Friendship

by Margit Sandemo

  Tarjei sat and thought for a moment. “It seems that without realising it you might have done something good – and unusual. Maybe with the bullet gone, the worst is over. Just let the wound heal in peace! When only a scar’s left, try your treatment once more but be very gentle. I can’t say how much injury the bullet caused to the other organs.”

  Cecilie nodded and Tarjei turned to gaze thoughtfully out at the trees in the parkland outside. Their leaves were already betraying the yellow and orange hues of autumn, and a light breeze was stirring the colours in a gentle, magical dance.

  “I don’t know for certain, Cecilie,” said Tarjei in a dreamy voice, “but you might have done something far-reaching.”

  She blushed with surprise and delight. “How? What do you mean?”

  “Well, the bullet had obviously been a hindrance to something, although I can’t guess what – the blood maybe. We know so little about the body, but blood is most important. It controls the limbs and the senses and contains the very essence of life. Yes, I think the bullet stopped the blood from flowing and if nothing had been done, his legs would have withered and died. I think your actions kept life in them and stopped that from happening.”

  “You mean that it kept the blood running?”

  “In a way. A sort of channel.”

  Tarjei was thinking correctly but with one flaw. He’d mistakenly focused on the circulation of blood without also considering the nervous system. But few physicians of the time had his insights and understanding and his theory was basically correct. Cecilie had indeed succeeded in keeping alive the delicate nerve fibres leading from the brain to the legs, which the bullet had been pressing against.

  Cecilie was very proud of hearing such praise from Tarjei. She had at last done something good for her beloved Alexander, the husband she could only show affection for by making his life as comfortable as possible – and by being an understanding friend, always at hand when he needed her and discreetly out of sight when he didn’t.

  When the time came for them to say their farewells, Cecilie embraced her younger cousin with great tenderness and gratitude. For his part, he returned her hug warmly and in equal measure as they exchanged fond smiles.

  “Thank you again, Tarjei, for all you’ve done for Alexander,” said Cecilie cheerfully. “And take our good wishes with you to everybody at Linden Avenue and Graastensholm. And tell them that Alexander and I will see them there soon!”

  Tarjei smiled a little more sadly. “You’re an incurable optimist, Cecilie. But of course I’ll do as you ask.”

  ***

  After Tarjei left Gabrielshus to return to Norway, Cecilie and Wilhelmsen left Alexander’s wound alone so that it had time to heal. Nor did they continue their treatments and Alexander was absolutely fed up of having to lie on his stomach day after day. He would often rail impatiently when Cecilie changed the dressing on his wound. It wasn’t until much later that she understood why he was so touchy.

  The wound looked ugly to begin with. The edges were red and swollen and it suppurated continuously. Cecilie cleaned it every day and night as best she could, but she felt a sense of immense hopelessness from time to time. In spite of what Tarjei had told her, she feared that the sore would never heal. Besides, Alexander’s irritability made her very unhappy. Often when she had tended to him, she would go outside and weep.

  However, as time passed, she realised that the wound was becoming slightly smaller and she was surprised that she’d not really noticed it before. Alexander was thrilled when, at last, he was able to lie on his back for short periods. On one particular day, about a month after the operation, he called to her. His voice sounded very happy indeed and Cecilie hurried to see him.

  Alexander was lying in bed flat on his back under the covers, but his eyes were shining brightly.

  “Cecilie, watch!” he said with a note of joy in his voice

  “Watch!”

  He pointed to the end of the bed. Following his finger, she looked and saw the thin bedcover move. She tore it away from his feet and as she did so, he wiggled all his toes on both feet in triumph.

  “Alexander, oh Alexander!” she whispered. “How wonderful!”

  He roared with laughter. “That’s not everything, Cecilie. Look! What do you say to this?”

  As she watched in astonishment, he raised his right knee clear off the bed.

  “Oh, dearest, dearest Alexander,” was all she could say, repeating the words over and over again. “Have you been exercising? In secret?”

  “Only for the past few days, not before – but I must tell you that ever since Tarjei removed the bullet, I’ve known that I’d be well again because I’ve had such an awful pain in my legs! A thousand million ants have been creeping all through them, especially when you, the spirit of torture, pressed on the sore.”

  “Was that what made you so irritable?” she laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anything? I was so unhappy, thinking you’d grown tired of me.”

  “Please know that’s something I’ll never do,” he said solemnly. “Besides, I didn’t want to give anything away until I was absolutely sure that all would be well.”

  “That was very wise of you.”

  He took her hand and pressed it hard against his cheek.

  “Thank you, thank you, dear Cecilie,” he whispered. “You’ll always have my warmest thanks and heartfelt devotion – for your patience and steadfastness, and your undying optimism. Without your belief that all would be well, I would have given up long ago.”

  Cecilie swallowed hard several times. She was so overwhelmed that she was unable to say a single word. When at last she found her voice, she asked him: “Can you only raise your right knee at present?”

  He waited a moment before replying: “Yes, that’s right. I’m still unable to lift my left leg.”

  “But you were able to move your left foot,” she cried. “You wriggled all your toes! I saw it.”

  He laughed at her eager excitement. “Yes, I can move my left foot. But something still isn’t as it should be in that leg.”

  “Maybe with exercise ...?”

  “Maybe,” he replied, still a little skeptical.

  But from that day on, things improved rapidly in many ways for Alexander. Soon the morning came that he got out of bed and stood shakily on his own two feet with no help at all. Cecilie wept with joy although she hadn’t been there to see it for herself.

  “I don’t want you to watch me fall to the floor at your feet like an empty sack,” was what he’d said. Wilhelmsen, however, had been thrilled to be the bearer of such good news.

  “The Marquis wishes me to inform you that he’s just stood up unaided for the first time – but only for a moment,” he said, bowing with exaggerated formality. The smiling manservant diplomatically omitted to add what exactly had happened afterwards.

  The end-of-year celebrations were drawing near and by the time Christmas festivities had started, Alexander was able to walk almost unaided to the well-laden dinner table. True, he was on crutches and needed some discreet help from his manservant and his wife, but that didn’t detract from his achievements. Every member of the household cheered and clapped their hands as he took his place at the head of the table.

  As he hobbled along on the crutches, he noticeably dragged his left leg and Cecilie suspected that Alexander had probably suffered an incurable injury to that limb. Still, she thought, men have often returned from the battlefield with much worse wounds. All in all, maybe he’d had some good luck. Or maybe devoted care and love saved him? If truth be told, he’d been blessed with a good deal of both.

  Chapter 12

  In February, about the time when Alexander had stopped using his crutches entirely, he and Cecilie received an invitation to a ball at Frederiksborg Castle. Alexander was reluctant at first but after some thought Cecilie insisted that they s
hould attend.

  “You need to meet people again, Alexander,” she said. “you’ve seen nobody except me and Wilhelmsen and a few guests from time to time. You need to enjoy the conversation of your peers.”

  She blushed when she realised that she’d chosen her words badly.

  But Alexander seemed not to have noticed and merely smiled.

  “You’re too kind, Cecilie. We’ll go, but I’m thinking more of you. You’ve worked so hard all winter and now you must change into your most elegant evening gown and wear the family jewels for the first time. I promise you Cecilie, the tiara is so dazzling that it outshines any worn by the King’s ladies. And you’re worthy of it.”

  And so it was that Cecilie, her arm resting gently on her husband’s and feeling like a queen, entered Frederiksborg Castle. The Lord Chamberlain announced their arrival in a loud voice and they bowed and curtsied to His Majesty, who was now back in Denmark with dubious battle honours to his name. They walked slowly at a pace that made Alexander’s limp less noticeable and Cecilie enjoyed feeling that all eyes in the room were gazing at her. She looked adorable that evening and was far more beautiful than she realised. Her slightly slanted, almond-shaped eyes sparkled and the tiara glittered, set off by her chestnut hair. She’d always had a beautiful complexion but tonight her sapphire necklace against the dark blue velvet gown with its wide lace collar made it flawless. Alexander hadn’t recovered completely from the delight he felt when he’d first seen her in the outfit earlier that evening. She quickly became the centre of attention and as he was unable to dance, Alexander gladly allowed her to dance with the many men who asked him if they could have the pleasure of her company. But after each dance she returned to his side. As the evening progressed, her eyes grew brighter and the colour of her cheeks heightened.

  Alexander spoke to many old friends in the royal household, some of whom had similar tendencies to his own. The conversations were largely light-hearted and superficial – devoted largely to small talk after the subject of his extraordinary recovery had been exhausted. But one acquaintance, a baron of his own age, took him to one side, obviously determined to probe more deeply.

  “How are you, Paladin?” he asked in a joking tone. “Have you found another favourite yet?”

  Alexander shifted his gaze away from Cecilie. She was dancing the elegant slow sweep of the pavane with a young, blonde youth, who obviously admired her.

  “No!” replied Alexander very curtly.

  “Really?” said his friend, staring impassively at a decorative display of sprigs in a copper urn. “No, you’ve been bedridden for so long, I suppose. Come and visit me at my country seat, why don’t you? Soon.”

  Alexander felt a slight shiver of distaste. He deliberately chose to misinterpret the invitation.

  “Thank you, we should be pleased to come.”

  His friend’s expression showed no change, but both men were aware that the visit would never take place.

  Meanwhile, Cecilie was enjoying catching up with Court gossip. It was rumoured that Kirsten Munk had been showing an interest in one of Christian IV’s German officers, Count Otto Ludwig of Salm, who had been engaged as Lord Chamberlain of the household that winter. But it turned out that these rumours were unfounded.

  On the other hand, it was known that the King had promised his eldest daughter, nine-year-old Anna Katrine in marriage to one of his up-and-coming young blades, twenty-three-year-old Count Frans Rantzau. Cecilie saw him at the ball and wasn’t impressed. In her opinion, he was a foolish, conceited little snob, who basked in the glow of his own self-importance. “Poor dear Anna Katrine,” thought Cecilie, “is she always destined for misfortune?”

  It so happened that Anna Katrine was at the ball, and when she saw Cecilie, she walked up to her and spent some time talking. During their conversation she’d whispered to Cecilie with childish delight: “Look, that’s the man that I’m engaged to. Isn’t he handsome?” Cecilie couldn’t argue with her about that! He was much too handsome!

  The two older children, Sofie Elisabeth and Leonora Christina, were also among the guests. They both begged Cecilie to come back and be their governess, and Leonora was especially insistent. But Cecilie told them that she couldn’t and explained that her husband needed her now. This might not be strictly true – Alexander was now able to look after himself – and she was still very fond of the girls, but she had no wish to be part of the quarrelsome royal household again.

  Kirsten Munk had given birth to two more daughters, Hedevig and Christiane, since Cecilie was last at Court. Spiteful tongues said that the King kept her in a permanent state of pregnancy in order to prevent any unfaithfulness on her part. She had borne him eleven children during the twelve years of their morganatic marriage, although not all of them had survived their first year.

  Prince Christian, the twenty-four-year-old Crown Prince, was also present at the ball. During the previous two years when his father had been waging war in Germany, he’d acted as Regent. However, his leadership was nothing to write home about. He spent most of his time seducing women and drinking beer. He’d already developed a paunch.

  The festivities were due to continue late into the night, but Cecilie didn’t want Alexander to become too tired and so they left shortly after the King had left – rolling like a royal ship in a storm and escorted by several two-legged “support ships.” When they were comfortably seated side by side in their carriage again, Alexander was silent but Cecilie laughed and chatted excitedly about the ball all the way home, commenting on the beautiful gowns the ladies had been wearing, their hairstyles and the ballroom’s fine decorations.

  When they were back at Gabrielshus and as Alexander was helping Cecilie remove her ermine-lined velvet cape, he asked her: “What was young Hochsthofen like to talk to?”

  “Who?”

  “The young man that you danced with for so long.”

  “Did I dance for long with anyone? Oh! You mean the blonde-haired boy? Well, he was a little shallow, but that’s the way it is on such occasions.”

  “Indeed,” said Alexander dryly.

  Because it was late in the evening, they were served a light supper, but all the while Alexander kept looking at her as though his thoughts were elsewhere. He was brooding over something.

  His mood remained the same throughout the following day – and the next.

  Finally, after five days of silence, he suddenly exclaimed: “So did you like him? Hochsthofen, I mean?”

  Cecilie tried to think back. “Yes, he was very pleasant. Everyone was.”

  Alexander stood fingering the ends of a broken quill pen he was holding. He’d been writing with it just a few minutes earlier, Cecilie thought. What had got into him?

  Oh, no! She gave an anxious sigh. Hochsthofen? No, surely not. She couldn’t accept that. But then what he said next came as a surprise.

  “Cecilie,” the words were measured, “do you ever feel lonely here?”

  “Have I ever given that impression?” she replied calmly although the question had upset her.

  “No, but ... you’re a young, beautiful woman. It would be only natural if for example, you ...” His words tailed off and the sentence remained unfinished.

  Cecilie stood on the spot without saying a word. Her mind was racing for what seemed an age. Her whole body felt numb and she hardly knew what to think.

  “Are you asking me to leave, Alexander? Are you thinking of Hochsthofen?”

  He looked straight at her. “Should I be?”

  “What sort of an answer is that? Tell me the truth. Do you want Hochsthofen instead of me?”

  Alexander appeared shocked. “Good heavens, no!”

  He turned and left the room as fast as his weak leg would let him. But still, day after day, he continued pondering, contemplating and brooding until at last Cecilie couldn’t stand it any longer. One evening after he’d c
arried out his personal ritual of closing up and snuffing out the candles and they were ready to go to their separate bedrooms, she asked him point blank: “Alexander, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  He stared at her, obviously taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “The grand ball was three weeks ago and ever since you’ve been behaving so strangely! And then all this talk about Hochsthofen?”

  “Forgive me, Cecilie, but I’m only thinking of you.”

  “Of me – why?”

  He was struggling with the words. “You’re living a life that isn’t normal. It wasn’t until I saw you dance with other men that it began to dawn on me.”

  “If you feel that my conduct was in any way not right, then I’m sorry. I had no intention of doing so.”

  “No, no! You’ve misunderstood me. I thought ...I can’t discuss this sort of thing!”

  “Don’t turn away again, Alexander! I’ve got to know what you mean – what you want. I’m at my wits’ end. It’s as if I’ve done something wrong.”

  “Dear Cecilie, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m only thinking of what’s right for you.” He looked at her searchingly. “Don’t you understand what I mean?”

  “No, I honestly don’t.”

  “You’re an enchanting young woman ...”

  “As you’ve already said.”

  “Yes, but for God’s sake, Cecilie! Have you never felt the need to be with a man?”

  So there it was, out in the open. She stood as still as a statue, crimson-cheeked. Alexander tried to remedy the situation and end the embarrassment but with little success.

  “What I wanted to say was ... when you fell into the arms of that vicar – it shows you must have certain ... feelings, doesn’t it?”

  Cecilie could find no words to reply and stood shaking her head in a little gesture of helplessness.

  Although Alexander felt uneasy, he decided to continue. He realised that this was a sensitive topic and that he’d be walking on eggshells. It was obvious to him from her manner that Cecilie was confused and he owed it to her to clarify his thinking.