Kristin Lavransdatter Part 48

Then Erlend dared to say, with lowered eyes and biting his lip, "My Lord, surely you would not disturb that good knight with this ancient matter. As I said, I didn't have much faith in it myself-and I've never noticed that it made any difference to any of us that I gave those charms to him."

Sir Guttorm doubled over with a bellow, and then the other men gave in, one after the other, and roared with laughter. The archbishop chuckled and coughed and shook his head. It was well known that Sir Ivar had always had more desire than luck in certain matters.

After a while one of the Brothers of the Cross regained his composure enough to remind them that they had come here to discuss serious issues. Erlend asked rather sharply whether anyone had accused him of anything and whether this was an interrogation; he had a.s.sumed he had simply been invited to an interview. The discussion was then continued, but it was greatly disrupted by the fact that Guttorm Helgessn sat there incessantly snickering.

The next day, as the brothers-in-law rode home from Ranheim, Simon brought up the subject of the interview. Simon said that Erlend seemed to take it terribly lightly-and yet he thought he could see that many of the n.o.blemen would have blamed something on him if they could.

Erlend said he knew that's what they would have liked, if it was within their power. For here in the north, most men now sided with the chancellor-except for the archbishop; in him, Erlend had a true friend. But Erlend's actions in all matters were taken in accordance with the law; he always consulted with his scribe, Klng Aressn, who was exceptionally knowledgeable about the law. Erlend was now speaking somberly, and he smiled only briefly as he said that doubtless no one had expected him to have such a good grasp of his business affairs as he now had-neither his dear friends around the countryside nor the gentlemen of the Council. But he was no longer certain that he wanted the position of sheriff, if other conditions should apply than those he had been granted while Erling Vidkunssn represented the king. His own situation was now such, especially since the death of his wife's parents, that he no longer needed to secure the favor of those who had risen to power after the king had been proclaimed of age. Yes, that rotten boy might as well be declared of age now rather than later; he wasn't going to become any more manly if they kept him hidden. Then they would know even sooner what he was concealing behind his shield-or how much the Swedish n.o.bles controlled him. The people would learn the truth: that Erling had been right, after all. It would cost the Norwegians dearly if King Magnus tried to put Skaane4 under the Swedish Crown-and it would immediately lead to war with the Danes the moment under the Swedish Crown-and it would immediately lead to war with the Danes the moment one one man, whether Danish or German, seized power there. And the peace in the north, which was supposed to be enforced for ten years . . . Half of that time had now pa.s.sed, and it was uncertain whether the Russians would adhere to the treaty much longer. Erlend had not much faith in it, nor did Erling. No, Chancellor Paal was a learned man and in many respects sensible too-perhaps. But all the gentlemen of the Council, who had chosen him as their leader, had little more combined wit than his horse Soten. But now they were rid of Erling, for the time being. And until things changed, Erlend would just as soon step aside too. But surely Erling and his friends would want Erlend to maintain his power and prosperity up here in the north. He didn't know what he should do. man, whether Danish or German, seized power there. And the peace in the north, which was supposed to be enforced for ten years . . . Half of that time had now pa.s.sed, and it was uncertain whether the Russians would adhere to the treaty much longer. Erlend had not much faith in it, nor did Erling. No, Chancellor Paal was a learned man and in many respects sensible too-perhaps. But all the gentlemen of the Council, who had chosen him as their leader, had little more combined wit than his horse Soten. But now they were rid of Erling, for the time being. And until things changed, Erlend would just as soon step aside too. But surely Erling and his friends would want Erlend to maintain his power and prosperity up here in the north. He didn't know what he should do.

"It seems to me that now you've learned to sing Sir Erling's tune," Simon Darre couldn't help remarking.

Erlend replied that this was true. He had stayed at Sir Erling's estate the summer before, when he was in Bjrgvin, and he now knew the man much better. It was evident that, above all else, Erling wanted to maintain peace in the land. But he wanted the Norwegian Crown to have the peace of the lion-which meant that no one should be allowed to break off a tooth or cut off a claw from their kinsman King Haakon's lion. Nor should the lion be required to become the hunting dog for the people of some other country. And now Erling was also determined to bring to an end the old quarrels between the Norwegians and Lady Ingebjrg. Now that she had been left a widow by Sir Knut, it was only desirable for her to have some control over her son again. It was no doubt true that she felt such great love for the children she had borne to Knut Porse that she seemed to have almost forgotten her eldest son-but things would surely be different when she saw him again. And Lady Ingebjrg could have no reason to wish for King Magnus to interfere in the unrest occurring in Skaane, because it was under the authority of his half-brothers.

Simon thought Erlend sounded quite well-informed. But he wondered about Erling Vidkunssn. Did the former regent think that Erlend Nikulaussn was capable of making decisions in such matters? Or was Erling merely grasping for any possible support? The knight from Bjarky would be unlikely to give up his power. He could never be accused of having used it for his own benefit, but his great wealth made this unnecessary. Everyone said that over the years he had become more and more obstinate and single-minded; and by the time the other men of the Council gradually started to oppose him, he had grown so belligerent that he hardly deigned to listen to anyone else's opinion.

It was like Erlend for him finally to climb aboard Erling Vid kunssn's ship with both feet, so to speak, as soon as the winds were against it. It was uncertain whether either Sir Erling or Erlend himself would benefit, now that he seemed to have joined forces wholeheartedly with his wealthy kinsman. And yet Simon had to admit that no matter how reckless Erlend's words might be about both people and events, what he had said did not seem entirely foolish.

But that evening he was quite wild and boisterous. Erlend was now staying at Nikulausgaard, which his brother had given to him when he joined the friars. Kristin was there too, along with their two eldest boys, their youngest son, and Erlend's daughter Margret.

Late in the evening a large group of people came to visit them, including many of the gentlemen who had been at the meeting with the archbishop the previous morning. Erlend laughed and talked loudly as they sat drinking at the table after supper. He had taken an apple from a bowl and had cut and carved it with his knife; then he rolled it across the table into the lap of Fru Sunniva Olavsdatter, who sat opposite him.

The woman sitting next to Sunniva wanted to look at it, and she reached for the apple. But Sunniva refused to give it up, and the two women pushed and tugged at each other with much shrieking and laughter. Then Erlend cried that Fru Eyvor should have an apple from him too. Before long he had tossed apples to every woman there, and he claimed to have carved love-runes into all of them.

"You're going to be worn out, my boy, if you try to redeem all those pledges," one of the men shouted.

"Then I'll have to forget about redeeming them-I've done that before," replied Erlend, and there was more laughter.

But the Icelander Klng had taken a look at one of the apples and exclaimed that they weren't runes but just meaningless cuts. He would show them how runes should be carved.

Then Erlend shouted that he shouldn't do that. "Or else they'll tell me I have to tie you up, Klng, and I can't get along without you."

During all the commotion Erlend's and Kristin's youngest son had come padding into the hall. Lavrans Erlendssn was now a little more than two years old and an exceptionally attractive child, plump and fair, with silky, fine blond curls. The women on the outer bench all wanted to hold the boy at once; they sent him from lap to lap, caressing him freely, for by now they were all giddy and wild. Kristin, who was sitting against the wall in the high seat next to her husband, asked to be given the child; he began fretting and wanted to go to his mother, but it did no good.

Suddenly Erlend leaped across the table and picked up the boy, who was now howling because Fru Sunniva and Fru Eyvor were tugging at him and fighting over him. The father took the boy in his arms, speaking soothing words. When the child kept on crying, he began humming and singing as he held him and paced back and forth in the dim light of the hall. Erlend seemed to have completely forgotten about his guests. The child's little blond head lay on his father's shoulder beneath the man's dark hair, and every once in a while Erlend would touch his parted lips to the small hand resting on his chest. He continued in this way until a serving maid came in who was supposed to watch the child and should have put him to bed long ago.

Then some of the guests shouted that Erlend should sing them a ballad for a dance; he had such a fine voice. At first he declined, but then he went over to his young daughter who was sitting on the women's bench. He put his arm around Margret and escorted her out to the floor.

"You must come with me, my Margret. Take your father's hand for a dance!"

A young man stepped forward and took the maiden's hand. "Margit promised to dance with me tonight," he said. But Erlend lifted his daughter into his arms and set her down on the other side of him.

"Dance with your wife, Haakon. I never danced with anyone else when I was so newly married as you are."

"Ingebjrg says she doesn't want to . . . and I did promise Haakon to dance with him, Father," said Margret.

Simon Darre had no wish to dance. He stood next to an old woman for a while and watched; now and then his gaze fell on Kristin. While her servants cleared away the dishes, wiped the table, and brought in more liquor and walnuts, Kristin stood at the end of the table. Then she sat down near the fireplace and talked to a priest who was one of the guests. After a while Simon sat down near them.

They had danced to one or two ballads when Erlend came over to his wife. "Come and dance with us, Kristin," he begged, holding out his hand.

"I'm tired," she said, looking up for a moment.

"You ask her, Simon. She can't refuse to dance with you."

Simon rose halfway and held out his hand, but Kristin shook her head. "Don't ask me, Simon. I'm so tired. . . ."

Erlend stood there for a moment, looking as if he were embarra.s.sed. Then he went back to Fru Sunniva and took her hand in the circle of dancers as he shouted to Margit that now she should sing for them.

"Who is that dancing next to your stepdaughter?" asked Simon. He thought he didn't much care for that fellow's face, even though he was a stalwart and boyish-looking young man with a healthy, tan complexion, fine teeth, and sparkling eyes, but they were set too close to his nose and he had a large, strong mouth and chin, although his face was narrow across the brow. Kristin told him it was Haakon Eindridessn of Gimsar, the grandson of Tore Ein dridessn, the sheriff of Gauldla county. Haakon had recently married the lovely little woman who was sitting on the lap of Judge Olav-he was her G.o.dfather. Simon had noticed her because she looked a little like his first wife, although she was not as beautiful. When he now heard that there was kinship between them, he went over and greeted Ingebjrg and sat down to talk to her.

After a while the dancing broke up. The older folks sat down to drink, but the younger ones continued to sing and frolic out on the floor. Erlend came over to the fireplace along with several elderly gentlemen, but he was still absentmindedly leading Fru Sunniva by the hand. The men sat down near the fire, but there was no room for Sunniva, so she stood in front of Erlend and ate the walnuts he cracked in his hands for her.

"You're an unchivalrous man, Erlend," she said suddenly. "There you sit while I have to stand."

"Then sit down," said Erlend with a laugh, pulling her down onto his lap. She struggled against him, laughing and shouting to his wife to come and see how her husband was treating her.

"Erlend just does that to be kind," replied Kristin, laughing too. "My cat can't rub against his leg without him picking her up and putting her in his lap."

Erlend and Fru Sunniva remained sitting there as before, feigning nonchalance, but they had both turned crimson. He held his arm lightly around her, as if he hardly noticed she was sitting there, while he and the men talked about the enmity between Erling Vidkunssn and Chancellor Paal which was so much on everyone's mind. Erlend said that Paal Baardsn had displayed his att.i.tude toward Erling in quite a womanish way-as they could judge for themselves: "Last summer a young country boy had come to the gathering of the chieftains to offer his services to the king. Now this poor boy from Vors was so eager to learn courtly customs and manners that he tried to embellish his speech with Swedish words-it was French back when I was young, but today it's Swedish. So one day the boy asks someone how to say traakig, traakig, which happens to mean 'boring' in Norwegian. Sir Paal hears this and says: ' which happens to mean 'boring' in Norwegian. Sir Paal hears this and says: 'Traakig, my friend, that's what Sir Erling's wife, Fru Elin, is.' The boy now thinks this means beautiful or n.o.ble, because that's what she is, and apparently the poor fellow hadn't had much opportunity to hear the woman my friend, that's what Sir Erling's wife, Fru Elin, is.' The boy now thinks this means beautiful or n.o.ble, because that's what she is, and apparently the poor fellow hadn't had much opportunity to hear the woman talk. talk. But one day Erling meets him on the stairs outside the hall, and he stops and speaks kindly to the youth, asking him whether he liked being in Nidaros, and such things, and then he tells him to give his greetings to his father. The boy thanks him and says it will please his father greatly when he returns home with greetings 'from you, kind sir, and your boring wife.' Whereupon Erling slaps him in the face so the boy tumbles backwards down three or four steps until a servant catches him in his arms. Now there's a great commotion, people come running, and the matter is finally cleared up. Erling was furious at being made a laughingstock, but he feigned indifference. And the only response from the chancellor was that he laughed and said he should have explained that ' But one day Erling meets him on the stairs outside the hall, and he stops and speaks kindly to the youth, asking him whether he liked being in Nidaros, and such things, and then he tells him to give his greetings to his father. The boy thanks him and says it will please his father greatly when he returns home with greetings 'from you, kind sir, and your boring wife.' Whereupon Erling slaps him in the face so the boy tumbles backwards down three or four steps until a servant catches him in his arms. Now there's a great commotion, people come running, and the matter is finally cleared up. Erling was furious at being made a laughingstock, but he feigned indifference. And the only response from the chancellor was that he laughed and said he should have explained that 'traakig' was what the regent was-then the boy couldn't have misunderstood."

Everyone agreed that such behavior on the part of the chancellor was undignified, but all of them laughed a great deal. Simon listened in silence, sitting with his chin resting on his hand. He thought this was a peculiar way for Erlend to show his friendship for Erling Vidkunssn. The story made it quite clear that Erling must be a little unbalanced if he could believe that a youth, freshly arrived from the countryside, would dare stand on the stairs to the king's palace and ridicule him to his face. Erlend could hardly be expected to remember Simon's former relationship as the brother-in-law of Fru Elin and Sir Erling.

"What are you thinking about, Kristin?" he asked. She was sitting quietly, her back straight, with her hands crossed on her lap.

She replied, "Right now I'm thinking about Margret."

Late that night, as Erlend and Simon were tending to a ch.o.r.e out in the courtyard, they scared off a couple standing behind the corner of the house. The nights were as light as day, and Simon recognized Haakon of Gimsar and Margret Erlendsdatter. Erlend stared after them; he was quite sober, and the other man could see that he wasn't pleased. But Erlend said, as if in excuse, that the two had known each other since childhood and they had always teased each other. Simon thought that even if this meant nothing, it was still a shame for Haakon's young wife, Ingebjrg.

The next day young Haakon came over to Nikulausgaard on an errand, and he asked for Margit.

Then Erlend furiously exclaimed, "My daughter is not Margit Margit to you. And if you didn't say everything you wanted to say yesterday, then you'll have to forget about telling it to her." to you. And if you didn't say everything you wanted to say yesterday, then you'll have to forget about telling it to her."

Haakon shrugged his shoulders, but when he left, he asked them to give his greetings to Margareta. Margareta.

The people from Husaby stayed in Nidaros for the ting, ting, but Simon took little pleasure in this. Erlend was often bad-tempered when he stayed at his estate in town, because Gunnulf had granted the hospital, which stood on the other side of the orchard, the right to use any of the buildings that faced in its direction, and also rights to part of the garden. Erlend wanted to buy these rights back from the hospital. He didn't like seeing the patients in the garden or courtyard; many of them were also hideous in appearance, and he was afraid they would infect his children. But he couldn't reach an agreement with the monks who were in charge of the hospital. but Simon took little pleasure in this. Erlend was often bad-tempered when he stayed at his estate in town, because Gunnulf had granted the hospital, which stood on the other side of the orchard, the right to use any of the buildings that faced in its direction, and also rights to part of the garden. Erlend wanted to buy these rights back from the hospital. He didn't like seeing the patients in the garden or courtyard; many of them were also hideous in appearance, and he was afraid they would infect his children. But he couldn't reach an agreement with the monks who were in charge of the hospital.

And there was Margret Erlendsdatter. Simon knew that people gossiped about her a good deal and that Kristin took this to heart, but her father seemed not to care. Erlend seemed certain that he could protect his maiden and that the talk meant nothing. And yet he said to Simon one day that Klng Aressn would like to marry his daughter, and he didn't quite know how to handle this matter. He had nothing against the Icelander except that he was the son of a priest; he didn't want it to be said of Margret's children that they bore the taint of both parents' birth. Otherwise Klng was a likeable man, good-humored, clever, and very learned. His father, Sira Are, had raised him himself and taught him well; he had hoped his son would become a priest and had even taken steps to obtain dispensation for him, but then Klng refused to take the vows. It seemed as if Erlend intended to leave the matter unsettled. If no better match presented itself, then he could always give the maiden to Klng Aressn.

And yet Erlend had already had such a good offer for his daughter that there was a great deal of talk about his arrogance and imprudence, when he allowed that match to slip away. It was the grandson of Baron Sigvat of Leirhole-Sigmund Finssn was his name. He wasn't wealthy, because Finn Sigvatssn had had eleven surviving children. Nor was he altogether young; he was about the same age as Erlend, but a respected and sensible man. And yet Margret would have been wealthy enough because of the properties Erlend had given her when he married Kristin Lavransdatter, along with all the jewelry and costly possessions he had given the child over the years, as well as the dowry he had agreed upon with Sigmund. Erlend had also been overjoyed to have such a suitor for his daughter born of adultery. But when he came home and told Margret about this bridegroom, the maiden protested that she wouldn't have him because Sigmund had several warts on one of his eyelids, and she claimed this made her feel such revulsion for him. Erlend bowed to her wishes. When Sigmund became indignant and began talking of a breach of agreement, Erlend responded angrily and told the man that he should realize all agreements were made on the condition that the maiden was willing. His daughter would not be forced into a bridal bed. Kristin agreed with her husband on this matter; he shouldn't force the girl. But she thought Erlend ought to have had a serious discussion with his daughter and made her realize that Sigmund Finssn was such a good match that Margret couldn't possibly expect to find any better, considering her birth. But Erlend grew terribly angry with his wife, simply because she had dared to broach the subject with him. All of this Simon had heard about at Ranheim. There they predicted that things could not possibly end well. Erlend might be a powerful man now, and the maiden was certainly lovely, but it had done her no good for her father to spoil her and encourage her stubbornness and arrogance for all these years.

After the Frosta ting, ting, Erlend went home to Husaby with his wife, children, and Simon Darre, who now had his sister's son, Gjavvald Gjavvaldssn, with him. He was afraid that the reunion, which Sigrid had been yearning for with inexpressible joy, would not turn out well. Sigrid now lived at Kruke in good circ.u.mstances; she had three handsome children with her husband, and Geirmund was as good a man as could be found on this earth. He was the one who had spoken to his brother-in-law about bringing Gjavvald south so that Sigrid might see him, for the child was always on her mind. But Gjavvald had grown accustomed to living with his grandpar ents, and the old couple loved the child beyond measure, giving him everything he wanted and humoring his every whim; and things were not the same at Kruke as at Ranheim. Nor was it to be expected that Geirmund would be pleased to have his wife's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son come visiting and then behave like a royal child, even bringing along his own servant-an elderly man whom the boy ruled and tyrannized. The man didn't dare say a word against any of Gjavvald's unreasonable demands. But for Erlend's sons, it was cause for celebration when Gjavvald came to Husaby. Erlend didn't think his sons should have any less than the grandson of Arne Gjavvaldssn did, and so Naakkve and Bjrgulf were given all the things they told him the boy possessed. Erlend went home to Husaby with his wife, children, and Simon Darre, who now had his sister's son, Gjavvald Gjavvaldssn, with him. He was afraid that the reunion, which Sigrid had been yearning for with inexpressible joy, would not turn out well. Sigrid now lived at Kruke in good circ.u.mstances; she had three handsome children with her husband, and Geirmund was as good a man as could be found on this earth. He was the one who had spoken to his brother-in-law about bringing Gjavvald south so that Sigrid might see him, for the child was always on her mind. But Gjavvald had grown accustomed to living with his grandpar ents, and the old couple loved the child beyond measure, giving him everything he wanted and humoring his every whim; and things were not the same at Kruke as at Ranheim. Nor was it to be expected that Geirmund would be pleased to have his wife's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son come visiting and then behave like a royal child, even bringing along his own servant-an elderly man whom the boy ruled and tyrannized. The man didn't dare say a word against any of Gjavvald's unreasonable demands. But for Erlend's sons, it was cause for celebration when Gjavvald came to Husaby. Erlend didn't think his sons should have any less than the grandson of Arne Gjavvaldssn did, and so Naakkve and Bjrgulf were given all the things they told him the boy possessed.

Now that Erlend's oldest sons were big enough to accompany him and go out riding with him, he paid more attention to the boys. Simon noticed that Kristin wasn't entirely pleased by this; she thought that what they learned among his men was not all good. And it was usually about the children that unkind words most often erupted between the couple. Even though they might not have an outright quarrel, they were much closer to it than Simon thought was proper. And it seemed to him that Kristin was most to blame. Erlend could be quick-tempered, but she often spoke as if she harbored a deep, hidden rancor toward him. That was the case one day when Kristin brought up several complaints about Naakkve. Erlend replied that he would have a serious talk with the boy. But after another remark from his wife, he exclaimed angrily that he wasn't about to give the boy a beating in front of the servants.

"No, it's too late for that now. If you had done it when he was younger, he would listen to you now. But back then you never paid the slightest attention to him."

"Oh yes, I did. But surely it was reasonable that I left him in your keeping when he was small-and besides, it's no job for a man to hand out beatings to little boys who aren't even in breeches yet."

"That's not what you thought last week," said Kristin, her voice scornful and bitter.

Erlend didn't reply but stood up and left the room. And Simon thought it was unkind of his wife to speak to him in this manner. Kristin was referring to something that had happened the week before. Erlend and Simon had come riding into the courtyard when little Lavrans ran toward them with a wooden sword in his hand. As he raced past his father's horse, he rashly struck the animal across the leg with his sword. The horse reared up, and the boy was suddenly lying under its feet. Erlend backed away, yanked the horse to the side, and threw his reins to Simon. His face was white with dread as he lifted the child up in his arms. But when he saw that the boy was unharmed, he put him over his arm, took the wooden sword, and gave Lavrans a beating on his bare bottom-the boy was not yet wearing breeches. In those first heated moments, he didn't realize how hard he was striking, and Lavrans was still walking around with black and blue marks. But afterwards Erlend tried all day to make amends with the boy, who sulked and clung to his mother, hitting and threatening his father. Later that evening, when Lavrans was settled in his parents' bed where he usually slept because his mother still nursed him during the night, Erlend sat next to him for hours. Every once in a while he would stroke the sleeping child a bit as he gazed down at him. He told Simon that this was the boy he loved most of all his sons.

When Erlend set off for the summer tings, tings, Simon headed home. He raced south along Gauldal, making the sparks fly from his horse's hooves. Once, as they rode more slowly up several steep slopes, his men laughingly asked him whether he was trying to cover three days' journey in two. Simon laughed in reply and said that was indeed his intention, "because I'm longing to reach Formo." Simon headed home. He raced south along Gauldal, making the sparks fly from his horse's hooves. Once, as they rode more slowly up several steep slopes, his men laughingly asked him whether he was trying to cover three days' journey in two. Simon laughed in reply and said that was indeed his intention, "because I'm longing to reach Formo."

That was how he always felt whenever he had been away from his estate for long; he loved his home and always felt great joy when he could turn his horse homeward. But this time it seemed he had never longed so much to return to his valley and manor and his young daughters-yes, he even yearned for Ramborg. To be truthful, he thought it unreasonable to feel this way, but up there at Husaby he had been so uneasy that now he thought he knew firsthand how cattle could sense in their bodies that a storm was brewing.

CHAPTER 2.

ALL SUMMER LONG Kristin thought of little else but what Simon had told her about her mother's death.

Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter had died alone; no one had been near as she drew her last breath except a servant woman, who was asleep. And it helped very little that Simon had said she was well prepared for her death. It was like the providence of G.o.d that several days earlier Ragnfrid had felt such a longing for the body of the Savior that she made her confession and was given communion by the priest of the cloister, who was her confessor. It was true that she had been granted a good death. Simon saw her body and said he thought it a wondrous sight-she had grown so beautiful in death. She was a woman of nearly sixty, and for many years her face had been greatly lined and wrinkled, and yet now it was completely changed; her face was youthful and smooth, and she looked just like a young woman asleep. She had been laid to rest at her husband's side; there they had also brought Ulvhild Lavransdatter's remains shortly after her father's death. On top of the graves a large slab of stone had been placed, divided in two by a beautifully carved cross. On a winding banner a long Latin verse had been written, composed by the prior of the cloister, but Simon couldn't remember it properly, for he understood little of that language.

Ragnfrid had lived in her own house on the estate in town where the corrodians of the cloister resided; she had a small room with a lovely loft room above. There she lived alone with a poor peasant woman who had taken lodgings with the brothers in return for a small payment, provided she would lend a hand to one of the wealthier women lodgers. But during the past half year, it had been Ragnfrid who had served the other woman, because the widow, whose name was Torgunna, had been unwell. Ragnfrid tended to her with great love and kindness.

On the last evening of her life, she had attended evensong in the cloister church, and afterwards she went into the cookhouse of the estate. She made a hearty soup with several restorative herbs and told the other women there that she was going to give the soup to Torgunna. She hoped the woman would feel well enough the next day so that they could both attend matins. That was the last time anyone saw the widow of Jrundgaard alive. Neither she nor the peasant woman came to matins or to the next service. When some of the monks in the choir noticed that Ragnfrid didn't come to the morning ma.s.s either, they were greatly surprised-she had never before missed three services in a day. They sent word to town, asking whether the widow of Lavrans Bjrgulfsn was ill. When the servants went up to the loft, they found the soup bowl standing untouched on the table. In the bed, Torgunna was sleeping sweetly against the wall. But Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter lay on the edge with her hands crossed over her breast-dead and already nearly cold. Simon and Ramborg went to her funeral, which was very beautiful.

Now that there were so many people in the Husaby household and Kristin had six sons, she could no longer manage to take part in all the individual ch.o.r.es that had to be done. She had to have a housekeeper to a.s.sist her. The mistress of the manor would usually sit in the hall with her sewing. There was always someone who needed clothing-Erlend, Margret, or one of the boys.

The last time she had seen her mother, Ragnfrid was riding behind her husband's bier, on that bright spring day while she herself stood in the meadow outside Jrundgaard and watched her father's funeral procession setting off across the green carpet of winter rye beneath the hillside scree.

Kristin's needle flew in and out as she thought about her parents and their home at Jrundgaard. Now that everything had become memories, she seemed to see so much that she hadn't noticed when she was in the midst of it all-when she took for granted her father's tenderness and protection, as well as the steady, quiet care and toil of her silent, melancholy mother. She thought about her own children; she loved them more than the blood of her own heart, and there was not a waking hour when she wasn't thinking about them. And yet there was much in her soul that she brooded over more-her children she could love without brooding. While she lived at Jrundgaard, she had never thought otherwise than that her parents' whole life and everything they did was for the sake of her and her sisters. Now she seemed to realize that great currents of both sorrow and joy had flowed between these two people, who had been given to each other in their youth by their fathers, without being asked. And she knew nothing of this except that they had departed from her life together. Now she understood that the lives of these two people had contained much more than love for their children. And yet that love had been strong and wide and unfathomably deep; while the love she gave them in return was weak and thoughtless and selfish, even back in her childhood when her parents were her whole world. She seemed to see herself standing far, far away-so small at that distance of time and place. She was standing in the flood of sunlight streaming in through the smoke vent in the old hearth house back home, the winter house of her childhood. Her parents were standing back in the shadows, and they seemed to tower over her, as tall as they had been when she was small. They were smiling at her, in the way she now knew one smiles at a little child who comes and pushes aside dark and burdensome thoughts.

"I thought, Kristin, that once you had children of your own, then you would better understand. . . ."

She remembered when her mother said those words. Sorrowfully, the daughter thought that she still didn't understand her mother. But now she was beginning to realize how much she didn't understand.

That fall Archbishop Eiliv died. At about the same time, King Magnus had the terms changed for many of the sheriffs in the land, but not for Erlend Nikulaussn. When he was in Bjrgvin during the last summer before the king came of age, Erlend had received a letter stating that he should be granted one fourth of the income collected from bail paid by criminals, from fines for the crime of letter-breaching,1 and from forfeitures of property. There had been much talk about his acquisition of such rights toward the end of a regency. Erlend had a vast income because he now owned a great deal of land in the county and usually stayed on his own estates when he traveled around his district, but he permitted his leaseholders to buy their way out of their obligation to house and feed him. It's true that he took in little in land taxes, and the upkeep of his manor was costly; in addition to his household servants, he never had fewer than twelve armed men with him at Husaby. They rode the best horses and were splendidly outfitted, and whenever Erlend traveled around his district, his men lived like n.o.blemen. and from forfeitures of property. There had been much talk about his acquisition of such rights toward the end of a regency. Erlend had a vast income because he now owned a great deal of land in the county and usually stayed on his own estates when he traveled around his district, but he permitted his leaseholders to buy their way out of their obligation to house and feed him. It's true that he took in little in land taxes, and the upkeep of his manor was costly; in addition to his household servants, he never had fewer than twelve armed men with him at Husaby. They rode the best horses and were splendidly outfitted, and whenever Erlend traveled around his district, his men lived like n.o.blemen.

This matter was mentioned one day when Judge Harald and the sheriff of Gauldla county were visiting Husaby. Erlend replied that many of these men had been with him when he lived up north. "Back then we shared whatever conditions we found there, eating dried fish and drinking bitter ale. Now these men whom I clothe and feed know that I won't begrudge them white bread and foreign ale. And if I tell them to go to h.e.l.l when I get angry, they know that I don't mean for them to set off on the journey without me in the lead."

Ulf Haldorssn, who was now the head of Erlend's men, later told Kristin that this was true. Erlend's men loved him, and he had complete command of them.

"You know yourself, Kristin, that no one should rely too heavily on what Erlend says; he must be judged by what he does."

It was also rumored that in addition to his household servants, Erlend had men throughout the countryside-even outside Orkdla county-who had sworn allegiance to him on the hilt of his sword. Finally a letter from the Crown arrived regarding this matter, but Erlend replied that these men had been part of his ship's crew and they had been bound to him by oath ever since that first spring when he sailed north. He was then commanded to release the men at the next ting ting he held to announce the verdicts and decisions of the Law he held to announce the verdicts and decisions of the Law ting; ting; and he was to summon to the meeting those men who lived outside the county and pay for their journey himself. He did summon some of his old crew members from outside Mre to the and he was to summon to the meeting those men who lived outside the county and pay for their journey himself. He did summon some of his old crew members from outside Mre to the ting ting at Orkedal-but no one heard that he released them or any other men who had served him in his position as chieftain. For the time being the matter was allowed to languish, and as the autumn wore on, people stopped talking about it altogether. at Orkedal-but no one heard that he released them or any other men who had served him in his position as chieftain. For the time being the matter was allowed to languish, and as the autumn wore on, people stopped talking about it altogether.

Late that fall Erlend journeyed south and spent Christmas at the court of King Magnus, who was residing in Oslo that year. Erlend was annoyed that he couldn't persuade his wife to come with him, but Kristin had no courage for the difficult winter journey, and she stayed at Husaby.

Erlend returned home three weeks after Christmas, bringing splendid gifts for his wife and all his children. He gave Kristin a silver bell so she could ring for her maids; to Margret he gave a clasp of solid gold, which was something she didn't yet own, although she had all sorts of silver and gilded jewelry. But when the women were putting away these costly gifts in their jewelry chests, something got caught on Margret's sleeve.

The girl quickly removed it and hid it in her hand as she said to her stepmother, "This belonged to my mother-that's why Father doesn't want me to show it to you."

But Kristin's face had turned even more crimson than the maiden's. Her heart pounded with fear, but she knew that she had had to speak to the young girl and warn her. to speak to the young girl and warn her.

After a moment she said in a quiet and uncertain voice, "That looks like the gold clasp that Fru Helga of Gimsar used to wear to banquets."

"Well, many gold things look much the same," replied the maiden curtly.

Kristin locked her chest and stood with her hands resting on top so that Margret wouldn't see how they were shaking.

"Dear Margret," she said softly and gently, but then she had to stop while she gathered all her strength.

"Dear Margret, I have often bitterly regretted . . . My happiness has never been complete, even though my father forgave me with all his heart for the sorrows I caused him. You know that I sinned greatly against my parents for the sake of your father. But the longer I live and the more I come to understand, the harder it is for me to remember that I rewarded their kindness by causing them sorrow. Dear Margret, your father has been good to you all your days . . ."

"You don't have to worry, Mother," replied the girl. "I'm not your lawful daughter; you don't have to worry that I might put on your filthy shift or step into your shoes . . ."

Her eyes flashing with anger, Kristin turned to face her stepdaughter. But then she gripped the cross she wore around her neck tightly in her hand and bit back the words she was about to speak.

She took this matter to Sira Eiliv that very evening after vespers, and she looked in vain for some sign in the priest's face. Had a misfortune already occurred, and did he know about it? She thought about her own misguided youth; she remembered Sira Eirik's face, which gave nothing away as he lived side by side with her and her trusting parents, with her sinful secret locked inside his heart-while she remained mute and callous to his stern entreaties and admonitions. And she remembered when she showed her own mother gifts that Erlend had given her in Oslo; that was after she had been lawfully betrothed to him. Her mother's expression was steady and calm as she picked up the items, one by one, looked at them, praised them, and then laid them aside.

Kristin was deathly afraid and anguished, and she kept a vigilant eye on Margret. Erlend noticed that something was troubling his wife, and one evening after they had gone to bed, he asked whether she might be with child again.

Kristin lay in silence for a moment before she replied that she thought she was. And when her husband lovingly took her in his arms without another word, she didn't have the heart to tell him that something else was causing her sorrow. But when Erlend whispered to her that this time she must try and give him a daughter, she couldn't manage a reply but lay there, rigid with fear, thinking that Erlend would find out soon enough what kind of joy a man had from his daughters.

Several nights later everyone at Husaby had gone to bed slightly drunk and with their stomachs quite full because it was the last few days before Lent began; for this reason, they all slept heavily. Late that night little Lavrans woke up in his parents' bed, crying and demanding sleepily to nurse at his mother's breast. But they were trying to wean him. Erlend woke up, grunting crossly. He picked up the boy, gave him some milk from a cup that stood on the step of the bed, and then lay the child back down on the other side of him.