Back in Norway, Fridtjof Nansen is annoyed. It’s servants’ work, tending fires. But having allowed the fire in the grate to burn itself out, he is once again cold. ‘Do not disturb me,’ he had told them, ‘I have important work.’ And now look at the important work I am to do, he thinks, kneeling in front of the fireplace and blowing the cinders until they redden.
Nansen grasps the corner of his desk and heaves himself to his feet. He’s thought of a title at least – for the history of early Arctic exploration he’s been writing. It will be two volumes by the time he’s shared everything he has to say on the topic. Again the thought occurs to him that it’s the closest he’ll come to polar adventures now that he’s past the age of playing an active role. Lucky Johansen, to be back in the fray. His trusted polar companion is heading to the ice. A chance at redemption. He’s got himself into a sorry state in recent years. Hopefully he can swap his personal troubles for another adventure. Nansen sighs at the prospect of an old age spent in committee rooms, listening, talking, but never doing.
The housekeeper appears at the door. ‘Sorry sir. I know you asked not to be disturbed, but there’s a visitor. Says it’s urgent. Mr Amundsen.’
‘Good grief! Is it his ghost?’
‘He looks real enough to me,’ the housekeeper says. ‘Shall I show him in?’
‘By all means!’ Nansen swings his chair expectantly to the door as the housekeeper disappears. He prays that nothing has happened to his ship. Lending Amundsen the Fram was a symbolic gesture. Time to hand him the reins. Was it too soon? What could possibly have happened? The door to the hall creaks open again.
‘Here’s Mr Amundsen,’ the housekeeper says as she hurries over to the dying fire.
Nansen raises his eyebrows in sudden comprehension. ‘Ah, the other Mr Amundsen.’
The visitor extends his hand. It is clammy, unpleasant to the touch. Nansen draws his hand away and sits down, wiping his palm on the arm of the chair as he pulls it closer to his desk. ‘Any news of your brother?’
Leon clears his throat. ‘Actually I have quite a lot to report.’
Nansen peers around at the housekeeper, assessing her progress with the fire. His tone is tentative. ‘All well?’
‘Fine. I’ve just got back from Madeira. The Fram set sail from there three weeks ago. I’ve got a letter for you. One also for the king.’
Nansen’s cheeks are flushed as he accepts the envelope and fumbles his glasses on. ‘Let’s see. Important news for me and the King of Norway. Well, well, let’s see now …’
Three swift strokes and it’s open. Nansen’s eyes slide over the handwritten page, his expression growing increasingly stern.
Dear Professor Nansen
It has not been easy to write you these lines, but there is no way to avoid it, and therefore I will just have to tell you straight …
Amundsen has left nothing out – his crushing disappointment when the North Pole was conquered and his own dreams of securing that prize were shattered; his desire to accomplish something truly worthwhile with all the preparations he had already made towards achieving that victory; his decision to strike out for the South Pole and the need for absolute secrecy to avoid giving Captain Scott the upper hand. Acutely aware of the friendship that exists between Nansen and Captain Scott and the close ties his mentor has with Great Britain, Amundsen is keen to demonstrate his remorse.
There have been many times I have almost confided this secret to you, but then turned away, afraid that you would stop me. I have often wished that Scott could have known my decision, so that it did not look like I tried to get ahead of him without his knowledge. But I have been afraid that any public announcement would stop me …
I am currently sending the king the same message, but nobody else. A couple of days after you receive this message, my brother (Leon Amundsen) will make a public announcement.
Once more I beg you. Do not judge me too harshly. I am no hypocrite, but rather was forced by distress to make this decision. And so, I ask you to forgive me for what I have done. May my future work make amends for it.
Respectfully yours,
Roald Amundsen
Nansen shakes his head wearily and gets to his feet. There’s a shriek as Nansen’s chair tips backwards onto the housekeeper tending the fire. He doesn’t seem to notice and he fails to apologise to the poor woman. He inhales deeply. ‘That idiot.’
Embarrassed and a little scared, Leon draws his head in like a turtle.
With a sudden show of rage, Nansen grasps Roald’s letter in his fist and cries, ‘Why didn’t he tell me he was going to race Scott to the South Pole?’
For some time Leon has imagined Nansen’s fury at Roald’s bald-faced lies. Now all he wants is to shrink from view. Leon starts to apologise but Nansen cuts him off.
‘That bloody fool! If only I had known about his plan, I could have helped him!’