His admiration obviously made her much happier, and her face came close to relaxing in a smile.
“Come on then,” she said, stretching out her hand to help him to his feet. “My word! You can’t even stand properly! I’ll carry your bag.”
“No, thank you! I’ll carry it myself,” he told her as he steadied himself against the tree. He knew only too well that he didn’t have the strength to go on much further.
“Is it far?”
“Oh, not at all. It’s just behind that little hill over there.”
The walk was gruelling for both of them, and at first they limped along together, struggling with similar difficulty over the uneven ground. But after a while, the youngster was supporting Tarjei’s every step, and she obviously enjoyed playing the role of the Good Samaritan. Perhaps she did so because it was a novel experience for such a spoilt, self-absorbed child.
Was it unkind of him to judge her so harshly?
She was obviously a child of the time, defined by her rank and status. The gap between the aristocracy and commoners was immeasurable. The Meidens were the only family he knew with a relaxed attitude to class differences. So it was perfectly natural for little Cornelia to think of the masses as being there simply for her benefit and also to be shocked by Tarjei’s lack of formality and respect. She was ever so impressed – or rather, she wanted him to be impressed by her. She realised that being boastful and arrogant wasn’t working.
“Let me tell you, Cornelia,” he said breathlessly but in a friendlier tone, “not many grown men could have withstood the pain as well as you did.”
She tried hard to look indifferent, but she felt proud of herself. His reward for this boost to her self-esteem was her immediate, if not wholly desirable, devotion. As they hobbled to the top of the hill, Tarjei was taken aback by what he saw: below them lay a small hamlet and on the hillside closer to them stood the castle that it served. It was a tall, almost new and very beautiful building. In the distance, down the valley, a larger town could be seen and he asked her its name.
“Don’t you know anything at all? That’s Erfurt, of course!”
Tarjei knew that this was another university city, and at least he’d now discovered where he was in Germany. He was in Saxony, and this must be part of the border area being fought over by the Protestant and Catholic hordes. Now he fully understood why he’d seen so much unrest and bloodshed.
“Are you Protestant or Catholic?” he asked her.
“Do you think I’m a Catholic?” she demanded indignantly. “They’re Papists!”
‘Thank heavens for that!’ he thought, because although Tarjei wasn’t deeply religious himself, he did regard himself a Protestant. It wouldn’t have been a good idea for him to have entered a hotbed of Catholicism, but at least there seemed to be no fighting here yet. If only he’d known how close he was to an inhabited valley, situated only a short distance from where he’d sat in the forest!
After what seemed an age, they finally approached the great gate in the castle wall. He leaned heavily against it while he rested to catch his breath.
“Come on!” said the girl impatiently. “We’re not there yet.”
They carried on with Tarjei leaning more than ever on her narrow but strong shoulders. They continued in the shadow of the high castle walls for a time until they spotted a crowd of people who’d obviously appeared from the castle to meet them.
“Cornelia, my dear child, where have you been?” called one of the ladies among the crowd.
“I went out looking for spring flowers, Aunt Juliana,” the girl replied in her ‘Good Samaritan’ voice that sounded concerned but more than a little smug. “I broke my leg when I tripped and fell and this poor man made it better. He sewed in my skin! Then I saved him! He’s a nobleman and a man who knows a lot about medicine. He hasn’t eaten for many weeks. He’s not a mercenary – just a little stupid!”
The crowd had almost surrounded the pair. They were all talking at once when somebody lifted the girl up, leaving Tarjei to rest his back against one of the ornamental trees. He slid slowly to the ground with the sound of Cornelia’s high-pitched voice ringing in his ears as she tried to drown every other voice with the story of her bravery.
That was the last thing Tarjei remembered until he woke to find himself in one of the rooms in the castle. He was lying on a couch and at a table loaded with food was Cornelia, waiting impatiently.
“Well! At last! It was horrible to see you sleep so long! They had to carry you in here, and you looked really silly with your head hanging over the manservant’s shoulder! Now you must eat!”
Tarjei could see that her hair was brushed and tidy, and she’d had a wash and looked clean and neat. Now that she was in her own familiar surroundings, there was no doubt that she was a very pretty and determined young lady. Rising unsteadily from the couch, Tarjei carefully ate a little of the food and drank some wine. He was just finishing when a young couple entered the room and introduced themselves as Cornelia’s aunt and uncle, the Count and Countess of Lowenstein and Scharfeneck. The Count explained that he was Count Georg Ludwig Eberhardson of Lowenstein and Scharfeneck, colonel in the service of Sweden and Venice and commander of the garrison at Erfurt. Tarjei thanked them warmly and politely for their hospitality.
“We’re the ones who must thank you,” replied the Count. “Little Cornelia is a very adventurous young lady with a mind of her own. But now you must tell us everything. The way you treated her horrible wound is proof that you have a knowledge of medicine. Who are you? She tells us that you’re a nobleman. And your dialect is unfamiliar to us.”
“I’m from Norway. My name is Tarjei Lind of the Ice People. My first name in full is Torgeir and any aristocratic connection has been exaggerated, I’m afraid. I only said that it sounded like a noble name, but I didn’t claim to be a nobleman. My cousins, however, are nobility. They were born Meiden, a Danish baronial family. Nevertheless, I believe Lind of the Ice People is a name to be proud of.”
Count Lowenstein nodded. “We know that the noble houses of Norway have been devastated. But continue!”
“You’re right that I practice medicine. My grandfather was Norway’s, and possibly Denmark’s, foremost healer. I’ve studied under him and at the University of Tübingen. I was on my way there when the fighting stopped me – and nobody would offer any help because of my foreign dialect.”
“I can well believe. Wallenstein’s mercenary knights have been plundering mercilessly. You won’t be able to reach Tübingen now. Will you give us the pleasure of being our guest until you’ve fully recovered?”
“I can’t possibly burden you in that way,” replied Tarjei. “Let me at least show my gratitude by trying to treat the pain and what else I may come across among your staff here.”
The Count smiled. “Certainly, Mr. Tarjei! I’m sure you’ll find enough to last you a lifetime! But wait – I’ve just had a thought. A Protestant army is mustering, most likely under the command of Denmark’s King Christian. A field surgeon would be a heaven-sent gift. I’ll be pleased to recommend you, if you wish.”
The suggestion immediately appealed to Tarjei. “I’d be most grateful if you would. Thank you for your kindness.”
The commander of the Erfurt garrison said: “First of all, I wonder whether you’d take a look at our newborn daughter, Marca Christiana. We’re extremely concerned because we believe her health is failing.”
“I’ll be pleased to do so at once,” said Tarjei. He tried to get to his feet a little too quickly and he swayed where he stood, feeling light-headed. “I’m a bit stronger already,” he said. Then he stopped and bowed low to little Cornelia. “Thank you so much, young lady, for the help you’ve given me. You fulfilled your promise in every way. Without you, I’d probably be dead by now.”
She nodded gracefully, but now a happy smile beamed back at him. She was flushed with a sense o
f knowing that she’d been helpful and deserved to be praised. It was a most unusual feeling for her.
“Uncle Georg, we must pretend not to notice his lack of manners when he addresses me as ‘you’,” she said with a beaming smile. “The poor fellow doesn’t know any better!”
Count Lowenstein’s amusement showed in his smile as he looked at Tarjei over Cornelia’s head, signalling for the young medic to follow him from the room. The Countess joined them in their baby’s bedroom, and after Tarjei had examined the newborn Marca Christiana, he explained that she needed to be fed breast milk.
“Her stomach can’t tolerate other forms of nourishment,” Tarjei said quietly.
“But we’ve not been able to find a wet nurse,” said the Countess anxiously. “And the nursemaid feeds her so well with the best bread dipped in goat’s milk.”
“That’s not good,” said Tarjei thoughtfully. “Not for her – she’s too sensitive, it seems. Look at that rash – it’s from the food. Can’t you feed her yourself, Countess?”
“Me?!” exclaimed the Countess in dismay. “That really wouldn’t be appropriate!”
“It’s the only thing to do if you want to save the baby’s life. But maybe you’ve no milk to give?”
The Countess was speechless. Having to discuss this sort of thing at all was so improper – and with someone so young!
“Well, my dear. Do you understand the seriousness of what your friend here has just said?” asked Count Lowenstein.
“Yes, I do – but ...”
“It’s the only way,” Tarjei assured her.
“Juliana, my dear, think of the baby,” pleaded the Count.
“But what if it becomes known? There would be such a scandal. I’d be a laughing stock. And won’t it ruin my figure?”
Tarjei’s face showed that he was irritated.
“I don’t think so. But if you want your newborn baby to be frail, become deformed or even die, then the choice is yours.”
“Oh, how awful!” The cheeks of the Countess blushed even more. “But I suppose ... if nobody sees me ... then ...”
Her husband smiled. “By all means, Juliana, do it! And if anybody finds out, it won’t kill you. I think you’ll be very pretty. A Madonna with her child.”
The Countess, who’d looked very unhappy, was somewhat encouraged by what he’d said and although she was less than cheerful, she agreed.
By the following week, Marca Christiana was much better and in that time, almost everybody in the castle, nobility and servants alike, had come to Tarjei for help. Some of their troubles were imagined, some outright fanciful, but everybody wanted to be treated by the nice, young healer with the fascinating features.
Little Cornelia sat with him whenever he treated the sick. He was her discovery, a fact that she never failed to remind people of. Sometimes she tried to dominate him, but she soon discovered that it was like pouring water on a duck’s back. Each time she failed, she resigned herself once more to the fact that he must be stupid, as if it were the only explanation for his behaviour.
“Shouldn’t you be playing outside?” he asked her one day. By now she’d graciously allowed Tarjei to address her informally.
“No, because I like to see how warm your eyes are whenever you feel sad for somebody. Why don’t you ever feel sad for me?”
“Because you have everything you could wish for. But my eyes can still be warm for you, little friend, because I’m very fond of you.”
Cornelia’s sweet little face blushed with joy, in fact she was ecstatic. “You’re my true friend,” she said. “I’ve never had a friend like you before.”
He realised how alone she must have been as she grew up, orphaned, with her kind but strict relatives. Apparently, she didn’t have anyone to play with and no one that she could chat with.
“And you’re my friend,” Tarjei told her solemnly. “My best friend.”
She nodded, her eyes shining with childish devotion, and for a long time she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Friendship is a fine and wonderful thing, Cornelia. It’s the finest thing there is. It’s the strongest, but also the most fragile thing in the world. Promise me that you’ll never forget that.”
“Yes, you’re right,” she sighed, although she didn’t really understand what he’d said.
***
A short time later, the news arrived that the great Protestant army had begun to march south from Holstein. Tarjei was preparing to leave and Cornelia had gradually become inconsolable. As he was about to leave, he crouched down beside his waiting horse and took the little girl in his arms. Her sobs were muffled on his shoulder and her tears soaked his hair and cheek.
“I’m crying, Tarjei, I’m really crying! It’s because I’m so sad. You can’t leave me when I’m so sad.”
He held her tighter but said nothing as his lips gently touched her hair.
“We’re friends, Tarjei,” she tried again. “You mustn’t go!”
“I have to, my dearest Cornelia.”
“Then I’ll go with you!”
“You know very well that you can’t. Besides, you have a runny nose.”
She drew her hand across her face and left a slimy trail all over her cheek.
“Oh, Cornelia. Where’s your handkerchief?”
She gave him a delicate square of fabric and very tenderly he wiped her nose and dried her tears. She made him promise that he’d come back when “this silly war” was over. Then she ran alongside him as he rode off and continued running all the way to the castle gate.
Before disappearing out of sight, Tarjei turned in his saddle and waved sadly to the tearful little figure. ‘Goodbye, Cornelia,’ he thought. ‘We’ll never see each other again. You know that and so do I.’
Colonel Georg Ludwig of Lowenstein and Scharfeneck had taken it upon himself to accompany young Tarjei all the way through Saxony to meet the oncoming armies. So they rode steadily side by side throughout the day and when they finally met the advancing massed ranks of horses and foot soldiers, the colonel presented Tarjei to the Danish Chief of Command. As expected, King Christian’s troops were delighted to have the services of such a remarkable young field surgeon. He was quickly supplied with a complete field hospital, and when it came to equipment, his every wish was granted. And Tarjei Lind of the Ice People had always known exactly what he wanted and how best to use it.
Chapter 6
Like a torrent of migrating lemmings, the mighty Protestant army poured from Steinburg into Holstein and overran Northern Germany. Their Commander-in-Chief was King Christian IV of Denmark, who was the ruler of two states as King of Denmark and Prince of Saxony. His appointment to Commander-in-Chief, however, hadn’t been unopposed. England, the Netherlands, Brandenburg, Lower Saxony and the free cities of Northern Germany all belonged to the Protestant Union, and none of them could quite understand what Denmark’s interest in the war might be. They’d refused to regard the war as a religious conflict, but saw it instead as a secular matter in which old scores needed to be settled. Sweden and France had decided to remain neutral for the time being but were keeping a watchful eye on events.
Eventually, King Christian succeeded in becoming Commander, and he could thank his family ties for that. He benefitted from the fact that his son, Ulrik, was Bishop of Schwerin and from other well-placed relatives in Bremen, Verden and Pfalz. As his armies advanced, his two closest allies were Duke Johann Ernst of Saxe-Weimar, who was in command of the mounted troops, and General Johann Filip Fuchs, who was commander of the infantry. While they marched, the 20,000 men or more who’d set out from Steinburg found their numbers swelled by many knights from Lower Saxony. They were also joined by unexpectedly large numbers of Danish soldiers.
Alexander Paladin, with the rank of colonel, commanded a large cavalry regiment which consisted mainly of mercenaries from every part of Northern E
urope. Far behind him and his troops, among the infantry, marched a small contingent of men from Norway. What Alexander couldn’t know was that among them were three young men from the parish of Graastensholm – the two brothers Trond and Brand of the Ice People and Jesper, the kind and considerate son of Klaus, the stable hand at Graastensholm.
A field hospital had been set up to the rear of the caravan. This was a welcome sight for the soldiers who’d already seen the first outbreak of disease. But those who’d arrived late one dark evening couldn’t have known that it was Tarjei who was in charge of it.
Trond, Brand and Jesper had all been given splendid uniforms – bright red tunics and yellow trousers, which made them perfect targets for the enemy. They carried muskets and hand weapons, but since they’d received hardly any training, they were not fully aware of how to use them. Trond was the only one of the three who regarded it as an adventure. The other two grumbled incessantly. They kept on saying that all they really wanted to do was to return to Norway.
One day, Trond said: “I should have been given a horse.” They had reached the town of Hamlin and hadn’t yet seen or heard anything of the enemy. “Then I could have been in command of a small company!”
“Why don’t you ask for one, then!” barked Brand, who’d grown tired of listening to his brother’s never-ending ideas.
“Yes, I’ll definitely ask to be given command of a company,” Trond retorted. “That’s what I’ll do first thing tomorrow!”
Brand and Jesper were sitting on a hillside watching him storm off angrily. He was evidently hurt by their lack of understanding. Brand was the youngest, heaviest and most easy-going of Are’s three sons. He was a good-hearted soul but now and then he was inclined to grumpiness and then he could become very stubborn. He was the only one of Tengel’s grandchildren who would brood over things. When the mood took him, he’d say nothing for days. Long after everyone else had forgotten what had upset him, Brand was still fretting over it. More than that, he expected everybody to understand just why he felt so agitated – something that is common to all who wallow in past slights.
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