The train ride to Odense was a journey into the heart of the storm Christian had unleashed. The air in the city smelled of wet ash. Dominating the town square was the ruin of the new grain silo, its blackened timbers twisted into a skeletal silhouette against the gray sky. It was the first thing Christian noted, a stark symbol of the resistance he had come to face.
The battalion he had dispatched had restored a tense quiet, but the soldiers patrolled in pairs, their bayonets fixed, eyed with sullen resentment by the local populace.
Major Brandt met him inside the town hall, which now served as a makeshift military headquarters. The Major's uniform was immaculate, but the sleepless, haunted look in his eyes told a different story. He saluted crisply. "My lord. We've stopped the rioting and secured the main buildings," he said, the words coming out in a rush of professional duty. He hesitated, glancing towards the shuttered windows. "But it's a brittle peace. My patrols are being met with rocks and curses. The hatred here… it's thicker than mud."
"Your men have performed their duty admirably, Major," Christian replied coolly. "Now here are my orders. I want your men to pull back from the town square. Have them maintain a perimeter around the district, visible but not oppressive. Then, have the town crier announce that I, Count Eskildsen, will address the people in the square at noon."
Major Brandt stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "My lord, that is suicide! They will riot again! They will tear you apart!"
"They will not," Christian stated with an authority that brooked no argument. "They are angry at a ghost, a tyrant in a distant city. I will give them a man to look at. Proceed."
By noon, the great square before the town hall was filled with a massive crowd. Thousands of farmers, tradesmen, and their families had gathered, drawn by a mixture of outrage and morbid curiosity. They were a sea of grim, angry faces. Men clutched heavy wooden staffs and pitchforks. The air was thick with hostility.
As the town clock began to strike twelve, Christian emerged onto the steps of the town hall. He was alone. He had ordered his personal guards to remain inside, and the army was out of sight. He wore a simple, dark coat, with no medals or honors, not even the Order of the Elephant the King had bestowed upon him.
A wave of shouts and curses washed over him. "Tyrant!" "Go back to your palace!" "Land-thief!"
He stood impassive, waiting, letting their rage crash against his wall of calm until the shouting began to subside, replaced by an expectant, hostile silence. Then he spoke, his voice clear and strong, needing no amplification in the tense quiet.
"I hear your anger," he began, his eyes sweeping across the crowd. "I see your fear. You have been told that I am your enemy. That I have come to steal your land and destroy your way of life."
He paused. "The law that has caused this pain, the Land Consolidation Act, was my creation. The responsibility is mine, and I will not hide from it behind soldiers or decrees."
He had their attention now. This was not the speech of a distant aristocrat.
"For centuries, we have told ourselves a comforting story. That the Danish farmer is the free, noble backbone of our nation. But I have seen the reality. I see a backbone bent by endless labor for meager returns. I see freedom that is one bad harvest away from starvation. I see a nation so tied to the old ways that it was nearly erased from the map by a modern, industrial enemy."
"I am not offering you an easy path. I am offering you a difficult one. A path that leads to a stronger Denmark. A Denmark with full granaries that do not burn, and powerful factories that can employ your sons. A Denmark that will never again be humiliated by its enemies because it was too weak and too poor to defend itself."
He raised his voice, his words now a powerful declaration. "That is why, today, I have used my authority to establish a National Granary. It will buy surplus grain at a fair, fixed price, so you are no longer at the mercy of merchants in Copenhagen. I have authorized the construction of new roads and canals in this very province, work that will pay a good wage to any man who seeks it. The Act takes away the old way. But I am here to offer you a new one."
He took a step forward, his gaze locking with the men in the front ranks. "You see me as a nobleman. But I stand before you as the son of a man who died for Dybbøl. I will not let his sacrifice be for a nation that is weak and poor. You can stand in the way of the future, and be crushed by it. Or you can join me, and help me build a Denmark worthy of the blood that has been spilt to protect it. The choice is yours. But I will not stop."
He finished, his final words echoing in the stunned silence. He had not apologized. He had not backed down. He had faced their rage, acknowledged it, and then offered them a powerful, compelling vision in its place. He had offered them a hard truth, and a way forward.
The anger in the crowd had not vanished, but it had been fractured, replaced by a deep, unsettling confusion and a grudging respect for the sheer courage of the man who stood before them. The ringleaders and agitators suddenly found that the simple, raw anger they had stoked was now complicated by thoughts of guaranteed grain prices, new jobs, and a young Count who spoke of their future with a terrifying, unwavering certainty.
Christian held their gaze for a moment longer, then turned, and with a calm, measured pace, walked back into the town hall, leaving the silent, bewildered face of the people behind him. He had won the confrontation, not with force, but with the sheer power of his will.