Witch-Hunt

by Margit Sandemo

  Yet was it right for her to let him think she didn’t miss him? Perhaps he felt hurt that he was no longer wanted? Liv was the one she spent most time with, because she was so often in the studio. What about little Are though? Just seven years old. Sometimes he would come to her for help with his leggings when they wouldn’t stay up, or some other small worry. She would talk to him while sorting out his problems, but could she honestly say that it wasn’t simply idle chatter and that her mind was not elsewhere?

  It was not often she saw Sol. A strong wilful girl, she obviously considered herself grown up now and felt she could take care of herself But, she thought, Good God! What have I ever really done for Sol? Nothing!

  Tengel was rarely at home. He was just as passionate about his work as she was about her own. Even when he was at home, there were so many people seeking his help that the family kept a respectful distance. The estate management work had, with the Baroness’s full approval, been divided up among others. He had more than enough to do caring for the sick and suffering – and whenever he had free time, Silje wanted to spend every moment with him. The children took second place.

  The children took second place! What a terrible truth – what an awful thing to admit to oneself! Silje flushed hot and then turned icy cold and rushed out to find Sol. She came across Are sitting in the large bay window in the vestibule, studying his books. She went over and put her arms around him from behind.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you, Are,’ she whispered. ‘It’s always lovely to see you. Do you know where Sol is?’

  ‘Out in the forest, I think,’ he lisped. His new front teeth were just breaking through. ‘Or else she’s helping up at the big house.’

  ‘At the big house? Helping with what?’

  ‘She asked father this morning if she could help with the first hay-making and he said, “Yes.” But I don’t think it’s started yet.’

  Hay-making? Wanting to be close to the new stable lad, more likely! Oh, dear, thought Silje, I must have been sleeping!

  ****

  As Are had said, hay-making had not yet begun. It was still a few days away. When Silje walked out into the yard, she saw Sol wandering back from the direction of the woods, her little bundle over her shoulder and the black cat close on her heels. Silje walked to meet her, telling herself not to be sharp-tongued and not let her anxiety and anger show – not to yell, ‘Where have you been? What have you done?’

  ‘Hello Sol,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘I would like to talk to you.’

  There was an unmistakable look of aggressive defiance in those wonderful green eyes. She is magnificent, thought Silje, and so mature. Nobody would think she was only fourteen summers. ‘Shall we sit here on the storeroom steps?’

  Sol nodded, and followed her across to the worn old timbers, where they sat down side by side. Silje was silent for a while, because she was finding it painfully hard to begin.

  ‘Sol – I – have just been doing a bit of soul searching,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve come to realise that I have let you all down horribly! All for the sake of my painting.’

  Sol looked surprised – and she was somewhat relieved to find that this conversation was about Silje and not her. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘Well it’s true! I see you all so seldom. I have been so selfish, Sol, just thinking of myself I’m awfully ashamed.’

  ‘But that’s not how we think at all.’ exclaimed Sol. ‘Don’t you think I remember life in the Valley of the Ice People? If only you knew how often Dag and I have spoken about how harried you looked and how you always worried that we should lack nothing – how much you hated all the chores. No, you never said anything, never complained, but I well remember when you threw a mop across the room – and the time you got into a rage and threw pots and sieves and anything you could get hold of, so that we all had to run out of the way. Many times you cried in silence because our clothes were falling apart with age and you had to sew them over and over. You were always tired, tired, tired. No, Silje, we children are all happy to know that you are contented.’

  ‘Yet I truly feel I haven’t done enough for you,’ protested Silje in a subdued voice.

  ‘But surely it’s the duty of the older ones among us to look after the younger ones, is it not?’ replied Sol. ‘And we shall, each in turn, be happy to take the burden from you. You’ve always, always shown us you loved us and now you always have the time to listen to us too. You didn’t have the time for that in the Valley – or when we first came here. You had to struggle and toil, carrying us until your back was crooked, your hair awry and your eyes worried and helpless.’

  Silje interrupted her in utter amazement. Are you saying that you are all content with the way things are? While it’s true I am very happy now, and I do love you all dearly, I was worried that I was too bound up in my work.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ smiled Sol. ‘There’s no need.’

  She is so sure of herself, thought Silje, but that probably goes with being beautiful. She didn’t consider her own confident personality which, although it was less forceful than Sol’s, was probably more worthy.

  ‘Sol – I ...’ Silje began speaking hesitantly again then stopped. The girl was giving her an inquiring look. Oh, my! This was so difficult! ‘I – must talk to you about certain things. We’ve always been able to talk with each other, haven’t we?’ She swallowed hard and continued, ‘You are so very pretty, Sol and dangerous men may be drawn to you.’

  ‘That sounds nice.’

  ‘Sol!’ said Silje, shocked. ‘Dear child, you do not know what happens when men ...’

  Clearly, Sol was amused by the conversation. ‘Have you forgotten I was in the room when Are was born? Do you think I don’t know how he came from the love that you and Tengel share? Dearest Silje, I know all about that! Besides, you were not so old yourself when you fell in love with Tengel, were you?’

  Silje felt she was losing control of the conversation; it was taking them down the wrong path. ‘I was sixteen years when I met him,’ she said, blushing, ‘and I was bewitched – spellbound.’

  ‘I understand how that must have been. I have always dreamt I would meet a man like Tengel. But you need not worry for my sake. Remember how I chased young Galle out into the snow last winter when he tried to pester me! I am strong, Silje, and I can defend myself!’

  ‘I believe you can,’ said Silje, somewhat taken aback by Sol’s brazen precociousness, ‘but only as long as you have no interest in the man. The danger for you is that you are drawn to big, strong, simple and unreliable men who know neither common sense nor courtesy. You have always been attracted to such men, so be on your guard, little one! It is so easy to – to get carried away in the heat of the moment!’ Her voice tailed off in an embarrassed whisper.

  ‘I promise I shall be careful,’ Sol assured her, a little too easily. ‘And if I do have an – accident, it’s nothing to be concerned about. There are things that can be done.’

  ‘Sol!’ shrieked Silje.

  ‘Don’t forget that Hanna passed on great knowledge and wise words to me.’

  ‘Yes! Hanna. Of course.’ Silje was exasperated. ‘I’ve heard that you go into the forest and experiment.’

  Sol placed her hand lightly on the small bundle at her side. ‘Yes, I do. I must if I am to learn more.’

  Silje was in turmoil but, not wanting to lose the girl’s confidence, she dared not show how she felt. Mustering all her calm, she asked, ‘But isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘Don’t worry! I have everything under control.’

  ‘I am not so sure. Is there not a folk tale about a sorcerer’s young apprentice? He tried to perform his magic before he was ready and it became his master instead.’

  ‘It will not happen to me,’ answered Sol confidently.

  ‘Hanna said that I had the talent to be her equal.’

  Hardly the ideal person to look up to, thought Silje. But she was aware that Hamia was sacred to Sol and said
nothing.

  The eyes of this young, bewitching lass had now taken on a fanatical glow that contrasted so strangely with the beauty of that summer’s day. ‘If I found the man responsible for the killing of all the Ice People,’ said Sol quietly, ‘and Hanna with them, I should ...’

  ‘Hanna was very, very old,’ Silje said. ‘I sometimes think she kept herself alive only to instruct someone such as you.’

  ‘It’s true, she told me so. She had tried with Tengel, but he was unwilling. She was overjoyed when I came to her. That man – his name was Heming, was it not?’

  ‘Heming, the bailiff-killer. Yes. He was a badly flawed man, Sol. He hurt us all greatly, but he is surely long dead? She put her hand on Sol’s. ‘I beg you, little friend, to take care in everything you do! We live in unfortunate times, and anyone with your legacy is very, very insecure. There are special tribunals for such things. There now! I have given vent to my feelings. Let’s go and find Are and find something nice to eat. I think there is still some honeycomb left in the kitchen.’

  ‘Where is Liv?’

  ‘At the castle with Dag, as usual.’

  ‘Can I go and fetch her?’ Sol asked, far too eagerly.

  ‘Later, Sol, later,’ replied Silje with the distinct feeling that everything she had said had been no more than water off a duck’s back.

  ****

  In Grastensholm’s church the verger was watching the congregation from his privileged position at the side of the chancel. From where he sat, he could observe everyone secretly without being seen. What a disgusting rabble, he thought, disdainfully. Did these pitiful little women and their slow-witted farmers believe that they could attain a state of glory? That honour was reserved for those who were called to the service of Our Lord and no others. People like himself.

  The skin of his scrawny, yellowing and fanatical face was stretched across his cheekbones so tightly that his canine teeth were exposed and his cold metal-grey eyes protruded from his skull. They wandered over the congregation. Wasn’t that lecherous peasant from Nerhaug staring down the cleavage of his neighbour’s wife? Fornication – fornication everywhere! Such behaviour must be punished. Anyone could see that the lewd wretch was now enjoying an unbridled vision of the woman’s well rounded form.

  The verger unthinkingly dried the saliva from the corners of his mouth. He knew the Nerhaug peasant wanted nothing more than to push his hand down her bosom and feel the soft, white flesh – squeezing those large breasts – and what about her? The licentious woman. Was she not sitting there twisting and turning her voluptuous body to tempt and seduce those poor simple peasants? Punish them, Oh Lord, punish them. Let them burn in the fires of hell; smite them down; let the clothes fall from the woman where she sits, so her shamefulness is laid bare for all to see! This whore!

  Whore! Whore! Whore! The servant of the church could almost taste the contemptuous word in his mouth as he rolled it round his tongue, over and over again. Oh, that Nerhaug farmer is probably licking his lips with lust; craving to touch and hold those swollen breasts, burying himself in their excess. Then crazed with desire, he would force her down onto the church floor, rolling over and over, tearing the clothes from her body and plunge himself into sin!

  Suddenly the verger sat up straight and crossed one leg tightly over the other, resting his hands in his lap. Anxiously he now listened to the voice of the pastor, and was relieved that he would not be called on to assist for some time. He could not stand up comfortably at that moment. Satan had made his presence felt to him again, but he would be strong!

  His glance drifted across to the benches where the more distinguished members of the congregation were sitting. There was the Baroness Meiden with her revolting daughter – and her vile spawn, conceived and born in sin! Though why anyone would choose to lie with the scrawny ugly woman was beyond him! This ‘mistress’ dared to sit here in the purity of his and God’s church – preferably in that order – next to her bastard son! And the pastor was prepared to tolerate it! But everyone knew he was weak and undisciplined. The parishioners called him mild and forgiving. Ha! He was a coward! He rarely spoke of the holy wrath of God! Judgement! Hell, the pit of evil! Would he never learn? Was it any wonder that immorality was rife in the parish?

  Aha! The verger’s eyes narrowed and shone with triumph. The folk from Lindenallée. The wife and the two youngest children, as usual! And where was the man of the family – that very image of the Devil himself? Nowhere to be seen – not in church. Not once had he attended. This would have to be reported. He couldn’t see the eldest daughter either. She had never set foot in the church.

  The verger had seen her once or twice, here and there – noticed the enticing, swaying body, the green eyes and feline looks. That black cat followed her everywhere too. What was one to make of that? Never at church, a black cat, green eyes and shameless behaviour that attracted the young boys, innocent as they were, and tempted them along the path of ungodliness. It would be plenty to build a case on. More than enough!

  Hadn’t they recently declared an old hunchbacked woman to be a witch because she went around muttering to herself? This girl showed far more convincing signs. Was it not his duty as a holy, God-fearing man to go into the forest of thorns and vigorously drive out Satan from her body the next time he met her? For there could be no doubt that it was she who commanded Satan to visit him. Pity the young man that didn’t have his self-control or the Grace of Heaven.

  And what about Mister Tengel? There was talk of miraculous deeds – of him treating cases that the healers could not cure. Where did these miracles come from? Not from the church, of that he was certain.

  The verger daydreamed happily. At long last he had something to bring before the Courts of Inquisition! True, they were not known by that name here in Norway, but the principle was the same. Witchcraft and sorcery had their own tribunals in this district and tomorrow he fully intended to ride to Akershus and present his evidence.

  He would find honour and praise on earth – folk would know he was somebody special. He would be rewarded with yet one more star in the firmament to add to all those he undoubtedly had already. He would definitely be assured of a place close the throne of Our Lord. What joy! To denounce two callous heathens who would spit on the name of God. Was it not written that it pleased the Lord to drive out every trace of Satan’s disciples and their work here on earth? His life was indeed most joyous and blest!

  ****

  A few days later, three worthy gentlemen looked the verger up and down as if he reminded them of a small insect, but nothing could hide the interest that showed in their glances. They stood in the middle of a cold stone-walled hall in Oslo, close to Akershus Castle, and their voices echoed in the large cavernous space.

  ‘What you are saying is very grave,’ said the Principal Judge, an elderly, alarmingly austere man. ‘But Mister Tengel’s name is not entirely unknown to us. It would be putting it mildly to say that we have been after him for a long time. But his star burns bright among those with power – and folk in general. We must tread very carefully for he is well connected and is protected by people in high places. Much too high! But were we able to produce evidence ...’

  A younger man with dark thinning hair and eyes that burned with the passion of a true holy zealot implored,

  ‘Let me go, Your Honour! Let me inquire into the matter and find the evidence we need!’

  ‘Yes,’ said the third man, ‘let our young novice here, Master Johan, have the opportunity to show what he is capable of.’

  The Principal Judge, the ‘lnquisitor’, who wielded power over both church and state in these particular matters, but also sat as a secular judge, weighed up his youngest and most eager colleague with a glance.

  ‘How old are you, Master Johan?’

  ‘I am in my thirty-fifth year, Judge.’

  ‘Good enough. Then you have certainly reached an age where you are able to determine things correctly. You know the signs to look for. Find out whether t
his girl is a witch and Mister Tengel is a sorcerer; or worse still – a warlock! We shall be pleased to see what evidence you can discover.’

  ‘But remember,’ added the second man, ‘to take great care! We must not tread on the toes of those who have the ear of His Majesty! Mister Tengel is not just anyone!’

  The Principal Judge nodded. ‘Strong evidence is required, but if we find it, if all is as this man here has told us, then Mister Tengel is something very special. Ah, to sit in judgement on a warlock ...’ His voice tailed off as he too began contemplating the realisation of a dream.

  ‘When may I leave?’ asked Master Johan, fired with intense enthusiasm for his mission.

  ‘At once! And take no more than one week! You will, of course, permit no one to know who you are or what business you are about! We cannot be too careful when we perform the work of God.’

  The Inquisitor turned to the verger. When he spoke, his tone was aloof and harsh. ‘As for you my good man, take this coin for your trouble! And go in peace!’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Mother,’ shouted Liv from outside the front of Lindenallée. ‘A poor starving man begs lodgings for a few days. He is passing through and hasn’t got the strength to go on. He must have a chance to rest. Highwaymen have taken all he owned.’

  Silje came out quickly onto the doorstep, her expression concerned. As soon as she was satisfied that her daughter was all right, she scrutinised the stranger and her heart warmed at once to the unfortunate man in a simple cape who stood before her.

  ‘Oh! Dear me! Come inside,’ she said, helping him up the steps. ‘You must have journeyed far?’

  ‘Yes, from Sogn, over the mountain. I was on my way to Akershus when I was waylaid a few days ago. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Master Johan and I am a scribe by profession.’