The Ice Queen (13 page)

The next morning found me kneeling before the altar in the church of Saint Sophia. The prince and princess, the bishop, Dag, and Harald were there; Einar, too, keeping his gimlet eye fixed on Vorobey, while that man, with the most bizarre grimaces and gestures, stalked round and round me.

“Away with thee, O unclean demon!” cried he. “Take fright, leave, flee, depart! Depart to a waterless desert and untilled land where no man dwells!” Oh! it was making hideous faces at him and screaming blasphemous words. And, look there! it had jumped down from my shoulder and gone in my mouth, hoping to hide inside my belly. This was one of the cleverest demons, swore the starets, that he had ever matched his strength against.

“Out in the name of Christ!” he cried again, now gripping my shoulder from behind and pounding my back with all his might. “Volos, I command thee! Go from this man, from this house, from this city! Ah, listen, d'you hear its screams? It's in agony for we know its name! Out, Volos, out I say!”

I was the one who was in agony as he continued to thump my back and shake me until I thought my head would fly off my shoulders. Kneeling on the ice-cold floor with nothing on me but a white shirt, I began to shiver and suddenly sneezed.

“See, see! It flies from his mouth—d'you see it?”

Yaroslav ducked as though it were coming straight at him, and he and the others hastily made their cross.

“There it goes, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Vorobey shrilly, while pointing to the ceiling and pretending to follow it with his finger. “It's looking for the way out, for it hates churches! There you wicked, unclean thing, d'you see the door—there, out with you now! See? He's going—he's gone!”

The Holy Fool made a farting noise with his lips and pantomimed kicking the demon's ass. Then he mopped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and sank upon his knees. “Volos is vanquished,” he said in a portentous whisper, “the victory is God's. Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet, praise Him with psaltery and harp!”

The prince beamed at Vorobey, and the two men mumbled prayers
together for some minutes, until the starets, leaping up suddenly and barking like a dog, dashed away out the door.

For myself, I do not believe that anything flew from my mouth, nor did I ever fear that Black-Browed Odin would be bested by such a creature as Vorobey. But I kept those thoughts to myself. Dag clapped me on the shoulder—without hesitation this time—and so did Harald: both of them, I thought, looking a little embarrassed; after which the bishop prime-signed me by touching my forehead with oil and making the cross over me.

And that, for the moment, was that. I can't say I felt any different for the experience, and almost my first act was to break one of their commandments. For it was on the very next day that Putscha came swaggering up to me to deliver a summons from Princess Ingigerd to attend her at her estate on the shore of Lake Ilmen.

A fog hung low overhead, caught in the skeleton fingers of the passing trees. My sleigh horse trotted briskly along the bank of the frozen Volkhov, and the jingle of his harness bells was the only sound to be heard in all that silent landscape. The cold was sharp enough to cut your ears off.

Putscha would say only that his mistress was enjoying a few days' solitude at Gorodische and that I was requested to drive out an hour before sunset in a sleigh which he would provide. I was to tell no one where I was going and I was to come alone, or I would find the gate shut in my face. To all my questions he only shook his handsome head and kept his lips shut tight.

The possibility of a trap occurred to me at once. Finding Harald too well guarded, she and Eilif had decided to get at him through me. I nearly told Putscha to take himself off and tell his mistress that I was not a man to be summoned here and there at anyone's whim. On the other hand, I thought, what kind of an adventurer is it who declines the adventure when offered? So I accepted.

As daylight faded from the sky, I arrived at her gate and drove my prow-nosed sleigh up the path that led to the house. As a groom ran up to take my horse, the door at the top of the stairs opened and Ingigerd stepped onto the balcony.

“Thank you for obliging me, Odd Tangle-Hair; come up and warm yourself.”

Inside, I asked her pointedly the reason for my invitation.

“Yes, of course, you're curious,” she said with a very pretty smile, “but first, there's a small ceremony to be gone through. It's a custom of the Rus to offer a visitor a steam bath when first he arrives. If I'm not mistaken, you've been owed this hospitality for some time now.”

“Princess, my welcoming bath was a dunking in the Volkhov. And since then, I've not waited for an invitation, but have bathed every Laugardag as all Icelanders do.”

“Still, it's a custom worth upholding. Will you humor me?”

A servant came up behind her and draped a robe of silver fox skins around her shoulders. She already had her boots on.

The bath was some hundred paces from the house: a little log cabin with two doors in its front, a water barrel next to the wall, and, nearby, a bonfire where two men were heating a pile of stones.

The Rus have taken up the steam-bath from the Finns, who once were numerous in this part of the country. This bathhouse so much resembled the sauna at Pohjola, where brave Ainikki lost her life, that the sight of it stirred a rush of memories and sent an arrow of pain through my heart. Yet, to my surprise, I found that I could not clearly see Ainikki's face any more. Had all those things really happened? Had there been such a girl and had I loved her? The thought of her now held only the sweetness of a half remembered dream.

“Are the stones ready, Blud?” Ingigerd's voice broke in upon my thoughts. Her Slavonic had a charming Swedish lilt to it.

Blud was an ugly brute with frostbite marks on his cheeks and a hatchet in his belt. He looked up from the fire and answered that they were.

“Excellent, then begin.”

Blud and his companion, using wooden spades, levered three big stones onto a gridiron to which carrying poles were attached on either side. With the sweat running down their faces from the terrific heat, they carried the stones inside and tipped them into a trench that encircled a wooden platform in the center of the little room. They made several trips before all the stones lay in the trench.

“Go in, Odd Tangle-Hair,” said the Princess. “Hang your clothes on the pegs just inside and mount the platform. Blud will see to the rest.”

‘Blud seeing to the rest' was what had me a bit worried. Yelisaveta's
story about how her great-grandmother, Olga, had burned up the Drevlyan ambassadors in just such a steam-bath presented itself vividly to my mind. I saw no latch on the outside of the door, but it was only necessary to wedge a log against it and I would be trapped. Not for the first time, the fear of being burned alive stirred in my bowels.

Nevertheless, I squared my shoulders and stepped inside, trying my best to look at ease.

“There's a lamp burning so you can see to undress,” the princess called after me. “Do be careful of the stones. Enjoy your bath.”

The door closed behind me.

I put my ear to it. Did I hear a noise? But this was absurd, what could she gain from my death? I went ahead and undressed.

I had no sooner sat down on the platform than water, poured in from outside, sluiced through the trench and over the hissing stones. Steam erupted all around me, filling the chamber, and, despite my nervousness, I felt myself yielding to the heat. Rivers of sweat ran down my sides; I stretched out full length on my stomach and let a pleasant torpor creep over me.

As usual, Tangle-Hair, I admonished myself, you've let your imagination make a fool of you.

Like most steam-baths, this one was divided lengthwise by a partition, making two compartments, each with its own door, so that men and women could bathe together without seeing one another. On the other side of the partition I thought I heard the door creak open. Another bather? But the men brought all the stones to this side. “Who's there?” I called in Norse and then in Slavonic.

No voice answered, but I was certain I heard breathing and the sound of someone brushing against the wall. Blud with his hatchet! My muscles tensed. I rolled from the platform, felt carefully for the edge of the trench with my toes, for I was blind in the steamy darkness, stepped over it, and followed the glow of the lamp to the wall where my clothes hung.

We men fear ridicule so much more than peril that twenty Bluds would not have made me run out the door clutching my clothes in my arms. I only wanted my sword. Thus armed, I crept back to the platform and strained my ears to listen.

For a few heart beats, nothing. Then he brushed against the partition again at the back of the chamber. A moment later I heard him draw a
breath—not on the other side but on mine. There must be a door I hadn't seen, or maybe a gap between the partition and the back wall.

Crouching by the platform, I tightened my grip on Wound-Snake's hilt, though sweat made it slippery in my hand. If I can't see, neither can he, I thought. He thinks I'm on the platform. When he strikes with his axe, I'll know where to thrust.

I held my breath and waited.

“Odd Tangle-Hair, where are you?”

A woman's voice? I reached out a cautious hand. It found a bare ankle, slid up a smooth calf. At the same time, I smelled the rosy scent of her perfume.

“What in the world are you doing down there?”

“Yes, well, I, ah, dropped something. It's not important. I say—it is you, isn't it?”

“Whom were you expecting?”

“Why didn't you answer me when I called out?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you have succeeded, Princess.”

“Come and lie down again.”

Tossing aside my sword where I hoped it wouldn't be noticed, I obeyed. Ingigerd climbed up behind me and knelt astride my hips. Warm thighs embraced me, and strands of her unbound hair brushed my back. Her strong, long-fingered hands began to knead my neck and shoulders, then worked slowly downward to my waist and hips.

After a time she whispered, “Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

“One moment, dearest.”

The slash of birch twigs across my buttocks came as something of a shock. I'd misunderstood her question.

She continued to whip me, laying on with a will, stroke after stroke, inflicting quite genuine pain—and yet, a pain that aroused me to an unbelievable degree. Impossible to wait longer! I rolled on my back and reached for her arms, but she slipped away, ran to the door and threw it open. For an instant she stood on the threshold, silhouetted against the twilit sky; then, without a stitch of clothing on, ran out.

I leapt after her, catching her round the waist before she'd gone many steps, and we fell together in the snow. She lay on her back and I upon
her; her golden hair spread out around her like the rays of the sun, whose glowing center was her face. Her skin was slick with sweat and hot against my own.

“We'll soon feel the cold's bite,” she laughed, and, sliding from under me, dashed for the house.

Up the stairs, down a passageway, and through a door I chased her—then stopped short when I saw that the room we'd entered was not empty. Three of her serving women plus Putscha, whom I thought I had left behind in Novgorod, huddled round the oven, warming themselves. They looked up as we burst in.

“Bless me, Lady,” one of the women giggled, with a sly look at me, “I'll wager this ‘un can do the job and then some. A good night t'ye both!”

Followed by winks and laughter, we passed through a door opposite and shut it behind us.

“You trust your servants pretty far, Princess,” I said, still breathless from our exertions.

“I do—and now you must call me Inge, if we're to be lovers.”

“Beautiful Inge—” I took her in my arms and tried to kiss her, but again she wriggled free.

“You're too hasty, young man! There are the decencies to be observed.”

I watched in astonishment as she proceeded to drape kerchiefs over the icons that hung on the wall over her bed, and especially the large one of Saint Irene, her patroness. The woman would stand stark naked in front of Putscha's eyes but not this painted saint's! Next she removed the little silver crucifix from around her neck and said:

“Now that you're almost a Christman, my dear, you must learn to respect the things you previously scorned.”

“I meant to ask about that, Inge. Was it you who denounced me to your husband?”

“Indeed it was. I whispered in Father Vorobey's ear, too.”

“Why?”

“Well, God forbid that I should fornicate with a pagan!”

“Ah, of course, I see that.”

In place of the crucifix she hung a little chamois bag, tucking it between her white breasts; it rustled faintly as she touched it.

“A charm against conception,” she said. “A wise-woman of the neighborhood made it for me.”

“Heathens have their uses then?”

“Ah, you're a clever one,” she laughed, “far too clever for me! But now,” she said, coming to my arms, “let us do the thing!”

By the gods, for a mother in her middle years she was still a magnificent woman! Breasts that could yet turn their pretty, pink noses upward, a stomach just nicely rounded, and below it a thatch of hair like spun copper. And she ‘did the thing' as I had never known it done before; pulling me onto her, filling her hands with my hair, kissing my lips and neck, and moaning to spur me on. She reached her climax quickly but prolonged it for what seemed like minutes, as I thrust manfully away.

At last she lay still, breathing lightly, her eyes half-closed.

We lay together quietly for a time until, touching my lips with her finger, she said: “Please, dear Odd, don't misunderstand me. You're a lovely boy—no, don't start in again about your black hair and eyes—I mean it, a lovely boy; your face so serious, and so transparent. I'm trying to say that I could easily give my heart to you, if I had it to give. But I have loved only one man in my life—you must know who I mean. You may think me a fool to love a dead man, no doubt you're right. I didn't choose to; it happened, that's all. But, you see, there's no room for love between you and me.”