Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 16 - The Mandrake

Then they rode on.

Northwards.

“I hear you are going to marry,” Ingrid said in the cooing, affectionate voice a woman uses when she has won a victory.

Dan’s tone of voice was considerably more sombre. “Yes. When I return home.”

“Is she nice?”

“I don’t know,” Dan answered and thought of Madeleine who now seemed anaemic and boring. Dan had once thought of Madeleine as being both beautiful and dignified. “She seems all right.”

“But you are not in love with her?”

“In love? No ...” he grimaced. “What does that mean anyway? Nothing but buffoonery for young men who just want to be made fools of.”

Ingrid snorted with amusement. “I have often thought that, too. How foolish they look, strutting around and puffing up their feathers like male peacocks.”

“Yes, no doubt there are many who puff up their feathers for you?”

“Quite a few.”

“And you, too, will be marrying soon, I hear.”

Ingrid shrugged her shoulders. “If it suits me.”

“I am afraid you may have another think coming. What is his name?”

“Thor Egil Frederick Seved Francke.”

“My goodness! What kind of man is he? A farmer?”

“No. An officer and the youngest brother of a squire. He won’t be eligible to inherit his own estate so he is marrying me because of Graastensholm.”

“I find that hard to believe! At least, that that’s the only reason.”

“That is sweet of you to say,” said Ingrid as she turned coquettishly.

“Such airs you put on!” Dan snorted.

Ingrid just laughed.

They set up camp for the night in a small spruce forest but remained seated on their blankets while Dan “lectured” Ingrid, as he always did. He could not have wished for a more devoted listener, Dan thought. He really enjoyed teaching Ingrid about the things he worked with. Ingrid made Dan feel proud and eager.

The summer evening was mild and dim. The spruce trees stood like melancholy silhouettes in a circle around them and the forest breathed warm and strong.

“You see, Ingrid, my teacher, Olof Rudbeck the Younger, was inspired to collect these plants by a boy ...”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there is a small tyke, only eight or ten years old, of his acquaintance. This boy thinks of nothing but animals and plants. His name is Carl Linnæus. His parents are very knowledgeable and they have taught him everything they know about flowers. Olof Rudbeck told me that they have a fantastic garden in Småland where they live, and young Carl was allowed to have his own plot of land there. But now the poor soul has been placed in a school in Växjö, where he suffers at the hands of ignorant teachers who cram the boys with useless Latin phrases and give them a thrashing every Saturday for a whole week’s worth of sins, regardless of whether or not they have committed any.”

“There are so many idiotic adults,” Ingrid said, thinking of her own priest who had no longer had any more to teach her. “But how did Carl inspire Rudbeck?”

Dan did not show how deeply shocked he was. Imagine referring to his idol, the honourable professor and scientist, merely as “Rudbeck”!

“My mentor received a letter from the boy’s father about little Carl’s interests. Young Carl had apparently planned to list all the plants in a book, draw them and name them. Quite unskilfully, of course, but the idea is sound enough, Master Olof tells me. And even though he has no intention of stealing it from the boy, he wants to do some preparatory work because he is convinced that the boy will grow up to become an exceptional botanist. That’s why I have been given the task of collecting field specimens, which the boy can be given to examine.”

“Good,” Ingrid nodded solemnly. “I’ll help you to find and collect unusual samples.”

“Thank you. But you should try to avoid doing what all beginners tend to do, which is only to take the unusual kinds while disregarding the ones in front of their very noses. Did you realize that we know a lot about the relatively rare blue hen harrier and the kite but very little about the magpie?”

Ingrid smiled but felt stung. She had not exactly planned to pick dandelions and thistles.

They remained quiet for a moment.

Then Dan slowly said, “Do you like ... the man with all those long names?”

Ingrid made a face and uttered a disrespectful “Hummpph!”

“Why are you marrying him, then?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I had to choose someone, didn’t I? For my parents’ sake. And I am the sole inheritor of Graastensholm and Linden Avenue. So it’s my duty.”

“I thought you didn’t care about duty.”

“And that’s true,” Ingrid answered in an uncharacteristically serious tone. “But I will do anything for my mother and father.”

Dan’s expression softened. “That was a nice thing to say.”

“Rubbish,” Ingrid snorted, a little ill at ease at receiving praise. “Should I say something just as cloyingly sweet about you, perhaps? You know – I think it’s fantastic that you have already managed to achieve so much in your life. Imagine, being sent on such an important assignment by Master Olof himself!”

Now Dan was smiling. “You’re right. Praise can be uncomfortable. Especially if it isn’t true.”

“What isn’t true?”

“I was the one who kept insisting on going. He thought I was a bit too young.”

“Did that make you want to put your friendship to the test?”

“Yes, but Grandma Villemo’s talk and Grandpa Mikael’s books have influenced me. I just wanted so badly to see the Valley of the Ice People.”

“Ha!” Ingrid exclaimed triumphantly. “You too! You’re no better than the rest of us!”

Dan meekly tried to defend himself. “I have my own theory about the grave, as you know, about its existence and its location. But collecting plants really is what drew me the most. It was only in choosing to come to Norway that I was stubborn.”

Ingrid froze. “Shh! Did you hear that?”

“No. What was it?”

“Keep quiet!”

Dan pricked up his ears. And then he heard it, too. The sound of horse’s hooves was approaching them.

They sat motionless, like stone pillars, and waited.

After a while a rider could be made out on the road. An unusually big rider, who came galloping in their direction like a demon.

Ingrid pulled the saddlebag, which she had been protecting under her arm all evening, closer to her body and rolled away under the spruces.

“I’m not here,” she hissed to Dan.

He never got a chance to wonder about her behaviour. He was just staring at the approaching rider. Nor was he any longer in doubt as to who it was. There was only one person who could make such a grim impression.

As Ingrid had anticipated, Ulvhedin rode by on the road below them, and Dan was about to shout to Ingrid that she could come out again, but held his tongue.

The demonic rider had reined in his horse. Strangely, Dan could discern him in the darkness of the night. Like a shadow, waiting quietly without moving, as though he were stalking his prey. Then Ulvhedin turned the horse around and came closer, like a dimly shimmering threat, to where Dan sat hunched on the ground.

Now Dan understood why he could see Ulvhedin so clearly. There was a barely visible blue aura about him. An aura of anger? Or determination? Dan didn’t know.

Ulvhedin could not possibly have spotted their hiding place! The horses were hidden in the spruces and Dan was peering out between the trees against a dark, leafy background that made him very hard to see.

Ulvhedin must have sensed his prey, like a hunting animal!

Back at Graastensholm Dan had not felt afraid of Ulvhedin, despite his imposing appearance. Now he was utterly weak from fear.