Friendship
The Legend of The Ice People 5 - Friendship
© Margit Sandemo 1982
© eBook in English: Jentas A/S 2017
Series: The Legend of The Ice People
Title: Friendship
Title number: 5
Original title: Dödssynden
Translator: Anna Halager
© Translation: Jentas A/S
ISBN: 978-87-7107-322-5
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.
All contracts and agreements regarding the work, translation, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas A/S.
Acknowledgement
The legend of the Ice People is dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my dear late husband Asbjorn Sandemo, who made my life a fairy tale.
Margit Sandemo
The Ice People - Reviews
‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’
- The Guardian
‘Full of convincing characters, well estabished in time and place, and enlightening ... will get your eyes popping, and quite possibly groins twitching ... these are graphic novels without pictures ... I want to know what happens next.’
- The Times
‘A mixure of myth and legend interwoven with historical events, this is imaginative creation that involves the reader from the first page to the last.’
- Historical Novels Review
‘Loved by the masses, the prolific Margit Sandemo has written over 172 novels to date and is Scandinavia's most widely read author...’
- Scanorama magazine
The Legend of the Ice People
The legend of the Ice People begins many centuries ago with Tengel the Evil. He was ruthless and greedy, and there was only one way to get everything that he wanted: he had to make a pact with the devil. He travelled far into the wilderness and summoned the devil with a magic potion that he had brewed in a pot. Tengel the Evil gained unlimited wealth and power but in exchange, he cursed his own family. One of his descendants in every generation would serve the Devil with evil deeds. When it was done, Tengel buried the pot. If anyone found it, the curse would be broken.
So the curse was passed down through Tengel’s descendants, the Ice People. One person in every generation was born with yellow cat’s eyes, a sign of the curse, and magical powers which they used to serve the Devil. One day the most powerful of all the cursed Ice People would be born.
This is what the legend says. Nobody knows whether it is true, but in the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil into good, which is why they called him Tengel the Good. This legend is about his family. Actually, it is mostly about the women in his family – the women who held the fate of the Ice People in their hands.
Chapter 1
In the winter of 1625, Cecilie Meiden stood on the bow of a ship as it glided smoothly towards the entrance of the harbour in Copenhagen. The weather had been bad since they’d left Norway, so they were badly delayed. The early darkness of that February night was already setting over the sea and the city, and although Cecilie was wearing warm mittens, the raw winter chill forced her to blow on her fingers from time to time to keep them warm.
She didn’t want to touch the tarred timbers of the hull, so she stood freely on the deck shifting and adjusting her stance to the roll of the ship with the ease of an experienced sailor. It was wonderful to feel the fresh sea air on her face. Standing there alone, as far forward in the ship as she could, made her feel as if the whole world belonged to her.
As she gazed towards the harbour, she found herself thinking back over the past few months. What a mess she’d made of her life. But surely it hadn’t all been her fault?
For the umpteenth time at least, she told herself that she couldn’t bear to see Alexander Paladin ever again. She knew it would be impossible for her to look him in the eye without revealing that she knew of his secret vice.
Cecilie had never imagined that knowing his secret would cause her so much anguish. She’d never really admitted to herself just how much Alexander meant to her.
As the ship entered the harbour of Copenhagen, she began to recall their first fateful meeting. At the time she’d been frightened, unsure of herself and saddened by the news about how the recent outbreak of the plague had affected her family. She had recently arrived as a total stranger at the Court in faraway Denmark. Then by mistake, Alexander Paladin had entered her room and in that short meeting he’d seemed to give her back the strength and courage to go on. She’d liked him very much from the first moment and he had continued to support her in that small and difficult world that was always filled with intrigue and envy. Whenever he was near, her soul seemed to be filled with happiness.
He was one of the King’s cavaliers and was exceptionally handsome with an obvious strength of character and an air of quiet authority about him. Dark-haired, masculine and with aristocratic features, he had a distinctive yet melancholy smile. Without her realising it, that unforgettable smile was to lead so bizarrely to her downfall.
Alexander Paladin had always been reticent and reserved. He’d made it very clear to Cecilie that he liked her; a true friend who cared for her. Why then did it hurt so much to discover his secret? Shouldn’t she of all people, a daughter of the Ice People and the equally broad-minded Meidens, be able to accept and understand it? Why should she be so disturbed?
It was during her visit to her home in Norway that she’d learned the painful truth about the enigmatic Alexander. The explanation had come from her cousin, Tarjei, a grandson of Tengel the Good and a young man already possessed of great knowledge and an uncanny understanding of human nature. And how had she reacted? She’d been shocked and saddened. Maybe that was only natural. But had she really needed to throw herself into the arms of young Martinius, the vicar, because his sad smile reminded her of Alexander? It had been uncanny how alike those two men were in so many ways.
Never before had Cecilie regretted anything as much and so fiercely as she did that short passionate encounter with Martin. In retrospect it had been horrid and repulsive. Two people: both bitter, disappointed and alone; both desperately needing to be loved or – to be more brutal – needing to be physically intimate with somebody.
In effect, she’d willingly allowed herself to be violated. Were she ever to marry, she’d have to stand before her husband and confess that she wasn’t a virgin. How would that unknown man react? Would he turn away from her because of her rash actions? Or would he understand?
Through the turmoil of her thoughts she realised that the ship had come alongside and mooring ropes were being thrown ashore. Although people at Court knew when she was due to arrive, she could see that there was nobody on the quayside to meet her. Even though they’d been delayed by the stormy weather, from the vantage point of the castle it wouldn’t have been difficult to see that the ship had arrived. Now she’d have to make her way there alone – through unlit streets where all manner of riff-raff might be skulking in the shadows waiting to creep up on her. She looked around for someone on the ship who might accompany her, but in vain. So, grasping her travelling case firmly in one hand, she took a deep breath, summoned up her courage and went ashore.
Beyond the bustle of the well-lit port area, there were few signs of life in the narrow empty streets of the town now that the day’s business was over. As she hurried towar
ds the castle, Cecilie Meiden realised that she was afraid. Sol of the Ice People, whom Cecilie resembled in so many ways, would have looked on this as a challenge. Sol had loved darkness and turmoil. She’d probably have loved nothing better than to meet some gang of ruffians intent on robbing her. They would have given her the opportunity to exercise her extraordinary talents at defending herself. Although Cecilie was a descendant of the Ice People, she hadn’t been endowed with any of their mysterious powers. She only had her wits to depend upon.
As she walked on, inside her mind she was still trying distractedly to justify her past actions to herself. She knew how a lady must conduct herself and her demeanour at Court had always been in every way perfectly lady-like. It seemed that it was only when she was at home in Norway with her warm-hearted, loving family that she allowed herself to relax a little. But what had come over her to hurl herself headlong into the arms of the vicar’s embrace? She shook her head, shuddering once more at the memory and lowered her eyes like a schoolgirl brought in shame before her teacher.
She was absolutely mortified now at her uncharacteristic behaviour in the potting shed at the churchyard. Her only consolation was that the vicar had taken the initiative. If he hadn’t put his hands on her and whispered enticing words of loneliness and desire in her ear, then it would never have happened.
But she couldn’t console herself that easily: she knew she’d been very willing, so very willing.
During the first stretch of her journey through the narrow streets that led up from the harbour, Cecilie suffered nothing worse than some crude insults from a pair of street whores warning her to stay away from their patch. She pointedly ignored their shouts and hurried on, but what she didn’t know was that a greater danger was lurking at the end of the last street before Copenhagen Castle. She had to pass through an alley that seemed to her to be packed with a noisy crowd of wretches – tramps, drunkards, whores and criminals of every hue. In the middle of the alley they’d built a fire of straw to warm themselves and were busy cursing and blaspheming loudly over how unfairly life had treated them.
Cecilie hesitated but she knew she had to get past – there was no other way. With her heart in her mouth, she hoped she’d be invisible and walked on as fast as she could. Far up ahead she glimpsed the open square in front of the castle. Fires were burning up there as well, and she could see the silhouettes of horses and riders – life of a completely different kind. Although it wasn’t far to the square, Cecilie felt that the narrow alley suddenly seemed like an endless road filled with anxiety and danger.
She almost managed to get past the fire and the raucous crowd without being seen. But just as she was about to heave a sigh of relief, she heard a lisping, fawning voice close behind her. Her back stiffened at the sound and her blood ran cold.
“Well, well! Look what we ‘ave ‘ere!” murmured the voice and Cecilie felt someone grab hold of her cape.
Turning quickly, she found herself staring into the insolent face of a man who was leering toothlessly at her. She realised at once that this wasn’t a situation where the protests of a refined, self-confident young noblewoman would do any good. It was clear she faced two stark choices. To stand and fight – or turn and run. She quickly chose the latter and tore herself free and began running. Another man joined the leering individual and together they began to chase after her.
“We’ll let you keep your virtue, gracious lady, just you let us take care of that case o’ yours,” yelled one of them, making a grab for her travelling bag.
In some ways, Cecilie’s instinctive reaction was characteristic of her more robust Ice People ancestors. She didn’t bother to point out that they were already too late to take her virtue, she just swung the wooden case at them with all her might. It struck the leering man with considerable force and he tumbled backwards. Another man immediately joined the chase and Cecilie stumbled on ahead of them as fast as her skirts would allow, but she was no match for them and they caught up with her at the very moment she reached the edge of the wide, open square.
In the flickering light of the fires, Cecilie saw a group of soldiers on horseback approaching but before she could cry out, one of the ruffians grabbed her: putting his hand over her mouth, he tried to drag her back towards the alleyway once more. As he did so, his companion tugged violently at her travelling case.
Cecilie twisted her head free for a few seconds and managed a short muffled scream before the hand silenced her again. Hearing her cry and seeing her distress, several of the soldiers rode quickly towards her and when Cecilie’s assailants saw the mounted men approaching, they immediately released their grip on her and melted away into the shadows of the dark alley.
“Are you alright?” asked a bearded officer.
“Yes, thank you,” panted Cecilie. “Many, many thanks to all of you!”
She was gasping for breath and her legs were shaking so violently that she was barely able to stand up. At that moment another rider reined in his horse beside her.
“Cecilie, heavens above, it’s you!” said a voice she knew very well. “My dear child!”
She lifted her eyes, and in the light from the fires she saw that the proud figure on the horse was Alexander Paladin. She couldn’t begin to describe the joy she felt at seeing him there. Gone instantly were all thoughts of his irredeemable secret. Instead she saw only a dear friend, looking noble and larger than life, dressed in shining breastplate, black cape, big knee boots and sporting a large feather in his hat.
Her face lit up. “Alexander!” she cried, smiling in delight. He bent down and took her outstretched hands. “Have you just arrived from Norway?”
“Yes. The ship was delayed and nobody came to meet me.”
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he told her, shaking his head. “People at Court can be so inconsiderate sometimes.” Turning, Alexander instantly handed over command to one of his men. “I must go with Miss Meiden and see that she arrives safely inside the castle.” He dismounted quickly and handed his horse to the rider next to him.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Cecilie,” he said pleasantly as they walked towards the castle gates. “Copenhagen has been empty without you. How have things been for you?”
“Oh, Alexander! It was lovely to be back home for a while!” She then described in vivid detail what life was like at Graastensholm.
When she’d finished, Alexander Paladin put his arm around her shoulders and said: “It’s good to see you are so happy, my little one.”
She gave him a happy smile – then suddenly remembered again the terrible truth she knew about him. Sadly, she realised once more his commanding masculinity couldn’t be hers. Without meaning to, she moved away from him very slightly and, perhaps sensing her thoughts, Alexander dropped his arm from her shoulders. In a strained silence, they walked past the guards and entered the domestic wing of the castle. When they reached the door to her room, he turned to face her and said very quietly: “I believe you know?”
Cecilie nodded. In the glow from the lamps hanging from the walls his eyes looked black and filled with infinite sorrow.
“Who told you the truth?”
“My cousin, Tarjei. He’s the one with knowledge of medicine – and is also very worldly. I’ve sometimes spoken to you about him.”
Alexander nodded. “Of course, yes, I remember.” He hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “And how did you take it?”
Cecilie found it difficult to speak. All she wanted was to rush into her room and close the door. But she knew that he didn’t deserve to be treated in that way.
“At first I found it difficult to grasp. Your ... situation I mean. I’d never heard of anything like it before. Then I became upset and ...”
She fell silent, biting her lip. She was about to break down in tears.
“And?” he said softly, encouraging her.
“And very sad,” she whispered.<
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Alexander stood quietly for a long time. Cecilie looked down at the floor. Her heart was pounding.
“And yet, just now, when we met out there,” he said gently. “You were happy then, weren’t you? You were glad to see me?”
“Yes, I was. At that moment I’d forgotten ...”
“And now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Now I just want so much to retain your friendship, Cecilie.”
She hesitated before replying. Could she cope with such a friendship? Was she strong enough to hide her distaste? How humiliating would it be for him to sense her dislike and her unspoken criticism? Suddenly she remembered her own experience with Martinius, and a tide of her own shame washed over her. What did she have to be proud of?
“You have my friendship, Alexander,” she answered softly. “You know you do. You’re important to me.”
“Thank you, Cecilie,” he said as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad.”
She smiled at him uncertainly and placed her hand tentatively on the door handle. Realising that it was time for him to go, he took her hand and kissed it. “When will you be leaving the city?” he asked quietly.
“To travel to Dalum Monastery, you mean?”
“No. The royal children are now at Frederiksborg where they’ll be staying for some time.”
“Oh, are they? I didn’t know that. Tomorrow I must find out what’s happening.”
“Yes, please do! And please tell me as well. Good night, my dear friend.”
Cecilie’s gaze followed his tall confident figure as he walked off down the corridor. She thought that he moved gracefully, like a Knight of the Holy Grail and as she continued to watch him, she recalled that Paladin was another name by which the Knights of the Grail were known. So he truly did bear his name with dignity – and yet there was that other ugly incomprehensible flaw that took the shine off this otherwise perfect nobleman. As she closed the door behind her, she reflected sadly how strange life could be. It wasn’t until she was settled in her room that she realised she’d forgotten to ask him why there were so many troops gathered outside the castle.
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