Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love

by Heidi Eljarbo

  Then there was Peter. Angus was not certain what to do about him yet. For now, the man could rot in the dungeon.

  Good thing Angus was an experienced witch-finder. Preparations for the burning had to be well-organized and prompt. Thanks to Christian Ivershall, Angus had to change his demanding schedule and expedite the executions. He waved at his interpreter. John Pywell was standing by the well, talking with some of the village boys.

  “John, make all the arrangements for the witch-burning tonight.”

  John’s eyes widened. “Tonight? At the weigh house you announced it would happen tomorrow.”

  “Yes, tonight, John. Are you hard of hearing?” Angus rolled his eyes. “Something has come up, and I cannot wait until tomorrow.”

  “How do you expect to have everything ready by this evening?”

  “You will find a way. Speak with the bailiff about payment for supplies and my earnings. Do not let Winther fool you into a smaller wage than my services are worth. They have no one with my capability and standard around here and should pay a handsome salary. Do this right away before the bailiff leaves town and don’t say anything about the burning being moved up a day. Then give the executioner his instructions.”

  Pywell stared back at Angus with an indifferent look in his eyes.

  “Come now, John. We’ll finally have a witch-burning in this little hole of a village. Let’s do our utmost to cleanse this area. What is your problem?”

  “I was hired as a translator.”

  “Do you expect me to do everything around here? Yes, you are merely an interpreter but will do as I bid you whenever I need your services.”

  Pywell started walking toward the bailiff’s office, but Angus called him back.

  “One more thing, John. Talk with Anders, the captain of the guards, and make sure they have all the men they can spare at the burning tonight. You never know if one or more of the witches will have a rambunctious outburst of sorts. We do not want the villagers to take fright.”

  Pywell nodded and left.

  The village of Berg had been more of a challenge than Angus had thought it would be. He had sent word ahead that he would be arriving, had explained his purpose, and had given a few details on how he planned to accomplish his goals. The council in Berg had welcomed him, paid for his room and board, and confirmed they would pay him well for every troll woman he removed. But he had not an ally in the village, someone he put his trust in; therefore, every day was a struggle. He could tell they admired him, and they were right to do so. They needed him to save the village, and that gave him great satisfaction. He was doing a good deed. But none had stepped forward to offer their assistance.

  In some areas, even men were tempted to take part in rituals or cursing others, but Angus did not concentrate on finding them. The females were the instigators of evil and tempted humble men to join their wicked ways. He had no patience or sympathy for any woman who chose an ungodly lifestyle, who failed to obey the law and the commandments.

  Pity was for the weak, and he did not show any mercy once he was convinced they were guilty. Most people wanted to live in a peaceful and safe environment, and he would go to extremes to help the villagers feel protected.

  He ought to test the prisoners again. Not for more proof but because the accused had not given him names of accomplices. Stretching people on the rack or water-testing were usually good ways to have them admit to having partners; usually a sister, mother, or a close friend. A trial? No, there was not enough time. Besides, he was in charge. With the tight agenda, he had to go forth with the executions without that necessary added knowledge and would have to start over again the next day, searching for new witches.

  Angus stopped in his tracks and leaned on his walking stick. What if there was no “next day” for him in Berg? What if Ivershall discovered the deception with the document and used full force to run Angus out of town? If he couldn’t finish what he’d started, who would? And what about Clara? He’d have to find a way to bring her with him.

  The lack of confidence surprised him. He must be growing old. But if he needed to leave here soon, he would certainly kill as many of the witches as possible first.

  He raised his chin and continued across the village square. He was not about to give up. Nobody knew how exhausting his work was. He was certain of it. That was why he was qualified, and other men were not, no matter how much education they had. Angus Hill, witch-finder, sat down on the stairs of the village hall, watched the villagers, and smirked to himself.

  ✽✽✽

  Christian fumed as he crossed the square in search of the witch-finder. His trusted men had already left and would, hopefully, return with proof Angus Hill had no authority in Berg.

  The culprit sat on the steps in front of the village hall. He looked up when Christian approached but did not rise.

  “Mr. Ivershall, we spoke only half an hour ago. What can I do for you now?” Hill said, grinning wryly.

  “Leave this village and never return.”

  “Your council has—”

  “I know about that, but your time is up. Enough is enough.”

  “These poor villagers need me, Ivershall. I am here to bring safety to young and old.”

  Christian bent forward and put his finger in front of Hill’s face. “These ‘poor villagers’ are my people. This is my land and my village. I’m responsible for their well-being, and you are a threat to their welfare. There will be no witch burning in Berg tomorrow. Pack your bags and depart.”

  Pywell came down the stairs as Christian finished speaking.

  “That goes for you, too, Pywell.”

  Christian turned and strode away. He would follow up and make sure those two left the village. He untied his stallion and walked him down Market Street, weaving his way through the crowd. Christian longed to see his mother again after being gone for the last couple of days.

  Once he reached a less-congested area, he stopped to mount his horse. He had one foot in the stirrup when a young boy came running up to him.

  “A message for you, Mr. Ivershall,” the boy said, holding out a piece of paper.

  “Thank you.” Christian accepted the missive then searched his pocket for a coin to give the boy. “Who—?” He looked up, intending to ask who’d sent the message, but the youngster had disappeared.

  He unfolded the paper and read the message. The words were scribbled, as if the author had been in a hurry.

  If you try to stop the wytche burning or any efforts to discover wytches, your mother will pay the consequences. We will convince Angus Hill she is a true wytche, and nothing you can do will save her.

  Christian’s mouth went dry. He stretched his neck to see where the boy had gone, but the lad was nowhere in sight.

  Mother. She would be safer somewhere else for the next few days. He would take her himself and be back in good time, in case Hill was still contemplating a witch-burning. Christian got up in the saddle and galloped out of the village.

  CHAPTER 21

  ✽✽✽

  THE CLANG OF the church bell sounded gloomier than ever before. The same little boys who had announced the weigh house opening earlier that day now ran through the village, shouting, “Witch-burning by the lake. Come and see.”

  They called out the announcement as if they were inviting people to the performance of a traveling actor, that a sensation of interest would be taking place.

  Clara cringed. A witch-burning was far from entertaining. It was heartbreaking and horrible.

  She had not heard any news about who the witch-finder had found guilty and condemned to death by fire. No one deserved such a fate, but she particularly thought of Siren and Ruth. Based on what had happened at the weighing house earlier in the day, Angus had found four out of the five women too light. Still, Clara hoped they would not be brought forth this evening. The witch-finder had said he would test them further.

  She ran down the road and along the paths to the lake, passing young girls walking arm in arm
, boys running back and forth teasing the girls and pulling their hair. Whole families walked the road to the lake with their children, fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders, and mothers holding little ones by the hand. Older children ran ahead to find their friends.

  An elderly couple with crooked backs moved at a snail’s pace down the road, supporting themselves with canes. Clara slowed for a moment as they tried to get her attention and eagerly told her they were on their way to watch the witches burn.

  Heavens. What a trying day this had been. First the weigh house, now the sudden announcement of a witch-burning. She had not had time to think about Peter and still did not know where he was. He had told Clara that Norway’s laws on witch hunting were strict compared to other countries. There were actual laws concerning witchcraft and how to deal with troll people. A few were set free. She could only hope.

  Clara’s eyes flew open. What if Peter was one of the accused? If not, what had happened to him, and was he even alive? His belongings on her doorstep were the last links she had to her friend.

  Clara mulled over what she remembered from the weighing earlier in the day. Could any of the women there be brought forth? Tears clouded her eyes, and she blinked several times to clear her vision so she could see where she was running. She did not know the first four women, but then she thought of Ruth. Clara stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Sweet Ruth with her innocent heart that beat for everyone around her. How could anyone think her evil?

  The sun hung low on the treetops on the other side of the lake. The water looked as if it was ablaze even before the fires were built. Billowy clouds were coming in from the east. The rain would probably come too late.

  Clara slowed and looked around to see who had arrived. Bit by bit, the grassy field and sandy shore by the lake was filling up with people from Berg and the surrounding areas. A wagon with barrels and crates had been set up on the field and functioned as an outdoor tavern. People with nothing to do but wait found their way there and gladly spent a coin or two.

  A fine carriage came down the road on the west side of the bank. The driver brought the horses to a halt at the clearing. The bailiff’s wife, accompanied by two councilmen, climbed out of the carriage.

  Mrs. Winther carried a parasol. As she passed Clara, the older woman opened the shade and remarked, “My husband had it sent from France. I brought it as protection from ashes and cinders. You should take care of your skin, too, Miss Dahl.”

  Clara did not answer. Finding the right words to say in a frightful place was tough enough, but when people were insensitive and shallow to an actual execution, Clara found it impossible to offer a polite and proper comment.

  “Come and get your ale here,” the salesman by the wagon called out.

  A witch-burning meant an evening of good profit. He sounded as if he was making the most of it, laughing and inviting people to have a cup or three.

  Observing the villagers, Clara found them wanting, lacking sympathy. This was different from the public ridicule and the lack of pity so common when it came to those who’d been locked up in the pillory on Market Street. The people of Berg had closed their eyes to their surroundings. They needed an awakening. Some of their own had been given a death sentence.

  Herr Salve stood farther down, watching the guards from the village hall pile loads of wood in two mounds on the sandy shore. He stood motionless, by himself, and Clara went to him, hoping to ask him his thoughts.

  The guards added dry leaves, bark, and smaller branches that snapped easily to the pile. Within minutes, roaring flames shot sparks into the evening air.

  “Look how dry the wood is. This wood should be used for a different purpose,” the minister said as Clara approached.

  “I agree.”

  He stared into the flickering flames. “There is a bond between man and a fire,” the minister continued. “The flames give warmth, light, and protection against wild animals. We sustain our life by cooking our food over the coals.”

  He turned and faced Clara, his eyes bloodshot and sorrowful. “You should know, I had nothing to do with this.”

  “I know,” Clara said. “But a man in your position can speak up against injustice. You are the spiritual adviser in Berg. Your opinion matters. Your authority—”

  “My authority never got a stronghold in this parish. The members of the council of Berg have pestered me from my first day here. I did not have the strength to withstand their pressure.”

  “You never received any support from the other civil servants?”

  He shook his head and pulled a small flask out of his pocket. “This became my comfort.” He quickly stuffed it back inside his coat. “I am sorry to bother you with my personal problems. You have a way about you…one that causes a person to spill his troubles and woes without reservation.”

  Clara put a hand on his arm. “Speak with your wife, then try to face the other leaders in Berg. You are the king’s representative. You have a good education and keep the church records updated. Socially, your position is one of the highest in this community. Don’t let your fear of men make you dwindle away.”

  He pulled his lips into a tiny smile. “Hah, I know you are right. I probably should have chosen a different line of work, one where I don’t have to look powerful men in the face.”

  “Seems like this fretfulness has made you less than what you were meant to be. Try to leave that bottle tucked away and become the man you want to be. You have a family and a parish that needs you.” She took a step closer. “Do you know who the accused are?”

  He shook his head. “I tried to find out, but no one would tell me. I only pray they will not burn anyone.”

  Clara patted his arm. “I need to find someone. Take care.”

  On a mound by a large rock in a cluster of trees, Clara spotted David talking to a couple of boys. What was he doing there? As she peered closer, she recognized the two youngsters as Ole and Nils. They must have come out of hiding and heard what was happening. David put a hand on each boy’s arm, obviously to hold them back, and she hoped they would understand why. She ran through the crowd and up the mound.

  “Clara, tell him to let us go,” Ole cried when he saw her. “If they are going to burn our sisters, we need to stop them.”

  He struggled to escape David’s strong grip.

  Clara gasped. This could not be. “What do you mean, sisters? Have you seen both Ellen and Ruth here? What about the little ones?”

  “Our youngest sisters are home with Hans, but we have not seen Ruth or Ellen since yesterday.”

  Clara plopped down on a rock. She blinked a couple of times. Everything in front of her seemed to be spinning, and a sharp, knotted pain hit the pit of her stomach. “You were all supposed to be in the hunting cottage, hidden away. How did you boys even know about the fire here today?”

  Ole’s voice was brittle. “We thought Ruth and Ellen had gone berry-picking. When they didn’t return, we searched for them and ended up here.” Everyone in Berg was heading this way and talking about the burning.”

  Nils stared at Clara, his eyes pleading. “Please, Clara, let us stop the witch-finder.”

  Clara got up and put her hands on his shoulders. “Two young boys will not stop Angus Hill. We can only hope and pray your sisters are not among the victims who will be brought here tonight.”

  She turned to David. “Why are you here with the boys?”

  “I was already here and noticed them a few minutes ago. It would take me several hours to escort them back to the hunting cottage right now.” He was still holding the boys tight. “Any suggestions?”

  “David, if we told these boys to go back, they would not listen. From what I know, Angus has never accused a young boy. But I do not trust him.” She let out a long breath.

  David looked down at the boys. “If I let you go, will you stay put?”

  Ole and Nils nodded vigorously.

  Clara gave the two brothers a stern look. “We’ll bring you along, but you must sta
y close and behave. We have no idea what will happen here this evening, and David and I do not want you boys to draw the witch-finder’s attention.”

  The boys nodded again, and David loosened his grip.

  “David, where is Christian? He should be here to stop the burning.”

  He pulled Clara aside, drew a note from his pocket, and handed it to her. “I have a message from him. Here, read this.”

  Clara grabbed the note and read it quickly. Stepping back, she covered her mouth with her hand and gasped. “Oh, no, not Dorthea. Who—?”

  He took the paper and stuffed it back into his pocket. “That’s the trouble. We don’t know. Christian took his mother to safety. He certainly did not expect the witch-finder to arrange executions today.” David circled around, shoving his fingers through his hair, then stopped and faced Clara. “If Angus Hill did not write the note, then who? Who in our village would want to hurt Dorthea of Ivershall?”

  “How do you know it’s not Angus? Maybe he—?” She stepped closer to him.

  David leaned in, feet still planted firmly on the ground and his legs wide apart. “When I came here earlier, I hunted him down to shake him up. The only thing on my mind was to make him change his mind. In the name of Christian Ivershall, I ordered him to call off the burning. And do you know what happened?”

  Clara shook her head.

  “The bailiff’s men forced me away. Indeed, I caused a raucous scene.” He threw a clenched fist in the air. “Never before have the village guards disobeyed an order from the House of Ivershall. In fact, no one in this village would dare—or have any reason—to go against Christian.” He shook his head. “Our men are guarding the estate. I could not stop what’s happening here today, but this is not over yet.”

  Sitting on a rock a few paces away, the two boys stared, wide-eyed.