She lifts her face. Her eyes let out light. ‘Don’t worry your head about it, it’s a waste of time. You should worry about those two instead.’
‘Not much I can do about them.’
A palm, still soft, descends on the back of my hand. ‘What if you were to talk to them?’
‘I’m the last person they’ll listen to. Especially Henrik.’
‘But I’m scared. I feel that anything could happen.’
‘Yes. Damned horse!’
‘You can’t blame everything on the horse.’
‘It started the whole thing. Had I but known, I’d have gone and stolen it myself. Or perhaps killed it, if I’d been able to.’
I detect a melancholy smile in her voice. ‘It’s still not too late.’
‘Maybe not, but killing alone wouldn’t do any good now. I should…’
‘Kill them both?’
‘Yes. But Anna doesn’t deserve it.’
‘Of course not. And you’d never do it.’
We sit as we often do, in silence. Perhaps we are even breathing in unison. People are welcome to their lewd fantasies about what we get up to in my cabin. In reality, we are content with the taciturnity of two people who have experienced three decades together. There is no one else round here either of us would seek out to talk to, or fail to talk to. The others all belong to a younger generation and are consequently still unaware of their sins and those of others, or else unwilling to think about them. They have not yet disrobed and said, ‘Well, if You really are hanging around up there, feel free to gawp, for this is what You made me.’ It will take them time to learn that a man does not choose his lies; rather, the lies choose him, and in him they collide with the lies of others, like shadows meeting in the yard that approach one another and all of a sudden melt together to form for a moment – or worse, for a long time – a single shadow, misshapen and fearsome. I get up, grab the Old Mistress’s cup and pour out more liquor from the jug. The shadow of my body, cast by the fire, embraces her. She smiles.
I have barely lowered my buttocks back onto the bench when swift feet hurry to the door. It bursts open. Mauri breathes out, his voice taut with excitement, ‘We’ve got visitors.’
The Bailiff arrives on horseback, accompanied by three soldiers. I watch them alighting from their horses in the middle of the yard. At once I get a sense of them controlling this place, owning it. The Bailiff is short and stout, ridiculous in that fur coat that reaches down to his ankles. It hangs open, probably so that you can glimpse the uniform of the new realm. I am not near enough to see his face but I remember it: arrogant eyes, low forehead, lips that always look greasy with steak. The soldiers carry rifles which they dangle from their snowy shoulders in a pose of preparedness. They look indifferent, in the manner of men used to obeying orders.
Erik appears on the steps, stares at the newcomers for a moment and descends into the yard. Anna follows him. Mauri is standing by the wall and, at that moment, everyone else comes into view as if by mutual, fateful agreement. Henrik emerges from the barn, the housemaid’s face looms at the kitchen window, the milkmaid’s bloated shape appears by the cowshed door. Both labourers step out of the stable, where they must have just left the mare they used in log transport. The Farmhand stops behind the soldiers and glances at me over his shoulder, as if surprised by my failure to follow him.
The wind drops and the snowflakes, sparser now, begin to float slowly downwards.
The Bailiff speaks. I cannot hear his voice, but I know from memory that his words sound like they are being squeezed out through a tangle of worms. Even from this distance I see Erik flinch. His head turns to one side, his jaw slackens. Something must be even more wrong than I had thought. I should have swallowed my pride and moved closer. Now my dignity will not let me.
Henrik, who is standing further away, suddenly lets out a thunderous roar and rushes towards Mauri. The soldiers seem to have expected it; two of them grip Henrik’s arms from behind and the third walks round to face him, pointing with his bayonet. Curses and swear words pour out of Henrik’s mouth and over Mauri. Mauri stands by the wall, frail and immobile, but, to all appearances, fearless. Anna has raised her hands to her throat and is staring at Mauri. The Farmhand is staring at him, too, and Erik has turned in his direction. Mauri detaches himself from the wall and heads for the stable, barely lifting his feet off the ground.
The Bailiff resumes his speech to Erik, having been briefly silenced by these events. The soldiers let go of Henrik, who tramps crossly to the steps and sits down. Anna’s hands move from her throat to her face and the Farmhand has found something on the ground to kick around.
Mauri comes out of the stable carrying a musket. He says something to the labourers, who begin following him as, in that creeping way of his, he goes over to the group standing in the yard. The Bailiff turns his back on Erik, hands a sheaf of papers to Mauri and waits for one of the soldiers to hurry over and help him onto his saddle. The legal affairs of the realm are being managed by a man who cannot even mount a horse without help. He does at least succeed in getting his nag moving. I assume he will ride past me without even a glance, but at the last moment he bows his head in my direction. I am surprised by the sad expression on his swollen face. The soldiers following him on their own mounts stare ahead, uncaring, emotionless.
The labourers and Mauri, a tight, armed group, stand in front of Henrik, still seated on the steps. Only now do I notice that one of the workers is dangling an axe against his thigh and the other has grabbed a knife sticking out from his belt. Mauri looks like an armed little boy, sheltered between them. At a distance, Erik is tramping restlessly back and forth, back and forth. Anna is staring at the field with her face in her hands and the Farmhand has started towards me, trudging slowly, his head and shoulders bowed.
When he reaches me, he raises his head. I know the old scoundrel well enough to see he is about to explode with laughter.
Just my luck, getting mixed up in this mess. I would have had to get involved sooner or later, of course, in my official capacity. But I would have dealt with the matter in the usual fashion and summoned the parties to my office. I would not have made this long journey simply to ruin a few people’s lives. Not that these peasants and their plots are any concern of mine. I do feel rather sorry for the Old Mistress, though.
Cursed be the day when that Mauri person turned up to talk to me. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary day to begin with. I had enjoyed my breakfast at leisure and wished my lady wife God’s grace for the day. As usual I had gone the short distance to my office by foot. Upon arriving, I noticed a lowly creature crouching on the bench. I did not think much of it. I let him wait a good while before I saw him. Experience has taught me that haste is not advisable when one is carrying out official duties. When I finally ordered that he be admitted, I did not at first look up from my papers. Instead I let him stand there in front of my desk, another trick experience has taught me. It gives all those whiners who flock to see me the chance to put their message into words. When I did look up, I saw a runt of a man eyeing me feverishly. He had an unnaturally large head. His beard was so scanty that no self- respecting burgher would think it fit for his maid’s yard-broom.
He made a clumsy attempt to bow. Then, with a trembling hand, he passed over a couple of sheets of paper. He said in a shrill, womanish voice, ‘I’ve got these certificates, see.’
I was surprised when I saw what they were. I had not expected that. He and his papers did not go together; they were at odds with each other, like a tramp strolling around in the drawing room of a mansion, or a nobleman on a dunghill holding a pitchfork. On the other hand, I have seen both in my time, so I merely nodded and put the sheets down.
‘I want all this done quick,’ he said.
‘The matter will be settled in good time,’ I replied. ‘I’m sure sir understands that, given the current circumstances, the matter cannot be hurried.’
‘Why not? It’s all there in black and white.’
‘The documents are sure to be in order, but times have changed. Has sir not noticed that we’ve become part of an empire? Such a change means extensive reorganization.’
He started chewing air, shocked. He masticated away, quite as if his mouth were full of tobacco. He carried on
