Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Chapter 15

Early in the morning, Peder Skurdal came to the stables to see Nels off. “Here is your passport, some coins for your lodgings, and a letter to my cousin Olav Erstad of Lillehammer. You have traveled there before.” Nels nodded. “He will take the grain and sell it. You will continue on to Oslo. There will be a load waiting for you at the Kielland shipping docks.”

This took Nels by surprise. He had never traveled beyond Lillehammer, itself five hard days by wagon. From there to Oslo was twice as far again, according to accounts he had heard from other teamsters. The entire journey would take at least a month; much longer (and very dangerous) if the weather turned bad. “Yes, sir,” he said, tentatively. He wondered if his master had designed the plan to create the greatest risk for him. It was almost November already.

“My cousin will tell you of way-stations where you can wait if you are delayed by weather,” said Peder, as if sensing Nels’ concern.

“Ja, all right.” Nels said, with hardly more confidence.

“Godspeed, then, best of luck.”

“Thank you,” said Nels, as calmly as he could. He mounted the wagon, and drove away.

The first day, the horses were balky. They smelled the hay in the wagon behind them, and sensed they were in for a long journey. “Hey, Hey there, girls, pick it up,” Nels repeated in his best voice, but his heart was not really there, and they knew it. It was suppertime when they reached Ringebu. At a wayside farm, he watered the horses, fed them some of the hay, and ate from his own supplies. They continued on to Faavang, where they stopped for the night.

Nels unhitched and tethered the horses. “By God, girls,” he cooed to them, approaching with both hands full of hay. “You will need to walk faster, or we will be a week getting to Lillehammer.”

In fact, the horses came around, but even so, the planned five-day journey took them eight days, due to heavy rain and muddy roads. Several detours were necessary. Fortunately, Nels had traveled this route before, and knew which farms were the best way-stations. Where he could, he slept in barns and sheds, for which the farmer usually did not expect any pay. At some of the larger stations, he paid a silver crown for a bed, a hardy meal with beer, and fodder for the horses.

When Nels approached the Erstad farm, Skurdal’s cousin came out on horseback to meet him. With a delighted smile, he said, “Well now, are you the servant of Peder Skurdal?”

“Yes, sir, I am Nels Poulsen. I have a letter from Mister Skurdal.”

“Of course. You are welcome here! Come ahead.”

An extra bed was prepared for Nels in the servants’ quarters, and he was welcomed to their supper table, while the horses were groomed and fed by the stable-boy.

= = =

The beggar-monk Isaak remained at Skurdal for a week after the burial. His kind words, gentle ways, and humility were of great comfort to all of the bereaved. He tried especially hard to soften the heart of the master toward his servants.

“Peder Skurdal,” said the monk, on the last day of the week, “I know you to be a man of kindness and generosity. I am a mere beggar, but when I come to you, you set for me a splendid table, strengthen me for the rigors of my journey, and gift me with important items for my welfare.”

“Oh, please, Brother Isaak, I only gave you two little sheepskins.”

“But I asked for only one. With the two of them, I can cover my whole body by day, and keep warm with one under and one over me at night. I am doubly blessed by your generosity.”

“It is really so very little.”

“But very much for one who has done so little for you in return. I challenge you now to be such a boon to those more deserving than I, who have served you faithfully, year-in and year-out.”

“You speak of the men who sent my son to his death?”

“You said so. But by the laws of God and man, they had no power to prevent it. More importantly, you yourself cannot heal until you forgive them.”

Tears came to Skurdal’s eyes; his face turned red. “Never,” he murmured. “I would rather kill them.”

“If you kill them, you sentence yourself to carry this wound that now ravishes you, until it eats you from the inside out. You will be as an empty shell until your own death. If you forgive them, in time you will be whole.”

“I already promised I would not kill them, nor beat them, nor even banish them. Forgive them, I cannot.”

“You must. It can be done in small steps. First, allow the wedding of the driver and his betrothed, when mourning time is over.”

“My mourning will never end.”

“But the established time will end before Christmas.”

Skurdal thought for a long time. “All right, I will combine our Christmas feast with a modest wedding. Even so, I cannot forgive them.”

“Forgive with your deeds, Peder,” said the old monk. “Your heart will follow, if you permit it. Now it is time for me to go. I must hurry to reach the pass at Dovrefjell before the heavy snows arrive. ”

“You will cross the mountains on bare feet?”

“I will make shoes of birch bark, as our forefathers did. You are most kind to gift me the sheepskins. The Lord will give me whatever more comfort I need.”

“Will you not take more food? You only have two loaves of bread and a bit of cheese.”

“There is enough for many days. If I carried more, it would slow my progress. Thank you kindly; you have sacrificed much for my humble journey. God be with you, my brother.”

“And with you, Brother Isaak,” said Peder, embracing him.

= = =

Nels stayed at Erstad for two days, resting the horses and learning what he could about the journey to Oslo. Knut Svenses, one of Erstad’s drivers had made the trip in recent years. He gave Nels much advice on way-stations, alternate routes, and security.

“Beyond Hamar, there are inns about a day apart, but avoid them when you can,” said the teamster. “They are expensive, and a good place to draw the attention of thieves. Above all, stay away from the country whores. They are always in league with bandits. In Oslo city, if you are careful, you may find an honest one.”

“Thanks, Knut, I will keep it in mind,” Nels smiled.

The otherwise empty wagon was stocked with ample fodder for the horses, and food supplies for Nels. Olav Erstad loaned Nels a flintlock pistol, with some powder and ammunition. Since Nels had never used such a weapon before, Erstad taught him to load and fire it. “Every day, when you are sure you are alone, fire or unload it, clean it, check the flint, and reload with fresh powder. Keep it close to you, and do not let anyone see it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember, there is always more than one bandit, and you have only one shot. Defeat at least one opponent before using the gun, if you can. Only fire it at very close range, at the heart of your attacker. If you miss, you are lost.”

“Thank you, sir, I will do as you say.”

“Godspeed, my boy. Please rest here again on your return.”

After seven uneventful days, Nels reached the inn at Eidsvoll, which Erik had recommended as a good resting place about halfway to Oslo. There they stayed for two full days, while the horses rested, and Nels ate and drank heartily. He had been frugal, staying mostly in the barns of small farms along the way, and still had ten coins in his purse. One evening, he joined in a game of Whist, and won six more coins, enough to pay for his three nights’ lodging.

The weather held fair. In another six days, they were at the outskirts of the city. Nels found the inn that had been recommended. He was surprised at the strange accent that colored the speech of people here. He had noticed it several days earlier, growing more intense as he drew closer to Oslo. When asking directions, he was often required to repeat himself, and he had difficulty understanding the responses. The next morning, he made his way to the waterfront warehouse of the Kielland shipping company.

“For what?” asked the shipping clerk. He stared at Nels’ walking stick and severe limp. Before Nels could ready a reply, the clerk added, “Please, papers.” Nels handed him his passport. “Uff, ja, Skurdal, ja. Wagon stay here,” he said, pointing to a loading dock, “horses take. Tomorrow, return.”

Nels nodded, hoping he understood correctly. “Thanks,” he said, turning toward the wagon.

“Moment,” said the clerk. He picked up a business card from his desk and handed it to Nels.

Nels looked at the clerk questioningly. “I am sorry, I cannot read.”

The clerk smiled, gesturing toward the south along the waterfront. “Kristianshus hotel,” he said. Pointing at the card, he continued, “Show this them. Our customer, special rate.”

“A thousand thanks,” said Nels.

= = =

After Brother Isaak left Skurdal, Else, the junior milkmaid, visited Anna’s hut, bringing a bunch of large onions from the servants’ garden.

Anna was delighted. “Thank you, dear Else. These look delicious! Please come in.”

“You are welcome, dear.” Entering the hut, she saw Anna’s mother. “Hello, Ingeborg, are you well?” Ingeborg smiled and nodded, but said nothing.

“She does not speak at all any more, just sits and stares at the hearth.” Anna put on the tea-kettle. “She only eats if I feed her, and eats precious little even then.”

“I am sorry,” Else said. And after a polite pause, “I just heard some good news. Mister Skurdal has agreed to hold your wedding at Christmastide.”

“Oh, Else, that is wonderful!” Anna smiled. “Does this mean he is no longer so hateful against Nels?”

“Not entirely. Mister still is full of bitterness, but the monk made him promise to allow the wedding. He said it is the only way that Mister can heal.”

“Thank God for Brother Isaak. If not for him, we would have been evicted by now, or worse,” Anna mused.

“No servant could have stopped Amund taking any horse he wanted. God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but … but …” Tears filled Else’s eyes, and she could not continue.

“Dear Else, I know, I know.” Anna reached over to touch her hand.

Else pulled her hand away. “You do not know! No one knows!” She began sobbing hysterically, throwing herself into Anna’s arms, burying her face on the older girl’s breast.

“Oh God, oh dear God,” whispered Anna, rocking the girl gently. “Else, dear, dear Else.” After a long pause, she whispered in her ear, “did he rape you?”

Else’s body was heaving and trembling. Without raising her face, she blurted out, “Last winter. I hadn’t even got my period!”

Anna wept along. Her tears fell into Else’s hair as they held and rocked each other. Ingeborg rocked in her chair and stared at the hearth, smiling blankly.

They wept for many minutes, then looked in each other’s eyes. Anna whispered, “Else, dear Else … no one knows … he raped me, too.”

“Anna! Oh, no! God help us, Anna, we are lost.”

“We will survive, Else. Now we have each other.”

“Does Nels know?”

“Of course not, Nels must never know. No one must know. No one. But you and I, now we share it. We may speak of it freely, but only between the two of us.”

Else nodded. “I have to go back now.”

“No one,” repeated Anna.

= = =

Nels led the horses to the hotel’s stable. The stable-boy pointed upstairs. “Manager,” he said.

“Just let me unharness them first.”

The boy shook his head. “Manager,” he repeated.

Grumbling, Nels tied up the horses and limped upstairs to the main desk, showing the business card. “How much?”

The man studied the card, looked at Nels, then held up three fingers. “T’ree.”

“Three crowns? For one night?”

“One man, two horse, t’ree crown.”

“What about the special?” asked Nels, shaking the card.

“No card, five crown.” He held up five fingers.

Nels shuddered. He hated their haughty Danish accent, and their terse way of speaking, which seemed so impolite, and most of all, the big-city prices. He handed the man three coins, grumbling, “Outrageous.”

The man looked at him sharply. “T’anks,” he said, with a queer smile. He gestured for Nels to come closer, and spoke softly. “Where you from?” This man had yet a different accent from the locals.

“Gudbrandsdal,” said Nels.

“T’ought so.” Looking at Nels’ walking stick, he said, “Downstairs bunk?”

Nels glanced toward the noisy saloon. “No, upstairs, please.”

“Second floor same price. T’ird floor, one more crown.”

“Second floor, then.”

“Ja. One t’ing more, friend: No one here care where you from. Half dem from Ireland, France, God knows where-all. But watch out all dem, Norskies too. You never know which take mind stab you for couple coins, or if he just t’ink you insult him. Most of all, watch you tongue. Don’t make dat nice talk. People wear clothes like you, don’t talk so nice to each ot’er. Only talk nice to nice clothes.”

“Thanks. I will remember that. Where you from?”

The man smiled. “Way north. I half Sami. Supper, two hour.”

Nels spent the entire two hours grooming the horses. He dried and brushed them, combed their manes and tails, all the while humming or talking softly. “Good, good girls. You are pulling fine, very fine indeed. All we need now is to make it back home.”

The stable-boy was amused. “Mister, you drive those nags or make love them?”

“Mind your tongue, boy,” said Nels, in a voice only slightly less friendly. “I am sorry. But we three creatures depend on each other. Any horse in the world can kill you if it has a mind to. Or, it can save your life a dozen times, in a year’s work. Think about it; they are worth being nice to. And if you are hungry enough, you can eat them.”

“Awww,” said the boy, “you eat them not.”

“No,” agreed Nels, imitating the city accent. “Not enough hungry.” The boy laughed.

Supper was a fine generous meal of fish, bread, and green vegetables. The drink was of low quality but plentiful. The guests were waterfront laborers, travelers like himself, and groups of sailors from several lands, each group speaking in their own language.

After supper, Nels went into the saloon. There, the cacophony of languages became louder and more strident. Now and again, boisterous singing would break out in one language or another. There were many whores; the prettier ones were already in the laps of sailors. Nels eyed the others surreptitiously, trying to avoid direct eye contact. They played his game well, encouraging his glances, and averting their own.

After a while, he stepped to the bar, proffering his empty tankard. The barkeeper rubbed his fingers together in the universal “pay me” gesture, and held up one finger.

“One crown?” shouted Nels, over the din. The keeper nodded. Nels shrugged, handing over a coin, smiling this time, although disgusted at the high price. He resolved to go to bed as soon as this mug was empty. In the dale, one crown bought a night’s lodging, food, and stable, along with plenty of beer.

Before he finished the drink, a fight broke out a few tables away. First there was shouting and cursing in two foreign tongues, then some pushing and punching. Suddenly, all grew quiet, and the crowd edged out to make room for two men with knives drawn, circling menacingly. Occasional shouts were hurled from the sidelines; Nels could not understand them.

The men circled, shuffled and feigned, watching for an opening. Suddenly, one of them lunged forward. The other dodged clear and slashed a deep cut in his assailant’s arm as he passed. The first man screamed, but sprang up into a ready position. He was shaken, though, and the second man saw his chance. He feigned to the right, then as the other man leaned, moved left and stabbed him in the stomach. He stabbed him twice more before letting him fall.

“Enough!” roared the innkeeper. He was standing on the bar, with a large pistol aimed at the combatant’s head. He held the weapon with both hands. “No move!” Not everyone understood the words, but no one moved. He gestured with his eyes and head, saying to the knifeman, “Drop blade.” The man obeyed. More gestures, “Now, in corner. Slow.” As the man moved, the keeper kept the gun trained on him.

“All Frenchmen, get out.” He switched to broken French, “Sortez-vous, tout Français, Sortez! Sortez!” Then in German, “Pruessen, raus, alle Pruessen, raus! Raus!’” Along with these foreigners, the entire crowd started to leave. “The rest of you may stay,” he said in Norwegian, then repeated himself in English, “English, Irish, stay, stay.” In Norwegian only, he continued, “The police will need witnesses, especially Norskies. For you, drinks on the house!” Still, he kept his gun at the prisoner’s head.

Some of the fallen man’s comrades were bent over him. From their unintelligible murmuring, it was clear that he was dead. They began to pick him up. “No, no,” shouted the innkeeper, “leave him for the police to see. Come back later.” They looked at him blankly. He gestured, and they left.

Nels felt nauseous; he could not help staring at the dead man, lying in his own blood. The prospect of a free drink had no appeal; indeed, what he had just drunk was threatening to rise up. He slipped out of the saloon and across the lobby. Most of the others were also leaving. A comely whore intercepted him. “What say you, sailor?”

“No, thank you.” Nels tried to smile.

“You are most welcome, to be sure, sir!” snapped the woman, mocking his polite country language in her own vulgar accent.

On his way upstairs, Nels asked the friendly desk clerk, “How much are the whores?”

“Ten crown, good one. Five, check your purse here first. T’ree, you don’t want her for not’in.”

“Thanks,” Nels nodded. He had ten crowns left to get home on.

Nels did not soon sleep after witnessing the murder. The sleeping-room held six bunks. In three of them, men were snoring loudly, having gone to sleep before the excitement began. In the other two, there was urgent whispering in some unknown language. But the biggest distraction was from below; the sleeping-room was directly over the saloon. Nels heard the police arrive. He heard them questioning the witnesses. He heard the foreigners remove the body, and the gradual crescendo of renewed debauchery. At last he drifted off, but his sleep was not restful.

Early in the morning, he harnessed the team and returned to the dock. His wagon was loaded with a surprising assortment of goods. The warehouse clerk read him the bill of lading. “Four barrels salt herring. Four barrels lye-cured codfish. Two barrels salt, one barrel whiskey. One loom, one spinning wheel, and twenty bricks pig-iron.”

Nels inspected the load, verifying the clerk’s description. He nodded, and made his mark on the document. The clerk handed him a copy. “May I offer advice you?”

“Of course.”

“Back roads use. Many bandits on highway. Your leg they see, take advantage.”

“Thanks,” said Nels, and began tying down the load. Back roads, he thought, would be the worst choice. Better to keep to the well-traveled highways, stay alert for any trouble, and keep his borrowed weapon at the ready.

Travel was slower with the heavy load, but they kept up a good pace, reaching the halfway stop at Eidsvoll in eight days. Nels stayed two nights, resting the horses and making minor repairs to harness and wagon. The second night, he joined another card game. This time, he lost four silver coins, leaving him with only two in the purse. Dejected, he limped toward the door.

“Hey, mister,” said an attractive blond woman. “What would you like?”

Nels looked her up and down. She was tall and well-proportioned, with ruddy cheeks and a pretty smile. He shrugged.

“Come on, only two crown,” She put her hands on her hips, drawing her dress tight to accent her slender waist and ample bosoms.

Nels smiled and nodded. At least she cannot rob me, he thought. Two crowns and my purse will be empty. She brushed slowly past him, letting her breasts touch him ever so slightly. She gave him a beckoning glance, and Nels followed her. In his excitement, he did not notice two of the card-players stealing glances at them, nor two more men at another table, watching them as they left the saloon together.

The woman led Nels to a private room with a large feather-bed. There, she undressed and delighted him with her sweet body and the skills of a true professional. In just a few minutes, Nels lay limp on the bed, spent and smiling. She got up and dressed herself. “All right, sweetheart, time for you to go.” Nels got up reluctantly, dressed himself, and made his way to the guest bunks.