Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty Two
Joachim had been travelling northward for a little over a week now, and the weather had turned decidedly colder. Britta and the baby stayed warm enough, snug in the carriage under piles of furs, but Joachim never joined them. He almost considered it a penance, riding hour after hour in the stiff winter breeze, although nothing could hurt him enough to make up for what he had done.
Oh, he knew a spell had been put on him that had taken away his choices. When he first realized what was happening all those days ago in that meeting of the nobles, he had struggled against it with all his might. But in the end, the effects of that odd music had made him helpless, and he had been caught like a fish in a net.
Now he was running home like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs, because he had been told to. The feeling of his arms and legs obeying someone else rather than himself was nearly enough to make him sick up, and more than once he had a brief thought of killing himself. It seemed to be the only way to resist, but he could not leave Britta, not now, not yet. Also, the mere thought of killing himself gave him a blinding headache, and he guessed the compulsion spell had something to do with that.
He was headed home to his own lands, small as they were, to prepare them to be handed over to Thorvald. He had to. He hoped that somehow he could manage to resist actually following through with that command once he arrived, especially that revolting business about worshipping Thorvald. What rot! So far, however, trying to plan a way to disobey his orders made his forehead pop out with cold drops of sweat and he shook from head to toe like a feverish man. He pictured himself dropping to his knees in Skjagen's beautiful old church and uttering words of praise to that monster, Thorvald. Well, that made him shake as well, but he was shaking with anger.
He resolutely rode along, facing the chilly wind and making himself feel its cutting cold rather than trying to ignore it. Thorvald was a wicked, wicked man, but he, Joachim, was worse than slime on the bottom of a rock. He had delivered his wife into the hands of the questioners. He had not stopped them from wrenching his son from his mother's bosom. He was not fit to live.
His temper had been something dreadful since they left Roskilde. He regretted his harsh words to his servants, who rode behind him and alongside the carriage and wagons, but he could not call his words back now. He was glad they were keeping their distance during the journey. He was in no mood for chattering with servants.
Yesterday, they had left the green forests and fields of Sjaelland and crossed into the land of Nordjylland, mountainous and remote. Joachim looked unfeeling at the beautiful landscape as they travelled along. Nordjylland. That was where Britta's young lady friend was from, the one whose friendship with that peasant boy had started all this trouble. Joachim sighed sadly. Well, there was no helping all that now.
They had rarely passed any other travelers during their week or so on the road, since travel in the north countries was normally put off until spring, so he was surprised to see people approaching them on foot. How odd - it appeared to be a group of about ten men, some very young looking, walking south along the highway. They all carried bundles, either strapped to their backs or held in their arms, but they didn't seem to be merchants, with their rough clothing and no guards or weapons of any kind in sight.
Joachim raised a hand to stop his caravan and walked his mount toward the group. When he drew near, he was surprised when one of the youngest of the group stepped forward and greeted him.
"Well met, sir," the young man said. He was obviously a common lad, with sandy hair grown straggly and a hint of a beard. His clothes were the simplest sort, with furs tied around his body and legs with leather strips as the peasantry did at home in the north countries.
"Good day to you," Joachim replied. He was curious about the little band, but he had no wish to stand and talk with common folk. He had to keep moving. He began to pull his horse around when the young man spoke again.
"If I could have just a moment, my lord," he said. Joachim pursed his lips impatiently. "I have an important message for you."
"For me? Indeed. You do not know me, I would wager." Joachim replied rather loftily.
"My message be for all of Skandia," the young man said, undeterred. "I have been given the task of telling all I be a'seein' that the rightful king will soon be returnin' to our land, and will be restorin' Skandia to its proper order. We must all be a'waitin' for him now, and prepare, for the time is short indeed until he be revealed."
"The king!" Joachim exclaimed. "If you are speaking of Thorvald, he is no rightful king. He takes the land by force, not by right." The words tumbled out and then he nearly retched. He knew he could speak nothing else against Thorvald.
"I do not be speakin' of Thorvald, whoever that might be. The king is hidden now, but the time for his sign be near. No man can take this crown unto himself, as it seems this Thorvald be a'hopin' to do. As odd as it may seem, I have been chosen to prepare the way for the king."
Joachim stared at the young man. A command Thorvald had given him began to tickle at the back of his mind. There is a man I must have...He is a young peasant, tall, with light hair and blue eyes...This must be the man Thorvald had commanded everyone to find! Thorvald must want to stop him from talking about the real king of Skandia. So this was the peasant boy who had turned his life upside down! It all made sense, now. Before, he could not imagine why Thorvald would be so bent on capturing one particular commoner. But this, yes, this added together the right way. Thorvald would not want anyone going around spreading talk against him.
Joachim felt his body react to this realization, and it filled him with disgust. He knew he would have to take this boy and deliver him to Thorvald. He had no pity for a common boy, a stranger, especially one who had wreaked such damage upon his family, but he had no desire to help Thorvald either.
"Thank you for your message," Joachim said politely. "I am sure you have traveled long and are weary, on foot as you are. I invite you to ride with us. I have room for you on my wagons. I actually have just decided to return south and I would be happy to help you. Many days would be cut off your travelling time."
"Thank you, my lord, but I must say no to your kind offer," the young man replied. "We will walk, and spread our message that way."
"I am afraid I must insist," Joachim said firmly, and began sidling his horse a little nearer to the young man.
"I do thank you, but as odd as it may sound, I prefer to be a'walkin'."
"You do not understand," Joachim said through gritted teeth. "Gregor! Jak! Arvik!" He called over his shoulder to the servants behind him. "Come to me, I have need of you." The servants trotted their horses up beside their master, and Joachim handed his reins to one of them, swinging down from the saddle.
What an ordinary, common looking sort he is, Joachim thought. Could Thorvald fear such a one? He stepped close to the young man, looking at him carefully. Yes, there could be no question. Tall, light hair, blue eyes - yes, he was the one. Bold for a peasant, too, he noticed, as the young man looked back at him directly in the eyes.
"You must come with me," Joachim said, and reached out and grabbed his arm. Yes, there were ten of them, but Joachim had no doubt he and his three servants could take this one even if they decided to fight. His servants had swords and knew how to use them, and these commoners, with their packs and no weapons, would be no match for them.
"Sir!" the young man protested, trying to shake off Joachim's grip on his arm, and his friends began to close around, sensing danger to their leader.
"Do not come closer," Joachim hissed at the group of commoners, his dagger suddenly pressed against the young man's throat. "If you wish to live, leave us now. If you wish him to live, you must go."
The young man looked down at the dagger at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir! Why do you do this?"
"Tell your friends to return north," Joachim said roughly. "I will not kill you if you do as I say."
"But, my lord!! I-"
"Do not argue." Joachim pressed the dagger nearly to the point of cutting through flesh. "Tell them."
Joachim looked up, and saw that the other commoners were already stepping backwards away from them. "Do not hurt him!" one of them called. "He has done nothing to you, but only brings you news of the king."
Joachim motioned to the servants. "Drive them off," he said. "Make sure they go north, and do not allow them to return." Gregor, Jak and Arvik galloped forward, and the commoners scattered before them, some running back up the highway, some running into the trees alongside.
"Now, you will go to Thorvald, and you can give him your message," Joachim said, pulling the young man forward towards the wagons.
"Let me go! I must walk," the young man said desperately, and Joachim nearly laughed, in spite of himself. What an odd young man. He ought to be terrified of being taken to Thorvald, not worrying about whether he went walking or riding.
Still, Joachim's heart was full of loathing for what he did. He was by nature a very gentle man, and jerking around a frightened young peasant by knifepoint was unpleasant beyond words. Never mind what would happen to the poor boy once Joachim was finished delivering him!
Joachim forced the boy up against a wagon box and reached inside for a length of rope. He would have to be bound hand and foot for the entire week's trip back to Roskilde, and Joachim would hate every moment of it. He dreaded telling Britta they would have to return - return to the place he swore he would never come back to.
Suddenly, the young man threw up his hands, knocking the dagger away before Joachim had time to react. He bolted away from the wagon and Joachim let out a cry of dismay. He had to catch him! He grabbed the rope and ran after the retreating figure, just as Britta put her head out of the carriage, crying out to him to tell her what was going on.
Joachim ignored her and plunged into the trees after the young man. It was hard going for both of them, for the undergrowth of the forest was thick and brambly. It was quite dark under the canopy of the branches and the bushes scratched and grabbed at his legs.
They both plunged on into the darkness of the forest and Joachim managed close the distance between them slightly. The young man's fur bindings were continually catching on the undergrowth and hindering his flight, while Joachim, although struggling through the tangle, had smoother clothing on.
Ahead, the young man pitched forward, his foot caught under the low branch of a shrub. Joachim leaped over the shrub and fell upon him, panting and gasping for air.
Underneath him, the young man's arms and legs kicked and flailed madly and he yelled like a wild animal. A fist caught Joachim on the face and blood began streaming from his nose, but he paid it no mind. He struck back, his fists raining blows on the boy's ribs, stomach, wherever he could manage it. The boy struggled wildly under the press of Joachim's weight, kicking and twisting.
Joachim raised a gauntleted hand and brought it down on the young man's head as hard as he could, somehow avoiding the windmilling of his arms. The boy's head flopped back and he lay still.
Joachim could hardly believe what he had done. He had threatened to kill a boy and then beat him senseless! Never before had he even struck a man. Had the world turned on its head? Filled with disgust, he turned the young man over and tied his hands together behind his back. He cut the rope at the knot, and then tied his ankles together. He did not want any more of that kicking. Then, grunting with effort, he began slowly dragging him back through the forest towards the waiting caravan. As soon as he was near enough to be heard he yelled for the servants to come. Gregor and Arvik came quickly and picked up the boy by his boots and shoulders. They carried him out of the forest and laid him in the back of one of the wagons.
Britta was standing beside the carriage when Joachim walked up, limping. "Husband!" she cried. "You are covered with blood! What on Earth has happened? Who is that man you have captured?"
Joachim tried to brush past her, but she grabbed his arm. "Joachim, you are hurt. I insist you climb into the carriage this minute, and let me have a look at you."
"It is nothing," he said tiredly. "Let me go. I must see to this boy. I hope he is not hurt badly." He began walking towards the wagon.
"Boy? The man they have just put in the wagon? Who is he? A highway robber?" Britta followed him, her voice rising.
"Britta, you of all people will be surprised to know who that boy is," Joachim said as they approached the wagon. He felt utterly drained and exhausted. How could he face returning to Roskilde? They would have to retrace their long path, do their despicable deed and then set off again for Skjagen, later than ever in the season.
"Who is he?" Britta asked as they leaned together over the wagon bed looking at the young man. He moved slightly against his bonds but did not open his eyes.
"This, my dear, is the young peasant boy we have spent so many breakfasts chatting about," Joachim said. "And, I'm afraid I have bad news. We will have to take him back to Roskilde."
"The peasant boy!" Britta exclaimed. "Are you quite sure?" She peered at him closely. "This? This is Annaka's - friend? How did he ever come to be this far north?"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Joachim said irritably. "He fought like a demon, though. I suppose that's how he escaped when he was being taken to Fyn."
Britta continued scrutinizing the young man. "Hmmm. She did say he had light hair, very light hair. This is more sandy-colored, I would say. And no beard. I distinctly remember her saying he did not have a beard."
"Britta, Britta. So he has not shaved for a few days!" Joachim pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve - miraculously, it was still there in spite of all that had happened. He gently stroked the young man's face with it, wiping away a little blood and dirt.
The young man's eyes opened slowly, and at first seemed confused about where he was and why he could not move his hands or feet. Then he pulled hard against his bonds for a few moments, and seeing they were tight, fell back against the straw they had laid him on and lay still.
"Please, my lord," he mumbled. "I do not know why you be doin' this. I do not want to be a'goin' to this Thorvald you speak of, and indeed, I must not. I beg you for mercy. Let me go! I must complete my task!"
Britta's eyes suddenly got large. "What is your name, young sir? Is it Alek Ostergaard?"
"No, my lady. My name be Stefan Josefsen."
"Joachim, he is not the one!" Britta cried.
"Skosh! He names himself something else to hide his true identity. A simple thing indeed." Joachim scoffed.
Britta put her hands on Joachim's shoulders and forced him to look at her. "Joachim! Don't be a fool! Listen to him!"
"Listen to him? He raves like a mad prophet from the old days. I have listened to him."
"No, you goose! Listen to him talk! What does his speech sound like? He sounds like folk from home, from Skjagen!"
"What of that?"
"The man you seek is not from the north countries! Alek Ostergaard is a Sjaellander! Of that I am sure!"
Britta stared in amazement as her husband put his head down on the wagon box and began to weep. "Release this man," she said to the servants. They looked questioningly at Joachim, but he did not raise his head, and finally they did as she asked.
Joachim had been travelling northward for a little over a week now, and the weather had turned decidedly colder. Britta and the baby stayed warm enough, snug in the carriage under piles of furs, but Joachim never joined them. He almost considered it a penance, riding hour after hour in the stiff winter breeze, although nothing could hurt him enough to make up for what he had done.
Oh, he knew a spell had been put on him that had taken away his choices. When he first realized what was happening all those days ago in that meeting of the nobles, he had struggled against it with all his might. But in the end, the effects of that odd music had made him helpless, and he had been caught like a fish in a net.
Now he was running home like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs, because he had been told to. The feeling of his arms and legs obeying someone else rather than himself was nearly enough to make him sick up, and more than once he had a brief thought of killing himself. It seemed to be the only way to resist, but he could not leave Britta, not now, not yet. Also, the mere thought of killing himself gave him a blinding headache, and he guessed the compulsion spell had something to do with that.
He was headed home to his own lands, small as they were, to prepare them to be handed over to Thorvald. He had to. He hoped that somehow he could manage to resist actually following through with that command once he arrived, especially that revolting business about worshipping Thorvald. What rot! So far, however, trying to plan a way to disobey his orders made his forehead pop out with cold drops of sweat and he shook from head to toe like a feverish man. He pictured himself dropping to his knees in Skjagen's beautiful old church and uttering words of praise to that monster, Thorvald. Well, that made him shake as well, but he was shaking with anger.
He resolutely rode along, facing the chilly wind and making himself feel its cutting cold rather than trying to ignore it. Thorvald was a wicked, wicked man, but he, Joachim, was worse than slime on the bottom of a rock. He had delivered his wife into the hands of the questioners. He had not stopped them from wrenching his son from his mother's bosom. He was not fit to live.
His temper had been something dreadful since they left Roskilde. He regretted his harsh words to his servants, who rode behind him and alongside the carriage and wagons, but he could not call his words back now. He was glad they were keeping their distance during the journey. He was in no mood for chattering with servants.
Yesterday, they had left the green forests and fields of Sjaelland and crossed into the land of Nordjylland, mountainous and remote. Joachim looked unfeeling at the beautiful landscape as they travelled along. Nordjylland. That was where Britta's young lady friend was from, the one whose friendship with that peasant boy had started all this trouble. Joachim sighed sadly. Well, there was no helping all that now.
They had rarely passed any other travelers during their week or so on the road, since travel in the north countries was normally put off until spring, so he was surprised to see people approaching them on foot. How odd - it appeared to be a group of about ten men, some very young looking, walking south along the highway. They all carried bundles, either strapped to their backs or held in their arms, but they didn't seem to be merchants, with their rough clothing and no guards or weapons of any kind in sight.
Joachim raised a hand to stop his caravan and walked his mount toward the group. When he drew near, he was surprised when one of the youngest of the group stepped forward and greeted him.
"Well met, sir," the young man said. He was obviously a common lad, with sandy hair grown straggly and a hint of a beard. His clothes were the simplest sort, with furs tied around his body and legs with leather strips as the peasantry did at home in the north countries.
"Good day to you," Joachim replied. He was curious about the little band, but he had no wish to stand and talk with common folk. He had to keep moving. He began to pull his horse around when the young man spoke again.
"If I could have just a moment, my lord," he said. Joachim pursed his lips impatiently. "I have an important message for you."
"For me? Indeed. You do not know me, I would wager." Joachim replied rather loftily.
"My message be for all of Skandia," the young man said, undeterred. "I have been given the task of telling all I be a'seein' that the rightful king will soon be returnin' to our land, and will be restorin' Skandia to its proper order. We must all be a'waitin' for him now, and prepare, for the time is short indeed until he be revealed."
"The king!" Joachim exclaimed. "If you are speaking of Thorvald, he is no rightful king. He takes the land by force, not by right." The words tumbled out and then he nearly retched. He knew he could speak nothing else against Thorvald.
"I do not be speakin' of Thorvald, whoever that might be. The king is hidden now, but the time for his sign be near. No man can take this crown unto himself, as it seems this Thorvald be a'hopin' to do. As odd as it may seem, I have been chosen to prepare the way for the king."
Joachim stared at the young man. A command Thorvald had given him began to tickle at the back of his mind. There is a man I must have...He is a young peasant, tall, with light hair and blue eyes...This must be the man Thorvald had commanded everyone to find! Thorvald must want to stop him from talking about the real king of Skandia. So this was the peasant boy who had turned his life upside down! It all made sense, now. Before, he could not imagine why Thorvald would be so bent on capturing one particular commoner. But this, yes, this added together the right way. Thorvald would not want anyone going around spreading talk against him.
Joachim felt his body react to this realization, and it filled him with disgust. He knew he would have to take this boy and deliver him to Thorvald. He had no pity for a common boy, a stranger, especially one who had wreaked such damage upon his family, but he had no desire to help Thorvald either.
"Thank you for your message," Joachim said politely. "I am sure you have traveled long and are weary, on foot as you are. I invite you to ride with us. I have room for you on my wagons. I actually have just decided to return south and I would be happy to help you. Many days would be cut off your travelling time."
"Thank you, my lord, but I must say no to your kind offer," the young man replied. "We will walk, and spread our message that way."
"I am afraid I must insist," Joachim said firmly, and began sidling his horse a little nearer to the young man.
"I do thank you, but as odd as it may sound, I prefer to be a'walkin'."
"You do not understand," Joachim said through gritted teeth. "Gregor! Jak! Arvik!" He called over his shoulder to the servants behind him. "Come to me, I have need of you." The servants trotted their horses up beside their master, and Joachim handed his reins to one of them, swinging down from the saddle.
What an ordinary, common looking sort he is, Joachim thought. Could Thorvald fear such a one? He stepped close to the young man, looking at him carefully. Yes, there could be no question. Tall, light hair, blue eyes - yes, he was the one. Bold for a peasant, too, he noticed, as the young man looked back at him directly in the eyes.
"You must come with me," Joachim said, and reached out and grabbed his arm. Yes, there were ten of them, but Joachim had no doubt he and his three servants could take this one even if they decided to fight. His servants had swords and knew how to use them, and these commoners, with their packs and no weapons, would be no match for them.
"Sir!" the young man protested, trying to shake off Joachim's grip on his arm, and his friends began to close around, sensing danger to their leader.
"Do not come closer," Joachim hissed at the group of commoners, his dagger suddenly pressed against the young man's throat. "If you wish to live, leave us now. If you wish him to live, you must go."
The young man looked down at the dagger at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir! Why do you do this?"
"Tell your friends to return north," Joachim said roughly. "I will not kill you if you do as I say."
"But, my lord!! I-"
"Do not argue." Joachim pressed the dagger nearly to the point of cutting through flesh. "Tell them."
Joachim looked up, and saw that the other commoners were already stepping backwards away from them. "Do not hurt him!" one of them called. "He has done nothing to you, but only brings you news of the king."
Joachim motioned to the servants. "Drive them off," he said. "Make sure they go north, and do not allow them to return." Gregor, Jak and Arvik galloped forward, and the commoners scattered before them, some running back up the highway, some running into the trees alongside.
"Now, you will go to Thorvald, and you can give him your message," Joachim said, pulling the young man forward towards the wagons.
"Let me go! I must walk," the young man said desperately, and Joachim nearly laughed, in spite of himself. What an odd young man. He ought to be terrified of being taken to Thorvald, not worrying about whether he went walking or riding.
Still, Joachim's heart was full of loathing for what he did. He was by nature a very gentle man, and jerking around a frightened young peasant by knifepoint was unpleasant beyond words. Never mind what would happen to the poor boy once Joachim was finished delivering him!
Joachim forced the boy up against a wagon box and reached inside for a length of rope. He would have to be bound hand and foot for the entire week's trip back to Roskilde, and Joachim would hate every moment of it. He dreaded telling Britta they would have to return - return to the place he swore he would never come back to.
Suddenly, the young man threw up his hands, knocking the dagger away before Joachim had time to react. He bolted away from the wagon and Joachim let out a cry of dismay. He had to catch him! He grabbed the rope and ran after the retreating figure, just as Britta put her head out of the carriage, crying out to him to tell her what was going on.
Joachim ignored her and plunged into the trees after the young man. It was hard going for both of them, for the undergrowth of the forest was thick and brambly. It was quite dark under the canopy of the branches and the bushes scratched and grabbed at his legs.
They both plunged on into the darkness of the forest and Joachim managed close the distance between them slightly. The young man's fur bindings were continually catching on the undergrowth and hindering his flight, while Joachim, although struggling through the tangle, had smoother clothing on.
Ahead, the young man pitched forward, his foot caught under the low branch of a shrub. Joachim leaped over the shrub and fell upon him, panting and gasping for air.
Underneath him, the young man's arms and legs kicked and flailed madly and he yelled like a wild animal. A fist caught Joachim on the face and blood began streaming from his nose, but he paid it no mind. He struck back, his fists raining blows on the boy's ribs, stomach, wherever he could manage it. The boy struggled wildly under the press of Joachim's weight, kicking and twisting.
Joachim raised a gauntleted hand and brought it down on the young man's head as hard as he could, somehow avoiding the windmilling of his arms. The boy's head flopped back and he lay still.
Joachim could hardly believe what he had done. He had threatened to kill a boy and then beat him senseless! Never before had he even struck a man. Had the world turned on its head? Filled with disgust, he turned the young man over and tied his hands together behind his back. He cut the rope at the knot, and then tied his ankles together. He did not want any more of that kicking. Then, grunting with effort, he began slowly dragging him back through the forest towards the waiting caravan. As soon as he was near enough to be heard he yelled for the servants to come. Gregor and Arvik came quickly and picked up the boy by his boots and shoulders. They carried him out of the forest and laid him in the back of one of the wagons.
Britta was standing beside the carriage when Joachim walked up, limping. "Husband!" she cried. "You are covered with blood! What on Earth has happened? Who is that man you have captured?"
Joachim tried to brush past her, but she grabbed his arm. "Joachim, you are hurt. I insist you climb into the carriage this minute, and let me have a look at you."
"It is nothing," he said tiredly. "Let me go. I must see to this boy. I hope he is not hurt badly." He began walking towards the wagon.
"Boy? The man they have just put in the wagon? Who is he? A highway robber?" Britta followed him, her voice rising.
"Britta, you of all people will be surprised to know who that boy is," Joachim said as they approached the wagon. He felt utterly drained and exhausted. How could he face returning to Roskilde? They would have to retrace their long path, do their despicable deed and then set off again for Skjagen, later than ever in the season.
"Who is he?" Britta asked as they leaned together over the wagon bed looking at the young man. He moved slightly against his bonds but did not open his eyes.
"This, my dear, is the young peasant boy we have spent so many breakfasts chatting about," Joachim said. "And, I'm afraid I have bad news. We will have to take him back to Roskilde."
"The peasant boy!" Britta exclaimed. "Are you quite sure?" She peered at him closely. "This? This is Annaka's - friend? How did he ever come to be this far north?"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Joachim said irritably. "He fought like a demon, though. I suppose that's how he escaped when he was being taken to Fyn."
Britta continued scrutinizing the young man. "Hmmm. She did say he had light hair, very light hair. This is more sandy-colored, I would say. And no beard. I distinctly remember her saying he did not have a beard."
"Britta, Britta. So he has not shaved for a few days!" Joachim pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve - miraculously, it was still there in spite of all that had happened. He gently stroked the young man's face with it, wiping away a little blood and dirt.
The young man's eyes opened slowly, and at first seemed confused about where he was and why he could not move his hands or feet. Then he pulled hard against his bonds for a few moments, and seeing they were tight, fell back against the straw they had laid him on and lay still.
"Please, my lord," he mumbled. "I do not know why you be doin' this. I do not want to be a'goin' to this Thorvald you speak of, and indeed, I must not. I beg you for mercy. Let me go! I must complete my task!"
Britta's eyes suddenly got large. "What is your name, young sir? Is it Alek Ostergaard?"
"No, my lady. My name be Stefan Josefsen."
"Joachim, he is not the one!" Britta cried.
"Skosh! He names himself something else to hide his true identity. A simple thing indeed." Joachim scoffed.
Britta put her hands on Joachim's shoulders and forced him to look at her. "Joachim! Don't be a fool! Listen to him!"
"Listen to him? He raves like a mad prophet from the old days. I have listened to him."
"No, you goose! Listen to him talk! What does his speech sound like? He sounds like folk from home, from Skjagen!"
"What of that?"
"The man you seek is not from the north countries! Alek Ostergaard is a Sjaellander! Of that I am sure!"
Britta stared in amazement as her husband put his head down on the wagon box and began to weep. "Release this man," she said to the servants. They looked questioningly at Joachim, but he did not raise his head, and finally they did as she asked.