I was used to seeing Gunnolf in many moods; now, I saw the cold resignation of his heart. He desired another to take the blame, to ease his sense of guilt. It was of no matter that I hadn’t been the only one to serve his lady.
“Was the death of my dear Asta achieved by your devious hand? Was it your hidden wish to take what was hers? Do you deny that you betrayed her trust?”
“You know I’m innocent.” I tried to avert my gaze from the many who looked upon me, to focus only on the jarl. “I loved our Lady Asta, and did all in my power to care for her and the baby.”
I endeavoured to hold Gunnolf with my eyes, to convince him of my sincerity, but he turned away.
Scouring the crowd, I searched for some sign of support. Had I not tended their children, treated them in their sickness? For that, hadn’t I earned their trust? I hardly recognized them now, their mouths set hard. Women and men alike, ready to turn against me. I could hear their mutterings: ‘… not our kind… thinks herself too clever’.
“I’ve tried only to help; never to harm.” My pleading voice sounded thin. The sun had already dipped low but sweat trickled down my back. My mouth tasted sour. “If I could bring her back, I would…”
I thought I’d escaped those who didn’t understand me, to have found a new life, among new people. I’d deceived myself, for I remained as much a stranger as ever—mistrusted, suspected of ill-doing.
And then I saw Torhilde, pushing through, calling my name, and Astrid followed by Ylva, carrying the little one.
“What are you doing?” Astrid whirled to challenge the crowd. “Elswyth would never hurt anyone! Have you forgotten what she did for us?”
Torhilde’s voice shook as she spoke but she planted her feet firmly beside Astrid’s. “Elswyth showed me compassion when my own neighbours had none. Only Astrid took me in; only Elswyth would dare look upon my affliction.”
“Didn’t she risk her own health to be with you, to enter your homes, to treat you?” Astrid implored.
Drawing back the yoke of her gown, Torhilde revealed the dull redness of a still tender sore, part-healing. “How many of you have these on your body? Hasn’t Elswyth tended you?”
A sob rose in my throat. I knew the defilement felt by those who suffered, knew the stain Torhilde carried. How brave she was, and in loyalty to me. Whatever was to happen, it gladdened me to know that I wasn’t alone.
The young woman who next pushed forward wore her hair loose—a cascade of auburn-red.
“Your sores are not yet recovered, Torhilde. Don’t they still disgrace you; don’t you still rely on this woman, hoping she’ll heal them?” The look Bodil gave me was arrogant, her eyes filled with enmity. “Perhaps she has you where she wants—reliant upon her to heal you, feeding upon your gratitude.” She spoke with relish, as if she’d waited long to smear my name with the basest of accusations. “How many others are the same—hiding what shames them, dependent on this interloper, waiting for her cure? She has no noble blood or claim to higher status, yet she has you all as her thralls.”
“She’s a witch!” sneered Faline. “She probably caused your sores. Don’t let her fool you. She cares only for herself.”
Another took up the cry. “Caused the sores and the pox, too!”
I looked again to Gunnolf. Would he credit such slanders, based on nothing but Faline’s word and the vindictiveness of Eirik’s former lover? There was no softening to his expression but nor was there malignance. His thoughts were impenetrable.
“I trust neither of these foreign women,” said Bodil, “But this dark-haired one knows the other well. If she warns us of this woman’s ill-intent, I believe her.”
Faline cast me a triumphant glance, barely able to conceal her glee. Running forward, she thrust her face close to my ear. “No Eirik to save you now, but don’t worry; I’ll keep him warm for you, when he returns… I’ve passion enough for both brothers.”
It was suddenly clear to me. Another had sat with Asta, onOstaranight. Soon after that, she began the cramps that convulsed her body. The mushroom had been lost not long before. Faline had found it, surely— had recognized its nature, or guessed why I’d kept it.
I’d been blind. If I’d seen what was happening, could I have saved Asta?
“It was you!” I croaked, my lips dry with fear. “It was you!” But the crowd’s growing clamour drowned my words.
“Enough!” Gunnolf raised his hand. “What we cannot know, the gods shall decide. Tie her to the stacks at the end of the pier. If she survives high tide, it will be they that save her.”
“No!” I struggled against the arms that carried me through the parting crowd. I caught sight of Astrid’s stricken face, her cheeks wet with tears.
The stacks would be covered within a few hours. I’d be left in the dark, gasping for breath as the chill water lapped over my mouth, then my nose. There would be none to save me and I’d have no power to save myself.
25
The sun left the sky and the slim moon rose. My hope sank as I waited beneath the small stars sliding cold through the dark. The water made insidious progress, to my chest, my shoulders.
I’d wondered if someone might be brave enough to follow their conscience, to steal unseen through the village, to untie the cruel rope which wrapped awkwardly about my waist and hooked over the outer stack of the pier.
A few had lingered, to watch me lowered into the fjord’s chill embrace, to call names from the safety of the shore. None wished to come too close. After all, I was a witch, was I not?
