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  Under Suspicion

  The Legend of The Ice People 8 - Under Suspicion

  © Margit Sandemo 1982

  © eBook in English: Jentas A/S, 2017

  Series: The Legend of The Ice People

  Title: Under Suspicion

  Title number: 8

  Original title: Bödelns dotter

  Translator: Anna Halager

  © Translation: Jentas A/S

  ISBN: 978-87-7107-342-3

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

  All contracts and agreements regarding the work, translation, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas A/S.

  Acknowledgement

  The legend of the Ice People is dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my dear late husband Asbjorn Sandemo, who made my life a fairy tale.

  Margit Sandemo

  The Ice People - Reviews

  ‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’

  - The Guardian

  ‘Full of convincing characters, well estabished in time and place, and enlightening ... will get your eyes popping, and quite possibly groins twitching ... these are graphic novels without pictures ... I want to know what happens next.’

  - The Times

  ‘A mixure of myth and legend interwoven with historical events, this is imaginative creation that involves the reader from the first page to the last.’

  - Historical Novels Review

  ‘Loved by the masses, the prolific Margit Sandemo has written over 172 novels to date and is Scandinavia's most widely read author...’

  - Scanorama magazine

  The Legend of the Ice People

  The legend of the Ice People begins many centuries ago with Tengel the Evil. He was ruthless and greedy, and there was only one way to get everything that he wanted: he had to make a pact with the devil. He travelled far into the wilderness and summoned the devil with a magic potion that he had brewed in a pot. Tengel the Evil gained unlimited wealth and power but in exchange, he cursed his own family. One of his descendants in every generation would serve the Devil with evil deeds. When it was done, Tengel buried the pot. If anyone found it, the curse would be broken.

  So the curse was passed down through Tengel’s descendants, the Ice People. One person in every generation was born with yellow cat’s eyes, a sign of the curse, and magical powers which they used to serve the Devil. One day the most powerful of all the cursed Ice People would be born.

  This is what the legend says. Nobody knows whether it is true, but in the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil into good, which is why they called him Tengel the Good. This legend is about his family. Actually, it is mostly about the women in his family – the women who held the fate of the Ice People in their hands.

  Chapter 1

  The executioner’s assistant had many names: the executioner’s smith, the executioner’s boy, the horse skinner – and the Night Man. No matter what he was called, he was despised by everybody. The executioner himself was at least the object of a certain respect mixed with horror, which was certainly not the case with his assistant, who was the lowest of the low.

  He was usually recruited from the vast crowd of condemned criminals, which was why he often didn’t have a tongue or ears, but hands and feet he had because these he would need in for job. He was forced to lead a shady existence and would only venture out at night, otherwise people would throw stones and spit at him. That was probably why he was called the Night Man.

  The executioner’s assistant in the parish of Graastensholm was much the same. But this man had been allowed to keep his tongue and ears. It was a choice many of the criminals faced instead of sentencing: become the executioner’s assistant and keep your tongue and ears. He was a stooped, worn out, grumpy man who stumbled around his hut at the edge of the forest, letting his daughter, Hilde, be the target of his resentment.

  At some stage during his youth, Joel Night Man had been married. He became a criminal, but when he came face to face with the law, he became horrified and begged that he be spared his punishment. He had to wait in jail until the dubious office of executioner’s assistant became vacant. When he was released after spending a year behind bars, he discovered that his wife had died. His bitterness had just become greater over the years, and turned into an ugly hatred which was directed at his daughter.

  Sometimes you would see Hilde, now a young woman, scuttling between the hut and the outhouse by the edge of the forest or when she returned home with freshly picked berries from the forest. However, she would never go near other people and the handful of drinking companions that had previously frequented the Night Man’s house had never seen her. Nobody dropped by anymore because they were fed up with listening to Joel’s bilious remarks. His employers were the only ones who would visit occasionally, and Hilde would hide from them.

  It was now a cold and dismal spring day in 1654. Andreas Lind of the Ice People had been ploughing a small patch of soil by the forest above the other fields that belonged to his farm. He had been interested in the small meadow for quite some years and thought that it could be turned into good arable land. There didn’t seem to be many stones and the underwood would be easy to clear. Finally, he had got started on converting it.

  Andreas was now twenty-seven and he was still a bachelor. He hadn’t come that far. He had certainly looked at the girls in town but none of them had set his heart ablaze. He much preferred to walk behind his horse, as he did now, with his hands on the plough, watching the good, black top soil turn under his gaze. This would be a fine piece of land in time. He decided it would probably be best if he started off by sowing barley ... a stone hit the ploughshare and he stopped the horse. It wasn’t a very big stone, so he was able to lift it easily to the edge of the field.

  Andreas decided to take a break. He climbed to the top of a ridge so that he could look out over the village. He sat down on a boulder with his arms wrapped around his knees.

  Linden Avenue looked fine from here. The buildings were well-kept. His Mum and Dad and Granddad still worked on the farm and made it a point of honour to keep everything in the best possible state. Although Linden Avenue was not one of the biggest farms in the parish, it was still regarded as an estate.

  Graastensholm looked just as good. Better, of course, because it was grander, but this was only for as long as Tarald and Yrja and Liv were still able to manage it. How things would turn out when young Mattias Meiden took over was difficult to say. Mattias was a physician by profession and could do nothing else. But if he could get a good farmer to manage it all, then it would be all right!

  Mattias hadn’t married either and he was now thirty years old. Just thinking of Mattias made Andreas smile. It would be almost wrong of Mattias to marry and belong to one person. He seemed to belong to all of humanity. Marriage might tie him down so that he wouldn’t have the time to care for others.

  But these were selfish thoughts on Andreas’ part. After all, Mattias should also have the chance to experience the close love and devotion of a caring relationship, even though it didn’t seem that he missed being married.

  Andreas happened to gaze at a small, miserable hovel at the edge of the forest not far from where he sat. He shivered. He knew that this was where the Night Man lived with his daughter. At that moment he caught sight of a woman on her way to the outhouse. T
hen she was gone. That must be Hilde. Andreas had never seen her close-up. She had always stayed out there, ignored by everybody.

  He remembered many years ago when the young people in the parish would meet during the bright midsummer evenings to dance in the forest. Hilde was a silent figure who kept close to the trees – at a far distance from the happy, noisy throng. You only saw the Night Man’s daughter as a silhouette. If anybody got too close and tried to tease or mock her, she would immediately disappear into the shadows of the forest, not to return for the rest of that night. Just like everybody else in those days, he had laughed at the strange girl. He felt a pang of guilt. He was older now and understood more.

  The whole village lay calmly in the grey light down below. The church looked like it was in a slightly tumbledown state. The vicar had mentioned that the church tower needed to be repaired this year, but the congregation had turned a deaf ear because the farmers couldn’t afford to pay for anything like that. However, sooner or later the job had to be done if the tower was not to collapse.

  He caught a glimpse of the roof on Gabriella and Kaleb’s farm. They and Eli now had an orphanage there. They had never had children other than their one stillborn daughter, but they had adopted Eli and no parents could have been more devoted to their child than they were to her. It never occurred to anybody any more that she was not their biological daughter. They were a happy little family. Andreas smiled to himself. There were exactly ten years between them down there – Kaleb was 36, Gabriella 26, and Eli 16. If the child had lived, it would have been 6 years old. But it was a good thing that it was stillborn – it would not have been easy for Kaleb and Gabriella to have to bring up one of the evil creatures of the Ice People.

  Andreas was now confident that he would bear healthy children so perhaps it was about time that he had some... But that meant he would have to find a wife. Oh, well, he was not in such a great hurry after all.

  Andreas took a deep breath and got up. All his joints creaked. It was time for him to get started once more if he was to be finished by supper.

  He continued working for a long time. ‘I think I can manage another furrow,’ he thought. ‘And another one. And one more ...’

  The rainy clouds, which touched the top of the fir trees, had already turned into a dark twilight hue as he ploughed the last patch between some boulders, turning over some fresh turf.

  The plough struck a soft obstacle.

  He tried again.

  No, something was stopping it. It wasn’t a stone and it wasn’t a root either. It was softer. Andreas bent down and removed a lump of earth. It followed willingly as if it had been placed there recently. Under his feet he glimpsed something that looked like a piece of material. It was dark, thick, homespun.

  He removed a tuft of grass and a rotting face looked up at him.

  Andreas jerked backwards. He feverishly got the plough free of the soil, lifted it over the macabre find and drove on the horse. When they reached the edge of the small plot, he unharnessed the plough, jumped on the horse and rode home, bareback.

  He knew perfectly well that whatever it was he had found, it was not lying in consecrated ground. Sinners were buried outside the churchyard wall, but that hadn’t happened for a long time. This couldn’t be an accident - this was something covert.

  This was as far as he wanted to think before he could talk to someone about it. What a shame that Judge Dag Meiden had passed away! Now he would have to contact the bailiff, and he was not the world’s most pleasant man. What about Kaleb? He knew a lot about law and order! Yes, he would also summon Kaleb. That was a comforting thought.

  At the farm, they saw Andreas riding as if the Devil were at his heels and they went out to meet him. Grandpa Are, 68, but upright like a young man, Brand, his Dad, calm and broad-shouldered, with a hint of grey hair, and sweet Matilda, his Mum. She had always been stocky and she’d not gotten thinner as the years went by... They looked enquiringly at Andreas as he jumped off the horse.

  “But Andreas,” said Brand. “You’re quite grey in the face. What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve found a corpse in the soil up there. We’d better summon the bailiff immediately so he won’t accuse us of keeping a secret.”

  “I’ll send the stable lad immediately.”

  The bailiff lived in the neighbouring town, but it wasn’t far.

  “Please bring Kaleb as well,” said Andreas.

  “Of course.”

  Soon the whole farm knew about the discovery and people ran in small clusters up towards the forest path, some curious, others absolutely intent on not looking – but they still wanted to go along! Andreas halted the rushing throng up by the forest.

  “You mustn’t walk on the ploughed patch. You might tread on something and then you’ll be in trouble with the bailiff,” he shouted. “If you must see, do so from the ridge there!”

  Brand and Are looked at the corpse.

  “Yuck,” said Brand. “I can understand why you were shocked, Andreas.”

  “Look at the pieces of turf, all neatly arranged around it,” said Are, ”This was done in the spring!”

  Now the servants had arrived, regarding the find with horrible delight. Some left quickly, pretty pale in the face.

  “Who could it be?” asked the stable lad.

  “It looks like a woman,” answered Andreas. “Has anybody gone missing in the parish?”

  Nobody had heard anything.

  Are was still looking intently at the grass. He strode carefully across the tufts.

  “Look,” he whispered, and everyone listened excitedly.

  “Can you see how the grass is divided into patches? Each patch is bound to be a piece of turf that’s been put in place, right?”

  They nodded. That was easy to grasp.

  “And it’s obvious that it was done this year. But then look at this!”

  They all looked in the direction he was pointing. Even fresher patches could be seen next to the deceased.

  “Would anybody care to move them?”

  Nobody showed any interest in doing so.

  Another man, who stood a bit closer to the forest, pointed eagerly. “It looks as if there are square patches here as well!”

  Are and Brand walked over. The man was right – you could see faint traces of square patches in a long row here and there.

  “We’d better wait for the bailiff,” decided Andreas. “Will somebody please get hold of Mattias?”

  Everybody knew that Mattias was Doctor Meiden. Two servant girls set off, relieved to get away from all the unpleasantness.

  “Please find the vicar as well,” shouted Brand after them. “We must consecrate this place before some spirit or other gets the better of us,” he explained to the others.

  Suddenly several of the women remembered that the dinner was probably getting burnt, that the cows were waiting to be milked, and so on. A couple of the men also disappeared.

  Mattias was the first to arrive. With his usual empathy and gentle gaze, he had a calming effect on everybody. He wouldn’t touch anything until the bailiff had given him permission to do so, but he agreed with the others. It was a woman, not very young as you could see some strands of grey hair, but well-dressed in the very best homespun fabric.

  But he did something the others had hesitated to do. He removed a piece of turf next to the woman’s head. Several people in the crowd covered their faces with their hands then peeped between their fingers.

  It was, as they had feared, another corpse. A woman who had been killed quite recently. Insects dashed away from the almost unharmed face when the piece of grass was removed. This woman was somewhat younger. She hadn’t been handsome and she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Her hair was still in neat waves.

  Nobody said anything. They just lifted their eyes towards the two other spots where you could see squares in the
grass.

  “No,” said Brand. “There must also be something left for the bailiff to do.”

  The people from Graastensholm had arrived now. And at the edge of the forest half a mile away, those who stood on the ridge could see the lonely figure of a woman. She stood completely motionless, taking in the crowd in amazement. The bailiff’s assistant was nowhere to be seen.

  “It’s getting dark,” said Are, looking at the clouds.

  “It doesn’t normally get so dark at this time of the year,” mumbled one of the men.

  “No, but it’s rainy, which means something.”

  The bailiff and the vicar arrived. The people of the village followed them in small, scattered groups.

  “What’s happened now?” asked the bailiff grumpily. Like most bailiffs he was German and spoke Norwegian badly. He was a big man, both tall and stocky. He was absolutely revolting to look at with his small pig’s eyes and large, weak mouth. It was as if all he expected was hatred from his surroundings - and hatred was all he radiated. They said that his great passion was money, wealth and power. He was not particularly gifted in any way.

  Andreas explained the situation. The bailiff looked as if this was nothing more than what one could expect of Norwegian peasants. The vicar was wringing his hands, clearly ill at ease.

  “Won’t you please say a prayer for these dead souls and clear the air of any stray spirits, Vicar?” asked Brand.

  “But we still don’t know who these women are,” moaned the vicar. “I can’t say requiems over fallen women.”

  “Then there’s even more reason to say requiems over them,” said Are bluntly. “Jesus didn’t turn his back on sinners.”

  You didn’t argue with a son of Tengel of the Ice People in this village. Even the new vicar knew this. He just cast a glance at Are and then prayed that the unblessed spirits would be given peace. When that was done, everybody breathed a little easier.