Kristin Lavransdatter Part 80

Lavrans was now the youngest. Munan had long ago been laid to rest in the grave beside his father and little brother. He died early in the spring, the year after Erlend was killed.

After her husband's death the widow had behaved as if she neither heard nor saw a thing. Stronger than pain or sorrow was the feeling she had of a numbing chill and a dull la.s.situde in both her body and soul, as if she herself were bleeding to death from his mortal wounds.

Her whole life had resided in his arms ever since that thunder-laden midday hour in the barn at Skog when she gave herself to Erlend Nikulaussn for the first time. Back then she was so young and inexperienced; she understood so little about what she was doing but strove to hide that she was close to tears because he was hurting her. She smiled, for she thought she was giving her lover the most precious of gifts. And whether or not it was a good gift, she had given him herself, completely and forever. Her maidenly life, which G.o.d had mercifully adorned with beauty and health when He allowed her to be born into secure and honorable circ.u.mstances, which her parents had protected during all those years as they brought her up with the most loving strictness: With both hands she had given all this to Erlend, and ever since she had lived within his embrace.

So many times in the years that followed she had received his caresses, and stony and cold with anger, she had obediently complied with her husband's will, while she felt on the verge of collapse, ravaged by weariness. She had felt a sort of resentful pleasure when she looked at Erlend's lovely face and healthy, graceful body-at least that that could no longer blind her to the man's faults. Yes, he was just as young and just as handsome; he could still overwhelm her with caresses that were as ardent as they had been in the days when she too was young. But could no longer blind her to the man's faults. Yes, he was just as young and just as handsome; he could still overwhelm her with caresses that were as ardent as they had been in the days when she too was young. But she she had aged, she thought, feeling a rush of triumphant pride. It was easy for someone to stay young if he refused to learn, refused to adapt to his lot in life, and refused to fight to change his circ.u.mstances in accordance with his will. had aged, she thought, feeling a rush of triumphant pride. It was easy for someone to stay young if he refused to learn, refused to adapt to his lot in life, and refused to fight to change his circ.u.mstances in accordance with his will.

And yet even when she received his kisses with her lips pressed tight, when she turned her whole being away from him in order to fight for the future of her sons, she sensed that she threw herself into this effort with the same fiery pa.s.sion this man had once ignited in her blood. She thought the years had cooled her ardor because she no longer felt desire whenever Erlend had that old glint in his eyes or that deep tone to his voice, which had made her swoon, helpless and powerless with joy, the first time she met him. But just as she had once longed to ease the heavy burden of separation and the anguish of her heart in her meetings with Erlend, she now felt a dull but fervent longing for a goal that would one day be reached when she, at long last, was a white-haired old woman and saw her sons well provided for and secure. Now it was for Erlend's sons that she endured the old fear of the uncertainty that lay ahead. And yet she was tormented with a longing that was like a hunger and a burning thirst-she must see her sons flourish.

And just as she had once given herself to Erlend, she later surrendered herself to the world that had sprung up around their life together. She threw herself into fulfilling every demand that had to be met; she lent a hand with every task that needed to be done in order to ensure the well-being of Erlend and his children. She began to understand that Erlend was always with her when she sat at Husaby and studied the doc.u.ments in her husband's chest along with their priest, or when she talked to his leaseholders and laborers, or worked alongside her maids in the living quarters and cookhouse, or sat in the horse pasture with the foster mothers and kept an eye on her children on those lovely summer days. She came to realize that she turned her anger on Erlend whenever anything went wrong in the house and whenever the children disobeyed her will; but it was also toward him that her great joy streamed whenever they brought the hay in dry during the summer or had a good harvest of grain in the fall, or whenever her calves were thriving, and whenever she heard her boys shouting and laughing in the courtyard. The knowledge that she belonged to him blazed deep within her heart whenever she laid aside the last of the Sabbath clothes she had sewn for her seven sons and stood rejoicing over the pile of lovely, carefully st.i.tched work she had done that winter. He He was the one she was sick and tired of one spring evening when she walked home with her maids from the river. They had been was.h.i.+ng wool from the last shearing, boiling water in a kettle on the sh.o.r.e and rinsing the wool in the current. And the mistress herself felt a great strain in her back, and her arms were coal-black with dung; the smell of sheep and dirty fat had soaked into her clothes until she thought her body would never be clean, even after three visits to the bathhouse. was the one she was sick and tired of one spring evening when she walked home with her maids from the river. They had been was.h.i.+ng wool from the last shearing, boiling water in a kettle on the sh.o.r.e and rinsing the wool in the current. And the mistress herself felt a great strain in her back, and her arms were coal-black with dung; the smell of sheep and dirty fat had soaked into her clothes until she thought her body would never be clean, even after three visits to the bathhouse.

But now that he was gone, it seemed to the widow that there was no purpose left to the restless toil of her life. He He had been cut down, and so she had to die like a tree whose roots have been severed. The young shoots that had sprung up around her lap would now have to grow from their own roots. Each of them was old enough to decide his own fate. The thought flitted through Kristin's mind that if she had realized this before, back when Erlend mentioned it to her . . . Shadowy images of a life with Erlend up at his mountain farm pa.s.sed through her mind: the two of them youthful again, with the little child between them. But she felt neither regret nor remorse. She had not been able to cut her life away from that of her sons; now death would soon separate them, for without Erlend she had no strength to live. All that had happened and would happen was meant to be. Everything happens as it is meant to be. had been cut down, and so she had to die like a tree whose roots have been severed. The young shoots that had sprung up around her lap would now have to grow from their own roots. Each of them was old enough to decide his own fate. The thought flitted through Kristin's mind that if she had realized this before, back when Erlend mentioned it to her . . . Shadowy images of a life with Erlend up at his mountain farm pa.s.sed through her mind: the two of them youthful again, with the little child between them. But she felt neither regret nor remorse. She had not been able to cut her life away from that of her sons; now death would soon separate them, for without Erlend she had no strength to live. All that had happened and would happen was meant to be. Everything happens as it is meant to be.

Her hair and her skin turned gray; she took little interest in bathing or tending to her clothes properly. At night she would lie in bed thinking about her life with Erlend; in the daytime she would walk about as if in a dream, never speaking to anyone unless addressed first, not seeming to hear even when her young sons spoke to her. This diligent and alert woman did not raise a hand to do any work. Love had always been behind her toil with earthly matters. Erlend had never given her much thanks for that; it was not the way he wanted to be loved. But she couldn't help it; it was her nature to love with great toil and care.

She seemed to be slipping toward the torpor of death. Then the scourge came to the countryside, flinging her sons onto their sickbeds, and the mother woke up.

The sickness was more dangerous for grown-ups than for children. Ivar was struck so hard that no one expected him to live. The youth acquired enormous strength in his fevered state; he bellowed and wanted to get out of bed to take up arms. His father's death seemed to be weighing on his mind. With great difficulty Naakkve and Bjrgulf managed to hold him down. Then it was Bjrgulf's turn to take to his bed. Lavrans lay with his face swollen beyond recognition with festering sores; his eyes glittered dully between narrow slits and looked as if they would be extinguished in a blaze of fever.

Kristin kept vigil in the loft with all three of them. Naakkve and Gaute had had the sickness as boys, and Skule was less ill than his brothers. Frida was taking care of him and Munan downstairs in the main room. No one thought there was any danger for Munan, but he had never been strong, and one evening when they thought he had already recovered, he suddenly fell into a faint. Frida had just enough time to warn his mother. Kristin ran downstairs, and a moment later Munan breathed his last in her arms.

The child's death aroused in her a new, wide-awake despair. Her wild grief over the infant who had died at his mother's breast had seemed red-tinged with the memory of all her crushed dreams of happiness. Back then the storm in her heart had kept her going. And the dire strain, which ended with her seeing her husband killed before her very eyes, left behind such a weariness in her soul that Kristin was convinced she would soon die of grief over Erlend. But that certainty had dulled the sharpness of her pain. She went about feeling the twilight and shadows growing all around her as she waited for the door to open for her in turn.

Over Munan's little body his mother stood alert and gray. This lovely, sweet little boy had been her youngest child for so many years, the last of her sons whom she still dared caress and laugh at when she ought to have been stern and somber, chastising him for his little misdeeds and careless acts. And he had been so loving and attached to his mother. It cut into her living flesh. As bound to life as she still was, it wasn't possible for a woman to die as easily as she had thought, after she had poured her life's blood into so many new young hearts.

In cold, sober despair she moved between the child who lay on his bier and her ill sons. Munan was laid out in the old storeroom, where first the infant and then his father had lain. Three bodies on her manor in less than a year. Her heart was withered with anguish, but rigid and mute, she waited for the next one to die; she expected it, like an inevitable fate. She had never fully understood what she had been given when G.o.d bestowed on her so many children. The worst of it was that in some ways she had had understood. But she had thought more about the troubles, the pain, the anguish, and the strife-even though she had learned over and over again, from her yearning every time a child grew out of her arms, and from her joy every time a new one lay at her breast, that her happiness was inexpressibly greater than her struggles or pain. She had grumbled because the father of her children was such an unreliable man, who gave so little thought to the descendants who would come after him. She always forgot that he had been no different when she broke G.o.d's commandments and trampled on her own family in order to win him. understood. But she had thought more about the troubles, the pain, the anguish, and the strife-even though she had learned over and over again, from her yearning every time a child grew out of her arms, and from her joy every time a new one lay at her breast, that her happiness was inexpressibly greater than her struggles or pain. She had grumbled because the father of her children was such an unreliable man, who gave so little thought to the descendants who would come after him. She always forgot that he had been no different when she broke G.o.d's commandments and trampled on her own family in order to win him.

Now he had fallen from her side. And now she expected to see her sons die, one after the other. Perhaps in the end she would be left all alone, a childless mother.

There were so many things she had seen before to which she had given little thought, back when she viewed the world as if through the veil of Erlend's and her love. No doubt she had noticed how Naakkve took it seriously that he was the firstborn son and should be the leader and chieftain of his brothers. No doubt she had also seen that he was very fond of Munan. And yet she was greatly shaken, as if by something unexpected, when she saw his terrible grief at the death of his youngest brother.

But her other sons regained their health, although it took a long time. On Easter Day she was able to go to church with four sons, but Bjrgulf was still in bed, and Ivar was too weak to leave the house. Lavrans had grown quite tall while he was sick in bed, and in other ways it seemed as if the events of the past half year had carried him far beyond his years.

Kristin felt as if she were now an old woman. It seemed to her that a woman was young as long as she had little children sleeping in her arms at night, playing around her during the day, and demanding her care at all times. When a mother's children have grown away from her, then she becomes an old woman.

Her new brother-in-law, Jammaelt Halvardssn, said that the sons of Erlend were still quite young, and she herself was little more than forty years old. Surely she would soon decide to marry again; she needed a husband to help her manage her property and raise her younger sons. He mentioned several good men who he thought would be a n.o.ble match for Kristin; she should come to aelin for a visit in the fall, and then he would see to it that she met these men, and afterward they could discuss the matter at greater length.

Kristin smiled wanly. It was true that she wasn't wasn't more than forty years old. If she had heard about another woman who had been widowed at such a young age, with so many half-grown children, she would have said the same as Jammaelt: The woman should marry again and seek support from a new husband; she might even give him more children. But she herself would not. more than forty years old. If she had heard about another woman who had been widowed at such a young age, with so many half-grown children, she would have said the same as Jammaelt: The woman should marry again and seek support from a new husband; she might even give him more children. But she herself would not.

It was just after Easter that Jammaelt of aelin came to Jrundgaard, and this was the second time that Kristin met her sister's new husband. She and her sons had not attended either the betrothal feast at Dyfrin or the wedding at aelin. The two banquets had been held within a short time of each other during the spring when she was carrying her last child. As soon as Jammaelt heard of the death of Erlend Nikulaussn, he had rushed to Sil; in both word and deed he had helped his wife's sister and nephews. As best he could, he took care of everything that had to be done after the master's death, and he handled the case against the killers, since none of Erlend's sons had yet come of age. But back then Kristin had paid no heed to anything happening around her. Even the sentencing of Gudmund Toressn, who was found to be the murderer of Erlend, seemed to make little impression on her.

This time she talked more with her brother-in-law, and he seemed to her a pleasant man. He was not young; he was the same age as Simon Darre. A calm and steadfast man, tall and stout, with a dark complexion and quite a handsome face, but rather stoop-shouldered. He and Gaute became good friends at once. Ever since their father's death Naakkve and Bjrgulf had grown closer to each other but had withdrawn from all the others. Ivar and Skule told their mother that they liked Jammaelt, "but it seems to us that Ramborg could have shown Simon more respect by staying a widow a little longer; this new husband of hers is not his equal." Kristin saw that these two unruly sons of hers still remembered Simon Andressn. They had allowed him to admonish them both with sharp words and mild jests, even though the two impatient boys refused to hear a word of chastis.e.m.e.nt from their own parents except with eyes flas.h.i.+ng with anger and hands clenched into fists.

While Jammaelt was at Jrundgaard, Munan Baardsn also paid a visit to Kristin. There was now little remaining of the former Sir Munan the Prancer. He had been a towering and imposing figure in the old days; back then he had carried his bulky body with some amount of grace, so that he seemed taller and more stately than he was. Now rheumatism had crippled him, and his flesh hung on his shriveled body; more than anything he resembled a little goblin, with a bald pate and a meager fringe of lank white hair at the back of his head. Once a thick blue-black beard had darkened his taut, full cheeks and jaw, but now an abundance of gray stubble grew in all the slack folds of his cheeks and throat, which he had a hard time shaving with his knife. He had grown bleary-eyed, he s...o...b..red a bit, and he was terribly plagued by a weak stomach.

He had brought along his son Inge, whom people called Fluga, after his mother. He was already an old man. The father had offered this son a great deal of help in the world; he had found him a rich match and managed to get Bishop Halvard to take an interest in Inge. Munan had been married to the bishop's cousin Katrin. Lord Halvard wanted to help Inge become prosperous so that he wouldn't deplete the inheritance of Fru Katrin's children. The bishop had been given authority over the county of Hedemark, and he had then made Inge Munanssn his envoy, so he now owned quite a few properties in Skaun and Ridabu. His mother had also bought a farm in those parts; she was now a most pious and charitable woman who had vowed to live a pure life until her death. "Well, she is neither aged nor infirm," said Munan crossly when Kristin laughed. He had doubtless wanted to arrange things so that Brynhild would move in with him and manage his household at his estate in Hamar, but she had refused.

He had so little joy in his old age, Sir Munan complained. His children were full of rancor. Those siblings who had the same mother had joined forces against the others, quarreling and squabbling with their half siblings. Worst of all was his youngest daughter; she had been born to one of his paramours while he was a married man, so she could be given no share of the inheritance. For that reason, she was trying to glean from him all that she could while he was still alive. She was a widow and had settled at Skogheim, the estate which was Sir Munan's only real home. Neither her father nor her siblings could roust her from the place. Munan was deathly afraid of her, but whenever he tried to run off to live with one of his other children, they would torment him with complaints about the greed and dishonest behavior of their other siblings. He felt most comfortable with his youngest, lawfully born daughter, who was a nun at Gimsy. He liked to stay for a time in the convent's hostel, striving hard to better his soul with penances and prayers under the guidance of his daughter, but he didn't have the strength to stay there for long. Kristin wasn't convinced that Brynhild's sons were any kinder toward their father than his other children, but that was something that Munan Baardsn refused to admit; he loved them more than all his other offspring.

As pitiful as this kinsman of hers now was, it was during the time spent with him that Kristin's stony grief first began to thaw. Sir Munan talked about Erlend day and night. When he wasn't lamenting over his own trials, he could talk of nothing else but his dead cousin, boasting of Erlend's exploits-particularly about his reckless youth. Erlend's wild boldness as soon as he made his way out into the world, away from his home at Husaby-where Fru Magnhild went about raging over his father while his father raged over his elder son-and away from Hestnes and Sir Baard, his pious, somber foster father. It might have seemed that Sir Munan's chatter would offer an odd sort of consolation for Erlend's grieving widow. But in his own way the knight had loved his young kinsman, and all his days he had thought Erlend surpa.s.sed every other man in appearance, courage-yes, even in good sense, although he had never wanted to use it, said Munan earnestly. And even though Kristin had to recall that it surely was not in Erlend's best interest that he had joined the king's retainers at the age of sixteen, with this cousin as his mentor and guide, nevertheless she had to smile with tender sorrow at Munan Baardsn. He talked so that the spittle flew from his lips and the tears seeped from his old red-rimmed eyes, as he remembered Erlend's sparkling joy and spirit in those days of his youth, before he became tangled up in misfortune with Eline Ormsdatter and was branded for life.

Jammaelt Halvardssn, who was having a serious conversation with Gaute and Naakkve, cast a wondering glance at his sister-in-law. She was sitting on the bench against the wall with that loathsome old man and Ulf Haldorssn, who Jammaelt thought looked so sinister, but she was smiling as she talked to them and served them ale. He hadn't seen her smile before, but it suited her, and her little, low laugh was like that of a young maiden.

Jammaelt said that it would be impossible for all six brothers to continue living on their mother's estate. It was not expected that any wealthy man of equal birth would give one of his kinswomen to Nikulaus in marriage if his five brothers settled there with him and perhaps continued to take their food from the manor after they married. And they ought to see about finding a wife for the young man; he was already twenty winters old and seemed to have a hardy disposition. For this reason Jammaelt wanted to take Ivar and Skule home with him when he returned south; he would find some way to ensure their future. After Erlend Nikulaussn had lost his life in such an unfortunate manner, it so happened that the great chieftains of the land suddenly remembered that the murdered man had been one of their peers-by birth and blood meant to surpa.s.s most of them, charming and magnanimous in many ways, and in battle a daring chieftain and skilled swordsman. But he had not had fortune on his side. Measures of the utmost severity had been levied against those men who had taken part in the murder of the landowner in his own courtyard. And Jammaelt could report that many had asked him about Erlend's sons. He had met the men of Sudrheim during Christmas, and they had mentioned that these young boys were their kinsmen. Sir Jon had asked him to bring his greetings and say that he would receive and treat the sons of Erlend Nikulaussn as his kin if any of them wanted to join his household. Jon Haftorssn was now about to marry the maiden Elin, who was Erling Vidkunssn's youngest daughter, and the young bride had asked whether the sons looked like their father. She remembered that Erlend had visited them in Bjrgvin when she was a child, and she had thought him to be the handsomest of men. And her brother, Bjarne Erlingssn, had said that anything he could do for Erlend Nikulaussn's sons, he would do with the most heartfelt joy.

Kristin sat and looked at her twin sons as Jammaelt talked. They looked more and more like their father: Silky, fine soot-black hair clung smoothly to their heads, although it curled a bit across their brows and down the back of their slender tan necks. They had thin faces with long, jutting noses and delicate, small mouths with a knot of muscle at each corner. But their chins were blunter and broader and their eyes were darker than Erlend's. And above all else, his eyes were what had made Erlend so astoundingly handsome, his wife now thought. When he opened them in that lean, dark face beneath the pitch-black hair, they were so unexpectedly clear and light blue.

But now there was a glint of steely blue in the eyes of the young boys when Skule replied to his uncle. He was the one who usually spoke for both twins.

"We thank you for this fine offer, kinsman. But we have already spoken with Sir Munan and Inge and sought the advice of our older brothers, and we have come to an agreement with Inge and his father. These men are our closest kin of Father's lineage; we will go south with Inge and intend to stay at his estate this summer and for some time to come."

That evening the boys came downstairs to the main room to speak to Kristin after she had gone to bed.

"We hope that you will understand, Mother," said Ivar Er lendssn.

"We refuse to beg for the help and friends.h.i.+p of kin from those men who sat in silence and watched our father wrongly suffer," added Skule.

Their mother nodded.

It seemed to her that her sons had acted properly. She realized that Jammaelt was a sensible and fair-minded man, and his offer had been well intended, but she was pleased the boys were loyal to their father. And yet she could never have imagined that her sons would one day come to serve the son of Brynhild Fluga.

The twins left with Inge Fluga as soon as Ivar was strong enough to ride. It was very quiet at the manor after they were gone. Their mother remembered that at this time the year before, she lay in bed in the weaving room with a newborn child; it seemed to her like a dream. Such a short time ago she had felt so young, with her soul stirred up by the yearnings and sorrows of a young woman, by hopes and hatreds and love. Now her flock had shrunk to four sons, and in her soul the only thing stirring was an uneasiness for the grown young men. In the silence that descended upon Jrundgaard after the departure of the twins, her fear for Bjrgulf flared up with bright flames.

When guests arrived, he and Naakkve moved to the old hearth house. Bjrgulf would get out of bed in the daytime, but he had still not been outdoors. With deep fear Kristin noticed that Bjrg ulf was always sitting in the same spot; he never walked around, he hardly moved at all when she came to see him. She knew that his eyes had grown worse during his last illness. Naakkve was terribly quiet, but he had been that way ever since his father's death, and he seemed to avoid his mother as much as he could.

Finally one day she gathered her courage and asked her eldest son how things now stood with Bjrgulf's eyesight. For a while Naakkve gave only evasive replies, but at last she demanded that her son tell her the truth.

Naakkve said, "He can still make out strong light-" All at once the young man's face lost all color; abruptly he turned away and left the room.

Much later that day, after Kristin had wept until she was so weary that she thought she could trust herself to speak calmly with her son, she went over to the old house.

Bjrgulf was lying in bed. As soon as she came in and sat down on the edge of his bed, she could tell by his face that he knew she had spoken to Naakkve.

"Mother. You mustn't cry, Mother," he begged fearfully.

What she most wanted to do was to fling herself at her son, gather him into her arms, and weep over him, grieving over his harsh fate. But she merely slipped her hand into his under the coverlet.

"G.o.d is sorely testing your manhood, my son," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

Bjrgulf's expression changed, becoming firm and resolute. But it took a moment before he could speak.

"I've known for a long time, Mother, that this was what I was destined to endure. Even back when we were at Tautra . . . Brother Aslak spoke to me about it and said that if things should go in such a way . . .

"The way our Lord Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, he said. He told me that the true wilderness for a Christian man's soul was when his sight and senses were blocked-then he would follow the footsteps of the Lord out of the wilderness, even if his body was still with his brothers or kinsmen. He read to me from the books of Saint Bernard about such things. And when a soul realizes that G.o.d has chosen him for such a difficult test of his manhood, then he shouldn't be afraid that he won't have the strength. G.o.d knows my soul better than the soul knows itself."

He continued to talk to his mother in this manner, consoling her with a wisdom and strength of spirit that seemed far beyond his years.

That evening Naakkve came to Kristin and asked to speak with her alone. Then he told her that he and Bjrgulf intended to enter the holy brotherhood and to take the vows of monks at Tautra.

Kristin was dismayed, but Naakkve kept on talking, quite calmly. They would wait until Gaute had come of age and could lawfully act on behalf of his mother and younger siblings. They wanted to enter the monastery with as much property as was befitting the sons of Erlend Nikulaussn of Husaby, but they also wanted to ensure the welfare of their brothers. From their father the sons of Erlend had inherited nothing of value that was worth mentioning, but the three who were born before Gunnulf Niku laussn had entered the cloister owned several shares of estates in the north. He had made these gifts to his nephews when he dispersed his wealth, although most of what he hadn't given to the Church or for ecclesiastical use he had left to his brother. And since Naakkve and Bjrgulf would not demand their full share of the inheritance, it would be a great relief to Gaute, who would then become the head of the family and carry on the lineage, if the two of them were dead to the world, as Naakkve put it.

Kristin felt close to fainting. Never had she dreamed that Naakkve would consider a monk's life. But she did not protest; she was too overwhelmed. And she didn't dare try to dissuade her sons from such a n.o.ble and meaningful enterprise.

"Back when we were boys and were staying with the monks up there in the north, we promised each other that we would never be parted," said Naakkve.

His mother nodded; she knew that. But she had thought their intention was for Bjrgulf to continue to live with Naakkve, even after the older boy was married.

It seemed to Kristin almost miraculous that Bjrgulf, as young as he was, could bear his misfortune in such a manly fas.h.i.+on. Whenever she spoke to him of it, during that spring, she heard nothing but G.o.d-fearing and courageous words from his lips. It seemed to her incomprehensible, but it must be because he had realized for many years that this would be the outcome of his failing eyesight, and he must have been preparing his soul ever since the time he had stayed with the monks.

But then she had to consider what a terrible burden this unfortunate child of hers had endured-while she had paid so little heed as she went about absorbed with her own concerns. Now, whenever she had a moment to herself, Kristin Lavransdatter would slip away and kneel down before the picture of the Virgin Mary up in the loft or before her altar in the north end of the church when it was open. Lamenting with all her heart, she would pray with humble tears for the Savior's gentle Mother to serve as Bjrgulf's mother in her stead and to offer him all that his earthly mother had left undone.

One summer night Kristin lay awake in bed. Naakkve and Bjrg ulf had moved back into the high loft room, but Gaute was sleeping downstairs with Lavrans because Naakkve had said that the older brothers wanted to practice keeping vigil and praying. She was just about to fall asleep at last when she was awakened by someone walking quietly along the gallery of the loft. She heard a stumbling on the stairs and recognized the blind man's gait.

He must be going out on some errand, she thought, but all the same she got up and began looking for her clothes. Then she heard a door flung open upstairs, and someone raced down the steps, taking them two or three at a time.

Kristin ran to the entryway and out the door. The fog was so thick outside that only the buildings directly across the courtyard could be glimpsed. Up by the manor gate Bjrgulf was furiously struggling to free himself from his brother's grasp.

"Do you lose anything," cried the blind man, "if you're rid of me? Then you'll be released from all your oaths . . . and you won't have to be dead to this world."

Kristin couldn't hear what Naakkve said in reply. She ran barefoot through the soaking wet gra.s.s. By this time Bjrgulf had pulled free; suddenly, as if struck down, he fell upon the boulder by the gate and began beating it with his fists.

Naakkve saw his mother and took a few swift steps in her direction. "Go inside, Mother. I can handle this best alone. You must must go inside, I tell you," he whispered urgently, and then he turned around and went back to lean over his brother. go inside, I tell you," he whispered urgently, and then he turned around and went back to lean over his brother.

Their mother remained standing some distance away. The gra.s.s was drenched with moisture, water was dripping from all the eaves, and drops were trickling from every leaf; it had rained all day, but now the clouds had descended as a thick white fog. When her sons headed back after a while-Naakkve had taken Bjrgulf by the arm and was leading him-Kristin retreated to the entryway door.

She saw that Bjrgulf's face was bleeding; he must have hit himself on the rock. Involuntarily Kristin pressed her hand to her lips and bit her own flesh.

On the stairs Bjrgulf tried once more to pull away from Naakkve. He threw himself against the wall and shouted, "I curse, I curse the day I was born!"

When she heard Naakkve shut the loft door behind them, Kristin crept upstairs and stood outside on the gallery. For a long time she could hear Bjrgulf's voice inside. He raged and shouted and swore; a few of his vehement words she could understand. Every once in a while she would hear Naakkve talking to him, but his voice was only a subdued murmur. Finally Bjrgulf began sobbing, loudly and as if his heart would break.

Kristin stood trembling with cold and anguish. She was wearing only a cloak over her s.h.i.+ft; she stood there so long that her loose, flowing hair became wet with the raw night air. At last there was silence in the loft.

Entering the main room downstairs, she went over to the bed where Gaute and Lavrans were sleeping. They hadn't heard anything. With tears streaming down her face, she reached out a hand in the dark and touched the two warm faces, listening to the boys' measured, healthy breathing. She now felt as if these two were all that she had left of her riches.

s.h.i.+vering with cold, she climbed into her own bed. One of the dogs lying next to Gaute's bed came padding across the room and jumped up, circling around and then leaning against her feet. The dog was in the habit of doing this at night, and she didn't have the heart to chase him away, even though he was heavy and pressed on her legs so they would turn numb. But the dog had belonged to Erlend and was his favorite-a s.h.a.ggy coal-black old bearhound. Tonight, thought Kristin, it was good to have him lying there, warming her frozen feet.

She didn't see Naakkve the next morning until at the breakfast table. Then he came in and sat down in the high seat, which had been his place since his father's death.

He didn't say a word during the meal, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His mother followed him when he went back outside.

"How is Bjrgulf now?" she asked in a low voice.

Naakkve continued to evade her eyes, but he replied in an equally low voice that Bjrgulf was asleep.

"Has . . . has he been this way before?" she whispered fearfully.

Naakkve nodded, turned away from her, and went back upstairs to his brother.

Naakkve watched over Bjrgulf night and day, and kept his mother away from him as much as possible. But Kristin saw that the two young men spent many hours struggling with each other.

It was Nikulaus Erlendssn who was supposed to be the master of Jrundgaard now, but he had no time to tend to the managing of the estate. He also seemed to have as little interest and ability as his father had had. And so Kristin and Gaute saw to everything, for that summer Ulf Haldorssn had left her too.

After the unfortunate events that ended with the killing of Erlend Nikulaussn, Ulf's wife had gone home with her brothers. Ulf stayed on at Jrundgaard; he said he wanted to show everyone that he couldn't be driven away by gossip and lies. But he hinted that he had lived long enough at Jrundgaard; he thought he might head north to his own estate in Skaun as soon as enough time had pa.s.sed so that no one could say he was fleeing from the rumors.

But then the bishop's plenipotentiary began making inquiries into the matter, to determine whether Ulf Haldorssn had unlawfully spurned his wife. And so Ulf made preparations to leave; he went to get Jardtrud, and they were now setting off together for the north, before the autumn weather made the road through the mountains impa.s.sable. He told Gaute that he wanted to join forces with his half sister's husband, who was a swordsmith in Nidaros, and live there, but he would settle Jardtrud at Skjoldvirkstad, which his nephew would continue to manage for him.

On his last evening Kristin drank a toast to him with the gold-chased silver goblet her father had inherited from his paternal grandfather, Sir Ketil the Swede. She asked him to accept the goblet as a keepsake to remember her by. Then she slipped onto his finger a gold ring that had belonged to Erlend; he was to have it in his memory.

Ulf gave her a kiss to thank her. "It's customary among kinsmen," he said with a laugh. "You probably never imagined, Kristin, when we first met, and I was the servant who came to get you to escort you to my master, that we would part in this way."

Kristin turned bright red, for he was smiling at her with that old, mocking smile, but she thought she could see in his eyes that he was sad. Then she said, "All the same, Ulf, aren't you longing for Trndelag-you who were born and raised in the north? Many a time I too have longed for the fjord, and I lived there only a few years." Ulf laughed again, and then she added quietly, "If I ever offended you in my youth, with my overbearing manner or . . . I didn't know that you were close kin, you and Erlend. But now you must forgive me!"

"No . . . but Erlend was not the one who refused to acknowledge our kins.h.i.+p. I was so insolent in my youth; since my father had ousted me from his lineage, I refused to beg-" He stood up abruptly and went over to where Bjrgulf was sitting on the bench. "You see, Bjrgulf, my foster son . . . your father . . . and Gunnulf, they treated me as a kinsman even back when we were boys-just the opposite of how my brothers and sisters at Hestnes behaved. Afterward . . . to others I never presented myself as Erlend's kinsman because I saw that in that way I could serve him better . . . as well as his wife and all of you, my foster sons. Do you understand?" he asked earnestly, placing his hand on Bjrgulf's face, hiding the extinguished eyes.

"I understand." Bjrgulf's reply was almost stifled behind the other man's fingers; he nodded under Ulf's hand.

"We understand, foster father." Nikulaus laid his hand heavily on Ulf's shoulder, and Gaute moved closer to the group.

Kristin felt strangely ill at ease. They seemed to be speaking of things that she could not comprehend. Then she too stepped over to the men as she said, "Be a.s.sured, Ulf, my kinsman, that all of us understand. Never have Erlend and I had a more loyal friend than you. May G.o.d bless you!"

The next day Ulf Haldorssn set off for the north.