‘All my tapestries,’ she sniffed. ‘I left them behind. It’s so hard to let go of something you’ve created – and now they’re gone.’
‘There, there,’ he consoled her. ‘You haven’t seen what’s under the horse’s saddle. I tucked two of your biggest tapestries under it. I could not bear to be parted from them either.’
Heartened by this, Silje hugged him tight and eventually she fell asleep in his arms. But once again he remained awake, fearing an attack by wild animals. There would certainly be wolf, bear, lynx and wolverine in these parts. Of these, his greatest worry was an attack by a bear. He was concerned about his ability to fight off such an attack, if it came, because he was himself suffering from a wound to one of his feet. It had been caused by treading on a sharp piece of rock during the night and this he knew would make it difficult to turn and jump to avoid further injury.
He too was filled with misgivings about their future, and now they had a new worry to contend with. ‘Worry’ he thought was far too mild a word. Tengel looked down at his young wife and knew that he could not blame her. The blame was his. When he lay with her it was so easy to be swept away in the ecstasy of her embrace and forget that he had an obligation to her as well. She should on no account give birth again, but this time she had caught him out. He rested his hand on her belly and there was no doubt he could feel the life within her. It was already well developed – how had he been so blind to it?
If he should lose Silje, what then? The fear of it made his blood run cold. Yet she could not be expected to survive another difficult delivery. So what was he to do? In truth, he told himself, there was only one thing he could do – drive it from her! But would he have the courage to do this? He would surely lose her love if she lost the child!
Tengel was deeply troubled. He had no idea where he could find Eldrid; the place they had told him they would be going to settle was unknown to him. It lay far to the east of Trondelag, or so he thought, anyway it would not be right to follow them and perhaps put their future at risk. Finding he was too tired to contemplate any longer, he gently moved Silje so she would be more comfortable under her cape. Then he lay back in resignation against the trunk of a birch tree.
****
Tengel and his family continued travelling for two more nights and a further day before they came upon the first signs of human habitation. By then they and the horse were all completely exhausted and barely able to stand. They were making their way along the edge of the forest in that part of Trondelag where Benedikt’s farm lay. They dared not show themselves on the road and kept out of sight among the trees. Tengel’s foot was aching; the horse had sustained injuries to three of its legs and was limping badly; the children were also fretting from hunger and fatigue. Then suddenly Silje gave a shout.
‘Look! There, on the riverbank! Is that not Benedikt’s farmhand – fishing for salmon?’
Indeed it was, and they all hurried over to him. The old man was taken aback when he realised who they were. He was thrilled to see how the two older children had grown, and congratulated them on the youngest member of the family. He could not hide his disappointment when Sol failed to recognise him, but he had not really expected that she would, as she had only been two years old when they had left.
‘And how are things on the farm?’ asked Tengel and Silje in unison.
The man looked gravely at them. ‘Tis bad. Very bad.’
‘Are they alive still?’ Silje asked anxiously.
‘Oh, yes! Yes, they’re alive – all of them. I’m not workin’ there no more. Y’see, I just couldn’t take that old bat Abelone any longer, so I found work on another farm. I hear tell that they can’t keep servants or working-hands for long at Master Benedikt’s farm nowadays?
Sol interrupted them suddenly, chuckling to herself, ‘I remember you now! You used to tickle me!’
The old man’s face lit up. ‘Aha! So you do remember me, you young scallywag. Just you wait till I catch you ...’ He made a move towards her and Sol ran off squealing – just as in the old days.
‘So Abelone is still there?’ exclaimed Tengel.
The farmhand stopped chasing Sol, saying, ‘That she is. And those horrible children too. They hounded out Grete and Marie as well. They now live as parish paupers, moving from farm to farm and not getting treated too well neither.’
‘But that’s awful,’ gasped Silje. ‘They’re such lovely people! It shouldn’t be allowed! What of Master Benedikt?’
‘Aah, that kind-hearted old man. He’s in jail!’
‘How can that be?’
‘It all happened just a while back. He weren’t enjoying his life with Abelone in charge, but most of the time he could stand his ground? The man leaned forward and whispered, ‘Found friendship in the bottle – if you get my drift! But then when those rebels were reported to the authorities ...’
‘Heming!’ muttered Tengel through clenched teeth.
‘There can be no doubt now who is the real evil spirit of the Ice People,’ declared Silje under her breath.
The farmhand nodded absently. ‘When the soldiers came to the farm, asking Master Benedikt questions an’ all, Abelone told them bad tales about him. She just wanted rid of him – he was a nuisance to her. So there he sits, locked up in Trondheim, and everything’s in a sorry old state!’
‘These are terrible goings on,’ exclaimed Silje. ‘Tengel, we have to do something!’
‘Yes, we must,’ he agreed, while at the same time wondering what they would be able to achieve in their present condition. ‘Have all the rebels fled?’
‘I fear so. They do say that Dyre Alvson was taken. They were all given up by one of the rebels who got captured.’
Tengel cursed Heming, mumbling a long series of oaths and incantations. Silje saw his eyes gleam with fury – seldom had he been so enraged. After a moment he brought his anger under control and turned to the old man. In a few short minutes he told him all about the terrible fate that had befallen the Ice People and the farmhand stared at him aghast.
‘We had thought to bide our time up on the ridge where I used to stay.’ concluded Tengel, ‘until we find a better, safer place.’ As he spoke, he wondered whether anywhere was safe now, but said nothing of this fear.
‘There’s folk living there now,’ said the farmhand ruefully. ‘If only I knew of somewhere hereabouts.’
‘I know of one other place where I used to hide,’ interrupted Tengel with a deep sigh. ‘It lies closer to Trondheim and is not really fit for children. But we will have to try it anyway.’
They asked him to remember them to Grete and Marie and assured him that they would return sometime to try and help, however remote their chances of success might be. With that, they sadly took their leave of the farmhand and set off again on their cheerless journey.
They travelled on in silence for a long while and, with the day half over, they stopped to rest and eat in a forest clearing. Tengel’s foot was badly swollen and he ought to have been travelling on horseback to rest it, but he refused, saying that the children were in greater need. This was partly true, but it did not stop Silje from nagging him about being so obstinate – calling it stupid pride. Unsurprisingly, the atmosphere became somewhat fraught for a little while. They were all suffering from the effects of the experiences they had been through and in their different ways were worried about what the future had in store.
Later that evening they arrived at the forest hut Tengel had told them about. It was an extremely simple, A-frame shelter with two side walls leaning inwards to the ridge and a triangular wall forming each gable. The air inside was dank and musty; mildew and mould were everywhere.
‘I can see that nobody has been in this place since my last visit,’ said Tengel lightly. But the optimism in his tone was not completely convincing. At least we shall be safe here,’ he added in a more subdued tone.
Suppressing a sigh of hopelessness Silje did what she could to tidy and clean. She placed dry brushwood on the earth flo
or for them to lie on and then got the children off to sleep. That done, it was time to look after Tengel’s foot.
‘It’s not very pretty to look at,’ she told him, ‘but resting it is the best thing to do.’
Tengel asked her to find his ‘things’. These ‘things’, she knew, were his secret potions and herbs. With them, he treated his foot as best he could before falling into a deep slumber, exhausted beyond measure from two long nights keeping watch over them all and the burden of a thousand misgivings. Outside the crude hut the horse was grazing one last time before nightfall and the cat had already set off in search of prey.
Silje found she was unable to sleep. Her thoughts went round and round unceasingly. Anxiety and stress accompanied every heartbeat. She gazed at the walls – it was impossible for this to be called a home – and considered their dwindling supply of food and how hard it would be to survive. When she finally did fall asleep, she had reached a decision.
****
Next morning Silje took stock of the food they had left then announced resolutely, ‘You are all to stay here today! There is something I must do.’
Softly Tengel asked. And what might that be?’
‘We are in difficulty – you can see that!’
‘Yes, only too well.’
‘Then I see only one possible solution. Do you agree that, when things are grave, we must cast aside niceties and good manners.’
‘Silje! You are not about to ...?’
She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I am not going to sell my body, if that was what you thought! But I might sell my soul.’
He glanced quickly over to the corner – the glazed mosaic was still there.
‘No, not that either,’ she said, reading his thoughts. ‘Trust me, Tengel, I know what I am to do. I am thinking of you and also of Benedikt and Grete and Marie. I also cannot bear to think that the children will again suffer hunger as they did last winter. The food we have will soon be gone. We have nothing to fish with. You are injured and cannot get about. I see only one way out of this, and even though it might be very uncertain, it is worth trying. I shall return as swiftly as I can. I don’t know how long it will take – perhaps until evening, but it may be that I don’t come back until tomorrow. Do not start to fret about me!’
Tengel did not want her to go, but faced with her determination and stubborn resolve there was little he could say to change her mind.
‘Do not put yourself in harm’s way, Silje!’
‘I shall be careful,’ she assured him. ‘Nobody will concern themselves with me and they cannot know that I am kin to the Ice People.’
‘But by which road will you travel? In case you are gone too long?’
She paused. ‘To Trondheim. If needs be then search for me there! But allow me a few days before you do.’ With that, she said goodbye to them all and left.
Silje trudged along the country road, heading north.
Her feet were swollen and blistered and she was grateful that a passing farmer let her ride on his wagon for some of the way. It also saved time on her journey.
She arrived in Trondheim in the early afternoon. Hunger – and trepidation – was making her stomach churn. How strange it felt to be there once more! Five years had gone by since she left. Now people were bustling to and fro – goods of every kind imaginable were being sold from market stalls, while in the shops and workshops that lined the streets, smiths and craftsmen worked by their braziers.
Dogs, cats and other animals kept getting in her way. How different it all was, as she walked around in a daze, almost unable to believe she was back in the city. The place held no pleasant memories for her, she reflected as she gazed about. Yes, over there was a doorway where she had slept on so many freezing nights. And she recognised another place where a man had jumped out of the shadows and attacked her. She had fought like an animal then, and quickly learnt the best places to strike a blow at any man who tried to force himself upon her. She had needed to use those skills many times after that! But at least now the sight and smell of corpses littering the street had gone. There was no plague in Trondheim any more on this summer’s day – as far as she could tell.
Silje asked passers-by for directions and it was not long before she stood before the grand residence of Baron Meiden. Her heart was racing suddenly in her chest and she asked herself if she really dared go through with her audacious plan? For a brief moment she wanted to turn and run. Then the memory of the children’s hungry faces came back to her – and the way they would look again if she did turn and run away – and she thought of Tengel, so worried and full of sorrow at not being able to help and protect those he loved. That morning she had seen the same dejected expression on his face as she had during the terrible food shortage the previous winter. Then the ice on the lake had been too thick for them to fish, there were no deer or wild boar to hunt, the barns were empty of grain and the sheep were all dead.
Remembering this, Silje took a last deep breath to calm herself. Unconsciously she ran her hand over the basket she carried – and knocked. When a maid opened the door, Silje introduced herself and asked to see Mistress Charlotte Meiden. The maid looked her up and down before asking the nature of her business.
‘I wish only to speak with Her Grace.’
‘About what?’
‘It is a private matter.’
The maid gave Silje a withering, insolent look that seemed to last forever. Then in a harsh voice she ordered her to wait and slammed the door in her face. Silje endured a long, humiliating delay on the steps before at last the door opened once again.
‘Come in, then!’ There was still no trace of friendliness or courtesy in the maid’s voice, but Silje ignored this as she stepped into a wonderful entrance hall with white painted walls, a few pieces of expensive, elegant furniture and fine wrought-iron torchholders. She had barely time to take in more of her surroundings before a woman, about thirty years old with a long narrow face, came into the room. She was dressed in a gown of brown and gold, glittering with pearls.
She is the one! I’ve come to the right place, thought Silje. The woman studied her with a haughty, questioning gaze. An older woman, wearing a gown with a starched ruff collar and a sleeveless brocade coat, came and stood behind her. This must be her mother, thought Silje and curtseyed low to both of them.
Charlotte Meiden scrutinized the young woman standing beside the door. She saw a soft, attractive face framed in brown curly hair, and although tired and showing signs of anxiety, the blue eyes had an honest gaze. She was dressed in a very old worn-out blue velvet cape and in a strange way Charlotte felt she knew her.
‘What is it?’ she demanded icily.
Silje was taken aback because the woman addressed her in Danish. I should have known, she thought to herself. There are so few noble Norwegian families left. Perhaps our Dag is a young Dane! But this woman has suffered – it shows in her face. And she appears to have lost all hope.
‘My name is Silje Arngrimsdotter and I am a married woman from the countryside. With your permission, I beg a private audience with Your Grace.’
An educated voice, thought Charlotte Meiden, but before she could reply her mother interrupted. ‘If you are here to beg then leave now – by the scullery door!’
Silje shook her head. This was becoming awkward. However, she felt that she must try to impress both these noble ladies with her determination, so she continued, ‘My duty is to speak privately with the gracious Mistress. The subject of the conversation is most confidential.’
What can she mean by this? thought Charlotte. ‘Are you here to deliver a message?’ she asked.
Silje didn’t reply, but just looked calmly back at her, waiting. Despite herself Charlotte Meiden had become curious. ‘Oh, very well! Follow me!’ she said at last, and turned to lead Silje upstairs to her boudoir.
Her mother, the Countess, called after her, ‘I shall accompany you, Charlotte.’
‘There’s no need,’ replied her daughter as she leaned o
ver the balustrade. ‘It’s certain to be nothing more than a message.’
If it was a message from one of those handsome young cavalrymen at the Austrat, then maternal interference was the last thing she wanted. Yet why would she get a message from one of them? When had she last had an admirer? She showed Silje into her chambers and closed the door. Silje gazed at the heavy oak-panelled walls and the high ceiling of this large elegant room. Everything displayed great wealth – but happiness? There were no signs of that here.
‘Can anyone hear us in here?’
‘No.’
‘And what if someone should listen at the door?’
‘This is getting beyond secrecy,’ declared Charlotte haughtily, but she nevertheless bolted the door leading to the corridor and ushered Silje into a sumptuous bedchamber where a giant four-poster bed swallowed up most of the room.
‘There! Are you satisfied now?’
Silje nodded.
‘Well? What is it that you have to say to me?’
They stood on either side of a marble table and Silje took a deep breath as she looked at the woman before her. ‘l must tell you at once that nothing I may say is intended to cause you harm, Mistress Charlotte. This is not what I would wish. But desperation has forced this upon me.’
Charlotte Meiden frowned disdainfully. ‘So you are here as a beggar?’ she said and began to walk towards the door.
‘No! No!’ said Silje quickly. ‘You must hear me out. This concerns you more than me.’
Charlotte turned. ‘Me? Whatever do you mean?’
Silje swallowed hard and braced herself.
‘Before we begin this difficult conversation we must both be sure of something. It may be that I am speaking to the wrong person.’
Silje opened her basket and placed the three pieces of fabric on the table – the shawl, the brocade blanket and the linen cloth. ‘Does Your Grace recognise these things?’
Witch-Hunt Page 6