C2 Chapter 2

When Silje entered the open place, she began to walk faster so that the little girl could hardly keep pace. From a distance she shouted in an agitated tone of voice:

“What on earth are you doing?”

She didn’t even have to pretend that she was appalled because this was precisely what she was. She was prepared to risk her young life for the doomed count. And to think he was a royal messenger at that! She had certainly sensed that he was more high ranking than the others.

The men turned and faced her. The executioner was startled, tightening his grip on the axe. Perhaps he was afraid of losing his victim?

“Are you all completely out of your mind, you miserable oafs?” she cried. “How dare you treat my husband like this?”

She glanced quickly at the man who was bound to the rack. His pale face showed determination but beneath it all it seemed inevitable that his spirit would break. Never before had she ever seen anybody hide his horror so well.

He was just as surprised at her appearance as they were, but he quickly regained his composure.

“No,” he shouted. “You shouldn’t have come, and certainly not with the children!”

The guard commander had a look of utter disdain as he tried to push her aside. “If this is your husband, madam, then I feel really sorry for you.”

“Don’t you know who he is?” she asked, still very agitated. Despite her horror, she found it quite exciting to play the role of the count’s young wife.

“Who he is? We know only too well who he is!”

“So you think you know, do you? And yet to treat the King’s Messenger in this appalling manner?”

The man on the rack shouted furiously: “You’ve no right to reveal my identity!”

She turned towards him and was struck at how elegant and handsome he was at close range although she could see that his eyes couldn’t hide the fear of death.

“I suppose you’d rather sacrifice your life than say something,” she replied just as angrily, “instead of thinking of us, your wife and children. But I don’t intend to lose you.” She turned to the commander and said, “I’m Countess Cecilie Stierne, and this man is His Majesty’s Messenger, Niels Stierne. As my husband comes from this part of the country, he’s always the one who’s sent here.”

“Cecilie,” her husband shouted.

“Now you be quiet. Here I am sitting at home on the farm, awaiting word from you and then I hear that some idiot among the King’s own men have arrested you and brought you here. I left home immediately and what do I find?”

She stepped closer to the commander and mumbled “He’s here on a secret mission.”

“Don’t believe a word of what she says,” the prisoner yelled. “She’s lying.”

The commander was no longer quite so sure – but only slightly. “How come he hasn’t said anything then?” he asked haughtily.

“Surely you know that a King’s Messenger would never, ever dream of revealing his mission? He would rather die instead.”

The foul, stifling stench from the pyres lay over the entire area. The guards’ helmets reflected the flames and the executioner swung his axe impatiently in the air.

Since Silje’s story seemed so true, the commander was beginning to lose some of his confidence, so he said brusquely: “We know perfectly well who this man is. He’s Heming, the Bailiff-Killer, and there’s a ransom on his head.”

The torture instruments were next to Silje, all with unmistakably brownish-red spots. She just managed to avoid an attack of nausea, placing herself right in front of the commander. Now she was really living the role – and it was helpful for her to know that those beastly, yellow eyes followed her from the forest.

“Does he look like someone who would kill the bailiff? He’s certainly dirty and unkempt but so would you be after a tough ride over the mountains. Look at his features. Look at his children, his daughters! Are these the children of a murderer?”

She used the word “daughters” deliberately because if they didn’t believe her, they might kill the young baby as well. It wouldn’t be wise to allow the son of a criminal to live. She hoped they wouldn’t take a closer look at the newborn baby. And if they did, she hoped that it really was a girl. Otherwise she would be in a peculiar situation and it would arouse their suspicions.

She went on: “Are you about to turn my two young daughters, Sol and Liv, into orphans? What do you suppose King Frederik will say to that?”

The commander looked at her with an expression of disdain. “And what is this important mission all about, if I may ask?”

“Good grief! Do you imagine that my husband would reveal that, even to me? He’s so immensely loyal towards his King that he would rather die than show me the letter. Don’t tell me that you want to kill him for that?”

“The letter?” laughed the commander. “He’s not carrying a letter on him. And how do you know that he’s carrying a letter?”

“Because he always carries one. And I have myself sewn the hidden pockets in his clothes.”

“We’ve searched him.”

“Not well enough, Sir.”

Silje turned swiftly away from the men, towards the man strapped to the rack, and with the letter hidden in the palm of her hand, she searched inside his clothes until she managed to hide it in the man’s waistband. She fumbled slightly with the letter because the little baby on her arm was in the way. But she didn’t have much time so the poor little baby had to accept being squashed a bit.

The prisoner protested wildly. “Cecilie, I’ll never forgive you for this!”

The men were upon her like a flock of hawks but with a jerk she pulled the trouser lining and “found” the letter.

The commander tore it from her hand.

“Don’t you dare to break His Majesty’s seal!” the count shouted.

“We would never dream of doing that,” replied the commander icily.

He examined the letter carefully, turning it this way and that. “It’s genuine,” he said icily, barely able to conceal his disappointment.

Then he turned towards his men. “Which of you insisted that he was Heming the Bailiff-Killer?”

The men pushed one of them in front.

“I could have sworn,” he stammered.

“How well did you know Heming the Bailiff-Killer?”

“I saw him once.”

“From what distance? Did you speak with him?”

“N-no, Sir. I saw him from above when he was riding through a mountain pass. I saw the blond hair – and the face. He looked like this man, Sir.”

“Looked like? Is that all you have to go by?”

The young soldier seemed to cringe on the spot. He couldn’t give an answer.

For some time and from the corner of her eye, Silje had detected a large shadow standing next to her but she was too afraid to look sideways. Now she cast a quick glance – and the sight nearly made her faint. It was a gallows and it was occupied. A body was turning slowly on the end of a rope, and at that moment its face turned and looked directly at Silje. She tried instinctively to place herself in such a way so that the little girl wouldn’t be able to see it. But the child looked innocently straight up at the grisly figure in the gallows. She even chuckled a little as if she found it amusing to see a grown-up man dangling there. Silje thought to herself that the little girl didn’t grasp the seriousness of the moment and was relieved.

The commander, in full uniform, turned towards the count. “We’re also the King’s men. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Spies and traitors are everywhere. Making certain that this letter doesn’t fall into the wrong hands is more important than my life. And would you now please untie my hands ...”

“Sure.”

The count was now released from the ropes and straightened himself with a proud look on his face. “And now will you please allow me to take my wife and children with me and continue with my duties?”

The commander awoke from his train of thoughts and with a slight bow handed him the letter.

“Please accept our apologies, sir. It was all a misunderstanding.”

The count didn’t spare them a glance. “Come, Cecilie. I’m most displeased with you! You’ve revealed my identity, which is a heavy blow to my honour.”

“Your wife did the right thing, Sir,” the commander said with some deference. “This was a beautiful gesture as befits a wife. And you can rely on our full discretion. Your children are gorgeous,” he added, patting the little girl on the head. It was obvious that he was determined to find favour with the young count.

The young man joined his family and turned in the direction of the forest. “I must be on my journey straightaway! This delay has been costly for the country,” he said over his shoulder in an irritated tone of voice.

Silje heard muttering behind her and turned round. The executioner stared at her, his eyes full of hatred. He didn’t do anything to hide his disappointment.

But Silje heaved a sigh of relief. The commander had believed her.

It was her fortune that the bailiff’s men didn’t have such a terribly good grip of what went on at the Danish Court. Otherwise it was bound to be a puzzle that the King’s trusted messenger was Norwegian and one who spoke the local Trondheim dialect.

Although King Frederik II was a just ruler, he wasn’t terribly interested in Norway. He hadn’t visited the country since 1548 when he was Crown Prince – but never since he had become King. His administrators, the bailiffs, sometimes known as lord lieutenants, governed the land in his absence. This had been the practice ever since Norway came under the Danish crown in 1537. The present bailiff was one Jacob Huitfeldt and if he got to hear of Silje’s act and the commander’s actions, he would be absolutely furious with rage. No commander could afford to be so ignorant!

Silje was even more ignorant of matters of the state. She was just proud at having saved such an important messenger.

Since the Danes had left most of the governing of Norway to local bailiffs, they were the object of people’s bitter hatred. The taxes were terrible, and the rents rose all the time. The peasants’ produce was weighed on rigged scales and so they were forced to sell their goods at far below the market price, as “gifts” so to speak. The extra money from corruption went straight into the pockets of the bailiffs.

Of course, such a state of affairs made the people rebel, but these revolts were often localised so that they never gained momentum. Six years earlier, in Trondheim County, the peasants had had a leader, Rolf Lynge. This was because the bailiff at the time, Ludvig Munk, put too much pressure on them. As far as Silje knew, there was now calm in the county. But Silje didn’t know much about such things.

Her heart beat with delight at having saved this outstanding man. She stole sideways glances at him in silent admiration.

As soon as they reached the edge of the forest, the handsome young man dashed in among the trees. They hadn’t gone very far before a huge shadow approached them.

“You big idiot,” the man in a wolf skin cloak hissed, slapping the count in the face. The young man ran off further into the forest.

“Why did you slap your brother?” Silje was absolutely horrified.

“He’s not my brother.”

“But you said ...“

“What was I to do?” he said icily. “Give you the whole explanation? I didn’t have time for that.”

“I don’t like that you lied to me,” Silje said sternly while she took back the pieces of hide and wrapped them around her legs once more. She had placed the newborn baby on the ground because she wouldn’t let the wolf man touch it.

His voice was hoarse and harsh. “I had to lie to you. We had to save the man because otherwise he would have betrayed us all. He just can’t endure pain. He’s scared stiff of it. Besides, we need him.”

Silje wondered for a moment who “we” were.

“So, you’re not a count, then, since you’re not brothers?”

“He’s no more a count than I am,” he chuckled quietly in the dark.

“What? But I believed every word you said! I thought I’d saved one of the King’s messengers.”

“That was also what you were supposed to believe. For goodness sake, Silje, don’t be so naïve! This might cost you your virtue and your honour – not to mention your life.”

She didn’t like him saying so. He had an aura of sensuality and power that seemed to overwhelm her. “I’m not afraid of losing my virtue,” she retorted as she stood up. “I’ve had to fight to preserve it many times, and I’ve always won.”

Her words seemed to calm him. She could tell by the tone of his voice when she wanted to return the silk cloak again. He wouldn’t take it back.

“No, you’ve more need for it than me. And the little baby’s clothes ... take good care of them, Silje! They may prove to be useful. Now let’s go.

“He probably meant that I could sell the clothes if I’m short of money,” she thought, while she followed him. He seemed so incredibly large in front of her in the darkness, but perhaps it was because of his wolf skin cloak. She couldn’t understand how he moved so quickly in the darkness of the forest, but she was not surprised. She would expect almost anything from this man. Perhaps he could see in the dark – just like an animal.

“Please don’t walk so fast,” she shouted. “The little girl can’t keep up with you.”

He stopped and waited. Silje could tell that he was impatient.

When they had caught up with him, he said to Silje: “I heard you speak to those blood-thirsty louts down there, and I must say I was really impressed at how well you were at acting the countess. Now you sound more like a peasant girl. Who are you, and what are you in fact?”

“I am what I am – just Silje. You’d be wiser to judge me by my clothes than my dialect. The fact that I can talk “posh” when it suits me is a long story, but it will take me too long to explain,” she said precociously.

He slackened his pace so that they could keep up. The little girl was getting tired.

Silje began to think of the handsome young man. “He was just so good-looking,” she said, captivated, without realising whom she was speaking to.

The man sniffed loudly. “Well, that’s what the girls think. It was because of a woman that he risked his life. He forgot to be careful.”

Silje felt uneasy. “I suppose he has many girlfriends?”

“He’s definitely not one for you.”

She stopped for a moment. He walked even more slowly. “Incidentally, he could do with somebody like you,” he said dryly.

“Someone like me?”

“Yes, a strong, plucky and quick-witted woman with her heart in the right place. Perhaps that would give him the backbone he lacks.”

“I’m neither strong nor any of the things you just said.”

He turned abruptly towards her in the darkness and stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body. She was fascinated by him.

“You take care of a little girl who most likely has the plague and then another child who you thought was a myling. Without hesitating, you risk your life for a stranger, acting like his wife as if you’d been one for years. Either you’re exceptionally strong or you’re so stupid that you’re unable to grasp danger. I’m beginning to believe the latter.”

They didn’t walk in the direction of the town but further into the forest. They came to a road where a cart was waiting with two snorting horses. A handful of riders also waited quietly nearby. Here, in the open, the moon cast a pale glow and she could see the prisoner’s shining blond hair. He had no horse but waited next to the cart. Her heart began to beat quicker as she caught sight of him. The thought of never seeing this handsome creature again had already begun to worry her.

The animal man, for this was how she had come to think of the being dressed in the wolf-skin cloak, walked over to the driver and had a long conversation with him. Then he mounted a waiting horse and rode off, followed by the other riders.

The driver helped her and the children into the cart, and the handsome young man whom she had saved also gave them a helping hand and then jumped into the cart. Then they were on their way.

Now it was as if Silje’s willpower had been switched off. It was as if it wasn’t nurtured from the outside world any more. Although she sat not very far from the young “prisoner,” it was as if the magic spell had lost its grip on her, and she was, once again, the lonely and helpless Silje – tired, frozen and so desperately hungry that she felt a virtual hole inside her. In this moment, she wouldn’t have had the courage to go against the bailiff’s men.

She fought against the apathy which was now overpowering her. She sat upright, her back straight and the newborn baby wrapped inside her own clothes so that it could get as much as possible of her only warmth. The little girl had fallen asleep with her head in Silje’s lap with a sheepskin over and under her. Silje had wrapped herself in the beautiful silk cloak, and it was big enough to also cover the two children. She felt quite numb in the arm which cradled the infant, but she couldn’t give up. She was so tired that it was as if she had sand in her eyes, and her body was so frozen that it felt like a block of ice.

The cart rolled quickly and bumped from side to side. She had to brace her legs against the other side of the cart to keep from being thrown around. Moonlight shimmered through the trees as they left the area around Trondheim and headed south.

“Where are we going?” Silje asked after they had been on their way for a while. Her lips were so frozen that it made her speech slurred. The young man replied: “You’re going to a farm where the plague has taken all it wanted to this time. I’m going somewhere else.”

“Excuse me for asking,” she said shyly. “But there’s something I don’t understand ...”

“Only one thing? That’s good going.”

She didn’t like that he mocked her as if she were an ignorant child! “The letter with the King’s Seal ... They said that it was genuine, didn’t they?”

“Yes, that’s right. But it’s very old. It’s been of great help to us many times.”

“But how did you get hold of it?”

“Now you’re asking too many questions,” he said with a mocking laugh. “I suppose I ought to thank you for your assistance.”

“It’s about time,” she thought, although she hadn’t really expected any thanks.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. He sat almost opposite her and had placed his legs on the bench next to her. They were in open country now and in the moonlight she could see his young, handsome face with the round, firm cheeks and perfect nose. His mouth smiled pleasantly but his smile died with the next question.

“Who was he?”

He stiffened. “Who? The commander?”

“No, no. Surely you know who I mean. The person who helped us.”

He stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The man at the edge of the forest. Dressed in wolf skin and looking like an animal. The one who slapped you.”

The released “prisoner” leaned closer to her. “There was nobody there,” he said. He was agitated. “Nobody! Do you understand? Nobody ... nobody!”

Silje pulled back. “But ...”

“You’ve had a dream. You haven’t seen anything tonight. Remember that! Do you honestly believe that I would allow somebody to hit me without revenge? No way!”

He had spoken in a hushed voice so that the driver couldn’t hear them. Silje gave up. She understood him. It wasn’t easy feeling so humiliated as he was bound to feel right now. First of all, he was on the verge of being executed, then saved by a young girl only to be slapped in the face by that wolf man.

“I understand,” she said quietly.

His tone became milder immediately. “You must be terribly exhausted. Here, let me hold the baby for a while. Is it yours”?

Silje gave him a dejected look. “No, it isn’t mine for heaven’s sake! I’m just taking care of them both. There was nobody else.”

She looked down at the little baby and expressed the concern which she had had for quite some time. “I don’t know whether it’s dead or alive,” she said anxiously. “It’s been so quiet ever since we left ... that place.”

She imagined that she could sense the stench from the pyre once more. It seemed that this was something she would never be able to forget.

“The baby is probably sleeping,” he said casually, taking it from Silje’s outstretched arms.

Oh, how wonderful it was to be able to move her arms without the weight of the baby! She tucked the sheep skin more closely around the little girl, and then she curled herself up under her shawl and the silk cloak, resting her head against the side of the cart.

The moon was right above the horses’ heads. This was a good sign. The future would be bright, she thought. Then, as the cart took a curve in the road, she looked up and saw a twinkling star, which was even better. Everybody knew that the stars were holes in the firmament. And through them one could see into God’s shining heaven. God had now shown her that He was looking down on Silje and the two children she was taking care of ... and the noble man that she had been chosen to save.

Silje thought to herself that it just wasn’t fair that she was so exhausted now that she was here with this fantastic man right opposite her. She was unable to keep her eyes open, but she was so tired and frozen that she couldn’t fall asleep either. So she just sat there, neither asleep nor fully awake – while her whole body ached.

Once she woke up half awake. She had a vague idea that the cart had stopped, that she heard voices, and that something was being placed in her arms. Then she dropped off to sleep again.

The next thing she registered was that the driver was standing over her, shaking her shoulder.

“Where are we?” Silje asked.

“We’ve arrived. I’ve spoken to Mr. Benedikt. You may stay in the workers’ cottage.”

She could just about notice some figures who took the children away from her. The moon had set so she reckoned that it was close to dawn. The little girl cried and called for her mother. The driver helped Silje down. She couldn’t stand on her legs because she was so tired, so he had to help her.

“Who’s Benedikt?”

“He’s a church painter and a strange person. But he’s offering you a place to stay.”

“And the children?”

“Yes, the children too.”

They stood at the cart for a moment. “What happened to the young man?” Silje asked.

“Heming? He left us half an hour ago. He took another road.”

Heming ... Heming the Bailiff-Killer? It was him after all! A deep feeling of shame filled Silje at the thought that she had helped a murderer. But he’d been so young and good-looking ...

“There are bound to be many good Norwegians ... who fight for the freedom of our country,” Silje said hurriedly.

“There probably are, Miss Silje.”

“Perhaps he belongs to such a group up here?”

“Now you’re asking too many questions.”

That meant that he probably was, which calmed her. To fight for one’s country was forgivable.

The wagon-driver was very polite. Miss Silje! This was bound to be because of the silk cloak!

“And the other person? Was he also one of them?”

“Who would that be?”

“The one who spoke to you. The one who asked you to take us to this Mr. Benedikt.”

The wagoner bent down, adjusting something on the cart. “There wasn’t anybody else, Miss Silje. Only young Heming. I got my orders from him.”

Silje could feel the obstinacy rise in her. But then she remembered Heming’s words.

“No, I’m probably mistaken. I seem to have forgotten much of what happened last night.”

“That’s probably just as well, Miss Silje.”

A paraffin lamp burned in the small hut and a foreman was lighting a fire in the hearth as she entered the room. She heard kind voices chatting with the young children. Two elderly women took care of them, put them to bed and fed them some warm food.

“She’s ever so sweet,” one of the women said. “It doesn’t seem to bother her to be woken in the middle of the night. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know,” Silje said. “I call her Sol. But how’s the little baby doing? I’ve been so scared. Is it alive?”

“Yes, there’s nothing wrong with him although his umbilical hasn’t been removed.”

“Him? Oh dear, things could have gone terribly wrong. I told some evil men that the child’s name was Liv because I wanted to save it from death. But I’ll call him Dag instead. He wouldn’t have anything to eat before and ... “

“No, it doesn’t matter since he’s a newborn baby. He’s still drawing nourishment from what he brought into this life. We’ll wash him and cut the cord and then wrap him so that he’s nice and comfortable. Don’t worry. We’ll see to it that he comes to no harm even though he entered this world in such an ungodly manner. We’ll bathe him in water blessed with hot coals and we’ve already put a piece of steel in his bed. We’ll bless him with bread, as is proper, and I’ll loan my family silver to him to place on his chest. The little girl, however, seems very tired so we’d better take her to our quarters for a good night’s sleep. Here’s some soup. It will do you good.”

Silje was too tired to reply. The girl, Sol, had crawled into the other bed, and she was already fast asleep. The warmth from the hearth filled the room with such a good feeling that she hadn’t experienced for several weeks. She accepted the bowl of soup and drank it. She didn’t bother to use a spoon. It was a thin oatmeal broth with small pieces of pork and it was delicious. She could feel its warmth begin to spread though her body.

Before the others had left the room, she lay back on the bed and fell asleep. She could feel that the women helped to get her undressed, tucking blankets over her. But she was too tired to open her eyes. Her body felt as heavy as lead.

Then the door was closed and Silje fell into a deep sleep.