Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 20 - Wings of the Raven

No, Yves was the one who had been looking after their travelling funds in their room. He hurried upstairs to see if their money was still there.

Nothing had been touched.

Weak, but still strong enough to venture outside, Yves made it clear to the people of the inn that he intended to ride out in search of his uncle. They merely nodded, barely looking up from their chores. Only one young girl gave him a glance that might have been interpreted as a silent prayer. A prayer ... or a warning?

Yves did not want to eat now. If he got hungry, he would probably be offered a meal at the princess’s home. Judging by the gloomy yet substantial carriage in which she had been riding, she was comfortably off.

The sun had risen now and the rays fell at a slant across the little square. Seen in daylight the village actually looked quite attractive. It was built in a very old-fashioned style, but that was not unusual for the villages here in Siebenbürgen, tucked away up in the mountains. Siebenbürgen, Transylvania, Ardeal – Mon Dieu, how confusing these names were!

Mist was rising from the hills when he rose out of the far side of the village. There was a similar vapour rising from the Forest of Hell, as he called it. The morning fog was clearing.

A stifling new day awaited.

He could not believe he had slept for almost twenty-four hours! That had never happened before; it must mean that his illness had entered a serious phase. He would have to find a doctor.

The winding road rose to the foot of the cliff. In the bottom of the valley a small river flowed slowly. He had now put the village behind him.

It was pleasant here, but a little too confined and with too much forest for Yves. He longed for his French hometown, which was now occupied by the common people. The same was probably true of their estate.

No, he didn’t want to think about the revolution, it pained him too much. They were going to start a new life, in Cluj or Sibiu, far away from those who were pursuing French noblemen.

The road rounded a sharp bend, revealing a small meadow. And wasn’t that his uncle’s horse he could see grazing there? It was wonderful to finally see some sign of life.

The horse caught sight of Yves on his horse and neighed happily as it trotted up to them. Yves patted it and greeted it. It followed them farther along the path. Then the road made another sharp turn and, surprised, Yves halted his horse.

There it was – the castle! Castle Stregesti: that must be what it was called. It was more of a fortress than a castle; the architectural style was old and formal, though not as lavishly unrestrained with towers and waving pennants as other castles tended to be.

When he had first caught sight of the castle from the corner of his eye, it had seemed like a giant ruin that towered high above him at the edge of a tall cliff. But that had only been his first impression. When he lifted his eyes and looked at the place properly it became evident that the castle was quite habitable. Even though it was old and built from rough-hewn stone blocks, it was well maintained. There was a great portal at the end of the road and the many small windows in the walls made it look welcoming. The last part of the drive up to the gate consisted of an avenue of beautiful trees.

As Yves rode up the avenue he realized that the view from the castle must be unsurpassed. Directly below him in the little valley was a small lake, and he could glimpse remnants of a settlement around it. Perhaps the whole village had once been moved, or perhaps it had been much larger than it was now ... he would have to ask the ladies about that.

Thank goodness the princess could speak French! He hoped that the young Nicola also spoke it. It would make things so much easier. But, of course, the language of love didn’t need words ...

He had thought about Nicola a great deal and about what he could do for her. But the first thing he needed to do was remove her from the beautiful but domineering princess.

The gate was made of oak, heavy, massive and dark. He dismounted and left his horse to graze with his uncle’s horse before knocking on the door.

The knocks made a hollow echoing sound within the walls. But almost immediately, the bony coachman came to admit him. He didn’t say anything, just bowed before Yves.

What do you say to someone who doesn’t understand a civilized language?

“My uncle? Is he here? And may I pay the ladies a visit?”

Yves wasn’t certain that the coachman had understood him, but he clearly ushered him inside with a sweeping gesture of his scrawny hand. Yves thanked him reservedly and entered a small courtyard surrounded by buildings.

Beautiful oriel windows with leaded glass panes broke up the thick walls here and there He also noticed a small balcony. The castle seemed to consist of two storeys and closest to the gate there was clearly a barn, the kitchen and the servants’ quarters. The coachmen showed Yves in through a door that seemed to lead to the finer part of the castle.

He entered a dark hall and at first couldn’t see anything at all. But the coachman walked ahead of him and opened the door to something that looked like a banqueting hall. Yves couldn’t help comparing it with his comfortable old home in France and concluded that things must be a little backward here.

And he was in a barbaric country, he mustn’t forget that!

The princess entered and greeted him. She was beaming with joy. “Well. Monsieur Yves! You seem to be feeling better. Your uncle said that you were ill.”

“That is true, your Highness,” Yves answered as he kissed her hand. “And how are you?”

“Splendid, thank you.”

“My uncle ... Is he still here?” Yves asked politely.

Princess Feodora let out a shrill laugh. “Ah, your uncle is certainly a morning man! You must excuse him and us, Mr Yves, but we sat talking for so long last night that at last there was no point in him returning to the inn. You know, it has been a fantastic experience for Nicola and myself to encounter such a cultured person as your uncle. We are simply starving when it comes to cultured guests! When morning came your uncle was full of energy and wanted to go out and take a look at our abundant hunting grounds by the lake. Oh don’t worry, it is completely safe, there are no wild animals in the valley. He plans to be back here in about an hour, and had you not arrived by that time he would of course have gone back to the inn to tend to you. But he wasn’t all that worried about you. You were feeling much better when he left you, is that not true?”

“Yes. Do you mean to say that you were actually expecting me at this time?”

“Yes, we were. Nicola!”

She shouted in the direction of the room from which she had come. The shy girl immediately came out and curtsied to Yves, who took her hand and kissed it. He noticed that it was shaking.

“Perhaps you would entertain Mr Yves while I send word that we will be one more for lunch.”

“Yes, of course,” the young girl whispered.

She was even lovelier than he remembered. She offered him a seat on the velvet-covered bench by the window, where the curtains were closed.

After a short pause Yves asked, “Do you speak French?”

She nodded and cast a terrified glance towards her aunt – if that was her relationship to the princess.

Yves observed her covertly. It was clear to see that the girl was in great distress, because she was constantly biting her nails, which had already been bitten down. She must be around twenty. He wondered why she was so afraid of the princess.

Nicola was very attractive. Her front teeth protruded slightly, but only just enough to give her the most adorable pout. Her eyes were big and dark brown, and her hair, which was parted in the middle, was shining black and probably very long. Today it had been braided and rolled up in a bun on the back of her head. Exactly like the princess’s hair.