Charlotte got up and took the Bible from her night table. Looking her mother in the eye, she placed her hand on the book and said, ‘I swear on God’s name, and the resurrection of my soul, that my every word I have told you is true.’
Silje added softly, ‘It is the truth, Your Grace.’
Charlotte watched as all the colour drained from her mother’s face. Quickly she produced a bottle of smelling salts to revive her mother, but as the Baroness began to regain her composure, her face contorted and she burst into tears.
‘You cannot mean what you say! How could you? What a terrible scandal! And what will father say?’
‘Father need never know.’ said Charlotte in an urgent tone. ‘But Silje and I do need your help, Mama, because things have taken a turn for the worse.’
‘Has anybody discovered that you – abandoned the infant in the forest? Why, yes, of course, this woman – the shawl! And now she demands money?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘No, mother! I too thought that was the way of it, but it isn’t so!’
The Baroness was unable to grasp all that was happening. Her voice was trembling. ‘How could you leave a new-born infant, Charlotte?’
Those were the words Silje had been waiting to hear.
That simple question had shown that Her Ladyship did indeed have a heart. It meant that there was still hope for them all.
‘And perchance I had kept it? What then would my parents have said?’
Her mother stared at the floor. ‘Yes, you are right. So it was stillborn, was it?’
‘No! It was alive’
Instantly the older woman’s hand flew to her mouth and she looked suddenly very ill. And you left it out to die? Oh! My daughter! ‘My daughter!’ She sat staring for a long while with one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with worry. The only sounds were the faint squeaking noises she made as she tried hard to stifle her sobs and recover some peace of mind. At last she regained her composure and some dignity. ‘But what part does this woman play? And what help can I give you? Only a priest can help you now – if anyone can!’
‘The child is still alive, Mama,’ Charlotte told her gently. ‘I found out only a few minutes ago. Silje here rescued it and brought it up. It is a little boy.’
The Baroness was staring in disbelief at Silje, and after a long pause, Charlotte continued. ‘But now she and her family find themselves in desperate times. She came to ask me for help.’
Complete silence returned to the room as her mother sat pondering. She kept dabbing at her cheeks, but silent tears quickly replaced those that she wiped away. Finally she asked, ‘So, Charlotte, who is the father? Quite clearly you could not have been alone in this.’
‘I will not speak his name!’ snapped Charlotte.
Slowly and imperiously her mother stood up and when she spoke there was a commanding tone in her voice. ‘His name, if you please!’
‘Jeppe Marsvin!’ said Charlotte at once.
‘Him? But he is married!’
‘I was unaware of that at the time. He proposed marriage and courted me relentlessly. I was young and foolish.’
The Baroness glared at her in fury. Then she swung back her arm and slapped her daughter viciously across the face. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ she hissed, and unable to think of anything more potent to say, repeated it. ‘Hell’s teeth! I shall go and lie down now. I can take no more of this – it is all too much for me.’
Charlotte’s treatment of an infant had gone beyond the bounds of appalling behaviour, and was obviously something the Baroness felt unable to punish. Her daughter’s wanton disregard for her own virtue, however, was a very different matter altogether. That was something an outraged mother could and should deal with in a fitting manner. She spun quickly on her heel and the sound of rustling skirts accompanied her as she swept dramatically out of the room.
Charlotte, white with shock, put her hand gingerly to her cheek, struggling again to hold back tears. ‘That was not very auspicious,’ she said dejectedly.
‘She needs time,’ said Silje soothingly. ‘This was no better or worse than you could have expected?
****
A few minutes later the servants, arrived bringing food as they had been told to do. However, their expressions showed clearly what they felt about meals being taken in a bedchamber! One platter followed another until the table was close to collapse under the weight of food. Silje could scarcely believe her eyes at the sight of so many bowls and plates filled with steaming aromatic fare.
‘Please, Silje, serve yourself,’ said Charlotte. ‘I cannot eat even the smallest morsel. I feel that my insides are tied in knots.’
‘I also feel like that when I am upset,’ smiled Silje staring at the table in awe. ‘But I hardly have the heart to eat. If only I could take one of these platters to the children.’
‘They will be well provided for soon, so eat with a clear conscience,’ said Charlotte gently. ‘It is no less than you deserve!’
Silje ate in silence, trying to be as refined as possible. When she had eaten her fill Charlotte said quietly, ‘tell me about the boy, please.’
Silje nodded and had just started to speak when the Baroness came back quietly into the room. Silje stopped talking, but with an absent-minded gesture Charlotte’s mother sat down close by and motioned her to continue. So Silje began recounting episodes from Dag’s life, telling them how he had grown, what were his likes and dislikes, trying to explain his personality. Charlotte sat bright-eyed as she took in every word; from time to time she dried a tear, but always demanded to hear more and more. Many times mother and daughter smilingly remarked, ‘That’s typical for a Meiden’.
When Silje had no more to tell her captivated listeners, both of them straightened in their chairs and, with great dignity, the older lady said, ‘I have given some thought to this and I realise that we have a dilemma. We cannot simply remove the boy from the family that he counts as his own – and your father would never tolerate his presence here.’
‘Mama – you do understand after all! Thank you. Oh! Thank you!’ Charlotte left her seat, fell to her knees in front of her mother and rested her head in the woman’s lap.
‘There, there,’ said the Baroness as she absently stroked her daughter’s drab, fair hair. ‘Do not worry about anything my dear.’ Looking across at Silje, her features softened. ‘I can see that Charlotte wants to see him and be close to him. I too would like to know my errant grandson. And of course there is the matter of payment for all you have done ...’
‘No!’ Silje exclaimed. ‘I did not come here for that!’
‘Forgive me,’ said the Baroness humbly, taken aback by Silje’s tone. ‘But I have so little knowledge of it ...’
‘Quite so,’ said her daughter. ‘We should hear all of Silje’s story, not just small anecdotes about Dag – Dag? It seems so strange to call him by name. Dag Christian …’ Her words hung in the air as she stepped over to the bell-cord and rang for the table to be cleared.
When the servants had left, Silje began speaking again. She told them all the details of that dreadful night when it had all started. How events had turned her existence upside down and a new life had begun – the way she had found both the children and then seen Heming bound to the rack. She told of the wolf-man who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and insisted she save the youth from the headsman. And finally how she had struck a bargain with this terrifying monster so that he would find them food and lodging before he vanished into the night.
‘And he was true to his word,’ she added tenderly. ‘We were taken to a wonderful farm to meet some of the best and kindest people on this earth – a church painter by the name of Benedikt, his farmhand, and two older women, Grete and Marie. Grete loved Dag as though he were her own child. Marie looked after Sol – the little girl I had found. Master Benedikt allowed me to go with him to help paint murals in a little church – he told me that I was an artist, and I believe that is true, because I am not a good housekeeper!’ She
giggled with embarrassment. Then she said, ‘yet the wolf-man was always nearby I never saw him, but if ever danger threatened he was there. It was as if he sensed it. Then one day I learnt his name. It was Tengel of the Ice People.’
‘Ice People?’ muttered the Baroness. ‘I have heard speak of them. Are they not a band of witches and wizards – a terrible breed?’
‘They are known as such,’ agreed Silje, nodding. ‘I cannot deny that there are those among them who know much about things best left alone.’
‘And this Tengel of the Ice People,’ the noblewoman persisted, ‘I understood him to be a phantom – an evil spirit! I heard the name mentioned in passing – at a ball, I think, a long time ago.’
No doubt amusing idle chatter among the upper classes, nothing more, thought Silje. ‘The Evil Tengel lived several centuries past,’ she explained. ‘It is said that he made a pact with the Devil and in so doing put a curse on his own kin. Down the generations some have inherited his secret powers and also his terrible features. Ah! There are so many fables that tell of the Ice People’s curse. Some say they will not be free of it until they unearth the pot that Tengel the Evil buried. It is said to hold all his fearsome potions, and indicates how, one day a child of his blood will be born, gifted with knowledge and wisdom the like of which the world has never known. These myths abound and I cannot say whether they are to be believed or not. No, the man of whom I speak, this wolf-man, is not Tengel the Evil but simply one of his line.’
Both ladies sat hushed, listening to her tale. It was impossible to see whether they believed it or not. But they were certainly curious.
‘One day,’ continued Silje, ‘a distant relative of Master Benedikt arrived at the farm. Abelone, for that was her name, was a dreadful woman who wanted the children and me gone. She was fearful that she might lose her inheritance to us. So she denounced me to the bailiff, saying that I was in league with Tengel of the Ice People and should be burned at the stake as a witch.’
‘What a terrible thing to do!’ cried Charlotte.
‘It was. But Tengel saved us at the last moment and took us into the mountains, to the hidden Valley of the Ice People, and there we have lived these past years.’
‘In the mountains? Summer and winter?’ asked the Baroness, her expression incredulous.
‘Yes. It was a hard living – but we were happy. Tengel and I were wed. I bore him a daughter. Liv is her name.’
‘You are wedded to the wolf-man?’
‘I am. And I have never had cause to regret it.’
‘But – they say that anyone who ventures close to the dwellings of the Ice People will die!’
Silje gave a disconsolate smile. ‘They are ordinary dispirited people. They are outcasts who want only to live untroubled by outsiders. In the summer months they send watchers far beyond the valley to keep strangers at bay. I cannot say what fate would befall anyone foolish enough to trespass.’
‘And what has happened to them now?’
Silje sighed. ‘Heming was taken prisoner yet again. He was of the Ice People’s kin, but had also joined a band of rebels. Indeed, it was he who wanted to blackmail you, Mistress Charlotte.’
‘Uh! We have heard about these brigands,’ added the Baroness. ‘Can anyone begin to understand why these people would want to oppose our Danish rule? Such a rabble! They do not realise what good fortune they have!’
Silje held her tongue. This was not the time or place to be drawn into a political discussion. ‘Well, to save his own life, Heming first betrayed the rebels and then gave information that led the way to the Valley of the Ice People. This last week the soldiers came and laid waste to it, burning the farms and killing without mercy. They left no one alive. We only survived because we succeeded in escaping over the mountains. But now we have nothing.’ Silje’s audience sat staring at her speechless with amazement. ‘But worse was to come. Heming involved Benedikt as well, by saying that he was one of the rebels.’
‘And was he?’
‘Not at all, he is just a gentle old man. But Abelone seized the chance to have him thrown in gaol here in Trondheim. She then ordered Grete and Marie off the farm to live as parish paupers. They are wonderful old souls who should not have been treated so ...’ Silje was fighting to hold back her tears and stay calm. ‘There you have the heart of my story. For myself, I am the daughter of a blacksmith on a farm to the south of Trondheim. All my family died from the plague and I was left alone in the world.’
Leaning forward and speaking very softly Charlotte asked, ‘This Tengel – wolf-man, you called him – is he a warlock?’
Silje hesitated before replying. ‘Yes he is.’ she said at last. ‘But he uses his powers only for good.’
‘Might not Da … the children … have been harmed by being close to him?’
‘Harmed!’ cried Silje. ‘Nowhere in the whole of Norway will you find a spirit more benign! But you must understand that both he and Sol – whom we later discovered to be his niece – bear the signs of the Evil Tengel’s kin. To show themselves would mean capture and death. Instantly!’
‘Then you cannot live in the towns or country parishes?’
‘No – and our home in the mountains is destroyed.’ Once more Silje fought back the tears.
‘There, there,’ said the Baroness, laying a hand gently on Silje’s shoulder. ‘I believe I have found a way out of this dilemma – and even though I say it myself, it is an excellent idea!’
‘What is it, mother?’ asked Charlotte.
‘First, I must give it a little more consideration. You have asked for my help – and I shall not betray that trust. Silje, I know that it might appear to you that we nobles are uncaring and arrogant. But believe me, although we are very adept at socialising and are well educated, we are not heartless. Now, this forester’s hut – is it far from Trondheim?’ Silje told her the name of the place. ‘It is too far for us to reach it before nightfall. But we do want to meet the boy, don’t we Charlotte?’
‘Yes! Oh, yes!’
‘You mustn’t worry, Silje dear, we shall not tell him who we are. We only want to meet him and speak to him. Tomorrow morning we will all take the carriage, but for now we must prepare you a room for the night. Charlotte and I will make arrangements. Oh, and by the way do not concern yourself with this Abelone. She is known to me from social gatherings here in Trondheim. A terrible social climber from the bourgeoisie! I have good friends with influence here, and while I neither want nor can do anything to assist any rebels, I will have an old painter set free from prison and see Abelone sent back to her house here in town. It is only right that those kind folk should be given back their home, the old women as well!’
‘Mother!’ said Charlotte in amazement. ‘I had no idea you were so well connected.’
The older woman pressed her finger to her lips. ‘Not a word! I am doing this because it has grieved me to see my daughter so unhappy all these years. I tell myself that this might be your redemption. For my own part, Charlotte, I find life in this mansion here in Trondheim so heartily boring. It has taken its toll on me and I have allowed my lesser traits to take over. This has served as a reminder of how I used to be. I have been given an opportunity to do something worthwhile. Benedikt and his family cared for my grandson when he was in need – and that must not go unrewarded!’
Baroness Meiden smiled and Silje’s expression was one of sheer delight. They showed her to a small bedchamber with dark panelled walls and uneven panes of green glass in the windows. As she lay looking at the carved bedposts she was so excited she was sure she would never be able to sleep. However her last drowsy thought was, ‘What can that headstrong woman be planning. There is no simple answer to all this!’
Charlotte Meiden, for her part, did not sleep at all. She had been involved in a long discussion with her mother before she went up to her rooms. Once there she fell immediately to her knees beside the bed and prayed fervently. ‘Thank you!’ she whispered over and over. ‘Dear God, thank you! Th
ank you!’
She cried so much that her chest ached, as tears streamed endlessly down her face. She could still scarcely believe her good fortune after so many years of heartache. It simply was the best thing that could ever have happened to her.
Chapter 5
Had Baron Meiden been aware that his shiny new carriage was being driven southwards out of the city on muddy country roads, the ladies travelling inside would never have heard the last of it. Fortunately he was away in the northern part of Trondelag and would not find out. It was a most elegant vehicle, but heavy and cumbersome with no springs on the chassis. Its gleaming purpose was to show wealth and position. Now it was overloaded, groaning under the weight of food and unwanted children’s clothing that mother and daughter had excavated from old trunks and cupboards. Without exception they were items that otherwise would never again have seen the light of day.
Silje sat opposite the ladies and revealed in the bright summer morning, relishing the sight of the wild flowers growing along the roadside and the richness of the meadows. She was desperate to know what plans the two people on the other side of the carriage had been hatching. They had told her that they wanted to speak to Tengel first – and meet the boy of course.
‘How much has the child been told?’ enquired Charlotte.
Her eyes were red and puffy from a night of ceaseless tears whilst her hands twitched and fidgeted nervously in her lap.
Silje had been reflecting on how splendid these women looked in their fashionable courtly attire and how different it was to her shabby, worn-out dress. Thinking these thoughts, she smiled gently at Charlotte. ‘Until a week ago Dag and Sol had no way of knowing they were not our children. But they look so different from each other that Sol had started to wonder about things. They had been called ”bastards” by some of our neighbours’ children, so we decided it was right for them to be told the truth.’
Silje saw Charlotte’s concerned expression and hastily added, ‘Well, not everything, you understand. We told Dag only that his mother was a very distinguished aristocrat who had lost him when he was small – we did not say how small. He wanted to know if she had searched for him, and I said that she had likely died from the plague. I told him that his father was most certainly dead. We named no one. We said we had tried, but had not been able to find you.’
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