Witch-Hunt

by Margit Sandemo

  Charlotte cast a glance around for Liv, but she was not there. Liv, having inherited her mother’s imagination, was also blessed with artistic talent, although as yet she was too young to help with any painting. In spite of this she happily amused herself in the studio while Silje worked, making things on her own, cleaning brushes and painting her own small scenes of simple landscapes, never failing to include gleaming rays of sunshine. There was obviously a lot of sunlight and brilliance in Liv’s own world.

  It was a pity that their son, Are, had not been the artistic one, thought Charlotte. A girl could do so little. Just like Silje, she would have to hide her light under a bushel, working unseen without either recognition or praise. Of course she did not think for one moment that Silje cared for fame – but one never knew.

  Choosing her moment, Charlotte stepped fully into the room and quietly announced her arrival. ‘Aha! I see Master Arngrim is finding inspiration today?’

  Silje turned. One cheek was painted vermilion and a black smudge marked her forehead.

  ‘Charlotte! I didn’t hear you come in. Yes, isn’t it awful that I have to call myself “Master” Arngrim? Tengel likes to tease me about it. Sometimes he says, “I slept with a master last night!” You cannot imagine how I had to fight to be acknowledged by the other members of the Guild and become articled. Some of the old men sniffed at the idea. “Whoever heard of a woman who could paint?” one of them said. And another, “We’ll be a laughing stock.” But after a lot of demeaning comments they allowed me to take my articles – and I was admitted straight-away – on the condition that I didn’t reveal that I was a woman, of course. It was some consolation to hear one of the judges say that while most of the Guild were craftsmen, I was an artist. Yet even then there were those who refused to believe that I had completed my master’s qualification on my own! Now it’s time for a break.’

  It was during the previous winter that they had ceased using titles to address each other. In fact so much had changed between them since Dag had moved up to the big house. In general they were all more relaxed and at ease with each other. There was, above everything else, a greater sense of family.

  ‘Thank you by the way for the children’s revels yesterday,’ said Silje as she put away her palette. ‘They couldn’t stop talking about them last evening and carried on again this morning. It must have been very successful.’

  ‘Yes, it was. I had invited twenty children from the estate and some others from farms round about. I do feel so sorry for the children at harvest festivals and the like. They have to be dressed up in their finery and aren’t allowed to move from their parents’ side. Then they must stay still and silent while the pastor drones on and after that they’re hardly allowed to show themselves! No, I wanted Dag to have a proper feast just for the children. What’s more it’s good for him to become known to them now that he will be the landowner. I think it was terribly successful.’

  ‘Did they all get on well together from the very start?’ asked Silje.

  ‘Well, once they had shaken off their shyness, they did. They were everywhere; playing hide-and-seek in the salons: boys fighting and then making up and the girls admiring my dolls’ house. And do you know, I think I was the happiest of them all! You see I am inspired by the lovely atmosphere in your home – it is so unlike any other. And I thank God that Dag’s path and yours crossed that night long ago. No one else but you could have coped and still had such strength, kindness and tact. Imagine! Mother and I might still be sitting all alone and bitter up in Trondheim if you hadn’t come into our lives. Mother is so awfully happy now, and my goodness how she spoils the boy!’

  Charlotte came over to the canvas. The years had not brought her beauty, but she glowed with an inner loveliness. This, Silje knew, came from her devotion to Dag.

  ‘What is that, just there?’ she asked. ‘I like it – but what is it supposed to be?’

  ‘Oh, it’s an allegory – it symbolises springtime,’ replied Silje, somewhat embarrassed. She picked up a small bell and its ring was answered by the appearance of a maid who was neither young nor pretty. Silje asked for refreshments to be served in the parlour, and they sat down to fruit juice and slices of bread spread with dripping.

  ‘Do you know how happy you are looking, Silje?’ said Charlotte affectionately. ‘It absolutely shines out of you.’

  Silje laughed. ‘These years since Are was born have been perfect. Tengel and I have been able to do the things we wanted and I have not had to trouble myself with unbearable housework. And the children are growing up well.’

  Noticing a change in her expression, Charlotte asked, ‘Do you miss having Dag here?’

  ‘Heavens, no! Dag is fine and I see him a lot,’ Silje assured her. ‘No, he’s not the one I worry over.’

  ‘Well, that’s why I came to talk to you. I am concerned about Sol.’

  ‘Who could not be? Is there something in particular on your mind?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know how to tell you – yet I feel I ought to, for her sake.’

  ‘Indeed you must! We work like beasts in the field to keep her on a straight and narrow path.’

  Charlotte bit her bottom lip. ‘Yesterday I saw her speak to our new stable lad – and she beguiled him completely. She was precocious, womanly and enticing far beyond her years. The boy was completely enchanted.’

  Silje closed her eyes. ‘And now … that as well.’

  ‘Is there more then?’ Charlotte asked cautiously.

  ‘She experiments. She takes Hanna’s bag of things and goes off into the forest, where she can be alone. She mixes up dangerous ointments and the other children say she can do magic. Tengel has told her not to do it many times and she always promises to stop, but after a while she’s off again. You see she and Tengel belong to two different groups of their evil ancestor’s kin. Tengel has only the good in him but Sol takes after Hanna and wants to preserve the evil side. Sometimes I think she is proud to be ...’ she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper, ‘a witch!’

  ‘You mustn’t say such a word!’ said Charlotte.

  ‘But she is,’ said Silje wearily. ‘It’s something that none of us can deny – not you, not Tengel nor me. Not even Sol herself can deny it! All we can do is to try and help her and hope that she is a good … what-I-just-said.’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘The girl is becoming a woman, and you remember how hard it was for us at that age. It will pass as she gets older, mark my words.’

  ‘I pray it does. Whatever happens, we must make sure that she doesn’t keep company with frivolous men. Thank you for warning me. Now tell me how things are with “our” son Dag.’

  Charlotte’s excitement was obvious. ‘I have great plans for him, I just have to tell you! He has a sharp intellect, and even though running the estate itself does not really appeal to him, it is of no consequence. A good steward can do that job. I have pondered long and hard about whether he should study? Or be presented at Court? Or become a soldier? He could have rank – perhaps, one day, Field Marshal Dag Christian Meiden.’

  ‘That last idea, a soldier, I do not like,’ said Silje hastily.

  ‘He is a gentle thoughtful boy. Wouldn’t his intelligence be wasted there?’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Were it not that you looked so serious, I would swear you were being discourteous. Well, who can say? He will be blessed with so many opportunities. Look! There’s Tengel – and on horseback! Silje, my dear, I declare you are still in love with that man!’

  Silje tried with little success to hide the happy sparkle in her eyes and the blushes that coloured her cheeks.

  ‘Yes I really am,’ she readily agreed, grinning with embarrassment. ‘More and more with each year that passes. I sometimes wonder if he hasn’t secretly entranced me – if he didn’t put a proper spell on me that first time we met. They know how to do that, Charlotte, I promise you. Old Hanna once tried to make me take a love potion, so that I might ensnare Tengel. I refused it of course.’<
br />
  ‘I do not think he would have needed one from you.’

  ‘No. He became like a fever running through my veins from the first moment I saw him. Even if I did think he was hideous. I was still completely fascinated by him. He even forced his way into my dreams – but what’s that he’s doing? Has he dismounted in the allée?’

  ‘He’s walking over to one of the linden trees. He’s touching its leaves and looking at it closely. Now he’s coming this way.’

  Shortly afterwards, Tengel stood in the doorway. He still looks unbelievably youthful, Charlotte thought to herself. He had very few grey hairs, despite his 45 years or more, although he had let his beard grow at last. It was sparse – two narrow bands from the corners of his mouth to his chin, where they joined a thin black beard, giving him a distinctly Mongolian appearance.

  As soon as he saw them, his dour expression faded and his face lit up. Are you two sitting, gossiping? I hope it’s all about me.’ His broad smile revealed strong white teeth.

  ‘Not directly.’ replied Silje. ‘Do you want a pot of ale?’

  ‘Please.’

  He crossed the floor with a confident stride, like a lion patrolling its realm. Charlotte understood Silje’s adoration of him. Once accustomed to his unusual appearance, it was easy for anybody to see his good qualities – and there were many.

  ‘How is it with your mother?’ he asked Charlotte, his voice oddly tense.

  ‘She is well, I think. She feels a little tired and rests a good deal.’

  He nodded. ‘I think I shall go and see her now. The ale will wait.’

  There and then, he turned and hastily left the room. The two women exchanged questioning glances and then, through the windows, they watched Tengel as he stopped in the allée and approached one of the lindens.

  ‘That is mother’s tree,’ said Charlotte, uneasily.

  ‘Yes it is. Good heavens, Charlotte, you don’t think that he ...? No, it’s not possible!’

  ‘You know him better than I do.’

  ‘I remember when he planted them,’ she told Charlotte, tight-lipped. ‘How he went from one tree to the next, and seemed to mumble a spell over each one.’

  Looking concerned, Charlotte got to her feet. ‘I shall go up to mother as well,’ she said in a tight voice and hurried from the room.

  Chapter 9

  The Dowager Baroness Meiden received Tengel a short time later in her fine apartment on the second floor of the castle. She was wearing her dressing-gown, but under it he could see she was still in her nightdress. Her cheeks were bright crimson and they contrasted suspiciously with her otherwise languid complexion.

  ‘Well, Master Tengel,’ she smiled without getting up from her chair, ‘to what do I owe this honour?’

  ‘Your Grace.’ he replied in a reserved but friendly voice, ‘you know that you can call upon me whenever you feel unwell.’

  Aristocratic eyebrows were raised. ‘But I ...’

  ‘We cannot afford to lose you, Baroness.’

  The softness of the words helped her to relax. ‘Are you always able to see through me? How do you know?’

  ‘The important thing is that I do know. If it is something delicate that you find difficult to mention, just say so, and I shall try to find out in other ways where you have discomfort.’

  ‘I am sure you can help me. Master Tengel, but it is not something of which one usually speaks.’

  ‘You can trust my discretion completely. Although you are among those most trusted and closest to me, have I ever related to you embarrassing details from my visits to other wealthy patients?’

  ‘No, you have not, but ...’

  After some discussion it emerged that she had a deep ache in the small of her back and experienced intense pain whenever she visited the ‘unmentionable’ little room of the house.

  Tengel nodded sympathetically. ‘It is a small closet built out from this wall, is it not? And is it open beneath, right to the ground, so the wind blows through it?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted the Baroness, mortified at discussing the matter, ‘It is terribly cold there in the winter.’

  ‘Hmm! You have allowed yourself to get too cold and the trouble has spread up into your body. Do you have a fever?’

  ‘Just for a few days, yes. But I am a little better today.’

  Tengel doubted this last statement. She gave every appearance of having risen from her bed for no other reason than to receive him. He opened his coffer, a far grander article than the little bundle he used to carry and a sign of how well he was doing as medicus to the gentry. From it he produced a tiny bag.

  Handing it to her he said, ‘Drink an infusion of this today. Tomorrow I shall return with a better preparation. And I must speak to Sol as well, because in matters concerning Your Grace I want to be sure that we only do the very best we can for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Master Tengel. Your words warm my heart.’

  ‘And stay away from the little ‘bay window’! There are – other means?’

  ‘Indeed there are. And you want me to remain in bed, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, without question.’

  At that moment Charlotte came rushing in. ‘Mama! Are you unwell?’

  ‘My dear Charlotte, why do you come dashing in so? No, it is nothing too serious – a slight fever, nothing more. Mister Tengel has given me medicine,’ and, without pausing, she blithely carried on, changing the subject instantly to the rose garden she planned to develop outside the salon window.

  ****

  Left on her own, Silje had been sitting deep in thought. Although she was mostly concerned for Sol, there was something else bothering her as well. Beate, always one to whine, had sat with her not long ago and complained bitterly about the agonies of married life.

  ‘You know how it is, Mistress Silje, I’m sure. In bed, I mean. He has his rights and we poor women can do no more than suffer and put up with them.’

  Silje had stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Suffer? Do you mean that it hurts you?’

  ‘No – not hurt. But we do suffer it, you must agree. Here he comes, the disgusting pig, at least once each fourteen-nights wanting his, well – you know – and soon as he’s finished gruntin’ and puffin’ he rolls off and sleeps?

  Feeling that she had shrunk to the size of an ant, Silje asked timidly, ‘But – does he not caress you first? And afterwards? Does he not tell you he likes you? And don’t you say the same things to him? Do you not play together? Aren’t you happy when he comes to you?’

  Beate stared, disbelieving. ‘Do you think I am a whore? A shameless slut? What would the world be coming to? If a wife took an interest in such nonsense, well! I never thought, Mistress Silje, that I should hear the like from your lips, never!’

  Silje had smiled and tried to interject a word of explanation, but Beate had not wished to be interrupted.

  ‘Ah! But of course, now I see – you spoke in jest. It is the duty of a wife to obey her man and bring babes into the world. Why else should anyone do it? Besides, what would the church have to say about the kind of lechery that you spoke of just now.’

  Silje had been dumbfounded. She had been so disturbed by what Beate had said that she went at once to look for Tengel. It was one of those rare moments when he had no patients to attend, and he was mending a dry-stone wall in one of the pastures.

  After telling him what Beate had said, she asked shyly, ‘Have I been ungodly, Tengel? Have I done shameful things? Have I brought disgrace upon you?’

  ‘Dear Silje,’ he answered, dismayed, ‘what on earth can you mean?’ Very gently he put his hands on her shoulders and looked steadfastly into her eyes. ‘Don’t you see that is the difference between our wedded life and theirs? Our never-ending love for one another – our honesty – and our trust in each other. Whenever I am alone and think of you, a lump comes to my throat. My heart warms because you are who you are and you must never change. Never become prim and boring like Beate – and doubtless a good many other womenfolk. P
romise me that you will always show me that you like it when I come to you!’

  Slowly her face began to light up again and they embraced warmly right there in the Held by the stone wall.

  ‘Don’t you realise how empty their lives are. Silje?’ he asked softly. ‘What do you think their men would have given for a wife like mine?’

  ‘Or their wives for a man like mine,’ she retorted with a broad, joyful grin. ‘We are so fortunate, Tengel!’

  Yes, they were fortunate, but as she sat contemplating those events, she could not escape the feeling that something was starting to go badly wrong. Dismally Silje mulled over and over whether or not she should talk to Sol – or should she explain it all to Tengel and leave it to him?

  Annoyance showed on her face. She didn’t want to tackle any new problems. She was content to remain wrapped in her cloak of serenity, sitting in seclusion in her studio with her art. They had enjoyed many good years and the children were all growing well now. The hard years were behind them. Her days of bringing up a very young family were over. She didn’t want any more turmoil!

  Having remained there for a while, steeped in self-pity, she suddenly sat up with a start. What was she thinking of? Sol, her beloved foster-daughter, was in need of help and guidance and all she could do was moan about how it might affect her comfortable life!

  How long, she wondered, had she hidden behind her own self-importance? Did she really know how her children were doing? Now that they had maids in the house, did she rely on them too much? She rose early and came straight down to her studio and began painting. Although she ate meals with the family and spent the evenings with them, what about the rest of the day? Was she living in the ecstasy fuelled by her own enthusiasm and inspiration?

  Dag was no longer with them – his move had been surprisingly painless. She was relieved that she had taken it all so well. The occasional pang of regret she had felt had been quickly stifled; besides, he lived not far away. She saw him almost every day, when he came to pass the time with Liv and whenever she herself paid a visit to Grastensholm.