Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 31 - The Ferryman

But no one had been reported missing, had they?

It must have happened some time the previous night.

No, that didn’t appear to be the case.

Sheriff Sveg – a dignified, hardened man in his fifties – stood up and brushed the knees of his soaking wet trousers. “He’s been lying in the water for a long time,” he said, his voice not betraying any emotion. “A very long time indeed. You can see that, can’t you Olsen? He is showing clear signs of it. But there are a few other things that truly astonish me. Let’s see if you can figure out what they are!”

The hopeful young deputy, who always thought he knew more about everything than the seasoned Sveg, looked thoughtfully at the dishevelled corpse on the ground. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “He seems to have collided with something.”

“Yes, well, that’s pretty obvious. But don’t you notice anything else?”

Sveg’s assistant felt somewhat ill at ease, but he swallowed bravely. “Well,” he said. “Well ...”

“Well, try to reach some conclusion, instead of just standing there bleating!” the sheriff interrupted him impatiently. “Examine his hands and feet and neck.”

The young Olsen didn’t think there was enough left of the limbs for him to draw any kind of conclusion, but in order to look as attentive and intelligent as was suitable for a man with a higher level of education, he bent down to examine the corpse thoroughly.

At long last he brightened up. “He has some wounds to his neck!”

Sveg merely growled. “His hands and feet have been tied up, can’t you see that? There are still some marks around his wrists and ankles from the rope that was tied tightly around them. And ... this is the most peculiar thing. Yes, I’ve seen the wound to the neck. But there’s something else you should notice. His corpse is completely drained of blood!”

“Yes, I noticed that as well,” Olsen said quickly. “But I thought it was much too strange a phenomenon to have anything to do with this case.”

“You thought! Dimwit! Just because you’ve attended a few more schools than I have doesn’t mean you are omniscient! Goodness gracious, what have I done to deserve this millstone around my neck?”

But the sheriff did not express his thoughts aloud. Olsen’s parents were respectable parishioners and they were honest people who hadn’t deserved such a braggart of a son.

He turned the corpse over. Most of the clothes had been torn off the body, but the belt was still there, with some mouldering shreds stuck in it.

But his back was bare. And that was where Sveg discovered something that would force him to seek help from the experts. Another well-educated young man crossed his path, but this time the young man was more appealing.

Sander Brink was still a university student but had got so far in his studies and exhibited such talent that his professor, whom Sveg had originally approached, had recommended him. The professor himself was on his way to Italy with his wife and children, where he was going to perform some archaeological excavations and spend his holiday, and he didn’t have the heart to disappoint his expectant family. So he sent Sander Brink in his stead.

Sveg observed him sceptically. The lad was much too young and precocious, he thought. But Sander had a mild and pleasing smile and a pleasant voice. Women must fall for him by the dozen, Sveg thought bitterly. Having brown eyes and fair hair has always been considered an attractive combination; add to that his mesmerizing charisma, and girls couldn’t possibly avoid having romantic dreams about him.

Yet Sveg had to admit that the lad was extremely knowledgeable, and it became clear that he also knew exactly what he was talking about. Sander was studying cultural and religious history, which was why he had been sent.

The young man, probably no more than twenty-three years old, gingerly touched the bare back of the corpse on the table. The rest of the victim’s body was covered up. All that was visible was livid, sodden skin.

“It is significant that it is a heathen symbol,” said Sander Brink. “Of course, it has been rather primitively and clumsily etched into the surface of the skin, but these bird heads ...”

“Where?” asked Sveg, who couldn’t make sense of the seemingly random lines on the skin.

“Here. Two beaks facing each other.”

“Oh, I see,” said the sheriff, who still couldn’t tell that they were beaks.

“They are typical of the Merovingian Age.”

“The what?”

“The period from the sixth to the eighth century. In Sweden it is known as the Vendel Period, named after the archaeological finds from Vendel in Uppland. But here it is known as the Merovingian due to the influence of the Frankish dynasty.”

“I see. And what are they doing on this man’s back?”

“Yes, well, that’s the question. It doesn’t look the least bit pleasant to me. Very few people are truly familiar with the sacrificial rituals from that period.”

“Sacrificial rituals?”

“Yes, you do realize that, don’t you? Following the rituals of that time, the victims’ throats would be slashed and all the blood collected in bowls, which would then be sacrificed to the gods. Afterwards, the victims would be hung from trees.”“How charming,” Sveg muttered.

Olsen had also been present, but he had left when Sander began talking about sacrifices.

“The Uppsala sacrifice was the best known. It took place every nine years, and a witness, Adam of Bremen, described seeing the bodies of seventy-two horses, dogs and humans hanging in the sacred sacrificial grove at Uppsala,” Sander said.

“I see. But right now we’re in Norway in the year 1891,” Sveg said firmly. “Do you believe that this poor wretch has been hung in a tree?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. The marks on his skin were clearly made by a rope, though they are also on his hands and feet ... but you never know.”

“Also around his neck,” Sveg said dryly.

“Yes. How old would he have been?”

“Not that young. My guess is around sixty? But it isn’t easy to determine anything about him, he’s in such bad shape. Well, I have to go, I’ve been asked to call on a house farther up the valley. My district is much too big. The story up there was also rather odd – I didn’t quite catch what the messenger was trying to tell me. There are some strange sisters living on that farm who claim that a ghost paid them a visit last night.”

“Is that really a job for a sheriff?” Sander asked with a smile, and Sveg thought to himself once again that the charisma of this young man was truly immense. Had the sheriff had a daughter of a suitable age, he would have immediately introduced her to him. But he didn’t.

“No, actually not, but the old women insist on being compensated for the damage, so I’ll have to go up there and make an estimate.”

Sander looked at him thoughtfully. “Could I possibly come with you? I have to stay here for a while anyway to try to find out more about the body, which I won’t be able to do until tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sheriff Sveg. “If you can make do with my old gig and the company of Olsen and me.”

“With pleasure! Thank you for your kindness.”

Sveg snorted. Kind was the last thing he felt at the moment.

While they were sitting in the gig making their way through the winding valley along the river Sveg talked a bit more about the three sisters.

“Apparently the ladies are hysterical and aggressive and are demanding enormous compensation for what are clearly just burn marks in the fireplace that were there all along.”

“And who is supposed to compensate for these small burns?”

“Some of their young relatives who were visiting them. An eight-year-old girl was sleeping in the room when the vandalism started.”