Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Nels stayed at Erstad for two days, resting the horses and learning what he could about the journey to Oslo. 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, friend, 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.

(Continued)