Meanwhile Charlotte was trying to urge her mother to find courage and resolve. ‘Is it better to lie awake and in pain at night? Or is it a simple matter to pull the sleeves of your gown and undergarment from your shoulders. We can close the carriage curtains as well to give us total privacy.’
‘I can also leave if you feel uneasy, Milady,’ said Silje.
‘No!’ said the Baroness abruptly. ‘I will do it!’
Tengel nodded. ‘Then you must turn your back to me. If you sit there ...’
‘Will there be time before we arrive?’
‘Yes, there is still some distance to go.’
The curtains were drawn and the Baroness bared her pale, freckled flesh. Tengel smiled, ‘Forgive me, but you need not be ashamed, Your Grace, for this is not an old person’s skin. It is too soft and supple.’
She giggled with embarrassment, as flattered as a young maiden might have been. Then Tengel placed his great, strong hands on her shoulders and she let out a scream. This was not what she had expected.
‘Please remain still!’ Tengel’s voice had an almost hypnotic cadence. ‘Relax – a little more now please ...’
There was silence in the carriage and Charlotte stared in disbelief
‘No! But – oh!’ mumbled her mother. ‘It’s so – so … warming! So wonderful!’
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it,’ said Silje. ‘The warmth spreads through you like fingers of fire.’
‘Yes! Yes, I have never known anything like this.’ The Baroness closed her eyes in pleasure.
Tengel gently manipulated the Baroness’s shoulder joints and then asked her to stretch out her arms in front of her. This proved difficult because her cramped fingers were determinedly holding her undergarment up to cover her scrawny bosom. With Charlotte’s assistance, she was eventually able to hold out her hands without breaking the codes of virtuous conduct.
When he had examined the joints in her arms and knuckles thoroughly, Tengel told her, ‘You do not have the bad type of gout, Your Grace. You have been sitting in draughts too much. Always wrap a light woollen shawl around your shoulders. Wear no more low-cut gowns. Make sure your bed is not in a draught and cover your shoulders while you sleep, but not with a heavy garment, that will be uncomfortable of course. You may have tensed up too often from time to time and that can cause pains in the neck and shoulders. If you take the best care of yourself, then I believe all will be well with you. I shall give you a salve to rub into the skin. I should have liked to treat you several times. but I think this will help you for a while.’
At last he lifted his hands from her, and as he did so the old lady gave a sigh of regret. ‘Oh! But that was exquisite!’ she declared. drawing her gown back onto her shoulders. ‘Those other worthless healers! Here! You must allow me to pay you.’
A sudden darkness showed in Tengel’s eyes. ‘This day it is as though I am already living a dream, Your Grace. Please do not cause offence now!’
‘No – I beg your pardon!’ The Baroness was flustered by her own incivility. ‘It was tactless and unforgivable. Might I commend you to – no, of course not. You are a wanted man, and you will be moving away from here as well. Such a pity, such a pity. But I shall be joining you too, just as soon as I am able.’
This last statement sounded a mite frivolous to Charlotte, as the Baron’s wishes had not yet been taken into account and she exclaimed aloud, ‘mother, please!’
Although she felt she could not allow her mother to breach etiquette, Charlotte was smiling nonetheless. ‘You must forgive Mama,’ she said, turning towards Silje and Tengel. ‘Could you but know the tyranny she and I have been subject to all these years, then you would understand – but see, we have arrived!’
As Tengel stepped down from the carriage, the Baroness reminded him of the salve he had promised her. ‘Yes, of course. Sol, run and fetch me …’ He muttered something to the girl.
She looked up at him and whispered back, ‘For gout? But I have some …’ Her voice tailed off in obscure mumbling. Tengel and Sol continued their discussion for quite some time before Sol gave a final nod and ran off ‘It is better that she goes,’ said Tengel. ‘My foot still bothers me, you understand.’
The two ladies were undoubtedly intrigued by the confidence he showed in his seven-year-old daughter where medicinal remedies were concerned, but they said nothing. When Sol returned, Tengel gave the Baroness an ointment. As soon as they had decided what was to be done in the next few days, the carriage lumbered off, soon to disappear behind leafy hedgerows and pussy willows on its way back to Trondheim.
****
Baroness Meiden was true to her word: Benedikt was released from prison and Abelone was required to return ownership of the farm to him. Silje and her family had enough time to visit the farm before they left to journey south. The farmhand, now back in Benedikt’s service again, had been sent to the forester’s hut to fetch them. The old church painter had insisted on meeting them once more to thank them for all their help.
They could, however, do nothing to save Dyre Alvsson and the other rebels. All seven of them were executed in great secrecy because the authorities were determined to avoid stirring up more unrest among the peasants. They were convinced that this would happen very quickly if the fate of the people’s beloved heroes become known.
They heard all this from the farmhand as he drove them to Benedikt’s farm. Benedikt himself had told of the tragic demise of a rebellion that was always doomed to fail. He had watched as the men were taken to the scaffold. He explained how seeing this had caused his stomach ulcer to go bad again – omitting to add that his excessive drinking had probably started it.
As Silje climbed down from the cart and saw the dear old farm for the first time in five years. a lump came to her throat. Grete appeared first on the steps. a tiny shrunken figure dressed all in black, her arms outstretched in welcome. She wore a beaming smile and Silje could not hold back her tears any longer. Neither Benedikt nor Marie were well enough to come outside and greet them. Marie was bedridden, although for today she had been brought into the parlour to join them. Benedikt remained seated in his favourite chair, unable to get up.
‘Can’t hold on to my water,’ he explained. ‘It’s something that happens to us old men sometimes.’
He had aged terribly. Now he was withered, smaller and he trembled noticeably. No longer did his voice have its brazen cheeriness and the veins on his nose and cheeks told of many hours in the company of the wine flagon. His hair had thinned too and what remained resembled a well worn yard broom.
Silje’s first thought was that these poor old souls might be overwhelmed by this reunion and that it would prove too much for them; but she need not have worried because none of them could have been happier. Half the day was devoted to catching up on all the news and admiring the children. At one point Silje told them how she longed one day to see His Majesty the King.
‘Alas, dear child,’ sighed Benedikt. ‘I fear that opportunity has passed you by. King Frederik the Second travelled to Norway last year – and I doubt he will return. It is said that he and I share the same weakness. We drink a little more than we ought. That, they say, will put him in an early grave. Nonsense, say I! A tankard of wine has never killed anybody!’
No, perhaps not one, thought Silje with gentle irony.
So the King had finally come to acquaint himself with Norway, she mused, whilst she was cut off in a high and hidden valley. Not that she would have had many chances of seeing him, even had she been here, but life could sometimes play some unkind tricks. Benedikt wanted so badly for them to return to the farm to live just as before, but even he could not deny that Trondelag was a dangerous place for any kin of the Ice People. Tengel and his family would have to act as discreetly as possible before they left, so that no one would have reason to suspect them.
As if by silent consent, they made their farewells as brief and light-hearted as possible. They were all too aware that this was to be their last leave-taking
of one another and none of them was prepared for great outpourings of emotion. These four old people would be forever grateful that they could now see out their lives in a home of their own and they sent heartfelt thanks to their own guardian angel, the Baroness Meiden.
As dusk fell, the farmhand drove them back to the forester’s hut, where it was felt they would be safer during the last few days before they travelled south. No one spoke as the cart clattered along; the children slept and Tengel and Silje were absorbed in their own thoughts and emotions. In spite of the cautious enthusiasm he felt for a happier future, there was one thing that bothered Tengel – the unborn child. Yet there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, when they were about to undertake another hazardous journey. To inflict a miscarriage on her now would drain her strength and optimism when she needed it most of all.
He would have to be patient and wait until they had arrived before he tried to persuade her to do the right thing – and of course he would fail, he knew that already. Would it be better then to give her the powder covertly? It would be almost the same potion that Hanna had given her to bring Liv into the world – something that he would not have dared to give her in that condition – and Hanna’s concoctions had always been far stronger and more mystical.
He would make sure, he decided, that she took it when they arrived at their destination. It would appear quite natural for a woman to suffer a miscarriage after a long and arduous trip. Thinking such thoughts, Tengel sighed. He did not relish the plan. He hated the idea of deceiving her, especially as he would also have liked to have another child. But her life, he reflected, was more important than anything else – for all of them.
Chapter 6
Before long they were on their way. Just a few days before their departure, Charlotte Meiden ordered a rider to be sent ahead of them to ensure that everything was prepared and ready for their arrival. The houses at their destination had for the most part stood empty for many years, with only an elderly couple retained as caretakers. The land had always been worked, although not very efficiently, and had produced no more than a small income for the Meiden family.
All Charlotte’s great many personal possessions had been packed up and loaded aboard a ship now lying in the harbour. The ship would not sail for at least a couple of weeks however and Charlotte could not afford to wait that long. It was vital that she leave before her father returned from his travels because he would undoubtedly have put a stop to the whole enterprise at once.
One woman alone, she could hear him say, cannot manage a farm and an estate of that size – never! Furthermore, was she perhaps trying to usurp his paternal authority? Was he no longer allowed to decide what was best for the women in his family? And if he ever found out about Tengel of the Ice People, wouldn’t his retribution be merciless? No one belonging to such a godless family would be spared, not even Dag – and it would be better if he never heard a word about his existence either.
So they made urgent plans for their journey and after considerable discussion decided the road over the mountains would be the one to travel. Because carriageways were almost non-existent, they chose to take a small covered cart for the ladies to travel in. But no one was sure how far it would be able to go. Most probably they would all have to ride on horseback a lot of the way, because there were certain to be stretches of road that would be impassable. Among the worst of these was the valley known as Drivdalen and they agreed that the best that they could hope for was to keep the cart as long as possible.
Everyone was aware that this overland journey would be arduous and fraught with danger. As a passage by sea was not immediately available, there was no alternative but to attempt crossing the mountains of Dovre. They would, however, have a sizeable escort on this trip.
It fell to the Baroness to try to explain to her husband why their daughter had left home, taking with her various items of furniture, many horses and a not insignificant retinue of servants and maids. They were not concerned that he might follow them. The official trips throughout Trondelag forced upon him as part of his duties were torment to a man of his great bulk. A long journey south was the last thing he would want, and besides it wasn’t worth abandoning his home comforts or risking his own very important life for a mere daughter!
The journey through the lowland countryside towards Dovre was relatively uneventful. Silje and the children sat with Charlotte and her maid in the simple cart with its hooped-canvas roof Tengel rode alongside or ahead of them depending on the type of terrain they were travelling through. They had kept their baggage to a minimum and the great sea cargo was entirely made up of Charlotte’s dowry, something she would hardly have need of now.
From the outset the weather was beautiful and not one of them complained about the fact that the cart had no springs and the roads or tracks were so poor that after two days they had all been bumped and battered black and blue. It was all so exciting for everyone, except Silje, who while hiding her fears, tensed up each time the cart lurched, trying to protect the life growing inside her. Only Tengel noticed this but his face gave nothing away.
Three riders went ahead of the party and two men-at-arms brought up the rear. They had four extra horses with them, to be used when the cart could go no further, and it was not long before they were needed. They had reached the formidable and dangerous Varstigen section of the old Pilgrim’s Way leading into Drivdalen, when the driver of the cart made his apologies and told them he could go no further. Bidding them farewell, he turned his team around to make the tortuous journey back to Trondheim alone – fording deep rivers, negotiating marshes with barely enough hard surface for a single horseman and finding tracks through swamps and dark forests.
It took some time to load up the baggage and get the children and women onto horseback. Then began a nightmare journey along Varstigen’s narrow paths, at the edges of which were sheer precipices on one or sometimes both sides. There were times when the horses picked their way gingerly along between the rough rocky wall on one side of the path and a deep ravine on the other. From far below, the constant roar of the River Driva assaulted their ears and occasionally a horse and rider found themselves carefully balanced as they traversed a narrow ridge. Generally the women and children preferred to walk along the most daunting heights, leading the horses, because they had more confidence in their own legs.
The path finally began to widen, leading onto flatter ground. The air was thinner and colder now. They had met no other travellers and happily no wild animals either. As they caught their first glimpse of the snow-capped mountains in the misty distance, their only companions were a few birds of prey, circling and wheeling high above them.
Silje was unable to free herself from the anxiety that had mounted within her every second along Varstigen. She had been riding, holding Sol in front of her, yet at the same time she had been trying to keep a watchful eye on all three children. This had tired her out completely, but she felt unable to trust the others, even though she knew they were more capable of looking after the children than she was. After all, she told herself they were all big strong men. The beauty and majesty of the scenery that lay before them was simply lost on her. Everyone else was busy discussing the various features of the landscape, identifying the peaks by name: Snohetta, Rondane and many others. But the words simply whirled around her head and vanished. It was as though she was seeing the world through a veil. A long time afterwards, when someone asked her about the journey, she discovered that she remembered nothing at all about the ride across the mountains.
Yet, despite herself, she realised that a great many things must have taken place. She had a vague recollection of how they finally reached Dovre’s flatter, less foreboding foothills, when a halt was called and they all lay back on the grass to relax and settle their nerves. She had been so frightened of any harm coming to the children that her chin trembled and her teeth were chattering. Tengel was looking very pale, she noticed, as he sat with Liv in his arms resting his chin against her aub
urn hair. Tengel had always treated the children equally, but Silje knew that he loved Liv, his own daughter, beyond measure. He would never have shown this openly, but many was the time she had seen him bent over her bed as she slept, a look of wonder and disbelief on his face that he had fathered a child – and a such a beautiful child as well.
Charlotte sat with her arm around Dag, talking to him and trying to calm his fears. Silje stretched out a hand to Sol, who came and threw herself down on the grass beside her. She too was worn out by the frightful journey and could not even bring herself to speak – a rare occurrence at any time!
They were still sore from the aches and pains, bumps and bruises they had acquired from travelling in the cart previously. The colour had still not returned to Silje’s face, but she didn’t complain or show her discomfort. The servants, who sat together on the grass away from the group, were also greatly relieved that the worst part of the journey was over.
Clouds began to form above Dovre as they moved on again. Icy drizzle, whipped along by the wind, tore into their faces, making progress very unpleasant when they neared another high point of the track. The drizzle turned to slushy sleet as they approached a wayfarer’s cabin at Hjerkinn, a very simple log building, but a welcome refuge nonetheless. They took a well deserved break in the cabin to rest and eat. There the storm worsened and snow blew in through the gaps in the timbers, forming small drifts here and there on the beaten earth floor.
Witch-Hunt Page 10
