Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 18 - Behind the Facade

“I see. There are plenty of them around. Younger brothers ... Sometimes I wish I was one of them. To be allowed to choose one’s occupation, one’s course of life. To work hard to become something. Not like now, when I’m obliged to take over an established business and an estate that I don’t really want.”

Now Ulf Paladin understood why Vemund Tark preferred to be outdoors, working with his bare hands. The feeling of achieving something ...

“The farms in Lekenes are impossible to match,” he protested. “And such an inheritance ...”

“It’s not an inheritance,” Vemund interrupted. “They bought it fifteen years ago.”

“Your parents? Well, I never! I thought you had a slight touch of a foreign accent in your speech. Where are you from?”

Vemund Tark stood up. “Mind what you’re doing!” he shouted. “Oh, dear!”

“That was Nils’s son, Edvin,” Ulf said, getting rapidly to his feet. “Come on!”

They ran down to the bank. Without hesitation, Vemund jumped into the cold water. With the help of his friends, young Edvin, who had been wedged between the logs in the fall, had managed to extricate himself and was now drifting unconscious with the current, beyond the reach of the long raft hooks.

Old Nils moaned loudly.

“Not to worry, Nils. Tark has a firm grip on him,” Ulf Paladin said.

“There’s so much blood. The whole river is red!”

“Everything will be alright. Run home and fetch the medicine bag. Ask my wife for it.”

“What if he’s already ...”

“He isn’t dead. Look! He just stretched out his arm. The water probably revived him. Please hurry up; the others are coming now and they’ll help to get him ashore.”

The old man was off as quickly as he could go.

A bit farther down the bank, the drenched men were pulled ashore. Everybody rushed up to them and the logjam had to wait.

Edvin, the young boaster, who had sworn that he was just as good a rafter as the experienced men, now looked pretty pathetic. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his thigh and one arm appeared to be broken. Ulf explained: “His father has run to fetch the medical bag. In the meantime, we must try to stop the bleeding. What did you do out there, Edvin? I told you, didn’t I? That this was no game for beginners.”

“I’m dying!” Edvin yelled. ”I’m dying!”

“No, you’re not. But it will probably hurt for a while.”

Fortunately it was a hot day, and the men got dry in the sun while they tried to help the casualty. This was not at all easy because Edvin screamed and could not stand anybody touching him.

Vemund Tark looked up. “Well, finally, here comes a servant girl. She’s riding as if the devil is at her heels.”

Ulf glanced at the path. “That’s not a servant girl, it’s my daughter,” he said curtly. Vemund opened his eyes wide at the sight that came thundering along the path. A mop of hair without any powder in it was waving like a mane behind her, she sat astride her horse and you could see her thighs when her skirts fluttered in the wind. Was this really the young lady of the estate?

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I made a mistake.”

Ulf smiled to himself. “Elisabet does as she pleases, much to her mother’s despair. But she’s an honest and decent girl with impeccable morals.”

“She can certainly ride a horse,” Vemund said, “and without a saddle or harness.”

Elisabet jumped off the horse even before she had reached Ulf and Vemund and ran the last bit. She fell on her knees in front of Edvin, who was pale in the face, and inspected his wounds.

“We think he’s also broken his arm,” her father said.

Elisabet looked at the arm and said: “No, it’s just his shoulder that’s dislocated. One moment ... Take a firm grip here, Dad!” She got the shoulder in place with a jerk. Edvin yelled like mad and then passed out.

“I say!” said Vemund, shaken. He had never seen a woman act so resolutely. He said to Elisabet: “You seem very talented.”

She didn’t even bother to look up at him. “My great-grandfather, Ulvhedin, taught me, and later on, Aunt Ingrid. I’m the one who is to inherit the Ice People’s sacred treasure after her because there are no cursed or chosen relatives after those two.”

Vemund looked questioningly at Ulf but he had no time to explain.

“Take the clothes off his lower body,” Elisabet said.

The crowd of men who stood in a circle around them let out a shocked sigh: none of them could bring themselves to obey the order.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea for a lady ...” Vemund Tark started to say.

“Now, don’t be stupid,” Elisabet hissed impatiently. “Is this about the boy’s life or my virtue? I can assure you that it’s under my full control.”

“Elisabet has witnessed several things worse than this,” Ulf said, almost apologetically, pulling off Edvin’s trousers. “Her great dream is to become a doctor – which is impossible, of course, because one day she will inherit our estate. Meanwhile, she’s very bored. Isn’t that right, Elisabet?”

“I just want to do something sensible,” she said without looking up from the long gash. “Being a daughter at home on an estate with two very efficient parents and so many servants is boring and futile. Put a firm hand here,” she said to Vemund’s hands. “Press the edges of the wound together!” He obeyed without a word.

Elisabet looked more closely at his hands. They were nice to look at. Big, strong and horny from the sun and rough weather, but also rather long and sinewy with sensitive fingers.

Finally, she allowed herself to look up at their owner. She could tell immediately that this was not the usual rafter or farmhand. The intensely blue eyes that looked searchingly into hers told her that they belonged to a person who was well bred and cultured. The mouth was extremely alluring. Elisabet became deeply fascinated by the pure, masculine lines. She was looking into a distinctly noble face. This was bound to be her mother’s notorious Vemund Tark.

What was it that those eyes were hiding? What kind of intimidating abyss existed in this man’s consciousness? How could so much bitterness show so clearly on such a young face?

Elisabet was neither cursed nor chosen. She was an ordinary girl – but beyond any doubt, she was one of the Ice People. She perhaps resembled Cecilie and Villemo the most, or maybe Ingrid in her younger days. But Elisabet had an unexpected shyness, which could not be said of the others.

She was confused because Vemund Tark was gazing at her so intently that she had to lower her eyes. Without noticing it, she pulled down Edvin’s shirt, scantily covering his most private parts.

She muttered: “I have to stitch the wound. He’s unconscious.”

A modern doctor would have wept at Elisabet’s primitive surgery, not least at the lack of hygiene, but the men were deeply impressed. Quite a number had to look away when she put the needle into Edvin’s skin.

Vemund did not say a word but the look he gave Ulf Paladin said a lot.

The pain woke Edvin and three men had to hold him down until Elisabet had finished her job. Old Nils wept and prayed to God for forgiveness because they were hurting his creation. He felt that Elisabet was very insensitive and brutal. At last she stood up and carefully brushed her skirts. They carried the moaning Edvin up onto the cart that his father had brought; Elisabet nodded and gave everyone a nervous smile. She did not mount the saddleless horse again but climbed up with Edvin in the cart. Vemund stepped forward carefully in order to help her up and over the side. Elisabet did not dare to meet his glance again because this would ask too much of her openness. The horse followed freely behind the cart.