Witch-Hunt

by Margit Sandemo

  Charlotte smiled, teasing her. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that there’s a certain church painting! They say you painted Tengel from memory, after only seeing him once. They also say it was a perfect likeness!’

  ‘Oh, dearest Charlotte,’ chuckled Silje, hands covering her face. ‘Don’t remind me of that, please! Tengel has never forgiven me for portraying him as a demon. But it’s an appealing thought – painting the boy, I mean!’

  ‘It’s worth trying at least. If it is a success then you could paint all the children one after the other. They are all so beautiful. I shall pay for the materials?

  ‘No, I won’t allow it! We are shamefully rich, Tengel and I, thanks to the help you gave us in the beginning.’

  ‘How could we not have helped? By the way, the stable boy leaves us on Tuesday.’

  ‘Oh, thank the Lord for that! One less worry, at least!

  Thank you for averting that danger! Who knows what might have happened? Well everyone knows of course! But it’s certainly taken a weight off me.’

  ‘I’m sure it has. Now, you must tell me – who is that peculiar man you’ve taken into your home?’

  ‘Master Johan? He’s pleasant enough?

  ‘Hmmm. I’m not so sure about that. I don’t like the way he keeps asking questions. He has been questioning mother and me about Tengel – and Sol!’

  ‘Is that so? That’s strange, because Tengel is also suspicious of Master Johan?

  ‘Really? Mother says that he seemed to want to hear disapproving things about Tengel. But he came a cropper there because mother is Tengel’s greatest admirer.’

  Silje smiled. ‘Your mother is wonderful, Charlotte. Is she feeling any better?’

  ‘Yes, she is well again – and full of gratitude.’

  Silje looked up from her work. ‘Her linden tree is also healthy again, I’ve noticed,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Did you look at it? That day?’

  ‘Yes. The leaves were dried out, almost withered. Now they are all green once more.’

  Silje shivered violently. She was thinking of something that she had heard a long time ago – a near-forgotten memory about how the Kvener people, an ancient warrior tribe who lived far away to the north, were said to be skilled in magic. Among them lived wise men, able to draw a sickness out of a person and dispatch it into a particular tree. Somewhere, she did not know where exactly, there was such a tree. It was ancient and diseased, so people said, covered in grizzly knurled outgrowths and it spelt danger to anyone who came near to it; for any person touching it would surely suffer all its ailments.

  The linden trees in Tengel’s avenue had reminded her of the story, except there were no diseases in them and no pain attached to them. It was as if... No – she couldn’t find a way of describing precisely what had occurred. Yet she still couldn’t help trying to work out how these things possibly related to each other.

  Suppose, as Tengel maintained, his evil namesake really did have nothing to do with Satan. At all times Tengel insisted that there was no such being as the Prince of Darkness. So was it possible that the first Tengel had belonged to a different race of people? A Kven perhaps? Silje knew that the Kven came largely from the land of the Finns. But Finns did not look like Tengel or Hanna or Grimar, although it was said there were many among them who practiced the magic crafts. Could it be that the Evil Tengel had journeyed with the Kven on their travels westward towards Norway, but had himself come from a land even further to the east – a land of legend and terror about which she knew nothing?

  Oh well. it was just guesswork, she told herself Tengel himself had said that there was no reason to believe that his forefathers had not come from Norway. And according to the stories, the Kven were people of small stature, while Tengel was huge. Neither did they have coal-black hair. But they did have high cheek-bones, just like him, and short noses. She realised she was going round in ever-decreasing circles again so, with an effort she pulled herself out of her reverie.

  ‘I wish Tengel hadn’t done what he did with the trees,’ she confided a little fearfully. ‘l have started to examine all of them and it makes me quite anxious.’

  Are they now all well?’ asked Charlotte softly.

  ‘Oh, yes! All very healthy, every one of them.’

  ****

  A day or two later a courier was sent from Akershus Castle to Lindenallée again, with a message asking Tengel to attend urgently on an ailing client there. This still happened from time to time and he always did his best to accommodate them without leaving the local poor to suffer. But equally he always made it clear that he would not allow himself to be generally at the beck and call of the aristocratic residents of the castle.

  However, there was a great deal of frenetic activity when he arrived this time and he noticed radical changes were taking place before he even entered the main buildings. An ltalian-style bastion, consisting of stone-dressed earthworks rising above the outer wall, was under construction and once inside he was struck by the prevailing sense of urgency. He was informed that a party of visitors had arrived from Denmark during the night and one of them had fallen ill during the journey.

  As he was led hastily through the darkened passageways, poorly lit with torches fixed to the walls at infrequent strategic points, Tengel allowed himself a wry smile. Silje’s wish to see a real king had been fulfilled – not once, but twice in fact. He had brought her to Akershus three years earlier when a ceremony was held to honour King Christian IV. Silje had been a little disappointed and the event had been something of an anticlimax for her because she had been so full of anticipation. The king was just a fourteen-year-old boy, albeit dressed up in his finery. But otherwise he looked quite plain. They had not been permitted to attend the ceremony itself but had watched from outside when the young king appeared to receive the acclaim of his people.

  ‘What had you been expecting?’ Tengel had laughed, ‘A fairy-tale king with a crown and scepter of gold?’

  Silje’s first sight of a king had been a far grander occasion. The year was 1589 and Norway unexpectedly became the place for the marriage between the Scottish King James VI – who also became James I of England – and Anna, the sister of Christian IV, King of Denmark and Norway. The ship that was taking Anna to Scotland was wrecked on the coast of Norway, so the impatient groom came post-haste to meet her in Oslo. That had been a wedding to remember! Silje, who had nagged and nagged to be allowed to go to Oslo, saw the procession first hand at close quarters and talked about nothing else for six months afterwards. But that was five years previously, and since then her wild excitement had abated.

  As Tengel proceeded through the castle, a couple speaking Danish came towards him from the other end of the passage. Tengel braced himself for the usual scream. But there wasn’t one – instead the lady gave a sigh and fainted on the spot. Tengel was annoyed. ‘Please do not make the usual comments about “meeting Lucifer himself” – I am so tired of them,’ he told the woman’s companion as he attended to the lady and helped her to her feet.

  The man, who seemed to be of noble birth, said arrogantly, ‘You can hardly expect anything else, my man! The very least one can ask is that you warn people in advance. No doubt you are the demon doctor that the Lord Lieutenant boasts of?’

  ‘No doubt I am! I believe the lady has recovered. My patient awaits me.’ Bowing summarily Tengel hurried away.

  A footman had come to meet him. ‘This way if you please, Mister Tengel. Aha! I see you and Jacob Ulfeldt have crossed paths? Yes, he might well be a little touchy, for the lady with him was not his wife. Not because I believe he has a shadowy story to hide, you understand, but just being seen in the company of the Mistress Marsvin could harm his reputation.’

  Tengel turned to look back at the pair, as they were about to disappear round a bend in the passageway. Ulfeldt turned at the same instant and their eyes met across the long dark space between them. Marsvin? Where had he heard that name before? Of course – Jeppe Marsvin, Dag’s real father. Pe
rhaps Dag was related to that lady he had tried to help. Yes, Tengel concluded, he most probably was.

  Silje had told him the name of Dag’s father because she had not wanted to keep secrets from him. He had kept her confidence and never mentioned the name to another living soul. In spite of that, he had often entertained grim thoughts about the swine – a married man who had pleasured himself with the good-natured Mistress Charlotte for just one night and then left, never to concern himself about her again. Had he not understood how alone and in need of affection she had been? Or had he believed that, by showing her some pity, he had bestowed a great gift upon her? Perhaps he had expected some gratitude for his noble act?

  Tengel was becoming agitated thinking about this aristocratic lout and almost trod on the heels of the footman. He made his apologies and quietened his enraged senses. But still he could not get the man out of his mind.

  Jacob Ulfeldt, unbeknown to Tengel at that moment, was a strong royalist and minister-confidant of King Christian IV. This was Tengel’s first encounter with the Ulfeldt family and, although it was not a name he had heard before, something about the name itself continued to intrigue him. Some sixth sense told him that the seemingly chance meeting in the castle passageway had more than a surface significance. But neither he, nor the noble minister himself, could imagine at that moment just how closely entwined their descendants would one day become.

  ****

  His patient, when he reached him, was a friendly old Danish baron, who tolerated Tengel’s slightly rough-handed treatment of his worn-out body without complaint. There was precious little Tengel could do except give him something to ease his pain, for which the old fellow was very thankful. But, as always, Tengel nevertheless did his best for him.

  Two young ne’er-do-wells and a somewhat faded dandy, each clasping a goblet of wine, had chosen to sit close by and pass comment while Tengel examined his patient. This had annoyed Tengel, who had asked them to show some respect for the sick man. Amid much laughter and demanding loudly to know what a ‘quack doctor from the Norwegian provinces could come up with’, they took their drinks and went into the adjoining chamber. There they continued their conversation so loudly that Tengel heard everything that was said.

  To his astonishment he soon realised that the debauched dandy was the very same Jeppe Marsvin who had been the focus of his anger for so long. Tengel felt his head was about to explode when he heard the man brag about a little conquest he had newly made with a Norwegian girl, here at the castle, whom he would be seeing later that evening in his chamber. ‘A pretty little strumpet,’ he shouted at one point, ‘not a day over sixteen and most surely with her maidenhood intact! But not for much longer, eh?’

  All three laughed raucously. ‘Aha, Marsvin,’ said one of the youngsters. ‘Are you indulging in a slight distraction while your wife is not with you?’

  ‘I always indulge in distractions!’ replied Marsvin gloating, and this provoked a new outburst of laughter.

  Tengel was beside himself with fury. As soon as he had finished taking care of the kind old gentleman, he went through to where the others were sitting. Leaning on the table he asked that one of them stay close to the old Baron in case he needed anything. The two youngsters assured him that they would. However none of them noticed Tengel slip some powder into Jeppe Marsvin’s goblet.

  That is the reason why the well practised seducer was heard to scream a panic-stricken ‘No!’ in the presence of the young girl he had planned to deflower, when she visited his room later that evening. In the event no seduction could be attempted and for the rest of the evening Jeppe Marsvin was to be found in the ‘privy’ beside the guest lodgings suffering from very loose bowels.

  In fact the severity of his condition forced him to spend most of his visit to Norway confined in that tiny room. Everyone at Akershus soon heard the story of the hapless seduction scene and Mister Marsvin quickly became the subject of much ridicule and scorn. The stories rapidly spread throughout Denmark, and it is said that from then on he kept himself to himself spending his days sulking at home and his evenings sitting moodily in the company of his wife.

  He never found out that the cause of his downfall was the tryst he had with Charlotte Meiden thirteen years earlier. He had completely forgotten Charlotte by that time and Tengel had no desire to involve him in their ordered, settled lives at Grastensholm and Lindenallée. Charlotte had no such wish either. She knew nothing about her past lover’s pitiful visit to Akershus at the time, but several months later Tengel told her what had happened when he met Jeppe Marsvin and she had laughed, hard and hearty, with more than a touch of malicious pleasure. Perhaps, more importantly, she was pleased and grateful that Tengel had shown how much he believed in her.

  Dag, to the exclusion of much else, filled Charlotte’s life and she was so concerned for his well being that at times the youth found it awkward. When this happened, Grand-mama, the Dowager Baroness, would come to the rescue like the wise old lady she was. She would order him to spend time at Lindenallée and rejuvenate, and Charlotte would understand and promise not to stifle him again when he returned.

  However Dag enjoyed life at the mansion very much. Everybody had been worried that the move from Lindenallée to Grastensholm would cause him problems, but everything had in fact gone without a hitch. Besides it wasn’t a bad thing to be the only child, spoiled and well cared-for, no longer having to share with others, as he had done previously. The absolute perfection to detail that was demanded at Grastensholm suited his pedantic personality. Nothing was allowed to be out of place, unlike at Lindenallée, where a spot of dirt here and there or a forgotten item of clothing left on a chair was not considered important.

  Of course he missed having somebody to whisper to in the darkness of the evenings before falling asleep and it was sometimes lonely wandering around the salons, chambers and corridors of Grastensholm. But he would always have his foster family close by – and he had Liv. She visited him almost every day when she and Are came to Charlotte for their lessons. He enjoyed the way she could follow his train of thought as they quietly played chess or other board games. Because he was younger, Are on the other hand, much preferred being in the stables or barns.

  ‘I am to travel to Copenhagen and study at the university,’ Dag told Liv one day as they strolled to and fro along the picture gallery.

  ‘You are leaving? Now?’

  ‘No. When I am older. I think I shall be a professor or an auctioneer or something like that.’

  Not long before this, there had been an auction on a farm in the district and Dag had been greatly impressed by the auctioneer’s glib banter and the banging of the gavel. Liv said nothing; she thought it sad that he was going away.

  Dag continued, ’And Mama Charlotte says that she will introduce me to some aristocratic lady, maybe one at Court, to whom I may be wedded.’ Liv remained silent. ‘And she is going to find a wealthy merchant, or some such, for you because you are so pretty. She says it will be more difficult with Sol, but I don’t know why. Sol is pretty enough, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, very, very pretty. Ugh! I don’t want to be wed anyway – that’s all stupid.’

  ‘I think so too,’ said Dag. He patted the wall of the picture gallery with his hand. ‘Mama Silje is to paint me. Did you know? Then l shall have my likeness hanging with this long line of ugly boring old fellows.’ They looked up at the age-darkened portraits and laughed at the idea, as they went along the row making impolite comments about each one.

  Then Dag turned serious again. ‘I shall come back and settle down here later, of course. Because all of you are here and this will be mine – the estate and everything. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s good. I’m glad you’re coming back, so I’ll have someone to play with.’

  ‘You don’t play when you’re grown up! You should know that!’

  ‘No, of course you don’t. You’re right. I’m just being silly.’

  They gazed out thro
ugh the tall narrow windows of the gallery. ‘Look, there’s that funny Master Johan – down in our yard,’ said Liv. ‘Can you see? He’s walking back and forth with his hands behind his back.’

  ‘He does look restless,’ replied Dag. ‘Like a broody hen. Now he’s staring at the woods. How long do you think he’s going to stay here, then?’

  ‘He did say he’s leaving soon. That’s good because we’re not allowed to fight or argue at all while he’s here. And all he does is ask lots and lots of questions. He’s a bit funny, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s more than a bit funny. Shall we play a trick on him? Let’s get a mirror and dazzle his eyes!’

  ‘Yes! Good idea!’

  The only mirror they could find was one that went from floor to ceiling. so they gave up the idea and carried on wandering through the castle. Finally they reached the top of the tower. It was not a very grand tower, only a small square one with a spire above the main entrance. Liv and Dag liked to stand there, leaning on the windowsills – which were always covered in pigeon droppings – and gaze out over the countryside.

  From their vantage point everything appeared so tiny. They couldn’t see all of Lindenallée from this side of the building, just the last few trees of the avenue, the church, the lake and the country road.

  ‘Look! Look! Over there! ’ exclaimed Liv. ‘Can you see what’s coming from behind the woods?’

  ‘Ooh! What on earth can it be?’ wondered Dag.

  ‘So you can see it too!’ Liv felt reassured. ‘Sometimes I think I see things that other people can’t. Whatever that is, it looks gruesome.’

  Dag smiled. ‘Don’t get carried away by the things Tengel and Sol say! What you see are everyday things, but you see them in a different way from other people. You have a rich imagination, and you can see ghosts everywhere, even in broad daylight. Tengel says it is a gift you have from Silje, not from him.’

  ‘I know you are right,’ she told him. She was a little disappointed at this, because she had always wanted to believe she shared the qualities of the other two. There was always the lurking temptation for her to make things up – melodramatic and dark stories that no one believed.