Friendship

by Margit Sandemo

  As soon as he left, the grumbling turned to uproar, but as he returned to his regiment, Trond felt jubilant.‘I’ve done it,’ he thought. ‘And they had no idea who I was. If they’d only known I’m just a young farm lad from Graastensholm, they’d have torn me to shreds!’

  ***

  The following day, Trond presented himself and his ten mercenaries to Colonel Kruse.

  “Lieutenant-Colonel, Sir! His majesty’s Emissary reporting for duty with his chosen men. I am also pleased to inform the Colonel that all civilians have now left the encampment. We are ready to march. Are there any further orders, Sir?”

  Colonel Kruse was almost choking with surprise. But he managed to keep a straight face. He told them to be careful and then dismissed them.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” said one of Colonel Kruse’s aides.

  “That young boy is plucky – I’ll say that for him. Did you see those badges on his uniform?”

  Kruse laughed out loud. “The boy’s got guts. A pity – because those men will take advantage and eat him alive when they realise the whole thing’s just bluff.”

  “But if his bluff works, then I believe he deserves some credit.”

  “What was it I promised him?”

  “The rank of lieutenant,” teased his companion, who was aware that Kruse had enjoyed a glass or two too many that evening.

  The Colonel shuddered. “Good heavens! What will His majesty say? Did I really say that?”

  “No,” the officer chuckled, “but it wasn’t very far from it!”

  “Oh! Thank God for that,” sighed Kruse. “Anyway, it’s of little consequence. The boy will never be able to pull it off.”

  His fellow officers smiled and laughed as they nodded their agreement but there was no sign of their smiles or their laughter at the same hour next morning when the same small band of soldiers stood before their commanding officer as they listened to Trond deliver his report.

  “Yes, yes, yes! I know Tilly is encamped at Paderborn.” Kruse interrupted impatiently. “He’s been there for quite some time.”

  “Correct, Sir!” exclaimed Trond. “But two of my men heard that he’s been given orders to march.”

  “What? By Duke Maximilian?”

  “Probably. It would seem that Tilly plans to advance towards the River Weser and cross it at Hoxter, Sir.”

  Their commander’s face gave nothing away; his expression might have been chiseled in stone.

  “And Wallenstein?”

  “Nothing about Wallenstein, Colonel.”

  “And has Tilly begun his advance?”

  Trond turned questioningly to one of the mercenaries, who said: “Nobody said anything about that for sure, Colonel. The rumours weren’t that strong.”

  “Thank you! Splendid work all of you! I’ll inform His Majesty at once of what you’ve just said.”

  After he’d spoken, Kruse turned and walked quickly away without giving Trond the opportunity to remind him of what he’d been promised. But for the moment Trond wasn’t worried about his reward. Overjoyed by the success of his mission, he rejoined his two close comrades-in-arms and the three of them joined hands in a victory dance, swinging each other around and cheering.

  Colonel Kruse’s fellow officers were no less astonished than Brand and Jesper when they’d heard of Trond’s successful “mission.” Alexander Paladin was among those officers and he’d also chuckled at this delightful young fool – without knowing how closely related the two of them were.

  But it soon turned out that the information Trond had obtained was true: Tilly had left camp and was ready to march. At long last he was ready to deal a blow to the Protestant horde. Tilly was an extremely religious man and he went to pray to his Madonna as he’d always done. Unsurprisingly, he begged her to ask God to grant him victory over the Protestants. At the same time, King Christian and his closest allies were also praying. They asked God to stand with them in battle against the blasphemous Papists.

  At that moment, The Lord must have felt more than a little confused.

  ***

  The Catholic army led by Count Tilly crossed the River Weser at Hoxter on 18 July, 1625, continuing its victorious advance north along the river. King Christian IV couldn’t do anything because on 20 July he fell from his horse and suffered a severe concussion. He watched as his armies withdrew without a shot being fired to the fortress at Nienburg where Tilly caught up with them. The Protestants took refuge behind the ramparts where they waited for the King to return in good health. They were in reasonable safety there.

  During their long retreat without a commander-in-chief, it became clear just how poorly trained the regular Danish troops were, and there was a total lack of discipline among the mercenaries and irregulars. So the well-needed rest by the fortifications was a blessing.

  Trond of the Ice People was given the rank of corporal – being promoted to officer so quickly was asking too much – and he was given the one thing he’d longed for most of all: a horse. This meant that he was now parted from his brother, Brand, and from his friend, Jesper, but he was never far away from them.

  His happiness showed in his eyes: at long last, the in-between child, as he’d often thought of himself – stuck in the middle – was making something of his life. He’d found the purpose of his life. All he had to do now was prove himself worthy of the trust placed in him – and that was something Trond intended to do at all costs.

  Chapter 7

  In Denmark, a determined Cecilie had fallen out with the housekeeper at Frederiksborg Castle. “So I shan’t be able to travel to Dalum Monastery after all,” she said firmly when the housekeeper outlined preparations to take the children on a journey they’d often made before.

  “And why not if I may ask?” asked the housekeeper in an angry tone.

  “Because I’m pregnant,” replied Cecilie coolly. “The journey will be too strenuous. What’s more, I shan’t be able to care for the young royals as they’ve a right to expect. In my condition, I’ll no longer be able to lift or carry them.”

  The housekeeper was furious. “If that’s the case, Madam, then you’re dismissed immediately! Weaklings have no place here! Now go – right away! You’ll have to make your own way back to Gabrielshus.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was planning to hand in my notice today anyway,” replied Cecilie calmly. “My carriage won’t be here until evening.”

  “That’s not my problem! Borrow a horse from the stables if you must.”

  “But she can’t ride in her condition!” said one of the ladies-in-waiting.

  “Nonsense!” replied the housekeeper who, when it came to dealing with staff, considered herself Mrs. Paladin’s superior without question. Furthermore, she knew that both Kirsten Munk and Ellen Marsvin would stand behind her, and they were two formidable women.

  “I rode every day when I was expecting,” the housekeeper continued. “I understand that Madam is an accomplished horsewoman. She may take Florestan.”

  “But that horse is virtually impossible for anybody to handle,” said the lady-in-waiting.

  “Are you a good horsewoman or not?” the housekeeper demanded of Cecilie in an acid voice. “There’s no other horse. Take it or walk!”

  “Walk all that way? Am I not allowed to stay here just until the carriage arrives?” asked Cecilie.

  “You’ve just refused to obey an order! Refused to accompany the children of His Majesty the King to Dalum Monastery. Such behaviour is unforgivable. Now leave!”

  At last the housekeeper had found the perfect opportunity to take revenge on this head-strong Norwegian girl, who was otherwise so well thought of by everyone at Court. Above all else she’d dared to marry up and assume a distinguished title far above her station. This plain Norwegian girl from “peasant” nobility had become a Paladin overnight. It was all quite unbearable.

&nbs
p; Cecilie took a deep breath but said nothing more. Yes, she could ride competently. There was no doubting that. But whether she could handle the fiery-tempered horse, Florestan, was a very different matter. On the other hand, if she was to return home, this was her only choice.

  Feeling anxious, she gathered together her few belongings and said goodbye to the young housemaids that she’d worked with. They had all become her friends.

  The King was far away in Germany and to everybody’s surprise Kirsten Munk had joined him. In her absence, the housekeeper was now the unopposed head of staff. As she’d insisted on being allowed to share the hardships of war with her husband, there was now plenty of gossip at Court that suggested that marital relations between Christian IV and his wife, Kirsten, had begun to blossom anew. If true, this would have meant a lot to the King because he cared a great deal about his family circle.

  Often people didn’t think much of Kirsten Munk whom they referred to arrogantly as a simple-minded housemaid, but they were wrong. She’d been born into a very distinguished family – her father was the powerful Ludvig Munk of Norlund, one time Governor General of Norway, who’d amassed a vast fortune in that country before he was removed from his post by a very young King Christian.

  Her mother was Ellen Marsvin of Lundegaard and Ellensborg, one of Denmark’s wealthiest and most influential women – and also one of its most cunning. Mother and daughter were both scheming and hungry for wealth. Unlike her mother, however, Kirsten was both foolish and shallow. Her sudden wish to leave for Germany with the King was seen by most not as a token of love but more like a taste for adventure. Whatever it was, nobody at Frederiksborg missed her, particularly not the ill-tempered housekeeper, who relished the greater freedom this allowed her to rule the domestic sphere in the castle in her own dictatorial way.

  As Cecilie left, the housekeeper was watching from a discreet position beside one of the castle’s upper windows and she smirked with satisfaction at seeing the Norwegian governess carrying her belongings a little disconsolately towards the stables. The stable boy who greeted her showed he was very concerned when Cecilie asked him to saddle up Florestan.

  “Make sure you keep him on a tight rein, Madam! But not too tight, mark you! He’s not that easy to handle.”

  “Is there no other horse I can take?”

  “Everyone’s out hunting, I’m afraid.”

  “You’d better wish me luck, then!” said Cecilie and climbed into the saddle. “Will somebody fetch him back later?”

  “I’ll see to that. Good luck, My Lady!”

  She would certainly need all the luck she could get, she thought as she set off homewards, because Florestan began immediately to prance and skitter in an alarming way. But she managed to get him under some sort of control and settled as best she could into a very bumpy and nerve-wracking ride. Countless times she wrestled with the strong-willed horse to keep him on the right path, and everything went reasonably well until she entered the courtyard at Gabrielshus. There, a number of barking dogs greeted her, which made the horse rear up wildly.

  Cecilie had no chance of holding him and to her dismay she fell heavily to the ground. Luckily she avoided the horse’s hooves as it turned and made off through the archway of the courtyard, heading back towards Frederiksborg. Cecilie found she couldn’t move and the dogs clustered round and started licking her face. Shocked and exhausted from the ride, she cried out for help in a trembling and weak voice.

  Alexander’s manservant Wilhelmsen hurried outside, followed closely by several housemaids and servants.

  “Help me,” whispered Cecilie. “I fell off the horse.”

  “We saw it all,” said the manservant in an agitated voice.

  “That was a very difficult horse you were riding!”

  “I wasn’t given any choice,” she gasped. “I was forced to ride him because I didn’t want to go to Dalum. I didn’t have to go, did I, Wilhelmsen?”

  “Certainly not, Madam. Come, take my hand.”

  Cecilie screamed with pain as she tried to get on her feet. “Aah! The baby! Please help me!”

  Many willing arms lifted her body from the ground and carried her anxiously inside. With great care the servants placed her gently on her large bed.

  “Send for the midwife – I forget her name!” shouted the manservant. “But do so quickly!”

  Cecilie felt waves of pain rising and falling through her whole body. She must have banged her head badly as she fell and now everything around her became hazy as she drifted into troubled unconsciousness. When she awoke, she was still in great pain and her head ached, but her sister-in-law Ursula was sitting at her bedside.

  “The baby,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “Alexander’s baby – will I lose it?”

  “Now, you just lie still! The doctor will be here soon. All will be well.”

  “No!” Cecilie told her in an agonised voice, “all isn’t well, I can feel it.” She began weeping and the wrenching bout of tears sent daggers of pain through every part of her body.

  “Try not to worry,” said Ursula soothingly. “Lie quietly if you can.”

  “I want so badly to give Alexander a child,” she groaned. “He seemed so happy that ... the family name ... wouldn’t die out. Now everything is going to be ... ruined.”

  In her eyes, Cecilie wasn’t deliberately misleading Ursula. In every practical sense she thought of her baby as Alexander’s. The role that the vicar, Martinius, had played in the matter was almost irrelevant. She often told herself that it was Alexander she’d really been thinking of that day in the churchyard potting shed.

  This thought triggered new tears and as she observed Cecilie’s anguish, Ursula was herself overcome with emotion. Reaching out, she embraced her closely. “My dearest sister-in-law,” she murmured, choking back her own tears. “My dearest Cecilie!”

  Cecilie held on to Ursula tightly as pain seared through her once again. “I so wanted to make him happy,” she sobbed. “He’s been ...” She struggled vainly to finish her thought but her voice trailed off and she found that she no longer had the strength to talk.

  “Oh, I’ve been absolutely horrid,” said Ursula as tears ran down her cheeks. “Can you ever forgive me, Cecilie? And Alexander? I hated him for dragging our family name down – and all the time it was nothing other than slanderous lies!”

  “Oh, Ursula!” whispered Cecilie. “Ursula!”

  The next moment she let out a terrified scream. It seemed as if her whole body was being torn apart from within and she felt a sticky, warm wetness in the bed.

  “Alexander!” she screamed, and his name echoed again and again through the corridors and passageways of the house. “Alexander! Alexander!”

  Ursula held her more tightly. “To think I doubted you both,” she said in an agonised tone. “To think I doubted your love for each other.”

  ***

  It was several days before Cecilie had the strength to get out of bed. The injury to her head made her feel dizzy as she sat up, so she lay on her back most of the time. All she could really do was stare out through the window into the gardens, in an almost dream-like state. Her mind wandered and jumbled expressions came and went without making any real sense. One evening after her meal had been cleared away, Ursula came and sat with her. She took Cecilie’s hand and smiled as she did so.

  “And how are you feeling?” she asked with friendly concern.

  “I don’t know,” replied Cecilie with a little shake of her head. “I really don’t know. I seem unable to feel anything.”

  Ursula squeezed her hand sympathetically and smiled again. “I feel that I’ve judged you both so very wrongly – Alexander most of all.”

  Cecilie turned her head slowly and looked straight at her. “No,” she said gently, “you were not completely wrong. Alexander has had some difficulties.”

  Her sister-in-la
w stiffened visibly.

  “Try to look on him with more compassion, Ursula. Alexander has been a very, very unhappy person.”

  “Is he ... well now? Is he restored to health?”

  “He’s trying to be. And we’re very happy together as you must have noticed.”

  “Yes, yes – that’s true. But ...”

  Cecilie interrupted her. “Ursula, will you do me a favour, please? Will you please tell me all about Alexander when he was a child and how he grew up? He remembers so little, you see.”

  “Why do you want to know that?” Ursula asked, uncertainly.

  “Because it would mean so much to me. That part of his life may hold the clue to what happened to him later on.”

  “His ... weakness for the wrong type of person? That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Oh – it’s so sordid! It’s repulsive!”

  “But surely you don’t believe that he wished it to be so, do you, Ursula? He was just as shocked as you and me.”

  “Really?” asked Usula in a cynical tone. “I doubt that. I think Alexander has probably always been the way he is. For instance, I remember ...”

  She stopped talking abruptly. She was obviously distressed.

  “Ursula, please go on. I’ve a right to know.”

  “It’s not something I can bring myself to talk about.”

  “Do please try! Snuff out some of the candles if darkness will help make it easier to confide in me. Alexander remembers nothing at all.”

  “He must! How is it possible that he can’t? What happened was so awful!”

  “Maybe that’s precisely why he doesn’t remember,” murmured Cecilie. “It might have been so horrific that he’s buried it away deep inside himself.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was the case,” said Ursula quietly.