Kristin Lavransdatter Part 45

"Oh no, we're not afraid of secret plans from those quarters, either. Ingebjrg Haakonsdatter must have realized by now that she squandered all rights in her own country when she married Knut Porse. It would be unwise for her to set foot inside the door here after giving her hand to that man, when we don't want to see even his little finger within our boundaries."

"Yes, it was clever of you to separate the boy from his mother," said Erlend gloomily. "He's still only a child-and now all of us Norwegian men have reason to hold our heads up high when we think about the king whom we have sworn to protect."

"Be quiet!" said Erling Vidkunssn in a low, dejected voice. "That's . . . surely that's not true."

But the other two could see from his face that he knew it was true. Although King Magnus Eirikssn might still be a child, he had already been infected by a sin which was unseemly to mention among Christian men. A Swedish cleric, who had been a.s.signed to guide his book learning while he was in Sweden, had led him astray in an unmentionable manner.

Erlend said, "People are whispering on every estate and in every house around us in the north that Christ Church burned because our king is unworthy to sit in Saint Olav's seat."

"In G.o.d's name, Erlend-I tell you it's not certain this is true! And we must believe that the child, King Magnus, is innocent in G.o.d's eyes. He can surely redeem himself. And you say that we we have separated him from his mother? I say that G.o.d punishes the mother who deserts her child the way Ingebjrg has deserted her son-and do not put your trust in such a woman, Erlend. Keep in mind that these are treacherous people you're now setting off to meet!" have separated him from his mother? I say that G.o.d punishes the mother who deserts her child the way Ingebjrg has deserted her son-and do not put your trust in such a woman, Erlend. Keep in mind that these are treacherous people you're now setting off to meet!"

"I think they've been admirably loyal toward each other. But you speak as if letters from Christ himself were floating down into the lap of your robe every day-that must be why you've decided that you dare to be so bold as to provoke a fight with the highest authorities of the Church."

"Now you must stop, Erlend. Talk about things that you understand, my boy, but otherwise keep quiet." Sir Erling got to his feet; they were both standing up now, angry and red in the face.

Erlend grimaced with disgust.

"If an animal has been mistreated, we kill it and toss the corpse into a waterfall."

"Erlend!" The regent gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "You have sons yourself . . ." he said softly. "How can you say such a thing? And you'd better watch your tongue, Erlend. Think before you speak in that place where you're now going. And think about it twenty times over before you do anything."

"If that's how you act, you who rule over the affairs of the kingdom, then it doesn't surprise me that everything has gone awry. But I don't think you need to be afraid," Erlend sneered. "I doubt that I'll do anything. But what a splendid thing it has become to live in this country. . . .

"Well, you have to set out early in the morning. And my father-in-law is tired."

The other two men remained sitting there, without speaking, after Erlend had bid them good night. He was going to sleep aboard his ship. Erling Vidkunssn sat and turned his goblet around and around in his hand.

"Are you coughing?" he asked, just for something to say.

"Old men catch cold easily. We have so many ailments, dear sir, which you young men know nothing about," said Lavrans with a smile.

They sat in silence again. Until Erling Vidkunssn said, as if to himself, "Yes, everyone thinks the same-that it doesn't bode well for this kingdom. Six years ago in Oslo, I thought it was clear that there was a firm desire to support the Crown-among the men who are born to this task by virtue of their lineage. I . . . was counting on that."

"I think back then your perception was correct, sir. But you yourself said that we're accustomed to rallying around our king. This time he's merely a child-and he spends half his time in another country."

"Yes. Sometimes I think . . . nothing is so bad that it's not good for something. In the past, when our kings frolicked around like stallions-then there were enough fine colts to choose from; our countrymen simply had to select the one who was the best fighter."

Lavrans gave a laugh. "Yes, well . . ."

"We spoke three years ago, Lavrans Lagmanssn, when you returned from your pilgrimage to Skvde and had paid a visit to your kinsmen in Gotaland."

"I remember, sir, that you honored me by seeking me out."

"No, no, Lavrans, you need not be so formal." A little impatiently, Erling threw out his hands. "It was as I said," he continued gloomily. "There's no one here who can unite the n.o.bles of this country. Whoever has the greatest hunger forces his way forward-there's still some food in the trough. But those who might attempt to win power and wealth in an honorable manner, as was done in the time of our fathers, are not the ones who come forward now."

"That seems to be true. But honor follows the banner of the chieftains."

"Then men must think that my banner carries with it little honor," said Erling dryly. "You have avoided everything that might have won you renown, Lavrans Lagmanssn."

"I've done so ever since I became a married man, sir. And that was at a young age; my wife was sickly and had little tolerance for the company of others. And it looks as if our lineage will not continue to thrive here in Norway. My sons died young, and only one of my brother's sons has lived to be a man."

Lavrans regretted that he had come to speak of this matter. Erling Vidkunssn had endured great sorrow of his own. His daughters were healthy children and had grown to adulthood, but he too had only been allowed to keep a single son, and the boy was said to be in poor health.

But Sir Erling merely said, "And you have no close kinsmen from your mother's lineage, either, as I recall."

"No, no closer than the children of my grandfather's sister. Sigurd Lodinssn had only two daughters, and they both died giving birth to their first child-and my aunt took hers to the grave with her."

They sat in silence again for a while.

"Men like Erlend," said the regent in a low voice. "They're the most dangerous kind. Men who think a little farther than their own interests, but not far enough. Don't you think Erlend is just like an indolent youth?" He slid his wine goblet around on the table with annoyance. "But he's intelligent, isn't he? And of good family, and courageous? But he never wants to listen to any matter long enough to understand it fully. And if he bothers to hear a man out, he forgets the first part before the discussion comes to an end."

Lavrans glanced over at the other man. Sir Erling had aged a great deal since he had last seen him. He looked careworn and weary; he seemed to have shrunk in his chair. He had fine, clear features, but they were a little too small, and he had a pallid complexion, as he always had. Lavrans felt that this man-even though he was a knight with integrity, who was wise and willing to serve without deceit, never sparing himself-fell somewhat short in every way as a leader. If he had been a head taller, he might have won full support more easily.

Lavrans said quietly, "Sir Knut is also clever enough that he would realize-if they're contemplating any kind of incursion down there-that he wouldn't have much use for Erlend in any secret council."

"You're rather fond of this son-in-law of yours, aren't you, Lavrans?" said the other man, almost crossly. "If truth be told, you have no reason to love him."

Lavrans sat running his finger through a puddle of spilled wine on the table. Sir Erling noticed that his rings were quite loose on his fingers now.

"Do you? you?" Lavrans looked up with a little smile. "And yet I think that you too are fond of him!"

"Well . . . G.o.d knows . . . But I swear to you, Lavrans, Sir Knut has plenty of things going through his mind right now. He's the father of a son who is the grandson of King Haakon."

"Even Erlend must realize that the child's father has much too broad a back for that poor young n.o.bleman ever to get around it. And his mother has all the people of Norway against her because of this marriage."

A little while later Erling Vidkunssn stood up and strapped on his sword. Lavrans had politely taken his guest's cape from the hook and was holding it in his hands, when he suddenly swayed and was about to collapse, but Sir Erling caught him in his arms. With difficulty he carried the man, who was heavy and tall, over to the bed. It wasn't a stroke, but Lavrans lay there with his lips pale blue, his limbs weak and limp. Sir Erling raced across the courtyard to wake up the hostel priest.

Lavrans felt quite embarra.s.sed when he came to himself again. Yes, it was a weakness that occurred now and then, ever since an elk hunt two winters before, when he had gotten lost in a blizzard. That was evidently what it took for a man to learn that his body was no longer youthful, and he smiled apologetically.

Sir Erling waited until the monk had bled the ill man, although Lavrans begged him not to take the trouble, because he would have to leave so early in the morning.

The moon was high, shining above the mountains of the main-land; the water lay black below, but out on the fjord the light glinted like flecks of silver. Not a wisp came from the smoke-vent holes; the gra.s.s on the rooftops glittered like dew in the moonlight. Not a soul was on the one short street of the town as Sir Erling swiftly walked the few paces down to the king's fortress, where he was to sleep. He looked strangely fragile and small in the moonlight, with his black cape wrapped tightly around him, shivering slightly. A couple of weary servants, who had sat up waiting for him, tumbled out of the courtyard with a lantern. The regent took the lantern and sent his men off to bed; then he shivered a little again as he climbed the stairs to his chamber up in the loft room.

CHAPTER 7.

JUST AFTER SAINT Bartholomew's Day Kristin set off on the journey home in the company of a large entourage of children, servants, and possessions. Lavrans rode with her as far as Hjerdkinn.

They went out into the courtyard to talk, he and his daughter, on the morning when he was to head back south. Sunlight sparkled over the mountains; the marshes were already crimson, and the slopes were yellow like gold from the alpine birches. Up on the plateau, lakes alternately glittered and then darkened as shadows from the big, glossy, fair-weather clouds pa.s.sed overhead. They billowed up incessantly, and then sank down between distant clefts and gaps amid all the gray-domed mountains and blue peaks, with patches of new snow and old snowdrifts, which encircled the view far into the distance. The small grayish-green fields of grain belonging to the travelers' hostel looked so strange in color against the brilliant autumn hues of the mountains.

The wind was blowing, sharp and brisk. Lavrans pulled up the hood of Kristin's cloak which had blown back around her shoulders, smoothing out the corners of her linen wimple with his fingertips.

"It seems to me your cheeks have grown so pale and thin back home on my manor," he said. "Haven't we taken good care of you, Kristin?"

"Yes, you have. That's not why . . ."

"And it's a wearisome journey for you with all the children," said her father.

"Yes, well . . . It's not because of those five that I have pale cheeks." She gave him a fleeting smile, and when her father cast a startled and inquiring glance at her, she nodded and smiled again.

Lavrans looked away, but after a moment he said, "If I understand rightly how matters stand, then perhaps it will be some time before you return to Gudbrandsdal?"

"Well, we won't let eight years pa.s.s this time," she said in the same tone of voice. Then she caught a glimpse of his face. "Father! Oh, Father!"

"Hush, hush, my daughter." Involuntarily he gripped her arm to stop her as she tried to throw her arms around him. "No, Kristin."

He took her hand firmly in his and set off walking beside her. They had come some distance away from the buildings and were now wandering along a small path through the yellow birch forest, paying no attention to where they were going. Lavrans jumped over a little creek cutting across the path, and then turned around to offer his daughter a helping hand.

She saw, even from that slight movement, that he was no longer agile or spry. She had noticed before but refused to acknowledge it. He no longer sprang in and out of the saddle as nimbly as he once had; he didn't race up the stairs or lift heavy things as easily as he had in the past. He carried his body more rigidly and carefully-as if he bore some slumbering pain within and was moving quietly so as not to arouse it. His blood pulsed visibly in the veins of his neck when he came home after riding his horse. Sometimes she noticed a swelling or puffiness under his eyes. She remembered one morning when she came into the main house, and he was lying on the bed, half-dressed, with his bare legs draped over the footboard; her mother was kneeling in front of him, rubbing his ankles.

"If you're going to grieve for every man who is felled by age, then you'll have much to cry about, child," Lavrans said in a calm and quiet voice. "You have big sons yourself now, Kristin. It shouldn't surprise you to see that your father will soon be an old man. Whenever we parted in my younger days, we didn't know any better back then than we do now, whether we're destined to meet again here on this earth. And I might live for a long time yet; it must be as G.o.d wills, Kristin."

"Are you ill, Father?" she asked in a toneless voice.

"Certain frailties always come with age," her father replied lightly.

"You're not old, Father. You're only fifty-two."

"My own father didn't live this long. Come and sit down here with me."

There was a sort of gra.s.s-covered shelf beneath the rock face which leaned out over the stream. Lavrans unfastened his cape, folded it up, and pulled his daughter down to sit beside him. The creek gurgled and trickled over the stones in front of them, rocking a willow branch that was lying in the water. Lavrans sat with his eyes fixed on the blue-and-white mountain far beyond the autumn-tinged plateau.

"You're cold, Father," said Kristin. "Take my cloak." She undid the clasp, and then he pulled a corner of the cloak around his shoulders, so it covered both of them. He slipped his arm around her waist.

"You must know, my Kristin, that it's an unwise person who weeps at another's pa.s.sing. Christ will protect you better than I-no doubt you have heard this said. I put all my faith in G.o.d's mercy. It's not for long that friends are parted. Although at times it may seem so to you now, while you're young. But you have your children and your husband. When you reach my age, then you'll think it's been no time at all since you saw those of us who have departed, and you'll be surprised when you count the winters that have pa.s.sed to see how many there have been. It seems to me now that it wasn't long ago that I was a boy myself-and yet it's been so many years since you were that little blonde maiden who followed me everywhere I went. You followed your father so lovingly. May G.o.d reward you, my Kristin, for all the joy you have given me."

"Yes, but if He should reward me as I rewarded you . . ." Then she sank to her knees in front of her father, took his wrists, and kissed his hands, hiding her face in them. "Oh, Father, my dear father. No sooner wasIagrown maiden than I rewarded your love by causing you the most bitter sorrow."

"No, no, child. You mustn't weep like this." He pulled his hands away and then lifted her up to sit beside him as before.

"I've also had great joy from you during these years, Kristin. I've seen handsome and promising children growing up at your knee; you've become a capable and sensible wife. And I've seen that you've grown more and more accustomed to seeking help where it can best be found, whenever you're in some difficulty. Kristin, my most precious gold, do not weep so hard. You might harm the one you carry under your belt," he whispered. "Do not grieve so!"

But he could not console her. Then he took his daughter in his arms and lifted her onto his lap so he was holding her as he had when she was small. Her arms were clasped around his neck, and her face was pressed to his shoulder.

"There is one thing I have never told another mother's child except for my priest, but now I'll tell it to you. During the time of my youth-back home at Skog and in the early years when I was one of the king's retainers-I thought of entering a monastery as soon as I was old enough, although I hadn't made any kind of promise, not even in my own heart, and many things pulled me in the opposite direction. But whenever I was out fishing on Botn Fjord and heard the bells ringing from the brothers' cloister on Hoved, then I would think that I was drawn most strongly there.

"When I was sixteen winters old, Father had a coat of mail made for me from Spanish steel plates covered in silver. Rikard, the Englishman in Oslo, made it. And I was given my sword-the one I've always used-and the armor for my horse. It wasn't as peaceful back then as it was during your childhood; we were at war with the Danes, so I knew I would soon have use for my splendid weapons. And I didn't want to lay them aside. I consoled myself with the thought that my father wouldn't want his eldest son to become a monk, and I had no wish to defy my parents.

"But I chose this world myself, and whenever things went against me, I tried to tell myself that it would be unmanly to complain about the fate I had chosen. For I've realized more and more with each year that I've lived: There is no worthier work for the person who has been graced with the ability to see even a small part of G.o.d's mercy than to serve Him and to keep vigil and to pray for those people whose sight is still clouded by the shadow of worldly matters. And yet I must tell you, my Kristin, that it would be hard for me to sacrifice, for the sake of G.o.d, that life which I have lived on my estates, with its care of temporal things and its worldly joys, with your mother at my side and with all of you children. So a man must learn to accept, when he produces offspring from his own body, that his heart will burn if he loses them or if the world goes against them. G.o.d, who gave them souls, is the one who owns them-not I."

Sobs shook Kristin's body; her father began rocking her in his arms as if she were a small child.

"There were many things I didn't understand when I was young. Father was fond of my brother Aasmund too, but not in the same way as he loved me. It was because of my mother, you see-he never forgot her, but he married Inga because that was what his father wanted. Now I wish I could still go to my stepmother here on earth and beg her to forgive me for not respecting her goodness."

"But you've often said, Father, that your stepmother never did much for you, either good or bad," said Kristin in between sobs.

"Yes, G.o.d help me, I didn't know any better. Now it seems to me a great thing that she didn't hate me and never spoke an unkind word to me. How would you like it, Kristin, to see your stepson favored above your own son, constantly and in everything?"

Kristin was somewhat calmer now. She lay with her face turned so that she could look out at the mountain meadow. It grew dark from an enormous gray-blue cloud pa.s.sing in front of the sun; several yellow rays pierced through, and the water of the creek glinted sharply.

Then she broke into tears again.

"Oh, no-Father, my father. Will I never see you again in this life?"

"May G.o.d protect you, Kristin, my child, so that we might meet again on that day, all of us who were friends in this life . . . and every human soul. Christ and the Virgin Mary and Saint Olav and Saint Thomas will keep you safe all your days." He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. "May G.o.d have mercy on you. May G.o.d grant you light in the light of this world and in the great light beyond."

Several hours later, as Lavrans Bjrgulfsn rode away from Hjerdkinn, his daughter walked alongside his horse. His servant was already a good distance ahead, but Lavrans continued on slowly, step by step. It hurt him to see her tear-stained and despairing face. This was also the way she had sat the whole time inside the guesthouse, as he ate and talked with her children, bantering with them and taking them onto his lap, one after the other.

Lavrans said softly, "Do not grieve any more for whatever you might regret toward me, me, Kristin. But remember it when your children are grown and you don't think they behave toward you or their father in a way you consider reasonable. And remember too what I told you about my youth. You're loyal in your love for them, that I know, but you're most stubborn when you love most, and there is obstinacy in those boys of yours-that much I've seen," he said with a little smile. Kristin. But remember it when your children are grown and you don't think they behave toward you or their father in a way you consider reasonable. And remember too what I told you about my youth. You're loyal in your love for them, that I know, but you're most stubborn when you love most, and there is obstinacy in those boys of yours-that much I've seen," he said with a little smile.

At last Lavrans said that she had to turn around and go back. "I don't want you to walk alone any farther away from the buildings." They had reached a hollow between small hills, with birch trees at the bottom and heaps of stones on the slopes.

Kristin threw herself against her father's foot in the stirrup. She ran her fingers over his clothing and his hand and his saddle, and along the neck and flank of his horse; she pressed her head here and there, weeping and uttering such deep, pitiful moans that her father thought his heart would break to see her in such terrible sorrow.

He jumped down from his horse and took his daughter in his arms, holding her tight for the last time. Again and again he made the sign of the cross over her and gave her into the care of G.o.d and the saints. Finally he said that now she would have to let him go.

And so they parted. But after he had gone some distance, Kristin saw that her father reined in his horse, and she realized that he was weeping as he rode away from her.

She ran into the birch grove, raced through it, and began scrambling up the lichen-gold scree on the nearest hillside. But it was rocky and difficult to climb, and the little hill was higher than she thought. At last she reached the top, but by that time he had disappeared among the hills. She lay down on the moss and bearberries growing on the ridge, and there she stayed, sobbing, with her face buried in her arms.

Lavrans Bjrgulfsn arrived home at Jrundgaard late in the evening. A feeling of warmth pa.s.sed through him when he saw that someone was still awake in the hearth room-there was a faint flicker of firelight behind the tiny gla.s.s window facing the gallery. It was in this building that he always felt most at home.

Ragnfrid was alone inside, sitting at the table with clothes to be mended in front of her. A tallow candle in a bra.s.s candlestick stood nearby. She got up at once, greeted him, put more wood on the hearth, and then went to get food and drink. No, she had sent the maids off to bed long ago; they had had a hard day, but now enough barley bread had been baked to last until Christmas. Paal and Gunstein had gone off into the mountains to gather moss. While they were talking about moss . . . Would Lavrans like to have for his winter surcoat the cloth that was dyed with moss or the one that was heather green? Orm of Moar had come to Jrundgaard that morning, wanting to buy some leather rope. She had taken the ropes hanging in the front of the shed and said he could have them as a gift. Yes, Orm's daughter was a little better now; the injury to her leg had knit together nicely.

Lavrans answered her questions and nodded while he and his servant ate and drank. But he was quickly done with eating. He stood up, wiped his knife on the back of his thigh, and picked up a spool of thread that lay at Ragnfrid's place. The thread had been wound around a stick with a bird carved into both ends-one of them had a slightly broken tail. Lavrans smoothed out the rough part and whittled it down so the bird had a stump of a tail. Once, long ago, he had made many of these thread spools for his wife.

"Are you going to mend them yourself?" he asked, looking down at her sewing. It was a pair of his leather hose; Ragnfrid was patching the inner side of the thighs, where they were worn from the saddle. "That's hard work for your fingers, Ragnfrid."

"Hmm." His wife placed the pieces of the leather edge to edge and poked holes in them with an awl.

The servant bade them good night and left. The husband and wife were alone. Lavrans stood near the hearth, warming himself, with one foot up on the edge and his hand on the smoke-vent pole. Ragnfrid glanced over at him. Then she noticed that he wasn't wearing the little ring with the rubies-his mother's bridal ring. He saw that she had noticed.

"Yes, I gave it to Kristin," he said. "I always meant it to be hers, and I thought she might as well have it now."

Then one of them said to the other that they ought to go to bed. But Lavrans stayed where he was, and Ragnfrid sat and sewed. They exchanged a few words about Kristin's journey, about the work that had to be done on the farm, about Ramborg and about Simon. Then they mentioned again that they should probably go to bed, but neither of them moved.

Finally Lavrans took off the gold ring with the blue-and-white stone from his right hand and went over to his wife. Shy and embarra.s.sed, he took her hand and put on the ring; he had to try several times before he found a finger it would fit. He put it on her middle finger, in front of her wedding ring.

"I want you to have this now," he said in a low voice, without looking at her.