Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 09 - Without Roots

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.