mother sneered. “You know so very little about men’s nature! They can think of the ugliest things. See to it that you’re never alone with a young man until you’re married, Anette! Don’t let them lead you astray with beautiful words - men know perfectly well how to charm and lure a woman. Pray to the Virgin Mary for the power to resist, or you’ll soon feel their lecherous hands on your body. And remember that God sees everything you do! You mustn’t give in to unsuitable and shameful emotions. Never! You must work to please God. Only prostitutes and fallen women allow themselves to be flattered and intoxicated by men. And you don’t want to be one of those, do you?”

Anette bowed her head. “No, Mum. I’ll bear it all in mind.”

She hoped that the lecture was over for now. It always gave her the shivers and a vague discomfort in the body, making her almost feel sick.

Fortunately, the lecture was over for now. Her mother had caught sight of a little old woman sitting by the palace gate with her basket of vegetables. Her mother ordered the driver to bring the horse to a halt. She leaned out of the carriage window and grabbed the whip from its holder on the side of the carriage. With a hard lash, she drove the woman away from the gate.

She then leaned back with a satisfied smile on her face. “When you go on your six-month journey with your relative, Jacob de la Gardie, to his new homeland, please bear in mind what I’ve just told you. Jacob is a Rigsmarsk so you’ll be moving in the finest circles – otherwise I would never have let you travel to that pagan country. But Jacob will see to it that nothing improper happens to you and besides I’ve brought you up properly. I’m sure you’ll avoid all dangers.”

“Yes, Mum,” said Anette. “From what I’ve heard of men, I can promise you that nobody will get close to me!”

“Good,” said her mother, relieved. “I want you out of the way for a while, you see, because fortune hunters have discovered that Castle Loupiac has an heir who is now of age. We don’t want to have anything to do with fortune hunters, do we, Anette?”

“No, Mum.”

But human beings are not masters of the whims of fortune. Anette had not been away from home for more than two months when a message came to tell her that her mother had passed away. So the girl stayed with her family in pagan Sweden. She was still far too young to manage on her own.

But her strong-willed mother’s words had sunk into Anette’s mind. She had been taught how a real lady was to behave.

At Linden Avenue, the years passed by more and more quickly for Are Lind of the Ice People. A little too quickly in his opinion, because there was something he still had not managed to accomplish.

Mikael, Tarjei’s son, had vanished in the fog from which he had emerged when Tancred met him on the banks of the Elbe. So now he was searching for his grandchild with all the means at his disposal, which wasn’t much because the war between Denmark-Norway and Sweden put many obstacles in his way.

Nevertheless, one day in 1658, he heard about a landowner in Christiania, whose sister was living in Stockholm.

Are immediately rode to the landowner. The head of the Ice People was now seventy-two years old, a true patriarch who was indomitable and had a white beard and straight back.

The landowner greeted the elderly man kindly, but there wasn’t much he could do. He hadn’t heard from his sister for quite a long time – the postal service had just about ceased because of the war.

“Anyway, please tell me what you’d like to hear,” said the landowner. “My sister has told me a lot about her life in Stockholm, and I’ve been there several times myself.”

Without much hope, Are laid out the little information he had about Mikael. He had kept the letter from Tancred as if it were made of pure gold, and now he read aloud the four things they knew about Tancred’s son:

“Well, the first point doesn’t tell us very much,” explained Are. “It mentions that the lad travelled with the Swedish army from Bremen to Ingria in 1654. But the second point is interesting: He followed his foster sister, Marca Christiana, to Sweden when she married the son of their unknown guardian. We know that the guardian was Johan Banér’s brother-in-law. I’m afraid that’s all. Mikael stayed with her also after she got married.”

The landowner lifted his head. “Marca Christiana? That’s an unusual name, and I’m pretty sure that I’ve heard it. Only I can’t remember in what context. She’s bound to be a prominent woman.”

Are nodded. “That’s also what I believe. Because in the third point of the letter, it says: Her husband is a very prominent person, both as an officer and as a civil servant. And then point 4 says: His first name is Gabriel. Here Tancred tells us that in the family of this Gabriel, all first-born sons are given this name because the grandmother of his paternal grandfather had lost twelve newborn sons. She dreamed that an angel told her to baptise her next son Gabriel, and she was allowed to keep this son.”

Now the landowner’s face lit up. “That’s a well-known story! My sister told me about it. It’s the Oxenstierna Family! Let me see ... It’s not Axel Oxenstierna’s lineage. No, it’s not a member of Count Oxenstierna of Korsholm and Wasa’s lineage. You see, there are several lineages.”

Are saw light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, he had some facts to go by. He hoped that the seemingly endless war would finally be over, before it was too late. He felt so uneasy, so restless. There was so much he wanted to tell his grandchild, and he was sitting, powerless, as time passed by.

Mikael Lind of the Ice People was, in fact, doing quite well. After the confusing family circumstances of his childhood, his life was now settled thanks to Marca Christiana, who had been the only fixed point in his life. It was a long string of events that had left Mikael rootless. It began when his parents passed away the year he was born. His mother’s aunt, Juliana, took care of him, and he grew up with his mother’s cousin, Marca Christiana.

Juliana later married Johan Banér, a Swedish nobleman. Then Juliana passed away. Johan Banér, who had three children by his first marriage, married a high-ranking German lady.

On Johan Banér’s deathbed, he handed over the responsibility for his own and Juliana’s children, including, of course, Mikael, to his sister, Anna Banér, whose husband was Reich Admiral Gabriel Oxenstierna of Korsholm and Wasa.

In 1624, Marca Christiana married the son of this house: Gabriel, Count of Korsholm and Wasa, Baron of Mörby and Lindholm, Lord of Rosersberg, Edsberg and Korporie. He had a meteoric career and in 1644 – at the age of twenty-five – he was made a judge in Lappvesi in Finland. The following year he became a Colonel in the Uppland regiment and that same year he was appointed Lord Chamberlain. And that was how he rose to the upper echelons of society.

Gabriel Oxenstierna took care of Mikael as well as he could. He wanted the boy to become an officer, which wasn’t in the nature of the Ice People. Trond was the only one who, while he lived, yearned to win honour on the battlefield by killing as many enemies as possible, but then, he was one of the accursed Ice People. Mikael did not suffer the curse but was blessed with the family’s gentler characteristics. Marca Christiana understood him and tried to curb her husband’s dreams of an officer’s career for his foster son.

Mikael was gifted and quiet: a serious young man, often an outsider, with a vague restlessness and dreams nobody knew anything about.

Marca Christiana didn’t understand how the instability of Mikael’s childhood had affected him. She was lively and extroverted and hadn’t been damaged by the many times they had moved and their succession of foster parents.

Since her husband was Lord Chamberlain, they would often stay in a small apartment at the Palace in Stockholm. Queen Christina was usually away on her travels and Mikael would roam the empty halls. When the Queen was at the Palace, her cousin, Carl Gustav, Duke of Pfalz, would also be there. She had appointed him as her successor, something that not everybody was happy about. They didn’t want a duke of Pfalz on the Swedish throne.

When Mikael was seventeen, a series of events occurred that were to change the course of his life. The great field marshals Pontus and Jacob de la Gardie had brought a great many French relatives with them to Sweden. Some of them were there only on a temporary visit, while others had stayed on. Among the guests who stayed was a young woman, mademoiselle Anette de Saint-Colombe, who, at Jacob de Gardie’s death in 1652, found herself on her own at Court. Her parents had passed away and her current guardian, a distant relative in the south of France, wanted her back home again. He had plans to marry the young girl and get his hands on her big inheritance, including Castle Loupiac, and maybe have a few heirs. But Anette would have none of it! She cried her eyes out in Marca Christiana’s arms. The two of them stuck together: They were both foreigners at the formal Swedish Court.

“What are we to do, Gabriel?” Marca Christiana said to her husband. “They say that the guardian is a horrible old drunkard riddled with venereal disease. Surely we can’t send little Anette home with such a fate awaiting her.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to,” answered Count Oxenstierna. “Her guardian has the law on his side while she’s unmarried. Once she marries, his authority becomes void.”

“Okay, so we’ll marry her off,” said the impulsive Marca Christiana. “We don’t have to mention that we received his letter ordering her back to France.”

Gabriel Oxenstierna shook his head at his lively wife. “And who do you have in mind for her to marry?”

“I really don’t know.”

She was silent while she pondered which of the young men at Court would be a suitable match. She walked back and forth in the small drawing room, eager and excited at the thought of being a guardian angel.

The count, who had since been made Master of the Royal Hunt, had also been pondering. “Why not Mikael? The girl’s a good match for him.”

“Oh, no. He’s far too young!” protested Marca Christiana indignantly. “He’s only turning seventeen next week. That won’t do!”

“Why not? Mikael is conscientious and reliable, and you know he’s special. He’s not a nobleman, but he’s not without noble blood in his veins. He can have the small hunting lodge at Mörby. It’s empty most of the year. And I won’t give up my wish that he becomes a soldier...“

Marca Christiana was no longer listening to what her husband was saying. She was giving serious thought to what he had suggested. Anette de Saint-Colombe was actually a very good match. She was admittedly a pious Catholic and might seem a bit virtuous, but surely all she needed was to have her corners rubbed off. Mikael couldn’t count on finding a bride of noble birth in Sweden and the daughters of merchants tended to be badly brought up. But a French damsel in distress was a different matter.

“But surely she’s older than Mikael, isn’t she?” asked Marca Christiana.

“It can’t be much. Maybe one year.”

Marca Christiana was no longer so much against the idea. “Her guardian will be furious,” she said cautiously. “We can’t expose the boy to that.”

“This is precisely where his career as a soldier enters the picture, you see. They’ll get married very quickly and then we’ll send him to the Swedish territory. There’s always a need for young, strong soldiers and especially officers. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.”

“But surely she needs to have her guardian’s permission to marry?”

“My dear Marca, that’s exactly what I’m trying to explain to you. He’ll be called to the field of honour and there will be no time to ask for permission. In the hour of need it is permissible to break all the rules!”

“What a horrible trade-off, Gabriel. However, I believe you’ve found the only way to rescue the girl. We’d better ask Mikael first thing.”

“And Anette too.”

Mikael wandered aimlessly about the palace halls. He was normally studying at the University in Uppsala, but it was closed for the summer. If Queen Christina was at home, Mikael was her page, but she was away and he had nothing to do. Time dragged on endlessly. He yearned, with all his irrepressible youthful desire, to use his body and brain – even though he was a dreamer at heart.

He stopped by a window and looked out over the Strömmen where fishermen in small boats drifted about. Mikael Lind of the Ice People felt so alone, so lost in the world. He was weighed down with sadness, and it showed in his face. He didn’t even know why he felt such an intense melancholy. It wasn’t often that such thoughts came over him because he was enjoying his time with Marca Christiana and her husband. But when he was on his own, he felt despondent.

‘Where do I actually belong?’ he asked himself. ‘Marca Christiana, my mother’s cousin, is my only relative. She’s of noble birth, but I’m not. My mother was well-born, but she died when I was born. My father wasn’t of noble birth, but he was an exceptionally intelligent man, so they say. I’d be grateful if I managed to inherit just a fraction of his intellect.’

Here Mikael was being a little too modest because there was nothing wrong with his brain, even if it didn’t quite match Tarjei’s.

Lind of the Ice People ...? What a strange name. He must be the only person in the world with that name, and that was what made him feel so rootless. Nevertheless he quite liked the name and was proud of it. He vaguely recalled his granddad, Are of the Ice People. He was a tall, stately man who had visited him when he was small. He’d told him many strange things about his family, but Mikael couldn’t remember a single thing he’d said. Even so, his granddad’s words must have lit a fire in him because he would go back to this vague memory he had, wracking his brain to try and remember what it was he had been told. His granddad was bound to have passed away by now. Mikael was alone once again. It weighed heavily on him and felt like an infinite vacuum of yearning.

His foster father, Gabriel Oxenstierna, was walking briskly along the corridor. “Oh, there you are, Mikael. I’d like to talk to you.”

Mikael nodded. “Alright. Let’s go into the-”

“No, it’s alright here. Mikael, you know Anette de Saint-Colombe, am I right?”

In his mind’s eye, Mikael saw a pale face framed by straight, black hair and heavy eyelids over dark eyes. The girl seemed very anxious and conventional. She probably didn’t do much with her time other than make the sign of the cross.

“I do, what of her?”

Gabriel Oxenstierna decided to utilise Mikael’s innate chivalry. “She finds herself in a difficult situation. Both her parents have passed away and so has her guardian, Jacob de la Gardie, who brought her to Sweden. She has a guardian in France, an unpleasant, debauched old man, who threatens to marry her, only to lay his hands on her money and to create some heirs.”

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“No.” The Count hesitated for a moment. “What’s your impression of Anette?”

“Anette? Well... ” Mikael shrugged his shoulders. “I really haven’t thought about it. Somewhat nondescript. Prudish. But probably a sweet girl all in all.”

This didn’t sound very encouraging, so the Count decided to take the bull by the horns. “Mikael, you know that... finding a suitable wife for you isn’t so easy. Would you consider Anette?”

Mikael lifted his beautifully arched eyebrows. “But aren’t there a good five years left before we have to think along such lines?”

“Normally, perhaps we would wait longer. But Anette is a good match and needs to marry – even if it’s against her guardian’s expressed will,” added Gabriel Oxenstierna, sending Mikael an earnest look.

A twinkle of humour showed in Mikael’s glance. “Ah, a challenge? But surely you’re not serious about this, are you?”

“Yes, I am. Marca Christiana and I have discussed it. As you know, my wife’s very fond of Anette, and she happens to have a number of good attributes.”

It wasn’t until now that Mikael grasped the seriousness in his foster father’s words, and he was appalled. “But I’m only seventeen years old! What has Anette said?”

“We haven’t asked her yet.”

He presented the plan to Mikael, explaining how he was to go to the battlefield and how the marriage therefore had to be arranged hastily. They were to send a letter to the guardian with a formal request for the girl’s hand in marriage, while pointing out that any postponement would be out of the question. If the answer did not reach Gabriel Oxenstierna in time, the young couple would be compelled to marry nevertheless. The difficult situation of the Realm necessitated that Mikael go to war immediately.

‘I don’t want to go to the battlefield,’ thought Mikael desperately. ‘I don’t want to be a soldier at all, much less an officer. I want...’ Well, what did he really want? He didn’t know, and that was his big problem. All he knew was that he wanted to do something with his life but he hadn’t found his calling yet. He had begun studying at the University of Uppsala with great enthusiasm because his father, Tarjei, was well-versed in the natural sciences and mathematics and became a doctor. Mikael had some sort of vague idea that he wanted to honour his father’s name and continue where he’d left off. But so far, Mikael had only been able to study theology. At his university the natural sciences, philosophy and medicine were based on Christian values. Mikael felt that he was getting nowhere. He was rootless, homeless and without an identity.

Anette de Saint-Colombe? No, no, he didn’t want to get married, and he just couldn’t imagine her, the young, God-fearing, virtuous mademoiselle, as his wife. Besides, it was far too early.

But then again, he knew perfectly well that marriage was something that parents and guardians arranged, often while the couple were young or even when they were still infants.

He had found himself in an awkward position. Anette de Saint-Colombe was a match he hadn’t even contemplated or dreamed of. His heart ached. He had his own notions about love and tenderness.

“Let’s ask her first,” Mikael said cautiously.

The count gave a sigh of relief.

A sad smile spread over Mikael’s charming face. “You know, of course, that I obey you in everything and I know you’ve always wanted to do the best for me. Besides... ”

“Yes?”

“It would be quite a treat to cheat a prominent man out of a piece of candy.”

“I like that, Mikael!” smiled the Count, putting his arm on the young man’s shoulders. “Come. Let’s find Anette.”

As the Lord Chamberlain and his charming wife entered her rooms together with their foster son, young Anette de Saint-Colombe eagerly wiped the tears from her eyes and got up quickly from her praying position in front of the Virgin Mary. She listened to their proposal in horror.

Mikael Lind of the Ice People? Was it possible that he – one of the most handsome young men at Court – would marry her and release her from her nightmare? Now, everybody who wore trousers, of course, was a possible monster in her view, but if you were forced to subject yourself to their dreadful needs, then this particular monster was far more appealing than most. Her heart pounded, and she hardly dared to look at him. Nevertheless, she found herself looking in his direction, over his body and... She shivered at the thought of what was hidden beneath his beautiful clothes. Feeling guilty, she turned the other way and looked at Marca Christiana.

“Has your guardian officially asked for your hand in marriage?” asked the Count.

“Yes. Well, asked and asked. He’s announced that he’ll come in a few weeks’ time and take me back home as his bride. Here’s the letter.”

“I’m afraid you haven’t received the letter yet,” said Marca Christiana resolutely. “We are completely unaware of his plans. Gabriel and I will now sit down and compose a letter in which he’ll be faced with a fait accompli and you’ll be married within a week. Then Gabriel will send Mikael to the battlefield. So if your guardian turns up, there will be nothing that he can do. Don’t you think he’ll receive our letter before then?”

“Can’t he just declare that the marriage is annulled?” asked Anette, trembling. “Since I haven’t received his blessing?”

Gabriel Oxenstierna bit his lip.

“I believe that we can solve that problem,” said Marca Christiana. “It might not be quite decent towards a deceased person, but... I know that Jacob de la Gardie, who was your guardian, was very fond of Mikael. All we’ll say is that the Lord Chamberlain gave his approval a long time ago.”

“Good heavens,” said Gabriel. “You’re crazy. Don’t do something like that – can’t we ask his widow?”

“No,” said Marca Christiana quickly, “Anette didn’t get along with her very well.”

Jacob de la Gardie’s widow was Ebba Brahe. In her older years, Countess Ebba had become very stuck-up and judgemental of a person’s station in life. She was bound to object to Mikael’s humble birth.

“Surely we can’t lie about a person who’s passed away!” said Gabriel.

“Oh, it’s just a white lie,” said Marca Christiana lightly.

“No, I won’t have it,” said her husband. “Marca, sometimes your morals are... ”

‘They’re discussing this over our heads,’ thought Mikael. ‘I won’t go through with it, I just won’t! And what about her, what does she want? A moment ago, she looked as if she thought I’d devour her!’

He cast a quick glance at her. She sat with a downcast glance. Her nose was red and the handkerchief in her hand was soaking wet. She seemed stiff and anaemic; her mouth was pursed, her back straight, and her demeanour almost hostile. She was certainly not the kind of girl he would have chosen.

Could he spend his whole life with her? Only he couldn’t pull out now. It was not in Mikael’s nature to hurt other people. The girl would just be sad, and he wanted so much to obey his foster parents.

Anette was thinking along the same lines. ‘What does he want himself? He hasn’t said anything but he doesn’t seem overly keen.’

If, however, she was forced to make a choice, then the decision wouldn’t be difficult. She shuddered at the thought of her guardian in France. His portly belly, his double chin, the bare top of his head under the wig, his bad breath. But worst of all was his unpleasant disposition. The eyes that followed all young girls, his discreet groping of any woman within reach, his moaning and noisy chewing at the dinner table, his boasting about his wealth and noble birth.

He probably wasn’t so rich anymore. It was reported that he’d squandered his family fortune. And now he’d set his eyes on her fortune.

Mikael...? She tried to think clearly and forget all the terrible things that were hidden under his clothes. Of course, he wasn’t as well off as she was, and he was certainly not of noble birth. Although his mother, the Countess of Breuburg, had been of distinguished birth, his father hadn’t been at all. So for Anette it was a step down the social ladder.

What would her dear mother have said? She who considered not being born noble the worst thing of all. Nevertheless, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Mikael was nice. She knew that. He seemed slightly absent-minded and actually not at all interested in her until now. She’d never regarded him as a danger. But now he was suddenly asking for her hand in marriage. Anette was totally confused.

She turned towards Marca Christiana. With a voice that she meant to sound in charge, but was weak after all her weeping, she said: “Is Mr. Mikael of the right faith?”

“Certainly,” answered the Countess. ‘The right faith is a relative notion,’ she thought.

The answer calmed her.

Before she’d had time to think for herself, she said in a mixture of French and Swedish. “Oh, I hope you’re not doing this out of pity, because I couldn’t bear it!”

The two adults lost their composure for a moment then looked pleadingly at Mikael. Mikael started but quickly pulled himself together. “No, of course not. This is something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

Heavens, where did those lies come from? And so readily? Now he was inextricably trapped.

Gabriel Oxenstierna said doubtfully, “What do we do about the guardian? We haven’t solved that problem yet.”

“He’ll probably declare that the marriage should be annulled,” said Marca Christiana. “We need to think carefully – all of us.”

“True. Anyway, you have our blessing, dear children. Anette, if you’re willing to go ahead with the plan, then put your hand in Mikael’s. And, Mikael, you take Anette’s hand.”

Timid as a roe deer, Anette stretched out her small hand, placing it carefully in Mikael’s. She gave a start when she felt his dangerous, masculine warmth but she controlled herself. “By the will of God,” she whispered. After a slight hesitation, Mikael closed his hand around hers. The pact was sealed.

Marca Christiana kissed both of them on the cheek. “Blessed children! Now we really must find a way for Anette to escape her dreadful guardian.”

The solution came quicker than they had anticipated. That same evening, Mikael was on his way through the empty corridors of the palace and halls to fetch a bottle of wine for Marca Christiana. The Queen and her cousin Carl Gustav were expected back the following day. The Queen’s entourage, with Master of the Royal Hunt Gabriel Oxenstierna at the head, had left to meet them at Braaviken. The servants had spent all day readying the palace for their homecoming and had now retired for the night. So the palace was practically deserted.

Mikael had passed the ghostlike banqueting hall and walked in his stockinged feet towards the kitchens. His candle had burned out, but he knew the palace well and the moonlight shone through the small peepholes.

When he heard the murmur of voices, he stopped abruptly. Where did they come from? As far as he knew, there was nobody nearby. He stood on the stairs leading from the drawing room to the cellar. There were a few rooms dow there, modest chambers that were only used if, for instance, the palace had many guests and the last arrivals needed to be put up somewhere.

A door was opened and the voices could be heard more clearly. Mikael dashed silently into the hall, hiding between a chest and an open door. It was a pure reflex movement and he didn’t understand it himself. He had nothing to hide, but maybe the others did?

Yes, that was it! Their voices had been low, secretive and disguised. A few men walked up the stairs. Mikael couldn’t see them but he could hear everything they said, and what he heard made his hair stand on end.

They spoke about a conspiracy against Duke Carl Gustav, the Queen’s cousin! Mikael became very frightened as he listened to their discussion intently. He didn’t recognise the voices but from their intonation he gleaned that they were aristocrats, and he picked up the most important thing: the time and place of the planned assault on the Duke.

Then they stopped, exchanged a few final, secretive words and left.

There had been three men. Mikael heard them disappear, one towards the interior of the palace, the two in the direction of the main entrance.

Who was in the palace now? Actually he didn’t know. The Court noblemen came and went, staying only for a day or two. Anette and her chambermaid were there, of course, but they were bound to be asleep at this time of the night. Most of the others had left to meet the Queen. Mikael had remained because Gabriel Oxenstierna had asked him to keep Marca Christiana company.

When everything was silent, Mikael hurried down to fetch the wine then ran as swiftly and silently as possible back to his foster mother. ‘Foster mother’ might not be quite the right name. Marca Christiana was only twenty-seven and had always been more like a sister to him. Her husband Gabriel Oxenstierna was only thirty-one, so Mikael had never really regarded them as his parents. However, nobody could have taken better care of him than these two. He would never dream of defying them, despite his despair at the planned marriage with Anette de Saint-Colombe.

“Goodness gracious,” said Marca Christiana. “You seem very agitated. What’s the matter?”

When Mikael had caught his breath again, he stammered and whispered everything he’d heard.

Marca Christiana was shaken. “Of course, I knew that Duke Carl Gustav had many enemies, but I never thought that it would come to this... ”

“We must warn him,” said Mikael.

“Yes, of course. But how? Just today there was a message to say that he wouldn’t be accompanying the Queen back here. He’s left to see to one of his castles.”

“Do you want me to ride there?”

Marca Christiana put her hand on his arm. “No, you’re getting married. Have you forgotten?”

Of course he hadn’t. He had merely suggested it as a means to avoid it.

Marca Christiana continued. “I think I’ll have a word with Count Arvid Wittenberg. He’s a tough person, but he’s Carl Gustav’s confidant, and he’ll be here tomorrow.”

And that was what happened. The next day Marca Christiana had a confidential talk with the seasoned general. He immediately sent an urgent message to Duke Carl Gustav, and so the planned conspiracy was averted.

Carl Gustav was back in Stockholm two days later. He called on Countess Marca Christiana, thanking cordially both her and her young relative. He asked if there was anything he could do for them in return.

Marca Christiana immediately got a twinkle in her eye. She informed him that there was, asking him if he would be so kind as to help them with a little something ...

Finally, a letter was sent to Anette’s guardian in the south of France. It said: Today, your charge will marry our beloved relative, Mikael Lind of the Ice People. Sweden’s heir apparent, Carl Gustav, Duke of Pfalz, has given his blessing to the marriage.

And so there was nothing Anette’s guardian could do. One doesn’t turn against the heir to the Swedish throne.