The Sea Lion Read online

  Willy had been raised on a diet of potatoes and herring. As long as there were enough potatoes and barrels of herring in the cellar, neither hunger nor scurvy could touch him during the long winter months.

  The father-son duo was working their way along the rows of potato haulms with their picks and pails. The pair had been at it for hours, and Willy’s father was starting to feel the effects of the exertion. He wasn’t 30 anymore, and his 54-year-old body was in dire need of a break.

  “Right,” Ulf said, as he straightened up, his back sore and his head heavy. “I think it’s time for coffee.”

  “Good idea, Dad.” Willy, still filled with energy, stayed hunched over.

  Ulf caught himself smiling at his son, who was the spitting image of himself at that age. He looked wistfully at the small, white house—The Castle, as they called it. This what where he’d experienced some of the best and worst days of his life. He and Bodil had lived there together and survived through thick and thin. She’d borne them four beautiful children and took their fifth with her to the grave. Ulf had subsequently lost two of the remaining children: Olivia and Conrad. He still had Gustav and Willy, although Gustav had moved four years ago to become the Ammunition and Equipment Manager at Fredriksten Fortress. Perhaps Willy would end up finding an heiress to wed and leave Lauer as well.

  Then who would race the other pilots...

  Ulf walked through the potato field, passed some free-range hens in the garden, and reached the house. He opened the door and stepped inside.

  Fifteen minutes later, he found himself back in the field, carrying a large copper kettle filled with coffee, along with a basket full of pork, apples, and crispbread.

  He came to a stop beside his son. “Coffee’s ready. How about we take a seat in the sun, in the shelter of the wood shed over there?”

  “Sounds good.”

  The son continued picking potatoes.

  “Come on, son. Leave the pail.”

  Willy turned to face Ulf and insisted on carrying the kettle. “Let me take that, Dad.”

  Ulf handed it over. “How are things with Olga?”

  “Olga? Oh, I’m far too shy, Dad. Besides, I don’t know a thing about women.”

  They started walking towards the wood shed a short distance away.

  “Oh, shush, what’s there to be shy about? You think too much...”

  “I know, I know. But I’ve tried...”

  “Talking to Olga?”

  “Not to Olga, no. To another woman.”

  They sat down in the dry grass behind the wood shed, placing the basket and the kettle between them.

  Ulf fished a couple of mugs out of the basket, grabbed the kettle, and filled them. “Who’s this other woman?” he asked, signalling for his son to help himself. “That elegant one? I forget her name. Amalie?”

  “No, not her.” Willy shook his head as he grabbed one of the mugs. “Let me finish,” he begged in a slightly upset tone of voice.

  He took a sip of the scalding hot coffee while Ulf tried in vain to contain his curiosity.

  “Spit it out. Not the coffee, of course. Go on!”

  “Right, here goes. A boatful of refugees stopped at the dock to ask for directions to the nearest safe harbour the other day, and I pointed them towards Skjærhalden. There was a woman aboard who flashed me the most amazing smile, Dad. She was like something out of a fairy tale, she was so beautiful. I couldn’t help but feel like she might be interested in me, so I followed them. But when I found her on Storesand, after looking for hours, I saw something that greatly dismayed me.” He took out the sheath knife attached to his belt, grabbed a slab of pork from the basket, and wolfed down the chunk, his eyes fixed on Storesand.

  “Something that dismayed you?” Ulf was talking into his mug and proceeded to blow on the coffee to cool it down. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”

  He took a sip.

  “Not really. When I arrived, some idiot was giving her a beating.”

  Willy shook with fury and struggled to maintain his composure.

  Ulf’s jaw dropped, and his eyes doubled in size. “Oh, my Lord. How can it be...”

  “I know,” Willy growled, clenching his fists. “I saw it with my own eyes, and when I jumped in to stop the man, the rest of them threatened to gang up on me. Her dad even went so far as to point his musket at me. But that wasn’t even the worst part...”

  Willy took a break to gather himself.

  “How so? What could possibly be worse than that?”

  “She came to...”

  “That’s great. Good for you,” Ulf said in consolation.

  There was no trace of emotion in Willy’s face.

  “No. Not in the slightest,” he hissed, his voice hard.

  “Oh?”

  “She refused to talk, even though she knew full well who’d been beating her. She knew that it wasn’t me, and still she let me take the blame. They chased me away.” Willy had a furious gleam in his eyes, and his voice sounded more like a roar than anything else. “She’s evil, Dad. That’s what she is... Evil through and through!”

  “Please, don’t blame her. Listen to me, my son. She was too scared to speak up out of fear of another beating. The man who hit her was probably her husband, and it sounds like she’s accepted her own fate. So just forget her. There are other women out there, my son. Focus on them instead...” Ulf was worried for his son. He knew how dangerous jealous husbands could be. Just three years ago, a man on Vesterøy had killed his wife and her lover.

  God forbid that anything like that would happen to Willy.

  “Forget her, my son,” he repeated, fearing the worst.

  Willy stared in the direction of Storesand. He gripped the sheath knife so hard, his knuckles started turning white. Every muscle in his body was tense, and his eyes were lit up by undiluted wrath.

  “Maxim,” he growled quietly through clenched teeth.

  STORESAND

  SEPTEMBER 11TH, 1807

  Darkness came early up north and the autumn felt much colder than she’d been used to in Moldova, where she’d spent the majority of her life. However, the unsettled state of the country, with all its warfare and drastic changes, had made life ever more difficult. That is why she and her family had decided to leave their home in search of a more peaceful place to live.

  Bogdana, the 33-year-old mother of six, spread the woollen blanket over her cold, naked feet. Then she tamped her clay pipe and gazed at the dying bonfire. “Throw on some more firewood, Raja,” she said to her eldest daughter, who was walking amongst the pine trees, picking up cones and wooden branches that had fallen onto the hillside. She broke off some of the drier branches and placed them in her apron. The landowner had forbidden them from chopping down any of the trees in his forest, as well as from hunting birds and small game. Lobster-fishing was out of the question, too, so the rest of the family was out hunting for something—anything—they were allowed to eat. The rest of the children were out searching for mussels and starfish by the shoreline. The men were out on the boat, trying their hand at fishing now that most of the fishers had gone home. Raja stuck to the campsite, making sure that everything was in order.

  Bogdana didn’t feel too well. She’d been under the weather for a while, and her waning hunger had caused her weight to dwindle. Not only that, but she had also contracted a cold that didn’t seem to be getting any better. She barely had enough energy to simply sit up and lie down.

  “Raja,” she repeated, raising her voice slightly.

  “Coming, Mum,” Raja said, as she ran down towards her mother, holding out the apron full of twigs and pine cones. She had quite far to run, as they’d already burnt everything in their immediate surroundings. The distance between the campsite and the dry branches grew greater with every passing day. Still, it didn’t take Raja too long to reach her mother. She placed some of the thin twigs on the bonfire and blew on the embers.

  “There we go,” Raja smiled. “That’s much better.” />
  She walked over to sit down next to her mother.

  “God bless you, my child.” Bogdana gently stroked her cheek. “What would I do without you...”

  Raja nodded, placing her hand in her mother’s frail hand. Bogdana was nothing but skin and bones, her veins bulging against the surface of the flabby skin. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken.

  She was a living skeleton.

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing we have each other, Mum. But...” She interrupted herself from asking whether things would turn out alright. More than anything, she was thinking about the fact that Maxim had beat her and cheated on her. In so many ways, life seemed pointless. Was there any hope of a better future, or would she have to resign herself to this pitiful life? Was she stuck in this living hell for the rest of her days? And what about her mother? Would she die of hunger?

  “But what?”

  “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  “Oh, but now I’m worried about you, my dear.”

  “Just worry about yourself, Mum. I’ll be fine. Somehow.”

  “What about Maxim? Maybe it’s time to have children.”

  “With him? Absolutely not. He prefers other women; you know that just as well as I do. Besides, I don’t think he’s capable of knocking someone up.”

  “Hush, don’t say that. You never know.”

  “God forbid it. I would rather die.”

  “Die?”

  “Yes, die. Life is meaningless. It’s nothing but sadness and darkness.”

  “Chin up, my love.”

  “Give me something to be hopeful about. You’re psychic. Will you read my future?”

  “But... Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure, Mum.”

  Bogdana reluctantly caved to appease her daughter’s wish. She’d never read a loved one’s future before. Fortune-telling was just something she’d picked up to earn money while they were on the run, and she wasn’t even entirely sure that her predictions were right. As far as she knew, none of her prophecies ever came true. A couple of times, she’d seen that the sitter’s death was imminent, but she’d always kept that to herself.

  Bogdana shuffled the cards and placed them in front of her. “Hmm. Let’s see.” She studied them carefully. “No.” She was about to put the cards back in the pile when Raja reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t even try. Be honest, Mum.”

  “No, I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can! Come on, Mum, please.”

  “There are some things I have to keep to myself. Let’s leave it at that. What I can tell you is that your life will be dramatic and nomadic.”

  “It already is.”

  “Of course, but you have yet to become a soldier.”

  “Me? A soldier?” Raja could see it. She had no trouble imagining herself as one of Napoleon’s hussars, riding horseback in a beautiful uniform with a sable in her hand.

  “Oh, yes. You’ll be surrounded by powerful men. You’ll have influence over them in ways that most women couldn’t even imagine. Royals aside, of course.”

  “Wow, I’m almost excited.”

  Her future was starting to sound more and more promising, and Raja felt her spirits being lifted. Perhaps she would become a war hero in Napoleon’s army. What if she became rich and famous?

  “You’ll go on a journey far from here. Very far!”

  “America?” Raja guessed hopefully, thinking to herself that she could settle down in America and build a beautiful castle for herself, her mum, and the rest of the family when she became rich and famous. There’d be lots of servants and they would all live happily ever after.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. It could also mean...”

  “The next world? That I’ll die a soldier?”

  “Mm, I don’t know.”

  HVALER CHURCH

  SEPTEMBER 13TH, 1807

  Willy and his father stepped out of the church at the end of the Sunday service and stayed outside for a while as usual, chatting with their friends and acquaintances. Ulf did most of the talking, as Willy preferred to listen and observe. But nothing interesting was happening today, so he decided to take a walk to the nearby graveyard. Everyone was just talking about what happened in Copenhagen. It was all chitchat about the hopelessness of the situation with the confiscated Dano-Norwegian fleet. Not even Napoleon could beat the British forces at sea. They’d proven that at the Battle of Trafalgar two years prior, and their fleet had been a lot smaller back then.

  I can’t be bothered with this, Willy thought to himself, instead turning his attention towards what the priest had talked about during his sermon. “Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.” The idea that it paid off to be meek was of great consolation to him because he certainly felt that way after having talked to his father about the event on Storesand. His bitterness and hatred had somehow merged into meekness. His father had talked some sense into him, and as a result, he felt peaceful and prepared to accept injustice. He no longer felt the desire to travel back to Storesand to beat Maxim to a pulp.

  As he moved through the graveyard, he was reminded of the dangers of life out at sea. One of the graves was the final resting place of a friend of his: Lukas Jensen, a fisherman who was his age. He died at the age of 19 and his body was found washed-up on the shore. It was a tragic event, but the sad reality was that people disappeared at sea every year. Hvaler was full of widows and fatherless children, not to mention people who’d lost their sisters or brothers, like Willy. He’d lost both Olivia and Conrad to scarlet fever. Death was a frequent visitor with a habit of appearing out of nowhere. But the thought of dying didn’t scare him. It was just a part of life.

  He kept walking until he reached the gate. He opened it and walked outside.

  “Good morning,” a light, pleasant voice said.

  Willy lowered his gaze to find a woman sitting on the churchyard wall. His heart skipped a beat when he realised who she was.

  “Good morning,” he said meekly, unsure of what to do or say. Willy was a man of few words, and to make matters more difficult, he was also shy—especially when it came to women. Still, he forced himself to spit out another few words. “It was nice seeing...” He stopped himself and felt the blood rush to his face. Now that he thought about it, ‘It was nice seeing you the other day’ didn’t really feel like the right thing to say, so he continued: “Sorry... How are you?”

  She jumped down onto her feet and brushed the dried twigs of grass off her dress. “I’m alright,” she said, as she turned to face him. “How about you?”

  “I... Uh... I’m fine. I’m Willy Lauer, by the way.” He offered her his hand.

  She accepted it with a smile. “Raja Romanova.”

  Willy let go of her hand and made to leave. “It was great to meet you, Raja.”

  “No, don’t go, Willy. Are you in a hurry?”

  “I mean...”

  “Stay for a little while. I’d like to get to know you.”

  “Thanks, but... What about...”

  “Maxim?”

  “Right, Maxim. That was the dirt bag’s name.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about the dirt bag, Willy. He’ll just have to accept that we’re having a chat by the church gate. Besides, it’s broad daylight and we’re standing where everyone can see us.”

  Willy shook his head.

  “I saw him beat you. I bet it’s because he’s jealous.

  “You’re not wrong...”

  “Why don’t you leave him?”

  “Leave him? Where would I go?”

  “I don’t know. Chase him away?”

  “Oh, the trouble I’d get in with my dad if I did that. Forget it, Willy. Can’t we talk about something else?”

  “What are you doing here anyway? Are you fleeing Denmark? I thought I heard you and your dad speaking Danish.”

  “Spot on, but we’re not Danish. We’re from Moldova.”

  “Moldova? I’ve never heard of it
... Is that a country?”

  “Something like that.”

  “A Danish province?” Willy guessed. He was thinking of the Danish trading post called Tranquebar in the Far East. The names bore no similarity, but he’d seen a sailor from Tranquebar on a Danish ship once, and something about Raja’s appearance reminded him of the sailor.

  “No, Russian. Or rather, we’ve been under Russian occupation.”

  “And still you speak Danish...”

  “My grandmother was Danish.”

  “Ah, that’s great! Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to stand here and talk to each other. Thank God for your grandmother.”

  Suddenly, they were interrupted by an angry voice. Aggressive bickering ensued in a language that Willy didn’t understand and before he knew it, Maxim had grabbed Raja’s arm. He dragged her away at a brisk pace, a well-stocked kit bag slung over his shoulder.

  Willy stood there in shock.

  HVALER

  SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1807

  At the break of dawn on Monday morning, Willy set out for Kirkeøy. He rowed as if his life depended on it, fighting against headwinds and towering waves along the way.

  The crests were foaming violently as the boat bobbed in the water. Willy was thrown from side the side and struggled to keep course. It felt like he wasn’t moving an inch, but although his progress was slow, it at least was there. He had to get to Storesand, no matter the cost. He’d decided to take a stand against the careless Maxim once and for all. When they’d met more or less by chance yesterday, Raja had made it clear that she wanted to leave her husband but was scared of her father’s reaction. Time to rescue a damsel in distress, Willy thought, ignoring his father’s innumerable warnings. It hadn’t taken Ulf long to realise what was happening. Willy clearly couldn’t take his mind off the stranger. His final warning came just as Willy was leaving the house. “No, Willy! Don’t go! What if he pulls out a knife and things ends badly? Just look at what happened on Vesterøy where that man killed his wife and her lover. That could happen to you. Do you hear me? For God’s sake, don’t go!” It hurt his heart to see the despair in his father’s face, it really did. It just didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as seeing Raja suffer. He seemed to be the only person who could make the injustice stop.