And so it was. The children were smartly dressed for the occasion. Dag was wrapped in his gold-embroidered shawl, the sight of which caused Abelone’s eyes to widen with envy. Little Sol was tremendously proud of the fine dress that Grete had woven, sewn and almost finished embroidering for her.
Nobody could have called the baptism a success. They had made a beautiful setting in the main parlour, with a white tablecloth, tallow candles and the best silver dish to serve as a font – but Dag screamed all the time and Sol kicked and butted like a foal in its first harness at the sight of the pastor, who invoked terror in her with his long black cloak and cold air of dignity. In due course they persuaded her to stand close enough to him so that he could flick some water in her general direction and hurriedly baptize her ‘Sol Angelica’. It had been Silje who had insisted that she should have both names and because ‘Angelica’ was a beautiful name, and Christian too, everyone agreed. Silje did not breathe a word about the girl being one of the Ice People.
Sol was determined that Dag should also be given two names and Silje, having in mind the initials ‘C.M.’, gave him the most noble name she could think of. He was baptised ‘Dag Christian’.
The worst was yet to come. As they led Sol from the room she was heard to say, in a loud clear voice, ‘That damned priest chucked water all over me!’
Luckily her words were still difficult to understand – and Dag began to scream again in timely fashion – but Silje, Benedikt and Marie, the proud godmother, all heard her.
Marie was shocked. ‘It’s that awful farmhand.’ She muttered. ‘Sol copies everything he says and does.’
Silje was also taken aback. Only Benedikt found it hard to keep a straight face. At least the children had been placed in the hands of the church and Abelone could sleep easily again. There would be no more devils beneath anyone’s bed.
****
All this was not enough for Abelone, however. Everyone on the farm knew it was her intention to be rid of Silje and the children. Her son had even said it out loud for all to hear. At the time, he had been sitting in the parlour and he shouted for more ale. When Silje went in carrying the jug, followed by Sol, he was cutting himself large pieces of meat from the Christmas ham. He watched her like a hawk because, as everyone knew, the jug was prone to drip. Sure enough, when she poured some ale for him a small drop landed on the table and he rose up in a fury.
‘Be careful, you slut. Are you trying to damage my table?’
‘Forgive me,’ muttered Silje, fighting back the anger that threatened to erupt from within her.
‘I should think so! You had better not have any ideas about all this becoming yours. Is that what you’re planning? Worming your way into the affections of an old man whom you can twist around your little finger, is that it?’
They were the words of his mother, thought Silje.
‘I promise you this – you and those little bastards will soon be out of here. Faster than you think! Oh – ouch!’
With a scream of pain, he grasped his left hand – blood was seeping from between his fingers and, on seeing this, Sol left the room quickly.
‘Have you cut yourself?’ Silje said, concerned.
‘I? I did nothing,’ he whined. ‘It was her fault – that little witch Sol willed it to happen. I saw it – I saw it!’
‘Ridiculous!’ said Silje, now quite pale. ‘The girl was standing in the doorway. She was a long way from you.’
‘Yes, but it was her, I know it was. She just looked at me and the knife slipped.’
‘What rubbish!’ Silje’s anger boiled over. ‘Grete, come and see to this injured hero – before he faints! He’s screaming like a stuck … well, you know what he looks like.’
Grete came in as Silje left the room. Silje ran after Sol and found her in another part of the house, kneeling on a bench by a window. Sol turned as she entered and Silje shuddered when she saw the girl’s eyes. They shone green with hatred and something else as well – something she had never seen before and hoped never to see again. Sol looked at her and the expression was gone immediately, as she stretched out her arms to her friend. Silje picked her up and cuddled her.
‘Sol,’ she whispered, tight-lipped, full of anger and horror. ‘Dearest Sol, you must never, never do that again.’
‘Do what?’ she asked innocently. ‘I do nothing. Man silly!’
‘Yes, he was, but ...’
In her distinctive childish voice, Sol continued, ‘I don’t want him live here any more. Strange ladies not live here more too.’
‘None of us want them here, dearest, but that is how it is. Promise to be nice to them, Sol. Promise!’
The girl threw her arms round Silje’s neck. ‘Sol be good.’ she said with a happy and beguiling smile.
Silje’s thoughts were of Tengel. Dear God, how she needed to talk to him now. Then again, it was probably better that he did not know about this. She wondered what she should do. Trying to raise this unfortunate little child would be a monumental task, she decided. When he heard about the matter, Benedikt was extremely depressed. Not even the church painting could lift his spirits.
‘I shall kill that bitch,’ he was heard to mutter on more than one occasion. ‘I swear I’ll kill her!’
One day in a fit of rage he had tried to get rid of Abelone and her children, going so far as to throw all their belongings into the yard, yelling, ‘Out! Out!’ so loudly that it disturbed the cattle in the barn. As it was, Abelone was able to master him by threatening to tell the bailiff that he was in league with the rebels. Although she plucked the accusation out of thin air, it was enough. Benedikt knew that he would not be able to defy close scrutiny on that score, so they stayed.
The three of them alone consumed copious amounts of food and their appetites were never satisfied. The farm’s larder was running low, life was miserable and everyone felt helpless. Eventually, on New Year’s Eve, Benedikt broached the subject that Silje had been expecting for some time.
They were sitting alone in the kitchen, when he said, ‘Marry me, Silje.’ His distress showed in his eyes. ‘We would solve so many problems. That old hag and her spawn would have to leave and the future would be safe for the children and you.’
Silje reached out across the table and took his hand gently in her own. ‘I’m very grateful for your offer. It’s very kind, and you know how fond I am of you. But it wouldn’t work.’
‘Whyever not? I won’t live many more years and I would not … I would not want to have physical ...’
She stopped him from saying more. She felt she had to tell him about the night he had come into her room. When she had finished, he whispered, ‘Oh God. I thought it was nothing but a dream.’ Then, with a sigh, ‘I suppose I really must be honest with you. I have lied. Foolish old man that I am, I have found myself attracted to you, but I was sure I could hold back my desires. Obviously the brennevin plays games with me and maybe I have hoped, secretly, that you would want me. I see that now. I suppose that you could not consider sharing my bed?’
There were tears in Silje’s eyes. ‘Oh, I cherish you so very, very much, Master Benedikt, but not in that way. No – because it worries me that we would lose our wonderful friendship and find only bitterness and heartache instead. I wouldn’t want that for anything in the world.’
‘Neither would I. At least nobody can ever accuse you of wanting to get hold of my possessions and my riches! Other women would have hidden their disgust and jumped into bed with an old man to get their hands on his worldly goods, but not you. And in some ways I would have been disappointed in you if you had said ”yes”. The true artist does not sacrifice his principles just for the sake of convenience.’
At this point he began an oration about the artist’s noble vocation. It was his true passion. Finally he sighed, saying, ‘Oh, Silje this is all so tedious. Everything is tedious.’
‘Yes, and I am scared, Master Benedikt. For everyone – but most of all for the children.’
****
As the Old Year ended, Silje reflected on the many changes that had occurred and wondered what the New Year of 1582 would have in store for her. As it happened, she did not have to wait long to find out. Three days later, Abelone made her move and it was a cruel and crushing blow. The farm lad had come running, out of breath and wide-eyed, into the kitchen where the ‘real’ people of the house were eating.
‘Something awful is going to happen,’ he gasped. ‘She, that woman! She’s ordered me to take her and her children for a drive in the carriage – but I heard her whisper to the daughter that they would be going to the bailiff to report Silje.’
Benedikt jumped up. ‘What for? Why on earth?’
‘She has heard from one of the old women in the parish that Silje was seen riding with Tengel of the Ice People!’
‘Oh, dear Father of God,’ said Benedikt quietly. ‘Then Silje will be accused of giving herself to the Devil’s disciple, the undying Tengel!’
‘But that’s not true,’ shouted Silje. ‘Tengel is not undying – and I am still a virgin. I will prove it if I must.’
‘My dear child,’ said Benedikt, ‘no one’s virginity will help us now. If the bailiff’s soldiers lay their hands on you, then you will most certainly die! They will torture you – slowly and with great pleasure – until you are dead, but not – before they have forced you to tell all you know of Tengel and the Ice People. You will bring misfortune on others as well. And yes, I expect they will take the children too. They will say that you or Tengel have ravaged them or put a hex on them. The authorities will treat you as a witch of the first order because of your association with the beast-man. And you know how much they enjoy punishing witches.’
‘But what are we to do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know.’ His voice was tired. ‘I really do not know. Of course we must get you away from here, but how? And where to? To think that bitch will get her way in the end!’ He turned to the farmhand. ‘You must go back outside at once before she begins to suspect anything. Then drive as slowly as you can so that Silje and the children have time to get away.’
The lad nodded and walked towards the door, but Silje ran to him and gave him a farewell hug. He put his arms around her, tears welling in his eyes. Quietly, so that Sol would not start to fuss, he bade goodbye to the children as well.
‘Please be gone by the time I return,’ begged the farm lad. ‘You must!’
Feverish activity began as soon as the carriage had left the yard. All that Silje and the children owned was strapped into two rolls and the others packed the best of the food and clothes they could find in the house. Benedikt brought her a glazed mosaic in wonderful colours that he had made.
It would impossible for her to take it with her, but Silje could not take her eyes off it. Secretly, he gave her a little book that he had bound himself The pages were glossy and he told her it was a sketchbook, for when she felt the need to draw. There was a line-tipped pen and some charcoals as well. She tried to thank him, but they were both so filled with emotion that all they managed was a tearful hug. The old sisters cried helplessly, alternately cuddling the children and packing their belongings. Sol, not understanding what was happening, cried in sympathy.
‘However is Silje going to carry all this?’ asked Benedikt, alarmed when he saw the enormous pile of goods.
They all stopped and stared, and Silje put her hand to her mouth. ‘If all this wasn’t so serious and frightful, I should laugh,’ she said with a dejected look at the enormous heap. Grete and Marie started to giggle and soon they were all chuckling. The mood had changed, but no one wanted to start sorting through the things again.
‘But where is the poor lass to go?’ moaned Grete.
Silje hesitated. ‘Tengel was close by here at Christmas. He was the one I visited on Christmas Eve, but I will not tell you where, so that you know nothing if you are questioned. I think he may have left – I have not seen any signs of life for days.’
Silje drew a deep breath to control her emotions. The thought of his not being there was making her empty and cold inside.
‘Can’t you and the children take refuge there, alone?’ asked Marie.
Silje looked outside. ‘I too had that thought, but I fear they would track us through the snow.’
‘Yes, you are right. Oh, God, what are we to do? Can we hide you somewhere?’
‘And if young Dag should start to cry, what then?’ asked Grete.
They all heard the sound at once and were rooted to the spot. Moments later, a rider on horseback came into the yard at a furious pace.
Marie screamed, ‘Are they here already? Hide yourselves – hide yourselves!’
‘No,’ said Benedikt relieved. ‘It’s not them.’
Tengel jumped down from his horse and met them as they came running out of the house. This time the old women had completely forgotten their fear of the Ice People’s ghost.
‘What is going on here?’ he asked.
‘Did you sense something?’ wondered Silje breathlessly, beaming with pleasure at seeing him again.
He gave a crooked smile.
‘It was more down to earth than that this time. I was just riding down from the ridge to go south, but I stopped to consider whether I should come here to see you and say farewell once again. I couldn’t decide whether l should or not, but then I saw all the activity in the yard and dread filled my heart.’
Benedikt explained quickly what had happened. He finished with, ‘You have been sent by heaven’, forgetting that this guest apparently owed his allegiance to another dominion entirely.
The colour had drained from Tengel’s face. He looked around at the drawn tear-stained expressions – his gaze lingering on Sol a little longer before finally resting on Silje’s face.
‘Yes, thank God I decided to come this way,’ he said.
Marie took a breath and crossed herself Tengel’s temper flared, ‘Is it not even allowed for one who is excommunicated to speak His name? Do you want me exiled to the depths of darkness? What can you know of my soul? You think I do not have one, is that it?’
Marie and Grete lowered their heads in shame.
Tengel composed himself again and said to Benedikt, ‘A wagon awaits me further south, down the valley, if only we can get there. But Silje, me and two children – not forgetting their bundles – will be too much for my horse.’
‘That harridan took our only good carriage and there’s not enough snow for the sled,’ said Benedikt. ‘You can take the other mare. Leave her at the farm far down by the bridge. The lad can bring her home.’
‘That’s agreed then,’ said Tengel.
‘But what will happen to all of you, Master Benedikt?’ asked Silje, full of concern. ‘They won’t arrest you for this, will they?’
‘No – of course not.’
‘So where are we to go?’
The two men looked at each other for some moments before Tengel said, ‘There is only one way to save Silje.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ nodded Benedikt. And I dare not have the children here any longer, no matter how much it breaks all our hearts to see them leave. No one knows what that evil cow Abelone and her gluttonous offspring might get up to. I must hand the children over to your care, Tengel.’
The big man nodded. Both horses would be carrying more than was usual and he packed the awkward glazed mosaic on his own horse, but unbelievably they managed to take everything. It was a small miracle.
A swift heart-rending round of goodbyes was said. One by one Silje thanked them each with a hug for all their kindness. Grete held Dag closely, as if she would never let go, but then handed him up to Tengel, who was already astride his horse. Marie stood beside Silje’s mount urging Sol not to forget her and said that they must all come and visit again. Then it was time to leave. They would have to ride as fast as they could, because the soldiers would be sure to follow them. Every moment counted.
Silje was glad that Tengel had taken the boy, because she was not an expe
rienced rider and an infant would be difficult to manage. There was no sidesaddle on the farm, so she sat astride the horse. Grete and Marie had quickly covered her knees with her cape, while Tengel had discretely looked away Silje was sure she saw him smile. ‘You rascal!’ she thought.
As they came out onto the highway they both glanced northward, but there was no sign of soldiers. This made them both feel more at ease. Saying farewell to such kind people had proved painful and Silje found herself drying her eyes from time to time. The threat of danger, however, and the effort of holding Sol in the saddle, soon took all her attention. The countryside was completely quiet as they rode on southwards along the country highway. The only sign of life was the smoke that billowed lazily around the roofs of the houses, but Silje had already discovered the hard way that eyes were watching every stranger who travelled the roads.
Tengel was impatient and drove them on. Silje and the old mare did their best, but it was not enough for him. ‘We are only about an hour ahead of them,’ he called to her, ‘and soldiers ride fast when they set their minds to it.’
Silje was starting to get cramp from holding onto the girl and guiding the horse, as well as keeping herself and her bundles in the saddle. Decency had long been lost, as her cape had blown back from her legs soon after they started, exposing her uncovered knees. Best forget about it, she thought, and let Tengel think what he liked.
Sol, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the excitement and the wild ride. She sat in front of Silje, with bright eyes and an enormous smile. Silje noticed how Tengel kept looking at her, both with affection and concern. He is a good man, she thought. No matter what they say about him or the names they give him, despite his fearful looks and his occasional temper – deep down he is a good man. But no one could deny that he did look like a demon from the underworld as he rode on ahead of her – a noble, attractive and fascinating demon, if such a thing existed.
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