Kristin Lavransdatter Part 84

Kristin was strangely moved when she saw Simon and Ramborg's oldest son again. He was the living image of Lavrans Bjrg ulfsn, even more than Gaute. And over the past few years Kristin had given up her belief that Gaute might be anything like her father in temperament.

Andres Darre was now twelve years old, tall and slender, fair and lovely and rather quiet, although he seemed robust and cheerful enough, with good physical abilities and a hearty appet.i.te, except that he refused to eat meat. There was something that set him apart from other boys, but Kristin couldn't say what it was, although she watched him closely. Andres became good friends with his aunt, but he never mentioned his visions, and he didn't have any of his spells while in Sil.

The four sons of Erlend seemed to enjoy being together on their mother's estate, but Kristin didn't manage to talk much with her sons. When they were discussing things among themselves, she felt as if their lives and well-being had now slipped beyond her view. The two who came from far away had left their childhood home behind, and the two who lived on the manor were on the verge of taking its management out of her hands. The gathering took place in the midst of the springtime shortages, and she saw that Gaute must have been making preparations for it by rationing the fodder more strictly than usual that winter; he had also borrowed fodder from Sir Sigurd. But he had done all these things without consulting her. And all the advice regarding Gaute's case was also presented without including her, even though she sat in the same room with the men.

For this reason she was not surprised when Ivar came to her one day and said that Lavrans would be leaving with him when he went back to Rognheim.

Ivar Erlendssn also told his mother on another day that he thought she should move to Rognheim with him after Gaute was married. "Signe is a more amenable daughter-in-law to live with, I think. And it can't possibly be easy for you to give up your charge of the household when you are used to running everything." But otherwise he seemed to be fond of Jofrid-he and all the other men. Only Sir Jammaelt seemed to regard her with some coolness.

Kristin sat with her little grandson on her lap, thinking that it wouldn't be easy no matter where she was. It was difficult getting old. It seemed such a short time ago that she herself was the young woman, when it was her fate that prompted the clamor of the men's counsel and strife. Now she had been pushed into the background. Not long ago her own sons had been just like this little boy. She recalled her dream about the newborn child. During this time the thought of her own mother often came to her; she couldn't remember her mother except as an aging and melancholy woman. But she too had once been young, when she lay and warmed herself with the heat of her own body; her mother's body and soul had also been marked in her youth by carrying and giving birth to her children. And doubtless she hadn't given it any more thought than Kristin had when she sat with the sweet young life at her breast-that as long as they both should live, each day would take the child farther and farther away from her arms.

"After you had a child yourself, Kristin, I thought you would understand," her mother had once said. Now she realized that her mother's heart had been deeply etched with memories of her daughter, memories of her thoughts about the child from before she was born and from all the years the child could not remember, memories of fears and hopes and dreams that children would never know had been dreamed on their behalf, before it was their own turn to fear and hope and dream in secret.

Finally the gathering of kinsmen split up, and some went to stay with Jammaelt at Formo while others accompanied Sigurd over to Vaagaa. Then one day two of Gaute's leaseholders from the south of the valley came racing into the courtyard. The sheriff was on his way north to seek out Gaute at home, and the maiden's father and kinsmen were with him. Young Lavrans ran straight to the stable. The next evening it looked as if an army had gathered at Jrund gaard; all of Gaute's kinsmen were there along with their armed men, and his friends from the countryside had come as well.

Then Helge of Hovland arrived in a great procession to demand his rights from the man who had abducted his daughter. Kristin caught a glimpse of Helge Duk as he rode into the courtyard alongside Sir Paal Srkvessn, the sheriff himself. Jofrid's father was an older, tall, and stoop-backed man who looked quite ill; it was evident that he limped when he got off his horse. Her sister's husband, Olav Piper, was short, wide, and thickset; both his face and hair were red.

Gaute stepped forward to meet them, his posture erect and dignified, and behind him he had an entire phalanx of kinsmen and friends. They stood in a semicircle in front of the stairs to the high loft; in the middle were the two older gentlemen holding the rank of knight: Sir Sigurd and Sir Jammaelt. Kristin and Jofrid watched the meeting from the entryway to the weaving room, but they couldn't hear what was said.

The men went up to the loft, and the two women retreated inside the weaving room. Neither of them felt like talking. Kristin sat down near the hearth; Jofrid paced the floor, holding her child in her arms. They continued in this way for a while; then Jofrid wrapped a blanket around the boy and left the room with him. An hour later Jammaelt Halvardssn came in to find his wife's sister sitting alone, and he told her what had happened.

Gaute had offered Helge Duk sixteen marks in gold for Jofrid's honor and for taking her by force. This was the same amount that Helge's brother had been given in rest.i.tution for the life of his son. Gaute would then wed Jofrid with her father's consent and provide all the proper betrothal and wedding gifts, but in return Helge would have to accept Gaute and Jofrid with full reconciliation so that she would be given the same dowry as her sisters and share with them in the inheritance. Sir Sigurd, on behalf of Gaute's kinsmen, offered a guarantee that he would keep to this agreement. Helge Duk seemed willing to accept this offer at once, but his sons-in-law-Olav Piper and Nerid Kaaressn, who was betrothed to Aasa-voiced objections. They said Gaute must be the most arrogant of men if he dared to think he could set his own terms for his marriage to a maiden he had shamed while she was at her brother-in-law's manor and had then been taken by force. Or to demand that she be allowed to share the inheritance with her sisters.

It was easy to see, said Jammaelt, that Gaute was not pleased he would have to haggle over the price for marrying a highborn maiden whom he had seduced and who had now given birth to his son. But it was also easy to see that he had learned his lessons and prayers by heart, so he didn't have to read them out of a book.

In the midst of the discussion, as friends on both sides attempted to mediate, Jofrid came into the room with the child in her arms. Then her father broke down and could no longer hold back his tears. And so the matter was decided as she wished.

It was clear that Gaute could never have paid such a fine, but Jofrid's dowry was set at the same amount, so things came out even. The result of the meeting was that Gaute won Jofrid but received little more than what she had brought in her sacks when she arrived at Jrundgaard. But he gave her doc.u.ments for almost all that he owned as betrothal and wedding gifts, and his brothers gave their a.s.sent. One day he would acquire great riches from her-provided their marriage was not childless, said Ivar Gjesling with a laugh, and the other men laughed too. But Kristin blushed crimson because Jammaelt sat there listening to all the coa.r.s.e jests that were uttered.

The next day Gaute Erlendssn was betrothed to Jofrid Helgesdatter, and afterward she went to church for the first time after the birth, honored as if she had been a married woman. Sira Dag said she was ent.i.tled to this. Then she went to Sundbu with the child and remained under Sir Sigurd's protection until the wedding.

It took place a month later, just after Saint Jon's Day, and it was both beautiful and grand. The following morning Kristin Lavransdatter, with great ceremony, gave her keys to her son, and Gaute then fastened the ring to his wife's belt.

Afterward Sir Sigurd Eldjarn held a great banquet at Sundbu, and there he and his cousins, the former Sundbu men, solemnly swore and sealed a vow of friends.h.i.+p. Sir Sigurd generously presented costly gifts from his estate, both to the Gjeslings and to all his guests, according to how close they were as kin or friends-drinking horns, eating vessels, jewelry, weapons, furs, and horses. People then judged that Gaute Erlendssn had brought this matter of abducting his bride to the most honorable of ends.

CHAPTER 4.

ONE SUMMER MORNING a year later Kristin was out on the gallery of the old hearth house, cleaning out several chests of tools that stood there. When she heard horses being led into the courtyard, she went to have a look, peering between the narrow pillars of the gallery. One of the servants was leading two horses, and Gaute had appeared in the stable doorway; the boy Erlend was sitting astride his father's shoulders. The bright little face looked over the top of the man's yellow hair, and Gaute was holding the boy's tiny hands clasped in his own big tan hands under his chin. He handed the child to a maid who came across the courtyard and then mounted his horse. But when Erlend screamed and reached for his father, Gaute took him back and set him in front of him on the saddle. At that moment Jofrid came out of the main house.

"Are you taking Erlend with you? Where are you headed?"

Gaute replied that he was going up to the mill; the river was threatening to carry it away. "And Erlend says he wants to go with his father."

"Have you lost your wits?" She quickly pulled the boy down, and Gaute roared with laughter.

"I think you actually believed I was going to take him along!"

"Yes." His wife laughed too. "You're always taking the poor boy everywhere. I think you'd do the same as the lynx: eat your own young before you'd let anyone else take him."

She lifted the child's hand to wave to Gaute as he rode off from the estate. Then she put the boy down on the gra.s.s and squatted down next to him for a moment to talk to him a bit before she continued on her way over to the new storeroom and up to the loft.

Kristin stood where she was, gazing at her grandson. The morning sun shone so brightly on the little child dressed in red. Young Erlend twirled around in circles, staring down at the gra.s.s. Then he caught sight of a big pile of wood chips, and at once he busily began strewing them all around. Kristin laughed.

He was fifteen months old, but his parents thought he was ahead of his age, because he could walk and run and even say two or three words. Now he was heading straight for the little stream that ran through the lower part of the courtyard and became a gurgling creek whenever it rained in the mountains. Kristin ran over and picked him up in her arms.

"You mustn't. Your mother will be cross if you get wet."

The boy drew his lips into a pout; he was probably wondering whether to cry because he wasn't allowed to splash in the stream or to give in. Getting wet was quite a big sin for him. Jofrid was much too strict with him about such matters. But he looked so clever. Laughing, Kristin kissed the boy, put him down, and went back to the gallery. But she made little headway with her work; mostly she stood and looked out at the courtyard.

The morning sun glowed so gentle and lovely above the three storerooms across from her. Kristin felt as if she hadn't taken a good look at them for a long time. How splendid the buildings were with the pillars adorning their loft galleries and the elaborate carvings. The gilded weather vane on the crossed timbers of the gable of the new storeroom glittered against the blue haze covering the mountains in the distance. This year, after the wet spring, the gra.s.s was so fresh on the rooftops.

Kristin gave a little sigh, cast another glance at little Erlend, and then turned back to the chests.

Suddenly the wailing cry of a child pierced the air behind her. She threw down everything she was holding and rushed outside. Erlend was shrieking as he looked back and forth from his finger to a half-dead wasp lying in the gra.s.s. When his grandmother lifted him up to soothe him, he screamed even louder. And when she, amid much crying and complaining, put some damp earth and a cold green leaf on the sting, his wailing became quite dreadful.

Hus.h.i.+ng and caressing him, Kristin carried the boy into her house, but he screamed as if he were in deadly pain-and then stopped short in the middle of a howl. He recognized the box and horn spoon that his grandmother was taking down from above the door. Kristin dipped pieces of lefse lefse in honey and fed them to the child as she continued to soothe him, placing her cheek against his fair neck where the hair was still short and curly from the days when he lay in his cradle and rubbed his head against the pillow. And then Erlend forgot all about his sorrow and turned his face up toward Kristin, offering to pat and kiss her with sticky hands and lips. in honey and fed them to the child as she continued to soothe him, placing her cheek against his fair neck where the hair was still short and curly from the days when he lay in his cradle and rubbed his head against the pillow. And then Erlend forgot all about his sorrow and turned his face up toward Kristin, offering to pat and kiss her with sticky hands and lips.

As they sat there, Jofrid came into the room.

"Have you brought him indoors? You didn't need to do that, Mother. I was just upstairs in the loft."

Kristin mentioned what had happened to Erlend outside. "Didn't you hear him scream?"

Jofrid thanked her mother-in-law. "But now we won't trouble you anymore." And she picked up the child, who was now reaching out for his mother and wanted to go to her, and they left the room.

Kristin put away the honey box. Then she continued to sit there, with nothing to occupy her hands. The chests on the gallery could wait until Ingrid came in.

It had been intended that she would have Frida Styrkaarsdatter as her maid when she moved out to the old house. But then Frida married one of the servants who had come with Helge Duk, a lad young enough to be her son.

"It's the custom in our part of the country for our servants to listen to their masters when they're offered advice for their own good," said Jofrid when Kristin wondered how this marriage had come about.

"But here in this parish," said Kristin, "the commoners aren't accustomed to obeying us if we're unreasonable, nor do they follow our advice unless it's of equal benefit to them and to us. I'm giving you good advice, Jofrid; you should keep it in mind."

"What Mother says is true," added Gaute, but his voice was quite meek.

Even before he was married, Kristin had noticed that Gaute was very reluctant to speak against Jofrid. And he had become the most amenable of husbands.

Kristin didn't deny that Gaute could stand to listen to what his wife had to say about many things; she was more sensible, capable, and hardworking than most women. And she was no more loose in her ways than Kristin herself had been. She too had trampled on her duties as a daughter and sold her honor since she could not win the man she had set her heart on in any better way. After she had gotten what she wanted, she became the most honorable and faithful wife. Kristin could see that Jofrid had great love for her husband; she was proud of his handsome appearance and his esteemed lineage. Her sisters had married wealthy men, but it was best to look at their husbands at night, when the moon wasn't s.h.i.+ning, and their ancestors weren't even worth mentioning, Jofrid said scornfully. She zealously tended to her husband's welfare and honor as she perceived it, and at home she indulged him as best she could. But if Gaute suggested that he might have a different opinion from his wife regarding even the smallest matter, Jofrid would first agree with such an expression that Gaute would begin to waver, and then she would bring him around to her point of view.

But Gaute was flouris.h.i.+ng. No one could doubt that these two young people lived well together. Gaute loved his wife, and both of them were so proud of their son and loved him beyond all measure.

So everything should have been fine and good. If only Jofrid Helgesdatter hadn't been . . . well, she was stingy; Kristin couldn't find any other word for it. If she hadn't been stingy, Kristin wouldn't have felt annoyed that her daughter-in-law had such a desire to take charge.

During the grain harvest that very first autumn, right after Jofrid had returned to the estate as a married woman, Kristin could see that the servants were already discontented, although they seldom said anything. But the old mistress noticed it just the same.

Sometimes it had also happened in Kristin's day that the servants were forced to eat herring that was sour, or bacon as yellow and rancid as a resinous pine torch, or spoiled meat. But then everyone knew that their mistress was bound to make up for it with something particularly good at another meal: milk porridge or fresh cheese or good ale out of season. And if there was food that was about to go bad and had to be eaten, everyone simply felt as if Kristin's full storerooms were overflowing. If people were in need, the abundance at Jrundgaard offered security for everyone. But now people were already uncertain whether Jofrid would prove to be generous with the food if there should be a shortage among the peasants.

This was what angered her mother-in-law, for she felt it diminished the honor of the manor and its owner.

It didn't trouble her as much that she had discovered firsthand, over the course of the year, that her daughter-in-law always saved the best for her own. On Saint Bartholomew's Day she received two goat carca.s.ses instead of the four she should have been given. It was true that wolverines had ravaged the smaller livestock in the mountains the previous summer, and yet Kristin thought it petty to hold back from slaughtering two more goats on such a large estate. But she held her tongue. It was the same way with everything she was supposed to be given from the farm: the autumn slaughtering, grain and flour, fodder for her four cows and two horses. She received either smaller amounts or poor-quality goods. She saw that Gaute was both embarra.s.sed and ashamed by this, but he didn't dare do anything for fear of his wife, and so he pretended not to notice.

Gaute was just as magnanimous as all of Erlend's sons. In his brothers Kristin had called it extravagance. But Gaute was a toiler, and frugal in his own way. As long as he had the best horses and dogs and a few good falcons, he would have been content to live like the smallholders of the valley. But whenever visitors came to the estate, he was a gracious host to all his guests and a generous man toward beggars-and thus a landowner after his mother's own heart. She felt this was the proper way of living for the gentry-those n.o.bles who resided on the ancestral estates in their home districts. They should produce goods and squander nothing needlessly, but neither should they spare anything whenever love of G.o.d and His poor, or concern for furthering the honor of their lineage, demanded that goods should be handed out.

Now she saw that Jofrid liked Gaute's rich friends and highborn kinsmen best. And yet in this regard Gaute seemed less willing to comply with his wife's wishes; he tried to hold on to his old companions from his youth. His drinking cohorts, Jofrid called them, and Kristin now learned that Gaute had been much wilder than she knew. These friends never came to the manor uninvited after he was a married man. But as yet no poor supplicant had gone unaided by Gaute, although he gave fewer gifts if Jofrid was watching. Behind her back he dared to give more. But not much was allowed to take place behind her back.

And Kristin realized that Jofrid was jealous of her. She had possessed Gaute's friends.h.i.+p and trust so completely during all the years since he was a poor little child who was neither fully alive nor dead. Now she noticed that Jofrid wasn't pleased if Gaute sat down beside his mother to ask her advice or got her to talk about the way things were in the past. If the man stayed for long in the old house with his mother, Jofrid was certain to find an excuse to come over.

And she grew jealous if her mother-in-law paid too much attention to little Erlend.

Amid the short, trampled-down gra.s.s out in the courtyard grew several herbs with coa.r.s.e, leathery dark leaves. Now, during the sunny days of midsummer, a little stalk had sprung up with tiny, delicate pale blue flowers in the center of each flattened rosette of leaves. Kristin thought the old outer leaves, scarred as they were by each time a servant's foot or a cow's hoof had crushed them, must love the sweet, bright blossoming shoot which sprang from its heart, just as she loved her son's son.

He seemed to her to be life from her life and flesh from her flesh, just as dear as her own children but even sweeter. Whenever she held him in her arms, she noticed that the boy's mother would keep a jealous eye on the two of them and would come to take him away as soon as she deemed it proper and then possessively put him to her breast, hugging him greedily. Then it occurred to Kristin Lavransdatter in a new way that the interpreters of G.o.d's words were right. Life on this earth was irredeemably tainted by strife; in this world, wherever people mingled, producing new descendants, allowing themselves to be drawn together by physical love and loving their own flesh, sorrows of the heart and broken expectations were bound to occur as surely as the frost appears in the autumn. Both life and death would separate friends in the end, as surely as the winter separates the tree from its leaves.

One evening, two weeks before Saint Olav's Day, a group of beggars happened to come to Jrundgaard and asked for lodgings for the night. Kristin was standing on the gallery of the old storeroom-it was now under her charge-and she heard Jofrid come out and tell the poor people that they would be given food, but she could not give them shelter. "There are many of us on this manor, and my mother-in-law lives here too; she owns half the buildings."

Anger flared up in the former mistress. Never before had any wayfarers been refused a night's lodging at Jrundgaard, and the sun was already touching the crest of the mountains. She ran downstairs and went over to Jofrid and the beggars.

"They may take shelter in my house, Jofrid, and I might as well be the one to give them food too. Here on this manor we have never refused lodging to a fellow Christian if he asked for it in the name of G.o.d."

"You must do as you please, Mother," replied Jofrid, her face blazing red.

When Kristin had a look at the beggars, she almost regretted her offer. It was not entirely without cause that the young wife had been unwilling to have these people on her estate overnight. Gaute and the servants had gone up to the hay meadows near Sil Lake and would not be home that evening. Jofrid was home alone with the parish's charity cases, two old people and two children, whose turn it was to stay at Jrundgaard, and Kristin had only her maid in the old house. Although Kristin was used to seeing all kinds of people among the wandering groups of beggars, she didn't like the looks of this lot. Four of them were big, strong young men; three of them had red hair and small, wild eyes. They seemed to be brothers. But the fourth one, whose nose had once been split open on both sides and who was missing his ears, sounded as if he might be a foreigner. There were also two old people. A short, bent old man with a greenish-yellow face, his hair and beard ravaged by dirt and age and his belly swollen as if with some illness. He walked on crutches, alongside an old woman wearing a wimple that was completely soaked with blood and pus, her neck and face covered with sores. Kristin shuddered at the thought of this woman getting near Erlend. All the same, for the sake of these two wretched old people, it was good that the group wouldn't have to wander through Hammer Ridge in the night.

The beggars behaved peaceably enough. Once the earless man tried to seize hold of Ingrid as she went back and forth to the table, but Bjrn got to his feet at once, barking and growling. Otherwise the group seemed despondent and weary; they had struggled much and gleaned little, they said in reply to the mistress's questions. Surely things would be better in Nidaros. The old woman was pleased when Kristin gave her a goat horn containing a soothing salve made from the purest lamb oil and the water of an infant. But she declined when Kristin offered to soak her wimple with warm water and give her a clean linen cloth; well, she would agree to accept the cloth.

Nevertheless, Kristin had her young maid, Ingrid, sleep on the side of the bed next to the wall. Several times during the night Bjrn growled, but otherwise everything was quiet. Shortly past midnight the dog ran over to the door and uttered a couple of short barks. Kristin heard horses in the courtyard and realized that Gaute had come home. She guessed that Jofrid must have sent word to him.

The next morning Kristin filled the sacks of the beggars generously, and they hadn't even pa.s.sed the manor gate before she saw Jofrid and Gaute heading swiftly toward her house.

Kristin sat down and picked up her spindle. She greeted her children gently as they came in and asked Gaute about the hay. Jofrid sniffed; the guests had left a rank stench behind in the room. But her mother-in-law pretended not to notice. Gaute s.h.i.+fted his feet uneasily and seemed to have trouble telling her what the purpose of their visit might be.

Then Jofrid spoke. "There's something I think it would be best for us to talk about, Mother. I know that you feel I'm more tight fisted than you deem proper for the mistress of Jrundgaard. I know that's what you think and that you also think I'm diminis.h.i.+ng Gaute's honor by acting this way. Now I don't have to tell you I was fearful last night about taking in that lot because I was alone on the estate with my infant and a few charity cases; I saw that you realized this as soon as you had a look at your guests. But I've noticed before that you think I'm miserly with food and inhospitable toward the poor.

"That is not so, Mother, but Jrundgaard is no longer a grand estate belonging to a royal retainer and wealthy man as it was in the time of your father and mother. You were the child of a rich man and kept company with rich and powerful kinsmen; you made a wealthy marriage, and your husband took you away to even greater power and splendor than you had grown up with. No one can expect that you in your old age should fully understand how different Gaute's position is now, having lost his father's inheritance and sharing half of your father's wealth with many brothers. But I I dare not forget that I brought little more to his estate than the child I carried under my bosom and a heavy debt for my friend to bear because I consented to his act of force against my kinsmen. Things may get better with time, but I'm obliged to pray to G.o.d that my father might have a long life. We are young, Gaute and I, and don't know how many children we are destined to have. You dare not forget that I brought little more to his estate than the child I carried under my bosom and a heavy debt for my friend to bear because I consented to his act of force against my kinsmen. Things may get better with time, but I'm obliged to pray to G.o.d that my father might have a long life. We are young, Gaute and I, and don't know how many children we are destined to have. You must must believe, mother-in-law, that I have no other thought behind my actions than what is best for my husband and our children." believe, mother-in-law, that I have no other thought behind my actions than what is best for my husband and our children."

"I believe you, Jofrid." Kristin gazed somberly at the flushed face of her son's wife. "And I have never meddled in your charge of the household or denied that you're a capable woman and a good and loyal wife for my son. But you must let me manage my own affairs as I am used to doing. As you say, I'm an old woman and no longer able to learn new ways."

The young people saw that Kristin had no more to say to them, and a few minutes later they took their leave.

As usual, Kristin had to agree that Jofrid was right-at first. But after she thought it over, it seemed to her . . . No, all the same, there was no use in comparing Gaute's alms with her father's. Gifts for the souls of the poor and strangers who had died in the parish, marriage contributions to fatherless maidens, banquets on the feast days of her father's favorite saints, stipends for sinners and those who were ill who wanted to seek out Saint Olav. Even if Gaute had been much richer than he was, no one would have expected him to pay for such expenses. Gaute gave no more thought to his Creator than was necessary. He was generous and kind-hearted, but Kristin had seen that her father had a reverence for the poor people he helped because Jesus had chosen the lot of a poor man when he a.s.sumed human form. And her father had loved hard toil and thought all handwork should be honored because Mary, the Mother of G.o.d, chose to do spinning to earn food for her family and herself, even though she was the daughter of rich parents and belonged to the lineage of kings and the foremost priests of the Holy Land.

Two days later, early in the morning, when Jofrid was only half dressed and Gaute was still in bed, Kristin came into their room. She was wearing a robe and cape of gray homespun, with a wide-brimmed black felt hat over her wimple and st.u.r.dy shoes on her feet. Gaute turned blood-red when he saw his mother dressed in such attire. Kristin said she wanted to go to Nidaros for the Feast of Saint Olav, and she asked her son to look after her ch.o.r.es while she was gone.

Gaute protested vigorously; she should at least borrow horses and men to escort her and take her maid along. But his words had little authority, as might be expected from a man lying naked in bed before his mother's eyes. Kristin felt such pity for his bewilderment that she came up with the idea that she had had a dream.

"And I long to see your brothers again-" But then she had to turn away. She had not yet dared express in her heart how much she yearned for and dreaded this reunion with her two oldest sons.

Gaute insisted on accompanying his mother part of the way. While he dressed and had something to eat, Kristin sat laughing and playing with little Erlend; he chattered on, alert and lively with the morning. She kissed Jofrid farewell, and she had never done that before. Out in the courtyard all the servants had gathered; Ingrid had told them that Mistress Kristin was going on a pilgrimage to Nidaros.

Kristin picked up the heavy iron-shod staff, and since she didn't want to ride, Gaute put her travel bag on his horse's back and let the animal walk on ahead.

Up on the church hill Kristin turned around and looked down at her estate. How lovely it looked in the dewy, sun-drenched morning. The river shone white. The servants were still standing there; she could make out Jofrid's light-colored gown and wimple, and the child like a red speck in her arms. Gaute saw that his mother's face turned pale with emotion.

The road led up through the woods beneath the shadow of Hammer Ridge. Kristin walked as easily as a young maiden. She and her son said very little to each other. After they had walked for two hours, they reached the place where the road turns north under Rost Peak and the whole Dovre countryside stretches below, to the north. Then Kristin said that Gaute should go no farther with her, but first she wanted to sit down and rest for a while.

Beneath them lay the valley with the pale green ribbon of the river cutting through it and the farms like small green patches on the forested slopes. But higher up, the moss-covered heights, brown and lichen-yellow, arched against the gray scree and bare peaks, flecked with snowdrifts. The shadows of the clouds drifted over the valley and plains, but in the north the mountains were so brightly lit; one mountainous shape after another had freed itself from the misty cloak and loomed blue, one beyond the other. And Kristin's yearning glided north with the cloud cl.u.s.ters to the long road she had before her and raced across the valley, in among the great barricading slopes and the steep, narrow paths through the wilds across the plateaus. A few more days and she would be on her way down through the beautiful green valleys of Trndelag, following the current of the river toward the great fjord. She shuddered at the memory of the familiar villages along the sea, where she had spent her youth. Erlend's handsome figure appeared before her eyes, s.h.i.+fting in stance and demeanor, swift and indistinct, as if she were seeing him mirrored in a rippling stream. At last she would reach Feginsbrekka, at the marble cross, and Nidaros would be lying there at the mouth of the river, between the blue fjord and the green Strind: on the sh.o.r.e the magnificent light-colored church with its dizzying towers and golden weather vanes, with the blaze of the evening sun on the rose in the middle of its breast. And deep inside the fjord, beneath the blue peaks of Frosta, lay Tautra, low and dark like the back of a whale, with its church tower like a dorsal fin. Oh, Bjrgulf . . . oh, Naakkve.

But when she looked back over her shoulder, she could still catch a glimpse of her home mountain beneath Hvringen. It lay in shadow, but with an accustomed eye she could see where the pasture path wound through the woods. She knew the gray domes that rose up over the carpet of forest; they surrounded the old meadows belonging to the people of Sil.

The sound of a lur lur echoed from the hills: several shrill tones that died away and then reappeared. It sounded as if children were practicing blowing the horn. A distant clanging of bells, the rush of the river fading lazily away, and the deep sighs of the forest in the quiet, warm day. Kristin's heart trembled anxiously in the silence. echoed from the hills: several shrill tones that died away and then reappeared. It sounded as if children were practicing blowing the horn. A distant clanging of bells, the rush of the river fading lazily away, and the deep sighs of the forest in the quiet, warm day. Kristin's heart trembled anxiously in the silence.

Homesickness urged her forward; homesickness drew her back toward the village and the manor. Pictures of everyday things teemed before her eyes: She saw herself leaping with the goats along the path through the spa.r.s.e woods south of their mountain pasture. A cow had strayed into the marsh; the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly. When she paused for a moment to listen, she felt her own sweat stinging her skin. She saw the courtyard back home in swirling snow-a dingy white, stormy day seething toward a wild winter night. She was almost blown back into the entryway when she opened the door; the blizzard took her breath away, but there they came, those two snow-covered bundles, men wearing long fur coats: Ivar and Skule had come home. The tips of their skis sank deep into the great snowdrift that always formed across the courtyard when the wind blew from the northwest. Then there were always huge drifts in two parts of the courtyard. All of a sudden she felt herself longing with love for those two drifts that she and all the manor servants had cursed each winter; she felt as if she were condemned never to see them again.

Feelings of longing seemed to burst from her heart; they ran in all directions, like streams of blood, seeking out paths to all the places in the wide landscape where she had lived, to all her sons roaming through the world, to all her dead lying under the earth. She wondered: Had she turned cowardly? She had never felt this way before.

Then she noticed that Gaute was staring at her. She gave him a fleeting, rueful smile. It was time now for them to say goodbye and for her to continue on.

Gaute called to his horse, which had been grazing across the green hillside. He ran to get him and then came back, and they said farewell. Kristin already had her travel bag over her shoulder and her son was putting his foot into the stirrup when he turned around and took a few steps toward her.

"Mother!" For a moment she looked into the depths of his helpless, shame-filled eyes. "You haven't been . . . no doubt you haven't been very pleased the last few years. Mother, Jofrid means well; she has great respect for you. Even so, I should have told her more about the kind of woman you are and have been all your days."

"Why do you happen to think about this now, my Gaute?" His mother's voice was gentle and surprised. "I'm quite aware that I'm no longer young, and old people are supposed to be difficult to please; all the same, I haven't aged so much that I don't have the wits to understand you or your wife. It would trouble me greatly if Jofrid should think that it has been a thankless struggle, after all she has done to spare me work and worry. Do not think, my son, that I fail to see your wife's virtues or your own loyal love for your mother. If I haven't shown it as much as you might have expected, you must have forbearance and remember that's the way old people are."