Trailing the Hunter

by Heidi Eljarbo

  The farmer’s wife had an unwholesome use of language. When they tried to remove her gown, it tore in several places. Clara’s heart ached for her.

  The crowd roared with laughter when four guards tried to lift the sturdy woman onto the scales. She finally rolled off, and the counterweights plunged to the ground. The tragic scene turned into a comedy with the poor farmer’s wife as an unwilling performer.

  “Give this one her clothes back and a certificate of innocence,” Angus said. “She is sufficiently fleshy and could not have ridden a broomstick. She cannot even get onto the scales.”

  The two beggarwomen were not so lucky. Shriveled from living on meager meals for too long, they did not have much weight to offer. The first one was placed on the left wooden board, and it took only one guard to lift her up. Angus commanded that more counterweights be placed on the adjacent hanging table, which consequently tipped down.

  The second beggarwoman received the same treatment. She kicked and cried but to no avail. Angus pronounced them both guilty.

  Most people in the crowd enjoyed the spectacle. People clapped and shouted approval, but a few left the building.

  As the last beggarwoman was pulled off the scales, another young woman was brought into the room.

  Ruth.

  Clara’s eyes widened with horror, and she started forward. A strong hand gripped her arm, holding her back. She turned around and looked up.

  “Christian. You came.”

  “What is this nonsense? I just returned from my travels and find that Angus Hill is actually weighing women now.” He frowned. “Is that Ruth up there?”

  “Yes! I must do something. Please let me go.” She tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Causing a scene will not help right now. I will address the witch-finder when it is not so crowded in here.”

  “How did they find her? They were all at the hut, and we have been so careful.”

  “She might have ventured off on her own,” Christian said. “They have the free will to go where they want.”

  “I know, but I am only trying to keep them safe. Some of the girls we try to help don’t seem to fathom how crucial it is to keep their whereabouts a secret.”

  Clara rubbed her forehead. Yes, they had the freedom of choice. She’d warned them against Angus. Yet, it seemed as if no amount of talking and explaining was ever enough.

  Christian lifted her chin with one finger. “Ruth and her family have never been in this type of situation before and don’t understand what could happen. We cannot blame them for their innocence.”

  “Have I chosen wrong for them?”

  “Not at all. They need you. If I let go of your arm now, will you stay put?”

  Clara sniffled. “I will.”

  Angus’s sharp voice penetrated the room. “Who accuses this woman?”

  The guard who had brought Ruth into the room pushed her forward to stand in front of Angus. She fell onto the floor but quickly stood up and brushed the dirt off her skirt.

  “We do.”

  Three middle-aged women, one pregnant, the other two with toddlers in their arms, approached the witch-finder. They had white coifs on their heads, clean faces and aprons, and knitted shawls draped on their shoulders. Clara guessed they wanted to make a good impression on the witch-finder.

  “Three accusers. A thorough act. What say you?” Angus squinted and stared at the trio.

  “My child was stillborn,” the one on the left said. “I claim that Ruth, acting as midwife, gave my infant’s soul away.”

  The second woman stepped forward. “Our children died just hours after they were born. Healthy they were, but their lives were stolen away in the night. Their little rosy cheeks turned pale, and they were gone. Ruth was there to bring them into this world. She came back several times to see them and sucked the life out of them.”

  The third woman nodded, tears running down her cheeks. “When she came by to see how we were faring this morning, pretending to comfort us, we held her there. One of us ran to tell the bailiff and the guards at the village hall. Your man there told us to bring her in.” She pointed at John Pywell.

  Ruth sobbed loudly and shook her head, looking down. “I would never harm anyone. It is all lies.”

  Ruth was lifted onto the scales, kicking and screaming strange incantations. The words came out clear, their meaning, on the other hand, was bewildering.

  Angus covered his ears with his hands. “Silence her. It’s impossible to think with that witch blubbering in our faces.”

  One of the guards inserted a cloth into Ruth’s mouth.

  “Oh, I wish she had not done that,” Clara whispered to Christian. “Spilling out verses she most likely learned from her grandmother will not help her a bit. I’m afraid it will be the death of her.”

  She moved forward to warn Ruth, but once again, Christian held Clara back.

  “This will be over within minutes,” he said. “The crowd will leave soon.”

  Clara clutched her hands together and rocked back and forth. “She left the woods and put her life in danger to make sure the women were well. Oh, why did she do that?”

  “It is who she is,” Christian said. “We cannot make anyone less than who they are.”

  Holding tight to the edges of the board, Ruth whimpered as Angus placed more weights and a couple of large rocks on the opposite side of the scales. The counterweights upset the balance, and the weights and rocks tumbled down. Ruth’s side tipped up, throwing her on the floor.

  A murmur went through the room. Angus strutted around like a peacock, as if he had won a prize. “We will have a witch-burning tomorrow evening. Clear the room. The entertainment is over.”

  No doubt, some villagers left with heavy hearts; others were perhaps unaffected by the diversion at the weigh house. Mrs. Winther and the grocer’s wife seemed pleased. They smiled and greeted people on their way out, as if they had just attended a merry gathering.

  Clara’s vision blackened. She closed her eyes and held on to Christian’s arm, so as not to fall over. Her knees could hardly keep her upright. Oh, if it were a bad dream. But alas, the horror they had witnessed was real. Else hooked her arm around Clara’s without speaking.

  Clara took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Angus knows he cannot plan a burning without a trial. I have to talk with him.”

  “Stay in the back, Clara. It’s safer if the witch-finder does not see how engaged you are.” Christian strode toward the front of the room.

  Angus looked in Christian’s direction as he approached. The witch-finder’s gaze went to the sword and knife in Christian’s belt and then up at Christian’s face, a head above Angus’s own.

  Had the situation not been so grave, Clara would have laughed when Angus put up his small white fists before quickly bringing them back down.

  “I want you to close your transactions here.” Christian’s voice thundered.

  “Noblesse oblige. My rank imposes responsibility.” Angus lifted his chin as high as he could and put his long finger up in front of Christian’s face. “Careful, Ivershall. You do not seem to know who you are talking to.”

  Christian did not budge. “Who do you think you are addressing, Mr. Hill? This building belongs to me, and you are trespassing.”

  Angus pulled out a piece of paper from a bag on the floor and slammed it on a table in front of Christian. “Look for yourself. I have a legal document to set up a weigh house, and I don’t care who owns this building.”

  Christian picked up the certificate and stared at it for a moment. “Where did you get this?”

  “In Christiania. The county bailiff drew up the text.”

  Christian gave it back. “It’s most likely false.”

  Angus snorted. “You may test its validity if you like.”

  “I will. My dispatch rider will leave right away. He should be able to return tomorrow before you get any further.”

  “You may take it to the king if you like.
I don’t care,” Angus shouted as Christian walked away.

  “The king?” Clara burst out when Christian returned. “I could hear your conversation from here. Angus is lying. He is just boasting to better you, trying to speak French, and implying he is of noble rank. From what I know of him, he is no such thing.”

  “Christian, I hope you are successful in stopping the witch-finder from doing more damage.” Else looked toward the door. “My mother is probably waiting for me outside. I need to go.” She hugged Clara.

  “Take care, Else.”

  Christian gently took hold of Clara’s arm. “Come, let us leave. I will take you to Ivershall. A meal in the garden with my mother would do you good right about now.”

  “I could not. These women…and now Ruth.”

  For a moment they stood in silence, their eyes sharing a hushed exchange without words.

  Clara pressed her lips together. She had to get a grip on herself. Ruth was not her only worry.

  “I’m afraid there’s more. I’ve not had the chance to tell you yet. Yesterday, I came home to find the front door wide open and signs of struggle in the cottage.” She paused to take a couple of breaths. “Siren and Hassel…she would never have left the cottage in such a state… I ran to the village to find out what had happened. Angus has taken her, Christian.” Clara hugged herself. “Also, I do not know where Ellen and Peter are. They seem to be missing.”

  Christian frowned. “Missing? This is getting out of hand. I’ll find out what’s going on, Clara.”

  His stallion was outside. Christian grabbed the reins and helped her up. “I will take you home.”

  They rode in silence. Clara focused on her turbulent thoughts. She had to find a solution, some way to save those poor women.

  What comfort it was to wrap her arms around Christian. Lulled by the sound of the horse’s hooves on the dirt road, she closed her eyes. By the time they reached the cottage gate, she had reached a conclusion.

  “Maybe Angus will let me trade places with them.”

  “Oh, Clara, you cannot take their place no matter how much you might desire to do so.”

  “No, I suppose you are right. My thoughts are clouded. At least, Siren was not brought forth. Where could she and little Hassel be?” She paused a moment then looked at him. “I need to ask you something. I don’t mean to offend your authority in any way, but I have to know.” She paused again. “Did you approve of the witch-finder coming to Berg?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. My work keeps me away much of the time. I don’t attend all the council meetings. From what I know, a couple of the council members brought it up at a meeting, and the bailiff supported the suggestion. At the time, they must have thought it was a good idea.”

  “Many will accept a person who claims he can keep them safe…that is, until someone they care for is accused as a witch.”

  It took all she could muster to hold it together.

  Christian gently stroked her cheek. “Get some rest. I need to find my men.”

  ✽✽✽

  Angus was still standing in the weigh house when Bailiff Winther entered, his hat tucked under his arm.

  The bailiff was an excellent sample of a man who had enough food on his table. Angus’s body was somewhat meager under his coat. How often had he gone to bed hungry, dreaming of pheasant stew or beef? He gritted his teeth and bowed as the bailiff approached.

  “Winther, how good of you to come. You are a little late. We have already performed the weighing. The witches will burn.”

  “Let me remind you, as the magistrate in Berg, I am the one to evaluate and pass judgment on the villagers.”

  “Well, that is usually true, but as I am here, Berg is my responsibility.” Angus pulled the same document out of his bag that he had shown Christian only minutes earlier.

  The bailiff stared at the writing and handed it back. “There are other and milder ways of inflicting punishment. You can have the women sent out of the country, have them whipped, or you could fine them.”

  “Fine them. Hah. These females have no means to pay even a morsel of what I would charge them. How do you expect me to be payed if I should rely on the poorest of the poor?”

  The bailiff let out a long breath. “Then if we find someone guilty, we will hang them, Mr. Hill. It’s less costly. The invoice will be longer if you want a fire built. A good blaze requires nine boatloads of wood in addition to rope to tie the witches. Not to mention, the executioner charges for transporting the witches to the scene and for any other torture needed. Here in Berg, he is the one who makes the ladder and completes the burning.”

  Angus banged his walking stick into the floor. “We will have a witch-burning.”

  The bailiff frowned and took a step back. “Before you do anything, you need to discuss this with Ivershall and the council.”

  Angus’s nostrils flared. Christian Ivershall would not get in Angus’s way, no matter how influential he was. He folded his hands in front of his chest and looked piously at the bailiff. “The only way to cleanse the soul of a true witch and save her from purgatory is through a glowing fire.”

  The bailiff shook his head, letting out a long breath. “This is most inconvenient. I would have been here to conduct the trials, had I not been summoned to meetings in Fredrikstad. My coach leaves within the hour.”

  What a bore. Angus had met men like the bailiff before, men who thought they could stop a witch-finder’s calling and responsibility. “Sounds important,” he said and yawned.

  Winther lifted his chin. “Yes, when a person has signed a declaration of allegiance to the king, he obeys.”

  An invigorating spark jolted through Angus’s body. “The king?” What if His Majesty decided to visit Berg? Would he be pleased with Angus’s work there?

  “Well, King Fredrik III won’t be there, but I imagine his envoy will attend.” The bailiff pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Now, this is what I suggest, Mr. Hill: Put off the witch-burning for a few days. We are in no hurry. It will give you ample time to conduct proper trials.” The bailiff put his hat back on his head. “I expect you to cooperate with Ivershall and carry out the testing and trials in a timely and orderly manner. We punish guilty people in our parish, but we are not unfair. Good day.” Mr. Winther bowed and left the weigh house.

  Angus lifted his chin. He’d best make haste. With the bailiff gone he had one less hindrance. Ivershall was a revered man in Berg, but Angus was, after all, an appointed witch-finder. Finally, he would get rid of the first witches in this wretched village.

  CHAPTER 20

  ✽✽✽

  ANGUS WAS PLEASED with the outcome of the weighing. Reports from Holland had shown the practice often gave uneven results. He had placed a Bible on the counterweight as the Dutch did but had added a few additional weights. If not, the scales would never tip in the direction he desired. His responsibility in Berg was to catch witches, not to play games on tilting boards with beggars and loud-mouthed women. If the accused women were light enough to take flight, he would try his best to make a fair valuation and have them charged.

  Christian Ivershall was obstructing Angus’s progress. He could not let the lord of Berg hinder the witch hunt. Men in leading positions were usually more than helpful when it came to moving undesirable troll people out of the way. Ivershall’s self-righteous and authoritative presence was a threat to Angus’s important work.

  The witch-burning had to take place before Ivershall received intelligence of the authenticity of Angus’s document. True, Angus had a paper signed in Christiania. The wax seal was all the proof he needed to fool ministers and councilmen. In the capital, Angus had found an office that specialized in preparing unique documents. He had spent most of his savings to attain a falsified piece of paper that by no means gave him the permission he claimed as a witch-finder. Still, what was a piece of paper?

  People usually listened to and respected Angus—maybe even feared him—when he opened his mouth. Each
time he entered a village or town, he did it with dominion and authority. It never took more than one meeting with the leaders to show who the master witch-finder was. The common villagers did not dare to undermine him. They were used to being subject to the ruling class and knew they would be in trouble if they crossed a powerful witch-finder.

  Angus put his hand out and counted on his fingers. How many probable witches did he have? The weighing had given him four candidates, not counting the sturdy farmer’s wife who was so heavy she’d almost broken the scales. The unsigned letter he had received about her was suspicious. He had experienced a similar incident in another place he had served. Some people were eager to accuse, not discerning fact from imagination.

  An odious shiver ran down his back as he thought about those hags. He could not bear the thought of touching any of the accused women. They were often filthy and unkempt, undoubtedly full of lice. He did not want their witch’s ailments to rub off on him. Fortunately, he had others to assist in taking care of handling the witches—both alive and dead.

  He stared at his fingers again and counted several times to make sure he remembered the numbers correctly. There was also Siren, the young woman with the newborn child. He had received a letter about her, also, understandably anonymous. In addition, the honorable Abigael Steen had said she would witness in court about the same woman. That would give Angus two accounts of accusations.

  If necessary, he could easily find more villagers to step forward and claim the woman’s guilt. Gossipmongers tattled tales rapidly and effectively in these smaller towns and villages, much like creating sparks that started a fire in dry grass.

  Siren also had a black book. Angus had never confiscated one before, and it would make a nice addition to his collection of witches’ trinkets.

  Did he find pleasure in the misfortune of these women? Thoughts about his mother crept forward in his mind but did not linger. Angus crossed the square to the village hall and let out a laugh, the kind that cleansed his conscience. No, the accused got what they deserved.