Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 14 - The Knight

Anyway, it seemed her life would not be such a long one, and maybe she should regard this fact as a comfort.

No! Marina, she mustn’t forget Marina! For the sake of her daughter, Hildegard would have to live for as long as possible.

Hildegard knitted her brow as she changed into her very roomiest dress. Jochum’s latest affair had lasted a long time now. The young, self-centred Miss Kruusedige. Unlike most of his previous mistresses, she was single and she seemed to have got her claws into him.

Good heavens, she thought, when she saw herself in the mirror. I look like a haystack! Or a soldier’s tent. No, I can’t be seen like this!

She resolutely rang for the chambermaid for advice and assistance – from a girl who didn’t have the slightest respect for her, but simply smirked behind her back. Jochum had chosen her chambermaid. She was sweet and pretty. His hands had undoubtedly fondled her round derriere.

A fresh attack of dizziness was on the way. Hildegard quickly sat down on the bed, looking calmly at her daughter.

“I’m just a little tired. I just want to rest for a moment. Look in the top drawer over there! Maybe you’ll find some toffees.”

When the chambermaid entered, Hildegard just about managed to stammer out, that she had knocked the bell by mistake. The girl left again with a stifled snort. Then Hildegard fainted.

She was in the middle of it once more. Hell, as she called it: the noise all around her, the royal court holding a party, celebrating His Majesty. Oh, this language that was impossible to learn! Fortunately it was fashionable to speak French, in which Hildegard was fairly fluent. Except that nobody spoke to her.

She knew quite well why not: it was because she looked worse than ever. Her face was swollen so that no one could avoid noticing it, so people ignored her instead of trying to speak about something else.

They stood in groups in the great hall, cackling and laughing. Jochum had disappeared from her side, so she was by herself. People walked towards her and then turned away with shifty glances.

Tonight it was more obvious than ever before, this business of Miss Kruusedige. Jochum no longer made any attempt to keep the affair a secret. Now he bent over the lady’s hand, kissing it without taking his eyes off her. That was how he had kissed Hildegard’s hand once ...

The ladies-in-waiting looked at her out of the corners of their eyes, smiling to one another.

Oh, loneliness! Oh, terrible dance floor, so unreasonable large and intimidating even if it was full of people! Young Marina, her only friend in the world, had insisted on coming with her this evening; she had begged and begged with a strange anxiety in her eyes. But Hildegard had had to refuse, even if it hurt her greatly. There was no place for children at the banquet, nor at the ball afterwards.

She didn’t feel well. Could she go up to her room? No that would be a terrible insult to the royal couple, and she didn’t dare walk up to them and ask for permission to leave because she felt sick. Hildegard had never been keen to draw attention to herself.

Actually, her name wasn’t Hildegard at all. However, her real name had been too difficult to pronounce in Riesenstein, so she had been baptized Hildegard instead, just like that. She had quite liked the name at the time, because Jochum had chosen it, but now she would have liked to take back her own name, if only she had had the courage to object.

Jochum walked past her and hissed: “Do you have to stand there like a cow, watching my every move? Your dress is so tight, that it shows off the four or five rolls of fat around your waist. You look like something the cat dragged in! Couldn’t you at least cover yourself up with a shawl?”

Then he was off, addressing a witty remark to the Queen.

When Hildegard finally dared to look up again, she caught sight of someone looking at her. She started. She hadn’t seen such a gaze at court for many years. Compassion, empathy, a feeling of comfort and ease was being directed at her. It told her she shouldn’t feel so alone and let down. Someone was there for her. A friend, even if he couldn’t speak with her.

Hildegard felt warm and happy inside; her eyes brimmed with tears because she was just so surprised and pleased. She didn’t know the young man; he was one of the King’s life guards, a select group of strapping noblemen, who wore light blue uniforms, capes with red fronts and white epaulettes and paraded along the walls to provide security for the great feast.

He was a handsome young man, about thirty years old, dark and with sad eyes. He had a refined air about him, without appearing weak. Hildegard liked him straight away. But she never looked in his direction – it wasn’t a proper thing for a princess to do.

Now he was like an oasis in the desert for a lonely wanderer.

There was no more than that swift glance; their eyes met for only a second. But now Hildegard knew that he was there. That was enough. She felt strong again.

Young Marina had crept into her bed, listening with a pounding heart. She could vaguely hear the chambermaid snoring through the wall.

If only she could lock the door that led into the corridor. But this was something she wasn’t permitted to do. There was no key, and the chambermaid, the deaf old soul, had orders to come in and see to her, if necessary.

If it was necessary? Not once during the two years that she had been Marina’s chambermaid had she woken up from her noisy sleep to see to the girl. And Marina no longer dared to walk into the chambermaid’s room.

She had got the message. To begin with, she hadn’t understood why the old woman smelt so peculiar at night. But as she grew older, she realized that the chambermaid drank like a fish, after which she would snore all night long.

Marina had to put her chin over the edge of the blanket in order to breathe fresh air. She was still listening for the soft steps, when she remembered there was a party this evening. Everybody had to attend. Now she could sleep peacefully for a change.

Oh, God, please don’t let those soft steps drop by tonight. Please don’t let it happen again, I can’t take it!

For the past fourteen days, she had heard the steps. Then the door opened ever so carefully. The steps walked over to her bed.

The first night she had sat up in bed, puzzled. “Mum?”

“Quiet,” a voice had answered. “It’s only me, Uncle Paul.”

Uncle Paul? Oh, that old, fat Count Ruckelberg. What did he want here? With his greasy wig and his many chins, which wobbled when he turned his head. The protruding eyes, staring so horribly at her, the fat fingers that always rested on her knee.

“Here, Marina. Look what I’ve brought you. Chocolates made by the King himself!”

He wasn’t so terribly old. About the same age as Dad. Only he looked much older, fat and haggard as he was.

Marina had received the chocolates, saying a nice thank you, but he hadn’t left. He had sat himself at her bedside, whispering a lot of nonsense about what a sweet little girl she was, and how much he’d have loved to have a doll like her to play with, because he was so terribly lonely. He had patted her hair and her cheek, and she didn’t like that, and then he had finally left.

But the following night he appeared with more chocolates and said she wasn’t to tell anybody that he’d been there, because he was supposed to be on guard duty, and if anyone discovered that he had visited his little friend, he would be put in prison, and surely she didn’t want that, did she? That evening, he had poked his hand under the blanket, touching her shoulders and chest, and said that her skin was so nice and soft.

The following evening, he had placed his hand on one of her breasts and said that she was a grown-up girl now, gasping for breath so strangely that he sounded like a sawmill. Although she had been brought up always to obey what the grown-ups said without asking any questions, she had had the courage to ask him to stop it because she was scared, and then he had left.