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You ’re drunk, that’s what you are. Go and lie down on
your bed and sleep off your booze and your spleen too!
’T would serve you right if I boxed your ears, you shrew!
No—not another word! Marie shall be gone from here
before to-morrow is over. I want peace—in times of
peace.”
Anne sobbed aloud.
“O Lord, O Lord, that such a thing should come to
pass—an everlastin’ shame! Tell me I’m tipsy! In all the
time we’ve ben together or all the time before, have ye
seen me in the scullery with a fuddled head? Have y’ ever
heard me talkin’ drivel? Show me the spot where ye’ ve
seen me o’ercome with drink! That’s the thanks I get.
Sleep off my booze! Would to God I might sleep! would
to God I might sink down dead before you, since ye put
shame upon me—”
The dogs began to bark outside, and the beat of horses’
hoofs sounded beneath the windows.
Anne dried her eyes hastily, and Erik Grubbe opened
the window to ask who had come.
“A messenger riding from Fovsing,” answered one of
the men about the house.
“Then take his horse and send him in,” and with these
words the window was closed.
Anne straightened herself in her chair and held up one
hand to shade her eyes, red with weeping.
The messenger presented the compliments of Christian
Skeel of Fovsing and Odden, Governor of the Diocese,
who sent to apprise Erik Grubbe of the notice he had
that day received by royal courier, saying that war had been
declared on June first. Since it became necessary that he
should travel to Aarhus and possibly even to Copenhagen,
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