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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bridal Wreath, by Sigrid Undset
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Bridal Wreath
-
-Author: Sigrid Undset
-
-Translators: C. Archer
-             J. S. Scott
-
-Release Date: April 26, 2022 [eBook #67929]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Tim Lindell, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed
-             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
-             produced from images generously made available by The
-             Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDAL WREATH ***
-
-
-                               THE BRIDAL
-                                 WREATH
-
-                    TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF
-
-                             SIGRID UNDSET
-
-                      BY C. ARCHER AND J. S. SCOTT
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
-                               PUBLISHERS
-                 _by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf_
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-               COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
-
-
-            =_MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA_=
-
-
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                                CONTENTS
-
-
-                                 BOOK I
-
-                       JÖRUNDGAARD              3
-
-
-                                BOOK II
-
-                       THE GARLAND            109
-
-
-                                BOOK III
-
-                       LAVRANS BJÖRGULFSÖN    219
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                                BOOK ONE
-
-
-
-
-
-
-                                                             JÖRUNDGAARD
-
-
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-
-
-                                   1
-
-WHEN the lands and goods of Ivar Gjesling the younger, of Sundbu, were
-divided after his death in 1306, his lands in Sil of Gudbrandsdal fell
-to his daughter Ragnfrid and her husband Lavrans Björgulfsön. Up to then
-they had lived on Lavrans’ manor of Skog at Follo near Oslo; but now
-they moved up to Jörundgaard at the top of the open lands of Sil.
-
-Lavrans was of the stock that was known in this country as the
-Lagmandssons. It had come here from Sweden with that Laurentius, Lagmand
-of East Gotland, who took the Belbo Jarl’s sister, the Lady Bengta, out
-of Vreta convent, and carried her off to Norway. Sir Laurentius lived at
-the Court of King Haakon the Old, and won great favour with the King,
-who gave him the Skog manor. But when he had been in the country about
-eight years he died in his bed, and his widow, who belonged to the
-Folkunga kindred, and had the name of a King’s daughter among the
-Norwegians, went home and made matters up with her relations. Afterwards
-she made a rich marriage in another land. She and Sir Laurentius had no
-children, so the heritage of Skog fell to Laurentius’ brother, Ketil. He
-was father’s father to Lavrans Björgulfsön.
-
-Lavrans was married very young; he was three years younger than his
-wife, and was only twenty-eight when he came to Sil. As a youth he had
-been in the King’s bodyguard and had enjoyed a good upbringing; but
-after his marriage he lived a quiet life on his estate, for Ragnfrid was
-something strange and heavy of mood, and seemed not at home among the
-people of the south. After she had had the ill-hap to lose three little
-sons, one after the other, in the cradle, she grew yet more shy of
-people. Thus it was in part to bring his wife nearer to her kinsfolk and
-old acquaintance that Lavrans moved to Gudbrandsdalen. When they came
-there, they brought with them the one child that was left, a little maid
-called Kristin.
-
-But when they had settled at Jörundgaard they lived for the most part
-just as quietly there, keeping very much to themselves; it seemed as
-though Ragnfrid did not care much for her kindred, for she saw them no
-oftener than seemly use and wont required. This was in part because
-Lavrans and Ragnfrid were more than commonly pious and God-fearing folk,
-diligent in church-going, and always pleased to give harbour to God’s
-servants, to messengers sent on the Church’s errands, or to pilgrims on
-their way up the valley to Nidaros; and showing the greatest honour to
-their parish-priest—who was also their nearest neighbour, living at
-Romundgaard. Other folk in the valley were rather given to think that
-the Church cost them quite dear enough in tithes and in goods and money;
-and that there was no need to fast and pray so hard besides, or to bring
-priests and monks into their houses, unless at times when they were
-really needed.
-
-Otherwise the Jörundgaard folk were much looked up to, and well-liked
-too; most of all Lavrans, for he was known as a strong man and a bold,
-but peace-loving, quiet and upright, plain in his living but courteous
-and seemly in his ways, a rarely good husbandman and a mighty
-hunter—’twas wolves and bears and all kinds of harmful beasts he hunted
-most keenly. In a few years he had gotten much land into his hands; but
-he was a good and helpful landlord to his tenants.
-
-Folk saw so little of Ragnfrid that they soon gave up talking much about
-her. In the first time after she came back to the valley many people had
-wondered, for they remembered her as she had been at her home at Sundbu
-in her youth. Beautiful she had never been, but she had looked kind and
-happy; now she had fallen off so that you might well believe she was ten
-years older than her husband, and not only three. Most folk deemed she
-took the loss of her children harder than was reason, for but for this
-she was better off in every way than most wives—she lived in great
-plenty and in high esteem, and things were well between her and her
-husband, so far as people could see; Lavrans did not go after other
-women, he took counsel with her in all affairs, and, sober or drunk, he
-never said a harsh word to her. Besides she was not so old but she might
-yet bear many children, if it were God’s pleasure.
-
-It was somewhat hard for them to get young folks to take service at
-Jörundgaard, the mistress being thus heavy of mood and all the fasts so
-strictly kept. Otherwise it was a good house to serve in; hard words and
-punishments were little in use; and both Lavrans and Ragnfrid took the
-lead in all the work. The master, indeed, was glad of mood in his own
-way, and would join in a dance or lead the singing when the young folk
-held their games on the Church-green on vigil nights. But still it was
-mostly older folks who came and took service at Jörundgaard; these liked
-the place well and stayed there long.
-
-When the child Kristin was seven years old, it so fell out one time that
-she got leave to go with her father up to their mountain sæter.
-
-It was a fine morning, a little way on in the summer, Kristin was in the
-loft-room, where they were sleeping now summer had come; she saw the sun
-shining outside and heard her father and his men talking in the
-courtyard below—and she was so joyful that she could not stand still
-while her mother put on her clothes, but hopped and jumped about as each
-piece of clothing was put on her. She had never been up in the mountains
-before; only across the pass to Vaage, when she was taken to visit her
-mother’s kinsfolk at Sundbu, and sometimes to the woods near by the
-manor with her mother and the house-folk, when they went out to pluck
-berries for Ragnfrid to mix with the small beer, or to make into sour
-paste of cranberries and cowberries that she ate on her bread in Lent
-instead of butter.
-
-The mother twisted up Kristin’s long yellow hair and tied it into her
-old blue cap, then kissed her daughter on the cheek, and Kristin sprang
-away and down to her father. Lavrans was in the saddle already; he
-lifted her up behind him and seated her on his cloak, which he had
-folded up and placed on the horse’s loins for a pillion. Kristin had to
-sit there astride and hold on to his belt. They called out “Goodbye” to
-Ragnfrid; but she came running down from the balcony with Kristin’s
-hooded cape—she handed it to Lavrans and bade him look well to the
-child.
-
-The sun shone, but it had rained much in the night, so that everywhere
-the becks came rushing and singing down the grassy slopes, and wreaths
-of mist clung and drifted under the mountain sides. But over the
-hill-crest white fair-weather clouds were swelling up in the blue air,
-and Lavrans and his men said among themselves that it was like to be hot
-as the day went on. Lavrans had four men with him, and they were all
-well-armed; for at this time there were many kinds of outlandish people
-lying up among the mountains—though a strong party like this, going but
-a short way in, was not like to see or hear aught of such folk. Kristin
-was fond of all the men; three of them were men past youth, but the
-fourth, Arne Gyrdsön, from Finsbrekken, was a half-grown boy, and he was
-Kristin’s best friend; he rode next after Lavrans and her, for it was he
-that was to tell her about all they saw on their road.
-
-They passed between the Romundgaard houses and changed greetings with
-Eirik priest. He was standing outside chiding with his daughter—she kept
-house for him—about a web of new-dyed cloth that she had hung out and
-forgotten the day before; it was all spoilt now with the night’s rain.
-
-On the hill behind the parsonage lay the church; it was not large, but
-fair and pleasant, well-kept and newly tarred. By the cross outside the
-churchyard gate Lavrans and his men took off their hats and bowed their
-heads; then the father turned in the saddle, and he and Kristin waved to
-Ragnfrid, whom they could see down below at home standing out on the
-sward by the houses; she waved back to them with the full of her linen
-head-dress.
-
-Up here on the church-green and in the church yard Kristin was used to
-come and play near every day but to-day, when she was setting out to go
-so far, the sight she knew so well—home and all the parish round
-it—seemed new and strange to the child. The clusters of houses at
-Jörundgaard looked, as it were, smaller and greyer, lying there down on
-the flats, courtyard and farmyard. The river wound shining on its way,
-the valley spread far with broad green meadows and marshes in its bottom
-and farms with ploughland and pasture stretched up the hillsides under
-the grey and headlong mountain walls.
-
-Far below, where the mountains came together and closed the valley,
-Kristin knew that Loptsgaard lay. There lived Sigurd and Jon, two old
-men with white beards; they were always for playing and making merry
-with her when they came to Jörundgaard. She was fond of Jon, for he
-would carve out the fairest beasts in wood for her, and once she had had
-a gold finger-ring of him; nay, the last time he came to them, at
-Whitsuntide, he had brought her a knight so sweetly carved and coloured
-so fairly that Kristin thought she had never had so fine a gift. She
-must needs take the knight to bed with her every single night; but when
-she woke in the morning he was always standing on the step in front of
-the bed she lay in with her father and mother. Her father said the
-knight jumped up at the first cockcrow; but Kristin knew well enough
-that, after she had fallen asleep, her mother took him away, for she
-heard her say that he was so hard, and hurt so if he got underneath them
-in the night.—Sigurd of Loptsgaard Kristin was afraid of, and she did
-not like him to take her on his knees; for he used to say that when she
-grew up he meant to sleep in her arms. He had outlived two wives, and he
-said himself he was sure to outlive the third; and then Kristin could be
-the fourth. But when she began to cry at this, Lavrans laughed and said
-he had no fear that Morgit would give up the ghost so speedily; but if
-the worst came to pass and Sigurd should come a-wooing, let Kristin have
-no fear—he should have No for his answer.
-
-A bowshot or so north of the church there lay by the roadside a great
-block of stone, and around it a thick small grove of birch and aspen.
-Here the children were wont to play at church, and Tomas, the youngest
-son of Eirik priest’s daughter, stood up in the person of his
-grandfather and said mass, sprinkled holy-water, and even baptized, when
-there was rain-water in the hollows of the rock. But once, the autumn
-before, this game had fallen out but sadly for them. For first Tomas had
-married Kristin and Arne—Arne was not so old but he would go off and
-play with the children when he saw a chance. Then Arne caught a baby pig
-that was going by, and they brought it into church to be baptized. Tomas
-anointed it with mud, dipped it into a pool of water, and, copying his
-grandfather, said mass in Latin and chid them for the smallness of their
-offerings—and at this the children laughed, for they had heard their
-elders talk of Eirik’s exceeding greed of money. But the more they
-laughed the worse Tomas got in the things he hit on: for next he said
-that this child had been gotten in Lent, and they must pay penalty for
-their sin to the priest and the church. The great boys shouted with
-laughter at this; but Kristin was so ashamed that she was all but
-weeping, as she stood there with the little pig in her arms. And just as
-this was going on who must chance to come that way but Eirik himself
-riding home from a sick-visit. When he understood what the young folks
-were about, he sprang from his horse, and handed the holy vessels to
-Bentein, his eldest grandson, who was with him, so suddenly that Bentein
-nearly dropped the silver dove with God’s body in it on the hillside,
-while the priest rushed in among the children belabouring all he could
-reach. Kristin let slip the little pig, and it rushed shrieking down the
-road with the christening robe trailing after it, while Eirik’s horses
-reared and plunged with terror; the priest pushed her too so that she
-fell down, and he knocked against her with his foot so hard that she
-felt the pain in her hip for many days after. Lavrans had thought when
-he heard of this, that Eirik had been too hard with Kristin, seeing she
-was but a little child. He said he would speak to the priest of it, but
-Ragnfrid begged him not to do so, for the child had gotten but what she
-deserved, for joining in such a blasphemous game. So Lavrans said no
-more of the matter; but he gave Arne the worst beating the boy had ever
-had.
-
-So now, as they rode by the stone, Arne plucked Kristin by the sleeve.
-He dared not say aught for fear of Lavrans, but he made a face, then
-smiled and clapped his hand to his back. But Kristin bowed her head
-shamefacedly.
-
-Their way led on into thick woods. They rode along under Hammerhill; the
-valley grew narrow and dark here and the roar of the river sounded
-louder and more harsh—when they caught a glimpse of the Laagen it ran
-ice-green and white with foam between walls of rock. The mountains on
-either side of the valley were black with forest; it was dark and narrow
-and ugly in the gorge, and there came cold gusts of wind. They rode
-across the Rostaa stream by the log-bridge, and soon could see the
-bridge over the great river down the valley. A little below the bridge
-was a pool where a kelpy lived. Arne began to tell Kristin about it, but
-Lavrans sternly told the boy to hold his peace in the woods about such
-things. And when they came to the bridge he leaped off his horse and led
-it across by the bridle, while he held the child round the waist with
-his other arm.
-
-On the other side of the river was a bridle-path leading steeply up the
-hillside, so the men got off their horses and went on foot; but her
-father lifted Kristin forward into the saddle, so that she could hold on
-to the saddle-bow; and let her ride Guldsveinen all alone.
-
-Now grey-stone peaks and blue domes flecked with snow rose above the
-mountain ridges as they climbed higher up; and now Kristin saw through
-the trees glimpses of the parish north of the gorge, and Arne pointed,
-and told her the names of the farms that they could make out down there.
-
-High up the mountain-side they came to a little croft. They stopped by
-the stick fence; Lavrans shouted, and his voice came back again and
-again from the mountains round. Two men came running down, between the
-small tilled patches. These were both sons of the house; they were good
-men at the tar-burning and Lavrans was for hiring them to burn some tar
-for him. Their mother came after them with a great bowl of cooled milk;
-for the day was now grown hot, as the men had foretold.
-
-“I saw you had your daughter with you,” she said when she had greeted
-them, “and methought I must needs have a sight of her. But you must take
-the cap from her head; they say she hath such bonny hair.”
-
-Lavrans did as the woman asked him, and Kristin’s hair fell over her
-shoulders and hung down right to the saddle. It was thick and yellow
-like ripe wheat. The woman, Isrid, took some of it in her hand and said:
-
-“Aye, now I see the word that has gone about concerning this little maid
-of yours was nowise too great—a lilyrose she is, and looks as should the
-child of a knightly man. Mild eyes hath she too—she favours you and not
-the Gjeslings. God grant you joy of her, Lavrans Björgulfsön! And you’re
-riding on Guldsveinen, as stiff and straight as a courtier,” she said,
-laughingly, as she held the bowl for Kristin to drink.
-
-The child grew red with pleasure, for she knew well that her father was
-held to be the comeliest man far around; he looked like a knight,
-standing there among his men, though his dress was much of the farmer
-fashion, such as he wore at home for daily use. He wore a coat of
-green-dyed wadmal, somewhat wide and short, open at the throat, so that
-the shirt showed beneath. For the rest, his hose and shoes were of
-undyed leather, and on his head he had a broad-brimmed woollen hat of
-the ancient fashion. For ornaments he had only a smooth silver buckle to
-his belt, and a little silver brooch in his shirt-band; but some links
-of a golden neck-chain showed against his neck. Lavrans always wore this
-chain, and on it there hung a golden cross set with great rock-crystals;
-it was made to open, and inside there were shreds of the hair and the
-shroud of the holy Lady Elin of Skövde, for the Lagmandssons counted
-their descent from one of that blessed lady’s daughters. But when
-Lavrans was in the woods or out at his work he was used to thrust the
-cross in next his bare breast, so that he might not lose it.
-
-Yet did he look in his coarse homely clothing more high-born than many a
-knight of the King’s household in his finest banqueting attire. He was
-stalwart of growth, tall, broad-shouldered, and small-waisted; his head
-was small and sat fairly on his neck, and he had comely features,
-somewhat long—cheeks of a seemly fullness, chin fairly rounded and mouth
-well shaped. His skin was light and his face fresh of hue, he had grey
-eyes and thick smooth silky-yellow hair.
-
-He stood there and talked with Isrid of her affairs; and asked about
-Tordis too, a kinswoman of Isrid’s that was tending the Jörundgaard
-sæter this summer. Tordis had just had a child; Isrid was only waiting
-for the chance of a safe escort through the woods before taking the boy
-down to have him christened. Lavrans said that she had best come with
-them up to the sæter; he was coming down again the next evening, and
-’twould be safer and better for her to have many men to go along with
-her and the heathen child.
-
-Isrid thanked him: “To say truth, ’twas even this I was waiting for. We
-know well, we poor folk under the uplands here, that you will ever do us
-a kind turn if you can, when you come hither.” She ran up to the hut to
-fetch a bundle and a cloak.
-
-It was indeed so that Lavrans liked well to come among these small folk
-who lived on clearings and lease-holdings high up on the outskirts of
-the parish; amongst them he was always glad and merry. He talked with
-them of the ways of the forest beasts and the reindeer of the upland
-wastes; and of all the uncanny things that are stirring in such places.
-And he stood by them and helped them with word and deed; saw to their
-sick cattle; helped them with their errands to the smith or to the
-carpenter; nay, would sometimes take hold himself and bend his great
-strength to the work, when the worst stones or roots were to be broken
-out of the earth. Therefore were these people ever glad to greet Lavrans
-Björgulfsön and Guldsveinen, the great red stallion that he rode upon.
-’Twas a comely beast with a shining skin, white mane and tail and light
-eyes—strong and fiery, so that his fame was spread through all the
-country round; but with his master he was gentle as a lamb, and Lavrans
-used to say that the horse was dear to him as a younger brother.
-
-Lavrans’ first errand was to see to the beacon on Heimhaugen. For in the
-hard and troubled times a hundred years or more gone by, the yeoman of
-the dales had built beacons here and there high up on the fells above
-them, like the seamarks in the roadsteads upon the coast. But these
-beacons in the uplands were not in the ward of the King’s levies, but
-were cared for by the yeomen-guilds, and the guild-brothers took turns
-at their tending.
-
-When they were come to the first sæter, Lavrans turned out all but the
-pack-horse to graze there; and now they took a steep foot-path upwards.
-Before long the trees grew thin and scattered. Great firs stood dead and
-white as bones upon the marshy grounds—and now Kristin saw bare,
-grey-stone peaks rising to the sky on all hands. They climbed long
-stretches amid loose stones, and at times the becks ran in the track, so
-that her father must carry her. The wind blew strong and fresh up here
-and the ground was black with berries amidst the heather, but Lavrans
-said they could not stop now to gather them. Arne sprang now in front
-and now behind, plucked berries for her, and told her whose the sæters
-were that they saw below them in the forest—for there was forest over
-the whole of Hövringsvangen in those days.
-
-And now they were close below the highest round bare top and saw the
-great pile of timber against the sky, with the watch-house under the lee
-of a crag.
-
-As they came up over the brow the wind rushed against them and buffeted
-their clothing—it seemed to Kristin as though something living, that
-dwelt up here, met and greeted them. It blew gustily around her and Arne
-as they went forward over the mosses, till they sate them down far out
-on a jutting point, and Kristin gazed with great eyes—never before had
-she dreamed that the world was so big and wide.
-
-Forest-shagged ranges lay below her on all sides; the valley was but a
-cleft betwixt the huge fells, and the side-glens still lesser clefts;
-there were many such, yet was there little of dale and much of fell. All
-around grey peaks, flaming with golden lichen, rose above the sea of
-forest, and far off, on the very brink of heaven, stood blue crests
-flashing here and there with snow, and melting, before their eyes, into
-the grey-blue and pure white summer-clouds. But northeastwards, nearer
-by—just beyond the sæter woods—lay a cluster of mighty slate-coloured
-domes with streaks of new-fallen snow down their slopes. These Kristin
-guessed to be the Boar Fells she had heard tell of, for they were indeed
-like naught but a herd of heavy boar wending inland that had just turned
-their backs upon the parish. Yet Arne told her ’twas a half-day’s ride
-to get even so far.
-
-Kristin had ever thought that could she but win over the top of the
-home-fells she would look down upon another parish like their own, with
-tilled farms and dwellings, and ’twas great wonder to her now to see how
-far it was betwixt the places where folks dwelt. She saw the small
-yellow and green flecks down below in the dale-bottom, and the tiny
-clearings with their grey dots of houses amid the hill forests; she
-began to take tale of them, but when she had reckoned three times
-twelve, she could keep count of them no longer. Yet the human
-dwelling-places were as nothing in that waste.
-
-She knew that in the wild woods wolves and bears lorded it, and that
-under every stone there dwelt trolls and goblins and elfinfolk, and she
-was afraid, for no one knew the number of them, but there must be many
-times more of them than of Christian men and women. Then she called
-aloud on her father, but he could not hear, for the blowing of the
-wind—he and his men were busy rolling heavy stones up the bare mountain
-top to pile round the timbers of the beacon.
-
-But Isrid came to the children and showed Kristin where the fell west of
-Vaage lay. And Arne pointed out the Grayfell, where folk from the parish
-took reindeer in pits, and where the King’s falcon-catchers lay in stone
-huts. That was a trade Arne thought to take to some day—but if he did he
-would learn as well to train the birds for the chase—and he held his
-arms aloft as though to cast a hawk.
-
-Isrid shook her head.
-
-“’Tis a hard and evil life, that, Arne Gyrdsön—’twould be a heavy sorrow
-for your mother, boy, should you ever come to be a falcon-catcher. None
-may earn his bread in those wild hills except he join in fellowship with
-the worst of men—aye, and with them that are worse still.”
-
-Lavrans had come toward them and had heard this last word: “Aye,” says
-he, “there’s more than one hide of land in there that pays neither tax
-nor tithe—”
-
-“Yes, many a thing must you have seen,” said Isrid coaxingly, “you who
-fare so far afield—”
-
-“Aye, aye,” said Lavrans slowly. “Maybe—but methinks ’tis well not to
-speak of such things overmuch. One should not, I say, grudge folks who
-have lost their peace in the parish, whatever peace they can find among
-the fells. Yet have I seen yellow fields and brave meadows where few
-folk know that such things be, and herds have I seen of cattle and small
-stock, but of these I know not whether they belonged to mankind or to
-other folk—”
-
-“Oh! aye,” says Isrid. “Bears and wolves get the blame for the beasts
-that are missed from the sæters here, but there are worse thieves among
-the fells than they.”
-
-“Do you call them worse?” asked Lavrans thoughtfully, stroking his
-daughter’s cap. “In the hills to the south under the Boar Fells I once
-saw three little lads, and the greatest was even as Kristin here—yellow
-hair they had, and coats of skin. They gnashed their teeth at me like
-wolf-cubs before they ran to hide. ’Twere little wonder if the poor man
-who owned them were fain to lift a cow or two—”
-
-“Oh! both wolves and bears have young,” says Isrid testily. “And you
-spare not them, Lavrans, neither them nor their young. Yet they have no
-lore of law nor of Christendom, as have these evil-doers you wish so
-well to—”
-
-“Think you I wish them too well, because I wish them a little better
-than the worst?” said Lavrans, smiling a little. “But come now, let us
-see what cheer Ragnfrid has sent with us to-day.” He took Kristin by the
-hand and led her with him. And as they went he bent and said softly: “I
-thought of your three small brothers, little Kristin.”
-
-They peeped into the watch-house, but it was close in there and smelt of
-mould. Kristin took a look around, but there were only some earthen
-benches about the walls, a hearth-stone in the middle of the floor, and
-some barrels of tar and faggots of pine-roots and birch-bark. Lavrans
-thought ’twould be best they should eat without doors, and a little way
-down among the birches they found a fine piece of green-sward.
-
-The pack-horse was unloaded, and they stretched themselves upon the
-grass. In the wallets Ragnfrid had given them was plenty food of the
-best—soft bread and bannocks, butter and cheese, pork and wind-dried
-reindeer meat, lard, boiled brisket of beef, two kegs with German beer,
-and of mead a little jar. The carving of the meat and portioning it
-round went quickly, while Halvdan, the oldest of the men, struck fire
-and made a blaze—it was safer to have a good fire out here in the woods.
-
-Isrid and Arne gathered heather and dwarf-birch and cast it on the
-blaze. It crackled as the fire tore the fresh green from the twigs, and
-small white flakes flew high upon the wisps of red flame; the smoke
-whirled thick and black toward the clear sky. Kristin sat and watched;
-it seemed to her the fire was glad that it was out there, and free, and
-could play and frisk. ’Twas otherwise than when, at home, it sat upon
-the hearth and must work at cooking food and giving light to the folks
-in the room.
-
-She sat nestled by her father with one arm upon his knee; he gave her
-all she would have of the best, and bade her drink her fill of the beer
-and taste well of the mead.
-
-“She will be so tipsy she’ll never get down to the sæter on her feet,”
-said Halvdan, laughing, but Lavrans stroked her round cheeks:
-
-“Then here are folk enough who can bear her—it will do her good—drink
-you too, Arne—God’s gifts do good, not harm, to you that are yet
-growing—make sweet, red blood, and give deep sleep, and rouse not
-madness and folly—”
-
-The men too drank often and deep; neither was Isrid backward. And soon
-their voices and the roar and crackle of the fire were but a far off
-hubbub in Kristin’s ears, and she began to grow heavy of head. She was
-still aware how they questioned Lavrans and would have him tell of the
-strange things he had met with when out a-hunting. But much he would not
-say; and this seemed to her so good and so safe—and then she had eaten
-so well.
-
-Her father had a slice of soft barley-bread in his hands; he pinched
-small bits of it between his fingers into shapes of horses, and cutting
-shreds of meat, he set these astride the steeds and made them ride over
-his thigh and into Kristin’s mouth. But soon she was so weary she could
-neither open her mouth nor chew—and so she sank back upon the ground and
-slept.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-When she came to herself again, she was lying in a warm darkness within
-her father’s arm—he had wrapped his cloak about them both. Kristin sat
-up, wiped the moisture from her face, and unloosed her cap that the air
-might dry her damp locks.
-
-The day was surely far spent, for the sunlight was golden, and the
-shadows had lengthened and fell now toward the southeast. No breath of
-wind was stirring, and gnats and flies buzzed and swarmed about the
-group of sleeping men. Kristin sat stock still, scratched her
-gnat-bitten hands and gazed about her—the mountain-top above them shone
-white with moss and golden with lichen in the sunshine, and the pile of
-weather-beaten timber stood against the sky like the skeleton of some
-wondrous beast.
-
-She grew ill at ease—it was so strange to see them all sleeping there in
-the naked daylight. At home if by hap she woke at night, she lay snug in
-the dark with her mother on the one side and on the other the tapestry
-stretched upon the wall. And then she knew that the chamber with its
-smoke-vent was shut and barred against the night and the weather
-without, and sounds of slumber came from the folk who lay soft and safe
-on the pillows twixt the skins. But all these bodies, lying twisted and
-bent on the hillside, about the little heap of black and white ashes,
-might well be dead—some lay upon their faces, some upon their backs with
-knees updrawn, and the noises that came from them scared her. Her father
-snored deeply, but when Halvdan drew a breath, it piped and whistled in
-his nose. And Arne lay upon his side, his face hidden on his arm, and
-his glossy, light-brown hair spread out amongst the heather; he lay so
-still Kristin grew afraid lest he be dead. She had to bend forward and
-touch him—and on this he turned a little in his sleep.
-
-Kristin suddenly bethought her, maybe they had slept through the night
-and this was the next day—and this frightened her so that she shook her
-father; but he only grunted and slept on. Kristin herself was still
-heavy of head, but she dared not lie down to sleep again. And so she
-crept forward to the fire and raked in it with a stick—there were still
-some embers aglow beneath. She threw upon it heather and small twigs
-which she broke off round about her—she dared not pass the ring of
-sleepers to find bigger branches.
-
-There came a rattling and crashing in the woods near by, and Kristin’s
-heart sank and she went cold with fear. But then she spied a red shape
-amidst the trees, and Guldsveinen broke out of the thicket. He stood
-there and gazed upon her with his clear, bright eyes. She was so glad to
-see him, she leapt to her feet and ran to the stallion. And there, too,
-was the brown horse Arne had ridden, and the pack-horse as well. Now she
-felt safe and happy again; she went and patted them all three upon their
-flanks, but Guldsveinen bent his head so that she could reach up to
-fondle his cheeks, and pull his yellow-white forelock, while he nosed
-round her hands with his soft muzzle.
-
-The horses wandered, feeding, down the birch-grown slope, and Kristin
-went with them—she felt there was naught to fear so long as she kept
-close to Guldsveinen—he had driven off a bear before now, she knew. And
-the bilberries grew so thick in here, and the child was thirsty now,
-with a bad taste in her mouth; the beer was not to her liking any more,
-but the sweet, juicy berries were good as wine. Away, on a scree, she
-saw raspberries growing too—so she grasped Guldsveinen by the mane, and
-sweetly bade him go there with her, and the stallion followed willingly
-with the little maid. Thus, as she wandered further and further down the
-hillside, he followed her when she called, and the other two horses
-followed Guldsveinen.
-
-Somewhere near at hand she heard the gurgling and trickling of a beck;
-she followed the sound till she found it, and then lay out upon a great
-slab and washed her hot, gnat-bitten face and hands. Below the slab the
-water stood, a still, black pool, for over against it there rose a wall
-of rock behind some small birches and willows—it made the finest of
-mirrors, and Kristin leaned over and looked at herself in the water, for
-she wished to see whether ’twas true, as Isrid said, that she bore a
-likeness to her father.
-
-She smiled and nodded and bent forward till her hair met the bright hair
-about the round, great-eyed child-face she saw in the beck.
-
-Round about grew a great plenty of those gay, pink flower-clusters they
-name valerian—redder far and finer here by the fell-beck than at home by
-the river. Of these Kristin plucked and bound them about with grass,
-till she had woven herself the finest, thickest wreath of rose-pink. The
-child pressed it down on her head and ran to the pool to see how she
-looked now she was decked out like a grown maid who goes a dancing.
-
-She stooped over the water and saw her own dark image rise from the
-bottom and grow clearer as it came to meet her—and then in the mirror of
-the pool she saw another figure standing among the birches opposite and
-bending toward her. In haste she got upon her knees and gazed across. At
-first she thought it was but the rock and the bushes clinging round its
-foot. But all at once she was aware of a face amid the leaves—there
-stood a lady, pale, with waving, flaxen hair—the great, light-grey eyes
-and wide, pink nostrils were like Guldsveinen’s. She was clad in
-something light, leaf-green, and branches and twigs hid her up to the
-broad breasts which were covered over with brooches and sparkling
-chains.
-
-The little girl gazed upon the figure; and as she gazed the lady raised
-a hand and showed her a wreath of golden flowers;—she beckoned with it.
-
-Behind her Kristin heard Guldsveinen neigh loud in fear—she turned her
-head—the stallion reared, screaming till the echoes rang, then flung
-around and fled up the hill with a thunder of hoofs. The other horses
-followed—straight up the scree, while stones came rumbling down and
-boughs and roots broke and rattled.
-
-Then Kristin screamed aloud. “Father,” she shrieked, “father!” She
-gained her feet, tore after the horses and dared not look behind. She
-clambered up the scree, trod on the hem of her dress and slipped back
-downwards; climbed again, catching at the stones with bleeding hands,
-creeping on sore bruised knees, and crying now to Guldsveinen, now to
-her father—sweat started from every pore of her body and ran like water
-into her eyes, and her heart beat as though ’twould break against her
-ribs; while sobs of terror choked her throat:
-
-“Oh father, oh father!”
-
-Then his voice sounded somewhere above: she saw him come with great
-bounds down the scree—the bright, sunlit scree; birch and aspen stood
-along it and blinked from their small silvered leaves—the hillside was
-so quiet, so bright, while her father came leaping, calling her by name;
-and Kristin sank down and knew that now she was saved.
-
-“Sancta Maria!” Lavrans knelt and clasped his daughter—he was pale and
-strange about the mouth, so that Kristin grew yet more afraid; ’twas as
-though only now in his face she read how great had been her peril.
-
-“Child, child,—” he lifted her bleeding hands, looked at them, saw the
-wreath upon her bare head, and touched it. “What is it—how came you
-hither, my little Kristin—?”
-
-“I went with Guldsveinen,” she sobbed upon his breast. “I got so afraid
-seeing you all asleep, but then Guldsveinen came—and then there was
-someone by the beck down yonder that beckoned me—”
-
-“Who beckoned—was it a man?”
-
-“No, ’twas a lady—she beckoned with a wreath of gold—I think ’twas the
-dwarf-maiden, father—”
-
-“Jesus Kristus,” said Lavrans softly, and crossed himself and the child.
-
-He helped her up the scree till they came to a grassy slope; then he
-lifted and bore her. She clung about his neck and sobbed—could not stop
-for all his soothing.
-
-Soon they met the men and Isrid. The woman smote her hands together,
-when she heard what had befallen:
-
-“Aye, ’twas the Elf-maiden sure enough—she would have lured the fair
-child into the mountain, trust you me.”
-
-“Hold your peace,” bade Lavrans sternly. “Never should we have talked of
-such things here in the woods as we did—one knows not what may lie
-beneath the rocks and hearken to each word.”
-
-He drew the golden chain from out his shirt and hung it and the
-relic-holding cross about Kristin’s neck and thrust them in upon her
-bare body.
-
-“But see to it, all of you,” he said, “that you watch well your mouths,
-so Ragnfrid may never know the child has been in such peril.”
-
-Then they caught the three horses, which had made off into the woods,
-and went quickly down to the pasture where the other horses were
-grazing. There they all mounted and rode to the Jörundgaard sæter; it
-was no great way.
-
-The sun was near setting when they came thither; the cattle were in the
-pens, and Tordis and the herds were busy at the milking. Within the hut,
-porridge stood cooked awaiting them, for the sæter-folk had spied them
-by the beacon earlier in the day, and they were looked for.
-
-Now, at length, was Kristin’s weeping stilled. She sat upon her father’s
-knee and ate porridge and cream from out the same spoon as he.
-
-Lavrans was to go next day to a lake farther in the mountains, where lay
-some of his herdsmen with the bulls. Kristin was to have gone with him,
-but now he said she must stay in the hut while he was gone—“and you must
-take heed, both Tordis and Isrid, to keep the door barred and the
-smokehole closed till we come back, both for Kristin’s sake, and for the
-poor unchristened babe’s here in the cradle.”
-
-Tordis was so frighted now that she dared no longer stay with the little
-one up here, for she was still unchurched since her lying in—rather
-would she go down at once and bide in the parish. Lavrans said this
-seemed to him but wise; she could go down with them the next evening; he
-thought he could get an older widow woman, serving at Jörundgaard, up
-hither in her stead.
-
-Tordis had spread sweet, fresh mountain grass under the skins on the
-benches; it smelt so strong and good, and Kristin was near asleep while
-her father said Our Father and Ave Maria over her.
-
-“Aye, ’twill be a long day before I take you with me to the fells
-again,” said Lavrans, patting her cheek.
-
-Kristin woke up with a start:
-
-“Father—mayn’t I go with you either when you go southwards at harvest,
-as you promised—”
-
-“We must see about that,” said Lavrans, and straightway Kristin fell
-asleep between the sheepskins.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   2
-
-Each summer it was Lavrans Björgulfsön’s wont to ride southward and see
-to his manor in Follo. These journeys of her father were landmarks of
-each year in Kristin’s life—the long weeks while he was gone, and the
-joy of his homecoming with brave gifts: fine outlandish stuffs for her
-bride-chest, figs, raisins and honey-bread from Oslo—and many strange
-things to tell her.
-
-But this year Kristin marked that there was something more than common
-afoot toward the time of her father’s going. ’Twas put off and off; the
-old men from Loptsgaard rode over at odd times and sat about the board
-with her father and mother; spoke of heritage, and freehold and
-redemption rights, and hindrances to working the estate from so far off,
-and the bishop’s seat and the King’s palace in Oslo, which took so much
-labour from the farms round about the town. They scarce ever had time to
-play with her, and she was sent out to the kitchen-house to the maids.
-Her mother’s brother, Trond Ivarsön of Sundbu, came over to them more
-often than was his wont—but _he_ had never been used to play with
-Kristin or pet her.
-
-Little by little she came to have some inkling of what it was all about.
-Ever since he was come to Sil, Lavrans had sought to gather to himself
-land here in the parish, and now had Sir Andres Gudmundsön tendered him
-Formo in Sil, which was Sir Andres’ heritage from his mother, in change
-for Skog, which lay more fittingly for him, since he was with the King’s
-bodyguard and rarely came hither to the Dale. Lavrans was loth to part
-with Skog, which was his freehold heritage, and had come to his
-forebears by royal gift; and yet the bargain would be for his gain in
-many ways. But Lavran’s brother, Aasmund Björgulfsön, too, would gladly
-have Skog—he dwelt now in Hadeland, where he had wedded an estate—and
-’twas not sure that Aasmund would waive the right his kinship gave him.
-
-But one day Lavrans told Ragnfrid that this year he would have Kristin
-with him to Skog—she should see the manor where she was born, and which
-was his fathers’ home, now that it was like to pass from their hands.
-Ragnfrid deemed this but right, though she feared not a little to send
-so young a child on such a long journey, where she herself could not be
-by.
-
-For a time after Kristin had seen the Elf-maid she was so fearful that
-she kept much within doors by her mother—she was afraid even when she
-saw the folk who had been with them on the fells and knew what had
-befallen her, and she was glad her father had forbidden all talk of that
-sight of hers.
-
-But when some little time was gone by she began to think she would like
-to speak of it. In her thoughts she told the story to someone—she knew
-not whom—and, ’twas strange, the more time went by, the better it seemed
-she remembered it, and the clearer and clearer grew the memory of the
-fair lady.
-
-But, strangest of all, each time she thought of the Elf-maid there came
-upon her such a longing for the journey to Skog, and more and more fear
-that her father would not take her with him.
-
-At last she woke one morning in the loft-room and saw her mother and old
-Gunhild sitting on the threshold looking over a heap of Lavrans’
-squirrel-skins. Gunhild was a widow who went the round of the farms and
-sewed fur lining into cloaks and the like. And Kristin guessed from
-their talk that now it was she should have a new cloak, lined with
-squirrel-skin and edged with marten. And then she knew she was to go
-with her father, and she sprang up in bed and shrieked with gladness.
-
-Her mother came over to her and stroked her cheek:
-
-“Are you so glad then, my daughter, you are going so far from me?”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Ragnfrid said the same that morning they were to set out. They were up
-at cock-crow; it was dark without, with thick mist between the houses,
-as Kristin peeped out of the door at the weather. The mist billowed like
-grey smoke round the lanterns, and out by the open house-doors. Folk ran
-twixt stables and outhouses, and women came from the kitchen with
-steaming porridge-pots and trenchers of meat and pork—they were to have
-a plenty of good, strong food before they rode out into the morning
-cold.
-
-Indoors, saddlebags were shut and opened, and forgotten things packed
-inside. Ragnfrid called to her husband’s mind all the errands he must do
-for her, and spoke of kin and friends upon the way—he must greet this
-one and not forget to ask for that one.
-
-Kristin ran out and in; she said farewell many times to all in the
-house, and could not hold still a moment in any place.
-
-“Are you so glad then, Kristin, you are going from me so far and for so
-long?” asked her mother. Kristin was abashed and uneasy, and wished her
-mother had not said this. But she answered as best she could:
-
-“No, dear my mother, but I am glad that I am to go with father.”
-
-“Aye, that you are indeed,” said Ragnfrid, sighing. Then she kissed the
-child and put the last touches to her dress.
-
-At last they were in the saddle, the whole train—Kristin rode on Morvin,
-who ere now had been her father’s saddle-horse—he was old, wise and
-steady. Ragnfrid held up the silver stoup with the stirrup-cup to her
-husband, and laid a hand upon her daughter’s knee and bade her bear in
-mind all her mother had taught her.
-
-And so they rode out of the courtyard in the grey light. The fog lay
-white as milk upon the parish. But in a while it began to grow thinner
-and the sunlight sifted through. And dripping with dew there shone
-through the white haze hillsides, green with the aftermath, and pale
-stubble fields, and yellow trees, and rowans bright with red berries.
-Glimpses of blue mountain-sides seemed rising through the steamy
-haze—then the mist broke and drove in wreaths across the slopes, and
-they rode down the Dale in the most glorious sunshine, Kristin in front
-of the troop at her father’s side.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They came to Hamar one dark and rainy evening, with Kristin sitting in
-front on her father’s saddle-bow, for she was so weary that all things
-swam before her eyes—the lake that gleamed wanly on their right, the
-gloomy trees which dripped wet upon them as they rode beneath, and the
-dark, leaden clusters of houses on the hueless, sodden fields by the
-wayside.
-
-She had stopped counting the days—it seemed as though she had been an
-endless time on the journey. They had visited kindred and friends all
-down the Dale; she had made acquaintance with children on the great
-manors and had played in strange houses and barns and courtyards, and
-had worn many times her red dress with the silk sleeves. They had rested
-by the roadside by day when the weather was fair; Arne had gathered nuts
-for her and she had slept after meals upon the saddlebags wherein were
-their clothes. At one great house they had silk-covered pillows in their
-beds, but one night they lay at an inn, and in one of the other beds was
-a woman who lay and wept softly and bitterly each time Kristin was
-awake. But every night she had slumbered safely behind her father’s
-broad, warm back.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Kristin awoke with a start—she knew not where she was, but the wondrous
-ringing and booming sound she had heard in her dream went on. She was
-lying alone in a bed, and on the hearth of the room a fire was burning.
-
-She called upon her father, and he rose from the hearth where he had
-been sitting, and came to her along with a stout woman.
-
-“Where are we?” she asked, and Lavrans laughed and said:
-
-“We’re in Hamar now, and here is Margret, the wife of Fartein the
-shoemaker—you must greet her prettily now, for you slept when we came
-hither. But now Margret will help you to your clothes.”
-
-“Is it morning then?” said Kristin. “I thought you were even now coming
-to bed.—Oh! do _you_ help me,” she begged; but Lavrans said, something
-sternly, that she should rather be thankful to kind Margret for helping
-her.
-
-“And see what she has for you for a gift!”
-
-’Twas a pair of red shoes with silken latchets. The woman smiled at
-Kristin’s glad face, and drew on her shift and hose up on the bed, that
-she should not need to tread barefoot upon the clay floor.
-
-“What is it makes such a noise,” asked Kristin, “like a church bell, but
-many bells?”
-
-“Aye, those are our bells,” laughed Margret. “Have you heard not of the
-great minster here in the town—’tis there you are going now. There goes
-the great bell! And now ’tis ringing in the cloister and in the Church
-of Holy Cross as well.”
-
-Margret spread the butter thick upon Kristin’s bread and gave her honey
-in her milk, that the food she took might stand in more stead—she had
-scant time to eat.
-
-Out of doors it was still dark and the weather had fallen frosty. The
-fog was biting cold. The footprints of folk and of cattle and horses
-were hard as though cast in iron, so that Kristin bruised her feet in
-the thin, new shoes, and once she trod through the ice on the gutter in
-the middle of the street and her legs got wet and cold. Then Lavrans
-took her on his back and carried her.
-
-She strained her eyes in the gloom, but there was not much she could see
-of the town—she caught a glimpse of black house-gables and trees through
-the grey air. Then they came out upon a little meadow that shone with
-rime, and upon the further side of the meadow she dimly saw a pale-grey
-building, big as a fell. Great stone houses stood about, and at points
-lights glimmered from window-holes in the walls. The bells, which had
-been silent for a time, took to ringing again, and now it was with a
-sound so strong that a cold shiver ran down his back.
-
-’Twas like going into the mountain-side, thought Kristin, when they
-mounted into the church forehall; it struck chill and dark in there.
-They went through a door, and were met by the stale, cold smell of
-incense and candles. Now Kristin was in a dark and vastly lofty place.
-She could not see where it ended, neither above nor to the sides, but
-lights burned upon an altar far in front. There stood a priest, and the
-echoes of his voice stole strangely round the great place, like
-breathings and whisperings. Her father signed the cross with holy-water
-upon himself and the child, and so they went forward; though he stepped
-warily, his spurs rang loudly on the stone floor. They passed by giant
-pillars, and betwixt the pillars it was like looking into coal-black
-holes.
-
-Forward, nigh to the altar, the father bent his knee, and Kristin knelt
-beside him. She began to be able to make things out in the gloom—gold
-and silver glittered on altars in between the pillars, but upon that
-before them shone tapers which stood and burned on gilt candlesticks,
-while the light streamed back from the holy vessels and the big,
-beautiful picture-panel behind. Kristin was brought again to think of
-the mountain-folk’s hall—even so had she dreamed it must be, splendid
-like this, but maybe with yet more lights. And the dwarf-maid’s face
-came up before her—but then she raised her eyes and spied upon the wall
-above the altar, Christ himself, great and stern, lifted high upon the
-cross. Fear came upon her—he did not look mild and sorrowful as at home
-in their own snug timber-brown church, where he hung heavily, with
-pierced feet and hands, and bowed his blood-besprinkled head beneath the
-crown of thorns.
-
-Here, he stood upon a footboard with stiff, outstretched arms and
-upright head; his gilded hair glittered; he was crowned with a crown of
-gold, and his face was upturned and harsh.
-
-Then she tried to follow the priest’s words as he read and chanted, but
-his speech was too hurried and unclear. At home she was wont to
-understand each word, for Sira Eirik had the clearest speech, and had
-taught her what the holy words betokened in Norse, that she might the
-better keep her thoughts with God while she was in church.
-
-But she could not do that here, for every moment she grew aware of
-something new in the darkness. There were windows high up in the walls,
-and these began to shimmer with the day. And near by where they knelt
-there was raised a wondrous scaffolding of timber, but beyond lay blocks
-of light-coloured stone; and there stood mortar-troughs and tools—and
-she heard folks coming tiptoeing about in there. But then again her eyes
-fell upon the stern Lord Christ upon the wall, and she strove to keep
-her thoughts fixed upon the service. The icy cold from the stone floor
-stiffened her legs right up to the thighs, and her knees gave her pain.
-At length everything began to sway about her, so weary was she.
-
-Then her father rose; the mass was at an end. The priest came forward
-and greeted her father. While they spoke, Kristin sate herself down upon
-a step, for she saw the choirboy had done the like. He yawned—and so she
-too fell a yawning. When he marked that she looked at him, he set his
-tongue in his cheek and twisted his eyes at her. Thereupon he dug up a
-pouch from under his clothing and emptied upon the flags all that was in
-it—fish-hooks, lumps of lead, leather thongs and a pair of dice, and all
-the while he made signs to her. Kristin wondered mightily.
-
-But now the priest and her father looked at the children. The priest
-laughed, and bade the boy be gone back to school, but Lavrans frowned
-and took Kristin by the hand.
-
-It began to grow lighter in the church now. Kristin clung sleepily to
-Lavrans’ hand, while he and the priest walked beneath the pile of timber
-and talked of Bishop Ingjald’s building-work.
-
-They wandered all about the church, and in the end went out into the
-forehall. Thence a stone stairway led to the western tower. Kristin
-tumbled wearily up the steps. The priest opened a door to a fair chapel,
-and her father said that Kristin should set herself without upon the
-steps and wait while he went to shrift; and thereafter she could come in
-and kiss St. Thomas’s shrine.
-
-At that there came an old monk in an ash-brown frock from out the
-chapel. He stopped a moment, smiled at the child, and drew forth some
-sacks and wadmal cloths which had been stuck into a hole in the wall.
-These he spread upon the landing:
-
-“Sit you here, and you will not be so cold,” said he, and passed down
-the steps upon his naked feet.
-
-Kristin was sleeping when Canon Martein, as the priest was called, came
-out and waked her with a touch. Up from the church sounded the sweetest
-of song, and in the chapel candles burned upon the altar. The priest
-made sign that she should kneel by her father’s side, and then he took
-down a little golden shrine which stood above the communion-table. He
-whispered to her that in it was a piece of St. Thomas of Canterbury’s
-bloody garments, and he pointed at the saint’s figure on the shrine that
-Kristin might press her lips to his feet.
-
-The lovely tones still streamed from the church as they came down the
-steps; Canon Martein said ’twas the organist practising his art and the
-school-boys singing; but they had not the time to stay and listen, for
-her father was hungry—he had come fasting for confession—and they were
-now bound for the guest-room of the canons’ close to take their food.
-
-The morning sun without was gilding the steep shores on the further side
-of the great lake, and all the groves of yellowing leaf-trees shone like
-gold-dust amid the dark-blue pinewoods. The lake ran in waves with small
-dancing white caps of foam to their heads. The wind blew cold and fresh
-and the many-hued leaves drifted down upon the rimy hillsides.
-
-A band of riders came forth from between the bishop’s palace and the
-house of the Brothers of Holy Cross. Lavrans stepped aside and bowed
-with a hand upon his breast, while he all but swept the sward with his
-hat, so Kristin could guess the nobleman in the fur cloak must be the
-bishop himself, and she curtsied to the ground.
-
-The bishop reined in his horse and gave back the greeting; he beckoned
-Lavrans to him and spoke with him a while. In a short space Lavrans came
-back to the priest and child and said:
-
-“Now am I bidden to eat at the bishop’s palace—think you Canon Martein,
-that one of the serving-men of the canonry could go with this little
-maid of mine home to Fartein the shoemaker’s and bid my men send Halvdan
-to meet me here with Guldsveinen at the hour of nones.”
-
-The priest answered, doubtless what he asked could be done. But on this
-the bare-footed monk who had spoken to Kristin on the tower stairs came
-forward and saluted them:
-
-“There is a man here in our guest-house who has an errand of his own to
-the shoemaker’s; he can bear your bidding thither, Lavrans Björgulfsön,
-and your daughter can go with him or bide at the cloister with me till
-you yourself are for home. I shall see to it that she has her food
-there.”
-
-Lavrans thanked him but said, “’Twere shame you should be troubled with
-the child, brother Edwin—”
-
-“Brother Edwin draws to himself all the children he can lay hands upon,”
-said Canon Martein and laughed. “’Tis in this wise he gets someone to
-preach to—”
-
-“Aye, before you learnéd lords here in Hamar I dare not proffer my poor
-discourses,” said the monk without anger, and smiling. “All I am fit for
-is to talk to children and peasants, but even so, ’tis not well, we
-know, to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.”
-
-Kristin looked up at her father beseechingly; she thought there was
-nothing she would like more than to go with brother Edwin. So Lavrans
-gave thanks again, and while her father and the priest went after the
-bishop’s train, Kristin laid her hand in the monk’s, and they went down
-towards the cloister, a cluster of wooden houses and a light-hued stone
-church far down by the lake-side.
-
-Brother Edwin gave her hand a little squeeze, and as they looked at one
-another they had both to laugh. The monk was thin and tall, but very
-stoop-backed; the child thought him like an old crane in the head, for
-’twas little, with a small, shining, bald pate above a shaggy, white rim
-of hair, and set upon a long, thin, wrinkled neck. His nose was large
-too, and pointed like a beak. But ’twas something which made her light
-of heart and glad, only to look up into the long, narrow, deep-lined
-face. The old, sea-blue eyes were red-rimmed and the lids brown and thin
-as flakes. A thousand wrinkles spread out from them; the wizened cheeks
-with the reddish network of veins were scored with furrows which ran
-down towards the thin-lipped mouth, but ’twas as though Brother Edwin
-had grown thus wrinkled only through smiling at mankind.—Kristin thought
-she had never seen anyone so blithe and gentle; it seemed he bore some
-bright and privy gladness within which she would get to know of when he
-began to speak.
-
-They followed the fence of an apple-orchard where there still hung upon
-the trees a few red and golden fruit. Two Preaching Brothers in black
-and white gowns were raking together withered beanshaws in the garden.
-
-The cloister was not much unlike any other farm steading, and the
-guest-house whither the monk led Kristin was most like a poor peasant’s
-house, though there were many bedsteads in it. In one of the beds lay an
-old man, and by the hearth sat a woman swathing a little child; two
-bigger children, boy and girl, stood beside her.
-
-They murmured, both the man and the woman, that they had not been given
-their breakfast yet: “None will be at the pains to bear in food to us
-twice in the day, so we must e’en starve while you run about the town,
-Brother Edwin!”
-
-“Nay, be not peevish, Steinulv,” said the monk, “—Come hither and make
-your greetings, Kristin—see this bonny, sweet little maid who is to stay
-and eat with us to-day.”
-
-He told how Steinulv had fallen sick on the way home from a fair, and
-had got leave to lie here in the cloister guest-house, for he had a
-kinswoman dwelling in the spital and she was so curst he could not
-endure to be there with her.
-
-“But I see well enough, they will soon be weary of having me here,” said
-the peasant. “When you set forth again, Brother Edwin, there will be
-none here that has time to tend me, and they will surely have me to the
-spital again.”
-
-“Oh! you will be well and strong long before I am done with my work in
-the church,” said Brother Edwin. “Then your son will come and fetch
-you—” He took up a kettle of hot water from the hearth and let Kristin
-hold it while he tended Steinulv. Thereupon the old man grew somewhat
-easier, and soon after there came in a monk with food and drink for
-them.
-
-Brother Edwin said grace over the meat, and set himself on the edge of
-the bed by Steinulv that he might help him to take his food. Kristin
-went and sat by the woman and gave the boy to eat, for he was so little
-he could not well reach up to the porridge-dish, and he spilled upon
-himself when he tried to dip into the beer-bowl. The woman was from
-Hadeland, and she was come hither with her man and her children to see
-her brother who was a monk here in the cloister. But he was away
-wandering among the country parishes, and she grumbled much that they
-must lie here and waste their time.
-
-Brother Edwin spoke the woman fair: she must not say she wasted time
-when she was here in Bishopshamar. Here were all the brave churches, and
-the monks and canons held masses and sang the livelong day and night—and
-the city was fine, finer than Oslo even, though ’twas somewhat less; but
-here were gardens to almost every dwelling-place: “You should have seen
-it when I came hither in the spring—’twas white with blossom over all
-the town. And after, when the sweet-brier burst forth—”
-
-“Aye, and much good is that to me now,” said the woman sourly. “And here
-are more of holy places than of holiness, methinks—”
-
-The monk laughed a little and shook his head. Then he routed amidst the
-straw of his bed and brought forth a great handful of apples and pears
-which he shared amongst the children. Kristin had never tasted such good
-fruit. The juice ran out from the corners of her mouth every bite she
-took.
-
-But now Brother Edwin must go to the church, he said, and Kristin should
-go with him. Their path went slantwise across the close, and, by a
-little side wicket, they passed into the choir.
-
-They were still building at this church as well, so that here too there
-stood a tall scaffolding in the cross where nave and transepts met.
-Bishop Ingjald was bettering and adorning the choir, said Brother
-Edwin—the bishop had great wealth, and all his riches he used for the
-adornment of the churches here in the town; he was a noble bishop and a
-good man. The Preaching Friars in the Olav’s cloister were good men too,
-clean-living, learned and humble; ’twas a poor cloister, but they had
-made him most welcome—Brother Edwin had his home in the Minorite
-cloister at Oslo, but he had leave to spend a term here in Hamar
-diocese.
-
-“But now come hither,” said he, and led Kristin forward to the foot of
-the scaffolding. First he climbed up a ladder and laid some boards
-straight up there, and then he came down again and helped the child up
-with him.
-
-Upon the grey-stone wall above her Kristin saw wondrous fluttering
-flecks of light; red as blood and yellow as beer, blue and brown and
-green. She would have turned to look behind her, but the monk whispered:
-“Turn not about.” But when they stood together high upon the planking,
-he turned her gently round, and Kristin saw a sight so fair she almost
-lost her breath.
-
-Right over against her on the nave’s south wall stood a picture and
-shone as if it were made of naught but gleaming precious stones. The
-many-hued flecks of light upon the wall came from rays which stood out
-from that picture; she herself and the monk stood in the midst of the
-glory; her hands were red as though dipped in wine; the monk’s visage
-seemed all golden, and his dark frock threw the picture’s colours softly
-back. She looked up at him questioningly, but he only nodded and smiled.
-
-’Twas like standing far off and looking into the heavenly kingdom.
-Behind a network of black streaks, she made out little by little the
-Lord Christ himself in the most precious of red robes, the Virgin Mary
-in raiment blue as heaven, holy men and maidens in shining yellow and
-green and violet array. They stood below arches and pillars of
-glimmering houses, wound about with branches and twigs of strange bright
-leafage—
-
-The monk drew her a little further out upon the staging:
-
-“Stand here,” he whispered, “and ’twill shine right upon you from
-Christ’s own robe.”
-
-From the church beneath there rose to them a faint odour of incense and
-the smell of cold stone. It was dim below, but the sun’s rays slanted in
-through a row of window-bays in the nave’s south wall. Kristin began to
-understand that the heavenly picture must be a sort of windowpane, for
-it filled just such an opening. The others were empty or filled with
-panes of horn set in wooden frames. A bird came, set itself upon a
-windowsill, twittered a little and flew away, and outside the wall of
-the choir they heard the clank of metal on stone. All else was still;
-only the wind came in small puffs, sighed a little round about the
-church walls and died away.
-
-“Aye, aye,” said Brother Edwin and sighed. “No one here in the land can
-make the like—they paint on glass, ’tis true, in Nidaros, but not like
-this—But away in the lands of the south, Kristin, in the great minsters,
-there they have such picture-panes, big as the doors of the church
-here—”
-
-Kristin thought of the pictures in the church at home. There was St.
-Olav’s altar and St. Thomas of Canterbury’s altar with pictures on their
-front panels and on the tabernacles behind—but those pictures seemed to
-her dull and lustreless as she thought of them now.
-
-They went down the ladder and up into the choir. There stood the altar
-table, naked and bare, and on the stone slab were set many small boxes
-and cups of metal and wood and earthenware; strange little knives and
-irons, pens and brushes lay about. Brother Edwin said these were his
-gear; he plied the crafts of painting pictures and carving
-altar-tabernacles, and the fine panels which stood yonder by the
-choir-stalls were his work. They were for the altarpieces here in the
-Preaching Friars’ church.
-
-Kristin watched how he mixed up coloured powders and stirred them into
-little cups of stoneware, and he let her help him bear the things away
-to a bench by the wall. While the monk went from one panel to another
-and painted fine red lines in the bright hair of the holy men and women
-so that one could see it curl and crinkle, Kristin kept close at his
-heels and gazed and questioned, and he explained to her what it was that
-he had limned.
-
-On the one panel sat Christ in a chair of gold, and St. Nicholas and St.
-Clement stood beneath a roof by his side. And at the sides was painted
-St. Nicholas’ life and works. In one place he sat as a suckling child
-upon his mother’s knee; he turned away from the breast she reached him,
-for he was so holy that from the very cradle he would not suck more than
-once on Fridays. Alongside of that was a picture of him as he laid the
-money-purses before the door of the house where dwelt the three maids
-who were so poor they could not find husbands. She saw how he healed the
-Roman knight’s child, and saw the knight sailing in a boat with the
-false chalice in his hands. He had vowed the holy bishop a chalice of
-gold which had been in his house a thousand years, as guerdon for
-bringing his son back to health again. But he was minded to trick St.
-Nicholas and give him a false chalice instead; therefore the boy fell
-into the sea with the true beaker in his hands. But St. Nicholas led the
-child unhurt underneath the water and up on to the shore just as his
-father stood in St. Nicholas’ church and offered the false vessel. It
-all stood painted upon the panels in gold and the fairest colours.
-
-On another panel sat the Virgin Mary with the Christ-child on her knee;
-he pressed his mother’s chin with the one hand and held an apple in the
-other. Beside them stood St. Sunniva and St. Christina. They bowed in
-lovely wise from their waists, their faces were the fairest red and
-white and they had golden hair and golden crowns.
-
-Brother Edwin steadied himself with the left hand on the right wrist,
-and painted leaves and roses on the crowns.
-
-“The dragon is all too small, methinks,” said Kristin, looking at her
-holy namesake’s picture. “It looks not as though it could swallow up the
-maiden.”
-
-“And that it could not either,” said Brother Edwin. “It was not bigger.
-Dragons and all such-like that serve the devil, seem great only so long
-as fear is in ourselves. But if a man seek God fervently and with all
-his soul so that his longing wins into his strength, then does the
-devil’s power suffer at once such great downfall that his tools become
-small and powerless—dragons and evil spirits sink down and become no
-bigger than sprites and cats and crows. You see that the whole mountain
-St. Sunniva was in is no larger than that she can wrap it within the
-skirt of her gown.”
-
-“But were they not in the caves then,” asked Kristin, “St. Sunniva and
-the Selje-men? Is not that true?”
-
-The monk twinkled at her and smiled again:
-
-“’Tis both true and untrue. It seemed so to the folk who found the holy
-bodies. And true it is that it seemed so to Sunniva and the Selje-men,
-for they were humble and thought only that the world is stronger than
-all sinful mankind, and they thought not that they themselves were
-stronger than the world, because they loved it not. But had they but
-known it, they could have taken all the hills and slung them forth into
-the sea like so many pebbles. No one, nor anything, can harm us child,
-save what we fear or love.”
-
-“But if a body doth not fear nor love God?” asked Kristin, affrighted.
-
-The monk took her yellow hair in his hand, bent Kristin’s head back
-gently and looked down into her face; his eyes were wide open and blue.
-
-“There is no man nor woman, Kristin, who does not love and fear God, but
-’tis because our hearts are divided twixt love of God and fear of the
-devil and fondness for the world and the flesh, that we are unhappy in
-life and death. For if a man had not any yearning after God and God’s
-being, then should he thrive in hell, and ’twould be we alone who would
-not understand that there he had gotten what his heart desired. For
-there the fire would not burn him if he did not long for coolness, nor
-would he feel the torment of the serpents’ bite, if he knew not the
-yearning after peace.”
-
-Kristin looked up in his face; she understood none of all this. Brother
-Edwin went on:
-
-“’Twas God’s loving-kindness towards us that, seeing how our hearts are
-drawn asunder, He came down and dwelt among us, that He might taste in
-the flesh the lures of the devil when he decoys us with power and
-splendour, as well as the menace of the world when it offers us blows
-and scorn and sharp nails in hands and feet. In such wise did He show us
-the way and make manifest His love—”
-
-He looked down upon the child’s grave, set face—then he laughed a little
-and said with quite another voice:
-
-“Do you know who ’twas that first knew our Lord had caused himself to be
-born? ’Twas the cock; he saw the star and so he said—all the beasts
-could talk Latin in those days; he cried: ‘Christus natus est!’”
-
-He crowed these last words so like a cock that Kristin fell to laughing
-heartily. And it did her good to laugh, for all the strange things
-Brother Edwin had just been saying had laid a burden of awe on her
-heart.
-
-The monk laughed himself:
-
-“Aye, and when the ox heard that, he began to low: ‘Ubi, ubi, ubi.’
-
-“But the goat bleated and said: ‘Betlem, Betlem, Betlem!’
-
-“And the sheep longed so to see Our Lady and her Son that she baa-ed out
-at once: ‘Eamus, eamus!’
-
-“And the new-born calf that lay in the straw, raised itself and stood
-upon its feet. ‘Volo, volo, volo!’ it said.
-
-“You never heard that before? No, I can believe it; I know that he is a
-worthy priest, that Sira Eirik that you have up in your parts, and
-learned; but he knows not this, I warrant; for a man does not learn it
-except he journey to Paris—”
-
-“Have _you_ been to Paris then?” asked the child.
-
-“God bless you, little Kristin, I have been in Paris and have travelled
-round elsewhere in the world as well; and you must not believe aught
-else than that I am afraid of the devil, and love and covet like any
-other fool. But I hold fast to the Cross with all my might—one must
-cling to it like a kitten to a lath when it has fallen in the sea—
-
-“And you, Kristin—how would you like to offer up this bonny hair and
-serve Our Lady like these brides I have figured here?”
-
-“We have no child at home but me,” answered Kristin. “So ’tis like that
-I must marry. And I trow mother has chests and lockers with my bridal
-gear standing ready even now.”
-
-“Aye, aye,” said Brother Edwin, and stroked her forehead. “’Tis thus
-that folk deal with their children now. To God they give the daughters
-who are lame or purblind or ugly or blemished, or they let Him have back
-the children when they deem Him to have given them more than they need.
-And then they wonder that all who dwell in the cloisters are not holy
-men and maids—”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Brother Edwin took her into the sacristy and showed her the cloister
-books which stood there in a book-case; there were the fairest pictures
-in them. But when one of the monks came in, Brother Edwin made as though
-he were but seeking an ass’s head to copy. Afterward he shook his head
-at himself:
-
-“Aye, there you see what fear does, Kristin—but they’re so fearful about
-their books in the house here. Had I the true faith and love, I would
-not stand here as I do and lie to Brother Aasulv—But then I could take
-these old fur mittens here and hang them upon yonder sunbeam—”
-
-She was with the monk to dinner over in the guest-house, but for the
-rest she sat in the church the whole day and watched his work and
-chatted with him. And first when Lavrans came to fetch her, did either
-she or the monk remember the message that should have been sent to the
-shoemaker.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Afterwards Kristin remembered these days in Hamar better than all else
-that befell her on the long journey. Oslo, indeed, was a greater town
-than Hamar, but now that she had seen a market town, it did not seem to
-her so notable. Nor did she deem it as fair at Skog as at Jörundgaard,
-though the houses were grander—but she was glad she was not to dwell
-there. The manor lay upon a hillside; below was the Botnfjord, grey, and
-sad with dark forest, and on the further shore and behind the houses the
-forest stood with the sky right down upon the tree-tops. There were no
-high, steep fells as at home, to hold the heavens high above one and to
-keep the sight sheltered and in bounds so that the world might seem
-neither too big nor too little.
-
-The journey home was cold; it was nigh upon Advent; but, when they were
-come a little way up the Dale, snow was lying, and so they borrowed
-sleighs and drove most of the way.
-
-With the affair of the estates it fell out so that Lavrans made Skog
-over to his brother Aasmund, keeping the right of redemption for himself
-and his heirs.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   3
-
-THE spring after Kristin’s long journey, Ragnfrid bore her husband
-another daughter. Both father and mother had wished indeed that it might
-be a son, but they soon took comfort, and were filled with the tenderest
-love for little Ulvhild. She was a most fair child, healthy, good, happy
-and quiet. Ragnfrid doted so on this new baby that she went on suckling
-it during the second year of its life; wherefore, on Sira Eirik’s
-counsel, she left off somewhat her strict fasts and religious exercises
-while she had the child at the breast. On this account and by reason of
-her joy in Ulvhild, her bloom came back to her, and Lavrans thought he
-had never seen his wife so happy or so fair and kindly in all the years
-he had been wed.
-
-Kristin, too, felt that great happiness had come to them with this
-tender little sister. That her mother’s heavy mood made a stillness
-about her home, had never come into her thought; she had deemed it was
-but as it should be that her mother should correct and chide her, while
-her father played and jested with her. But Ragnfrid was much gentler
-with her now and gave her more freedom; petted her more too; and so
-Kristin little heeded that her mother had much less time to tend her.
-She loved Ulvhild as much as the others, and was joyful when they let
-her carry or rock her sister, and in time there was still more sport
-with the little one when she began to creep and walk and talk and
-Kristin could play with her.
-
-Thus there went by three good years for the Jörundgaard folk. They had
-fortune with them in many ways, and Lavrans built and bettered round
-about on the manor, for the buildings and cattlesheds were old and small
-when he came thither—the Gjeslings had had the place leased out for more
-lifetimes than one.
-
-Now it fell out at Whitsuntide in the third year that Trond Ivarsön from
-Sundbu, with his wife Gudrid and his three small sons, were come to
-Jörundgaard to visit them. One morning the older folk were sitting
-talking in the balcony of the loft-room while the children played about
-in the courtyard below. In the yard Lavrans had begun a new
-dwelling-house, and the children were climbing and creeping about on the
-timber brought together for the building. One of the Gjesling boys had
-struck at Ulvhild and made her weep; and at that Trond came down and
-gave his son a buffet, and took Ulvhild up into his arms. She was the
-fairest and sweetest child a man’s eyes could see, and her uncle had
-much love for her, though else he cared not for children.
-
-Just then there came a man across the court from the cattleyard,
-dragging at a great, black bull; but the bull was savage and
-unmanageable and broke away from the man. Trond sprang up upon the pile
-of timber, driving the bigger children up before him, but he had Ulvhild
-in his arms and his youngest son by the hand. Then a beam turned under
-his feet and Ulvhild slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. The
-beam slipped after, rolled over on the child and lay across her back.
-
-Lavrans was down from the balcony in the same instant; he ran up and was
-in act to lift the beam when the bull rushed at him. He tried to seize
-it by the horns, but was flung down and gored. But getting then a grip
-of its nostrils, he half raised himself from the ground and managed to
-hold the brute till Trond came to himself from his bewilderment and the
-farm servants, running from the houses, cast thongs about the beast and
-held it fast.
-
-Ragnfrid was on her knees trying to lift the beam; and now Lavrans was
-able to ease it so far that she could draw the child from under and into
-her lap. The little one wailed piteously when they touched her, but her
-mother sobbed aloud:
-
-“She lives, thank God, she lives!—”
-
-It was great wonder the child had not been quite crushed; but the log
-had chanced to fall so that it rested with one end upon a stone in the
-grass. When Lavrans stood up again, blood was running from the corners
-of his mouth, and his clothes were all torn at the breast by the bull’s
-horns.
-
-Tordis came running with a skin coverlet; warily she and Ragnfrid moved
-the child on to it, but it seemed as though she suffered unbearable pain
-at the lightest touch. Her mother and Tordis bore her into the
-winter-room.
-
-Kristin stood upon the timber pile white and stock still, while the
-little boys clung round her weeping. All the house and farm folk were
-now huddled together in the courtyard, the women weeping and wailing.
-Lavrans bade them saddle Guldsveinen and another horse as well; but when
-Arne came with the horses, Lavrans fell to the ground when he tried to
-climb to the saddle. So he bade Arne ride for the priest, while Halvdan
-went southward for a leech-woman who dwelt by the meeting of the rivers.
-
-Kristin saw that her father was ashy white in the face, and that he had
-bled till his light-blue garments were covered all over with red-brown
-stains. All at once he stood upright, snatched an axe from one of the
-men and went forward where some of the folk stood holding on to the
-bull. He smote the beast between the horns with the back of the axe—it
-dropped forward on its knees; but Lavrans ceased not striking till its
-blood and brains were scattered all about. Then a fit of coughing took
-him and he sank backwards on the ground. Trond and another man came to
-him and bore him within the house.
-
-At that, Kristin thought her father was surely dead; she screamed loudly
-and ran after, calling to him as if her heart were breaking.
-
-In the winter-room Ulvhild had been laid on the great bed—all the
-pillows were thrown out upon the floor, so that the child lay flat.
-’Twas as though already she lay stretched on the dead-straw. But she
-wailed loudly and without cease, and her mother lay bent over her,
-soothing and patting the child, wild with grief that she could do naught
-to help her.
-
-Lavrans lay upon the other bed: he rose and staggered across the floor
-that he might comfort his wife. At that she started up and shrieked:
-
-“Touch me not, touch me not! Jesus, Jesus,—’twere liker you should
-strike me dead—never will it end, the ill-fortune I bring upon you—”
-
-“You?—Dear my wife, ’tis not you that have brought this on us,” said
-Lavrans, and laid a hand upon her shoulder. She shuddered at that, and
-her light-grey eyes shone in her lean, sallow face.
-
-“Doubtless she means that ’twas my doing,” said Trond Ivarsön roughly.
-His sister looked at him with hate in her eyes, and answered:
-
-“Trond knows what I mean.”
-
-Kristin ran forward to her parents, but both thrust her away from them,
-and Tordis, coming in with a kettle of hot water, took her gently by the
-shoulder and said, “Go—go over to our house, Kristin; you are in the way
-here.”
-
-Tordis was for seeing to Lavrans’ hurt—he had set himself down on the
-step before the bed—but he said there was little amiss with him:
-
-“But is there naught you can do to ease Ulvhild’s pain a little—God help
-us! her crying would move the very stones in the mountain-side!”
-
-“Nay; we dare not touch her ere the priest or Ingegjerd the leech-wife
-comes,” said Tordis.
-
-Arne came just then with word that Sira Eirik was not at home. Ragnfrid
-stood a while wringing her hands. Then she said:
-
-“Send to Lady Aashild of Haugen! Naught matters now, if only Ulvhild may
-be saved—”
-
-No one gave heed to Kristin. She crept on to the bench behind the bed’s
-head, crouched down and laid her head upon her knees.
-
-It seemed to her now as if stony hands were pressing on her heart. Lady
-Aashild was to be fetched! Her mother would not have them send for Lady
-Aashild, even when she herself was near death’s door at Ulvhild’s birth,
-nor yet when Kristin was so sick of the fever. She was a witch-wife,
-folk said—the bishop of Oslo and the chapter had held session on her;
-and she must have been put to death or even burned, had it not been that
-she was of such high birth and had been like a sister to Queen
-Ingebjörg—but folk said she had given her first husband poison, and him
-she now had, Sir Björn, she had drawn to her by witchcraft; he was young
-enough to be her son. She had children too, but they came never to see
-their mother, and these two highborn folk, Björn and Aashild, lived upon
-a petty farm in Dovre, and had lost all their wealth. None of the great
-folk in the Dale would have to do with them, but, privily, folk sought
-her counsel—nay, poor folk went openly to her with their troubles and
-hurts; they said she was kind, but they feared her too.
-
-Kristin thought her mother, who else was wont to pray so much, should
-rather have called on God and the Virgin now. She tried to pray
-herself—to St. Olav most of all, for she knew he was so good and helped
-so many who suffered from sickness and wounds or broken bones. But she
-could not keep her thoughts together.
-
-Her father and mother were alone in the room now. Lavrans had laid
-himself upon his bed again, and Ragnfrid sat bent over the sick child,
-passing, from time to time, a damp cloth over her forehead and hands,
-and wetting her lips with wine.
-
-A long time went by. Tordis looked in between whiles, and would fain
-have helped, but Ragnfrid sent her out each time. Kristin wept silently
-and prayed to herself, but all the while she thought of the witch-wife
-and waited eagerly to see her come in.
-
-Suddenly Ragnfrid asked in the silence:
-
-“Are you sleeping, Lavrans?”
-
-“No,” answered her husband. “I am listening to Ulvhild. God will surely
-help His innocent lamb, wife—we dare not doubt it. But ’tis weary lying
-here waiting—”
-
-“God,” said Ragnfrid, hopelessly, “hates me for my sins. ’Tis well with
-my children, where they are, I doubt not that, and now ’tis like
-Ulvhild’s hour has come, too—but me he has cast off, for my heart is a
-viper’s nest, full of sin and sorrow—”
-
-Then someone lifted the latch—Sira Eirik stepped in, straightened his
-huge frame where he stood and said in his clear, deep voice: “God help
-all in this house!”
-
-The priest put the box with his medicines on the step before the bed and
-went to the open hearth and poured warm water over his hands. Then he
-took a cross from his bosom, struck out with it to all four corners of
-the room and mumbled something in Latin. Thereupon he opened the
-smoke-vent so that the light might stream into the room, and went and
-looked at Ulvhild.
-
-Kristin grew afraid he might find her and send her out—not often did
-Sira Eirik’s eyes let much escape them. But the priest did not look
-round. He took a flask from the box, poured somewhat upon a wad of
-finely carded wool and laid it over Ulvhild’s mouth and nose.
-
-“Now she will soon suffer less,” said the priest. He went to Lavrans and
-tended his wounds, while they told him how the mishap had come to pass.
-Lavrans had two ribs broken and had a wound in the lungs; but the priest
-thought that for him there was no great fear.
-
-“And Ulvhild?” asked the father fearfully.
-
-“I will tell you when I have looked at her more nearly,” answered the
-priest; “but you must lie in the loft-room, so that there may be more
-quiet and room here for those who must tend her.” He laid Lavrans’ arm
-about his own shoulder, took firm hold under the man, and bore him out.
-Kristin would fain have gone with her father now, but she dared not show
-herself.
-
-When Sira Eirik came back, he did not speak to Ragnfrid, but first cut
-the clothes off Ulvhild, who now moaned less and seemed half asleep.
-Then carefully he felt with his hands over the child’s body and limbs.
-
-“Is it so ill with my child, Eirik, that you know not how to save her,
-since you say naught,” asked Ragnfrid under her breath.
-
-The priest answered low:
-
-“It seems as though her back were badly hurt, Ragnfrid; I see no better
-way than to leave all in God’s hands and St. Olav’s—much there is not
-that I can do.”
-
-“Then must we pray,” cried the mother passionately: “—you know well that
-Lavrans and I will give you all you ask, and spare nothing if so be your
-prayers can win God to grant that Ulvhild may live.”
-
-“’Twould seem to me a miracle,” said the priest, “were she to live and
-have her health again.”
-
-“And is’t not of miracles that you preach late and early—believe you not
-that a miracle can happen with my child,” she said, as wildly as before.
-
-“’Tis true,” replied the priest, “that miracles happen; but God does not
-grant the prayers of all—we know not His secret counsel. And think you
-not, it would be worst of all should this fair little maid grow up
-marred or crippled?”
-
-Ragnfrid shook her head. She wailed softly:
-
-“I have lost so many, priest: I cannot lose her too!”
-
-“I will do all that I may,” answered the priest, “and pray with all my
-power. But you must strive, Ragnfrid, to bear the cross God lays upon
-you.”
-
-The mother moaned low:
-
-“None of my children have I loved like this little one—if she too be
-taken from me, full sure I am my heart will break.”
-
-“God help you, Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter,” said Sira Eirik, and shook his
-head. “In all your praying and fasting, you have thought only to force
-your will upon God. Can you wonder that it has helped but little?”
-
-Ragnfrid looked defiantly at the priest, and spoke:
-
-“I have sent for the Lady Aashild even now.”
-
-“Aye, you know her; I know her not,” replied the priest.
-
-“I cannot live without Ulvhild,” said Ragnfrid as before. “If so be God
-will not help her, I will seek counsel of Lady Aashild, or e’en give
-myself to the devil if he will help!”
-
-The priest looked as though he would answer sharply, but checked himself
-again. He bent and felt the limbs of the little sick girl once more:
-
-“Her hands and feet are cold,” he said. “We must lay jars of hot water
-about her—and then you must touch her no more till Lady Aashild comes.”
-
-Kristin let herself sink back noiselessly on the bench and lay as if
-asleep. Her heart beat hard with fear—she had understood but little of
-the talk between Sira Eirik and her mother, but it had frightened her
-terribly, and the child knew well that it had not been for her ears.
-
-Her mother rose up to go for the hot water jars; and suddenly she burst
-out sobbing: “But yet pray for us, Sira Eirik.”
-
-Soon after she came back with Tordis. Then the priest and the women
-busied themselves with Ulvhild, and soon Kristin was found and sent
-away.
-
-The light dazzled the child as she stood without in the courtyard. She
-had thought that most of the day must have gone by while she sat in the
-dark winter-room, and yet the houses stood there light-grey, and the
-grass was shining like silk in the white midday sunshine. The river
-gleamed behind the dun and golden trellis-work of the alder-brakes—it
-filled the air with its gladsome rushing sound, for here by Jörundgaard
-it ran swiftly over a flat bed strewn with boulders. The mountain-walls
-rose into the thin blue haze, and the becks sprang down their sides
-through the melting snows. The sweet, strong springtide out of doors
-brought tears to her eyes, for sorrow at the helplessness she felt all
-about her.
-
-There was no one in the courtyard, but she heard voices in the
-housecarls’ cottage. Fresh earth had been strewn over the spot where her
-father had killed the bull. She knew not what to do with herself—so she
-crept behind the wall of the new house—two log-courses had already been
-laid. Inside lay Ulvhild’s playthings and her own; she put them all
-together and laid them in a hole between the lowest log and the
-foundation wall. Of late Ulvhild had wanted all her toys; this had vexed
-her sometimes. Now she thought, if her sister got well, she would give
-her all she had. And this thought comforted her a little.
-
-She thought of the monk in Hamar—_he_ was sure that miracles could
-happen for every one. But Sira Eirik was not so sure about it, nor her
-parents either—and she was used to think as they did. A heavy weight
-fell upon her as it came to her for the first time that folk could think
-so unlike about so many things—not only bad, ungodly men and good men,
-but such men as Brother Edwin and Sira Eirik,—even her mother and her
-father: she felt all at once that they too thought not alike about many
-things—
-
-Tordis found her there in the corner, asleep, late in the day, and took
-her to her own house; the child had eaten nothing since the morning.
-Tordis watched with Ragnfrid over Ulvhild through the night, and Kristin
-lay in Tordis’ bed with Jon, Tordis’ husband, and Eivind and Orm, their
-little boys. The smell of their bodies, the man’s snoring and the
-children’s even breathing made Kristin weep silently. It was no longer
-ago than last evening that she had lain down, as each night of her life
-before, by her own father and mother and little Ulvhild—it was as though
-a nest had been riven asunder and scattered and she herself lay cast out
-from the shelter of the wings which had always kept her warm. At last
-she cried herself to sleep, alone and unhappy among these strange folk.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Next morning as soon as she was up, she heard that her mother’s brother
-and all his party had left the place—in anger; Trond had called his
-sister a foolish, crazy woman, and his brother-in-law a soft simpleton
-who had never known how to rule his wife. Kristin grew hot with wrath,
-but she was ashamed too—she understood well enough that a most unseemly
-thing had befallen in that her mother had driven her nearest kin from
-the house. And for the first time she dimly felt that there was
-something about her mother that was not as it should be—that she was not
-the same as other women.
-
-While she stood brooding on this, a serving-maid came and said she was
-to go up to the loft-room to her father.
-
-But when she was come into the room Kristin forgot to look at him, for
-right opposite the open door, with the light full upon her face, sat a
-little woman who she guessed must be the witch-wife. And yet Kristin had
-never thought that she would look like this.
-
-She seemed small as a child and slightly made, as she sat in the great
-high-backed arm-chair which had been brought up thither. A table had
-been set before her too, covered with Ragnfrid’s finest, fringed, linen
-tablecloth. Bacon and fowl were set out upon the silver platter; there
-was wine in a mazer bowl, and she had Lavrans’ own silver goblet to
-drink from. She had finished eating and was busy drying her small and
-slender hands on one of Ragnfrid’s best hand-towels. Ragnfrid herself
-stood in front of her and held for her a brass basin with water.
-
-Lady Aashild let the hand-towel sink into her lap; she smiled to the
-child, and said in a clear and lovely voice:
-
-“Come hither to me, child!” Then to the mother: “Fair children are these
-you have, Ragnfrid.”
-
-Her face was greatly wrinkled, but as clear white and pink as a child’s,
-and it looked as though her skin must be just as soft and fine to the
-touch. Her mouth was as red and fresh as a young woman’s, and her large,
-hazel eyes shone bright. A fine, white, linen headdress lay close about
-her face and was fastened under her chin with a golden clasp; over it
-she had a veil of soft, dark-blue wool; it fell over her shoulders and
-far down upon her dark, well-fitting dress. She was upright as a wand,
-and Kristin felt more than thought that she had never seen a woman so
-fair and so mannerly as was this old witch-wife, with whom the great
-folk of the valley would have naught to do.
-
-Lady Aashild held Kristin’s hand in her old, soft one; and spoke to her
-with kindly jesting; but Kristin could not answer a word. Then said Lady
-Aashild with a little laugh:
-
-“Is she afraid of me, think you?”
-
-“Nay, nay,” Kristin all but shouted. And then Lady Aashild laughed still
-more, and said to the mother:
-
-“She has wise eyes, this daughter of yours, and good strong hands, nor
-is she used to be idle, I can see. You will need one by-and-by to help
-you tend Ulvhild, when I am gone. ’Twere well, therefore, you let
-Kristin be by me and help while yet I am here—she is old enough for
-that; eleven years is she not?”
-
-Thereupon the Lady Aashild went out, and Kristin would have followed
-her, but Lavrans called to her from his bed. He lay flat upon his back
-with the pillows stuffed beneath his updrawn knees; Lady Aashild had
-bidden that he should lie so, that the hurt in his breast might the
-sooner heal.
-
-“Now surely you will soon be well, sir father, will you not?” asked
-Kristin.
-
-Lavrans looked up at her—the child had never said “sir” to him before.
-Then he said gravely:
-
-“For me there is naught to fear;—’tis worse with your sister.”
-
-“Aye,” said Kristin, and sighed.
-
-She stood yet a little while by his bed. Her father said no more, and
-Kristin found naught to say. And when Lavrans after a while said she
-should go down to her mother and Lady Aashild, Kristin hastened out and
-ran across the courtyard down into the winter-room.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   4
-
-Lady Aashild stayed on at Jörundgaard most of the summer. Thus it fell
-out that folk came thither seeking her counsel.—Kristin heard Sira Eirik
-fling at this now and then, and it came into her mind that her father
-and mother, too, were not pleased. But she put all thoughts of such
-things from her, nor did she ponder over what she thought of Lady
-Aashild, but was with her ever, and tired not of listening to the lady
-and of watching her.
-
-Ulvhild still lay stretched upon her back in the great bed. Her little
-face was white to the lips, and dark rings had come about her eyes. Her
-lovely yellow hair had a stale smell, it had been unwashed for so long,
-and it had grown dark and lost all gloss and curl, so that it looked
-like old, burnt-up hay. She looked tired and suffering and patient; but
-she smiled faintly and wanly at her sister when Kristin sat down on the
-bed-side by her and chattered and showed the child all the fine gifts
-there were for her from her father and mother and from their friends and
-kinsfolk from far around. There were dolls and wooden birds and beasts,
-and a little draught-board, trinkets and velvet caps and coloured
-ribbons; Kristin kept them all together in a box for her—and Ulvhild
-looked at them all with her grave eyes, and, sighing, dropped the
-treasures from her weary hands.
-
-But when Lady Aashild came nigh, Ulvhild’s face lit up with gladness.
-Eagerly she drank the quenching and sleepy drinks Lady Aashild brewed
-for her; when Lady Aashild tended her hurts she made no plaint, and lay
-happy listening when the Lady played on Lavrans’ harp and sang—she had
-great store of ballads strange to the folk of the Dale.
-
-Often she sang to Kristin when Ulvhild lay asleep. And then at times she
-would tell of her youth, when she dwelt in the South at the courts of
-King Magnus and King Eirik and their Queens.
-
-Once as they sat thus and Lady Aashild told of these things, there
-slipped from Kristin’s lips a thought she had often had in mind:
-
-“Methinks it is strange you can be so glad at all times, you who have
-been used to—” she broke off and grew red.
-
-Lady Aashild looked down at the child with a smile:
-
-“Mean you because I am parted from all that now?” She laughed quietly,
-and said: “I have had my happy time, Kristin, and I am not so foolish as
-to murmur, if now, since I have drunk up my wine and beer, I have to put
-up with skimmed milk and sour. Good days may last long if one lives
-wisely and deals warily with what one has; all wise folk know that, and
-’tis therefore, I trow, that wise folk must rest content with good
-days—for the best days of all cost very dear. In this world they call
-him a fool who wastes his heritage that he may make merry in the days of
-his youth. As to that each man may deem as he lists. But that man only
-do I call a fool and a very dolt who rues his bargain after it is made;
-and twice a simpleton and a fool of fools is he who thinks to see more
-of his boon-companions after his heritage is gone—”
-
-“—Is there aught amiss with Ulvhild?” she called gently across to
-Ragnfrid, who had made a sharp movement where she sat by the child’s
-bed.
-
-“Nay, she sleeps well,” said the child’s mother and came over to Lady
-Aashild and Kristin at the hearth. Her hands on the pole of the
-smoke-vent, she stood and looked down into Lady Aashild’s face.
-
-“Kristin doth not understand such things,” she said.
-
-“No,” answered the Lady. “But she learned her prayers, too, I doubt not,
-before she understood them. The times when we need prayers or counsel,
-we are little like to be in a mood to learn, nor yet to understand.”
-
-Ragnfrid drew her dark eyebrows together thoughtfully. At such times her
-bright, deep-set eyes looked like barns below a dark-wooded hillside, so
-Kristin had often thought when she was little—or so she had heard others
-say. Lady Aashild looked at Ragnfrid with her little half-smile, and the
-mother seated herself upon the edge of the hearth, and taking a twig,
-stuck it into the embers.
-
-“But he who has wasted his heritage upon the sorriest goods—and
-thereafter beholds a treasure he would gladly give his life to own—think
-you not he must rue bitterly his own folly?”
-
-“No doing without some rueing, Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild. “And he who
-is willing to give his life, should make the venture and see what he can
-win—”
-
-Ragnfrid plucked the burning twig from the fire, blew out the flame and
-bent her hand about the glowing end, so that it shone out blood-red from
-between her fingers.
-
-“Oh! these are words, words, and only words, Lady Aashild.”
-
-“Well,” said the other, “truly, Ragnfrid, there is not much that’s worth
-buying so dear as with one’s life.”
-
-“Nay, but there is,” said Ragnfrid passionately, and she whispered so it
-could scarce be heard: “My husband.”
-
-“Ragnfrid,” said Lady Aashild in a low voice: “So hath many a maid
-thought when she strove to bind a man to her and gave her maidenhood to
-do it. But have you not read of men and maids who gave to God all they
-owned, went into a cloister or naked into the wilds, and repented after.
-Aye, they are called fools in the godly books. And ’twould sure be
-sinful to think God cheated _them_ over their bargain.”
-
-Ragnfrid sat quite still a while. Then Lady Aashild said:
-
-“You must come now, Kristin; ’tis time we went and gathered dew for
-Ulvhild’s morning wash.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Outside the courtyard lay all black and white in the moonlight. Ragnfrid
-went with them, through the farm-yard, down to the gate of the cabbage
-garden. Kristin saw her mother’s thin, dark figure leaning there, while
-she was shaking the dew from the big, icy-cold cabbage leaves, and the
-folds of the lady’s-mantles, into her father’s silver goblet.
-
-Lady Aashild walked silent at Kristin’s side. She was there only to
-watch over her, for it was not well to let a child go out alone on such
-a night. But the dew had more virtue if gathered by an innocent maid.
-
-When they came back to the gate Ragnfrid was gone. Kristin was shaking
-with the cold as she gave the icy silver cup into Lady Aashild’s hands.
-She ran in her wet shoes over toward the loft-room, where she slept now
-with her father. She had her foot upon the first step when Ragnfrid
-stepped out of the shadow of the balcony. In her hands she bore a
-steaming bowl.
-
-“Here, I have warmed some beer for you, daughter,” said the mother.
-
-Kristin thanked her mother gladly, and put the bowl to her lips. Then
-Ragnfrid asked:
-
-“Kristin—the prayers and all the other things that Lady Aashild teaches
-you—you are sure there is naught sinful or ungodly in them?”
-
-“That I can never believe,” answered the child. “There is Jesus’ name
-and the Virgin Mary’s, and the names of the Saints in them all—”
-
-“What is it she teaches you,” asked her mother again.
-
-“Oh!—about herbs—and charms to stop running blood and cure warts and
-sore eyes—and moth in clothes and mice in the store-room. And what herbs
-one should pluck in sunshine, and which have virtue in the rain—But the
-prayers I must not tell to anyone, for then they lose their power,” said
-she quickly.
-
-Her mother took the empty bowl and put it upon the step. Then suddenly
-she threw her arms around her daughter, and pressed her tightly to her
-and kissed her.—Kristin felt that her mother’s cheeks were wet and hot:
-
-“May God and Our Lady guard and shield you from all evil—we have naught
-else but you, your father and I, that has not been touched by our
-ill-fortune. Darling, darling—never forget that you are your father’s
-dearest joy—”
-
-Ragnfrid went back to the winter-room, undressed and crept into bed
-beside Ulvhild. She put an arm about the child and laid her cheek close
-to the little one’s so that she felt the warmth of Ulvhild’s body and
-smelt the keen odour of her damp hair. Ulvhild slept heavily and
-soundly, as she ever did after Lady Aashild’s evening draught. The
-lady’s bedstraw, spread beneath the bedding, gave out a drowsy scent.
-None the less did Ragnfrid lie long sleepless, gazing at the little spot
-of light in the roof where the moon shone upon the smoke-hole’s pane of
-horn.
-
-Over in the other bed lay Lady Aashild, but Ragnfrid never knew whether
-she slept or waked. The Lady never spoke of their having known each
-other in former days—this frightened Ragnfrid. And it seemed to her she
-had never known such bitter sorrow and such haunting dread as now—even
-though she knew that Lavrans would have his full health again—and that
-Ulvhild would live.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-It seemed as though Lady Aashild took pleasure in talking to Kristin,
-and with each day that passed the maid became better friends with her.
-One day, when they had gone to gather herbs, they sat together high up
-the hillside on a little green, close under the tree. They could look
-down into the farm-place at Formo and see Arne Gyrdson’s red jerkin: he
-had ridden down the valley with them and was to look after their horses
-while they were up the hillside seeking herbs.
-
-As they sat, Kristin told Lady Aashild of her meeting with the
-dwarf-maiden. She had not thought of it for many years, but now it rose
-before her. And while she spoke, the thought came to her strangely that
-there was some likeness betwixt Lady Aashild and the dwarf-lady—though
-she knew well all the time they were not really like. But when she had
-told all, Lady Aashild sat still a while and looked out down the Dale;
-at length she said:
-
-“You were wise to fly, since you were only a child then. But have you
-never heard of folk who took the gold the dwarfs offered, and after
-bound the troll in stone?”
-
-“I have heard such tales,” said Kristin, “but I would never dare to do
-it. And methinks it is not a fair deed.”
-
-“’Tis well when one dares not do what one doth not think a fair deed,”
-said Lady Aashild, laughing a little. “But it is not so well when one
-thinks a thing to be no fair deed because one dares not do it.—You have
-grown much this summer,” the Lady said of a sudden. “Do you know
-yourself, I wonder, that you are like to be fair?”
-
-“Aye,” said Kristin. “They say I am like my father.”
-
-Lady Aashild laughed quietly.
-
-“Aye ’twould be best for you if you took after Lavrans both in mind and
-body, too. Yet ’twould be pity were they to wed you up here in the Dale.
-Plainness and country ways let no man scorn, but they think, themselves,
-these big folk up here, they are so fine that their like is not to be
-found in Norway’s land. They wonder much, belike, that I can live and
-thrive though they bar their doors against me. But they are lazy and
-proud and will not learn new ways—and they put the blame on the old
-strife with the King in Sverre’s days. ’Tis all lies; your mother’s
-forefather made friends with King Sverre and received gifts from him;
-but were your mother’s brother to become one of our King’s men and wait
-upon his Court, he would have to trim himself up both without and
-within, and that Trond would not be at pains to do. But you,
-Kristin,—you should be wedded to a man bred in knightly ways and
-_courteisie_—”
-
-Kristin sat looking down into the Formo yard, at Arne’s red back. She
-scarce knew it herself, but when Lady Aashild talked of the world she
-had once moved in, Kristin ever thought of the knights and earls in
-Arne’s likeness. Before, when she was little, she had always seen them
-in her father’s shape.
-
-“My sister’s son, Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby, _he_ might have been a
-fitting bridegroom for you—he has grown comely, has the boy. My sister
-Magnhild looked in on me last year as she passed through the Dale, and
-he with her. Aye ’tis not like you could get him, but I had gladly
-spread the coverlid over you two in the bridal bed—he is as dark-haired
-as you are fair, and he has goodly eyes.—But if I know my brother-in-law
-aright, he has bethought him already for sure of a better match for
-Erlend than you.”
-
-“Am I not a good match then?” asked Kristin wondering. She had never
-thought of being hurt by anything Lady Aashild said, but she felt
-humbled and sad that the Lady should be in some way better than her own
-folks.
-
-“Aye, you are a good match,” said the other. “Yet you could scarce look
-to come into my kindred. Your forefather in this land was an outlaw and
-a stranger, and the Gjeslings have sat and grown moulded on their farms
-so long that soon they’ll be forgotten outside the Dale. But I and my
-sister had for husbands the nephews of Queen Margret Skulesdatter.”
-
-Kristin could not even pluck up heart to say it was not her forefather,
-but his brother, who had come to the land an outlaw. She sat and gazed
-at the dark hillsides across the dale, and she thought of the day many
-years gone by, when she had been up on the upland wastes and seen how
-many fells there were twixt her own valley and the outer world. Then
-Lady Aashild said they must go home now, and bade her call on Arne. So
-Kristin put her hands to her mouth, and hallooed and waved her kerchief,
-till she saw the red spot in the farm-place move and wave back.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Not long after this Lady Aashild went home, but through the autumn and
-the first part of the winter, she came often to Jörundgaard to spend
-some days with Ulvhild. The child was taken out of bed in the daytime
-now, and they tried to get her to stand, but her legs gave way beneath
-her when she put her feet to the ground. She was fretful, white and
-weary, and the laced jacket of horsehide and thin withes, which Lady
-Aashild had made for her, plagued her sorely, so that she would rather
-lie still in her mother’s lap. Ragnfrid had her sick daughter for ever
-in her arms, so that Tordis had the whole care of the house now, and at
-her mother’s bidding, Kristin went with Tordis to learn and to help.
-
-Kristin longed for Lady Aashild between whiles, and sometimes the Lady
-would chat much with her, but at other times the child would wait in
-vain for a word beyond the other’s greeting when she came and when she
-went—Lady Aashild sat and talked with the grown-up folk only. That was
-always the way when she had her husband with her, for it happened now at
-times that Björn Gunnarsön came with his wife. Lavrans had ridden to
-Haugen one day in the autumn to take the Lady her leech’s fee—it was the
-very best silver tankard they had in the house, with a plate to match.
-He had slept there the night, and ever since he praised the farm
-mightily; it was fair and well ordered, and not so small as folks would
-have it, he said. And within the house all spoke of well-being and the
-customs of the house were seemly, following the ways of great folks’
-houses in the South. What he thought of Björn, Lavrans said not, but he
-welcomed him fairly at all times when he came with his wife to
-Jörundgaard. But the Lady Aashild, Lavrans liked exceeding well, and he
-said he deemed most of the tales that had been told of her were lies. He
-said, too, ’twas most sure that twenty years since she could have had
-small need of witchcraft to bind a man to her—she was near the sixties
-now, yet she still looked young and had a most fair and winning bearing.
-
-Kristin saw well that her mother liked all this but little. Of Lady
-Aashild, it is true, Ragnfrid said naught, but once she likened Björn to
-the yellow, flattened grass one sometimes finds growing under big
-stones, and Kristin thought this fitted him well. Björn looked strangely
-faded; he was somewhat fat, pale and sluggish, and a little bald,
-although he was not much older than Lavrans. Yet one saw he had once
-been a very comely man. Kristin never came to speech with him—he spoke
-little, and was wont to sit in the same place where he first settled
-down, from the time he stepped into the room till he went to bed. He
-drank hugely, but one marked it but little on him; he ate scarce any
-food, but gazed now and again at one or another in the room with a
-fixed, brooding look in his strange, pale eyes.
-
-They had seen naught of their kinsfolk at Sundbu since the mishap
-befell, though Lavrans had been over at Vaage more times than one. But
-Sira Eirik came to Jörundgaard as before; and there he often met Lady
-Aashild, and they were good friends. Folk thought this was good of the
-priest, for he was himself a very skilful leech. That, too, was
-doubtless one cause why the folk of the great estates had not sought
-Lady Aashild’s counsel, at least not openly, as they held the priest to
-be skilful enough, nor was it easy for them to know how they should bear
-themselves toward two folks who had been cast off, in a manner, by their
-own kin and fellows. Sira Eirik said himself, they did not graze on one
-another’s meadows; and as to her witchcraft, he was not her parish
-priest—it might well be the lady knew more than was good for her soul’s
-health—yet one must not forget ignorant folk were all too ready to talk
-of witchcraft as soon as a woman was a bit wiser than her neighbours.
-Lady Aashild, on her side, praised the priest much and was diligent at
-church if it chanced she was at Jörundgaard on a holy day.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Yule-tide was sorrowful that year; Ulvhild could not yet put her feet to
-the ground, and they neither heard nor saw aught of the Sundbu folk.
-Kristin knew that it was talked of in the parish and that her father
-took it to heart. But her mother seemed to care naught; and Kristin
-thought this wrong of her.
-
-But one evening, toward the end of Yule-tide, came Sira Sigurd, Trond
-Gjesling’s house-priest, driving in a great sledge, and his chief errand
-was to bid them all to a feast at Sundbu.
-
-Sira Sigurd was ill-liked in the parishes about, for it was he who
-really managed Trond’s estates—or at the least, he got the blame for
-Trond’s hard and unjust dealings, and there was no denying Trond was
-something of a plague to his tenants. His priest was most learned in
-writing and reckoning, versed in the law, and a skilful leech—if not
-quite so skilful as he deemed himself. But from his ways, no one would
-have thought him over-wise; he often said foolish things. Ragnfrid and
-Lavrans had never liked him, but the Sundbu folk, as was but reason, set
-great store by their priest, and both they and he felt very bitter that
-he had not been called in to Ulvhild.
-
-Now by ill-fortune it fell out that when Sira Sigurd came to
-Jörundgaard, Lady Aashild and Sir Björn were there already, besides Sira
-Eirik, Gyrd and Inga of Finsbrekken, Arne’s parents, old Jon from
-Loptsgaard, and a Preaching Friar from Hamar, Brother Aasgaut.
-
-While Ragnfrid had the tables spread anew with Christmas fare, and
-Lavrans looked into the letters brought by Sira Sigurd, the priest
-wished to look at Ulvhild. She was already abed for the night and
-sleeping, but Sira Sigurd woke her, felt her back and limbs, and asked
-her many questions, at first gently enough, but then roughly and
-impatiently as the child grew frightened—Sigurd was a little man, all
-but a dwarf, with a great, flaming, red face. As he made to lift her out
-upon the floor to test her feet, she began screaming loudly. On this
-Lady Aashild rose, went to the bed, and covered Ulvhild with the skins,
-saying the child was so sleepy she could not have stood upon the floor
-even had her legs been strong.
-
-The priest began then to speak loudly; he too was reckoned to know
-somewhat of leech-craft. But Lady Aashild took him by the hand, brought
-him forward to the high-seat and fell to telling him what she had done
-for Ulvhild, and asking his judgment on each and every matter. On this
-he grew somewhat milder of mood, and ate and drank of Ragnfrid’s good
-cheer.
-
-But as the beer and wine began to mount to his head, Sira Sigurd’s
-humour changed again and he grew quarrelsome and hotheaded—he knew well
-enough there was no one in the room who liked him. First he turned on
-Gyrd—he was the bishop of Hamar’s bailiff in Vaage and Sil, and there
-had been many quarrels twixt the bishop’s see and Trond Ivarsön. Gyrd
-said not much, but Inga was a fiery woman, and then Brother Aasgaut
-joined in and spoke:
-
-“You should not forget, Sira Sigurd, our reverend Father Ingjald is your
-overlord, too—we know enough of you in Hamar. You wallow in all good
-things at Sundbu, never thinking that you are vowed to other work than
-to do Trond eyeservice, helping him in all wrong and injustice, to the
-peril of his soul and the minishing of the rights of Holy Church. Have
-you never heard how it fares with the false and unruly priests who hatch
-out devices against their spiritual fathers and those in authority? Wot
-you not of that time when the angels took St. Thomas of Canterbury to
-the door of Hell and let him peep in? He wondered much that he saw none
-of the priests who had set themselves up against him, as you have set
-yourself against your bishop. He was about to praise God’s mercy, for
-the holy man begrudged not salvation to all sinners—but at that the
-angel bade the devil lift his tail a little, and out there came, with a
-great bang and a foul smell of sulphur, all the priests and learned men
-who had wrought against the good of the church. Thus did he come to know
-whither _they_ had gone.”
-
-“_There_ you lie, monk,” said the priest. “I have heard that tale too;
-only they were not priests, but beggar-monks, who came from the rear of
-the devil like wasps out of a wasp-nest.”
-
-Old Jon laughed louder than all the serving-folk, and roared:
-
-“There were both sorts, I’ll be bound—”
-
-“Then the devil must have a fine broad tail,” said Björn Gunnarsön, and
-Lady Aashild smiled and said:
-
-“Aye, have you not heard that all evil drags a long tail behind it?”
-
-“Be still, Lady Aashild,” cried Sira Sigurd, “do not you talk of the
-long tail evil drags after it. You sit here as though _you_ were
-mistress in the house, and not Ragnfrid. But ’tis strange you could not
-help her child—have you no more of that strong water you dealt in once,
-which could make whole the sheep already boiling in the pot, and turn
-women to maids in the bridal bed? Think you I know not of the wedding in
-this very parish where you made a bath for the bride that was no maid—”
-
-Sira Eirik sprang up, gripped the other priest by the shoulder and
-thigh, and flung him right over the table, so that the jugs and tankards
-were overturned and food and drink ran upon the cloths and floor, while
-Sira Sigurd lay his length upon the ground with torn garments. Eirik
-leaped over the board, and would have struck him again, roaring above
-the tumult:
-
-“Hold your filthy mouth, priest of Hell that you are—” Lavrans strove to
-part them, but Ragnfrid stood, white as death, by the board, and wrung
-her hands. Then Lady Aashild ran and helped Sira Sigurd to his feet, and
-wiped the blood from his face. She poured a beaker of mead down his
-throat, saying:
-
-“You must not be so strict, Sira Eirik, that you cannot bear to listen
-to jesting so far on in a drinking bout. Seat yourselves now and you
-shall hear of that wedding. ’Twas not here in the Dale at all, nor had I
-the good fortune to be the one that knew of that water—could I have
-brewed it I trow we would not be sitting now on a hill-croft in the
-wilds. I might have been a rich woman and had lands in the great, rich
-parishes—nigh to town and cloisters and bishop and chapter,” and she
-smiled at the three churchmen. “But ’tis said sure enough, that the art
-was known in the olden days.”
-
-And the Lady told a merry tale of a misadventure that befell in King
-Inga’s time when the magic wash was used by mistake by the wrong woman
-and of what followed thereon.
-
-Great was the laughter in the room, and both Gyrd and Jon shouted for
-more such tales from Lady Aashild. But the Lady said no: “Here sit two
-priests and Brother Aasgaut and young lads and serving maids; ’tis best
-we cease before the talk grows unseemly and gross; let us bear in mind
-’tis a holy day.”
-
-The men made an outcry, but the women held with Lady Aashild. No one saw
-that Ragnfrid had left the room. Soon after it was time that Kristin,
-who sat lowest on the women’s bench among the serving maids, should go
-to bed—she was sleeping in Tordis’ house, there were so many guests at
-the manor.
-
-It was biting cold, and the northern-lights flamed and flickered over
-the brows of the fells to the north. The snow crackled under Kristin’s
-feet as she ran over the courtyard shivering, her arms crossed on her
-breast.
-
-Then she was aware of a woman in the shadow of the old loft walking
-hurriedly to and fro in the snow, throwing her arms about, wringing her
-hands, and wailing aloud. Kristin saw it was her mother, and ran to her
-affrighted, asking if she were ill.
-
-“No, no,” burst out Ragnfrid. “But I could not stay within—go you to
-bed, child.”
-
-As Kristin turned away her mother called her softly:
-
-“Go back to the room and lie beside your father and Ulvhild—take her in
-your arms so that he may not roll upon her by mischance; he sleeps so
-heavily when he has drunk deep. I am going up to sleep in the old
-loft-room to-night.”
-
-“Jesus, mother,” said Kristin, “you will freeze to death if you lie
-there—alone, too. And what think you father will say if you come not to
-bed to-night?”
-
-“He will not mark it,” answered her mother, “he was all but asleep when
-I left, and to-morrow he will waken late. Go and do as I have said.”
-
-“’Twill be so cold for you,” said Kristin, whimpering, but her mother
-sent her away, a little more kindly, and shut herself into the
-loft-room.
-
-Within it was as cold as without, and it was pitch-dark. Ragnfrid groped
-her way to the bed, pulled off her headdress, undid her shoes, and crept
-in among the skins. They chilled her to the bone; it was like sinking
-into a snowdrift. She pulled the skins over her head, and drew her knees
-up to her chin, and thrust her hands into her bosom—so she lay and wept;
-now quite low, with flowing tears; now crying aloud and grinding her
-teeth. But in time she had warmed the bed around her so much that she
-grew drowsy, and at last wept herself to sleep.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   5
-
-The year that Kristin was fifteen in the spring, Lavrans Björgulfsön and
-Sir Andres Gudmundsön of Dyfrin made tryst at the Holledis Thing. There
-’twas agreed between them that Andres’ second son, Simon, should wed
-Kristin Lavransdatter and should have Formo, Sir Andres’ mother’s udal
-estate. This the two men shook hands upon; yet it was not put in
-writing, for Sir Andres had first to settle with his other children
-about their heritage. And for this reason no betrothal feast was held;
-but Sir Andres and Simon came to Jörundgaard to see the bride, and
-Lavrans gave them a great banquet.
-
-By this time Lavrans had ready his new dwelling-house of two storeys,
-with corner fire-places of masonry both in the living room and the
-loft-room above richly furnished and adorned with fair wood-carvings. He
-had rebuilt the old loft-room too, and bettered the other houses in many
-ways, so that he was now housed as befitted an esquire bearing arms. He
-was very wealthy now, for he had had good fortune in his undertakings
-and was a shrewd and careful husband of his goods; above all was he
-known as a breeder of the finest horses and the goodliest cattle of all
-kinds. And now he had been able so to order things that his daughter was
-to wed into the Dyfrin kindred and the Formo estate, all folks deemed he
-had brought to a happy end his purpose to be the foremost man in the
-country-side. He, and Ragnfrid too, were well pleased with the
-betrothal, as were Sir Andres and Simon.
-
-Kristin was a little cast down when she first saw Simon Andressön; for
-she had heard great talk of his good looks and seemly bearing, so that
-she had outrun all measure in her hopes of what her bridegroom would be.
-
-Truly Simon was well-favoured, but he was something fat to be only
-twenty years of age; he was short of neck and had a face as round and
-shining as the moon. He had goodly hair, brown and curly, and his eyes
-were grey and clear, but lay deep and as it were shut in, the lids were
-so fat; his nose was over small and his mouth was small too, and
-pouting, but not unsightly. In spite of his stoutness, he was light, and
-quick, and nimble in all his ways, and was skilled in all sports. He was
-something too brisk and forward in his speech, but Lavrans held he
-showed both good wit and learning when he talked with older men.
-
-Ragnfrid soon came to like him, and Ulvhild was taken at once with the
-greatest love for him—he was more gentle and kind with the little sick
-maid than with any other. And when Kristin had grown used a little to
-his round face and his way of speech, she grew to be well content with
-her betrothed, and happy in the way her father had ordered things for
-her.
-
-Lady Aashild was at the feast. Since Jörundgaard had opened its doors to
-her, the great folk in the parishes round about had begun to call to
-mind her high birth and to think less of her doubtful fame, so that the
-Lady came much out among people. She said when she had seen Simon:
-
-“’Tis a good match, Kristin; this Simon will go forward in the world—you
-will be spared many cares, and he will be good to live with. But to my
-mind he seems something too fat and too cheerful—Were it now in Norway
-as it was in days gone by, and as it is still in other lands—that folk
-were not more hard to sinners than is God himself, I would say you
-should find yourself a friend who is lean and sorrowful—one you could
-have to sit and hold converse with. Then would I say, you could not fare
-better than you would with Simon.”
-
-Kristin grew red, though she understood not well what the Lady’s words
-might mean. But as time went on and her bridal chests filled and she
-evermore heard talk of her wedding and of what she was to take in to the
-new household, she began to long that the betrothal-knot should be tied
-once for all, and that Simon should come north; thus she thought much
-about him in the end and was glad at the thought of meeting him again.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Kristin was full-grown now and very fair to look upon. She was most like
-her father and had grown tall; she was small waisted, with slender, fine
-limbs and joints, yet round and plump withal. Her face was somewhat
-short and round, her forehead low and broad and white as milk; her eyes
-large, grey and soft, under fairly drawn eyebrows. Her mouth was
-something large, but it had full bright, red lips, and her chin was
-round as an apple and well shaped. She had goodly long, thick hair; but
-’twas something dark in hue, almost as much brown as yellow, and quite
-straight. Lavrans liked nothing better than to hear Sira Eirik boast of
-Kristin—the priest had seen the maid grow up, had taught her her books
-and writing, and loved her much. But the father was not so pleased when
-the priest sometimes likened his daughter to an unblemished,
-silken-coated filly.
-
-Yet all men said that had not that sorrowful mishap befallen, Ulvhild
-had been many times more comely than her sister. She had the fairest and
-sweetest face, white and red as lilies and roses; and light-yellow hair,
-soft as silk, which waved and clung about her slender throat and small
-shoulders. Her eyes were like those of her Gjesling kin; they were deep
-set, under straight, dark brows, and were clear as water and grey-blue;
-but her glance was mild, not sharp like theirs. Then too, the child’s
-voice was so clear and lovely that it was a joy to hearken to her,
-whether she spoke or sang. She was most apt at book-learning and all
-kinds of string-instruments and draughts, but had little mind to work
-with her hands, for her back soon grew weary.
-
-There seemed little hope, indeed, this fair child should ever have full
-use of her limbs. It is true she had mended a little after her father
-and mother had been to Nidaros with her to St. Olav’s shrine. Lavrans
-and Ragnfrid had gone thither on foot, without man or serving-maid to
-attend them; they bore the child between them on a litter the whole way.
-After the journey Ulvhild grew so far well that she could walk a little
-with a crutch. But they could not hope that she should grow well enough
-to be wedded, and so it was like that, when the time came, she must be
-given to a cloister with all the wealth that should fall to her.
-
-They never spoke of this, and Ulvhild herself scarce knew how much
-unlike she was to other children. She was very fond of finery and pretty
-clothes, and her father and mother had not the heart to deny her
-anything; so Ragnfrid stitched and sewed for her and decked her out like
-any king’s child. Once some pedlars passing through the parish lay
-overnight at Laugarbru; and Ulvhild got a sight of their wares there.
-They had some amber coloured silk-stuff, and she set her heart on having
-a shift of it. Lavrans was not wont to deal with such folk, who went
-around against the law, selling wares from the market-towns in the
-country parishes; but now he bought the whole bale at once. He gave
-Kristin some of the stuff, too, for a bridal shift, and she was sewing
-on it this summer. Until now all the shifts she owned had been of wool,
-or of linen for best wear. But now Ulvhild had a shift of silk for feast
-days and a Sunday shift of linen with silk let in above.
-
-Lavrans Björgulfsön owned Laugarbru too now, and Tordis and Jon were in
-charge there. With them was Lavrans’ and Ragnfrid’s youngest daughter,
-Ramborg, whom Tordis had nursed. Ragnfrid would scarce look at the child
-for some time after it was born, for she said she brought her children
-ill-fortune. Yet she loved the little maid much and was ever sending
-gifts to her and Tordis; and later she went often over to Laugarbru and
-saw Ramborg, but she liked best to come after the child was asleep, and
-sit by her. Lavrans and the two older daughters were often at Laugarbru
-to play with the little one; she was a strong and healthy child, but not
-so fair as her sisters.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-This was the last summer Arne Gyrdsön was on Jörundgaard. The bishop had
-promised Gyrd to help the youth on in the world, and in the autumn Arne
-was to set out for Hamar.
-
-Kristin knew well enough that she was dear to Arne, but she was in many
-ways still a child in mind and she thought little about it, but bore
-herself to him as she had always done from the time they were children;
-was with him as often as she could, and always stood up with him when
-there was dancing at home or upon the church-green. That her mother did
-not like this, seemed to her something of a jest. But she never spoke to
-Arne of Simon or of her wedding, for she marked that he grew
-heavy-hearted when there was talk of it.
-
-Arne was a very handy man and was now making Kristin a sewing-chair as a
-keepsake. He had covered both the box and the frame of the chair with
-fair, rich carving, and was now busy in the smithy on iron bands and
-lock for it. On a fine evening well on in summer Kristin had gone down
-to him. She had taken with her a jacket of her father’s she had to mend,
-and sat upon the stone threshold sewing while she chatted with the youth
-in the smithy. Ulvhild was with her; she hopped about upon her crutch,
-eating the raspberries which grew among the heaps of stone around the
-field.
-
-After a while Arne came to the smithy door to cool himself. He made as
-though to seat himself beside Kristin, but she moved a little away and
-bade him have a care not to dirty the sewing she had upon her knee.
-
-“Is it come to this between us,” said Arne, “that you dare not let me
-sit by you for fear the peasant boy should soil you?”
-
-Kristin looked at him in wonder, and answered:
-
-“You know well enough what I meant. But take your apron off, wash the
-charcoal from your hands and sit down a little and rest you here by me—”
-and she made room for him.
-
-But Arne laid himself in the grass in front of her; then she said again:
-
-“Nay, be not angry, my Arne. Can you think I could be unthankful for the
-brave gift you are making me, or ever forget you have been my best
-friend at home here all my days?”
-
-“Have I been that?” he asked.
-
-“You know it well,” said Kristin. “And never will I forget you. But you,
-who are to go out into the world—maybe you will gain wealth and honor or
-ever you think—you will like enough forget me, long before I forget
-you—”
-
-“You will never forget me?” said Arne, smiling. “And I will forget you
-ere you forget me?—you are naught but a child, Kristin.”
-
-“_You_ are not so old either,” she replied.
-
-“I am as old as Simon Darre,” said he again. “And we bear helm and
-shield as well as the Dyfrin folk, but my folks have not had fortune
-with them—”
-
-He had dried his hands on the grass tufts; and now he took Kristin’s
-ankle and pressed his cheek to the foot which showed from under her
-dress. She would have drawn away her foot, but Arne said:
-
-“Your mother is at Laugarbru, and Lavrans has ridden forth—from the
-houses none can see us where we sit. Surely you can let me speak this
-once of what is in my heart.”
-
-Kristin answered:
-
-“We have known all our days, both you and I, that ’twas bootless for us
-to set our hearts on each other.”
-
-“May I lay my head in your lap,” said Arne, and as she did not answer,
-he laid his head down and twined an arm about her waist. With his other
-hand he pulled at the plaits of her hair.
-
-“How will you like it,” he asked in a little, “when Simon lies in your
-lap thus, and plays with your hair?”
-
-Kristin did not answer. It seemed as though a heaviness fell upon her of
-a sudden—Arne’s words and Arne’s head on her knee—it seemed to her as
-though a door opened into a room, where many dark passages led into a
-greater darkness; sad, and heavy at heart, she faltered and would not
-look inside.
-
-“Wedded folk do not use to do so,” said she of a sudden, quickly, as if
-eased of a weight. She tried to see Simon’s fat round face looking up
-into hers as Arne was looking now; she heard his voice—and she could not
-keep from laughing:
-
-“I trow Simon will never lie on the ground to play with my shoes—not
-he!”
-
-“No, for he can play with you in his bed,” said Arne. His voice made her
-feel sick and powerless all at once. She tried to push his head from off
-her lap, but he pressed it against her knee and said softly:
-
-“But _I_ would play with your shoes and your hair and your fingers, and
-follow you out and in the livelong day, Kristin, were you ever so much
-my wife and slept in my arms each single night.”
-
-He half sat up, put his arm round her shoulder and gazed into her eyes.
-
-“’Tis not well done of you to talk thus to me,” said Kristin bashfully,
-in a low voice.
-
-“No,” said Arne. He rose and stood before her. “But tell me one
-thing—would you not rather it were I—?”
-
-“Oh! I would rather—,” she sat still a while. “I would rather not have
-any man—not yet—”
-
-Arne did not move, but said:
-
-“Would you rather be given to the cloister then, as ’tis to be with
-Ulvhild, and be a maid all your days?”
-
-Kristin pressed her folded hands down into her lap. A strange, sweet
-trembling seized her—and with a sudden shudder she seemed to understand
-how much her little sister was to be pitied—her eyes filled with tears
-of sorrow for Ulvhild’s sake.
-
-“Kristin,” said Arne in a low voice.
-
-At that moment a loud scream came from Ulvhild. Her crutch had caught
-between the stones, and she had fallen. Arne and Kristin ran to her, and
-Arne lifted her up into her sister’s arms. She had cut her mouth and
-much blood was flowing from the hurt.
-
-Kristin sat down with her in the smithy door, and Arne fetched water in
-a wooden bowl. Together they set to washing and wiping her face. She had
-rubbed the skin off her knees, too. Kristin bent tenderly over the
-small, thin legs.
-
-Ulvhild’s wailing soon grew less, but she wept silently and bitterly as
-children do who are used to suffering pain. Kristin held her head to her
-bosom and rocked her gently.
-
-Then the bell began to ring for Vespers up at Olav’s-Church.
-
-Arne spoke to Kristin, but she sat bent over her sister as though she
-neither heard nor marked him, so that at last he grew afraid and asked
-if she thought there was danger in the hurt. Kristin shook her head, but
-looked not at him.
-
-Soon after she got up and went towards the farmstead, bearing Ulvhild in
-her arms. Arne followed, silent and troubled—Kristin seemed so deep in
-thought, and her face was set and hard. As she walked, the bell went on
-ringing out over the meadows and the dale; it was still ringing as she
-went into the house.
-
-She laid Ulvhild in the bed which the sisters had shared ever since
-Kristin had grown too big to sleep by her father and mother. She slipped
-her shoes off and lay down beside the little one,—lay and listened for
-the ringing of the bell long after it was hushed and the child slept.
-
-It had come to her as the bell began to ring, while she sat with
-Ulvhild’s little bleeding face in her hands, that maybe it was a sign to
-her. If she should go to convent in her sister’s stead—if she should vow
-herself to the service of God and the Virgin Mary—might not God give the
-child health and strength again?
-
-She thought of Brother Edwin’s word: that nowadays ’twas only marred and
-crippled children and those for whom good husbands could not be found
-that their fathers and mothers gave to God. She knew her father and
-mother were godly folks—yet had she never heard aught else but that she
-should wed—but when they understood that Ulvhild would be sickly all her
-days they planned for her straightway that she should go to the
-cloister—
-
-And she had no mind to go herself—she strove against the thought that
-God would do a miracle for Ulvhild if she herself turned nun. She hung
-on Sira Eirik’s word that in these days not many miracles come to pass.
-And yet she felt this evening it was as Brother Edwin said; had a man
-but faith enough, his faith might work miracles. But she had no mind to
-have that faith herself, she did not love God and his Mother and the
-Saints _so_ much, did not even wish to love them so—she loved the world
-and longed for the world—
-
-Kristin pressed her lips down into Ulvhild’s soft, silken hair. The
-child slept soundly, and the elder sister sat up restlessly, but lay
-down again. Her heart bled with sorrow and shame, but she knew she did
-not wish to believe in signs and wonders, for she would not give up her
-heritage of health and beauty and love.
-
-So she tried to comfort herself with the thought, that her father and
-mother would not be willing she should do such a thing. Nor would they
-think it could avail. Then, too, she was promised already, and she was
-sure they would not give up Simon of whom they were so fond. She felt it
-a betrayal of herself that they were so proud of this son-in-law; of a
-sudden she thought with dislike of Simon’s round, red face and small
-laughing eyes—of his jaunty gait—he bounced like a ball, it came to her
-all at once—; of his bantering talk, that made her feel awkward and
-foolish. ’Twas no such glory either to get him, and move with him just
-down to Formo—Still she would rather have him than be sent to
-convent—But, ah! the world beyond the hills, the King’s palace and the
-earls and knights Lady Aashild talked of—and a comely man with sorrowful
-eyes who would follow her in and out and never grow weary. She thought
-of Arne that summer day when he lay on his side and slept with his
-brown, glossy hair outspread among the heather—she had loved him then as
-though he were her brother. It was not well done of him to have spoken
-to her so, when he knew they could never belong to one another—
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Word came from Laugarbru that her mother would stay there overnight.
-Kristin got up to undress and go to rest. She began to unlace her
-dress—then she put her shoes on again, threw her cloak about her and
-went out.
-
-The night sky stretched clear and green above the hillcrests. It was
-near time for the moon to rise, and where it was yet hid behind the
-fell, sailed some small clouds, their lower edges shining like silver;
-the sky grew brighter and brighter, like metal under gathering drops of
-dew.
-
-She ran up between the fences, over the road, and up the slope toward
-the church. It stood there, as though asleep, dark and shut, but she
-went up to the cross which stood near by to mark the place where St.
-Olav once rested as he fled before his enemies.
-
-Kristin knelt down upon the stone and laid her folded hands upon the
-base of the cross: “Holy Cross, strongest of masts, fairest of trees,
-bridge for the sick to the fair shores of health—”
-
-At the words of the prayer, it was as if her longing widened out and
-faded little by little like rings on a pool. The single thoughts that
-troubled her smoothed themselves out one after the other, her mind grew
-calmer, more tender, and there came upon her a gentle, vague sadness in
-place of her distress.
-
-She lay kneeling there and drank in all the sounds of the night. The
-wind sighed strangely, the rushing sound of the river came from beyond
-the wood by the church, the beck ran near by right across the road—and
-all about, far and near, in the dark, she half saw and heard small rills
-of running and dripping water. The river gleamed white down below in the
-valley. The moon crept up in a little nick in the hills—the dewy leaves
-and stones sparkled faintly, and the newly tarred timber of the belfry
-shone dull and dark by the churchyard gate. Then the moon was hid once
-more where the mountain ridge rose higher, and now many more white and
-shining clouds floated in the sky.
-
-She heard a horse coming at a slow pace from higher up the road, and the
-sound of men’s voices speaking low and even. She had no fear of folk
-here close at home where she knew everyone—so she felt quite safe.
-
-Her father’s dogs rushed at her, turned and dashed back into the wood,
-then turned back and leaped upon her again. Her father shouted a
-greeting as he came out from among the birches. He was leading
-Guldsveinen by the bridle; a brace or two of birds hung dangling from
-the saddle, and Lavrans bore a hooded hawk upon his left wrist. He had
-with him a tall, bent man in a monk’s frock, and even before Kristin had
-seen his face she knew it was Brother Edwin. She went to meet them,
-wondering no more than if it had been a dream—she only smiled when
-Lavrans asked whether she knew their guest again.
-
-Lavrans had chanced upon him up by the Rost bridge, and had coaxed him
-home with him to spend the night. But Brother Edwin would have it they
-must let him lie in an outhouse: “For I’m grown so lousy,” said he, “you
-cannot put me in the good beds.”
-
-And for all Lavrans talked and begged, the monk held out; nay, at first
-he would have it they should give him his food out in the courtyard. But
-at last they got him into the hall with them, and Kristin made up the
-fire in the fireplace in the corner and set candles on the board, while
-a serving-maid brought in meat and drink.
-
-The monk seated himself on the beggars’ bench by the door, and would
-have naught but cold porridge and water for his supper. Neither would he
-have aught of Lavrans’ proffer to have a bath made ready for him and
-have his clothes well washed.
-
-Brother Edwin fidgeted and scratched himself, and laughed all over his
-lean, old face.
-
-“Nay, nay,” said he, “these things bite into my proud hide better than
-either whips or the Gardian’s words. I have been sitting under a rock up
-here among the fells all summer—they gave me leave to go out into the
-wilderness to fast and pray, and there I sat and thought: now was I like
-a holy hermit indeed; and the poor folk away in Setnadal came up with
-food for me, and thought here they saw, in very truth, a godly and
-clean-living monk. Brother Edwin, they said, were there many such monks
-as you, we would be better men fast enough; but when we see priests and
-bishops and monks biting and fighting like young swine in a trough—Aye,
-I told them it was unchristian-like to talk so—but I liked to hear it
-well enough, and I sang and I prayed till the mountain rang again. Now
-will it be wholesome for me to feel the lice biting and fighting upon my
-skin, and to hear the good housewives, who would have all clean and
-seemly in their houses, cry out: that dirty pig of a monk can lie out in
-the barn well enough now ’tis summer. I am for northwards now to Nidaros
-for St. Olav’s Vigil, and ’twill be well for me to mark that folk are
-none too fain to come nigh me—”
-
-Ulvhild woke, and Lavrans went and lifted her up and wrapped her in his
-cloak:
-
-“Here is the child I spoke of, dear Father. Lay your hands upon her and
-pray to God for her as you prayed for the boy away north in Meldal, who
-we heard got his health again—”
-
-The monk lifted Ulvhild’s chin gently and looked into her face. And then
-he raised one of her hands and kissed it.
-
-“Pray rather, you and your wife, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that you be not
-tempted to try and bend God’s will concerning this child. Our Lord Jesus
-himself has set these small feet upon the path which will lead her most
-surely to the home of peace—I see it by your eyes, you blessed Ulvhild,
-you have your intercessors in our second home.”
-
-“The boy in Meldal got well, I have heard,” said Lavrans, in a low
-voice.
-
-“He was a poor widow’s only child, and there was none but the parish to
-feed or clothe him when his mother should be gone. And yet the woman
-prayed only that God might give her a fearless heart so that she might
-have faith. He would bring that to pass which would be best for the lad.
-Naught else did I do but join in that prayer of hers.”
-
-“’Tis hard for her mother and for me to rest content with this,”
-answered Lavrans heavily. “The more that she is so fair and so good.”
-
-“Have you seen the child at Lidstad, south in the Dale,” asked the monk.
-“Would you rather your daughter had been like that?”
-
-Lavrans shuddered and pressed the child close to him.
-
-“Think you not,” said Brother Edwin again, “that in God’s eyes we are
-all children he has cause to grieve for, crippled as we are with sin?
-And yet we deem not we are so badly off in this world.”
-
-He went to the picture of the Virgin Mary upon the wall, and all knelt
-down while he said the evening prayer. It seemed to them that Brother
-Edwin had given them good comfort.
-
-But, none the less, after he had gone from the room to seek his place of
-rest, Astrid, the head serving-wench, swept with care all parts of the
-floor where the monk had stood, and cast the sweepings at once into the
-fire.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Next morning Kristin rose early, took milk-porridge and wheat-cakes in a
-goodly dish of flame-grained birchwood—for she knew that the monk never
-touched meat—and herself bore the food out to him. But few of the folk
-were yet about in the houses.
-
-Brother Edwin stood upon the bridge of the cow-house, ready for the road
-with staff and scrip; with a smile he thanked Kristin for her pains, and
-sat himself down on the grass and ate, while Kristin sat at his feet.
-
-Her little white dog came running up, the little bells on his collar
-tinkling. She took him into her lap, and Brother Edwin snapped his
-fingers at him, threw small bits of wheat-cake into his mouth, and
-praised him mightily the while.
-
-“’Tis a breed Queen Euphemia brought to the country,” said he. “You are
-passing fine here on Jörundgaard now; both in great things and small.”
-
-Kristin flushed with pleasure. She knew already the dog was of a fine
-breed, and she was proud of having it; no one else in the parish had a
-lapdog. But she had not known it was of the same kind as the Queen’s pet
-dogs.
-
-“Simon Andressön sent him to me,” said she, and pressed it to her, while
-it licked her face. “His name is Kortelin.”
-
-She had thought to speak to the monk about her trouble and to pray for
-his counsel. But she had no longer any wish to let her mind dwell on the
-thoughts of the past evening. Brother Edwin was sure God would turn all
-things to the best for Ulvhild. And it was good of Simon to send her
-such a gift before even their betrothal was fixed. Arne she would not
-think of—he had not borne himself as he should towards her, she thought.
-
-Brother Edwin took his staff and scrip, and bade Kristin greet those
-within the house—he would not stay till folk were up, but go while the
-day was yet cool. She went with him up past the church and a little way
-into the wood.
-
-When they parted he wished her God’s peace, and blessed her.
-
-“Give me a word, like the word you gave to Ulvhild, dear Father,” begged
-Kristin, as she stood with his hand in hers. The monk rubbed his naked
-foot, knotted with gout, in the wet grass:
-
-“Then would I bid you, daughter, that you lay to heart how God cares for
-folks’ good here in the Dale. Little rain falls here, but he has given
-you water from the fells, and the dew freshens meadow and field each
-night. Thank God for the good gifts he has given you, and murmur not if
-you seem to miss aught you think might well be added to you. You have
-bonny yellow hair; see you fret not because it does not curl. Have you
-not heard of the old wife who sat and wept for that she had only a small
-bite of swine’s flesh to give to her seven little ones for Christmas
-cheer. Pat at the moment St. Olav came riding by, and he stretched out
-his hand over the meat and prayed that God might give the poor little
-ravens their fill. But when the woman saw a whole pig’s carcase lying
-upon the board, she wept that she had not pots and platters enow!”
-
-Kristin ran homewards with Kortelin dancing at her heels, snapping at
-the hem of her dress, and barking and ringing all his little silver
-bells.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   6
-
-ARNE stayed at home at Finsbrekken the last days before he was to set
-out for Hamar; his mother and sisters were making ready his clothes.
-
-The day before he was to ride southward, he came to Jörundgaard to bid
-farewell. And he made a chance to whisper to Kristin, would she meet him
-on the road south of Laugarbru next evening?
-
-“I would so fain we two should be alone the last time we are together,”
-said he. “Does it seem such a great thing that I ask—after all, we were
-brought up together like brother and sister,” he said when Kristin hung
-doubtful a little before making reply.
-
-So she promised to come, if she could slip away from home.
-
-It snowed next morning, but through the day it turned to rain, and soon
-roads and fields were a sea of grey mud. Wreaths of mist hung and
-drifted along the lower hillsides; now and then they sank yet lower and
-gathered into white rollers along the roots of the hills; and then the
-thick rain-clouds closed in again.
-
-Sira Eirik came over to help Lavrans draw up some deeds. They went down
-to the hearth-room, for in such weather it was pleasanter there than in
-the great hall, where the fireplace filled the room with smoke. Ragnfrid
-was at Laugarbru, where Ramborg was now getting better of a fever she
-had caught early in the autumn.
-
-Thus it was not hard for Kristin to slip away unseen, but she dared not
-take a horse, so she went on foot. The road was a quagmire of snow-slush
-and withered leaves; there was a saddening breath of death and decay in
-the raw, chill air, and now and again there came a gust of wind driving
-the rain into her face. She drew her hood well down over her head and,
-holding her cloak about her with both hands, went quickly forward. She
-was a little afraid—the roar of the river sounded so hollow in the heavy
-air, and the clouds drove dark and ragged over the hill-crests. Now and
-again she halted and listened for Arne’s coming.
-
-After a time she heard the splashing of hoofs upon the slushy road
-behind her, and she stopped then where she was, for this was a somewhat
-lonely spot and she thought ’twas a good place for them to say their
-farewells, in quiet. Almost at once she saw the horseman coming, and
-Arne sprang from his horse and led it as he came to meet her.
-
-“’Twas kindly done of you to come,” said he, “in this ugly weather.”
-
-“’Tis worse for you who have so far to ride—and how is it you set out so
-late?” she asked.
-
-“Jon has bidden me to lie the night at Loptsgaard,” answered Arne. “I
-thought ’twas easier for you to meet me at this time of day.”
-
-They stood silent for a time. Kristin thought she had never seen before
-how fair a youth Arne was. He had on a smooth, steel cap, and under that
-a brown woollen hood that sat tight about his face and spread out over
-his shoulders; under it his narrow face showed bright and comely. His
-leather jerkin was old, spotted with rust, and rubbed by the coat of
-mail which had been worn above it—Arne had taken it over from his
-father—but it fitted closely to his slim, lithe, and powerful body, and
-he had a sword at his side and in his hand a spear—his other weapons
-hung from his saddle. He was full-grown now and bore himself manfully.
-
-She laid her hand upon his shoulder and said:
-
-“Mind you, Arne you asked me once if I thought you as good a man as
-Simon Andressön? Now will I tell you one thing, before we part; ’tis
-that you seem to me as much above him in looks and bearing as he is
-reckoned above you in birth and riches by those who look most to such
-things.”
-
-“Why do you tell me this?” asked Arne breathlessly.
-
-“Because Brother Edwin told me to lay to heart, that we should thank God
-for his good gifts, and not be like the woman when St. Olav added to her
-meat, and she wept because she had not trenchers to put it in—so you
-should not grieve that He has not given you as much of riches as of
-bodily gifts—”
-
-“Was it _that_ you meant?” said Arne. And then, as she was silent, he
-said:
-
-“I wondered if you meant that you would rather be wedded to me than to
-the other—”
-
-“That I would, truly,” said she in a low voice. “—I know you better—”
-
-Arne threw his arms around her so that her feet were lifted from the
-ground. He kissed her face many times, and then set her down again:
-
-“God help us, Kristin, what a child you are!”
-
-She stood and hung her head, but left her hands upon his shoulders. He
-caught her wrists and held them tight:
-
-“I see how ’tis with you, my sweeting; you little know how sore I am at
-heart to lose you. Kristin, you know we have grown up together like two
-apples on one branch; I loved you long before I began to understand that
-one day another would come and break you from me. As sure as God
-suffered death for us all—I know not how I can ever be happy in this
-world after to-day—”
-
-Kristin wept bitterly and lifted her face, so that he might kiss her.
-
-“Do not talk so, my Arne,” she begged, and patted him on the shoulder.
-
-“Kristin,” said Arne in a low voice and took her into his arms again,
-“think you not that if you begged your father—Lavrans is so good a man,
-he would not force you against your will—if you begged them but to let
-you wait a few years—no one knows how fortune may turn for me—we are
-both of us so young.”
-
-“Oh, I fear I must do as they wish at home,” she wept. And now weeping
-came upon Arne too.
-
-“You know not, Kristin, how dear you are to me.” He hid his face upon
-her shoulder. “If you did, and if you cared for me, for sure you would
-go to Lavrans and beg hard—”
-
-“I cannot do it,” she sobbed. “I could never come to love any man so
-much as to go against my father and mother for his sake.” She groped
-with her hands for his face under the hood and the heavy steel cap. “Do
-not cry so, Arne, my dearest friend—”
-
-“You must take this at least,” said he after a time, giving her a little
-brooch; “and think of me sometimes, for I shall never forget you nor my
-grief—”
-
-It was all dark when Kristin and Arne had said their last farewell. She
-stood and looked after him when at length he rode away. A streak of
-yellow light shone through a rift in the clouds, and was reflected in
-the footprints, where they had walked and stood in the slush on the
-road—it all looked so cold and sorrowful, she thought. She drew up her
-linen neckerchief and dried her tear-stained face, then turned and went
-homeward.
-
-She was wet and cold and walked quickly. After a time she heard someone
-coming along the road behind her. She was a little frightened; even on
-such a night as this there might be strange folk journeying on the
-highway, and she had a lonely stretch before her. A great black scree
-rose right up on one side, and on the other the ground fell steeply and
-there was fir-forest all the way down to the leaden-hued river in the
-bottom of the dale. So she was glad when the man behind her called to
-her by name; and she stood still and waited.
-
-The newcomer was a tall, thin man in a dark surcoat with lighter
-sleeves—as he came nearer she saw he was dressed as a priest and carried
-an empty wallet on his back. And now she knew him to be Bentein
-Priestson, as they called him—Sira Eirik’s daughter’s son. She saw at
-once that he was far gone in drink.
-
-“Aye, one goes and another comes,” said he, laughing, when they had
-greeted one another. “I met Arne of Brekken even now—I see you are
-weeping. You might as well smile a little now I am come home—we have
-been friends too ever since we were children, have we not?”
-
-“’Tis an ill exchange, methinks, getting you into the parish in his
-stead,” said Kristin, bluntly. She had never liked Bentein. “And so, I
-fear, will many think. Your grandfather here has been so glad you were
-in Oslo making such a fair beginning.”
-
-“Oh, aye,” said Bentein, with a nickering laugh. “So ’twas a fair
-beginning I was making, you think? I was even like a pig in a
-wheat-field, Kristin—and the end was the same, I was hunted out with
-cudgels and the hue and cry. Aye, aye; aye, aye. ’Tis no great thing,
-the gladness my grandfather gets from his offspring. But what a mighty
-hurry you are in!”
-
-“I am cold,” said Kristin, curtly.
-
-“Not colder than I,” said the priest. “I have no more clothes on me than
-you see here—my cloak I had to sell for food and beer in little Hamar.
-Now, you should still have some heat in your body from making your
-farewells with Arne—methinks you should let me get under your fur with
-you—,” and he caught her cloak, pulled it over his shoulders and gripped
-her round the waist with his wet arm.
-
-Kristin was so amazed with his boldness it was a moment before she could
-gather her wits—then she strove to tear herself away, but he had a hold
-of her cloak and it was fastened together by a strong silver clasp.
-Bentein got his arms about her again, and made to kiss her, his mouth
-nearly touching her chin. She tried to strike, but he held her fast by
-the upper arm.
-
-“I trow you have lost your wits,” she hissed, as she struggled, “dare
-you to lay hands on me as I were a—dearly shall you rue this to-morrow,
-dastard that you are—”
-
-“Nay, to-morrow you will not be so foolish,” says Bentein, putting his
-leg in front of her so that she half fell into the mud, and pressing one
-hand over her mouth.
-
-Yet she had no thought of crying out. Now for the first time it flashed
-on her mind what he dared to want with her, but rage came upon her so
-wild and furious she had scarce a thought of fear: she snarled like an
-animal at grips with another, and fought furiously with the man as he
-tried to hold her down, while the ice-cold snow-water soaked through her
-clothes on to her burning skin.
-
-“To-morrow you will have wit enough to hold your tongue,” said Bentein,
-“—and if it can not be hidden, you can put the blame on Arne—’twill be
-believed the sooner—”
-
-Just then one of his fingers got into her mouth and at once she bit it
-with all her might, so that Bentein shrieked and let go his hold. Quick
-as lightning Kristin got one hand free, seized his face with it and
-pressed her thumb with all her might against the ball of one of his
-eyes; he roared out and rose to his knees; like a cat she slipped from
-his grasp, threw herself upon him so that he fell upon his back, and,
-turning, rushed along the road with the mud splashing over her at every
-bound.
-
-She ran and ran without looking back. She heard Bentein coming after,
-and she ran till her heart thumped in her throat, while she moaned
-softly and strained her eyes forward—should she never reach Laugarbru?
-At last she was out on the road where it passed through the fields; she
-saw the group of houses down on the hill-slope, and at the same moment
-she bethought her that she durst not run in there, where her mother
-was,—in the state she was now in, plastered with clay and withered
-leaves from head to foot, and with her clothing torn to rags.
-
-She marked that Bentein was gaining upon her; and on that she bent down
-and took up two great stones. She threw them when he came near enough;
-one struck him with such force it felled him to the ground. Then she ran
-on again and stayed not before she stood upon the bridge.
-
-All trembling, she stood and clutched the railing of the bridge; a
-darkness came before her eyes, and she feared she would drop down in a
-swoon—but then she thought of Bentein; what if he should come and find
-her. Shaken with rage and shame she went onwards, though her legs would
-scarce bear her, and now she felt her face smart where fingernails had
-scarred it, and felt too she had hurts upon both back and arms. Her
-tears came hot as fire.
-
-She wished Bentein might have been killed by the stone she had
-thrown—she wished she had gone back and made an end of him—she felt for
-her knife, but found that she must have lost it.
-
-Then again came the thought, she must not be seen at home as she was;
-and so it came into her mind that she would go to Romundgaard. She would
-complain to Sira Eirik.
-
-But the priest had not come back yet from Jörundgaard. In the
-kitchen-house she found Gunhild, Bentein’s mother; the woman was alone,
-and Kristin told her how her son had dealt with her. But that she had
-gone out to meet Arne she did not tell her. When she saw that Gunhild
-thought she had been at Laugarbru, she left her to think so.
-
-Gunhild said little, but wept a great deal while she washed the mud off
-Kristin’s clothes and sewed up the worst rents. And the girl was so
-shaken she paid no heed to the covert glances Gunhild cast on her now
-and then.
-
-When Kristin went, Gunhild took her cloak and went out with her, but
-took the way to the stables. Kristin asked her whither she was going.
-
-“Surely I may have leave to ride down and look after my son,” answered
-the woman. “See whether you have killed him with that stone of yours, or
-how it fares with him.”
-
-There seemed to be naught Kristin could answer to this, so she said only
-that Gunhild should see to it Bentein got out of the parish as soon as
-might be, and kept out of her sight, “—or I will speak of this to
-Lavrans, and you can guess, I trow, what would happen then.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-And indeed, Bentein went southward not more than a week later; he
-carried letters from Sira Eirik to the Bishop of Hamar begging the
-Bishop to find work for him or otherwise to help him.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   7
-
-One day at Yule-tide Simon Andressön came riding to Jörundgaard, a quite
-unlooked for guest. He craved pardon for coming thus, unbidden and
-alone, without his kinsfolk. But Sir Andres was in Sweden on the King’s
-business; he himself had been home at Dyfrin for a time, but only his
-young sisters and his mother, who lay ill abed, were there; so time had
-hung on his hands, and a great longing had taken him to look in upon
-them up here.
-
-Ragnfrid and Lavrans thanked him much for having made this long journey
-in the depth of winter. The more they saw of Simon the more they liked
-him. He knew of all that had passed between Andres and Lavrans, and it
-was now fixed that his and Kristin’s betrothal ale should be drunk
-before the beginning of Lent if Sir Andres would be home by that time,
-but, if not, then as soon as Easter was past.
-
-Kristin was quiet and downcast when with her betrothed; she found not
-much to talk of with him. One evening when they had all been sitting
-drinking, he asked her to go out with him a little into the cool. Then,
-as they stood on the balcony in front of the upper hall, he put his arm
-round her waist and kissed her. After that he did the same often when
-they were alone. It gave her no gladness, but she suffered him to do it,
-since she knew the betrothal was a thing that must come. She thought of
-her wedding now only as something which she must go through with, not as
-something she wished for. None the less she liked Simon well
-enough—most, though, when he talked with others and did not touch or
-talk to her.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-She had been so unhappy through this whole autumn. It was of no use,
-however often she told herself Bentein had been able to do her no harm;
-none the less she felt herself soiled and shamed.
-
-Nothing could be the same as it had been before, since a man had dared
-try to wreak such a will on her. She lay awake of nights and burned with
-shame and could not stop thinking of it. She felt Bentein’s body close
-against hers as when they fought, his hot, beery breath—she could not
-help thinking of what might have happened—and she thought, with a
-shudder through all her body, of what he had said: how Arne would get
-the blame if it could not be hidden. There rushed through her mind all
-that would have followed if such a calamity had befallen and then folk
-had heard of her meeting with Arne—what if her father and mother had
-believed such a thing of Arne—and Arne himself—She saw him as she had
-seen him that last evening, and she felt as though she sank crushed
-before him at the very thought that she _might_ have dragged him down
-with her into sorrow and disgrace. And then she had such ugly dreams.
-She had heard tell in church and in holy stories of fleshly lusts and
-the temptations of the body, but they had meant naught to her. Now it
-was become real to her that she herself and all mankind had a sinful,
-carnal body which enmeshed the soul and ate into it with hard bonds.
-
-Then she would think out for herself how she might have killed or
-blinded Bentein. It was the only solace she could find—to sate herself
-with dreams of revenge upon the dark, hateful man who stood always in
-the way of her thoughts. But this did not help for long; she lay by
-Ulvhild’s side of nights and wept bitter tears at the thought of all
-this that had been brought upon her by brute force. Bentein had not
-failed altogether—he had wrought scathe to the maidenhood of her spirit.
-
-The first work-day after Christmas all the women on Jörundgaard were
-busy in the kitchen-house; Ragnfrid and Kristin had been there, too, for
-most of the day. Late in the evening, while some of the women were
-clearing up after the baking, and others making ready for supper, the
-dairy-maid came rushing in, shrieking and wringing her hands:
-
-“Jesus, Jesus—did ever any hear such a dreadful thing—they are bringing
-Arne Gyrdson home dead on a sleigh—God help Gyrd and Inga in this
-misery—”
-
-A man who dwelt in a cottage a little way down the road came in with
-Halvdan. It was these two who had met the bier.
-
-The women crowded round them. Outside the circle stood Kristin, white
-and shaking. Halvdan, Lavrans’ own body-servant, who had known Arne from
-his boyhood, wept aloud as he told the story:
-
-It was Bentein Priestson who had killed Arne. On New Year’s Eve the men
-of the Bishop’s household were sitting and drinking in the men’s hall,
-and Bentein had come in—he had been given a clerkship now with the
-Corpus Christi prebendary. The men did not want him amongst them at
-first, but he had put Arne in mind that they were both from the same
-parish, and Arne had let him sit by him, and they had drunk together.
-But presently they had quarrelled and fought, and Arne had fallen on so
-fiercely that Bentein had snatched a knife from they table and stabbed
-him in the throat and then more than once in the breast. Arne had died
-almost at once.
-
-The Bishop had taken this mischance much to heart; he himself had cared
-for the laying-out of the corpse, and had it brought all the long way
-home by his own folk. Bentein he had thrown into irons, cast him out
-from the church, and if he were not already hanged, he was going to be.
-
-Halvdan had to tell all this over again many times as fresh people
-streamed in. Lavrans and Simon came over to the kitchen too, when they
-marked all the stir and commotion about the place. Lavrans was much
-moved; he bade them saddle his horse, he would ride over to Brekken at
-once. As he was about to go, his eyes fell on Kristin’s white face.
-
-“May be _you_ would like to go with me?” he asked. Kristin faltered a
-little; she shuddered—but then she nodded, for she could not utter one
-word.
-
-“Is’t not too cold for her?” said Ragnfrid. “Doubtless they will have
-the wake to-morrow, and then ’tis like we shall all go together—”
-
-Lavrans looked at his wife; he marked Simon’s face too; and then he went
-and laid his arm round Kristin’s shoulders:
-
-“She is his foster-sister, you must bear in mind,” said he. “Maybe she
-would like to help Inga with the laying-out the body.”
-
-And though Kristin’s heart was benumbed with despair and fear, she felt
-a glow of thankfulness to her father for his words.
-
-Ragnfrid said then, that if Kristin was to go, they must eat their
-evening porridge before they started. She wished, too, to send gifts to
-Inga by them—a new linen sheet, wax-candles and fresh-baked bread; and
-she bade them say she would come up herself and help to prepare for the
-burial.
-
-There was little eating, but much talking in the room while the food was
-on the table. One reminded the other of the trials that God had laid
-upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been laid waste by stone-slips and
-floods: more than one of their elder children were dead, so that all
-Arne’s brothers and sisters were still but little ones. They had had
-fortune with them now for some years, since the Bishop placed Gyrd at
-Finsbrekken as his bailiff; and the children who were left to them were
-fair and full of promise. But his mother loved Arne more than all the
-rest—
-
-They pitied Sira Eirik too. The priest was beloved and well respected
-and the folk of the parish were proud of him; he was learned and skilled
-in his office and in all the years he had had their church he had never
-let a holy day or mass or a service pass that he was in duty bound to
-hold. In his youth he had been man-at-arms under Count Alv of Tornberg
-but he had had the misfortune to kill a man of very high birth, and so
-had taken refuge with the Bishop of Oslo; when the Bishop saw what a
-turn Eirik had for book-learning, he had him trained for a priest. And
-had it not been that he still had enemies by reason of that slaying of
-long ago, it was like Sira Eirik would not have stayed here in this
-little charge. True enough, he was very greedy of pence, both for his
-own purse and for the church, but then, was not his church richly fitted
-out with plate and vestments and books? and he himself had these
-children—and he had had naught but sorrow and trouble with his family.
-In these far away country parishes folk held it was not reason that
-priests should live like monks, for they must at the least have women to
-help on their farms, and they might well need a woman to look after
-things for them, seeing what long and toilsome journeys they must make
-round the parishes, and that too in all kinds of weather; besides folk
-had not forgotten that it was not so very long since priests in Norway
-had been wedded men. Thus no one had blamed Sira Eirik over much that he
-had had three children by the woman who tended his house, while he was
-yet young. But this evening they said, it looked, indeed, as though
-’twas God’s will to punish Eirik for his loose living, so much evil had
-his children and his children’s children brought upon him. And some
-thought there was good reason, too, that a priest should have neither
-wife nor children—for after this it was much to be feared that
-bitterness and enmity would arise between the priest and the folk on
-Finsbrekken, who until now had been the best of friends.
-
-Simon Andressön knew much of Bentein’s doings in Oslo; and he told of
-them. Bentein had been clerk to the Dean of the Church of the Holy
-Virgin, and he had the name of being a quick-witted youth. There were
-many women, too, who liked him well—he had roving eyes, and a glib
-tongue. Some held him a comely man—these were for the most part such
-women as thought they had a bad bargain in their husbands, and then
-young maids, the sort that liked well that men should be somewhat free
-with them. Simon laughed—aye, they understood? Well, Bentein was so sly,
-he never went too far with that kind of woman; he was all talk with
-them, and so he got a name for clean-living. But the thing was that King
-Haakon, as they knew, was a good and pious man himself, and fain would
-keep order among his men and hold them to a seemly walk and
-conversation—the young ones at least; the others were apt to be too much
-for him. And it came about that whatever pranks the youngsters managed
-to slip out and take part in—drinking bouts, gambling and beer-drinking
-and such like—the priest of the King’s household always got to hear of,
-and the mad-caps had to confess and pay scot and suffer hard reproof;
-aye, two or three of the wildest youths of all were hunted away. But at
-last it came out it was this fox, Bentein secretarius—unknown to anyone
-he had been made free of all the beer-houses and worse places still; he
-confessed the serving-wenches and gave them absolution—
-
-Kristin sat at her mother’s side; she tried to eat so that no one should
-mark how it was with her, though her hand shook so that she spilled the
-milk porridge at each spoonful, and her tongue felt so thick and dry in
-her mouth that she could not swallow the morsels of bread. But when
-Simon began to tell of Bentein, she had to give up making believe to
-eat; she held on to the bench beneath her—terror and loathing seized
-her, so that she felt dizzy and sick. It was he who had wanted
-to—Bentein and Arne, Bentein and Arne—Beside herself with impatience,
-she waited for them to be finished. She longed to see Arne, Arne’s
-comely face, to throw herself down beside him and mourn and forget all
-else.
-
-As her mother helped her with her outer wrappings, she kissed her
-daughter on the cheek. Kristin was so little used to endearments from
-her mother now, it comforted her much—she laid her head upon Ragnfrid’s
-shoulder a moment, but she could not weep.
-
-When they came out of the courtyard, she saw that others were going with
-them—Halvdan, Jon from Laugarbru, and Simon and his man. It gave her a
-pang, she knew not why, that the two strangers should be coming with
-them.
-
-It was a bitter cold evening, and the snow crackled under foot; in the
-black sky the stars crowded thick, glittering like rime. When they had
-ridden a little way, they heard yells and howls and furious hoof-beats
-from the flats to the south—a little further up the road a whole troop
-of horsemen came tearing up behind and swept past them with a ringing of
-metal, leaving behind a vapour of reeking, rime-covered horseflesh,
-which reached them even where they stood aside in the deep snow. Halvdan
-hailed the wild crew—they were youths from the farms in the south of the
-parish; they were still keeping Yule-tide and were out trying their
-horses. Some, who were too drunk to understand, thundered on at a
-gallop, roaring at the top of their voices and hammering on their
-shields. But a few grasped the tidings which Halvdan shouted to them;
-they fell out of the troop, grew silent, joined Lavrans’ company and
-talked in whispers to those in the rear.
-
-At last they came in sight of Finsbrekken, on the hillside beyond the
-Sil river. There were lights about the houses—in the middle of the
-courtyard pine-root torches had been planted in a heap of snow, and
-their glare lay red over the white slopes, but the black houses looked
-as though smeared with clotted blood. One of Arne’s little sisters stood
-outside and stamped her feet; she hugged her hands beneath her cloak.
-Kristin kissed the tear-stained, half-frozen child. Her heart was heavy
-as stone, and it seemed as though she had lead in her limbs, as she
-climbed the stairs to the loft-room where they had laid him.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The sound of singing and the glitter of many lighted candles met them in
-the doorway. In the middle of the room stood the coffin he had been
-brought home in, covered with a sheet; boards had been laid on trestles
-and the coffin placed upon them. At the head of the bier a young priest
-stood with a book in his hands, chanting; round about knelt the mourners
-with their faces hidden in their heavy cloaks.
-
-Lavrans lit his candle at one of those already burning, set it firmly
-upon one of the boards of the bier and knelt down. Kristin tried to do
-the like, but could not get her candle to stand; so Simon took it and
-helped her. As long as the priest went on chanting, all stayed upon
-their knees and repeated his words in whispers, their breath hanging
-like steam about their mouths, in the bitter cold air of the room.
-
-When the priest shut his book and the folk rose—there were many gathered
-in the death-chamber already—Lavrans went forward to Inga. She stared at
-Kristin, and seemed scarce to hear what Lavrans said; she stood holding
-the gifts he had handed to her as though she knew not she had aught in
-her hand.
-
-“Are _you_ come, too, Kristin,” she said in a strange, laboured voice.
-“Maybe you would see my son, so as he is come back to me?”
-
-She pushed some of the candles aside, seized Kristin’s arm with a
-shaking hand, and with the other swept the napkin from the face of the
-dead.
-
-It was greyish-yellow like clay, and the lips had the hue of lead; they
-had parted a little, so that the small, even, bone-white teeth showed
-through as in a mocking smile. Under the long eyelashes there was a
-gleam of the glassy eyes, and there were some livid stains below the
-temples, either marks of blows or the death-spots.
-
-“Maybe you would kiss him?” asked Inga, as before; and Kristin bent
-forward at her bidding and pressed her lips upon the dead man’s cheek.
-It was clammy as with dew, and she thought she could feel the least
-breath of decay; the body had begun to thaw perhaps with the heat from
-all the tapers round.
-
-Kristin stayed still, lying with her hands on the bier, for she could
-not rise. Inga drew the shroud further aside, so that the great gash
-above the collarbone came to sight. Then she turned towards the people
-and said with a shaking voice:
-
-“They lie, I see, who say a dead man’s wounds will bleed when he is
-touched by him who wrought his death. He is colder now, my boy, and less
-comely, than when you met him last down there on the road. You care not
-much to kiss him now, I see—but I have heard you scorned not his lips
-then.”
-
-“Inga,” said Lavrans, coming forward, “have you lost your wits—are you
-raving—”
-
-“Oh, aye, you are all so fine, down at Jörundgaard—you were far too rich
-a man, you Lavrans Björgulfsön, for my son to dare think of courting
-your daughter with honour—and Kristin, too, she thought herself too
-good. But she was not too good to run after him on the highway at night
-and play with him in the thickets the night he left—ask her yourself and
-we will see if she dare deny it here, with Arne lying dead—and all
-through her lightness—”
-
-Lavrans did not ask, he turned to Gyrd:
-
-“Curb your wife, man—you see she has clean lost her wits—”
-
-But Kristin lifted her white face and looked desperately about her:
-
-“I went and met Arne the last evening because he begged me to. But
-naught of wrong passed between us.” And then, as she seemed to come to
-herself and to understand all, she cried out: “I know not what you mean,
-Inga—would you slander Arne, and he lying here—never did he tempt me nor
-lure me astray—”
-
-But Inga laughed aloud:
-
-“Nay, not Arne! but Bentein Priest—_he_ did not let you play with him
-so—ask Gunhild, Lavrans, that washed the dirt off your daughter’s back;
-and ask each man who was in the Bishop’s henchmen’s hall on New Year’s
-Eve, when Bentein flouted Arne for that he had let her go, and leave him
-standing like a fool. She let Bentein walk homeward with her under her
-cloak and would have played the same game with him—”
-
-Lavrans took her by the shoulder and laid his hand over her mouth:
-
-“Take her away, Gyrd. Shameful it is that you should speak such words by
-this good youth’s body—but if all your children lay here dead, I would
-not stand and hear you lie about mine—you, Gyrd, must answer for what
-this madwoman says—”
-
-Gyrd took hold of his wife and tried to lead her away, but he said to
-Lavrans:
-
-“’Tis true, though, ’twas of Kristin they talked, Arne and Bentein, when
-my son lost his life. Like enough you have not heard it, but there hath
-been talk in the parish here too this autumn—”
-
-Simon struck a blow with his sword upon the clothes-chest beside him:
-
-“Nay, good folk, now must you find somewhat else to talk of in this
-death-chamber than my betrothed—Priest, can you not rule these folk and
-keep seemly order here—?”
-
-The priest—Kristin saw now he was the youngest son from Ulvsvolden, who
-had been at home for Yule—opened his book and stood up beside the bier.
-But Lavrans shouted that those who had talked about his daughter, let
-them be who they might, should be made to swallow their words, and Inga
-shrieked:
-
-“Aye, take my life then, Lavrans, since she has taken all my comfort and
-joy—and make her wedding with this knight’s son; but yet do all folk
-know that she was wed with Bentein upon the highway—Here—,” and she cast
-the sheet Lavrans had given her right across the bier to Kristin, “I
-need not Ragnfrid’s linen to lay my Arne in the grave—make head-cloths
-of it, you, or keep it to swaddle your roadside brat—and go down and
-help Gunhild to moan for the man that’s hanged—”
-
-Lavrans, Gyrd and the priest took hold of Inga. Simon tried to lift
-Kristin, who was lying over the bier. But she thrust his arm fiercely
-aside, drew herself up straight upon her knees and cried aloud:
-
-“So God my Saviour help me, it is false!” and, stretching out one hand,
-she held it over the nearest candle on the bier.
-
-It seemed as if the flame bent and waved aside—Kristin felt all eyes
-fixed upon her—what seemed to her a long time went by. And then all at
-once she grew aware of a burning pain in her palm, and with a piercing
-cry she fell back upon the floor.
-
-She thought, herself, she swooned—but she was aware that Simon and the
-priest raised her. Inga shrieked out something; she saw her father’s
-horror-stricken face, and heard the priest shout that no one must take
-account of this ordeal—not thus might one call God to witness,—and then
-Simon bore her from the room and down the stairs. Simon’s man ran to the
-stable, and soon after Kristin was sitting, still half senseless, in
-front of Simon on his saddle, wrapped in his coat, and he was riding
-toward Jörundgaard as fast as his horse could gallop.
-
-They were nigh to Jörundgaard when Lavrans came up with them. The rest
-of their company came thundering along the road far behind.
-
-“Say naught to your mother,” said Simon, as he set her down at the door
-of the house. “We have heard all too much wild talk to-night; ’tis no
-wonder you lost your wits yourself at the last.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Ragnfrid was lying awake when they came in, and she asked how things had
-been in the wake chamber. Simon took it upon himself to answer for all.
-Aye, there had been many candles and many folk; aye, there had been a
-priest—Tormod from Ulvsvolden—Sira Eirik he heard had ridden off to
-Hamar this very evening, so there would be no trouble about the burial.
-
-“We must have a mass said over the lad,” said Ragnfrid; “God strengthen
-Inga; the good worthy woman is sorely tried.”
-
-Lavrans sang the same tune as Simon and in a little Simon said that now
-they must all go to rest; “for Kristin is both weary and sorrowful.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-After a time, when Ragnfrid slept, Lavrans threw on a few clothes, and
-went and seated himself on the edge of his daughters’ bed. He found
-Kristin’s hand in the dark and said very gently:
-
-“Now must you tell me, child, what is true and what is false in all this
-talk Inga is spreading?”
-
-Sobbing, Kristin told him all that had befallen the evening Arne set out
-for Hamar. Lavrans said but little. Kristin crept toward him in her bed,
-threw her arms around his neck and wailed softly:
-
-“It _is_ my fault that Arne is dead—’tis but too true, what Inga said—”
-
-“’Twas Arne himself that begged you to go and meet him,” said Lavrans,
-pulling the coverlid up over his daughter’s bare shoulders. “I trow it
-was heedless in me to let you two go about together, but I thought the
-lad would have known better—I will not blame you two—I know these things
-are heavy for you to bear. Yet did I never think that daughter of mine
-would fall into ill-fame in this parish of ours—and ’twill go hard with
-your mother when she hears these tidings—But that you went to Gunhild
-with this and not to me, ’twas so witless a thing—I understand not how
-you could behave so foolishly—”
-
-“I cannot bear to stay here in the Dale any more,” sobbed Kristin, “—not
-a soul would I dare look in the face—and all I have brought upon
-them—the folks at Romundgaard and at Finsbrekken—”
-
-“Aye, they will have to see to it, both Gyrd and Sira Eirik,” said
-Lavrans, “that these lies about you are buried with Arne. For the rest,
-’tis Simon Andressön can best defend you in this business,” said he, and
-patted her in the dark. “Think you not he took the matter well and
-wisely—”
-
-“Father”—and Kristin clung close to him and begged piteously and
-fervently, “send me to the convent, father. Aye, listen to me—I have
-thought of this for long; may be Ulvhild will grow well if I go in her
-stead. You know the shoes with beads upon them that I sewed for her in
-the autumn—I pricked my fingers sorely, and my hands bled from the sharp
-gold-thread—yet I sat and sewed on them, for I thought it was wicked of
-me not to love my sister so that I would be a nun to help her—Arne once
-asked if I would not. Had I but said ‘Aye’ then, all this would not have
-befallen—”
-
-Lavrans shook his head:
-
-“Lie down now,” he bade. “You know not yourself what you say, poor
-child. Now you must try if you can sleep—”
-
-But Kristin lay and felt the smart in her burnt hand, and despair and
-bitterness over her fate raged in her heart. No worse could have
-befallen her had she been the most sinful of women; everyone would
-believe—no, she could not, could not bear to stay on here in the Dale.
-Horror after horror rose before her—when her mother came to know of
-this—and now there was blood between them and their parish priest,
-ill-will betwixt all who had been friends around her the whole of her
-life. But the worst, the most crushing fear of all fell upon her when
-she thought of Simon and of how he had taken her and carried her away
-and stood forth for her at home, and borne himself as though she were
-his own possession—her father and mother had fallen aside before him as
-though she belonged already more to him than to them—
-
-Then she thought of Arne’s face in the coffin, cold and cruel. She
-remembered the last time she was at church, she had seen, as she left,
-an open grave that stood waiting for a dead man. The upthrown clods of
-earth lay upon the snow hard and cold and grey like iron—to this had she
-brought Arne—
-
-All at once the thought came to her of a summer evening many years
-before. She was standing on the balcony of the loft-room at Finsbrekken,
-the same room where she had been struck down that night. Arne was
-playing ball with some boys in the courtyard below, and the ball was hit
-up to her in the balcony. She had held it behind her back, and would not
-give it up when Arne came after it; then he had tried to wrest it from
-her by strength—and they had fought for it, in the balcony, in the room
-amid the chests, with the leather sacks, which hung there full of
-clothes, bumping their heads as they knocked against them in their
-frolic; they had laughed and struggled over that ball—
-
-And then, at last, the truth seemed to come home to her: he was dead and
-gone, and she should never again see his comely, fearless face nor feel
-the touch of his warm, living hands. And she had been so childish and so
-heartless as never to give a thought to what it must be for him to lose
-her—She wept bitter tears, and felt she had earned all her unhappiness.
-But then the thought came back of all that still awaited her, and she
-wept anew, for, after all, it seemed to her too hard a punishment—
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was Simon who told Ragnfrid of what happened in the corpse chamber at
-Brekken the night before. He did not make more of it than he needs must.
-But Kristin was so amazed with sorrow and night waking that she felt a
-senseless anger against him because he talked as if it were not so
-dreadful a thing after all. Besides it vexed her sorely that her father
-and mother let Simon behave as though he were master of the house.
-
-“And you Simon—surely you believe not aught of this?” asked Ragnfrid,
-fearfully.
-
-“No,” replied Simon. “Nor do I deem there is anyone who believes it—they
-know you and her and this Bentein; but so little befalls for folk to
-talk of in these outparishes—’tis but reason they should fall to on such
-a fat titbit. ’Tis for us to teach them Kristin’s good name is too fine
-fare for such clowns as they. But pity it was she let herself be so
-frighted by his grossness that she went not forthwith to you or to Sira
-Eirik with the tale—methinks this bordel-priest would but too gladly
-have avowed he meant naught worse than harmless jesting, had you,
-Lavrans, got a word with him.”
-
-Both Kristin’s parents said that Simon was right in this. But she cried
-out, stamping her foot:
-
-“But he threw me down on the ground, I say—I scarce know myself what he
-did or did not do—I was beside myself; I can remember naught—for all I
-know it may be as Inga says—I have not been well nor happy a single day
-since—”
-
-Ragnfrid shrieked and clasped her hands together; Lavrans started
-up—even Simon’s face fell; he looked at her sharply, then went up to her
-and took her by the chin.
-
-Then he laughed:
-
-“God bless you, Kristin—you had remembered but too well if he had done
-you any harm. No marvel if she has been sad and ill since that unhappy
-evening she had such an ugly fright—she who had never known aught but
-kindness and goodwill before,” said he to the others. “Any but the evil
-minded, who would fain think ill rather than good, can see by her eyes
-that she is a maid, and no woman.”
-
-Kristin looked up into her betrothed’s small, steady eyes. She half
-lifted her hands—as if to throw them round his neck—when he went on:
-
-“You must not think, Kristin, that you will not forget this. ’Tis not in
-my mind that we should settle down at Formo as soon as we are wed, so
-that you would never leave the Dale. No one has the same hue of hair or
-mind in both rain and sunshine, said old King Sverre, when they blamed
-his Birch-legs for being overbearing in good fortune—”
-
-Lavrans and Ragnfrid smiled—it was pleasant enough to hear the young man
-discourse with the air of a wise old bishop. Simon went on:
-
-“’Twould ill beseem me to seek to teach you, who are to be my
-father-in-law; but so much, maybe, I may make bold to say, that we, my
-brothers and sisters and I, were brought up more strictly; we were not
-let run about so freely with the house-folk as I have seen that Kristin
-is used to. My mother often said that if one played with the cottar
-carls’ brats, ’twas like one would get a louse or two in one’s hair in
-the end—and there’s somewhat in that saying.”
-
-Lavrans and Ragnfrid held their peace, but Kristin turned away, and the
-wish she had felt but a moment before to clasp Simon round the neck, had
-quite left her.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Towards noon, Lavrans and Simon took their ski and went out to see to
-some snares up on the mountain ridges. The weather was fine
-outside—sunshine, and the cold not so great. Both men were glad to slip
-away from all the sadness and weeping at home, and so they went
-far—right up among the bare hilltops.
-
-They lay in the sun under a crag and drank and ate; Lavrans spoke a
-little of Arne—he had loved the boy well, Simon chimed in, praised the
-dead lad, and said he thought it not strange that Kristin grieved for
-her foster brother. Then Lavrans said: maybe they should not press her
-much, but should give her a little time to get back her peace of mind
-before they drank the betrothal ale. She had said somewhat of wishing to
-go into a convent for a time.
-
-Simon sat bolt upright, and gave a long whistle.
-
-“You like not the thought?” asked Lavrans.
-
-“Nay, but I do, I do,” said the other hastily. “Methinks it is the best
-way, dear father-in-law. Send her to the Sisters in Oslo for a
-year—there will she learn how folk talk one of the other out in the
-world. I know a little of some of the maidens who are there,” he said
-laughing. “_They_ would not throw themselves down and die of grief if
-two mad younkers tore each other to pieces for their sakes. Not that I
-would have such an one for wife—but methinks Kristin will be none the
-worse for meeting new folks.”
-
-Lavrans put the rest of the food into the wallet and said, without
-looking at the youth:
-
-“Methinks you love Kristin—?”
-
-Simon laughed a little and did not look at Lavrans:
-
-“Be sure, I know her worth—and yours too,” he said quickly and
-shamefacedly, as he got up and took his ski. “None that I have ever met
-would I sooner wed with—”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-A little before Easter, when there was still snow enough for sleighing
-down the Dale and the ice still bore on Mjösen, Kristin journeyed
-southward for the second time. Simon came up to bear her company—so now
-she journeyed driving in a sleigh, well wrapped in furs and with father
-and betrothed beside her; and after them followed her father’s men and
-sledges with her clothes, and gifts of food and furs for the Abbess and
-the Sisters of Nonneseter.
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                                BOOK TWO
-
-
-
-
-
-
-                                                             THE GARLAND
-
-
-
-
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-
-
-                                   1
-
-AASMUND BJÖRGULFSÖN’S church-boat stood in round the point of Hovedö
-early one Sunday at the end of April, while the bells were ringing in
-the cloister-church and were answered from across the bay by the chimes
-of bells from the town, now louder and now fainter as the breeze rose or
-fell.
-
-Light, fluted clouds were floating over the high, pale-blue heavens, and
-the sun was glittering on the dancing ripples of the water. It was quite
-spring-like along the shores; the fields lay almost bare of snow, and
-over the leaf-tree thickets the light had a yellow shimmer and the
-shadows were blue. But in the pine-forests up on the high ridges, which
-framed in the settled lands of Akersbygd, there were glimpses of snow,
-and on the far blue fells to the westward, beyond the fjord, there still
-showed many flashes of white.
-
-Kristin was standing in the bow of the boat with her father, and Gyrid,
-Aasmund’s wife. She gazed at the town, with all the light-hued churches
-and stone buildings that rose above the swarm of grey-brown wooden
-houses and bare tree-tops. The wind ruffled the skirts of her cloak and
-snatched at her hair beneath her hood.
-
-They had left the cattle out at Skog the day before, and a great longing
-had come on her to be at Jörundgaard. It would be a long time still
-before they could let the cattle out there—she longed with tender pity
-for the lean, winter-worn cows in the dark byres; they would have to
-wait and suffer a long while yet. Her mother, Ulvhild, who had slept in
-her arms each night all these years, little Ramborg—she yearned so much
-for them; she longed for all the folk at home, and the horses and the
-dogs, for Kortelin, whom Ulvhild was to have while she was gone, and for
-her father’s hawks as they sat there on their perches with their hoods
-over their heads. She saw the horse-hide gloves that hung beside them to
-wear when you took them on to your wrist, and the ivory staves to
-scratch them with.
-
-It was as if all the woe of the last winter had gone far away from her
-and she only saw her home as it used to be. They had told her, too, that
-none thought ill of her in the parish—Sira Eirik did not believe that
-story; he was angry and grieved at what Bentein had done. Bentein had
-fled from Hamar; ’twas said he had gone to Sweden. So things were not so
-bad between them and their neighbour as she had feared.
-
-On the journey down to Oslo they had stayed as guests at Simon’s home,
-and she had come to know his mother and sisters—Sir Andres was in Sweden
-still. She had not felt at ease there, and her dislike of the Dyfrin
-folk was all the stronger that she could think of no good ground for it.
-All the way thither, she had said to herself that they had no cause to
-be proud or to think themselves better than her kin—no man knew aught of
-Reidar Darre, the Birch-leg, before King Sverre got him the widow of the
-Dyfrin Baron to wife. But lo! they were not proud at all; and when Simon
-himself spoke one night of his forefather: “I have found out now for
-sure—he was a comb-maker—so ’tis as though you were to come into a
-kingly stock—almost, Kristin,” said he. “Take heed to your tongue, boy,”
-said his mother but they all laughed together. It vexed her strangely
-when she thought of her father; he laughed much, if Simon gave him the
-least cause—a thought came to her dimly that maybe her father would
-gladly have had more laughter in his life—But ’twas not to her mind that
-he should like Simon so much.
-
-They had all been at Skog over Easter. She had found that her uncle was
-a hard master to his farmers and serving-folk—she had met one and
-another who asked after her mother and spoke lovingly of Lavrans: they
-had better times when he lived here. Aasmund’s mother, Lavrans’
-step-mother, lived on the manor in a house by herself; she was not so
-very old, but sickly and failing. Lavrans had but seldom spoken of her
-at home. Once when Kristin asked him if he had had a hard step-mother,
-her father answered: “She never did much to me of either good or ill.”
-
-Kristin felt for her father’s hand, and he pressed hers:
-
-“You will be happy soon enough, my daughter, with the good Sisters—you
-will have other things to think of besides longing to be home with us—”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They sailed so near by the town that the smell of tar and salt fish was
-borne out to them from the wharves. Gyrid named all the churches, the
-traders’ quarters and the open places which ran up from the water’s
-edge—Kristin remembered nothing from the time she was here before but
-the great heavy towers of St. Halvard’s church. They sailed westward
-past the whole town and laid to at the convent pier.
-
-Kristin walked between her father and her uncle through a cluster of
-warehouses, and came out upon a road which led up through the fields.
-Simon came after, leading Gyrid by the hand. The serving-folk stayed
-behind to help some men from the convent load the baggage upon a cart.
-
-Nonneseter and the whole Leiran quarter lay within the boundaries of the
-town grazing-grounds, but there were but a few clusters of houses here
-and there along the roadside. The larks were trilling over their heads
-in the pale-blue sky, and the small yellow flowers of the coltsfoot were
-thickly sprinkled over the wan clay slopes, but along by the fences the
-roots of the grass were green.
-
-When they were through the gate and were come into the cloister, all the
-nuns came marching two by two towards them from the church, while song
-and music streamed out after them through the open door.
-
-Ill at ease, Kristin watched the many black-robed women with white linen
-wimples about their faces. She curtsied low, and the men bowed with
-their hats held close to their breasts. After the nuns came a flock of
-young maidens—some of them but children—in gowns of undyed wadmal, their
-waists bound with belts of twined black and white, and their hair
-braided tightly back from their faces with cords of the same black and
-white. Without thinking, Kristin put on a bold and forward look as the
-young maids passed, for she felt bashful, and was afraid they must think
-she looked countrified and foolish.
-
-The convent was so glorious that she was quite overcome. All the
-buildings round the inner court were of grey stone; on the north side
-the main-wall of the church stood up high above the other houses; it had
-two tiers of roofs and towers at the west end. The court itself was laid
-with stone flags, and round the whole there ran a covered way whose roof
-was borne on pillars fairly wrought. In the midst of the court stood a
-stone statue of the Mater Misericordiæ, spreading her cloak over some
-kneeling figures.
-
-Then a lay-sister came and prayed them to go with her to the Abbess’
-parlour. The Lady Groa Guttormsdatter was a tall and stoutly-made old
-woman—she would have been comely had she not had so many hairs about her
-mouth. Her voice was deep like a man’s. But her bearing was gentle and
-kindly—she called to mind that she had known Lavrans’ father and mother,
-and asked after his wife and his other children. Last she spoke to
-Kristin in friendly wise:
-
-“I have heard good report of you, and you look to be wise and well
-nurtured—sure I am you will give us no cause for miscontent. I have
-heard that you are plighted to this good and well-born man, Simon
-Andressön, whom I see here—it seems to us that ’twas wise counsel of
-your father and your husband to be, to grant you leave to live here
-awhile in the Virgin Mary’s house, that you may learn to obey and serve
-before you are called to rule and to command. Now would I have you lay
-to heart this counsel: that you learn to find joy in prayer and the
-worship of God, that you may use yourself in all your doings to remember
-your Creator, God’s gentle Mother, and all the Saints who have given us
-the best patterns of strength, uprightness, faithfulness and all the
-virtues you must show forth in guiding your people and your goods and
-nurturing your children. And you will learn in this house, too, to take
-good heed of time, for here every hour has its use and its task also.
-Many young maids and women love all too well to lie abed late of a
-morning, and sit long at table of an evening in idle talk—yet look not
-you as you were one of these. Yet may you learn much in the year you are
-here that may profit you both here on earth and in our heavenly home.”
-
-Kristin curtsied and kissed her hand. After that Lady Groa bade Kristin
-go with a monstrously fat old nun, whom she called Sister Potentia, over
-to the nuns’ refectory. The men and Gyrid she asked to dine with her in
-another house.
-
-The refectory was a great and fair room with a stone floor and pointed
-windows with glass panes. There was a doorway into another room, where,
-Kristin could see, there must be glass windows too, for the sun shone
-in.
-
-The Sisters were already seated at the table waiting for their food—the
-elder nuns upon a cushioned stone-bench along the wall under the
-windows; the younger Sisters and the bareheaded maidens in light-hued
-wadmal dresses sat upon a wooden bench on the outer side of the board.
-In the next room a board was laid too; this was for the commoners and
-the lay-servants; there were a few old men amongst them. These folk did
-not wear the convent habit, but were none the less clad soberly in dark
-raiment.
-
-Sister Potentia showed Kristin to a seat on the outer bench, but went
-and placed herself near to the Abbess’ high-seat at the end of the
-board—the high-seat was empty to-day.
-
-All rose, both in this room and in the side room, while the Sisters said
-grace. After that a fair, young nun went and stood at a lectern placed
-in the doorway between the two chambers. And while the lay-sisters in
-the greater room, and two of the youngest nuns in the side room, bore in
-food and drink, the nun read in a high and sweet voice, and without
-stopping or tripping at a single word, the story of St. Theodora and St.
-Didymus.
-
-At first Kristin was thinking most of minding her table-manners, for she
-saw all the Sisters and the young maids bore them as seemly and ate as
-nicely as though they had been sitting at the finest feast. There was
-abundance of the best food and drink, but all helped themselves
-modestly, and dipped but the very tips of their fingers into the dishes;
-no one spilled the broth either upon the cloths or upon their garments,
-and all cut up the meat so small that they did not soil their mouths,
-and ate with so much care that not a sound was to be heard.
-
-Kristin grew hot with fear that she might not seem as well-behaved as
-the others; she was feeling ill at ease, too, in her bright dress in the
-midst of all these women in black and white—she fancied that they were
-all looking at her. So when she had to eat a fat piece of breast of
-mutton, and was holding it by the bone with two fingers, while cutting
-morsels off with her right hand, and taking care to handle the knife
-lightly and neatly—suddenly the whole slipped from her fingers; her
-slice of bread and the meat flew on to the cloth, and the knife fell
-clattering on the stone flags.
-
-The noise sounded fearfully in the quiet room. Kristin flushed red as
-fire and would have bent to pick up the knife, but a lay-sister came
-noiselessly in her sandals and gathered up the things.
-
-But Kristin could eat no more. She found, too, that she had cut one of
-her fingers, and she was afraid of bleeding upon the cloth; so she sat
-with her hand wrapped in a corner of her skirt, and thought of how she
-was staining the goodly light-blue dress she had gotten for the journey
-to Oslo—and she did not dare to raise her eyes from her lap.
-
-Howbeit, in a little she began to listen more to what the nun was
-reading. When the ruler found he could not shake the steadfastness of
-the maid, Theodora—she would neither make offerings to the false gods
-nor let herself be given in marriage—he bade them lead her to a brothel.
-Yet while on the way thither he exhorted her to think of her free born
-kindred and her honoured father and mother, upon whom everlasting shame
-must now be brought, and gave his word she should be let live in peace
-and stay a maid, if she would but join the service of a heathen goddess,
-whom they called Diana.
-
-Theodora answered fearlessly: “Chastity is like a lamp, but love of God
-is the flame; were I to serve the devilwoman whom you call Diana, my
-chastity were no more worth than a rusty lamp without flame or oil. Thou
-callest me freeborn, but we are all born bondsmen, since our first
-parents sold us to the devil; Christ has bought me free, and I am bound
-to serve him, so that I cannot wed me with his foes. He will guard his
-dove; but should he even suffer you to break my body, that is the temple
-of his Holy Spirit, it shall not be counted to me for shame if so be
-that I consent not to betray what is His into the hands of his enemies.”
-
-Kristin’s heart began to throb, for this in some way reminded her of her
-meeting with Bentein—she was smitten by the thought that this perhaps
-was her sin—she had not for a moment thought of God nor prayed for His
-help. And now Sister Cecilia read further of St. Didymus. He was a
-Christian knight, but heretofore he had kept his faith hidden from all
-save a few friends. He went now to the house where the maid was; he gave
-money to the woman who owned the house, and thus was the first to be let
-in to Theodora. She fled into a corner like a frightened hare, but
-Didymus hailed her as his sister and as his Lord’s bride and said he was
-come to save her. Then he spake with her a while, saying: was it not
-meet that a brother should wage his life for his sister’s honour? And at
-last she did as he bade her, changed clothes with him, and let herself
-be clad in Didymus’ coat of mail; he pulled the hat down over her eyes
-and drew the cape up about her chin, and bade her go out with her face
-hidden, like a youth who is abashed at having been in such a place.
-
-Kristin thought of Arne, and was scarce able to hold back her tears. She
-gazed straight before her with wet eyes while the nun was reading to the
-end—how Didymus was led to the place of execution, and how Theodora came
-hastening down from the mountains, cast herself at the headsman’s feet
-and begged that she might die in his stead. And now the holy man and
-maid strove together who should first win the crown; and both were
-beheaded on the one day. This was the eight and twentieth day of April
-in the year 304 after the birth of Christ, in Antioch, as was written by
-St. Ambrosius.
-
-When they rose from the table, Sister Potentia came and patted Kristin
-kindly on the cheek: “Aye, you are longing for your mother, I can well
-believe.” And on that Kristin’s tears began to fall. But the nun made as
-though she did not see them, and led Kristin to the hostel where she was
-to dwell.
-
-It was in one of the stone houses by the cloisters; a goodly room with
-glass windows and a big fireplace in the short wall at the far end.
-Along one main-wall stood six bedsteads, and along the other all the
-maidens’ chests.
-
-Kristin wished they would let her sleep with one of the little girls,
-but Sister Potentia called a fat, fair-haired, grown maiden: “Here is
-Ingebjörg Filippusdatter, who is to be your bed-fellow—you must see now
-and learn to know each other.” And with that she went out.
-
-Ingebjörg took Kristin at once by the hand and began to talk. She was
-not very tall, and was much too fat, above all in her face—her cheeks
-were so plump that her eyes looked quite small. But her skin was clear,
-red and white, and her hair was yellow as gold, and so curly that her
-thick plaits twisted and twined together like strands of rope, and small
-locks kept ever slipping from under her snood.
-
-She began straightway to question Kristin about many things, but never
-waited for an answer; instead she talked about herself, reckoned out the
-whole of her kindred in all its branches—they were naught but fine and
-exceeding rich folk. She was betrothed, too, to a rich and mighty man,
-Einar Einarssön of Aganæs—but he was far too old, and twice widowed;
-this was her greatest sorrow, she said. Yet could Kristin not mark that
-she took it much to heart. Then she talked a little of Simon Darre—’twas
-a marvel how closely she had looked him over in the short moment when
-they were passing in the cloisters. After that she had a mind to look
-into Kristin’s chest—but first she opened her own and brought forth all
-her clothes. While they were ransacking their chests, Sister Cecilia
-came in—she rebuked them and said that this was no seemly Sunday
-pastime. This made Kristin unhappy again—she had never been taken to
-task by any but her mother, and that was not the same as being chid by a
-stranger.
-
-Ingebjörg was not abashed.—After they were come to bed in the evening,
-she lay chattering until Kristin fell asleep. Two elder lay-sisters
-slept in a corner of the room; they were to see that the maidens did not
-take their shifts off at night—for it was against the rules for the
-girls to undress entirely—and to see that they were up in time for
-matins in the church. But else they did not trouble themselves to keep
-order in the hostel, and made as though they marked it not when the
-maids were lying talking, or eating the dainties which they had hidden
-in their chests.
-
-When Kristin was awakened next morning, Ingebjörg was in the midst of a
-long tale already, so that Kristin almost wondered whether the other had
-been talking the whole night through.
-
-
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-
-
-                                   2
-
-The foreign merchants who lay in Oslo during the summer and trafficked
-there, came to the town in the spring about Holy Rood Day, which is ten
-days before the Halvards-wake Fair. To this folks streamed in from all
-the parishes between Mjösen and the Swedish marches, so that the town
-swarmed with people in the first weeks of May. This was the best time to
-buy from the strangers, before they had sold too many of their wares.
-
-Sister Potentia had the care of the marketing for Nonneseter, and she
-had promised Ingebjörg and Kristin that they should go with her down to
-the town the day before the Halvards-wake. But about midday some of
-Sister Potentia’s kin came to the convent to see her; and so she could
-not go that day. Then Ingebjörg begged and prayed till at last she let
-them go alone—though it was against the rules. An old peasant who was a
-commoner of the convent was sent with them as escort—Haakon was his
-name.
-
-Kristin had been three weeks now at Nonneseter, and in all that time she
-had not set foot outside the convent grounds and gardens. She wondered
-to see how spring-like it was outside. The little woods out in the
-fields were pale-green; the wood anemones grew thick as a carpet round
-the light-coloured tree stems; white fair-weather clouds came sailing up
-over the islands in the fjord, and the water lay fresh and blue,
-slightly ruffled here and there by the light flaws of wind.
-
-Ingebjörg skipped about, plucked bunches of leaves from the trees and
-smelt them, and peeped round after the folk they met; till Haakon chid
-her—were these seemly goings-on for a well-born maid, and in the convent
-habit too? The maidens were made to walk just behind him, hand in hand,
-quietly and seemly; but Ingebjörg used her eyes and her tongue all the
-same—Haakon was somewhat deaf. Kristin, too, was wearing the novices’
-garb now—an undyed, light-grey wadmal dress, woollen belt and head-band,
-and a plain, dark-blue cloak over all, with a hood turned up so that the
-plaited hair was quite hid. Haakon strode in front with a stout
-brass-knobbed staff in his hand. He was dressed in a long black gown,
-had a leaden Agnus Dei hanging on his breast and an image of St.
-Christopher in his hat—his white hair and beard were so well brushed
-that they shone like silver in the sunshine.
-
-The upper part of the town between the Nunsbeck and the bishop’s palace
-was a quiet neighbourhood; there were here neither shops nor taverns;
-most of the dwelling-places belonged to great folk from the parishes
-around, and the houses turned dark, windowless, timber gables to the
-street. But on this day whole crowds of people were roaming about the
-roads even up here, and the serving-folk stood loitering about the
-courtyard gates gossiping with the passers-by.
-
-When they were come out near the bishop’s palace, there was a great
-crush upon the place in front of Halvard’s Church and the
-Olav-cloister—booths had been set up on the grassy slopes, and there
-were showmen making trained dogs jump through barrel-hoops. But Haakon
-would not have the maids stand and look at these things, and he would
-not let Kristin go into the church—he said ’twould be better worth her
-seeing on the great Feast-day itself.
-
-As they came down over the open space by St. Clement’s Church Haakon
-took them by the hands, for here was the greatest press of folk coming
-from the wharves or out from the alleys between the traders Yards. The
-maidens were bound for the Mickle Yard, where the shoemakers plied their
-trade. For Ingebjörg had found the clothes Kristin had brought from home
-very good and sightly, but she said the shoes she had with her from the
-Dale were not fit to wear for best. And when Kristin had seen the shoes
-from the outland Ingebjörg had in her chest—more pairs than one—she felt
-she could not rest until she too had bought some like them.
-
-The Mickle Yard was one of the largest in Oslo; it stretched from the
-wharves up to the Souters’ Alley, with more than forty houses round two
-great courts. And now they had set up booths with wadmal roofs in the
-courts as well. Above the roofs of these tents there rose a statue of
-St. Crispinus. Within the courts was a great throng of folk buying and
-selling, women running between the kitchens with pots and pails,
-children getting in the way of folks’ feet, horses being led in and out
-of the stables, and serving-men carrying packages to and from the
-warehouses. From the balconies of the lofts above, where the finest
-wares were sold, shoemakers and their apprentices shouted to the two
-maids and dangled small gaily-coloured or gold-embroidered shoes before
-them.
-
-But Ingebjörg made her way toward the loft where Didrek the shoemaker
-sat; he was a German, but had a Norse wife and owned a house in the
-Mickle Yard.
-
-The old man was standing bargaining with an esquire wearing a
-traveller’s cloak, and a sword at his belt; but Ingebjörg went forward
-unabashed, bowed and said:
-
-“Good sir, will you not suffer us of your courtesy to have speech with
-Didrek first; we must be home in our convent by vespers; you, perchance,
-have no such great haste?”
-
-The esquire bowed and stepped aside. Didrek nudged Ingebjörg with his
-elbow and asked laughing whether they danced so much in the convent that
-she had worn out already all the shoon she had of him the year before.
-Ingebjörg nudged him again and said they were still unworn, thank
-heaven, but here was this other maid—and she pulled Kristin forward.
-Then Didrek and his lad bore forth a box into the balcony; and out of it
-he brought forth shoes, each pair finer than the last. They had Kristin
-sit down upon a chest that he might try them on her—there were white
-shoes and brown and red and green and blue, shoes with painted wooden
-heels and shoes without heels, shoes with buckles and shoes with silken
-laces in them, shoes in leather of two or three hues. Kristin felt she
-would fain have had them all. But they cost so dear she was quite
-dismayed—not one pair cost less than a cow at home. Her father had given
-her a purse with a mark of silver in counted money when he left—that was
-for pocket money, and Kristin had deemed it great riches. But she soon
-saw that Ingebjörg thought it no great store to go a marketing with.
-
-Ingebjörg, too, must try on some shoes for the jest of it; that cost no
-money, said Didrek laughing. She did buy one pair of leaf-green shoes
-with red heels—she said she must have them on trust, but then Didrek
-knew her and her folks.
-
-Kristin thought, indeed, that Didrek liked this none too well, and that
-he was vexed too, that the tall esquire in the travelling coat had left
-the loft—much time had been taken up with the trying-on. So she chose
-for herself a pair of heel-less shoes of thin purple-blue leather,
-broidered with silver and with rose-red stones. But she liked not the
-green silk laces in them. Didrek said he could change these, and took
-the maids with him into a room at the back of the loft. Here he had
-coffers full of silk ribbons and small silver buckles—’twas against the
-law, strictly, for shoemakers to trade in these things—and the ribbons,
-too, were many of them too broad and the buckles too big for foot-gear.
-
-They felt they had to buy one or two of the smaller things, and when
-they had drunk a cup of sweet wine with Didrek and he had packed the
-things they had bought into a wadmal cloth, the hour was grown somewhat
-late, and Kristin’s purse much lighter.
-
-When they had come to the Östre Stræte again the sunlight was turned
-golden and, by reason of the traffic in the town, the dust hung over the
-street in a bright haze. The evening was warm and fair, and folk were
-coming down from Eikaberg with great armfuls of green branches wherewith
-to deck their houses for the holy day. And now the whim took Ingebjörg
-that they should go out to the Gjeita bridge—at fair-times there was
-wont to be so much merry-making in the fields on the further side of the
-river, both jugglers and fiddlers—nay, Ingebjörg had heard there was
-come a whole shipful of outlandish beasts that were being shown in
-booths down by the waterside.
-
-Haakon had had a pot or two of German beer at the Mickle Yard, and was
-now easy and mild of mood; so when the maidens took him by the arm and
-begged him sweetly, he gave way at last, and the three went out towards
-Eikaberg.
-
-Beyond the stream there were but a few small dwelling-places scattered
-about the green slopes between the river and the steep hillside. They
-went past the Minorite monastery, and Kristin’s heart sank with shame as
-she bethought her how she had meant to give most of her silver for the
-good of Arne’s soul. But she had had no mind to speak of it to the
-priest at Nonneseter; she feared to be asked questions—she had thought
-that she could maybe come out to the barefoot friars and find if by
-chance Brother Edwin were in the cloister now. She was fain to meet him
-again—but she knew not, either, what would be the most seemly way to get
-speech with one of the monks and tell him her desire. And now she had so
-little money she knew not whether she could buy a mass—maybe she must be
-content to offer a thick wax-candle.
-
-Of a sudden they heard a fearful yell from countless throats down by the
-shore—a storm seemed to sweep over the press of human-beings down
-there—and now the whole mass rushed towards them shrieking and shouting.
-All seemed wild with terror, and some of the runners-by cried out to
-Haakon and the maids that the pards were loose—
-
-They set out running back to the bridge, and heard folk shout to one
-another that a booth had fallen down and two pards had broken loose—some
-spoke of a serpent, too—
-
-The nearer they came to the bridge, the worse became the crush. Just in
-front of them a woman dropped a little child out of her arms—Haakon
-stood astride the little one to shield it—soon after they caught sight
-of him far away with the child in his arms, and then they lost him.
-
-At the narrow bridge the press of people was so great that the maids
-were pushed right out into a field. They saw folks run down to the river
-bank; young men jumped in and swam, but elder folk sprang into the boats
-that lay there, and these were overladen in a trice.
-
-Kristin tried to make Ingebjörg hear—she cried out to her that they
-should run up to the Minorite cloister—they could see the Grey Friars
-come running out from it, striving to gather in the terrified people.
-Kristin was not so frightened as the other girl—they saw nothing,
-either, of the wild beasts,—but Ingebjörg had quite lost her wits. And
-now, when there was a fresh uproar in the throng, and it was driven back
-by a whole troop of men from the nearest dwellings who had armed
-themselves and forced their way back over the bridge, some riding and
-some running, and Ingebjörg nigh coming under the feet of a horse—she
-gave a scream and set off running for the woods. Kristin had never
-thought the girl could have run so fast—it made her think of a hunted
-pig— She ran after her, so that they two, at least, should not be
-parted.
-
-They were deep in the woods before Kristin could get Ingebjörg to
-stop—they were on a little path which seemed to lead down toward the
-road to Trælaborg. They stood still for a little to get their breath
-again; Ingebjörg was snivelling and weeping, and said she dared not go
-back alone through the town and all the way out to the convent.
-
-Nor did Kristin deem that this would be well, with the streets in such
-commotion; she thought they must try to find a house where they might
-hire a lad to take them home. Ingebjörg thought there was a bridle-path
-to Trælaborg further down by the shore, and along it there lay some
-houses, she knew. So they followed the path downward, away from the
-town.
-
-Fearful and uneasy as they both were, it seemed to them they had gone
-far ere at last they came to a farmstead lying off in a field. In the
-courtyard there they found a band of men sitting drinking at a board
-under some ash trees, while a woman came and went, bearing out tankards
-to them. She looked wonderingly and sourly at the two maids in convent
-habit, and none of the men seemed to have a mind to go with them when
-Kristin told their need. At last, though, two young men stood up and
-said they would bring the girls to Nonneseter, if Kristin would give
-them a silver ducat.
-
-She heard by their speech that they were not Norse, but she thought they
-seemed honest folk enough. ’Twas a shameless sum they asked, she
-thought, but Ingebjörg was beside herself with fright and she saw not
-how they could go home alone so late; and so she struck the bargain.
-
-No sooner were they come to the forest path than the men drew closer to
-them and began to talk. Kristin liked this but ill, but she would not
-show she was afraid; so she answered them quietly, told of the pards and
-asked the men where they were from. She spied about her, too, and made
-as though she looked each moment to meet the serving-men they had had
-with them—she talked as though there had been a whole band. As they went
-on the men spoke less and less—nor did she understand much of their
-speech.
-
-After a while she became aware that they were not going the same way she
-had come with Ingebjörg—the course their path took was not the same;
-’twas more northerly—and she deemed they had already gone much too far.
-
-Deep within her there smouldered a fear she dared not let herself think
-upon—but it strengthened her strangely to have Ingebjörg with her, for
-the girl was so foolish that Kristin knew she must trust in herself
-alone to find a way out for them both. Under her cloak, she managed by
-stealth to pull out the cross with the holy relic she had had of her
-father; she clasped it in her hand, praying fervently in her heart that
-they might soon meet someone, and in all ways sought to gather all her
-courage and to make no sign.
-
-Just after this she saw that the path came out on to a road and there
-was a clearing in the forest. The town and the bay lay far below. The
-men had led them astray, whether wilfully or because they knew not the
-paths—they were high up on the mountain-side and far north of Gjeita
-bridge, which she could see below; the road they had now met seemed to
-lead thither.
-
-Thereupon she stopped, drew forth her purse and made to count out ten
-silver pennies into her hand.
-
-“Now, good fellows,” said she, “we need you not any more to guide us;
-for we know the way from here. We thank you for your pains, and here is
-the wage we bargained for. God be with you, good friends.”
-
-The men looked at one another so foolishly, that Kristin was near
-smiling. Then one said with an ugly grin that the road down to the
-bridge was exceeding lonely; ’twas not wise for them to go alone.
-
-“None, surely, are such nithings or such fools that they would seek to
-stop two maids, and they in the convent habit,” answered Kristin. “We
-would fain go our own way alone now—” and she held out the money.
-
-The man caught her by the wrist, thrust his face close up to hers, and
-said somewhat of “kuss” and “beutel”—Kristin made out he was saying they
-might go in peace if she but gave him a kiss and her purse.
-
-She remembered Bentein’s face close to hers like this, and such a fear
-came on her for a moment that she grew faint and sick. But she pressed
-her lips together, and called in her heart upon God and the Virgin
-Mary—and in the same instant she thought she heard hoof-falls on the
-path from the north.
-
-She struck the man in the face with her purse so that he staggered—and
-then she pushed him in the breast with all her strength so that he
-tumbled off the path and down into the wood. The other German gripped
-her from behind, tore the purse from her hand and her chain from her
-neck so that it broke—she was near falling, but clutched the man and
-tried to get her cross from him again. He struggled to get free—the
-robbers, too, had now heard folk coming—Ingebjörg screamed with all her
-might, and the riders on the path came galloping forward at full speed.
-They burst out of the thicket—three of them—and Ingebjörg ran shrieking
-to meet them as they sprang from their horses. Kristin knew one for the
-esquire of Didrek’s loft; he drew his sword, seized the German she was
-struggling with by the back of the neck, and threshed him with the flat
-of his blade. His men ran after the other, caught him and beat him to
-their hearts’ content.
-
-Kristin leaned against the face of the rock; she was trembling now that
-all was over, but what she felt most was marvel that her prayer had
-brought such speedy help. Then she caught sight of Ingebjörg, who had
-thrown back her hood, hung her cape loosely over her shoulders and was
-in the act of bringing her heavy, shining plaits of hair forward into
-sight upon her breast. At this sight Kristin burst out a-laughing—her
-strength left her and she had to hold on to a tree to keep her feet, for
-’twas as though the marrow of her bones was turned to water, she felt so
-weak; and so she trembled and laughed and cried.
-
-The esquire came forward and laid a hand warily upon her shoulder:
-
-“You were more frightened, I see, than you would show,” said he, and his
-voice was kindly and gentle. “But now you must take a hold on
-yourself—you bore you so bravely while yet there was peril—”
-
-Kristin could only look up at him and nod. He had fine, bright eyes set
-in a narrow, pale-brown face, and coal-black hair clipped somewhat short
-over the forehead and behind the ears.
-
-Ingebjörg had her hair in order now; she came and thanked the stranger
-with many fair words. He stood there still with a hand on Kristin’s
-shoulder while he answered her comrade.
-
-“We must take these birds along,” said he to his men, who stood holding
-the two Germans—they were from a Rostock ship, they said—“we must have
-them along with us to the town that they may be sent to the black hole.
-But first must we take these two maids home to the convent. You can find
-some thongs, I trow, to bind them with—”
-
-“Mean you the maids, Erlend?” asked one of the men. They were young,
-stout, well-appointed yeomen, and were in high feather from the tussle.
-
-Their master frowned and seemed about to answer sharply, but Kristin
-laid her hand upon his sleeve:
-
-“Let them go, dear sir!” She shuddered a little. “Loth would we be, in
-truth, both my sister and I, this matter should be talked of.”
-
-The stranger looked down at her—he bit his lip and nodded, as though he
-understood her. Then he gave each of the captives a blow on the nape
-with the flat of his sword which sent them sprawling forwards. “Run for
-it then,” he said, kicking them, and both scrambled up and took to their
-heels as fast as they could. Then he turned again to the maidens and
-asked if they would please to ride.
-
-Ingebjörg let herself be lifted into Erlend’s saddle, but it was soon
-plain that she could not keep her seat,—she slid down again at once. He
-looked at Kristin doubtfully, and she said that she was used to ride on
-a man’s saddle.
-
-He took hold of her below the knees and lifted her up. A sweet and happy
-thrill ran through her to feel how carefully he held her from him, as
-though afraid to come near her—at home no one ever minded how tight they
-held her when they helped her on to a horse. She felt marvellously
-honoured and uplifted—
-
-The knight—as Ingebjörg called him, though he had but silver spurs—now
-offered that maiden his hand, and his men sprang to their saddles.
-Ingebjörg would have it that they should ride round the town to the
-northcard, below the Ryenberg and Martestokke, and not through the
-streets. First she gave as a reason that Sir Erlend and his men were
-fully armed—were they not? The knight answered gravely that the ban on
-carrying arms was not over strict at any time—for travellers at
-least—and now everyone in the town was out on a wild beast hunt—Then she
-said she was fearful of the pards. Kristin saw full well that Ingebjörg
-was fain to go by the longest and loneliest road, that she might have
-the more talk with Erlend.
-
-“This is the second time this evening that we hinder you, good sir,”
-said she, and Erlend answered soberly:
-
-“’Tis no matter, I am bound no further than to Gerdarud to-night—and
-’tis light the whole night long.”
-
-It liked Kristin well that he jested not, nor bantered them, but talked
-to her as though she were his like or even more than his like. She
-thought of Simon; she had not met other young men of courtly breeding.
-But ’twas true, this man seemed older than Simon—
-
-They rode down into the valley below the Ryenberg hills and up along the
-back. The path was narrow, and the young bushes swung wet,
-heavily-scented branches against her—it was a little darker down here,
-and the air was cool and the leaves all dewy along the beck-path.
-
-They went slowly, and the horses’ hoofs sounded muffled on the damp,
-grass-grown path. She rocked gently in the saddle; behind her she heard
-Ingebjörg’s chatter and the stranger’s deep, quiet voice. He said little
-and answered as if his mind wandered—it sounded almost as if his mood
-were like her own, she thought—she felt strangely drowsy, yet safe and
-content now that all the day’s chances were safely over.
-
-It was like waking to come out of the woods, on to the green slopes
-under the Martestokke hills. The sun was gone down and the town and the
-bay lay below them in a clear, pale light—above the Aker ridges there
-was a light-yellow strip edging the pale-blue sky. In the evening hush,
-sounds were borne to them from far off as they came out of the cool
-depths of the wood—a cart-wheel creaked somewhere upon a road, dogs on
-the farms bayed at each other across the valley. And from the woods
-behind them birds trilled and sang full-throated, now the sun was down.
-
-Smoke was in the air from the fires on lands under clearance, and out in
-a field there was the red flare of a bonfire; against the great ruddy
-flame the clearness of the night seemed a kind of darkness.
-
-They were riding between the fences of the convent-fields when the
-stranger spoke to her again. He asked her what she thought best; should
-he go with her to the gate and ask for speech of the Lady Groa, so that
-he might tell her how this thing had come about. But Ingebjörg would
-have it that they should steal in through the church; then maybe they
-might slip into the convent without anyone knowing they had been away so
-much too long—it might be her kinsfolks’ visit had made Sister Potentia
-forget them.
-
-The open place before the west door of the church was empty and still,
-and it came not into Kristin’s thoughts to wonder at this, though there
-was wont to be much life there of an evening with folks from the
-neighbourhood who came to the nuns’ church, and round about were houses
-wherein lay-servants and commoners dwelt. They said farewell to Erlend
-here. Kristin stood and stroked his horse; it was black and had a comely
-head and soft eyes—she thought it like Morvin, whom she had been wont to
-ride at home when she was a child.
-
-“What is your horse’s name, sir?” she asked, as it turned its head from
-her and snuffed at its master’s breast.
-
-“Bayard,” said he, looking at her over the horse’s neck. “You ask my
-horse’s name, but not mine?”
-
-“I would be fain to know your name, sir,” she replied, and bent her head
-a little.
-
-“I am called Erlend Nikulaussön,” said he.
-
-“Then, Erlend Nikulaussön, have thanks for your good service this
-night,” said Kristin and proffered him her hand.
-
-Of a sudden she flushed red, and half withdrew her hand from his.
-
-“Lady Aashild Gautesdatter of Dovre, is she your kinswoman?” she asked.
-
-To her wonder she saw that he too blushed—he dropped her hand suddenly
-and answered:
-
-“She is my mother’s sister. And I am Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby.” He
-looked at her so strangely that she became still more abashed, but she
-mastered herself and said:
-
-“’Tis true I should have thanked you with better words, Erlend
-Nikulaussön; but I know not what I can say to you—”
-
-He bowed before her, and she felt that now she must bid him good-bye,
-though she would fain have spoken more with him. In the church-door she
-turned, and as she saw that Erlend still stood beside his horse, she
-waved her hand to him in farewell.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The convent was in a hubbub, and all within in great dismay. Haakon had
-sent word home by a horseman, while he himself went seeking the maids in
-the town; and folks had been sent from the convent to help him. The nuns
-had heard the wild beasts had killed and eaten up two children down in
-the town. This, to be sure, was a lie, and the pard—there was only
-one—had been caught before vespers by some men from the King’s palace.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Kristin stood with bent head and kept silence while the Abbess and
-Sister Potentia poured out their wrath upon the two maidens. She felt as
-though something were asleep within her. Ingebjörg wept and began to
-make excuse—they had gone out with Sister Potentia’s leave, with fitting
-attendance, and, sure, they were not to blame for what had happened
-after—
-
-But Lady Groa said they might now stay in the church till the hour of
-midnight struck, that they might strive to turn their thoughts to the
-things of the spirit and might thank God who had saved their lives and
-honour. “God hath now manifested clearly to you the truth about the
-world,” said she; “wild beasts and the servants of the devil threaten
-his children there at every footstep, and there is no salvation except
-ye hold fast to him with prayer and supplication.”
-
-She gave them each a lighted candle and bade them go with Sister Cecilia
-Baardsdatter, who was often alone in the church praying the whole night
-long.
-
-Kristin put her candle upon St. Lawrence’s altar and knelt on the
-praying-stool. She fixed her gaze on the flame while she said over the
-Paternoster and the Ave Maria softly. The sheen of the candle seemed
-little by little to enfold her and to shut out all that was outside her
-and the light. She felt her heart open and overflow with thankfulness
-and praise and love of God and His gentle Mother—they came so near to
-her. She had always known They saw her, but to-night she _felt_ that it
-was so. She saw the world as in a vision; a great dark room whereinto
-fell a sunbeam; the motes were dancing in and out between the darkness
-and the light, and she felt that now she had at last slipped into the
-sunbeam—
-
-She felt she would gladly have stayed for ever in this dark still
-church—with the few small spots of light like golden stars in the night,
-the sweet stale scent of incense and the warm smell of the burning wax.
-And she at rest within her own star—
-
-It was as if some great joy were at an end, when Sister Cecilia came
-gliding to her and touched her shoulder. Bending before the altars, the
-three women went out of the little south-door into the convent close.
-
-Ingebjörg was so sleepy that she went to bed without a word. Kristin was
-glad—she had been loth to have her good thoughts broken in on. And she
-was glad, too, that they must keep on their shifts at night—Ingebjörg
-was so fat and had been so over-hot.
-
-She lay awake long, but the deep flood of sweetness that she had left
-lifting her up as she knelt in the church would not come again. Yet she
-felt the warmth of it within her still, she thanked God with all her
-heart, and thought she felt her spirit strengthened while she prayed for
-her father and mother and sisters and for Arne Gyrdson’s soul.
-
-Father, she thought—she longed so much for him, for all they had been to
-one another before Simon Darre came into their lives. There welled up in
-her a new tenderness for him—there was as it were a foretaste of
-mother’s love and care in her love for her father this night; dimly she
-felt that there was so much in life that he had missed. She called to
-mind the old, black wooden church at Gerdarud—she had seen there this
-last Easter the graves of her three little brothers and of her
-grandmother, her father’s own mother, Kristin Sigurdsdatter, who died
-when she brought him into the world—
-
-What could Erlend Nikulaussön have to do at Gerdarud—she could not
-think.
-
-She had no knowledge that she had thought much of him that evening, but
-the whole time the thought of his dark, narrow face and his quiet voice
-had hung somewhere in the dusk outside the glow of light that enfolded
-her spirit.
-
-When she awoke the next morning, the sun was shining into the dormitory,
-and Ingebjörg told her how Lady Groa herself had bidden the lay-sisters
-not to wake them for matins. She had said that when they woke they might
-go over to the kitchen-house and get some food. Kristin grew warm with
-gladness at the Abbess’ kindness—it seemed as if the whole world had
-been good to her.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   3
-
-The farmer guild of Aker had St. Margaret for their patroness, and they
-began their festival, each year on the twentieth of July, the day of St.
-Margaret’s Mass. In that day the guild-brothers and sisters, with their
-children, their guests and their serving-folk, gathered at Aker’s church
-and heard mass at St. Margaret’s Altar there; after that they wended
-their way to the hall of the guild which lay near the Hofvin
-hospital—there they were wont to hold a drinking-feast lasting five
-days.
-
-But since both Aker’s church and the Hofvin spital belonged to
-Nonneseter, and as, besides, many of the Aker farmers were tenants of
-the convent, it had come to be the custom that the Abbess and some of
-the elder Sisters should honour the guild by coming to the feasting on
-the first day. And those of the young maids who were at the convent only
-to learn, and were not to take the veil, had leave to go with them and
-to dance in the evening; therefore at this feast they wore their own
-clothes and not the convent habit.
-
-And so there was great stir and bustle in the novices’ sleeping rooms on
-the eve of St. Margaret’s Mass; the maids who were to go to the guild
-feast ransacking their chests and making ready their finery, while the
-others, less fortunate, went about something moodily and looked on. Some
-had set small pots in the fireplace and were boiling water to make their
-skin white and soft; others were making a brew to be smeared on the
-hair—then they parted the hair into strands and twisted them tightly
-round strips of leather, and this gave them curling, wavy tresses.
-
-Ingebjörg brought out all the finery she had, but could not think what
-she should wear—come what might, not her best leaf-green velvet dress;
-that was too good and too costly for such a peasant rout. But a little,
-thin sister who was not to go with them—Helga was her name; she had been
-vowed to the convent by her father and mother while still a child—took
-Kristin aside and whispered: she was sure Ingebjörg would wear the green
-dress and her pink silk shift too.
-
-“You have ever been kind to me, Kristin,” said Helga. “It beseems me
-little to meddle in such doings—but I will tell you none the less. The
-knight who brought you home that evening in the spring—I have seen and
-heard Ingebjörg talking with him since—they spoke together in the
-church, and he has tarried for her up in the hollow when she hath gone
-to Ingunn at the commoners’ house. But ’tis you he asks for, and
-Ingebjörg has promised him to bring you there along with her. But I
-wager you have not heard aught of this before!”
-
-“True it is that Ingebjörg has said naught of this,” said Kristin. She
-pursed up her mouth that the other might not see the smile that would
-come out. So this was Ingebjörg’s way—“’Tis like she knows I am not of
-such as run to trysts with strange men round house-corners and behind
-fences,” said she proudly.
-
-“Then I might have spared myself the pains of bringing you tidings
-whereof ’twould have been but seemly I should say no word,” said Helga,
-wounded, and they parted.
-
-But the whole evening Kristin was put to it not to smile when anyone was
-looking at her.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Next morning Ingebjörg went dallying about in her shift, till Kristin
-saw she meant not to dress before she herself was ready.
-
-Kristin said naught, but laughed as she went to her chest and took out
-her golden-yellow silken shift. She had never worn it before, and it
-felt so soft and cool as it slipped down over her body. It was broidered
-with goodly work, in silver and blue and brown silk, about the neck and
-down upon the breast, as much as should be seen above the low-cut gown.
-There were sleeves to match, too. She drew on her linen hose, and laced
-up the small, purple-blue shoes which Haakon, by good luck, had saved
-that day of commotion. Ingebjörg gazed at her—then Kristin said
-laughing:
-
-“My father ever taught me never to show disdain of those beneath us—but
-’tis like you are too grand to deck yourself in your best for poor
-tenants and peasant-folk—”
-
-Red as a berry, Ingebjörg slipped her woollen smock down over her white
-hips and hurried on the pink silk shift.—Kristin threw over her own head
-her best velvet gown—it was violet-blue, deeply cut-out at the bosom,
-with long slashed sleeves flowing wellnigh to the ground. She fastened
-the gilt belt about her waist, and hung her grey squirrel cape over her
-shoulders. Then she spread her masses of yellow hair out over her
-shoulders and back and fitted the golden fillet, chased with small
-roses, upon her brow.
-
-She saw that Helga stood watching them. Then she took from her chest a
-great silver clasp. It was that she had on her cloak the night Bentein
-met her on the highway, and she had never cared to wear it since. She
-went to Helga and said in a low voice:
-
-“I know ’twas your wish to show me goodwill last night; think me not
-unthankful—,” and with that she gave her the clasp.
-
-Ingebjörg was a fine sight, too, when she stood fully decked in her
-green gown, with a red silk cloak over her shoulders and her fair, curly
-hair waving behind her. They had ended by striving to outdress each
-other, thought Kristin, and she laughed.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The morning was cool and fresh with dew as the procession went forth
-from Nonneseter and wound its way westward toward Frysja. The hay-making
-was near at an end here on the lowlands, but along the fences grew
-blue-bells and yellow crowsfoot in clumps; in the fields the barley was
-in ear and bent its heads in pale silvery waves just tinged with pink.
-Here and there, where the path was narrow and led through the fields,
-the corn all but met about folks’ knees.
-
-Haakon walked at the head, bearing the convent’s banner with the Virgin
-Mary’s picture upon the blue silken cloth. After him walked the servants
-and the commoners, and then came the Lady Groa and four old sisters on
-horseback, while behind these came the young maidens on foot; their
-many-hued holiday attire flaunted and shone in the sunlight. Some of the
-commoners’ women-folk and a few armed serving-men closed the train.
-
-They sang as they went over the bright fields, and the folk they met at
-the by-ways stood aside and gave them reverent greeting. All round, out
-on the fields, they could see small groups of men coming walking and
-riding, for folks were drawing toward the church from every house and
-every farm. Soon they heard behind them the sound of hymns chanted in
-men’s deep voices, and the banner of the Hovedö monastery rose above a
-hillock—the red silk shone in the sun, swaying and bending to the step
-of the bearer.
-
-The mighty, metal voice of the bells rang out above the neighing and
-screaming of stallions as the procession climbed the last slope to the
-church. Kristin had never seen so many horses at one time—a heaving,
-restless sea of horses’ backs round about the green before the
-church-door. Upon the sward stood and sat and lay folk dressed in all
-their best—but all rose in reverence as the Virgin’s flag from
-Nonneseter was borne in amongst them, and all bowed deeply before the
-Lady Groa.
-
-It seemed as though more folk had come than the church could hold, but
-for those from the convent room had been kept in front near the altar.
-Straightway after them the Cistercian monks from Hovedö marched in and
-went up into the choir—and forthwith song burst from the throats of men
-and boys and filled the church.
-
-Soon after the mass had begun, when the service brought all to their
-feet, Kristin caught sight of Erlend Nikulaussön. He was tall, and his
-head rose above those about him—she saw his face from the side. He had a
-high, steep and narrow forehead, and a large, straight nose—it jutted,
-triangle-like, from his face, and was strangely thin about the fine,
-quivering nostrils—something about it reminded Kristin of a restless,
-high-strung stallion. His face was not as comely as she had thought
-it—the long-drawn lines running down to his small, weak, yet well-formed
-mouth gave it as ’twere a touch of joylessness—aye, but yet, he _was_
-comely.
-
-He turned his head and saw her. She knew not how long they stood thus,
-looking into each other’s eyes. From that time she thought of naught but
-the end of the mass; she waited, intent on what would then befall.
-
-There was some pressing and thronging as the folks made their way out
-from the over-crowded church. Ingebjörg held Kristin back till they were
-at the rear of the throng; she gained her point—they were quite cut off
-from the nuns, who went out first—the two girls were among the last in
-coming to the offertory-box and out of the church.
-
-Erlend stood without, just by the door, beside the priest from Gerdarud
-and a stoutish, red-faced man, splendid in blue velvet. Erlend himself
-was clad in silk, but of a sober hue—a long coat of brown, figured with
-black, and a black cloak with a pattern of small yellow hawks inwoven.
-
-They greeted each other and crossed the green together to where the
-men’s horses stood tethered. While they spoke of the fine weather, the
-goodly mass and the great crowd of folk that were mustered, the fat,
-ruddy knight—he bore golden spurs and was named Sir Munan Baardsön—took
-Ingebjörg by the hand; ’twas plain he was mightily taken with the maid.
-Erlend and Kristin fell behind—they were silent as they walked.
-
-There was a great to-do upon the church-green as folk began to ride
-away—horses jostled one another, people shouted—some angry, others
-laughing. Many sat in pairs upon the horses; men had their wives behind
-them, or their children in front upon the saddle; youths swung
-themselves up beside a friend. They could see the church banners, the
-nuns and the priests far down the hill already.
-
-Sir Munan rode by; Ingebjörg sat in front of him, his arm about her.
-Both of them called out and waved. Then Erlend said:
-
-“My serving-men are both with me—they could ride one horse and you have
-Haftor’s—if you would rather have it so?”
-
-Kristin flushed as she replied: “We are so far behind the others
-already—I see not your serving-men hereabouts, and—” Then she broke into
-a laugh, and Erlend smiled.
-
-He sprang to the saddle and helped her to a seat behind him. At home
-Kristin had often sat thus sidewise behind her father, after she had
-grown too big to ride astride the horse. Still she felt a little bashful
-and none too safe as she laid a hand upon Erlend’s shoulder; the other
-she put on the horse’s back to steady herself. They rode slowly down
-towards the bridge.
-
-In a while Kristin thought she must speak, since he was silent, so she
-said:
-
-“We looked not, sir, to meet you here to-day.”
-
-“Looked you not to meet me?” asked Erlend, turning his head. “Did not
-Ingebjörg Filippusdatter bear you my greeting then?”
-
-“No,” said Kristin. “I heard naught of any greeting—she hath not named
-you once since you came to our help last May—,” said she, guilefully—she
-was not sorry that Ingebjörg’s falseness should come to light.
-
-Erlend did not look back again, but she could hear by his voice that he
-was smiling when he asked again:
-
-“But the little dark one—the novice—I mind not her name—her I even feed
-to bear you my greeting.”
-
-Kristin blushed, but she had to laugh too: “Aye, ’tis but Helga’s due I
-should say that she earned her fee,” she said.
-
-Erlend moved his head a little—his neck almost touched her hand. Kristin
-shifted her hand at once further out on his shoulder. Somewhat uneasily
-she thought, maybe she had been more bold than was fitting, seeing she
-had come to this feast after a man had, in a manner, made tryst with her
-there.
-
-Soon after Erlend asked:
-
-“Will you dance with me to-night, Kristin?”
-
-“I know not, sir,” answered the maid.
-
-“You think, mayhap, ’tis not seemly?” he asked, and, as she did not
-answer, he said again: “It may well be it is not so. But I thought now
-maybe you might deem you would be none the worse if you took my hand in
-the dance to-night. But indeed ’tis eight years since I stood up to
-dance.”
-
-“How may that be, sir?” asked Kristin. “Mayhap you are wedded?” But then
-it came into her head that had he been a wedded man, to have made tryst
-with her thus would have been no fair deed of him. On that she tried to
-mend her speech, saying: “Maybe, you have lost your betrothed maid or
-your wife?”
-
-Erlend turned quickly and looked on her with strange eyes:
-
-“Hath not Lady Aashild—? Why grew you so red when you heard who I was
-that evening,” he asked a little after.
-
-Kristin flushed red once more, but did not answer; then Erlend asked
-again:
-
-“I would fain know what my mother’s sister said to you of me.”
-
-“Naught else,” said Kristin quickly, “but in your praise. She said you
-were so comely and so great of kin that—she said that beside such as you
-and her kin we were of no such great account—my folk and I—”
-
-“Doth she still talk thus, living the life she lives,” said Erlend, and
-laughed bitterly. “Aye, aye—if it comfort her—Said she naught else of
-me?”
-
-“What should she have said?” asked Kristin—she knew not why she was
-grown so strangely heavy-hearted.
-
-“Oh, she must have said”—he spoke in a low voice, looking down, “she
-might have said that I had been under the Church’s ban, and had to pay
-dear for peace and atonement—”
-
-Kristin was silent a long time. Then she said softly:
-
-“There is many a man who is not master of his own fortunes—so have I
-heard said. ’Tis little I have seen of the world—but I will never
-believe of you, Erlend, that ’twas for any—dishonourable—deed.”
-
-“May God reward you for those words, Kristin,” said Erlend, and bent his
-head and kissed her wrist so vehemently that the horse gave a bound
-beneath them. When Erlend had it in hand again, he said earnestly:
-“Dance with me to-night then, Kristin. Afterwards I will tell how things
-are with me—will tell you all—but to-night we will be happy together?”
-
-Kristin answered: “Aye,” and they rode a while in silence.
-
-But ere long Erlend began to ask of Lady Aashild, and Kristin told all
-she knew of her; she praised her much.
-
-“Then all doors are not barred against Björn and Aashild?” asked Erlend.
-
-Kristin said they were thought much of, and that her father and many
-with him deemed that most of the tales about these two were untrue.
-
-“How liked you my kinsman, Munan Baardsön?” asked Erlend laughing slily.
-
-“I looked not much upon him,” said Kristin, “and methought, too, he was
-not much to look on.”
-
-“Knew you not,” asked Erlend, “that he is her son?”
-
-“Son to Lady Aashild!” said Kristin, in great wonder.
-
-“Aye, her children could not take their mother’s fair looks, though they
-took all else,” said Erlend.
-
-“I have never known her first husband’s name,” said Kristin.
-
-“They were two brothers who wedded two sisters,” said Erlend. “Baard and
-Nikulaus Munansön. My father was the elder, my mother was his second
-wife, but he had no children by his first. Baard, whom Aashild wedded,
-was not young either, nor, I trow, did they ever live happily
-together—aye, I was a little child when all this befell, they hid from
-me as much as they could—But she fled the land with Sir Björn and
-married him against the will of her kin—when Baard was dead. Then folk
-would have had the wedding set aside—they made out that Björn had sought
-her bed while her first husband was still living and that they had
-plotted together to put away my father’s brother. ’Tis clear they could
-not bring this home to them, since they had to leave them together in
-wedlock. But to make amends, they had to forfeit all their estate—Björn
-had killed their sister’s son too—my mother’s and Aashild’s, I mean—”
-
-Kristin’s heart beat hard. At home her father and mother had kept strict
-watch that no unclean talk should come to the ears of their children or
-of young folk—but still things had happened in their own parish and
-Kristin had heard of them—a man had lived in adultery with a wedded
-woman. That was whoredom, one of the worst of sins; ’twas said they
-plotted the husband’s death, and that brought with it outlawry and the
-Church’s ban. Lavrans had said no woman was bound to stay with her
-husband, if he had had to do with another’s wife; the state of a child
-gotten in adultery could never be mended, not even though its father and
-mother were free to wed afterward. A man might bring into his family and
-make his heir his child by any wanton or strolling beggar woman, but not
-the child of his adultery—not if its mother came to be a knight’s
-lady—She thought of the misliking she had ever felt for Sir Björn with
-his bleached face and fat, yet shrunken body. She could not think how
-Lady Aashild could be so good and yielding at all times to the man who
-had led her away into such shame; how such a gracious woman could have
-let herself be beguiled by him. He was not even good to her; he let her
-toil and moil with all the farm work; Björn did naught but drink beer.
-Yet Aashild was ever mild and gentle when she spoke with her husband.
-Kristin wondered if her father could know all this, since he had asked
-Sir Björn to their home. Now she came to think, too, it seemed strange
-Erlend should think fit to tell such tales of his near kin. But like
-enough he deemed she knew of it already—
-
-“I would like well,” said Erlend in a while, “to visit her, Moster
-Aashild, some day—when I journey northwards. Is he comely still, Björn,
-my kinsman?”
-
-“No,” said Kristin. “He looks like hay that has lain the winter through
-upon the fields.”
-
-“Aye, aye, it tells upon a man, I trow,” said Erlend, with the same
-bitter smile. “Never have I seen so fair a man—’tis twenty years since,
-I was but a lad then—but his like have I never seen—”
-
-A little after they came to the hospital. It was an exceeding great and
-fine place, with many houses both of stone and of wood—houses for the
-sick, almhouses, hostels for travellers, a chapel and a house for the
-priest. There was great bustle in the courtyard, for food was being made
-ready in the kitchen of the hospital for the guild feast, and the poor
-and sick too, that were dwelling in the place, were to be feasted on the
-best this day.
-
-The hall of the guild was beyond the garden of the hospital, and folks
-took their way thither through the herb-garden, for this was of great
-renown. Lady Groa had had brought hither plants that no one had heard of
-in Norway before, and moreover all plants that else folks were used to
-grow in gardens, throve better in her herbaries, both flowers and
-pot-herbs and healing herbs. She was a most learned woman in all such
-matters and had herself put into the Norse tongue the herbals of the
-Salernitan school—Lady Groa had been more than ever kind to Kristin
-since she had marked that the maid knew somewhat of herb-lore and was
-fain to know yet more of it.
-
-So Kristin named for Erlend what grew in the beds on either side the
-grassy path they walked on. In the midday sun there was a warm and spicy
-scent of dill and celery, garlic and roses, southernwood and wallflower.
-Beyond the shadeless, baking herb-garden the fruit orchards looked cool
-and enticing—red cherries gleamed amid the dark leafy tops, and the
-apple trees drooped their branches heavy with green fruit.
-
-About the garden was a hedge of sweet briar. There were some flowers on
-it still—they looked the same as other briar-roses, but in the sun the
-leaves smelt of wine and apples. Folk plucked sprays to deck themselves
-as they went past. Kristin, too, took some roses and hung them on her
-temples, fixed under her golden fillet. One she kept in her hand—After a
-time Erlend took it, saying no word. A while he bore it in his hand as
-they walked, then fastened it with the brooch upon his breast—he looked
-awkward and bashful as he did it, and was so clumsy that he pricked his
-fingers till they bled.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Broad tables were spread in the loft-room of the guild’s hall—two by the
-main-walls, for the men and the women; and two smaller boards out on the
-floor, where children and young folk sat side by side.
-
-At the women’s board Lady Groa was in the high-seat, the nuns and the
-chief of the married women sat on the inner bench along the wall, and
-the unwedded women on the outer benches, the maids from Nonneseter at
-the upper end. Kristin knew that Erlend was watching her, but she durst
-not turn her head even once, either when they rose or when they sat
-down. Only when they got up at last to hear the priest read the names of
-the dead guild-brothers and sisters, she stole a hasty glance at the
-men’s table—she caught a glimpse of him where he stood by the wall,
-behind the candles burning on the board. He was looking at her.
-
-The meal lasted long, with all the toasts in honour of God, the Virgin
-Mary, and St. Margaret and St. Olav and St. Halvard, and prayers and
-song between.
-
-Kristin saw through the open door that the sun was gone; sounds of
-fiddling and song came in from the green without, and all the young
-folks had left the tables already when Lady Groa said to the convent
-maidens that they might go now and play themselves for a time if they
-listed.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Three red bonfires were burning upon the green; around them moved the
-many-coloured chains of dancers. The fiddlers sat aloft on heaped-up
-chests and scraped their fiddles—they played and sang a different tune
-in every ring; there were too many folk for _one_ dance. It was nearly
-dark already—northward the wooded ridge stood out coal-black against the
-yellow-green sky.
-
-Under the loft-balcony folk were sitting drinking. Some men sprang
-forward, as soon as the six maids from Nonneseter came down the steps.
-Munan Baardsön flew to meet Ingebjörg and went off with her, and Kristin
-was caught by the wrist—Erlend, she knew his hand already. He pressed
-her hand in his so that their rings grated on one another and bruised
-the flesh.
-
-He drew her with him to the outermost bonfire. Many children were
-dancing there; Kristin gave her other hand to a twelve-year old lad, and
-Erlend had a little, half-grown maid on his other side.
-
-No one was singing in the ring just then—they were swaying in and out to
-the tune of the fiddle as they moved round. Then someone shouted that
-Sivord the Dane should sing them a new dance. A tall, fair-haired man
-with huge fists stepped out in front of the chain and struck up his
-ballad:
-
-                 Fair goes the dance at Munkholm
-                     On silver sand.
-                 There danceth Ivar Sir Alfsön—
-                     Holds the Queen’s own hand.
-                         _Know ye not Ivar Sir Alfsön?_
-
-The fiddlers knew not the tune, they thrummed their strings a little,
-and the Dane sang alone—he had a strong, tuneful voice.
-
-                    “Mind you, Queen of the Danemen,
-                        That summer fair,
-                    They led you out of Sweden,
-                        To Denmark here?
-
-                    “They led you out of Sweden
-                        To Denmark here,
-                    All with a crown of the red gold
-                        And many a tear.
-
-                    “All with a crown of the red gold
-                        And tear-filled eyne—
-                    —Mind you, Queen of the Danemen,
-                        You first were mine?”
-
-The fiddles struck in again, the dancers hummed the new-learned tune and
-joined in the burden.
-
-                 “And are you, Ivar Sir Alfsön,
-                     Sworn man to me,
-                 Then shall you hang to-morrow
-                     On the gallows tree!”
-
-                 But ’twas Ivar Sir Alfsön,
-                     All unafraid
-                 He leaped into the gold-bark
-                     In harness clad.
-
-                 “God send to you, oh Dane-Queen,
-                     So many a good-night,
-                 As in the high heavens
-                     Are stars alight.
-
-                 “God send to you, oh Dane-King,
-                     So many ill years
-                 As be leaves on the linden—
-                     Or the hind hath hairs.”
-                         _Know ye not Ivar Sir Alfsön?_
-
-It was far on in the night, and the fires were but heaps of embers
-growing more and more black. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand under
-the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revellers
-was hushed—a few young lads were hopping round the glowing mounds
-singing softly, but the fiddlers had sought their resting-places and
-most of the people were gone. One or two wives went round seeking their
-husbands, who were lying somewhere out of doors overcome by the beer.
-
-“Where think you I can have laid my cloak?” whispered Kristin. Erlend
-put his arm about her waist and drew his mantle round them both. Close
-pressed to one another they went into the herb-garden.
-
-A lingering breath of the day’s warm spicy scents, deadened and damp
-with the chill of the dew, met them in there. The night was very dark,
-the sky overcast, with murky grey clouds close down upon the tree-tops.
-But they could tell that there were other folks in the garden. Once
-Erlend pressed the maiden close to him and asked in a whisper:
-
-“Are you not afraid, Kristin?”
-
-In her mind she caught a faint glimpse of the world outside this
-night—and knew that this was madness. But a blessed strengthlessness was
-upon her. She leaned closer to the man and whispered softly—she herself
-knew not what.
-
-They came to the end of the path; a stone wall divided them from the
-woods. Erlend helped her up. As she jumped down on the other side, he
-caught her and held her lifted in his arms a moment before he set her on
-the grass.
-
-She stood with upturned face to take his kiss. He held her head between
-his hands—it was so sweet to her to feel his fingers sink into her
-hair—she felt she must repay him, and so she clasped his head and sought
-to kiss him, as he had kissed her.
-
-When he put his hands upon her breast, she felt as though he drew her
-heart from out her bosom; he parted the folds of silk ever so little and
-laid a kiss betwixt them—it sent a glow into her inmost soul.
-
-“You I could never harm,” whispered Erlend. “You should never shed a
-tear through fault of mine. Never had I dreamed a maid might be so good
-as you, my Kristin—”
-
-He drew her down into the grass beneath the bushes; they sat with their
-backs against the wall. Kristin said naught, but when he ceased from
-caressing her, she put up her hand and touched his face.
-
-In a while Erlend asked: “Are you not weary, my dear one?” And when
-Kristin nestled in to his breast, he folded his arms around her and
-whispered: “Sleep, sleep, Kristin, here in my arms—”
-
-She slipped deeper and deeper into darkness and warmth and happiness
-upon his breast.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-When she came to herself again, she was lying outstretched in the grass
-with her cheek upon the soft brown silk above his knees. Erlend was
-sitting as before with his back to the stone wall, his face looked grey
-in the grey twilight, but his wide opened eyes were marvellously clear
-and fair. She saw he had wrapped his cloak all about her—her feet were
-so warm and snug with the fur lining around them.
-
-“Now have you slept in my lap,” said he smiling faintly. “May God bless
-you, Kristin—you slept as safe as a child in its mother’s arms—”
-
-“Have _you_ not slept, Sir Erlend?” asked Kristin, and he smiled down
-into her fresh-opened eyes:
-
-“Maybe the night will come when you and I may lie down to sleep
-together—I know not what you will think when you have weighed all
-things.—I have watched by you to-night—there is still so much betwixt us
-two that ’tis more than if there had lain a naked sword between you and
-me—Tell me if you will hold me dear, when this night is past?”
-
-“I will hold you dear, Sir Erlend.” said Kristin, “I will hold you dear,
-so long as you will—and thereafter I will love none other—”
-
-“Then,” said Erlend slowly, “may God forsake me if any, maid or woman,
-come to my arms ere I may make you mine in law and honour—Say you this
-too,” he prayed. Kristin said:
-
-“May God forsake me if I take any other man to my arms so long as I live
-on earth.”
-
-“We must go now,” said Erlend a little after, “—before folk waken—”
-
-They passed along without the wall among the bushes.
-
-“Have you bethought you,” asked Erlend, “what further must be done in
-this?”
-
-“’Tis for you to say what we must do, Erlend,” answered Kristin.
-
-“Your father,” he asked in a little, “they say at Gerdarud he is a mild
-and a righteous man. Think you he will be so exceeding loth to go back
-from what he hath agreed with Andres Darre?”
-
-“Father has said so often, he would never force us, his daughters,” said
-Kristin. “The chief thing is that our lands and Simon’s lie so fitly
-together. But I trow father would not that I should miss all my gladness
-in this world for the sake of that.” A fear stirred within her that so
-simple as this perhaps it might not prove to be—but she fought it down.
-
-“Then maybe ’twill be less hard than I deemed in the night,” said
-Erlend. “God help me, Kristin—methinks I _cannot_ lose you now—unless I
-win you now, never can I be glad again.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They parted among the trees, and in the dawning light Kristin found her
-way to the guest-chamber where the women from Nonneseter were to lie.
-All the beds were full, but she threw a cloak upon some straw on the
-floor and laid her down in all her clothes.
-
-When she awoke, it was far on in the day. Ingebjörg Filippusdatter was
-sitting on a bench near by stitching down an edge of fur, that had been
-torn loose on her cloak. She was full of talk as ever.
-
-“Were you with Erlend Nikulaussön the whole night?” she asked. “’Twere
-well you went warily with that lad, Kristin—how think you Simon
-Andressön would like it if you came to be dear friends with him?”
-
-Kristin found a hand-basin and began to wash herself.
-
-“And your betrothed—think you he would like that you danced with Dumpy
-Munan last night? Surely we must dance with him who chooses us out on
-such a night of merry-making—and Lady Groa had given us leave—”
-
-Ingebjörg pshawed:
-
-“Einar Einarssön and Sir Munan are friends—and besides he is wedded and
-old. Ugly he is to boot for that matter—but likable and hath becoming
-ways—see what he gave me for a remembrance of last night,” and she held
-forth a gold clasp which Kristin had seen in Sir Munan’s hat the day
-before. “But this Erlend—’tis true he was freed of the ban at Easter
-last year, but they say Eline Ormsdatter has been with him at Husaby
-since—Sir Munan says Erlend hath fled to Sira Jon at Gerdarud, and he
-deems ’tis because he cannot trust himself not to fall back into sin, if
-he meet her again—”
-
-Kristin crossed over to the other—her face was white.
-
-“Knew you not this?” said Ingebjörg. “That he lured a woman from her
-husband somewhere in Haalogaland in the North—and held her with him at
-his manor in despite of the King’s command and the Archbishop’s ban—they
-had two children together—and he was driven to fly to Sweden and hath
-been forced to pay in forfeit so much of his lands and goods Sir Munan
-says he will be a poor man in the end unless he mend his ways the
-sooner—”
-
-“Think not but that I know all this,” said Kristin with a set face. “But
-’tis known the matter is ended now—”
-
-“Aye, but as to that Sir Munan said, there had been an end between them
-so many times before,” said Ingebjörg pensively. “But all these things
-can be nothing to you—you that are to wed Simon Darre. But a comely man
-is Erlend Nikulaussön, sure enough—”
-
-The company from Nonneseter was to set out for home that same day after
-nones. Kristin had promised Erlend to meet him by the wall where they
-had sat the night before, if she could but find a way to come.
-
-He was lying face downwards in the grass with his head upon his hands.
-As soon as he saw her, he sprang to his feet and held out both his
-hands, as she was about jumping from the wall.
-
-Kristin took them, and the two stood a little, hand in hand. Then said
-Kristin:
-
-“Why did you tell me that of Sir Björn and Lady Aashild yesterday?”
-
-“I can see you know it all,” said Erlend and let go her hands suddenly.
-“What think you of me now, Kristin—?
-
-“I was eighteen then,” he went on vehemently, “’tis ten years since that
-the King, my kinsman, sent me with the mission to Vargöyhus—and we
-stayed the winter at Steigen—she was wife to the Lagmand, Sigurd
-Saksulvsön—I thought pity of her, for he was old and ugly beyond
-belief—I know not how it came to pass—aye; but I loved her too. I bade
-Sigurd crave what amends he would; I would fain have done right by
-him—he is a good and doughty man in many ways—but he would have it that
-all must go by law; he took the matter to the King—I was to be branded
-for whoredom with the wife of him whose guest I had been, you
-understand—
-
-“Then it came to my father’s ears and then to King Haakon’s—he—he drove
-me from his court. And if you must know the whole—there is naught more
-now betwixt Eline and me save the children, and she cares not much for
-them. They are in Österdal, upon a farm I owned there; I have given it
-to Orm, the boy—but she will not stay with them—Doubtless she reckons
-that Sigurd cannot live for ever—but I know not what she would be at.
-
-“Sigurd took her back again—but she says she fared like a dog and a
-bondwoman in his house—so she set a tryst with me at Nidaros. ’Twas
-little better for me at Husaby with my father—I sold all I could lay
-hands on, and fled with her to Halland—Count Jacob stood my friend—Could
-I do aught else—she was great with my child. I knew many a man had lived
-even so with another’s wife and had got off cheap enough—if he were rich
-that is—But so it is with King Haakon, he is hardest upon his own kin.
-We were away from one another for a year, but then my father died and
-then she came back. Then there were other troubles. My tenants denied me
-rent and would have no speech with my bailiffs because I lay under ban—I
-on my side dealt harshly with them, and so they brought suit against me
-for robbery; but I had not the money to pay my house-folk withal; and
-you can see I was too young to meet these troubles wisely, and my
-kinsfolk would not help me—save Munan—he did all his wife would let him—
-
-“Aye, now you know it, Kristin: I have lost much both of lands and goods
-and of honour. True it is; you would be better served if you held fast
-to Simon Andressön.”
-
-Kristin put her arms about his neck:
-
-“We will abide by what we swore to each other yester-night, Erlend—if so
-be you think as I do.”
-
-Erlend drew her close to him, kissed her and said:
-
-“You will see too, trust me, that all things will be changed with me
-now—for none in the world has power on me now but you. Oh, my thoughts
-were many last night, as you slept upon my lap, my fairest one. So much
-power the devil cannot have over a man, that I should ever work you care
-and woe—you, my dearest life—”
-
-
-                                   4
-
-At the time he dwelt at Skog Lavrans Björgulfsön had made gifts of land
-to Gerdarud church that masses for the souls of his father and mother
-might be said on their death-days. Björgulf Ketilsön’s day was the
-thirteenth of August, and Lavrans had settled with his brother that this
-year Aasmund should bring Kristin out to Skog that she might be at the
-mass.
-
-She went in fear that something should come in the way, so that her
-uncle would not keep his promise—she thought she had marked that Aasmund
-did not care over much about her. But the day before the mass was to be,
-Aasmund Björgulfsön came to the convent to fetch his brother’s daughter.
-Kristin was told to clothe herself in lay garb, but simply and in dark
-garments. There had been some carping at the Sisters of Nonneseter for
-going about too much without the convent walls; therefore the bishop had
-given order that the maidens who were not to take the veil must wear
-naught like to the habit of the order when they went visiting their
-kinsfolk—so that laymen could not mistake them for novices or nuns.
-
-Kristin’s heart was full of gladness as she rode along the highway with
-her uncle, and Aasmund grew more friendly and merry with her when he saw
-the maid was not so tongue-tied after all, with folk. Otherwise Aasmund
-was somewhat moody and downcast; he said it looked as though there would
-be a call to arms in the autumn and that the King would lead an army
-into Sweden to avenge the slaying of his son-in-law and the husband of
-his niece. Kristin had heard of the murder of the Swedish Dukes, and
-thought it a most foul deed—yet all these questions of state seemed far
-away from her. No one spoke much of such things at home in the Dale; she
-remembered, too, that her father had been to the war against Duke Eirik
-at Ragnhildarholm and Konungahella. Then Aasmund told her of all that
-had come and gone between the King and the Dukes. Kristin understood but
-little of this, but she gave careful heed to all her uncle told of the
-making and breaking of the betrothals of the King’s daughters. It gave
-her comfort to think ’twas not everywhere as it was at home in her
-countryside, that a betrothal once fixed by word of mouth was held to
-bind nigh as fast as a wedding. Then she took courage to tell of her
-adventure on the evening before Halvard-wake, and asked her uncle if he
-knew Erlend of Husaby. Aasmund spoke well of Erlend—said, he had guided
-his affairs unwisely, but his father and the King were most to blame;
-they had borne themselves as though the young lad were a very limb of
-the devil only because he had fallen into this misfortune. The King was
-over pious in such matters, and Sir Nikulaus was angry because Erlend
-had lost much good land, so they had thundered about whoredom and hell
-fire—“and there must be a bit of the dare-devil in every likely lad,”
-said Aasmund Björgulfsön. “And the woman was most fair. But you have no
-call now to look Erlend’s way, so trouble yourself no more about his
-doings.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Erlend came not to the mass, as he had promised Kristin he would, and
-she thought about this more than of God’s word. She felt no sorrow that
-this was so—she had only that strange new feeling that she was cut off
-from all the ties that she had felt binding on her before.
-
-She tried to take comfort—like enough Erlend deemed it wisest that no
-one in whose charge she was should come to know of their friendship at
-this time. She could understand herself that ’twas wise. But her heart
-had longed so for him, and she wept when she had gone to rest in the
-loft-room where she was to sleep with Aasmund’s little daughters.
-
-The day after, she went up into the wood with the youngest of her
-uncle’s children, a little maid of six years. When they were come to the
-pastures among the woods a little way off, Erlend came running after
-them. Kristin knew it was he before she had seen who was coming.
-
-“I have sat up here on the hill spying down into the courtyard the whole
-day,” said he. “I thought surely you would find a chance to come out—”
-
-“Think you I came out to meet you then?” said Kristin, laughing. “And
-are you not afraid to beat about my uncle’s woods with dogs and bow?”
-
-“Your uncle gave me leave to take my pastime hunting here,” said Erlend.
-“And the dogs are Aasmund’s—they found me out this morning.” He patted
-them and lifted the little girl up in his arms.
-
-“_You_ know me, Ragndid? But say not you have spoken with me, and you
-can have this”—and he took out a bunch of raisins and gave them to the
-child. “I had brought them for you,” he said to Kristin. “Think you this
-child can hold her tongue?”
-
-They talked fast and laughed together. Erlend was dressed in a short
-close-fitting brown jacket and had a small red silk cap pulled down over
-his black hair—he looked so young; he laughed and played with the child;
-but sometimes he would take Kristin’s hand, and press it till it hurt
-her.
-
-He spoke of the rumours of war and was glad: “’Twill be easier for me to
-win back the King’s friendship,” said he, “and then will all things be
-easy,” he said vehemently.
-
-At last they sat down in a meadow up among the woods. Erlend had the
-child on his lap; Kristin sat by his side; under cover of the grass he
-played with her fingers. He pressed into her hand three gold rings bound
-together by a cord:
-
-“By and by,” he whispered, “you shall have as many as will go on your
-fingers—”
-
-“I shall wait for you here on this field each day about this time, as
-long as you are at Skog,” he said as they parted. “And you must come if
-you can.”
-
-The next day Aasmund Björgulfsön set out with his wife and children to
-the manor of Gyrid’s kin in Hadeland. They had been scared by the talk
-of war; the folk about Galo still went in terror since Duke Eirik’s
-harrying of that countryside some years before. Aasmund’s old mother was
-so fearful, she was minded to seek shelter in Nonneseter—besides she was
-too weak to travel with the others. So Kristin was to stay at Skog with
-the old woman—she called her grandmother—till Aasmund came back from
-Hadeland.
-
-About the midday hour, when the folk on the farm were resting, Kristin
-went to the loft-room where she slept. She had brought some clothes with
-her in a sheepskin bag, and now she changed her garments, humming to
-herself the while.
-
-Her father had given her a dress of thick cotton stuff from the East,
-skyblue with a close pattern of red flowers; this she put on. She
-brushed and combed out her hair and bound it back from her face with a
-red silk ribbon, wound a red silk belt tightly about her waist and put
-Erlend’s rings upon her fingers; all the time she wondered if he would
-think her fair.
-
-The two dogs that had been with Erlend in the forest had slept in the
-loft-room over night—she called them to go with her now. She stole out
-round the houses and took the same path as the day before up through the
-hill-pastures.
-
-The field amid the forest lay lonely and silent in the burning midday
-sun; the pine woods that shut it in on all sides gave out a hot strong
-scent. The sun stung, and the blue sky seemed strangely near and close
-down upon the tree-tops.
-
-Kristin sat down in the shade in the borders of the wood. She was not
-vexed that Erlend was not there; she was sure he would come, and it gave
-her an odd gladness to sit there alone a little and to be the first.
-
-She listened to the low hum of tiny life above the yellow, scorched
-grass, pulled a few dry, spicy-scented flowers that she could reach
-without moving more than her hand, and rolled them between her fingers
-and smelt them—she sat with wide open eyes sunk in a kind of drowse.
-
-She did not move when she heard a horse in the woods. The dogs growled
-and the hair on their necks bristled—then they bounded up over the
-meadow, barking and wagging their tails. Erlend sprang from his horse at
-the edge of the forest, let it go with a clap on its flank and ran down
-towards her with the dogs jumping about him. He caught their muzzles in
-his hands and came to her leading the two elk-grey, wolflike beasts.
-Kristin smiled and held out her hand without getting up.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Once, while she was looking at the dark head that lay in her lap,
-between her hands, something bygone flashed on her mind. It stood out,
-clear yet distant, as a homestead far away on a mountain slope may start
-to sight of a sudden from out dark clouds, when a sunbeam strikes it on
-a stormy day. And it was as though there welled up in her heart all the
-tenderness Arne Gyrdsön had once begged for while as yet she did not
-understand his words. With timid passion, she drew the man up to her and
-laid his head upon her breast, kissing him as if afraid he should be
-taken from her. And when she saw his head upon her arm, she felt as
-though she clasped a child—she hid his eyes with one of her hands and
-showered little kisses upon his mouth and cheek.
-
-The sunshine had gone from the meadow—the leaden colour above the
-tree-tops had thickened to dark-blue and spread over the whole sky;
-little, coppery flashes like fire-tinged smoke flickered within the
-clouds. Bayard came down to them, neighed loudly once and then stood
-stock still, staring before him. Soon after came the first flash of
-lightning, and the thunder followed close, not far away.
-
-Erlend got up and took hold of the horse. An old barn stood at the
-lowest end of the meadow; they went thither, and he tied Bayard to some
-woodwork just inside the door. At the back of the barn lay some hay;
-Erlend spread his cloak out, and they seated themselves with the dogs at
-their feet.
-
-And now the rain came down like a sheet before the doorway. It hissed in
-the trees and lashed the ground—soon they had to move further in, away
-from the drips from the roof. Each time it lightened and thundered,
-Erlend whispered:
-
-“Are you not afraid, Kristin—?”
-
-“A little—” she whispered back and drew closer to him.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They knew not how long they had sat—the storm had soon passed over—it
-thundered far away, but the sun shone on the wet grass outside the door,
-and the sparkling drops fell more and more rarely from the roof. The
-sweet smell of the hay in the barn grew stronger.
-
-“Now must I go,” said Kristin, and Erlend answered: “Aye, ’tis like you
-must.” He took her foot in his hand: “You will be wet—you must ride and
-I must walk—out of the woods—” and he looked at her so strangely.
-
-Kristin shook—it must be because her heart beat so, she thought—her
-hands were cold and clammy. As he kissed her vehemently she weakly tried
-to push him from her. Erlend lifted his face a moment—she thought of a
-man who had been given food at the convent one day—he had kissed the
-bread they gave him. She sank back upon the hay....
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-She sat upright when Erlend lifted his head from her arms. He raised
-himself suddenly upon his elbow:
-
-“Look not so—Kristin!”
-
-His voice sent a new, wild pang into Kristin’s soul—he was not glad—_he_
-was unhappy too—!
-
-“Kristin, Kristin—
-
-“—Think you I lured you out here to me in the woods meaning this—to make
-you mine by force—” he asked in a little.
-
-She stroked his hair and did not look at him:
-
-“’Twas not force, I trow—you had let me go as I came, had I begged you—”
-said she in a low voice.
-
-“I know not,” he answered and hid his face in her lap—
-
-“Think you that I would betray you?” asked he, vehemently. “Kristin—I
-swear to you by my Christian faith—may God forsake me in my last hour,
-if I keep not faith with you till the day of my death—”
-
-She could say naught, she only stroked his hair again and again.
-
-“’Tis time I went home, is it not?” she asked at length, and she seemed
-to wait in deadly terror for his answer.
-
-“May be so,” he answered dully. He got up quickly, went to the horse,
-and began to loosen the reins.
-
-Then she too got up. Slowly, wearily and with crushing pain it came home
-to her—she knew not what she had hoped he might do—set her upon his
-horse, maybe, and carry her off with him so she might be spared from
-going back amongst other people. It was as though her whole body ached
-with wonder—that this ill thing was what was sung in all the songs. And
-since Erlend had wrought her this, she felt herself grown so wholly his,
-she knew not how she should live away from him any more. She was to go
-from him now, but she could not understand that it should be so—
-
-Down through the woods he went on foot, leading the horse. He held her
-hand in his, but they found no words to say.
-
-When they had come so far that they could see the houses at Skog, he
-bade her farewell.
-
-“Kristin—be not so sorrowful—the day will come or ever you know it, when
-you will be my wedded wife—”
-
-But her heart sank as he spoke:
-
-“Must you go away, then—?” she asked, dismayed.
-
-“As soon as you are gone from Skog,” said he, and his voice already rang
-more bright. “If there be no war, I will speak to Munan—he has long
-urged me that I should wed—he will go with me and speak for me to your
-father.”
-
-Kristin bent her head—at each word he said, she felt the time that lay
-before grow longer and more hard to think of—the convent,
-Jörundgaard—she seemed to float upon a stream which bore her far from it
-all.
-
-“Sleep you alone in the loft-room, now your kinsfolk are gone?” asked
-Erlend. “Then will I come and speak with you to-night—will you let me
-in?”
-
-“Aye,” said Kristin low. And so they parted.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The rest of the day she sat with her father’s mother, and after supper
-she took the old lady to her bed. Then she went up to the loft-room,
-where she was to lie. There was a little window in the room; Kristin sat
-herself down on the chest that stood below it—she had no mind to go to
-bed.
-
-She had long to wait. It was quite dark without when she heard the soft
-steps upon the balcony. He knocked upon the door with his cloak about
-his knuckles, and Kristin got up, drew the bolt and let Erlend in.
-
-She marked how glad he was, when she flung her arms about his neck and
-clung to him.
-
-“I have been fearing you would be angry with me,” he said.
-
-“You must not grieve for our sin,” he said sometime after. “’Tis not a
-deadly sin. God’s law is not like to the law of the land in
-this—Gunnulv, my brother, once made this matter plain to me—if two vow
-to have and hold each other fast for all time, and thereafter lie
-together, then they are wedded before God and may not break their troths
-without great sin. I can give you the words in Latin when they come to
-my mind—I knew them once....”
-
-Kristin wondered a little why Erlend’s brother should have said this—but
-she thrust from her the hateful fear that it might have been said of
-Erlend and another—and sought to find comfort in his words.
-
-They sat together on the chest, he with his arm about her, and now
-Kristin felt that ’twas well with her once more and she was safe—beside
-him was the only spot now where she could feel safe and sheltered.
-
-At times Erlend spoke much and cheerfully—then he would be silent for
-long while he sat caressing her. Without knowing it Kristin gathered up
-out of all he said each little thing that could make him fairer and
-dearer to her, and lessen his blame in all she knew of him that was not
-good.
-
-Erlend’s father, Sir Nikulaus, had been so old before he had children,
-he had not patience enough nor strength enough left to rear them up
-himself; both the sons had grown up in the house of Sir Baard Petersön
-at Hestnæs. Erlend had no sisters and no brother save Gunnulv; he was
-one year younger and was a priest at Christ’s Church in Nidaros. “He is
-dearest to me of all mankind save only you.”
-
-Kristin asked if Gunnulv were like him, but Erlend laughed and said they
-were much unlike both in mind and body. Now Gunnulv was in foreign lands
-studying—he had been away these three years, but had sent letters home
-twice, the last a year ago, when he thought to go from St. Geneviève’s
-in Paris and make his way to Rome. “He will be glad, Gunnulv, when he
-comes home and finds me wed,” said Erlend.
-
-Then he spoke of the great heritage he had had from his father and
-mother—Kristin saw he scarce knew himself how things stood with him now.
-She knew somewhat of her father’s dealings in land—Erlend had dealt in
-his the other way about, sold and scattered and wasted and pawned, worst
-of all in the last years when he had been striving to free him of his
-paramour, thinking that, this done, his sinful life might in time be
-forgotten and his kin stand by him once more; he had thought he might
-some day come to be Warden of half the Orkdöla county, as his father had
-been before him.
-
-“But now do I scarce know what the end will be,” said he. “Maybe I shall
-sit at last on a mountain croft like Björn Gunnarsön, and bear out the
-dung on my back as did the thralls of old, because I have no horse.”
-
-“God help you,” said Kristin, laughing. “Then I must come to you for
-sure—I trow I know more of farm work and country ways than you.”
-
-“I can scarce think you have borne out the dung-basket,” said he,
-laughing too.
-
-“No; but I have seen how they spread the dung out—and sown corn have I,
-well nigh every year at home. ’Twas my father’s wont to plough himself
-the fields nearest the farm, and he let me sow the first piece that I
-might bring good fortune—” the thought sent a pang through her heart, so
-she said quickly: “—and a woman you must have to bake, and brew the
-small beer, and wash your one shirt, and milk—and you must hire a cow or
-two from the rich farmer near by—”
-
-“Oh, God be thanked that I hear you laugh a little once more!” said
-Erlend and caught her up so that she lay on his arms like a child.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Each of the six nights which passed ere Aasmund Björgulfsön came home,
-Erlend was in the loft-room with Kristin.
-
-The last night he seemed as unhappy as she; he said many times they must
-not be parted from one another a day longer than needful. At last he
-said very low:
-
-“Now should things go so ill that I cannot come back hither to Oslo
-before winter—and if it so falls out you need help of friends—fear not
-to turn to Sira Jon here at Gerdarud, we are friends from childhood up,
-and Munan Baardsön, too, you may safely trust.”
-
-Kristin could only nod. She knew he spoke of what she had thought on
-each single day; but Erlend said no more of it. So she too said naught,
-and would not show how heavy of heart she was.
-
-On the other nights he had gone from her when the night grew late, but
-this last evening he begged hard that he might lie and sleep by her an
-hour. Kristin was fearful, but Erlend said haughtily: “Be sure that were
-I found here in your bower, I am well able to answer for myself—” She
-herself, too, was fain to keep him by her yet a little while, and she
-had not strength enough to deny him aught.
-
-But she feared that they might sleep too long. So most of the night she
-sat leaning against the head of the bed, dozing a little at times, and
-scarce knowing herself when he caressed her and when she only dreamed
-it. Her one hand she held upon his breast, where she could feel the
-beating of his heart beneath, and her face was turned to the window that
-she might see the dawn without.
-
-At length she had to wake him. She threw on some clothes and went out
-with him upon the balcony—he clambered over the railing on the side that
-faced on to another house near by. Now he was gone from her sight—the
-corner hid him. Kristin went in again and crept into her bed; and now
-she quite gave way and fell to weeping for the first time since Erlend
-had made her all his own.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   5
-
-AT Nonneseter the days went by as before. Kristin’s time was passed
-between the dormitory and the church, the weaving-room, the book-hall
-and the refectory. The nuns and the convent folk gathered in the
-pot-herbs and the fruits from the herb-garden and the orchard; Holy
-Cross Day came in the autumn with the procession, then there was the
-fast before Michaelmas—Kristin wondered—none seemed to mark any change
-in her. But she had ever been quiet when amongst strangers, and
-Ingebjörg Filippusdatter, who was by her night and day, was well able to
-chatter for them both.
-
-Thus no one marked that her thoughts were far away from all around her.
-Erlend’s paramour—she said to herself, she was Erlend’s paramour now. It
-seemed now as though she had dreamed it all—the eve of St. Margaret’s
-Mass, that hour in the barn, the nights in her bower at Skog—either she
-had dreamed it, or else all about her now was a dream. But one day she
-must waken, one day it must all come out. Not for a moment did she think
-aught else than that she bore Erlend’s child within her—
-
-But what would happen to her when this came to light she could not well
-think. Would she be put into the black hole, or be sent home—She saw dim
-pictures of her father and mother far away—Then she shut her eyes, dizzy
-and sick, bowed in fancy beneath the coming storm and tried to harden
-herself to bear it since she thought it must end by sweeping her for
-ever into Erlend’s arms—the only place where now she felt she had a
-home.
-
-Thus was there in this strained waiting as much of hope as terror, as
-much of sweetness as of torment. She was unhappy—but she felt her love
-for Erlend as it were a flower planted within her—and, spite of her
-unhappiness, it put forth fresher and richer blooms each day. That last
-night when he had slept by her side she had felt, as a faint and
-fleeting bliss, that there awaited her a joy and happiness in his arms
-such as she had not yet known—she thrilled now at the thought of it; it
-came to her like warm, spicy breaths from sun-heated gardens. Wayside
-brat—Inga had flung the word at her—she opened her arms to it and
-pressed it to her bosom. Wayside brat, was the name they gave to the
-child begotten in secret in woods or fields. She felt the sunshine and
-the smell of the pines in the forest pasture. Each new, creeping tremor,
-each sudden pulse-beat in her body she took as a reminder from the
-unborn babe that now she was come out into new paths—and were they never
-so hard to follow to the end, she was sure they must lead to Erlend at
-the last.
-
-She sat betwixt Ingebjörg and Sister Astrid and sewed at the great
-tapestry of knights and birds amidst leafy tendrils. And as she sewed
-she thought of how she should fly when the time was come and it could no
-longer be hidden. She saw herself walking along the highways, clothed
-like a poor woman; all she owned of gold and silver she bore within a
-bundle in her hand. She bought herself shelter on a farm somewhere in a
-far away countryside—she went as a serving-wench, bore the
-water-carrier’s yoke upon her neck, worked in the byres, baked and
-washed and was cursed because she would not tell who was the child’s
-father. Then Erlend came and found her—
-
-Sometimes she dreamed that he came too late. She lay snow-white and fair
-in the poor peasant’s bed. Erlend stooped as he came in at the door; he
-had on the long black cloak he had used to wear when he came to her by
-night at Skog. The woman led him forward to where she lay, he sank down
-and took her cold hands, his eyes were sad as death—dost thou lie here,
-my one delight—? Bent with sorrow he went out with his tender son
-clasped to his breast, in the folds of his cloak—nay, she thought not in
-good sooth that it would so fall out; she had no mind to die, Erlend
-should have no such sorrow—But her heart was so heavy, it did her good
-to dream these dreams—
-
-Then for a moment it stood out cold and clear as ice before her—the
-child, that was no dream, that must be faced; she must answer one day
-for what she had done—and it seemed as if her heart stood still with
-terror.
-
-But after a little time had gone by, she came to think ’twas not so sure
-after all she was with child. She understood not herself why she was not
-glad—it was as though she had lain and wept beneath a warm covering and
-now must get up in the cold. A month went by—then two; now she was sure
-that she had been spared this ill-hap—and, empty and chill of soul, she
-felt yet unhappier than before. In her heart there dawned a little
-bitterness toward Erlend. Advent drew near, and she had heard neither
-from or of him; she knew not where he was.
-
-And now she felt she could not bear this fear and doubt—it was as though
-a bond betwixt them had snapped; now she was afraid indeed—might it not
-so befall that she should never see him more? All she had been safely
-linked to once, she was parted from now—and the new tie that bound her
-to her lover was such a frail one. She never thought that he would mean
-to play her false—but there was so much that might happen—She knew not
-how she could go on any longer day after day, suffering the tormenting
-doubt of this time of waiting.
-
-Now and then she thought of her father and mother and sisters—she longed
-for them, but as for something she had lost for ever.
-
-And sometimes in church, and elsewhere too, she would feel a great
-yearning to take part in all that this meant, the communion of mankind
-with God. It had ever been a part of her life; now she stood outside
-with her unconfessed sin.
-
-She told herself that this cutting adrift from home and kin and church
-was but for a time. Erlend must take her by the hand and lead her back
-into it all. When her father had given consent to their love, she could
-go to him as of yore; when she and Erlend were wed, they could confess
-and do penance for their transgression.
-
-She began to seek for tokens that other folk were not without sin any
-more than they. She hearkened more to tale-bearing, and marked all the
-little things about her which showed that not even the Sisters in the
-convent here were altogether godly and unworldly. These were only little
-things—under Lady Groa’s rule Nonneseter to the world was a pattern of
-what a godly sisterhood should be. Zealous in their devotions, diligent,
-full of care for the poor and sick, were the nuns. Their aloofness from
-the world was not so strict but that the Sisters both had visits from
-their friends and kin in the parlour, and themselves were given leave to
-visit these in the town when aught was afoot; but no nun had brought
-shame upon the house by her life all the years of Lady Groa’s rule.
-
-But Kristin had now an ear alive to all the little jars within the
-convent walls—little wranglings and spites and vanities. Save in the
-nursing of the sick, none of the Sisters would help with the rough
-housework—all were minded to be women of learning or skilled in some
-craft; the one strove to outdo the other, and the Sisters who had no
-turn for learning or the nobler crafts, lost heart and mooned through
-the hours as though but half awake.
-
-Lady Groa herself was wise as well as learned; she kept a wakeful eye on
-her spiritual daughters’ way of life and their diligence, but she
-troubled herself little about their souls’ health. She had been kind and
-friendly to Kristin at all times—she seemed to like her better than the
-other young girls, but that was because Kristin was apt at books and
-needlework, diligent and sparing of words. Lady Groa never looked for an
-answer from any of the Sisters; but on the other hand she was ever glad
-to speak with men. They came and went in her parlour—tenant farmers and
-bailiffs of the convent, Preaching Friars from the Bishop, stewards of
-estates on Hovedö with whom she was at law. She had her hands full with
-the oversight of the convent’s great estates, with the keeping of
-accounts, sending out church vestments and taking in books to be copied
-and sending them away again. Not the most evil-minded of men could find
-aught unseemly in Lady Groa’s way of life. But she liked only to talk of
-such things as women seldom know about.
-
-The prior, who dwelt in a house by himself northward of the church,
-seemed to have no more will of his own than the Abbess’ writing reed or
-her scourge. Sister Potentia looked after most things within the house;
-and she thought most of keeping such order as she had seen in the
-far-famed German convent where she had passed her noviciate. She had
-been called Sigrid Ragnvaldsdatter before, but had taken a new name when
-she took the habit of the order, for this was much the use in other
-lands; it was she too who had thought of making the maidens, who were at
-Nonneseter as pupils and for a time only, wear novice’s dress.
-
-Sister Cecilia Baardsdatter was not as the other nuns. She went about
-quietly, with downcast eyes, answered always gently and humbly, was
-serving maid to all, did for choice all the roughest work, fasted much
-more than she need—as much as Lady Groa would let her—and knelt by the
-hour in the church after evensong or went thither before matins.
-
-But one evening, after she had been all day at the beck with two lay
-sisters washing clothes, she suddenly burst into a loud sobbing at the
-supper table. She cast herself upon the stone floor, crept among the
-Sisters on hands and knees, beat her breast, and with burning cheeks and
-streaming tears begged them all to forgive her. She was the worst sinner
-of them all—she had been hard as stone with pride all her days; pride,
-and not meekness or thankfulness for Jesus’ redeeming death, had held
-her up, when she had been tempted in the world; she had fled thither not
-because she loved a man’s soul, but because she loved her own vain
-glory. She had served her sisters out of pride, vanity had she drunken
-from her water cup, self-righteousness had she spread thick upon her dry
-bread, while the other Sisters were drinking their beer and eating their
-bread-slices with butter.
-
-Of all this Kristin understood no more than that not even Cecilia
-Baardsdatter was truly godly at heart. An unlit tallow candle that has
-hung from the roof and grown foul with soot and cobweb—to this she
-herself likened her unloving chastity.
-
-Lady Groa went herself and lifted up the sobbing woman. Sternly she
-said, that for this disorder Cecilia should as a punishment move from
-the Sisters’ dormitory into the Abbess’s own bed, and lie there till she
-was free of this fever.
-
-“And thereafter, Sister Cecilia, shall you sit in my seat for the space
-of a week; we will seek counsel of you in spiritual things and give you
-such honour for your godly life, that you may have your fill of the
-homage of sinful mankind. Thus may you judge if it be worth so much
-striving, and thereafter choose whether you will live by the rules, as
-do we others, or keep on in exercises that no one demands of you. Then
-can you ponder whether you will do for love of God, that he may look
-down upon you in His mercy, all those things which you say you have done
-that we should look up to you.”
-
-And so was it done. Sister Cecilia lay in the Abbess’s room for fourteen
-days; she had a high fever, and Lady Groa herself tended her. When she
-got up again, she had to sit for a week at the side of the Abbess in the
-high seat both in the church and in the convent, and all waited on
-her—she wept all the time as though she were being beaten with whips.
-But afterward she was much calmer and happier. She lived much as before,
-but she blushed like a bride if anyone looked at her, whether she was
-sweeping the floor or going alone to the church.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-None the less did this matter of Sister Cecilia awake in Kristin a great
-longing for peace and atonement with all wherefrom she had come to feel
-herself cast out. She thought of Brother Edwin, and one day she took
-courage and begged leave of Lady Groa to go out to the barefoot friars
-and visit a friend she knew there.
-
-She marked that Lady Groa misliked this—there was scant friendship
-between the Minorites and the other cloisters in the bishopric. And the
-Abbess was no better pleased when she heard who was Kristin’s friend.
-She said this Brother Edwin was an unstable man of God—he was ever
-wandering about the country and seeking leave to pay begging visits to
-strange bishoprics. The common folk in many places held him to be a holy
-man, but he did not seem to understand that a Franciscan’s first duty
-was obedience to those set over him. He had shriven freebooters and
-outlaws, baptised their children, chanted them to their graves without
-asking leave—yet, doubtless, he had sinned as much through ignorance as
-in despite, and he had borne meekly the penances laid upon him on
-account of these things. He was borne with too because he was skilled in
-his handicraft—but even in working at this, he had fallen out with his
-craft-fellows; the master-limners of the Bishop of Bergen would not
-suffer him to come and work in the bishopric there.
-
-Kristin made bold to ask where he had come from, this monk with the
-un-Norse name. Lady Groa was in the mood for talking; she told how he
-had been born here in Oslo, but his father was an Englishman, Rikard
-Platemaster, who had wedded a farmer’s daughter from the Skogheim
-Hundred, and had taken up his abode in the town—two of Edwin’s brothers
-were armourers of good repute in Oslo. But this eldest of the
-Platemaster’s sons had been a restless spirit all his days. ’Twas true
-he had felt a call to the life of the cloister from childhood up; he had
-joined the Cistercians at Hovedö as soon as he was old enough. They sent
-him to a monastery in France to be trained—for his gifts were good;
-while still there he had managed to get leave to pass from the
-Cistercian into the Minorite order. And at the time the unruly friars
-began building their church eastward in the fields in despite of the
-Bishop’s command, Brother Edwin had been one of the worst and most
-stiff-necked of them all—nay, he had half killed with his hammer one of
-the men the Bishop sent to stop the work.
-
-—It was a long time now since anyone had spoken so much with Kristin at
-one time, so when Lady Groa said that now she might go, the young girl
-bent and kissed the Abbess’s hand, fervently and reverently; and as she
-did so, tears came into her eyes. And Lady Groa, who saw she was
-weeping, thought it was from sorrow—and so she said maybe she might
-after all let her go out one day to see Brother Edwin.
-
-And a few days later she was told some of the convent folk had an errand
-to the King’s palace, and they could take her out along with them to the
-Brothers in the fields.
-
-Brother Edwin was at home. Kristin had not thought she could have been
-so glad to see anyone, except it had been Erlend. The old man sat and
-stroked her hand while they talked together—in thanks for her coming.
-No, he had not been in her part of the country since the night he lay at
-Jörundgaard, but he had heard she was to wed and he wished her all good
-fortune. Then Kristin begged that he would go over to the church with
-her.
-
-They had to go out of the monastery and round to the main door; Brother
-Edwin durst not take her through the courtyard. He seemed altogether
-exceeding downcast, and fearful of doing aught that might offend. He had
-grown very old, thought Kristin.
-
-And when she had laid upon the altar her offering for the officiant monk
-who was in the church, and afterward asked Edwin if he would confess
-her, he grew very frightened. He dared not, he said, he had been
-strictly forbidden to hear confession.
-
-“Aye, maybe you have heard of it,” said he. “So it was that I felt I
-could not deny to those poor unfortunates the gifts which God had given
-me of his free grace. But, ’tis true, I should have enjoined on them to
-seek forgiveness in the right place—aye, aye—And you, Kristin,—you are
-in duty bound to confess to your own prior.”
-
-“Nay, but this is a thing I cannot confess to the prior of the convent,”
-said Kristin.
-
-“Think you it can profit you aught to confess to me what you would hide
-from your true father confessor,” said the monk more severely.
-
-“If so be you cannot confess me,” said Kristin, “at least you can let me
-speak with you and ask your counsel about what lies upon my soul.”
-
-The monk looked about him. The church was empty at the moment. Then he
-sat himself down on a chest which stood in a corner: “You must remember
-that I cannot absolve you, but I will counsel you, and keep silence as
-though you had told me in confession.”
-
-Kristin stood up before him and said:
-
-“It is this: I cannot be Simon Darre’s wife.”
-
-“Therein you know well that I can counsel no otherwise than would your
-own prior,” said Brother Edwin. “To undutiful children God gives no
-happiness, and your father had looked only to your welfare—that you know
-full well.”
-
-“I know not what your counsel will be, when you have heard me to the
-end,” answered Kristin. “Thus stands it now with us: Simon is too good
-to gnaw the bare branch from which another man has broken the blossom.”
-
-She looked the monk straight in the face. But when she met his eyes and
-marked how the dry, wrinkled, old face changed, grew full of sorrow and
-dismay—something seemed to snap within her, tears, started to her eyes,
-and she would have cast herself upon her knees. But Edwin stopped her
-hurriedly:
-
-“Nay, nay, sit here upon the chest by me—confess you I cannot—” He drew
-aside and made room for her.
-
-She went on weeping; he stroked her hand, and said gently:
-
-“Mind you that morning, Kristin, I first saw you there on the stairway
-in the Hamar church—? I heard a tale once, when I was in foreign lands,
-of a monk, who could not believe that God loved all us wretched
-sinners—Then came an angel and touched his eyes, and he beheld a stone
-in the bottom of the sea, and under the stone there lived a blind,
-white, naked creature; and he gazed at it until he came to love it, for
-it was so frail and weak. When I saw you sitting there, so little and so
-frail, within the great stone house, methought it was but reason that
-God should love such as you. Fair and pure you were, and, yet did you
-need a helper and a protector. Methought I saw the whole church, with
-you in it, lying in the hollow of God’s hand.”
-
-Kristin said low:
-
-“We have bound ourselves one to the other with the dearest oaths—and I
-have heard that in the eyes of God such a pact hallows our coming
-together as much as if our fathers and mothers had given us one to the
-other.”
-
-The monk answered sadly:
-
-“I see well, Kristin, someone who knew it not to the full has spoken to
-you of the canonical law. You could not bind yourself by oath to this
-man without sinning against your father and mother; them had God set
-over you before you met him. And is it not sorrow and a shame for his
-kin too, if they learn that he has lured astray the daughter of a man
-who has borne his shield with honour at all seasons—betrothed, too, to
-another? I hear by your words, you deem you have not sinned so
-greatly—yet dare you not confess this thing to your appointed priest.
-And if so be you think you are as good as wed to this man, wherefore set
-you not on your head the linen coif of wedlock, but go still with
-flowing hair amidst the young maids with whom you can have no great
-fellowship any more—for now must the chief of your thoughts be with
-other things than they have in mind?”
-
-“I know not what they have in their minds,” said Kristin, wearily. “True
-it is that all my thoughts are with the man I long for. Were it not for
-my father and mother, I would full gladly bind up my hair this
-day—little would I care if I were called wanton, if only I might be
-called his.”
-
-“Know you if this man means so to deal toward you, that you may be
-called his with honour some day,” asked Brother Edwin.
-
-Then Kristin told of all that had passed between Erlend Nikulaussön and
-herself. And while she spoke she seemed not even to call to mind that
-she had ever doubted the outcome of it all.
-
-“See you not, Brother Edwin,” she began again, “we could not help
-ourselves. God help me, if I were to meet him without here, when I go
-from you, and should he pray me to go with him, I would go—I wot well,
-too, I have seen now there be other folk who have sinned as well as
-we—When I was a girl at home ’twas past my understanding how aught could
-win such power over the souls of men that they could forget the fear of
-sin; but so much have I learnt now: if the wrongs men do through lust
-and anger cannot be atoned for, then must heaven be an empty place—They
-tell of you, even, that you, too, once struck a man in wrath—”
-
-“’Tis true,” said the monk, “God’s mercy alone have I to thank that I am
-not called manslayer. ’Tis many years agone—I was a young man then, and
-methought I could not endure the wrong the Bishop would have put upon us
-poor friars. King Haakon—he was Duke then—had given us the ground for
-our house, but we were so poor we had to work upon our church
-ourselves—with some few workmen who gave their help more for Heavenly
-reward than for what we could pay them. Maybe ’twas sinful pride in us
-beggar monks to wish to build our church so fair and goodly—but we were
-happy as children in the fields, and sang songs of praise while we hewed
-and built and toiled. Brother Ranulv—God rest his soul—was
-masterbuilder—he was a right skilful stonecutter; nay, I trow the man
-had been granted skill in all knowledge and all arts by God himself. I
-was a carver of stone panels in those days; I had but just finished one
-of St. Clara, whom the angels were bearing to the church of St. Francis
-in the dawn of Christmas day—a most fair panel it had proved, and all of
-us joyed in it greatly—then the hellish miscreants tore down the walls,
-and a stone fell and crushed my panels—I struck at a man with my hammer,
-I could not contain me—
-
-“Aye, now you smile, my Kristin. But see you not, that ’tis not well
-with you now, since you would rather hear such tales of other folks’
-frailties than of the life and deeds of good men, who might serve you as
-a pattern—?
-
-“’Tis no easy matter to give you counsel,” he said, when it was time for
-her to go. “For were you to do what were most right, you would bring
-sorrow to your father and mother and shame to all your kin. But you must
-see to it that you free yourself from the troth you plighted to Simon
-Andressön—and then must you wait in patience for the lot God may send
-you, make in your heart what amends you can—and let not this Erlend
-tempt you to sin again, but pray him lovingly to seek atonement with
-your kin and with God—
-
-“From your sin I cannot free you,” said Brother Edwin, as they parted,
-“but pray for you, I will with all my might....”
-
-He laid his thin, old hands upon her head and prayed, in farewell, that
-God might bless her and give her peace.
-
-
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-
-
-                                   6
-
-AFTERWARDS, there was much in what Brother Edwin had said to her that
-Kristin could not call to mind. But she left him with a mind strangely
-clear and peaceful.
-
-Hitherto she had striven with a dull, secret fear and tried to brave it
-out; telling herself she had not sinned so deeply. Now she felt Edwin
-had shown her plainly and clearly, that she had sinned indeed; such and
-such was her sin, and she must take it upon her and try to bear it
-meekly and well. She strove to think of Erlend without impatience—either
-because he did not send word of himself or because she must want his
-caresses. She would only be faithful and full of love for him.
-
-She thought of her father and mother, and vowed to herself that she
-would requite them for all their love, once they had got over the sorrow
-she must bring upon them by breaking with the Dyfrin folk. And wellnigh
-most of all, she thought of Brother Edwin’s words of how she must not
-seek comfort in looking on others’ faults; she felt she grew humble and
-kind, and now she saw at once how easy it was for her to win folks’
-friendship. Then was she comforted by the thought that after all ’twas
-not so hard to come to a good understanding with people—and so it seemed
-to her it surely could not be so hard for her and Erlend either.
-
-Until the day she gave her word to Erlend, she had always striven
-earnestly to do what was right and good—but she had done all at the
-bidding of others. Now she felt she had grown from maid to woman. ’Twas
-not only by reason of the fervent secret caresses she had taken and
-given, not only that she had passed from her father’s ward and was now
-under Erlend’s will. For Edwin had laid upon her the burden of answering
-for her own life, aye and for Erlend’s too. And she was willing to bear
-it well and bravely. Thus she went about among the nuns at Yule-tide;
-and, throughout the goodly rites and the joy and peace of the holy time,
-though she felt herself unworthy, yet she took comfort in thinking that
-the time would soon come when she could set herself right again.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-But the second day of the new year, Sir Andres Darre with his wife and
-all five children came, all unlooked for, to the convent. They were come
-to keep the last days of Yule-tide with their friends and kindred in the
-town, and they asked that Kristin might have leave to be with them in
-their lodging for a short space.
-
-“For methought, my daughter,” said Lady Angerd, “you would scarce be
-loth to see a few new faces for a time.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The Dyfrin folk dwelt in a goodly house that stood in a dwelling place
-near the bishop’s palace—Sir Andres’ cousin owned it. There was a great
-hall where the serving-folk slept, and a fine loft-room with a fireplace
-of masonry and three good beds; in the one Sir Andres and Lady Angerd
-slept with their youngest son, Gudmund, who was yet a child; in another
-slept Kristin and their two daughters, Astrid and Sigrid, and in the
-third Simon and his eldest brother Gyrd Andressön.
-
-All Sir Andres’ children were comely; Simon the least so, yet he too was
-reckoned to be well-favoured. And Kristin marked still more than when
-she was at Dyfrin the year before, that both his father and mother and
-his four brothers and sisters hearkened most to Simon and did all he
-would have them. They all loved each other dearly, but all agreed,
-without grudging or envy, in setting Simon foremost amongst them.
-
-Here these good folk lived a merry, carefree life. They visited the
-churches and made their offerings every day, came together with their
-friends and drank in their company each evening, while the young folk
-had full leave to play and dance. All showed Kristin the greatest
-kindness, and none seemed to mark how little glad she was.
-
-Of an evening, when the light had been put out in the loft-room, and all
-had sought their beds, Simon was wont to get up and go to where the
-maidens lay. He would sit a while on the edge of the bed; his talk was
-mostly to his sisters, but in the dark he would let his hand rest on
-Kristin’s bosom—while she lay there hot with wrath.
-
-Now that her sense of such things was keener, she understood well that
-there were many things Simon was both too proud and too shy to say to
-her, since he saw she had no mind to such talk from him. And she felt
-strangely bitter and angry with him, for it seemed to her as though he
-would fain be a better man than he who had made her his own—even though
-Simon knew not there was such a one.
-
-But one night when they had been dancing at another house, Astrid and
-Sigrid were left behind there to sleep with a playmate. When, late at
-night, the Dyfrin folk had gone to rest in their loft-room, Simon came
-to Kristin’s bed and climbed up into it; he laid himself down above the
-fur cover.
-
-Kristin pulled the coverlid up to her chin and crossed her arms firmly
-upon her breast. In a little Simon tried to put his hand upon her bosom.
-She felt the silken broidery on his wristband, and knew he had not taken
-off any of his clothes.
-
-“You are just as bashful in the dark as in the light, Kristin,” said
-Simon, laughing a little. “Surely you can at least let me have one hand
-to hold,” he said, and Kristin gave him the tips of her fingers.
-
-“Think you not we should have somewhat to talk of, when it so falls out
-that we can be alone a little while?” said he; and Kristin thought, now
-was the time for her to speak. So she answered: yes. But after that she
-could not utter a word.
-
-“May I come under the fur,” he begged again. “’Tis cold in the room
-now—” And he slipped in between the fur coverlid and the woollen blanket
-she had next her. He bent one arm round the bed head, but so that he did
-not touch her. Thus they lay a while.
-
-“You are not over-easy to woo, i’ faith,” said Simon soon after, with a
-resigned laugh. “Now I pledge you my word, I will not so much as kiss
-you, if you would not I should. But surely you can speak to me at
-least?”
-
-Kristin wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, but still she was
-silent.
-
-“Nay, if you are not lying there trembling!” went on Simon. “Surely it
-cannot be that you have aught against me, Kristin?”
-
-She felt she could not lie to Simon, so she said “No,”—but nothing more.
-
-Simon lay a while longer; he tried to get her into talk with him. But at
-last he laughed again and said:
-
-“I see well you think I should be content with hearing that you have
-naught against me—for to-night—and be glad to boot. ’Tis a parlous
-thing, so proud as you are—yet one kiss must you give me; then will I go
-my way and not plague you any more—”
-
-He took the kiss, then sat up and put his feet to the floor. Kristin
-thought, now must she say to him what she had to say—but he was away
-already by his own bed, and she heard him undress.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The day after Lady Angerd was not so friendly to Kristin as was her
-wont. The girl saw that the Lady must have heard somewhat the night
-before, and that she deemed her son’s betrothed had not borne her toward
-him as she held was fitting.
-
-Late that afternoon Simon spoke of a friend’s horse he was minded to
-take in barter for one of his own. He asked Kristin if she would go with
-him to look at it. She was nothing loth; and they went out into the town
-together.
-
-The weather was fresh and fair. It had snowed a little overnight, but
-now the sun was shining, and it was freezing so that the snow crackled
-under their feet. Kristin felt ’twas good to be out and walk in the cold
-air, and when Simon brought out the horse to show her, she talked of it
-with him gaily enough; she knew something of horses, she had been so
-much with her father. And this was a comely beast—a mouse-grey stallion
-with a black stripe down the back and a clipped mane, well-shapen and
-lively, but something small and slightly built.
-
-“He would scarce hold out under a full-armed man for long,” said
-Kristin.
-
-“Indeed, no; nor did I mean him for such a rider,” said Simon.
-
-He led the horse out into the home field behind the house, made it trot
-and walk, mounted to try its paces and would have Kristin ride it too.
-Thus they stayed together a good while out on the snowy field.
-
-At last, as Kristin stood giving the horse bread out of her hand, while
-Simon leant with his arm over its back, he said all at once:
-
-“Methinks, Kristin, you and my mother are none too loving one with
-another.”
-
-“I have not meant to be unloving to your mother,” said she, “but I find
-not much to say to Lady Angerd.”
-
-“Nor seems it you find much to say to me either,” said Simon. “I would
-not force myself upon you, Kristin, before the time comes—but things
-cannot go on as now, when I can never come to speech with you.”
-
-“I have never been one for much speaking”; said Kristin, “I know it
-myself; and I look not you should think it so great a loss, if what is
-betwixt us two should come to naught.”
-
-“You know well, what my thoughts are in that matter,” said Simon,
-looking at her.
-
-Kristin flushed red as blood. And it gave her a pang that she could not
-mislike the fashion of Simon Darre’s wooing. After a while he said:
-
-“Is it Arne Gyrdsön, Kristin, you feel you cannot forget?” Kristin but
-gazed at him; Simon went on, and his voice was gentle and kind: “Never
-would I blame you for that—you had grown up like brother and sister, and
-scarce a year is gone by. But be well assured, for your comfort, that I
-have your good at heart—”
-
-Kristin’s face had grown deathly white. Neither of them spoke again as
-they went back through the town in the twilight. At the end of the
-street, in the blue-green sky, rode the new moon’s sickle with a bright
-star within its horn.
-
-A year, thought Kristin; and she could not think when she had last given
-a thought to Arne. She grew afraid—maybe she was a wanton, wicked
-woman—but one year since she had seen him on his bier in the wake room,
-and had thought she should never be glad again in this life—she moaned
-within herself for terror of her own heart’s inconstancy and of the
-fleeting changefulness of all things. Erlend, Erlend—could he forget
-her—and yet it seemed to her ’twould be worse, if at any time she should
-forget him.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Sir Andres went with his children to the great Yule-tide feast at the
-King’s palace. Kristin saw all the pomp and show of the festival—they
-came, too, into the hall where sat King Haakon and the Lady Isabel
-Bruce, King Eirik’s widow. Sir Andres went forward and did homage to the
-King, while his children and Kristin stood somewhat behind. She thought
-of all Lady Aashild had told her; she called to mind that the King was
-near of kin to Erlend, their fathers’ mothers were sisters—and she was
-Erlend’s light o’ love, she had no right to stand here, least of all
-amid these good and worthy folk, Sir Andres’ children.
-
-Then all at once she saw Erlend Nikulaussön—he had stepped forward in
-front of Queen Isabel, and stood with bowed head and with his hand upon
-his breast, while she spoke a few words to him; he had on the brown silk
-clothes that he had worn at the guild feast. Kristin stepped behind Sir
-Andres’ daughters.
-
-When, some time after, Lady Angerd led her daughters up before the
-Queen, Kristin could not see him anywhere, but indeed she dared not lift
-her eyes from the floor. She wondered whether he was standing somewhere
-in the hall, she thought she could feel his eyes upon her—but she
-thought, too, that all folks looked at her as though they must know she
-was a liar, standing there with the golden garland on her outspread
-hair.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-He was not in the hall where the young folk were feasted and where they
-danced when the tables had been taken away; this evening it was Simon
-with whom Kristin must dance.
-
-Along one of the longer walls stood a fixed table, and thither the
-King’s men bore ale and mead and wine the whole night long. Once when
-Simon drew her thither and drank to her, she saw Erlend standing near,
-behind Simon’s back. He looked at her, and Kristin’s hand shook when she
-took the beaker from Simon’s hand and set it to her lips. Erlend
-whispered vehemently to the man who was with him—a tall comely man, well
-on in years and somewhat stout, who shook his head impatiently and
-looked as he were vexed. Soon after Simon led her back to the dance.
-
-She knew not how long this dancing lasted—the music seemed as though
-’twould never end, and each moment was long and evil to her with longing
-and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon drew her to the drinking
-board again.
-
-A friend came forward to speak to him, and led him away a few steps, to
-a group of young men. And Erlend stood before her.
-
-“I have so much I would fain say to you,” he whispered, “I know not what
-to say first—in Jesus’ name, Kristin, what ails you?” he asked quickly,
-for he saw her face grow white as chalk.
-
-She could not see him clearly; it seemed as though there were running
-water between their two faces. He took a goblet from the table, drank
-from it and handed it to her. Kristin felt as though ’twas all too heavy
-for her, or as though her arm had been cut off at the shoulder; do as
-she would, she could not lift the cup to her mouth.
-
-“Is it so, then, that you will drink with your betrothed, but not with
-me?” asked Erlend softly—but Kristin dropped the goblet from her hand
-and sank forward into his arms.
-
-When she awoke she was lying on a bench with her head in a strange
-maiden’s lap—someone was standing by her side, striking the palms of her
-hands, and she had water on her face.
-
-She sat up. Somewhere in the ring about her she saw Erlend’s face, white
-and drawn. Her own body felt weak, as though all her bones had melted
-away, and her head seemed as it were large and hollow—but somewhere
-within it shone one clear, desperate thought—she must speak with Erlend.
-
-She said to Simon Darre—he stood near by:
-
-“’Twas too hot for me, I trow,—so many tapers are burning here—and I am
-little used to drink so much wine—”
-
-“Are you well again now,” asked Simon. “You frightened folks—Mayhap you
-would have me take you home now?”
-
-“We must wait, surely, till your father and mother go,” said Kristin
-calmly. “But sit down here—I can dance no more.” She touched the cushion
-at her side—then she held out her other hand to Erlend:
-
-“Sit you here, Erlend Nikulaussön; I had no time to speak my greetings
-to an end. ’Twas but of late Ingebjörg said she deemed you had clean
-forgotten her.”
-
-She saw it was far harder for him to keep calm than for her—and it was
-all she could do to keep back the little tender smile, which would
-gather round her lips.
-
-“You must bear the maid my thanks for thinking of me still,” he
-stammered. “Almost I was afraid she had forgotten me.”
-
-Kristin paused a little. She knew not what she should say, which might
-seem to come from the flighty Ingebjörg and yet might tell Erlend her
-meaning. Then there welled up in her the bitterness of all these months
-of helpless waiting, and she said:
-
-“Dear Erlend, can you think that we maidens could forget the man who
-defended our honour so gallantly.”
-
-She saw his face change as though she had struck him—and at once she was
-sorry; then Simon asked what this was they spoke of. Kristin told him of
-Ingebjörg’s and her adventure in the Eikaberg woods. She marked that
-Simon liked the tale but little. Then she begged him to go and ask of
-Lady Angerd, whether they should not soon go home; ’twas true that she
-was weary. When he was gone, she looked at Erlend.
-
-“’Tis strange,” said he in a low voice, “you are so quick-witted—I had
-scarce believed it of you.”
-
-“Think you not I have had to learn to hide and be secret?” said she
-gloomily.
-
-Erlend’s breath came heavily; he was still very pale.
-
-“’Tis so then?” he whispered. “Yet did you promise me to turn to my
-friends if this should come to pass. God knows, I have thought of you
-each day, in dread that the worst might have befallen—”
-
-“I know well what you mean by the worst,” said Kristin shortly. “_That_
-you have no need to fear. To me what seemed the worst was that you would
-not send me one word of greeting—can you not understand that I am living
-there amongst the nuns—like a stranger bird—?” She stopped—for she felt
-that the tears were coming.
-
-“Is it therefore you are with the Dyfrin folk now?” he asked. Then such
-grief came upon her that she could make no answer.
-
-She saw Lady Angerd and Simon come through the doorway. Erlend’s hand
-lay upon his knee, near her, and she could not take it—
-
-“I must have speech with you,” said he eagerly, “we have not said a word
-to one another we should have said—”
-
-“Come to mass in the Maria Church at Epiphany,” said Kristin quickly, as
-she rose and went to meet the others.
-
-Lady Angerd showed herself most loving and careful of Kristin on the way
-home, and herself helped her to bed. With Simon she had no talk until
-the day after.
-
-Then he said:
-
-“How comes it that you bear messages betwixt this Erlend and Ingebjörg
-Filippusdatter? ’Tis not fit that you should meddle in the matter, if
-there be hidden dealings between them.”
-
-“Most like there is naught in it,” said Kristin. “She is but a
-chatterer.”
-
-“Methinks too,” said Simon, “you should have taken warning by what’s
-past and not trusted yourself out in the wild-wood paths alone with that
-magpie.” But Kristin reminded him hotly that it was not their fault they
-had strayed and lost themselves. Simon said no more.
-
-The next day the Dyfrin folks took her back to the convent, before they
-themselves left for home.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Erlend came to evensong in the convent church every evening for a week
-without Kristin getting a chance to change a word with him. She felt as
-she thought a hawk must feel sitting chained to its perch with its hood
-over its eyes. Every word that had passed between them at their last
-meeting made her unhappy too—it should never have been like that. It was
-of no use to say to herself: it had come upon them so suddenly, they had
-hardly known what they said.
-
-But one afternoon in the twilight there came to the parlour a comely
-woman, who looked like a townsman’s wife. She asked for Kristin
-Lavransdatter, and said she was the wife of a mercer and her husband had
-come from Denmark of late with some fine cloaks; Aasmund Björgulfsön had
-a mind to give one to his brother’s daughter, and the maid was to go
-with her and choose for herself.
-
-Kristin was given leave to go with the woman. She thought it was unlike
-her uncle to wish to give her a costly gift, and strange that he should
-send an unknown woman to fetch her. The woman was sparing of her words
-at first, and said little in answer to Kristin’s questions, but when
-they were come down to the town, she said of a sudden:
-
-“I will not play you false, fair child that you are—I will tell you all
-this thing as it is, and you must do as you deem best. ’Twas not your
-uncle who sent me, but a man—maybe you can guess his name, and if you
-cannot, then you shall not come with me. I have no husband—I make a
-living for myself and mine by keeping a house of call and selling beer;
-for such a one it boots not to be too much afraid either of sin or of
-the watchmen—but I will not lend my house for you to be betrayed inside
-my doors.”
-
-Kristin stood still, flushing red. She was strangely sore and ashamed
-for Erlend’s sake. The woman said:
-
-“I will go back with you to the convent, Kristin—but you must give me
-somewhat for my trouble—the knight promised me a great reward—but I too
-was fair once, and I too was betrayed. And ’twould not be amiss if you
-should name me in your prayers to-night—they call me Brynhild Fluga.”
-
-Kristin drew a ring off her finger and gave it to the woman:
-
-“’Tis fairly done of you, Brynhild—but if the man be my kinsman Erlend
-Nikulaussön, then have I naught to fear; he would have me to make peace
-betwixt him and my uncle. You may set your mind at ease—but I thank you
-none the less that you would have warned me.”
-
-Brynhild Fluga turned away to hide a smile.
-
-She led Kristin by the alleys behind St. Clement’s Church northward
-towards the river. Here a few small dwelling-places stood by themselves
-along the river-bank. They went towards one of them along a path between
-fences, and here Erlend came to meet them. He looked about him, on all
-sides, then took off his cloak, wrapped it about Kristin and pulled the
-hood over her face.
-
-“What think you of this device,” he asked, quickly and low. “Think you
-’tis a great wrong I do?—yet needs must I speak with you.”
-
-“It boots but little now, I trow, to think what is right and what is
-wrong,” said Kristin.
-
-“Speak not so,” begged Erlend. “I bear the blame—Kristin, every day and
-every night have I longed for you,” he whispered close to her.
-
-A shudder passed through her as she met his eyes for a moment. She felt
-it as guilt in her, when he looked so at her, that she had thought of
-anything but her love for him.
-
-Brynhild Fluga had gone on before. Erlend asked, when they were come
-into the courtyard:
-
-“Would you that we should go into the living-room, or shall we talk up
-in the loft-room?”
-
-“As you will,” answered Kristin; and they mounted to the loft-room.
-
-The moment he had barred the door behind them she was in his arms—
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-She knew not how long she had lain folded thus in his arms, when Erlend
-said:
-
-“Now must we say what has to be said, my Kristin—I scarce dare let you
-stay here longer.”
-
-“I dare stay here all night long if you would have me stay,” she
-whispered.
-
-Erlend pressed his cheek to hers:
-
-“Then were I not your friend. ’Tis bad enough as it is, but you shall
-not lose your good name for my sake.”
-
-Kristin did not answer—but a soreness stirred within her; how could he
-speak thus—he who had lured her here to Brynhild Fluga’s house—she knew
-not why, but she felt it was no honest place. And he had looked that all
-should go as it had gone, of that she was sure.
-
-“I have thought at times,” said Erlend again, “that if there be no other
-way, I must bear you off by force—into Sweden—Lady Ingebjörg welcomed me
-kindly in the autumn and was mindful of our kinship. But now do I suffer
-for my sins—I have fled the land before, as you know—and I would not
-they should name you as the like of that other.”
-
-“Take me home with you to Husaby,” said Kristin low. “I cannot bear to
-be parted from you, and to live on among the maids at the convent. Both
-your kin and mine would surely hearken to reason and let us come
-together and be reconciled with them—”
-
-Erlend clasped her to him and groaned:
-
-“I cannot bring you to Husaby, Kristin.”
-
-“Why can you not?” she asked softly.
-
-“Eline came thither in the autumn,” said he after a moment. “I cannot
-move her to leave the place,” he went on hotly, “not unless I bear her
-to the sledge by force and drive away with her. And that methought I
-could not do—she has brought both our children home with her—”
-
-Kristin felt herself sinking, sinking. In a voice breaking with fear,
-she said:
-
-“I deemed you were parted from her—”
-
-“So deemed I too,” answered Erlend shortly. “But she must have heard in
-Österdal, where she was, that I had thoughts of marriage. You saw the
-man with me at the Yule-tide feast—’twas my foster-father, Baard
-Petersön of Hestnæs. I went to him when I came from Sweden, I went to my
-kinsman Heming Alvsön in Saltviken, too; I talked with both about my
-wish to wed, and begged their help. Eline must have come to hear of it—
-
-“I bade her ask what she would for herself and the children—but Sigurd,
-her husband—they look not that he should live the winter out—and then
-none could deny us if we would live together—
-
-“—I lay in the stable with Haftor and Ulv, and Eline lay in the hall in
-my bed. I trow my men had a rare jest to laugh at behind my back—”
-
-Kristin could not say a word. A little after, Erlend spoke again:
-
-“See you, the day we pledge each other at our espousals, she must
-understand that all is over between her and me—she has no power over me
-any more—
-
-“But ’tis hard for the children. I had not seen them for a year—they are
-fair children—and little can I do to give them a happy lot. ’Twould not
-have helped them greatly had I been able to wed their mother.”
-
-Tears began to roll down over Kristin’s cheeks. Then Erlend said:
-
-“Heard you what I said but now, that I had talked with my kinsfolk? Aye,
-they were glad enough that I was minded to wed. Then I said ’twas you I
-would have and none other—”
-
-“And they liked not that?” asked Kristin at length, forlornly.
-
-“See you not?” said Erlend gloomily, “they could say but one thing—they
-cannot and they will not ride with me to your father, until this bargain
-twixt you and Simon Andressön is undone again. It has made it none the
-easier for us, Kristin, that you have spent your Yule-tide with the
-Dyfrin folk.”
-
-Kristin gave way altogether and wept noiselessly. She had felt ever that
-there was something of wrong and dishonour in her love, and now she knew
-the fault was hers.
-
-She shook with the cold when she got up soon after, and Erlend wrapped
-her in both the cloaks. It was quite dark now without, and Erlend went
-with her as far as St. Clement’s Church; then Brynhild brought her the
-rest of the way to Nonneseter.
-
-
-                                   7
-
-A week later Brynhild Fluga came with the word that the cloak was ready,
-and Kristin went with her and met Erlend in the loft-room as before.
-
-When they parted, he gave her a cloak: “So that you may have something
-to show in the convent,” said he. It was of blue velvet with red silk
-inwoven, and Erlend bade her mark that ’twas of the same hues as the
-dress she had worn that day in the woods. Kristin wondered it should
-make her so glad that he said this—she thought he had never given her
-greater happiness than when he had said these words.
-
-But now they could no longer make use of this way of meeting, and it was
-not easy to find a new one. But Erlend came often to the vespers at the
-convent church, and sometimes Kristin would make herself an errand after
-the service up to the commoners’ houses; and then they would snatch a
-few words together by stealth up by the fences in the murk of the winter
-evening.
-
-Then Kristin thought of asking leave of Sister Potentia to visit some
-old, crippled women, alms-folk of the convent, who dwelt in a cottage
-standing in one of the fields. Behind the cottage was an outhouse where
-the women kept a cow; Kristin offered to tend it for them; and while she
-was there Erlend would join her and she would let him in.
-
-She wondered a little to mark that, glad as Erlend was to be with her,
-it seemed to rankle in his mind that she could devise such a plan.
-
-“’Twas no good day for you when you came to know me,” said he one
-evening. “Now have you learnt to follow the ways of deceit.”
-
-“_You_ ought not to blame me,” answered Kristin sadly.
-
-“’Tis not you I blame,” said Erlend quickly with a shamed look.
-
-“I had not thought myself,” went on Kristin, “that ’twould come so easy
-to me to lie. But one _can_ do what one _must_ do.”
-
-“Nay, ’tis not so at all times,” said Erlend as before. “Mind you not
-last winter, when you could not bring yourself to tell your betrothed
-that you would not have him?”
-
-To this Kristin answered naught, but only stroked his face.
-
-She never felt so strongly how dear Erlend was to her, as when he said
-things like this that made her grieve or wonder. She was glad when she
-could take upon herself the blame for all that was shameful and wrong in
-their love. Had she found courage to speak to Simon as she should have
-done, they might have been a long way now on the road to have all put in
-order. Erlend had done all he could when he had spoken of their wedding
-to his kinsmen. She said this to herself when the days in the convent
-grew long and evil—Erlend had wished to make all things right and good
-again. With little tender smiles she thought of him as he drew a picture
-of their wedding for her,—she should ride to church in silks and velvet,
-she should be led to the bridal bed with the high golden crown on her
-flowing hair—“your lovely, lovely hair,” he said, drawing her plaits
-through his hand.
-
-“Yet can it not be the same to you as though I had never been yours,”
-said Kristin musingly, once when he talked thus.
-
-Then he clasped her to him wildly:
-
-“Can I call to mind the first time I drank in Yule-tide think you, or
-the first time I saw the hills at home turn green when winter was gone?
-Aye, well do I mind the first time you were mine, and each time
-since—but to have you for my own is like keeping Yule and hunting birds
-on green hillsides for ever—”
-
-Happily she nestled to him. Not that she ever thought for a moment it
-would turn out as Erlend was so sure it would—Kristin felt that before
-long a day of judgment must come upon them. It could not be that things
-should go well for them in the end.... But she was not so much
-afraid—she was much more afraid Erlend might have to go northward before
-it all came to light, and she be left behind, parted from him. He was
-over at the castle at Akersnes now; Munan Baardsön was posted there
-while the bodyguard was at Tunsberg, where the King lay grievously sick.
-But sometime Erlend must go home and see to his possessions. That she
-was afraid of his going home to Husaby because Eline sat there awaiting
-for him, she would not own even to herself; and neither would she own
-that she was less afraid to be taken in sin along with Erlend than of
-standing forth alone and telling Simon and her father what was in her
-heart.
-
-Almost she could have wished for punishment to come upon her, and that
-soon. For now she had no other thought than of Erlend; she longed for
-him in the day and dreamed of him at night; she could not feel remorse,
-but she took comfort in thinking the day would come when she would have
-to pay dear for all they had snatched by stealth. And in the short
-evening hours she could be with Erlend in the almswomen’s cow-shed, she
-threw herself into his arms with as much passion as if she knew she had
-paid with her soul already that she might be his.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-But time went on, and it seemed as though Erlend might have the good
-fortune he had counted on. Kristin never marked that any in the convent
-mistrusted her. Ingebjörg, indeed, had found out that she met Erlend,
-but Kristin saw the other never dreamed ’twas aught else than a little
-passing sport. That a maid of good kindred, promised in marriage, should
-dare wish to break the bargain her kinsfolk had made, such a thought
-would never come to Ingebjörg, Kristin saw. And once more a pang of
-terror shot through her—it might be ’twas a quite unheard of thing, this
-she had taken in hand. And at this thought she wished again that
-discovery might come, and all be at an end.
-
-Easter came. Kristin knew not how the winter had gone; every day she had
-not seen Erlend had been long as an evil year, and the long evil days
-had linked themselves together into weeks without end—but now it was
-spring and Easter was come, she felt ’twas no time since the Yule-tide
-feast. She begged Erlend not to seek her till the Holy Week was gone by;
-and he yielded to her in this, as he did to all her wishes, thought
-Kristin. It was as much her own blame as his that they had sinned
-together in not keeping the Lenten fast. But Easter she resolved they
-should keep. Yet it was misery not to see him. Maybe he would have to go
-soon—he had said naught of it, but she knew that now the King lay dying,
-and mayhap this might bring some turn in Erlend’s fortunes, she thought.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Thus things stood with her, when one of the first days after Easter word
-was brought her to go down to the parlour to her betrothed.
-
-As soon as he came toward her and held out his hand, she felt there was
-somewhat amiss—his face was not as it was wont to be; his small, grey
-eyes did not laugh, they did not smile when he smiled. And Kristin could
-not help seeing it became him well to be a little less merry. He looked
-well, too, in a kind of travelling dress—a long blue, close-fitting
-outer garment men called _kothardi_, and a brown shoulder-cape with a
-hood, which was thrown back now; the cold air had given his light-brown
-hair a yet stronger curl.
-
-They sat and talked for a while. Simon had been at Formo through Lent,
-and had gone over to Jörundgaard almost daily. They were well there;
-Ulvhild as well as they dared look that she should be; Ramborg was at
-home now, she was a fair child and lively.
-
-“’Twill be over one of these days—the year you were to be here at
-Nonneseter,” said Simon. “By this the folks at your home will have begun
-to make ready for our betrothal feast—yours and mine.”
-
-Kristin said naught, and Simon went on:
-
-“I said to Lavrans, I would ride hither to Oslo and speak to you of
-this.”
-
-Kristin looked down and said low:
-
-“I, too, would fain speak with you of that matter, Simon—alone.”
-
-“I saw well myself that we must speak of it alone,” answered Simon, “and
-I was about to ask even now that you would pray Lady Groa to let us go
-together into the garden for a little.”
-
-Kristin rose quickly and slipped from the room without a sound. Soon
-after she came back followed by one of the nuns with a key.
-
-There was a door leading from the parlour out into an herb-garden that
-lay behind the most westerly of the convent buildings. The nun unlocked
-the door and they stepped out into a mist so thick they could see but a
-few paces in among the trees. The nearest stems were coal-black; the
-moisture stood in beads on every twig and bough. A little fresh snow lay
-melting upon the wet mould, but under the bushes some white and yellow
-lily plants were blooming already, and a fresh, cool smell rose from the
-violet leaves.
-
-Simon led her to the nearest bench. He sat a little bent forward with
-his elbows resting upon his knees. Then he looked up at her with a
-strange little smile:
-
-“Almost I think I know what you would say to me,” said he. “There is
-another man, who is more to you than I—”
-
-“It is so,” answered Kristin faintly.
-
-“Methinks I know his name too,” said Simon, in a harder tone. “It is
-Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby?”
-
-After a while Kristin asked in a low voice:
-
-“It has come to your ears then?”
-
-Simon was a little slow in answering.
-
-“You can scarce think I could be so dull as not to see somewhat when we
-were together at Yule? I could say naught then, for my father and mother
-were with us. But this it is that has brought me hither alone this time.
-I know not whether it be wise of me to touch upon it—but methought we
-must talk of these things before we are given to one another.
-
-“But so it is now, that when I came hither yesterday—I met my kinsman
-Master Öistein. And he spoke of you. He said you two had passed across
-the churchyard of St. Clement’s one evening, and with you was a woman
-they call Brynhild Fluga. I swore a great oath that he must have seen
-amiss! And if you say it is untrue, I shall believe your word.”
-
-“The priest saw aright,” answered Kristin defiantly. “You foreswore
-yourself, Simon.”
-
-He sat a little ere he asked:
-
-“Know you who this Brynhild Fluga is, Kristin?” As she shook her head,
-he said: “Munan Baardsön set her up in a house here in the town, when he
-wedded—she carries on unlawful dealings in wine—and other things—”
-
-“You know her?” asked Kristin mockingly.
-
-“I was never meant to be a monk or a priest,” said Simon reddening. “But
-I can say at least that I have wronged no maid and no man’s wedded wife.
-See you not yourself that ’tis no honourable man’s deed to bring you out
-to go about at night in such company—”
-
-“Erlend did not draw me on,” said Kristin, red with anger, “nor has he
-promised me aught. I set my heart on him without his doing aught to
-tempt me—from the first time I saw him, he was dearer to me than all
-other men.”
-
-Simon sat playing with his dagger, throwing it from one hand to the
-other.
-
-“These are strange words to hear from a man’s betrothed maiden,” said
-he. “Things promise well for us two now, Kristin.”
-
-Kristin drew a deep breath:
-
-“You would be ill served should you take me for your wife now, Simon.”
-
-“Aye, God Almighty knows that so it seems indeed,” said Simon Andressön.
-
-“Then I dare hope,” said Kristin meekly and timidly, “that you will
-uphold me, so that Sir Andres and my father may let this bargain about
-us be undone?”
-
-“Do you so?” said Simon. He was silent for a little. “God knows whether
-you rightly understand what you say.”
-
-“That do I,” said Kristin. “I know the law is such that none may force a
-maid to marriage against her will; else can she take her plea before the
-Thing—”
-
-“I trow ’tis before the bishop,” said Simon, with something of a grim
-smile. “True it is, I have had no cause to search out how the law stands
-in such things. And I wot well you believe not either that ’twill come
-to that pass. You know well enough that I will not hold you to your
-word, if your heart is too much set against it. But can you not
-understand—’tis two years now since our marriage was agreed, and you
-have said no word against it till now, when all is ready for the
-betrothal and the wedding. Have you thought what it will mean, if you
-come forth now an seek to break the bond, Kristin?”
-
-“But you want me not either,” said Kristin.
-
-“Aye, but I do,” answered Simon curtly. “If you think otherwise, you
-must even think better of it—”
-
-“Erlend Nikulaussön and I have vowed to each other by our Christian
-faith,” said she, trembling, “that if we cannot come together in
-wedlock, then neither of us will have wife or husband all our days—”
-
-Simon was silent a good while. Then he said with effort:
-
-“Then I know not, Kristin, what you meant when you said Erlend had
-neither drawn you on nor promised you aught—he has lured you to set
-yourself against the counsel of all your kin.—Have you thought what kind
-of husband you will get, if you wed a man who took another’s wife to be
-his paramour—and now would take for wife another man’s betrothed
-maiden—?”
-
-Kristin gulped down her tears; she whispered thickly:
-
-“This you say but to hurt me.”
-
-“Think you I would wish to hurt you?” asked Simon in a low voice.
-
-“’Tis not as it would have been, had you—” said Kristin falteringly.
-“You were not asked either, Simon—’twas your father and my father who
-made the pact. It had been otherwise had you chosen me yourself—”
-
-Simon stuck his dagger into the bench so that it stood upright. A little
-after he drew it out again, and tried to slip it back into its sheath,
-but it would not go down, the point was bent. Then he sat passing it
-from hand to hand as before.
-
-“You know yourself,” said he in a low tone, and with a shaking voice,
-“you know that you lie, if you would have it that I did not—You know
-well enough, what I would have spoken of with you—many times—when you
-met me so that I had not been a man, had I been able to say it—after
-that—not if they had tried to drag it out of me with redhot pincers....
-
-“—First I thought ’twas yonder dead lad. I thought I must leave you in
-peace awhile—you knew me not—I deemed ’twould have been a wrong to
-trouble you so soon after. Now I see you did not need so long a time to
-forget—now—now—now—”
-
-“No,” said Kristin quietly. “I know it, Simon. Now I cannot look that
-you should be my friend any longer.”
-
-“_Friend—!_” Simon gave a short, strange laugh. “Do you need my
-friendship now, then?”
-
-Kristin grew red.
-
-“You are a man,” said she softly. “And old enough now—you can choose
-yourself whom you will wed—”
-
-Simon looked at her sharply. Then he laughed as before:
-
-“I understand. You would have me say ’tis I who—I am to take the blame
-for the breaking of our bond?
-
-“If so be that your mind is fixed—if you have the will and the boldness
-to try to carry through your purpose—then I will do it,” he said low.
-“At home with all my own folks and before all your kin—save one. To your
-father you must tell the truth, even as it is. If you would have it so,
-I will bear your message to him, and spare you, in giving it, in so far
-as I can—but Lavrans Björgulfsön shall know that never, with my will,
-would I go back from one word that I have spoken to him.”
-
-Kristin clutched the edge of the bench with both hands: this was harder
-for her to bear than all else that Simon Darre had said. Pale and
-fearful, she stole a glance at him.
-
-Simon rose:
-
-“Now must we go in,” said he. “Methinks we are nigh frozen, both of us,
-and the sister is sitting waiting with the key.—I will give you a week
-to think upon the matter—I have business in the town here. I shall come
-hither and speak with you when I am ready to go, but you will scarce
-care to see aught of me meanwhile.”
-
-
-                                   8
-
-Kristin said to herself: now that at least is over. But she felt broken
-with weariness and sick for Erlend’s arms.
-
-She lay awake most of the night, and she resolved to do what she never
-dared think of before—send word to Erlend. It was not easy to find
-anyone who could go such an errand for her. The lay-sisters never went
-out alone, nor did she know of any of them she thought would be willing;
-the men who did the farm work were elder folk and but seldom came near
-the dwellings of the nuns save to speak with the Abbess herself. There
-was only Olav—He was a half-grown lad, who worked in the gardens; he had
-been Lady Groa’s foster-son from the time when he was found, a new-born
-babe, upon the church steps one morning. Folk said one of the
-lay-sisters was his mother; she was to have been a nun; but after she
-had been kept in the dark cell for six months—for grave disobedience, as
-’twas said—and it was about that time the child was found—she had been
-given the lay-sisters’ habit and had worked in the farmyard ever since.
-Kristin had often thought of Sister Ingrid’s fate throughout these
-months, but she had had few chances to speak with her. It was
-venturesome to trust to Olav—he was but a child, and Lady Groa and all
-the nuns were wont to chat and jest with him, when they saw the boy. But
-Kristin deemed it mattered little what risks she took now. And a day or
-two later, when Olav was for the town one morning Kristin sent word by
-him to Akersnes, that Erlend must find some way whereby they might meet
-alone.
-
-That same afternoon Erlend’s own man, Ulv, came to the grille. He said
-he was Aasmund Björgulfsön’s man, and was to pray, on his master’s
-behalf, that his brother’s daughter might go down to the town for a
-little, for Aasmund had not time to come to Nonneseter. Kristin thought
-this device must surely fail—but when Sister Potentia asked if she knew
-the bearer of the message, she said: “Yes.” So she went with Ulv to
-Brynhild Fluga’s house.
-
-Erlend awaited her in the loft-room—he was uneasy and anxious, and she
-knew at once, ’twas that he was afraid again of what he seemed to fear
-the most.
-
-Always it cut her to the soul he should feel such a haunting dread that
-she might be with child—when yet they could not keep apart. Harassed as
-she was this evening, she said this to him—hotly enough. Erlend’s face
-flushed darkly, and he laid his head down upon her shoulder:
-
-“You are right,” said he. “I must try to let you be, Kristin,—not to put
-your happiness in such jeopardy. If you will—”
-
-She threw her arms around him and laughed, but he caught her round the
-waist, forced her down upon a bench and seated himself on the further
-side of the board. When she stretched her hand over to him, he covered
-the palm with vehement kisses:
-
-“I have tried more than you,” said he with passion. “You know not, how
-much I deem it means for both of us, that we should be wed with all
-honour—”
-
-“Then you should not have made me yours—” said Kristin.
-
-Erlend hid his face in his hands.
-
-“Aye, would to God I had not done you that wrong,” he said.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-“Neither you nor I wish that,” said Kristin, laughing boldly. “And if I
-may but be forgiven and make my peace at last with my kindred and with
-God, then shall I not sorrow overmuch though I must wear the woman’s
-hood when I am wed. Aye, and often it seems to me, I could do without
-peace even, if only I may be with you.”
-
-“You shall bring honour with you into my house once more,” said Erlend,
-“not I drag _you_ down into dishonour.”
-
-Kristin shook her head. Then she said:
-
-“’Tis like you will be glad then, when you hear that I have talked with
-Simon Andressön—and he will not hold me to the pact that was made for us
-by our fathers before I met you.”
-
-At once Erlend was wild with joy, and Kristin was made to tell him all.
-Yet she told not of the scornful words Simon had spoken of Erlend,
-though she said that before Lavrans he would not take the blame upon
-himself.
-
-“’Tis but reason,” said Erlend shortly. “They like each other well, your
-father and he? Aye, me he will like less, I trow—Lavrans.”
-
-Kristin took these words as a sign that Erlend felt with her she had
-still a hard road to travel ere yet they reached their journey’s end;
-and she was thankful to him for it. But he did not come back to this
-matter; he was glad above measure, saying he had feared so that she
-would not have courage to speak with Simon.
-
-“You like him after a fashion, I mark well,” said he.
-
-“Can it be aught to you,” asked Kristin,“—after all that has come and
-gone between you and me, that I can see that Simon is an honest man and
-a stout.”
-
-“Had you never met me,” said Erlend, “you might well have had good days
-with him, Kristin. Why laugh you?”
-
-“Oh, I did but call to mind somewhat Lady Aashild said once,” answered
-Kristin. “I was but a child then—but ’twas somewhat about good days
-falling to wise folk, but the best days of all to those who dare be
-unwise.”
-
-“God bless my kinswoman, if she taught you that,” said Erlend and took
-her upon his knee. “’Tis strange, Kristin, never have I marked that you
-were afraid.”
-
-“Have you never marked it?” she asked as she nestled close to him.
-
-He seated her on the bed-side and drew off her shoes, but then drew her
-back again to the table.
-
-“Oh, my Kristin—now at last it looks as if bright days might come for us
-two. Methinks I had never dealt with you as I have done,” he said
-stroking and stroking her hair, “had it not been that each time I saw
-you, I thought ever ’twas not reason that they should give so fine and
-fair a wife to _me_.—Sit you down here and drink to me,” he begged.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-A moment after came a knock on the door—it sounded like the stroke of a
-sword hilt.
-
-“Open, Erlend Nikulaussön, if you are within.”
-
-“’Tis Simon Darre,” said Kristin in a low voice.
-
-“Open, man, in the devil’s name—if you be a man!” shouted Simon and beat
-on the door again.
-
-Erlend went to the bed and took his sword down from the peg in the wall.
-He looked round, at a loss what to do: “There is nowhere here you can
-hide—”
-
-“’Twould scarce make things better if I hid,” said Kristin. She had
-risen to her feet; she spoke very quietly, but Erlend saw that she was
-trembling. “You must open,” she said in the same tone. Simon hammered on
-the door again.
-
-Erlend went and drew the bolt. Simon stepped in; he had a drawn sword in
-his hand, but he thrust it back into its sheath at once.
-
-For a while the three stood in silence. Kristin trembled; but yet, in
-this first moment, she felt a strange, sweet thrill—from deep within her
-something rose, scenting the combat between two men—she drew a deep
-breath; here was an end to these endless months of dumb waiting and
-longing and dread. She looked from one to the other, pale and with
-shining eyes—then the strain within her broke in a chill, unfathomable
-despair. There was more of cold scorn than of rage or jealousy in Simon
-Darre’s eyes and she saw that Erlend, behind his defiant bearing, burned
-with shame. It dawned upon her, how other men would think of him, who
-had let her come to him in such a place, and she saw ’twas as though he
-had had to suffer a blow in the face; she knew he burned to draw his
-sword and fall upon Simon.
-
-“Why have you come hither, Simon?” she cried aloud in dread.
-
-Both men turned toward her.
-
-“To fetch you home,” said Simon. “Here you cannot be—”
-
-“’Tis not for you, any more, to lay commands on Kristin Lavransdatter,”
-said Erlend fiercely, “she is mine now—”
-
-“I doubt not she is,” said Simon savagely, “and a fair bridal bower have
-you brought her to—” He stood a little, panting; then he mastered his
-voice and spoke quietly: “But so it is that I am her betrothed
-still—till her father can come for her. And for so long I mean to guard
-with edge and point so much of her honour as can be saved—in others’
-eyes—”
-
-“What need of _you_ to guard her; I can—” he flushed red as blood under
-Simon’s eyes. Then, flying out: “Think you I will suffer threats from a
-boy like you,” he cried, laying his hand on his sword-hilt.
-
-Simon clapped both hands behind him.
-
-“I am not such a coward as to be afraid you should deem me afraid,” said
-he as before. “I will fight you, Erlend Nikulaussön, you may stake your
-soul upon that, if within due time, you have not made suit for Kristin
-to her father—”
-
-“That will I never do at your bidding, Simon Andressön,” said Erlend
-angrily; the blood rushed into his face again.
-
-“Nay—do you it to set right the wrong you have done so young a maid,”
-answered Simon, unmoved, “’twill be better so for Kristin.”
-
-Kristin gave a loud cry, in pain at Erlend’s pain. She stamped upon the
-floor:
-
-“Go, then, Simon, go—what have you to do with our affairs?”
-
-“I told you but now,” said Simon. “You must bear with me till your
-father has loosed you and me from each other.”
-
-Kristin broke down utterly:
-
-“Go, go, I will follow straightway—. Jesus! why do you torture me so,
-Simon—you know you deem not yourself I am worthy that you should trouble
-about me—”
-
-“’Tis not for your sake I do it,” answered Simon. “Erlend—will you not
-tell her to go with me?”
-
-Erlend’s face quivered. He touched her on the shoulder:
-
-“You must go, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will speak of this at another
-time—”
-
-Kristin got up obediently and fastened her cloak about her. Her shoes
-stood by the bed-side—She remembered them, but she could not put them on
-under Simon’s eyes.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Outside, the fog had come down again. Kristin flew along, with head bent
-and hands clutched tight in the folds of her cloak. Her throat was
-bursting with tears—wildly she longed for some place where she could be
-alone, and sob and sob. The worst, the worst was still before her; but
-she had proved a new thing this evening, and she writhed under it—she
-had proved how it felt to see the man to whom she had given herself
-humbled.
-
-Simon was at her elbow as she hurried through the lanes, over the common
-lands and across the open places, where the houses had vanished and
-there was naught but fog to be seen. Once when she stumbled over
-something, he caught her arm and kept her from falling:
-
-“No need to run so fast,” said he. “Folk are staring after us.—How you
-are trembling!” he said more gently. Kristin held her peace and walked
-on.
-
-She slipped in the mud of the street, her feet were wet through and icy
-cold—the hose she had on were leather, but they were thin; she felt they
-were giving way, and the mud was oozing through to her naked feet.
-
-They came to the bridge over the convent beck, and went more slowly up
-the slopes on the other side.
-
-“Kristin,” said Simon of a sudden, “your father must never come to know
-of this.”
-
-“How knew you that I was—there?” asked Kristin.
-
-“I came to speak with you,” answered Simon shortly. “Then they told me
-of this man of your uncle’s coming. I knew Aasmund was in Hadeland. You
-two are not over cunning at making up tales—Heard you what I said but
-now?”
-
-“Aye,” said Kristin.—“It was I who sent word to Erlend that we should
-meet at Fluga’s house; I knew the woman—”
-
-“Then shame upon you! But, oh, you could not know what she is—and he—Do
-you hear,” said Simon harshly, “if so be it _can_ be hidden, you must
-hide from Lavrans what you have thrown away. And if you cannot hide it,
-then you must strive to spare him the worst of the shame.”
-
-“You are ever so marvellous careful for my father,” said Kristin,
-trembling. She strove to speak defiantly, but her voice was ready to
-break with sobs.
-
-Simon walked on a little. Then he stopped—she caught a glimpse of his
-face, as they stood there alone together in the midst of the fog. He had
-never looked like this before.
-
-“I have seen it well, each time I was at your home,” said he, “how
-little you understood, you his women-folk, what a man Lavrans is. Knows
-not how to rule you, says yonder Trond Gjesling—and ’twere like he
-should trouble himself with such work—he who was born to rule over
-_men_. He was made for a leader, aye, and one whom men would have
-followed—gladly. These are no times for such men as he—my father knew
-him at Baagahus—But, as things are, he has lived his life up there in
-the Dale, as he were little else but a farmer—He was married off all too
-young—and your mother, with her heavy mood, was not the one to make it
-lighter for him to live that life. So it is that he has many friends—but
-think you there is _one_ who is his fellow—His sons were taken from
-him—’twas you, his daughters, who were to build up his race after
-him—must he live now to see the day when one is without health and the
-other without honour—”
-
-Kristin pressed her hands tightly over her heart—she felt she must hold
-it in to make herself as hard as she had need to be.
-
-“Why say you this?” she whispered after a time. “It cannot be that you
-would ever wish to wed me now—”
-
-“That—would I—not,” said Simon unsteadily. “God help me, Kristin—I think
-of you that evening in the loft-room at Finsbrekken.—But may the foul
-fiend fly away with me living the day I trust a maiden’s eyes again!
-
-“—Promise me, that you will not see Erlend before your father comes,”
-said he when they stood at the gate.
-
-“That will I not promise,” answered Kristin.
-
-“Then _he_ shall promise,” said Simon.
-
-“I will not see him,” said Kristin quickly.
-
-“The little dog I sent you once,” said Simon before they parted, “him
-you can let your sisters have—they are grown so fond of him—if you
-mislike not too much to see him in the house.
-
-“—I ride north to-morrow early,” said he, and then he took her hand in
-farewell, while the sister who kept the door looked on.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Simon Darre walked downwards towards the town. He flung out a clenched
-fist as he strode along, talked half aloud, and swore out into the fog.
-He swore to himself that he grieved not over _her_. Kristin—’twas as
-though he had deemed a thing pure gold—and when he saw it close at hand,
-it was naught but brass and tin. White as a snow flake had she knelt and
-thrust her hand into the flame—that was last year; this year she was
-drinking wine with an outcast ribald in Fluga’s loft-room—The devil, no!
-’Twas for Lavrans Björgulfsön he grieved, sitting up there on
-Jörundgaard believing—full surely never had it come into Lavran’s mind
-that he could be so betrayed by his own. And now he himself was to bear
-the tidings, and help to lie to _that_ man—it was for this that his
-heart burned with sorrow and wrath.
-
-Kristin had not meant to keep her promise to Simon Darre, but, as it
-befell, she spoke but a few words with Erlend—one evening up on the
-road.
-
-She stood and held his hand, strangely meek, while he spoke of what had
-befallen in Brynhild’s loft-room at their last meeting. With Simon
-Andressön he would talk another time. “Had we fought there, ’twould have
-been all over the town,” said Erlend hotly. “And that he too knew full
-well—this Simon.”
-
-Kristin saw how this thing had galled him. She too, had thought of it
-unceasingly ever since—there was no hiding the truth, Erlend came out of
-this business with even less honour than she herself. And she felt that
-now indeed they were one flesh—that she must answer for all he did, even
-though she might mislike his deeds, and that she would feel it in her
-own flesh when so much as Erlend’s skin was scratched.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Three weeks later Lavrans Björgulfsön came to Oslo to fetch his
-daughter.
-
-Kristin was afraid, and she was sore of heart as she went to the parlour
-to meet her father. What first struck her, when she saw him standing
-there speaking to Sister Potentia, was that he did not look as she
-remembered him. Maybe he was but little changed since they parted a year
-ago—but she had seen him all her years at home as the young lusty,
-comely man she had been so proud to have for father when she was little.
-Each winter and each summer that passed over their heads up there at
-home, had doubtless marked him with the marks of growing age, as they
-had unfolded her into a full-grown young woman—but she had not seen it.
-She had not seen that his hair was fading here and there and had taken
-on a tinge of rusty red near the temples—as yellow hair does when ’tis
-turning grey. His cheeks had shrunken and grown longer so that the
-muscles ran in harder lines down to the mouth; his youthful white and
-red had faded to one weather-beaten shade. His back was not bowed—but
-yet his shoulder-blades had an unaccustomed curve beneath his cloak. His
-step was light and firm, as he came toward her with outstretched hand,
-but yet ’twas not the old brisk and supple motion. Doubtless all these
-things had been there last year, only she had not seen them. Perhaps
-there had been added a little touch—of sadness—which made her see them
-now. She burst into weeping.
-
-Lavrans put his arm about her shoulder and laid his hand against her
-cheek.
-
-“Come, come, be still now, child,” he said gently.
-
-“Are you angry with me, father?” she asked low.
-
-“Surely you must know that I am,” he answered—but he went on stroking
-her cheek. “Yet so much, too, you sure must know, that you have no need
-to be afraid of me,” said he sadly. “Nay, now you must be still,
-Kristin: are you not ashamed to bear you in such childish wise.”—For she
-was weeping so that she had to seat herself upon the bench. “We will not
-speak of these things here, where folk go out and in,” said he, and he
-sat himself down by her side and took her hand. “Will you not ask after
-your mother then—and your sisters—?”
-
-“What does my mother say of this?” asked his daughter.
-
-“Oh, that you can have no need to ask—but we will not talk of it now,”
-he said again. “Else she is well—” and he set to telling this and that
-of the happenings at home on the farm, till Kristin grew quieter little
-by little.
-
-But it seemed to her that the strain did but grow worse because her
-father said naught of her breach of troth. He gave her money to deal out
-among the poor of the convent and to make gifts to her fellow-pupils, he
-himself gave rich gifts to the cloister and the Sisters; and no one in
-Nonneseter knew aught else than that Kristin was now to go home for her
-betrothal and her wedding. They both ate the last meal at Lady Groa’s
-board in the Abbess’s room, and the Lady spoke of Kristin with high
-praise.
-
-But all this came to an end at last. She had said her last farewell to
-the Sisters and her friends at the convent gate; Lavrans led her to her
-horse and lifted her into the saddle. ’Twas so strange to ride with her
-father and the men from Jörundgaard down to the bridge, along this road,
-down which she had stolen in the dark; wonderful, too, it seemed to ride
-through the streets of Oslo freely and in honour. She thought of their
-splendid wedding train, that Erlend had talked of so often—her heart
-grew heavy; ’twould have been easier had he carried her away with him.
-There was yet such a long time before her in which she must live one
-life in secret and another openly before folks. But then her eye fell on
-her father’s grave, ageing face, and she tried to think, that after all
-Erlend was right.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-There were a few other travellers in the inn. At eventide they all
-supped together in a little hearth-room, where there were two beds only;
-Lavrans and Kristin were to sleep there, for they were the first in rank
-among the guests. Therefore, when the night drew on a little, the others
-bade them a friendly good-night as they broke up and went to seek their
-sleeping places. Kristin thought how it was she who had stolen to
-Brynhild Fluga’s loft-room to Erlend’s arms—sick with sorrow and with
-fear that she might never more be his, she thought: no, there was no
-place for her any more amongst these others.
-
-Her father was sitting on the further bench, looking at her.
-
-“We are not to go to Skog this time?” asked Kristin, to break the
-silence.
-
-“No,” answered Lavrans. “I have had enough for some time with what your
-mother’s brother made me listen to—because I would not constrain you,”
-he added, as she looked up at him questioningly.
-
-“And, truly, I would have made you keep your word,” said he a little
-after, “had it not been that Simon said, he would not have an unwilling
-wife.”
-
-“I have never given my word to Simon,” said Kristin quickly. “You have
-ever said before, that you would never force me into wedlock—”
-
-“’Twould not have been force if I had held you to a bargain that had
-been published long since and was known to all men,” answered Lavrans.
-“These two winters past you two have borne the name of handfasted folk,
-and you have said naught against it, nor shown yourself unwilling, till
-now your wedding-day was fixed. If you would plead that the business was
-put off last year, so that you have not yet given Simon your troth; then
-that I call not upright dealing.”
-
-Kristin stood gazing down into the fire.
-
-“I know not which will seem the worse,” went on her father, “that it be
-said that you have cast off Simon, or that he has cast you off. Sir
-Andres sent me word—” Lavrans flushed red as he said it, “—he was wroth
-with the lad, and bade me crave such amends as I should think fit. I had
-to say what was true—I know not if aught else had been better—that,
-should there be amends to make, ’twas rather for us to make them. We are
-shamed either way.”
-
-“I cannot think there is such great shame,” said Kristin low. “Since
-Simon and I are of one mind.”
-
-“Of one mind?” repeated Lavrans. “He did not hide from me that he was
-unhappy, but he said, after you had spoken together, he deemed naught
-but misfortune could come of it if he held you to the pact.—But now must
-you tell me how this has come over you.”
-
-“Has Simon said naught?” asked Kristin.
-
-“It seemed as though he thought,” said her father, “that you have given
-your love to another man—Now must you tell me how this is, Kristin.”
-
-Kristin thought for a little.
-
-“God knows,” said she in a low voice, “I see well, Simon might be good
-enough for me, and maybe too good. But ’tis true that I came to know
-another man; and then I knew I would never have one happy hour more in
-all my life, were I to live it out with Simon—not if all the gold in
-England were his to give—I would rather have the other if he owned no
-more than a single cow—”
-
-“You look not that I should give you to a serving-man, I trow?” said her
-father.
-
-“He is as well born as I, and better,” answered Kristin. “I meant but
-this—he has enough both of lands and goods, but I would rather sleep
-with him on the bare straw than with another man in a silken bed—”
-
-Her father was silent for a while.
-
-“’Tis one thing, Kristin, that I will not force you to take a man that
-likes you not—though God and St. Olav alone know what you can have
-against the man I had promised you to. But ’tis another thing whether
-the man you have set your heart upon is such as I can wed you to. You’re
-young yet, and not over wise—and to cast his eyes upon a maid who is
-promised to another—’tis not the wont of an upright man—”
-
-“No man can rule himself in that matter,” broke in Kristin.
-
-“Aye, but he can. But so much you can understand, I trow: I will not do
-such offence to the Dyfrin folk as to betroth you to another the moment
-you have turned your back on Simon—and least of all to a man who might
-be more high in rank or richer—You must say who this man is,” he said
-after a little.
-
-Kristin pressed her hands together and breathed deeply. Then she said
-very slowly:
-
-“I cannot, father. Thus it stands, that should I not get this man, then
-you can take me back to the convent and never take me from it again—I
-shall not live long there, I trow. But it would not be seemly that I
-should name his name, ere yet I know he bears as good a will toward me
-as I have to him. You—you must not force me to say who he is,
-before—before ’tis seen whether—whether he is minded to make suit for me
-through his kin.”
-
-Lavrans was a long time silent. He could not but be pleased that his
-daughter took the matter thus; he said at length:
-
-“So be it then. ’Tis but reason that you would fain keep back his name,
-if you know not more of his purposes.”
-
-“Now must you to bed, Kristin,” he said a little after. He came and
-kissed her:
-
-“You have wrought sorrow and pain to many by this waywardness of yours,
-my daughter—but this you know, that your good lies next my heart—God
-help me, ’twould be so, I fear me, whatever you might do—He and His
-gentle Mother will surely help us, so that this may be turned to the
-best—Go now, and see that you sleep well.”
-
-After he had lain down, Lavrans thought he heard a little sound of
-weeping from the bed by the other wall, where his daughter lay. But he
-made as though he slept. He had not the heart to say to her that he
-feared the old talk about her and Arne and Bentein would be brought up
-again now, but it weighed heavily upon him that ’twas but little he
-could do to save the child’s good name from being besmirched behind his
-back. And the worst was that he must deem much of the mischief had been
-wrought by her own thoughtlessness.
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                               BOOK THREE
-
-
-
-
-
-
-                                                     LAVRANS BJÖRGULFSÖN
-
-
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   1
-
-KRISTIN came home when the spring was at fairest. The Laagen rushed
-headlong round its bend past the farmstead and the fields; through the
-tender leaves of the alder thickets its current glittered and sparkled
-with flashes of silver. ’Twas as though the gleams of light had a voice
-of their own and joined in the river’s song, for when the evening
-twilight fell, the waters seemed to go by with a duller roar. But day
-and night the air above Jörundgaard was filled with the rushing sound,
-till Kristin thought she could feel the very timbers of the houses
-quivering like the sound box of a cithern.
-
-Small threads of water shone high up on the fell-sides, that stood
-wrapped in blue haze day after day. The heat brooded and quivered over
-the fields; the brown earth of the plough-lands was nigh hidden by the
-spears of corn; the meadows grew deep with grass, and shimmered like
-silk where the breaths of wind passed over. Groves and hill sward smelt
-sweet; and as soon as the sun was down there streamed out all around the
-strong, cool, sourish breath of sap and growing things—it was as though
-the earth gave out a long, lightened sigh. Kristin thought, trembling,
-of the moment when Erlend’s arms released her. Each evening she lay
-down, sick with longing, and in the mornings she awoke, damp with sweat
-and tired out with her dreams.
-
-’Twas more than she could understand how the folks at home could forbear
-to speak ever a word of the one thing that was in her thoughts. But week
-went by after week, and naught was said of Simon and her broken faith,
-and none asked what was in her heart. Her father lay much out in the
-woods, now he had the spring ploughing and sowing off his hands—he went
-to see his tar burners’ work, and he took hawks and hounds with him and
-was away many days together. When he was at home, he spoke to his
-daughter kindly as ever—but it was as though he had little to say to
-her, and never did he ask her to go with him when he rode out.
-
-Kristin had dreaded to go home to her mother’s chidings; but Ragnfrid
-said never a word—and this seemed even worse.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Every year when he feasted his friends at St. John’s Mass, it was
-Lavrans Björgulfsön’s wont to give out among the poor folks of the
-parish the meat and all sorts of food that had been saved in his
-household in the last week of the Fast. Those who lived nighest to
-Jörundgaard would come themselves to fetch away the alms; these poor
-folks were ever welcomed and feasted, and Lavrans and his guests and all
-the house servants would gather round them: for some of them were old
-men who had by heart many sagas and lays. They sat in the hearth-room
-and whiled the time away with the ale-cup and friendly talk; and in the
-evening they danced in the courtyard.
-
-This year the Eve of St. John was cloudy and cold; but none was sorry
-that it was so, for by now the farmers of the Dale had begun to fear a
-drought. No rain had fallen since St. Halvard’s Wake, and there had been
-little snow in the mountains; not for thirteen years could folk remember
-to have seen the river so low at mid-summer.
-
-So Lavrans and his guests were of good cheer when they went down to
-greet the almsmen in the hearth-room. The poor folks sat round the board
-eating milk porridge and washing it down with strong ale; and Kristin
-stood by the table, and waited on the old folk and the sick.
-
-Lavrans greeted his poor guests, and asked if they were content with
-their fare. Then he went about the board to bid welcome to an old
-bedesman, who had been brought thither that day for his term at
-Jörundgaard. The man’s name was Haakon; he had fought under King Haakon
-the Old, and had been with the King when he took the field for the last
-time in Scotland. He was the poorest of the poor now, and was all but
-blind; the farmers of the Dale had offered to set him up in a cottage of
-his own, but he chose rather to be handed on as bedesman from farm to
-farm, for everywhere folk welcomed him more like an honoured guest,
-since he had seen so much of the world and had laid up great store of
-knowledge.
-
-Lavrans stood by with a hand on his brother’s shoulder; for Aasmund
-Björgulfsön had come to Jörundgaard on a visit.
-
-He asked Haakon, too, how the food liked him.
-
-“The ale is good, Lavrans Björgulfsön,” said Haakon, “But methinks a
-jade has cooked our porridge for us to-day. While the cook cuddles, the
-porridge burns, says the byword; and this porridge is singed.”
-
-“An ill thing indeed,” said Lavrans, “that I should give you singed
-porridge. But I wot well the old byword doth not always say true, for
-’tis my daughter, herself, who cooked the porridge for you.” He laughed,
-and bade Kristin and Tordis make haste to bring in the trenchers of
-meat.
-
-Kristin slipped quickly out and made across to the kitchen. Her heart
-was beating hard—she had caught a glimpse of Aasmund’s face when Haakon
-was speaking.
-
-That evening she saw her father and his brother walking and talking
-together in the courtyard long and late. She was dizzy with fear; and it
-was no better with her the next day when she marked that her father was
-silent and joyless. But he said no word.
-
-Nor did he say aught after his brother was gone. But Kristin marked well
-that he spoke less with Haakon than was his wont, and, when their turn
-for harbouring the old warrior was over, Lavrans made no sign towards
-keeping him a while longer, but let him move on to the next farm.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-For the rest, Lavrans Björgulfsön had reason enough this summer to be
-moody and downcast, for now all tokens showed that the year would be an
-exceedingly bad one in all the country round; and the farmers were
-coming together time and again to take counsel how they should meet the
-coming winter. As the late summer drew on, it was plain to most, that
-they must slaughter great part of their cattle or drive them south for
-sale, and buy corn to feed their people through the winter. The year
-before had been no good corn year, so that the stocks of old corn were
-but scanty.
-
-One morning in early autumn Ragnfrid went out with all her three
-daughters to see to some linen she had lying out on the bleach field.
-Kristin praised much her mother’s weaving. Then the mother stroked
-little Ramborg’s hair and said:
-
-“We must save this for your bride-chest, little one.”
-
-“Then, mother,” said Ulvhild, “shall I not have any bride-chest when I
-go to the nunnery?”
-
-“You know well,” said Ragnfrid, “your dowry will be nowise less than
-your sisters. But ’twill not be such things as they need that you will
-need. And then you know full well, too, that you are to bide with your
-father and me as long as we live—if so be you will.”
-
-“And when you come to the nunnery,” said Kristin, unsteadily, “it may
-be, Ulvhild, that I shall have been a nun there for many years.”
-
-She looked across at her mother, but Ragnfrid held her peace.
-
-“Had I been such an one that I could marry,” said Ulvhild, “never would
-I have turned away from Simon—he was so kind, and he was so sorrowful
-when he said farewell to us all.”
-
-“You know your father bade us not speak of this,” said Ragnfrid—but
-Kristin broke in defiantly:
-
-“Aye; well I know that ’twas far more sorrow for him parting from you
-than from me.”
-
-Her mother spoke in anger:
-
-“And little must his pride have been, I wot, had he shown his sorrow
-before you—you dealt not well and fairly by Simon Andressön, my
-daughter. Yet did he beg us to use neither threats nor curses with you—”
-
-“Nay,” said Kristin as before, “he thought, maybe, he had cursed me
-himself so much, there was no need for any other to tell me how vile I
-was. But I marked not ever that Simon had much care for me, till he saw
-that I loved another more than him.”
-
-“Go home, children,” said Ragnfrid to the two little ones. She sat
-herself down on a log that lay by the green, and drew Kristin down
-beside her.
-
-“You know, surely,” said she then, “that it has ever been held seemly
-and honourable, that a man should not talk overmuch of love to his
-betrothed maiden—nor sit with her much alone, nor woo too hotly—”
-
-“Oh!” said Kristin, “much I wonder whether young folk that love one
-another bear ever in mind what old folk count for seemly, and forget not
-one time or another all such things.”
-
-“Be you ware, Kristin,” said her mother, “that you forget them not.” She
-sat a little while in silence: “What I see but too well now is that your
-father goes in fear that you have set your heart on a man he can never
-gladly give you to.”
-
-“What did my uncle say?” asked Kristin in a little while.
-
-“Naught said he,” answered her mother, “but that Erlend of Husaby is
-better of name than of fame. Aye, for he spoke to Aasmund, it seems, to
-say a good word for him to Lavrans. Small joy was it to your father when
-he heard this.”
-
-But Kristin sat beaming with gladness. Erlend had spoken to her father’s
-brother. And she had been vexing her heart because he made no sign!
-
-Then her mother spoke again:
-
-“Yet another thing is: that Aasmund said somewhat of a waif word that
-went about in Oslo, that folk had seen this Erlend hang about in the
-by-ways near by the convent, and that you had gone out and spoken with
-him by the fences there.”
-
-“What then?” asked Kristin.
-
-“Aasmund counselled us, you understand, to take this proffer,” said
-Ragnfrid. “But at that Lavrans grew more wroth than I can call to mind I
-saw him ever before. He said that a wooer who tried to come to his
-daughter by that road should find him in his path, sword in hand. ’Twas
-little honour enough to us to have dealt as we had with the Dyfrin folk;
-but were it so that Erlend had lured you out to gad about the ways in
-the darkness with him, and that while you were dwelling in a cloister of
-holy nuns, ’twas a full good token you would be better served by far by
-missing such a husband.”
-
-Kristin crushed her hands together in her lap—the colour came and went
-in her face. Her mother put an arm about her waist—but the girl shrank
-away from her, beside herself with the passion of her mood, and cried:
-
-“Let me be, mother! Would you feel, maybe, if my waist hath grown—”
-
-The next moment she was standing up, holding her hand to her cheek—she
-looked down bewildered at her mother’s flashing eyes. None had ever
-struck her before since she was a little child.
-
-“Sit down,” said Ragnfrid. “Sit down,” she said again, and the girl was
-fain to obey. The mother sat a while silent; when she spoke, her voice
-was shaking:
-
-“I have seen it full well, Kristin—much have you never loved me. I told
-myself, maybe ’twas that you thought I loved not you so much—not as your
-father loves you. I bided my time—I thought when the time came that you
-had borne a child yourself, you would surely understand—
-
-“While yet I was suckling you, even then was it so, that when Lavrans
-came near us two, you would let go my breast and stretch out towards
-him, and laugh so that my milk ran over your lips. Lavrans thought ’twas
-good sport—and God knows I was well content for his sake. I was well
-content, too, for your sake, that your father laughed and was merry each
-time he laid eyes on you. I thought my own self ’twas pity of you, you
-little being, that I could not have done with all that much weeping. I
-was ever thinking more whether I was to lose you too, than joying that I
-had you. But God and His Holy Mother know that I loved you no whit less
-than Lavrans loved.”
-
-The tears were running down over Ragnfrid’s cheeks, but her face was
-quite calm now, and so too was her voice:
-
-“God knows I never bore him or you a grudge for the love that was
-between you. Methought ’twas little enough joy I had brought him in the
-years we had lived together; I was glad that he had joy in you. I
-thought, too, that had my father, Ivar, been such a father to me—
-
-“There are many things, Kristin, that a mother should have taught her
-daughter to beware of. But methought there was little need of this with
-you, who have followed about with your father all these years—you should
-know, if any know, what right and honour are. That word you spoke but
-now—think you I could believe you would have the heart to bring on
-Lavrans such a sorrow—?
-
-“I would say but this to you—my wish is that you may win for husband a
-man you can love well. But that this may be, you must bear you
-wisely—let not Lavrans have cause to think that he you have chosen is a
-breeder of trouble, and one that regards not the peace of women, nor
-their honour. For to such an one he will never give you—not if it were
-to save you from open shame. Rather would Lavrans let the steel do
-judgment between him and the man who had marred your life—”
-
-And with this the mother rose and went from her.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   2
-
-At the Haugathing field on the day of Bartholomew’s Mass, the 24th of
-August, the daughter’s son of King Haakon of happy memory was hailed as
-King. Among the men sent thither from Northern Gudbrandsdal was Lavrans
-Björgulfsön. He had had the name of kingsman since his youth, but in all
-these years he had seldom gone nigh the Household, and the good name he
-had won in the war against Duke Eirik he had never sought to turn to
-account. Nor had he now much mind to this journey to the homaging, but
-he could not deny himself to the call. Besides, he and the other
-Thing-men from the upper valley were charged to try and buy corn in the
-South and send it round by ship to Romsdal.
-
-The folk of the parishes round about were heartless now, and went in
-dread of the winter that was at hand. An ill thing, too, the farmers
-deemed it that once again a child would be King in Norway. Old folks
-called to mind the time when King Magnus was dead and his sons were
-little children, and Sira Eirik said:
-
-“_Vae terræ, ubi puer rex est._ Which in the Norse tongue is: No resting
-o’ nights for rats in the house where the cat’s a kitten.”
-
-Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter managed all things on the manor while her husband
-was gone, and it was good both for Kristin and for her that they had
-their heads and hands full of household cares and work. All over the
-parish the folks were busy gathering in moss from the hills and
-stripping bark from the trees, for the hay-crop had been but light, and
-of straw there was next to none; and even the leaves gathered after St.
-John’s Eve were yellow and sapless. On Holy Cross day, when Sira Eirik
-bore the crucifix about the fields, there were many in the procession
-who wept and prayed aloud to God to have mercy on the people and the
-dumb beasts.
-
-A week after Holy Cross Lavrans Björgulfsön came home from the Thing.
-
-It was long past the house-folks’ bedtime, but Ragnfrid still sat in the
-weaving-house. She had so much to see to in the day-time now, that she
-often worked on late into the night at weaving and sewing. Ragnfrid
-liked the house well too. It had the name of being the oldest on the
-farm; it was called the Mound-house, and folk said it had stood there
-ever since the old heathen ages. Kristin and the girl called Astrid were
-with Ragnfrid; they were sitting spinning by the hearth.
-
-They had been sitting for a while sleepy and silent, when they heard the
-hoof-beats of a single horse—a man came riding at a gallop into the wet
-farm-place. Astrid went to the outer room to look out—in a moment she
-came in again, followed by Lavrans Björgulfsön.
-
-Both his wife and his daughter saw at once that he had been drinking
-more than a little. He reeled in his walk, and held to the pole of the
-smoke-vent while Ragnfrid took from him his dripping wet cloak and hat
-and unbuckled his sword-belt.
-
-“What have you done with Halvdan and Kolbein?” she said, in some fear;
-“have you left them behind on the road?”
-
-“No, I left them behind at Loptsgaard,” he said with a little laugh. “I
-had such a mind to come home again—there was no rest for me till I
-did—the men went to bed down at Loptsgaard, but I took Guldsveinen and
-galloped home—”
-
-“You must find me a little food, Astrid,” he said to the servant. “Bring
-it in here, girl; then you need not go so far in the rain. But be quick,
-for I have eaten no food since early morning—”
-
-“Had you no food at Loptsgaard, then?” asked his wife in wonder.
-
-Lavrans sat rocking from side to side on the bench, laughing a little:
-
-“Food there was, be sure—but I had no stomach for it when I was there. I
-drank a while with Sigurd—but—methought then ’twas as well I should come
-home at once as wait till to-morrow—”
-
-Astrid came back bearing food and ale; she brought with her, too, a pair
-of dry shoes for her master.
-
-Lavrans fumbled with his spur-buckles to unloosen them; but came near to
-falling on his face.
-
-“Come hither, Kristin, my girl,” he said, “and help your father. I know
-you will do it from a loving heart—aye, a loving heart—to-day.”
-
-Kristin kneeled down to obey. Then he took her head between his two
-hands and turned her face up:
-
-“One thing I trow you know, my daughter—I wish for naught but your good.
-Never would I give you sorrow, except I see that thereby I save you from
-many sorrows to come. You are full young yet, Kristin—’twas but
-seventeen years old you were this year—three days after Halvard’s
-Mass—but seventeen years old—”
-
-Kristin had done with her service now. She was a little pale as she rose
-from her knees and sat down again on her stool by the hearth.
-
-Lavran’s head seemed to grow somewhat clearer as he ate and was filled.
-He answered his wife’s questions and the servant maid’s about the
-Haugathing—Aye, ’twas a fair gathering. They had managed to buy corn,
-and some flour and malt, part at Oslo and part at Tunsberg; the wares
-were from abroad—they might have been better, but they might have been
-worse too. Aye, he had met many, both kinsfolk and friends, and they had
-sent their greetings home with him—But the answers dropped from him, one
-by one, as he sat there.
-
-“I spoke with Sir Andres Gudmundsön,” he said, when Astrid was gone out.
-“Simon marries the young widow at Manvik; he has held his betrothal
-feast. The wedding will be at Dyfrin at St. Andrew’s Mass. He has chosen
-for himself this time, has the boy. I held aloof from Sir Andres at
-Tunsberg, but he sought me out—’twas to tell me he knew for sure that
-Simon saw Lady Halfrid for the first time this mid-summer. He feared
-that I should think Simon had this rich marriage in mind when he broke
-with us.” Lavrans paused a little and laughed joylessly. “You
-understand—that good and worthy man feared much that we should believe
-such a thing of his son.”
-
-Kristin breathed more freely. She thought it must be this that had
-troubled her father so sorely. Maybe he had been hoping all this time
-that it might come to pass after all, her marriage with Simon Andressön.
-At first she had been in dread lest he had heard some tidings of her
-doings in the south at Oslo.
-
-She rose up and said good-night; but her father bade her stay yet a
-little.
-
-“I have one more thing to tell,” said Lavrans. “I might have held my
-peace about it before you—but ’tis better you should know it. This it
-is, Kristin—the man you have set your heart on, him must you strive to
-forget.”
-
-Kristin had been standing with arms hanging down and bent head. She
-looked up now into her father’s face. She moved her lips, but no sound
-came forth that could be heard.
-
-Lavrans looked away from his daughter’s eyes; he struck out sideways
-with his hand:
-
-“I wot well you know that never would I set myself against it, could I
-anyways believe ’twould be for your good.”
-
-“What are the tidings that have been told you on this journey, father?”
-said Kristin in a clear voice.
-
-“Erlend Nikulaussön and his kinsman, Sir Munan Baardsön, came to me at
-Tunsberg,” answered Lavrans. “Sir Munan asked for you for Erlend, and I
-answered him: no.”
-
-Kristin stood a while, breathing heavily.
-
-“Why will you not give me to Erlend Nikulaussön?” she asked.
-
-“I know not how much you know of the man you would have for husband,”
-said Lavrans. “If you cannot guess the reason for yourself, ’twill be no
-pleasing thing for you to hear from my lips.”
-
-“Is it because he has been outlawed, and banned by the Church?” asked
-Kristin as before.
-
-“Know you what was the cause that King Haakon banished his near kinsman
-from his Court—and how at last he fell under the Church’s ban for
-defying the Archbishop’s bidding—and that when he fled the land ’twas
-not alone?”
-
-“Aye,” said Kristin. Her voice grew unsteady: “I know, too, that he was
-but eighteen years old when he first knew her—his paramour.”
-
-“No older was I when I was wed,” answered Lavrans. “We reckoned, when I
-was young, that at eighteen years a man was of age to answer for
-himself, and care for others’ welfare and his own.”
-
-Kristin stood silent.
-
-“You called her his paramour, the woman he has lived with for ten years,
-and who has borne him children,” said Lavrans after a while. “Little joy
-would be mine the day I sent my daughter from her home with a husband
-who had lived openly with a paramour year out year in before ever he was
-wed. But you know that ’twas not loose life only, ’twas life in
-adultery.”
-
-Kristin spoke low:
-
-“You judged not so hardly of Lady Aashild and Sir Björn.”
-
-“Yet can I not say I would be fain we should wed into their kindred,”
-answered Lavrans.
-
-“Father,” said Kristin, “have you been so free from sin all your life,
-that you can judge Erlend so hardly—?”
-
-“God knows,” said Lavrans sternly, “I judge no man to be a greater
-sinner before Him than I am myself. But ’tis no just reckoning that I
-should give away my daughter to any man that pleases to ask for her,
-only because we all need God’s forgiveness.”
-
-“You know I meant it not so,” said Kristin hotly. “Father—mother—you
-have been young yourselves—have you not your youth so much in mind that
-you know ’tis hard to keep oneself from the sin that comes of love—?”
-
-Lavrans grew red as blood:
-
-“No,” he said curtly.
-
-“Then you know not what you do,” cried Kristin wildly, “if you part
-Erlend Nikulaussön and me.”
-
-Lavrans sat himself down again on the bench.
-
-“You are but seventeen, Kristin,” he began again. “It may be so that you
-and he—that you have come to be more dear to each other than I thought
-could be. But he is not so young a man but he should have known—had he
-been a good man, he had never come near a young, unripe child like you
-with words of love—That you were promised to another, seemed to him,
-mayhap, but a small thing.
-
-“But I wed not my daughter to a man who has two children by another’s
-wedded wife. You know that he has children?”
-
-“You are too young to understand that such a wrong breeds enmity in a
-kindred—and hatred without end. The man cannot desert his own offspring,
-and he cannot do them right—hardly will he find a way to bring his son
-forth among good folk, or to get his daughter married with any but a
-serving-man or a cottar. They were not flesh and blood, those children,
-if they hated not you and your children with a deadly hate—
-
-“See you not, Kristin—such sins as these—it may be that God may forgive
-such sins more easily than many others—but they lay waste a kindred in
-such wise that it can never be made whole again. I thought of Björn and
-Aashild too—there stood this Munan, her son; he was blazing with gold;
-he sits in the Council of the King’s Counsellors; they hold their
-mother’s heritage, he and his brothers; and he hath not come once to
-greet his mother in her poverty in all these years. Aye, and ’twas this
-man your lover had chosen to be his spokesman.
-
-“No, I say—no. Into that kindred you shall never come, while my head is
-above the ground.”
-
-Kristin buried her face in her hands and broke into weeping:
-
-“Then will I pray God night and day, night and day, that if you change
-not your will, He may take me away from this earth.”
-
-“It boots not to speak more of this to-night,” said her father, with
-anguish in his voice. “You believe it not now, maybe; but I must needs
-guide your life so as I may hope to answer it hereafter. Go now, child,
-and rest.”
-
-He held out his hand toward her; but she would not see it and went
-sobbing from the room.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The father and mother sat on a while. Then Lavrans said to his wife:
-
-“Would you fetch me in a draught of ale?—no, bring in a little wine,” he
-asked. “I am weary—”
-
-Ragnfrid did as he asked. When she came back with the tall wine stoup,
-her husband was sitting with his face hidden in his hands. He looked up,
-and passed his hand over her head-dress and her sleeves:
-
-“Poor wife, now you are wet—Come, drink to me, Ragnfrid.”
-
-She barely touched the cup with her lips.
-
-“Nay now, drink with me,” said Lavrans vehemently, and tried to draw her
-down on his knee. Unwillingly the woman did as he bade. Lavrans said:
-“You will stand by me in this thing, wife of mine, will you not? Surely
-’twill be best for Kristin herself that she understand from the very
-outset she must drive this man from her thoughts.”
-
-“’Twill be hard for the child,” said the mother.
-
-“Aye; well do I see it will,” said Lavrans.
-
-They sat silent awhile, then Ragnfrid asked:
-
-“How looks he, this Erlend of Husaby?”
-
-“Oh,” said Lavrans slowly, “a proper fellow enough—after a fashion. But
-he looks not a man that is fit for much but to beguile women.”
-
-They were silent again for a while then Lavrans said:
-
-“The great heritage that came to him from Sir Nikulaus—with that I trow
-he has dealt so that it is much dwindled. ’Tis not for such a son-in-law
-that I have toiled and striven to make my children’s lives sure.”
-
-The mother wandered restlessly up and down the room. Lavrans went on:
-
-“Least of all did it like me that he sought to tempt Kolbein with
-silver—to bear a secret letter to Kristin.”
-
-“Looked you what was in the letter?” asked Ragnfrid.
-
-“No, I did not choose,” said Lavrans curtly. “I handed it back to Sir
-Munan, and told him what I thought of such doings. Erlend had hung his
-seal to it too—I know not what a man should say of such child’s tricks.
-Sir Munan would have me see the device of the seal; that ’twas King
-Skule’s privy seal, come to Erlend through his father. His thought was,
-I trow, that I might bethink me how great an honour they did me to sue
-for my daughter. But ’tis in my mind that Sir Munan had scarce pressed
-on this matter for Erlend so warmly, were it not that in this man’s
-hands ’tis downhill with the might and honour of the Husaby kindred,
-that it won in Sir Nikulaus’ and Sir Baard’s days—No longer can Erlend
-look to make such a match as befitted his birth.”
-
-Ragnfrid stopped before her husband:
-
-“Now I know not, husband, if you are right in this matter. First must it
-be said that, as times are now many men round about us on the great
-estates have had to be content with less of power and honour than their
-fathers had before them. And you yourself best know that ’tis less easy
-now for a man to win riches either from land or from merchantry than it
-was in the old world—”
-
-“I know, I know,” broke in Lavrans impatiently. “All the more does it
-behoove a man to guide warily the goods that have come down to him—”
-
-But his wife went on:
-
-“And this, too, is to be said: I see not that Kristin can be an uneven
-match for Erlend. In Sweden your kin sit among the best, and your
-father, and his father before him bore the name of knights in this land
-of Norway. My forefathers were Barons of shires, son after father, many
-hundred years, down to Ivar the Old; my father and my father’s father
-were Wardens. True it is, neither you nor Trond have held titles or
-lands under the Crown. But, as for that, methinks it may be said that
-’tis no otherwise with Erlend Nikulaussön than with you.”
-
-“’Tis not the same,” said Lavrans hotly. “Power and the knightly name
-lay ready to Erlend’s hand, and he turned his back on them to go
-a-whoring. But now I see you are against me too. Maybe you think, like
-Aasmund and Trond, ’tis an honour for me that these great folks would
-have my daughter for one of their kinsmen—”
-
-Ragnfrid spoke in some heat: “I have told you, I see not that you need
-be so overnice as to fear that Erlend’s kinsmen should think they stoop
-in these dealings. But see you not what all things betoken—a gentle and
-a biddable child to find courage to set herself up against us and turn
-away Simon Darre—have you not seen that Kristin is nowise herself since
-she came back from Oslo—see you not she goes around like one
-bewitched—Will you not understand, she loves this man so sorely, that,
-if you yield not, a great misfortune may befall?”
-
-“What mean you by that?” asked the father, looking up sharply.
-
-“Many a man greets his son-in-law and knows not of it,” said Ragnfrid.
-
-The man seemed to stiffen where he sat; his face grew slowly white:
-
-“You that are her mother!” he said hoarsely. “Have you—have you
-seen—such sure tokens—that you dare charge your own daughter—”
-
-“No, no,” said Ragnfrid quickly. “I meant it not as you think. But when
-things are thus, who can tell what has befallen, or what may befall? I
-have seen her heart; not one thought hath she left but her love for this
-man—’twere no marvel if one day she showed us that he is dearer to her
-than her honour—or her life.”
-
-Lavrans sprang up:
-
-“Oh, you are mad! Can you think such things of our fair, good child? No
-harm, surely, can have come to her where she was—with the holy nuns. I
-wot well she is no byre-wench to go clipping behind walls and fences.
-Think but of it: ’tis not possible she can have seen this man or talked
-with him so many times—be sure it will pass away; it cannot be aught but
-a young maid’s fancy. God knows ’tis a heavy sight enough for me to see
-her sorrow so; but be sure it must pass by in time.
-
-“Life, you say, and honour—. At home here by my own hearthstone ’twill
-go hard if I cannot guard my own maiden. Nor do I deem that any maid
-come of good people and bred up Christianly in shamefastness will be so
-quick to throw away her honour—nor yet her life. Aye, such things are
-told of in songs and ballads, sure enough—but methinks ’tis so that when
-a man or a maid is tempted to do such a deed, they make up a song about
-it, and ease their hearts thereby—but the deed itself they forbear to
-do—
-
-“You yourself,” he said, stopping before his wife: “There was another
-man you would fain have wed, in those days when we were brought
-together. How think you it would have gone with you, had your father let
-you have your will on that score?”
-
-It was Ragnfrid now that was grown deadly pale:
-
-“Jesus, Maria! who hath told—”
-
-“Sigurd of Loptsgaard said somewhat—’twas when we were just come hither
-to the Dale,” said Lavrans. “But answer me what I asked—Think you your
-life had been gladder had Ivar given you to that man?”
-
-His wife stood with head bowed low:
-
-“That man,” she said—he could scarce hear the words: “’Twas _he_ would
-not have _me_.” A throb seemed to pass through her body—she struck out
-before her with her clenched hand.
-
-The husband laid his hands softly on her shoulders:
-
-“Is it _that_,” he asked as if overcome, and a deep and sorrowful wonder
-sounded in his voice; “—is it _that_—through all these years—have you
-been sorrowing for _him_—Ragnfrid?”
-
-She trembled much, but she said nothing.
-
-“Ragnfrid?” he asked again. “Aye, but afterward—when Björgulf was
-dead—and afterward—when you—when you would have had me be to you as—as I
-could not be. Were you thinking then of that other?” he spoke low, in
-fear and bewilderment and pain.
-
-“How can you have such thoughts?” she whispered, on the verge of
-weeping.
-
-Lavrans pressed his forehead against hers and moved his head gently from
-side to side.
-
-“I know not. You are so strange—and all you have said to-night. I was
-afraid, Ragnfrid. Like enough I understand not the hearts of women—”
-
-Ragnfrid smiled palely and laid her arms about his neck.
-
-“God knows, Lavrans—I was a beggar to you because I loved you more than
-’tis good that a human soul should love.—And I hated that other so that
-I felt the devil joyed in my hate.”
-
-“I have held you dear, my wife,” said Lavrans, kissing her, “aye, with
-all my heart have I held you dear. You know that, surely? Methought
-always that we two were happy together—Ragnfrid?”
-
-“You were the best husband to me,” said she with a little sob, and clung
-close to him.
-
-He pressed her to him strongly:
-
-“To-night I would fain sleep with you, Ragnfrid. And if you would be to
-me as you were in the old days, I should not be—such a fool—”
-
-The woman seemed to stiffen in his arms—she drew away a little:
-
-“’Tis Fast-time.” She spoke low,—in a strange, hard voice.
-
-“It is so.” He laughed a little. “You and I, Ragnfrid—we have kept all
-the fasts, and striven to do God’s bidding in all things. And now almost
-I could think—maybe we had been happier had we more to repent—”
-
-“Oh, speak not so—_you_,” she begged wildly, pressing her thin hands to
-his temples. “You know well I would not you should do aught but what you
-feel yourself is the right.”
-
-He drew her to him closely once more—and groaned aloud: “God help her.
-God help us all, my Ragnfrid—”
-
-Then: “I am weary,” he said, and let her go. “And ’tis time, too, for
-you to go to rest.”
-
-He stood by the door waiting, while she quenched the embers on the
-hearth, blew out the little iron lamp by the loom, and pinched out the
-glowing wick. Together they went across through the rain to the hall.
-
-Lavrans had set foot already on the loft-room stair, when he turned to
-his wife, who was still standing in the entry-door.
-
-He crushed her in his arms again, for the last time, and kissed her in
-the dark. Then he made the sign of the cross over his wife’s face, and
-went up the stair.
-
-Ragnfrid flung off her clothes and crept into bed. A while she lay and
-listened to her husband’s steps in the loft-room above; then she heard
-the bed creak, and all was still. Ragnfrid crossed her thin arms over
-her withered breasts:
-
-Aye, God help her. What kind of a woman was she, what kind of mother?
-She would soon be old now. Yet was she the same; though she no longer
-begged stormily for love, as when they were young and her passion had
-made this man shrink and grow cold when she would have had him be lover
-and not only husband. So had it been—and so, time after time, when she
-was with child, had she been humbled, beside herself with shame, that
-she had not been content with his lukewarm husband-love. And then, when
-things were so with her, and she needed goodness and tenderness—then he
-had so much to give; the man’s tireless, gentle thought for her, when
-she was sick and tormented, had fallen on her soul like dew. Gladly did
-he take up all she laid on him and bear it—but there was ever something
-of his own he would not give. She had loved her children, so that each
-time she lost one, ’twas as though the heart was torn from her—God, God!
-what woman was she then, that even then, in the midst of her torments,
-she could feel it as a drop of sweetness that he took her sorrow in to
-his heart and laid it close beside his own.
-
-Kristin—gladly would she have passed through the fire for her
-daughter—they believed it not, neither Lavrans nor the child—but ’twas
-so. Yet did she feel toward her now an anger that was near to hate—’twas
-to forget his sorrow for the child’s sorrow that he had wished to-night
-that he could give himself up to his wife—
-
-Ragnfrid dared not rise, for she knew not but that Kristin might be
-lying awake in the other bed. But she raised herself noiselessly to her
-knees, and with forehead bent against the footboard of the bed she
-strove to pray. For her daughter, for her husband and for herself. While
-her body, little by little, grew stiff with the cold, she set out once
-more on one of the night-wanderings she knew so well, striving to break
-her way through to a home of peace for her heart.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   3
-
-Haugen lay high up in the hills on the west side of the valley. This
-moonlight night the whole world was white. Billow after billow, the
-white fells lay domed under the pale-blue heavens with their thin-strewn
-stars. Even the shadows that peaks and domes stretched forth over the
-snow-slopes seemed strangely thin and light, the moon was sailing so
-high.
-
-Downward, toward the valley, the woods stood fleecy-white with snow and
-rime, round the white fields of crofts scrolled over with tiny huts and
-fences. But far down in the valley-bottom the shadows thickened into
-darkness.
-
-Lady Aashild came out of the byre, shut the door after her, and stood a
-while in the snow. White—the whole world; yet it was more than three
-weeks still to Advent. Clementsmass cold—’twas like winter had come in
-earnest already. Aye, aye; in bad years it was often so.
-
-The old woman sighed heavily in the desolate air. Winter again, and cold
-and loneliness—Then she took up the milkpail and went towards the
-dwelling-house. She looked once again down over the valley.
-
-Four black dots came out of the woods half-way up the hillside. Four men
-on horseback—and the moonlight glanced from a spear-head. They were
-ploughing heavily upward—none had come that way since the snowfall. Were
-they coming hither?
-
-Four armed men—’Twas not like that any who had a lawful errand here
-would come so many in company. She thought of the chest with her goods
-and Björn’s in it. Should she hide in the outhouse?
-
-She looked out again over the wintry waste about her. Then she went into
-the living-house. The two old hounds that lay before the smoky fireplace
-smote the floor-boards with their tails. The young dogs Björn had with
-him in the hills.
-
-Aashild blew the embers of the fire into flame, and laid more wood on
-them; filled the iron pot with snow and set it on the fire; then poured
-the milk into a wooden bowl and bore it to the closet beside the outer
-room.
-
-Then she doffed her dirty, undyed, wadmal gown, that smelt of the byre
-and of sweat, put on a dark-blue garment, and changed her tow-linen hood
-for a coif of fine white linen, which she smoothed down fairly round her
-head and neck. Her shaggy boots of skin she drew off, and put on
-silver-buckled shoes. Then she fell to setting her room in
-order—smoothed the pillows and the skins in the bed where Björn had lain
-that day, wiped the long-board clean, and laid the bench-cushions
-straight.
-
-When the dogs set up their warning barking, she was standing by the
-fireplace, stirring the supper-porridge. She heard horses in the yard,
-and the tread of men in the outer room; some one knocked on the door
-with a spear-butt. Lady Aashild lifted the pot from the fire, settled
-her dress about her, and, with the dogs at her side, went forward to the
-door and opened.
-
-Out in the moonlit yard were three young men holding four horses white
-with rime. A man that stood before her in the porch cried out joyfully:
-
-“Moster Aashild! come you yourself to open to us? Nay, then must I say
-_Ben trouvè_!”
-
-“Sister’s son, is it you indeed! Then the same say I to you! Go into the
-room, while I show your men the stable.”
-
-“Are you all alone on the farm?” asked Erlend. He followed her while she
-showed the men where to go.
-
-“Aye; Sir Björn and our man are gone into the hills with the sleigh—they
-are to see and bring home some fodder we have stacked up there,” said
-Lady Aashild. “And serving-woman I have none,” she said, laughing.
-
-A little while after, the four young men were sitting on the outer bench
-with their backs to the board, looking at the old lady, as, busily but
-quietly, she went about making ready their supper. She laid a cloth on
-the board, and set on it a lighted candle; then brought forth butter,
-cheese, a bear-ham and a high pile of thin slices of fine bread. She
-fetched ale and mead up from the cellar below the room, and then poured
-out the porridge into a dish of fine wood, and bade them sit in to the
-board and fall to.
-
-“’Tis but little for you young folk,” she said laughing. “I must boil
-another pot of porridge. To-morrow you shall fare better—but I shut up
-the kitchen-house, in the winter save when I bake or brew. We are few
-folks on the farm, and I begin to grow old, kinsman.”
-
-Erlend laughed and shook his head. He had marked that his men behaved
-before the old woman seemly and modestly as he had scarce ever seen them
-bear themselves before.
-
-“You are a strange woman, Moster. Mother was ten years younger than you,
-and she looked older when last we were in your house than you look
-to-day.”
-
-“Aye, Magnhild’s youth left her full early,” said Lady Aashild softly.
-“Where are you come from, now?” she asked after a while.
-
-“I have been for a season at a farmstead up north in Lesja,” said
-Erlend, “I had hired me lodging there. I know not if you can guess what
-errand has brought me to this countryside?”
-
-“You would ask: know I that you have had suit made to Lavrans
-Björgulfsön of Jörundgaard for his daughter?”
-
-“Aye,” said Erlend. “I made suit for her in seemly and honourable wise,
-and Lavrans Björgulfsön answered with a churlish: no. Now see I no
-better way, since Kristin and I will not be forced apart, than that I
-bear her off by the strong hand. I have—I have had a spy in this
-country-side, and I know that her mother was to be at Sundbu at
-Clementsmass and for a while after, and Lavrans is gone to Romsdal with
-the other men to fetch across the winter stores to Sil.”
-
-Lady Aashild sat silent a while:
-
-“That counsel, Erlend, you had best let be,” said she. “I deem not
-either that the maid will go with you willingly; and I trow you would
-not use force?”
-
-“Aye, but she will. We have spoken of it many times—she has prayed me
-herself many times to bear her away.”
-
-“Kristin has—?” said Lady Aashild. Then she laughed: “None the less I
-would not have you make too sure that the maid will follow when you come
-to take her at her word.”
-
-“Aye, but she will,” said Erlend. “And, Moster, my thought was this:
-that you send word to Jörundgaard and bid Kristin come and be your
-guest—a week or so, while her father and mother are from home. Then
-could we be at Hamar before any knew she was gone,” he added.
-
-Lady Aashild answered, still smiling:
-
-“And had you thought as well what we should answer, Sir Björn and I,
-when Lavrans comes and calls us to account for his daughter.”
-
-“Aye,” said Erlend. “We were four well-armed men and the maid was
-willing.”
-
-“I will not help you in this,” said the lady hotly. “Lavrans has been a
-trusty man to us for many a year—he and his wife are honourable folk,
-and I will not be art or part in deceiving them or beshaming their
-child. Leave the maid in peace, Erlend. ’Twill soon be high time, too,
-that your kin should hear of other deeds of yours than running in and
-out of the land with stolen women.”
-
-“I must speak with you alone, lady,” said Erlend, shortly.
-
-Lady Aashild took a candle, led him to the closet, and shut the door
-behind them. She sat herself down on a corn-bin: Erlend stood with his
-hands thrust into his belt, looking down at her.
-
-“You may say this, too, to Lavrans Björgulfsön: that Sira Jon of
-Gerdarud joined us in wedlock ere we went on our way to Lady Ingebjörg
-Haakonsdatter in Sweden.”
-
-“Say you so?” said Lady Aashild. “Are you well assured that Lady
-Ingebjörg will welcome you, when you come thither?”
-
-“I spoke with her at Tunsberg,” said Erlend. “She greeted me as her dear
-kinsman, and thanked me when I proffered her my service either here or
-in Sweden. And Munan hath promised me letters to her.”
-
-“And know you not,” said Aashild, “that even should you find a priest
-that will wed you, yet will Kristin have cast away all right to the
-heritage of her father’s lands and goods? Nor can her children be your
-lawful heirs. Much I doubt if she will be counted as your lawfully
-wedded wife.”
-
-“Not in this land, maybe. ’Tis therefore we fly to Sweden. Her
-forefather, Laurentius Lagmand, was never wed to the Lady Bengta in any
-other sort—they could never win her brother’s consent. Yet was she
-counted as a wedded lady—”
-
-“There were no children,” said Aashild. “Think you my sons will hold
-their hands from your heritage, if Kristin be left a widow with
-children, and their lawful birth can be cast in dispute?”
-
-“You do Munan wrong,” said Erlend. “I know but little of your other
-children—I know indeed that you have little cause to judge them kindly.
-But Munan has ever been my trusty kinsman. He is fain to have me wed;
-’twas he went to Lavrans with my wooing—Besides, afterwards, by course
-of law, I can assure our children their heritage and rights.”
-
-“Aye, and thereby mark their mother as your concubine,” said Lady
-Aashild. “But ’tis past my understanding how that meek and holy man, Jon
-Helgesön, will dare to brave his Bishop by wedding you against the law.”
-
-“I confessed—_all_—to him last summer,” said Erlend in a low voice. “He
-promised then to wed us, if all other ways should fail.”
-
-“Is it even so?” said Lady Aashild, slowly—“A heavy sin have you laid
-upon your soul, Erlend Nikulaussön. ’Twas well with Kristin at home with
-her father and mother—a good marriage was agreed for her with a comely
-and honourable man of good kindred—”
-
-“Kristin hath told me herself how you said once that she and I would
-match well together. And that Simon Andressön was no husband for her—”
-
-“Oh—I have said, and I have said!” Aashild broke in. “I have said so
-many things in my time—Neither can I understand at all that you can have
-gained your will with Kristin so lightly. So many times you cannot have
-met together. And never could I have thought that maid had been so light
-to win—”
-
-“We met at Oslo,” said Erlend. “Afterward she was dwelling out at
-Gerdarud with her father’s brother. She came out and met me in the
-woods.” He looked down and spoke very low: “I had her alone to myself
-out there—”
-
-Lady Aashild started up. Erlend bent his head yet lower.
-
-“And after that—she still was friends with you?” she asked,
-unbelievingly.
-
-“Aye,” Erlend smiled a weak, wavering smile. “We were friends still. And
-’twas not so bitterly against her—but no blame lies on her. ’Twas then
-she would have had me take her away—she was loth to go back to her kin—”
-
-“But you would not?”
-
-“No. I was minded to try to win her for my wife with her father’s will.”
-
-“Is it long since?” asked Lady Aashild.
-
-“’Twas a year last Lawrencemass,” answered Erlend.
-
-“You have not hasted overmuch with your wooing,” said the other.
-
-“She was not free before from her first betrothal.”
-
-“And since then you have not come nigh her?” asked Aashild.
-
-“We managed so that we met once and again.” Once more the wavering smile
-flitted over the man’s face. “In a house in the town.”
-
-“In God’s name!” said Lady Aashild.—“I will help you and her as best I
-may. I can see it well: not long could Kristin bear to live there with
-her father and mother, hiding such a thing as this.—Is there yet more?”
-she asked of a sudden.
-
-“Not that I have heard,” said Erlend shortly.
-
-“Have you bethought you,” asked the lady in a while, “that Kristin has
-friends and kinsmen dwelling all down the Dale?”
-
-“We must journey as secretly as we can,” said Erlend. “And therefore it
-behooves us to make no delay in setting out, that we may be well on the
-way before her father comes home. You must lend us your sleigh, Moster.”
-
-Aashild shrugged her shoulders:
-
-“Then is there her uncle at Skog—what if he hear that you are holding
-your wedding with his brother’s daughter at Gerdarud?”
-
-“Aasmund has spoken for me to Lavrans,” said Erlend. “He would not be
-privy to our counsels, but ’tis like he will wink an eye—we must come to
-the priest by night, and journey onward by night. And afterward, I trow
-well Aasmund will put it to Lavrans that it befits not a God-fearing man
-like him to part them that a priest has wedded—and that ’twill be best
-for him to give his consent, that we may be lawful wedded man and wife.
-And you must say the like to the man, Moster. He may set what terms he
-will for atonement between us, and ask all such amends as he deems
-just.”
-
-“I trow Lavrans Björgulfsön will be no easy man to guide in this
-matter,” said Lady Aashild. “And God and St. Olav know, sister’s son, I
-like this business but ill. But I see well ’tis the last way left you to
-make good the harm you have wrought Kristin. To-morrow will I ride
-myself to Jörundgaard, if so be you will lend me one of your men, and I
-must get Ingrid of the croft above us here to see to my cattle.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Lady Aashild came to Jörundgaard next evening just as the moonlight was
-struggling with the last gleams of day. She saw how pale and
-hollow-cheeked Kristin was, when the girl came out into the courtyard to
-meet her guest.
-
-The Lady sat by the fireplace playing with the two children. Now and
-then she stole keen glances at Kristin, as she went about and set the
-supper-board. Thin she was truly, and still in her bearing. She had ever
-been still, but it was a stillness of another kind that was on the girl
-now. Lady Aashild guessed at all the straining and the stubborn defiance
-that lay behind.
-
-“’Tis like you have heard,” said Kristin, coming over to her, “what
-befell here this last autumn.”
-
-“Aye—that my sister’s son has made suit for you.”
-
-“Mind you,” asked Kristin, “how you said once he and I would match well
-together? Only that he was too rich and great of kin for me?”
-
-“I hear that Lavrans is of another mind,” said the lady drily.
-
-There was a gleam in Kristin’s eyes, and she smiled a little. She will
-do, no question, thought Lady Aashild. Little as she liked it, she must
-hearken to Erlend, and give the helping hand he had asked.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Kristin made ready her parents’ bed for the guest, and Lady Aashild
-asked that the girl should sleep with her. After they had lain down and
-the house was silent, Lady Aashild brought forth her errand.
-
-She grew strangely heavy at heart as she saw that this child seemed to
-think not at all on the sorrow she would bring on her father and mother.
-Yet _I_ lived with Baard for more than twenty years in sorrow and
-torment, she thought. Well, maybe ’tis so with all of us. It seemed
-Kristin had not even seen how Ulvhild had fallen away this autumn—’tis
-little like, thought Aashild, that she will see her little sister any
-more. But she said naught of this—the longer Kristin could hold to this
-mood of wild and reckless gladness, the better would it be, no doubt.
-
-Kristin rose up in the dark, and gathered together her ornaments in a
-little box which she took with her into the bed. Then Lady Aashild could
-not keep herself from saying:
-
-“Yet methinks, Kristin, the best way of all would be that Erlend ride
-hither, when your father comes home—that he confess openly he hath done
-you a great wrong—and put himself in Lavrans’ hands.”
-
-“I trow that, then, father would kill Erlend,” said Kristin.
-
-“That would not Lavrans, if Erlend refuse to draw steel against his
-love’s father.”
-
-“I have no mind that Erlend should be humbled in such wise,” said
-Kristin. “And I would not father should know that Erlend had touched me,
-before he asked for me in seemliness and honour.”
-
-“Think you Lavrans will be less wroth,” asked Aashild, “when he hears
-that you have fled from his house with Erlend; and think you ’twill be a
-lighter sorrow for him to bear? So long as you live with Erlend, and
-your father has not given you to him, you can be naught but his paramour
-before the law.”
-
-“’Tis another thing,” said Kristin, “if I be Erlend’s paramour after he
-has tried in vain to win me for his lawful wife.”
-
-Lady Aashild was silent. She thought of her meeting with Lavrans
-Björgulfsön when he came home and learnt that his daughter had been
-stolen away.
-
-Then Kristin said:
-
-“I see well, Lady Aashild, I seem to you an evil, thankless child. But
-so has it been in this house ever since father came from the Haugathing,
-that every day has been a torment to him and to me. ’Tis best for all
-that there be an end of this matter.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They rode from Jörundgaard betimes the next day, and came to Haugen a
-little after nones. Erlend met them in the courtyard, and Kristin threw
-herself into his arms, paying no heed to the man who was with her and
-Lady Aashild.
-
-In the house she greeted Björn Gunnarsön; and then greeted Erlend’s two
-men, as though she knew them well already. Lady Aashild could see no
-sign in her of bashfulness or fear. And after, when they sat at the
-board, and Erlend set forth his plan, Kristin put her word in with the
-others and gave counsel about the journey: that they should ride forth
-from Haugen next evening so late that they should come to the gorge when
-the moon was setting, and should pass in the dark through Sil to beyond
-Loptsgaard, thence up along the Otta stream to the bridge, and from
-thence along the west side of the Otta and the Laagen over bypaths
-through the waste as far as the horses could bear them. They must lie
-resting through the day at one of the empty spring sæters on the
-hillside there; “for till we are out of the Holledis country there is
-ever fear that we may come upon folk that know me.”
-
-“Have you thought of fodder for the horses?” said Aashild. “You cannot
-rob folks’ sæter in a year like this—even if so be there is fodder
-there—and you know none in all the Dale has fodder to sell this year.”
-
-“I have thought of that,” answered Kristin. “You must lend us three
-days’ food and fodder. ’Tis a reason the more why we must not journey in
-so strong a troop.—Erlend must send Jon back to Husaby. The year has
-been better on the Trondheim side, and surely some loads can be got
-across the hills before the Yule-tide snows. There are some poor folk
-dwelling southward in the parish, Lady Aashild, that I would fain you
-should help with a gift of fodder for Erlend and me.”
-
-Björn set up an uncanny, mirthless horse-laugh. Lady Aashild shook her
-head. But Erlend’s man Ulv lifted his keen, swarthy visage and looked at
-Kristin with his bold smile:
-
-“At Husaby there is never abundance, Kristin Lavransdatter, neither in
-good years nor in bad. But maybe things will be changed when you come to
-be mistress there. By your speech a man would deem you are the housewife
-that Erlend needs.”
-
-Kristin nodded to the man calmly, and went on. They must keep clear of
-the high-road as far as might be. And she deemed it not wise to take the
-way that led through Hamar. But, Erlend put in, Munan was there—and the
-letter to the Duchess they must have.
-
-“Then Ulv must part from us at Fagaberg and ride to Sir Munan, while we
-hold on west of Mjösen and make our way by Land and the by-roads through
-Hadeland down to Hakedal. Thence there goes a waste way south to
-Magretadal, I have heard my uncle say. ’Twere not wise for us to pass
-through Raumarike in these days, when a great wedding-feast is toward at
-Dyfrin,” she said with a smile.
-
-Erlend went round and laid his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned
-back to him, paying no heed to the others who sat by looking on. Lady
-Aashild said angrily:
-
-“None would believe aught else than that you are well-used to running
-away”; and Sir Björn broke again into his horse-laugh.
-
-In a little while Lady Aashild stood up to go to the kitchen-house and
-see to the food. She had made up the kitchen fire so that Erlend’s men
-could sleep there at night. She bade Kristin go with her: “for I must be
-able to swear to Lavrans Björgulfsön that you were never a moment alone
-together in my house,” she said wrathfully.
-
-Kristin laughed and went with the Lady. Soon after, Erlend came
-strolling in after them, drew a stool forward to the hearth, and sat
-there hindering the women in their work. He caught hold of Kristin every
-time she came nigh him, as she hurried about her work. At last he drew
-her down on his knee:
-
-“’Tis even as Ulv said, I trow; you are the housewife I need.”
-
-“Aye, aye,” said Aashild, with a vexed laugh. “She will serve your turn
-well enough. ’Tis she that stakes all in this adventure—you hazard not
-much.”
-
-“You speak truth,” said Erlend. “But I wot well I have shown I had the
-will to come to her by the right road. Be not so angry, Moster Aashild.”
-
-“I do well to be angry,” said the lady. “Scarce have you set your house
-in order, but you must needs guide things so that you have to run from
-it all again with a woman.”
-
-“You must bear in mind, kinswoman—so hath it ever been, that ’twas not
-the worst men who fell into trouble for a woman’s sake—all sagas tell us
-that.”
-
-“Oh, God help us all!” said Aashild. Her face grew young and soft. “That
-tale have I heard before, Erlend,” she laid her hand on his head and
-gave his hair a little tug.
-
-At that moment Ulv Haldorson tore open the door, and shut it quickly
-behind him:
-
-“Here is come yet another guest, Erlend—the one you are least fain to
-see, I trow.”
-
-“Is it Lavrans Björgulfsön?” said Erlend starting up.
-
-“Well if it were,” said the man. “’Tis Eline Ormsdatter.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The door was opened from without; the woman who came in thrust Ulv aside
-and came forward into the light. Kristin looked at Erlend; at first he
-seemed to shrivel and shrink together; then he drew himself up, with a
-dark flush on his face:
-
-“In the devil’s name, where come you from—what would you here?”
-
-Lady Aashild stepped forward and spoke:
-
-“You must come with us to the hall, Eline Ormsdatter. So much manners at
-least we have in this house, that we welcome not our guests in the
-kitchen.”
-
-“I look not, Lady Aashild,” said the other, “to be welcomed as a guest
-by Erlend’s kinsfolk—Asked you from whence I came?—I come from Husaby,
-as you might know, I bear you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are
-well.”
-
-Erlend made no answer.
-
-“When I heard that you had had Gissur Arnfinsön raise money for you, and
-that you were for the south again,” she went on, “I thought ’twas like
-you would bide a while this time with your kinsfolk in Gudbrandsdal. I
-knew that you had made suit for the daughter of a neighbour of theirs.”
-
-She looked across at Kristin for the first time, and met the girl’s
-eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she looked calmly and keenly at the
-other.
-
-She was stony-calm. She had known it from the moment she heard who was
-come—this was the thought she had been fleeing from always; this thought
-it was she had tried to smother under impatience, restlessness and
-defiance; the whole time she had been striving not to think whether
-Erlend had freed himself wholly and fully from his former paramour. Now
-she was overtaken—useless to struggle any more. But she begged not nor
-beseeched for herself.
-
-She saw that Eline Ormsdatter was fair. She was young no longer; but she
-was fair—once she must have been exceeding fair. She had thrown back her
-hood; her head was round as a ball, and hard; the cheekbones stood
-out—but none the less it was plain to see—once she had been very fair.
-Her coif covered but the back part of her head; while she was speaking,
-her hands kept smoothing the waving, bright-gold front-hair beneath the
-linen. Kristin had never seen a woman with such great eyes; they were
-dark brown, round and hard; but under the narrow coal-black eyebrows and
-the long lashes they were strangely beautiful against her golden hair.
-The skin of her cheeks and lips was chafed and raw from her ride in the
-cold, but it could not spoil her much; she was too fair for that. The
-heavy riding-dress covered up her form, but she bore herself in it as
-does only a woman most proud and secure in the glory of a fair body. She
-was scarce as tall as Kristin; but she held herself so well that she
-seemed yet taller than the slender, spare-limbed girl.
-
-“Hath she been with you at Husaby the whole time?” asked Kristin in a
-low voice.
-
-“I have not been at Husaby,” said Erlend curtly, flushing red again. “I
-have dwelt at Hestnæs the most of the summer.”
-
-“Here now are the tidings I came to bring you, Erlend,” said Eline. “You
-need not any longer take shelter with your kinsfolk and try their
-hospitality for that I am keeping your house. Since this autumn I have
-been a widow.” Erlend stood motionless.
-
-“It was not I that bade you come to Husaby last year, to keep my house,”
-said he with effort.
-
-“I heard that all things were going to waste there,” said Eline. “I had
-so much kindness left for you from old days Erlend, that methought I
-should lend a hand to help you—although God knows you have not dealt
-well with our children or with me.”
-
-“For the children I have done what I could,” said Erlend. “And well you
-know, ’twas for their sake I suffered you to live on at Husaby. That you
-profited them or me by it you scarce can think yourself, I trow,” he
-added, smiling scornfully. “Gissur could guide things well enough
-without your help.”
-
-“Aye, you have ever had such mighty trust in Gissur,” said Eline,
-laughing softly. “But now the thing is this, Erlend now I am free. And
-if so be you will, you can keep the promise now you made me once.”
-
-Erlend stood silent.
-
-“Mind you,” asked Eline, “the night I bore your son? You promised then
-that you would wed me when Sigurd died.”
-
-Erlend passed his hand up under his hair, that hung damp with sweat.
-
-“Aye,—I remember,” he said.
-
-“Will you keep that promise now?” asked Eline.
-
-“No,” said Erlend.
-
-Eline Ormsdatter looked across at Kristin—then smiled a little and
-nodded. Then she looked again at Erlend.
-
-“It is ten years since, Eline,” said the man. “And since that time you
-and I have lived together year in year out like two damned souls in
-Hell.”
-
-“But not only so, I trow!” said she with the same smile.
-
-“It is years and years since aught else has been,” said Erlend dully.
-“The children would be none the better off. And you know—you know I can
-scarce bear to be in a room with you any more!” he almost screamed.
-
-“I marked naught of that when you were at home in the summer,” said
-Eline with a meaning smile. “Then we were not unfriends—always.”
-
-“If you deem that we were friends, have it as you will, for me,” said
-Erlend wearily.
-
-“Will you stand here without end?” broke in Lady Aashild. She poured the
-porridge from the pot into two great wooden dishes and gave one to
-Kristin. The girl took it. “Bear it to the hall—and you, Ulv, take the
-other—and set them on the board; supper we must have, whether it be so,
-or so.”
-
-Kristin and the man went out with the dishes. Lady Aashild said to the
-two others:
-
-“Come now, you too; what boots it that you stand here barking at each
-other.”
-
-“’Tis best that Eline and I have our talk out together now,” said
-Erlend.
-
-Lady Aashild said no more, but went out and left them.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-In the hall Kristin had laid the table and fetched ale from the cellar.
-She sat on the outer bench, straight as a wand and calm of face, but she
-ate nothing. Nor had the others much stomach to their food, neither
-Björn nor Erlend’s men. Only the man that had come with Eline and
-Björn’s hired man ate greedily. Lady Aashild sat herself down and ate a
-little of the porridge. No one spoke a word.
-
-At length Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Lady Aashild bade her sit
-between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate a little. Now and
-again a gleam as of a hidden smile flitted across her face, and she
-stole a glance at Kristin.
-
-A while after Lady Aashild went out to the kitchen-house.
-
-The fire on the hearth was almost burnt out. Erlend sat by it on his
-stool, crouched together, his head down between his arms.
-
-Lady Aashild went to him and laid her hand on his shoulder:
-
-“God forgive you, Erlend, that you have brought things to this pass—”
-
-Erlend turned up to her a face besmeared with wretchedness:
-
-“She is with child,” he said, and shut his eyes.
-
-Lady Aashild’s face flamed up, she gripped his shoulder hard:
-
-“Which of them?” she asked, roughly and scornfully.
-
-“My child it is not,” said Erlend, in the same dead voice. “But like
-enough you will not believe me—none will believe me—” he sank together
-again.
-
-Lady Aashild sat down in front of him on the edge of the hearth:
-
-“Now must you try to play the man, Erlend. ’Tis not so easy to believe
-you in this matter. Do you swear it is not yours?”
-
-Erlend lifted his ravaged face:
-
-“As surely as I needed God’s mercy—as surely as I hope—that God in
-Heaven has comforted mother for all she suffered here—I have not touched
-Eline since first I saw Kristin!” He cried out the words, so that Lady
-Aashild had to hush him.
-
-“Then I see not that this is so great a misfortune. You must find out
-who the father is, and make it worth his while to wed her.”
-
-“’Tis in my mind that it is Gissur Arnfinsön—my steward at Husaby,” said
-Erlend wearily. “We talked together last year—and since then
-too—Sigurd’s death has been looked for this long time past. He was
-willing to wed her, when she was a widow, if I would give her a fitting
-portion—”
-
-“Well?” said Lady Aashild. Erlend went on:
-
-“She swears with great oaths she will have none of him. She will name me
-as the father. And if I swear I am not—think you any will believe aught
-but that I am forsworn—?”
-
-“You must sure be able to turn her purpose,” said Lady Aashild. “There
-is no other way now but that you go home with her to Husaby no later
-than to-morrow. And there must you harden your heart and stand firm till
-you have this marriage fixed between your steward and Eline.”
-
-“Aye,” said Erlend. Then he threw himself forward again and groaned
-aloud:
-
-“Can you not see—Moster—what think you Kristin will believe—?”
-
-At night Erlend lay in the kitchen-house with the men. In the hall
-Kristin slept with Lady Aashild in the Lady’s bed, and Eline Ormsdatter
-in the other bed that was there. Björn went out and lay in the stable.
-
-The next morning Kristin went out with Lady Aashild to the byre. While
-the lady went to the kitchen to make ready the breakfast, Kristin bore
-the milk up to the hall.
-
-A candle stood burning on the table. Eline was sitting dressed on the
-edge of her bed. Kristin greeted her silently, then fetched a milk-pan
-and poured the milk into it.
-
-“Will you give me a drink of milk?” asked Eline. Kristin took a wooden
-ladle, filled it and handed it to the other; she drank eagerly, looking
-at Kristin over the rim of the cup.
-
-“So you are that Kristin Lavransdatter, that hath stolen from me
-Erlend’s love,” she said as she gave back the ladle.
-
-“You should know best if there was any love to steal,” said the girl.
-
-Eline bit her lip.
-
-“What will _you_ do,” she said, “if Erlend one day grow weary of you,
-and offer to wed you to his serving-man? Will you do his will in that as
-well?”
-
-Kristin made no answer. Then the other laughed, and said:
-
-“You do his will in all things now, I well believe. What think you,
-Kristin—shall we throw dice for our man, we two paramours of Erlend
-Nikulaussön?” When no answer came, she laughed again and said: “Are you
-so simple, that you deny not you are his paramour?”
-
-“To you I care not to lie,” said Kristin.
-
-“’Twould profit you but little if you did,” answered Eline, still
-laughing. “I know the boy too well. He flew at you like a black-cock, I
-trow, the second time you were together. ’Tis pity of you too, fair
-child that you are.”
-
-Kristin’s cheeks grew white. Sick with loathing, she said low:
-
-“I will not speak with you—”
-
-“Think you he is like to deal with you better than with me,” went on
-Eline. Then Kristin answered sharply:
-
-“No blame will I ever cast on Erlend, whatever he may do. I went astray
-of my own will—I shall not whimper or wail if the path lead out on to
-the rocks—”
-
-Eline was silent for a while. Then she said unsteadily, flushing red:
-
-“_I_ was a maid too, when he came to me Kristin—even though I had been
-wife in name to the old man for seven years. But like enough you could
-never understand what the misery of that life was.”
-
-Kristin began to tremble violently. Eline looked at her. Then from her
-travelling-case that stood by her on the step of the bed, she took a
-little horn. She broke the seal that was on its mouth and said softly:
-
-“You are young and I am old, Kristin. I know well it boots not for me to
-strive against you—your time is now. Will you drink with me, Kristin?”
-
-Kristin did not move. Then the other raised the horn to her own lips;
-but Kristin marked that she did not drink. Eline said:
-
-“So much honour you sure can do me, to drink to me—and promise you will
-not be a hard step-mother to my children?”
-
-Kristin took the horn. At that moment Erlend opened the door. He stood a
-moment, looking from one to the other of the women.
-
-“What is this?” he asked.
-
-Kristin answered, and her voice was wild and piercing:
-
-“We are drinking to each other—we—your paramours—”
-
-He gripped her wrist and took the horn from her.
-
-“Be still,” he said, harshly. “You shall not drink with her.”
-
-“Why not?” cried Kristin as before. “She was pure as I was, when you
-tempted her—”
-
-“That hath she said so often, that I trow she is come to believe it
-herself,” said Erlend. “Mind you, Eline, when you made me go to Sigurd
-with that tale, and he brought forth witness that he had caught you
-before with another man?”
-
-White with loathing, Kristin turned away. Eline had flushed darkly—now
-she said, defiantly:
-
-“Yet will it scarce bring leprosy on the girl, if she drink with me!”
-
-Erlend turned on Eline in wrath—then of a sudden his face seemed to grow
-long and hard as stone, and he gasped with horror:
-
-“Jesus!” he said below his breath. He gripped Eline by the arm:
-
-“Drink to _her_ then,” he said in a harsh and quivering voice. “Drink
-you first; then she shall drink to you.”
-
-Eline wrenched herself away with a groan. She fled backwards through the
-room, the man after her. “Drink,” he said. He snatched the dagger from
-his belt and held it as he followed. “Drink out the drink you have
-brewed for Kristin!” He seized Eline’s arm again and dragged her to the
-table, then forced her head forward toward the horn.
-
-Eline shrieked once and buried her face on her arm. Erlend released her
-and stood trembling.
-
-“A hell was mine with Sigurd,” shrieked Eline. “You—you promised—but you
-have been worst to me of all, Erlend!”
-
-Then came Kristin forward and grasped the horn:
-
-“One of us two must drink—both of us you cannot keep—”
-
-Erlend wrenched the horn from her and flung her from him so that she
-reeled and fell near by Lady Aashild’s bed. Again he pushed the horn
-against Eline Ormsdatter’s mouth—with one knee on the bench he stood by
-her side, and with a hand round her head tried to force the drink
-between her teeth.
-
-She reached out under his arm, snatched his dagger from the table, and
-struck hard at the man. The blow did but scratch his flesh through the
-clothes. Then she turned the point against her own breast, and the
-instant after sank sidelong down into his arms.
-
-Kristin rose and came to them. Erlend was holding Eline, her head
-hanging back over his arm. The rattle came in her throat almost at
-once—blood welled up and ran out of her mouth. She spat some of it out
-and said:
-
-“’Twas for you I meant—that drink—for all the times—you deceived me—”
-
-“Bring Lady Aashild hither,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood
-immovable.
-
-“She is dying,” said Erlend as before.
-
-“Then is she better served than we,” said Kristen. Erlend looked at
-her—the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room.
-
-“What is it?” asked Lady Aashild, when Kristin called her out from the
-kitchen.
-
-“We have killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She is dying—”
-
-Lady Aashild set off running to the hall. But Eline breathed her last as
-the Lady crossed the threshold.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Lady Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench, wiped the blood
-from her face and covered it with the linen of her coif. Erlend stood
-leaning against the wall, behind the body.
-
-“Know you,” said Aashild, “that this was the worst thing that could
-befall?”
-
-She had filled the fireplace with twigs and firewood; now she thrust the
-horn into the midst of them and blew them into a blaze.
-
-“Can you trust your men?” asked the Lady again.
-
-“Ulv and Haftor are trusty, methinks—of Jon and the man with Eline I
-know but little.”
-
-“You know, belike,” said the lady, “should it come out that Kristin and
-you were together here, and that you two were alone with her when she
-died, ’twere as well for Kristin you had let her drink of Eline’s
-brew—And should there be talk of poison, all men will call to mind what
-once was laid to _my_ charge.—Had she any kindred or friends?”
-
-“No,” said Erlend in a low voice. “She had none but me.”
-
-“Yet,” said Lady Aashild again, “it may well be a hard matter to cover
-up this thing and hide the body away, without the ugliest of misthought
-falling on you.”
-
-“She shall rest in hallowed ground,” said Erlend, “if it cost me Husaby.
-What say you Kristin?”
-
-Kristin nodded.
-
-Lady Aashild sat silent. The more she thought, the more hopeless it
-seemed to her to find any way out. In the kitchen-house were four
-men—even if Erlend could bribe them all to keep silence, even if some of
-them, if Eline’s man, could be bribed to leave the country—still, sure
-they could never be. And ’twas known at Jörundgaard that Kristin had
-been here—if Lavrans heard of this, she feared to think what he would
-do. And how to bear the dead woman hence. The mountain path to the west
-was not to be thought of now—there was the road to Romsdal, or over the
-hills to Trondheim, or south down the Dale. And should the truth come
-out, it would never be believed—even if folk let it pass for true.
-
-“I must take counsel with Björn in this matter,” she said, and rose and
-went out to call him.
-
-Björn Gunnarsön listened to his wife’s story without moving a muscle and
-without withdrawing his eyes from Erlend’s face.
-
-“Björn,” said Aashild desperately. “There is naught for it but that one
-must swear he saw her lay hands upon herself.”
-
-Björn’s dead eyes grew slowly dark, as life came into them; he looked at
-his wife, and his mouth drew aside into a crooked smile:
-
-“And you mean that I should be the one?”
-
-Lady Aashild crushed her hands together and lifted them towards him:
-
-“Björn, you know well what it means for these two—”
-
-“And you think that, whether or no, ’tis all over with me?” he said
-slowly. “Or think you there is so much left of the man I once was that I
-dare be forsworn to save that boy there from going down to ruin? I that
-was dragged down myself—all those years ago. Dragged down, I say,” he
-repeated.
-
-“You say it because I am old now,” whispered Aashild.
-
-Kristin burst out into such weeping that the piercing sound filled the
-room. She had sat in the corner by Aashild’s bed, stark and silent. Now
-she began weeping wildly and loud. It was as though Lady Aashild’s voice
-had torn her heart open. The voice had been heavy with the memories of
-the sweetness of love; it was as though its sound had made her
-understand for the first time what her love and Erlend’s had been. The
-memory of hot and passionate happiness swept over all else—swept away
-the hard despair and hatred of last night. All she knew of now was her
-love and her will to hold out.
-
-They looked at her—all three. Then Sir Björn went across and lifted her
-chin with his hand and looked at her:
-
-“Say _you_, Kristin, she did it herself?”
-
-“Every word you have heard is true,” said Kristin firmly. “We threatened
-her till she did it.”
-
-“She had meant Kristin should suffer a worst fate,” said Aashild.
-
-Sir Björn let go the girl. He went over to the body, lifted it up into
-the bed where Eline had lain the night before, and laid it close to the
-wall, drawing up the coverings well over it:
-
-“Jon and the man you do not know you must send home to Husaby, with word
-that Eline is journeying south with you. Let them ride at midday. Say
-that the women are asleep in the hall; they must take their food in the
-kitchen. Afterward you must speak with Ulv and Haftor. Hath she
-threatened before to do this? So that you can bring witness to it, if
-such question should be asked?”
-
-“Every soul that was at Husaby the last years we lived together there,”
-said Erlend wearily, “can witness that she threatened to take her own
-life—and mine too sometimes—when I spoke of parting from her.”
-
-Björn laughed harshly:
-
-“I thought as much. To-night we must clothe her in her riding-coats and
-set her in the sleigh. You must sit beside her—”
-
-Erlend swayed on his feet where he stood:
-
-“I cannot!”
-
-“God knows how much manhood will be left in _you_ when you have gone
-your own gait twenty years more,” said Björn. “Think you, then, you can
-drive the sleigh? For then will I sit beside her. We must travel by
-night and by lonely paths, till we are come down to Fron. In this cold
-none can know how long she has been dead. We will drive in to the monk’s
-Hospice at Roaldstad. There will you and I bear witness that you two
-were together in the sleigh, and it came to bitter words betwixt you.
-There is witness enough that you would not live with her since the ban
-was taken off you, and that you have made suit for a maiden of birth
-that fits your own. Ulv and Haftor must hold themselves aloof the whole
-way, so they can swear, if need be, she was alive when last they saw
-her. You can bring them to do so much, I trow? At the monastery you can
-have the monks lay her in her coffin—and afterward you must bargain with
-the priests for grave-peace for her and soul’s peace for yourself.—Aye,
-a fair deed it is not? But so as you have guided things, no fairer can
-it be. Stand not there like a breeding woman ready to swoon away. God
-help you, boy, a man can see _you_ have not proved before what ’tis to
-feel the knife-edge at your throat.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-A biting blast came rushing down from the mountains, driving a fine
-silvery smoke from the snow-wreaths up into the moon-blue air, as the
-men made ready to drive away.
-
-Two horses were harnessed, one in front of the other. Erlend sat in the
-front of the sleigh. Kristin went up to him:
-
-“This time, Erlend, you must try to send me word how this journey goes,
-and what becomes of you after.”
-
-He crushed her hand till she thought the blood must be driven out from
-under the nails.
-
-“Dare you still hold fast to me, Kristin?”
-
-“Aye, still,” she said; and after a moment—: “Of this deed we are both
-guilty—I egged you on—for I willed her death.”
-
-Lady Aashild and Kristin stood and looked after the sleigh, as it rose
-and dipped over the snow-drifts. It went down from sight into a
-hollow—then came forth again farther down on a snow-slope. And then the
-men passed into the shadow of a fell, and were gone from sight for good.
-
-The two women sat by the fireplace, their backs to the empty bed, from
-which Aashild had borne away all the bedding and straw. Both could feel
-it standing there empty and gaping behind them.
-
-“Would you rather that we should sleep in the kitchen-house to-night,”
-asked Lady Aashild at length.
-
-“’Tis like it will be the same wherever we lie,” said Kristin.
-
-Lady Aashild went out to look at the weather.
-
-“Aye, should the wind get up or a thaw come on, they will not journey
-far before it comes out,” said Kristin.
-
-“Here at Haugen it blows ever,” answered Lady Aashild. “’Tis no sign of
-a change of weather.”
-
-They sat on as before.
-
-“You should not forget,” said the Lady at last, “what fate she had meant
-for you two.”
-
-Kristin answered low:
-
-“I was thinking, maybe in her place I had willed the same.”
-
-“Never would you have willed another should be a leper,” said Aashild,
-vehemently.
-
-“Mind you, Moster, you said to me once that ’tis well when we dare not
-do a thing we think is not good and fair; but not so well when we think
-a thing not good and fair because we dare not do it?”
-
-“You had not dared to do it, because ’twas sin,” said Lady Aashild.
-
-“No, I believe not so,” said Kristin. “Much have I done already that I
-deemed once I dared not to do because ’twas sin. But I saw not till now
-what sin brings with it—that we must tread others underfoot.”
-
-“Erlend would fain have made an end of his ill life long before he met
-you,” said Aashild eagerly. “All was over between those two.”
-
-“I know it,” said Kristin. “But I trow she had never cause to deem
-Erlend’s purposes so firm that she could not shake them.”
-
-“Kristin,” begged the lady fearfully, “surely you would not give up
-Erlend now? You cannot be saved now except you save each other.”
-
-“So would a priest scorn counsel,” said Kristin, smiling coldly. “But
-well I know that never can I give up Erlend now—not if I should tread my
-own father underfoot.”
-
-Lady Aashild rose:
-
-“We had as well put our hands to some work as sit here thus,” she said.
-“Like enough ’twould be vain for us to try to sleep.”
-
-She fetched the butter-churn from the closet, then bore in some pans of
-milk, filled the churn and made ready to begin churning.
-
-“Let me do it,” Kristin asked. “My back is younger.”
-
-They worked without speaking; Kristin stood by the closet-door churning,
-while Aashild carded wool by the hearth. At last, when Kristin had
-emptied the churn and was kneading the butter, the girl asked of a
-sudden:
-
-“Moster Aashild—are you never afraid of the day when you must stand
-before God’s judgment?”
-
-Lady Aashild rose, and came and stood before Kristin in the light:
-
-“It may be I shall find courage to ask Him that hath made me as I am, if
-He will have mercy on me in His own good time. For I have never begged
-for His mercy when I broke His commands. And never have I begged God or
-man to forgive me a farthing of the price I have paid here in this
-mountain hut.”
-
-A little while after she said softly:
-
-“Munan, my eldest son, was twenty years old. He was not such an one
-then, as I know he is now. They were not such ones then, my children—”
-
-Kristin answered low:
-
-“But yet have you had Sir Björn by your side each day and each night in
-all these years.”
-
-“Aye—that too have I had,” said Aashild.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-In a little while after, Kristin was done with the butter-making. Lady
-Aashild said then that they must lie down and try to sleep a little.
-
-Inside, in the dark bed, she laid her arm round Kristin’s shoulders, and
-drew the young head in to her breast. And it was not long before she
-heard by her even gentle breathing that Kristin was fallen asleep.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   4
-
-The frost held on. In every byre in the parish the half-starved beasts
-bellowed dolefully with hunger and cold. Already the farmers were
-skimping and saving on their fodder, every straw they could.
-
-There was little visiting round at Yule this year; folks stayed quiet in
-their own homes.
-
-During Yule-tide the cold grew greater—it was as though each day was
-colder than the last. Scarce anyone could call to mind so hard a
-winter—there came no more snow, not even up in the mountains; but the
-snow that had fallen at Clementsmass froze hard as a stone. The sun
-shone from a clear sky, now the days began to grow lighter. At night the
-northern lights flickered and flamed above the range to the north—they
-flamed over half the heaven, but they brought no change of weather; now
-and again would come a cloudy day, and a little dry snow would sprinkle
-down—and then came clear weather again and biting cold. The Laagen
-muttered and gurgled sluggishly under its ice-bridges.
-
-Kristin thought each morning that she could bear no more, that she could
-never hold out to the day’s end. For each day she felt was as a duel
-between her and her father. And _could_ they be against each other so,
-when every living being in the parish, man and beast, was suffering
-under one common trial?—But still, when the evening came, she had held
-out one day more.
-
-It was not that her father was unfriendly. They spoke no word of what
-was between them, but she felt, behind all that he did not say, his firm
-unbending will to hold fast to his denial.
-
-And her heart ached within her for the lack of his friendship. The ache
-was so dreadful in its keenness, because she knew how much else her
-father had on his shoulders—and had things been as before, he would have
-talked with her of it all—It was indeed so, that at Jörundgaard they
-were in better case than most other places; but here, too, they felt the
-pinch of the year each day and each hour. Other years it had been
-Lavrans’ wont in the winters to handle and break in his young colts; but
-this year he had sent them all south in the autumn and sold them. And
-his daughter missed the sound of his voice out in the courtyard, and the
-sight of him struggling with the slender, ragged two-year-olds in the
-game he loved so well. Storehouses and barns and bins at Jörundgaard
-were not bare yet—there was store left from the harvest of the year
-before—but many folk came to ask for help—to buy, or to beg for
-gifts—and none ever asked in vain.
-
-Late one evening came a huge old skin-clad man on ski. Lavrans talked
-with him out in the courtyard, and Halvdan bore food across to the
-hearth-room for him. None on the place who had seen him knew who he
-was—he might well be one of those wild folk who lived far in among the
-fells; like enough Lavrans had come upon him in there. But Lavrans said
-naught of the visitor, nor Halvdan either.
-
-But one evening came a man whom Lavrans Björgulfsön had been at odds
-with for many years. Lavrans went to the storeroom with him. When he
-came back to the hall again he said:
-
-“They come to me for help, every man of them. But here in my own house
-you are all against me. You, too, wife,” he said hotly.
-
-The mother flamed up at Kristin:
-
-“Hear you what your father says to me! No, I am not against you,
-Lavrans. I know—and I wot well you know it too, Kristin—what befell away
-south at Roaldstad late in the autumn, when he journeyed down the Dale
-with that other adulterer, his kinsman of Hauges—she took her own life,
-the unhappy woman he had lured away from all her kin.”
-
-Kristin stood with a hard, frozen face:
-
-“I see that ’tis all one—you blame him as much for the years he has
-striven to free himself from sin, as for the years he lived in it.”
-
-“Jesus, Maria!” cried Ragnfrid, clasping her hands together: “What is
-come to you! Has even this not availed to change your heart?”
-
-“No,” said Kristin. “I have not changed.”
-
-Then Lavrans looked up from the bench where he sat by Ulvhild:
-
-“Neither have I changed, Kristin,” he said in a low voice.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-But Kristin felt within her that in a manner she was changed, in
-thoughts if not in heart. She had had tidings of how it had fared with
-them on that dreadful journey. As things fell out it had gone off more
-easily than they looked it should. Whether the cold had got into the
-hurt or whatever the cause might be, the knife-wound in Erlend’s breast
-had festered, and constrained him to lie sick some while in the hospice
-at Roaldstad, Sir Björn tending him. But that Erlend was wounded made it
-easier to win belief for their tale of how that other thing had
-befallen.
-
-When he was fit to journey on, he had taken the dead woman with him in a
-coffin all the way to Oslo. There, by Sira Jon’s help, he had won for
-her Christian burial in the churchyard of the old Church of St. Nikolaus
-that had been pulled down. Then had he made confession to the Bishop of
-Oslo himself, and the Bishop had laid on him as penance to go on
-pilgrimage to the Holy Blood at Schwerin. Now was he gone out of the
-land.
-
-_She_ could not make pilgrimage to any place on earth, and find
-absolution. For her there was naught but to sit here and wait and think,
-and strive to hold out in the struggle with her father and mother. A
-strange wintery-cold light fell on all her memories of meetings with
-Erlend. She thought of his vehemency—in love and in grief—and it was
-borne in on her that had she been able, like him, to take up all things
-of a sudden, and straightway rush forward with them, headlong,
-afterwards maybe they might have seemed less fearful and heavy to bear.
-At times, too, she would think: maybe Erlend will give me up. It seemed
-to her she must always have had a little, lurking fear that if things
-grew too hard for them he would fail her. But she would never give _him_
-up, unless he himself loosed her from all vows.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-So the winter dragged on toward its end. And Kristin could not cheat
-herself any more; she had to see that the hardest trial of all lay
-before them—that Ulvhild had not long to live. And in the midst of her
-bitter sorrow for her sister she saw with horror that truly her own soul
-was wildered and eaten away with sin. For, with the dying child and the
-parents’ unspeakable sorrow before her eyes, she was still brooding on
-this one thing—if Ulvhild dies, how can I bear to look at my father and
-not throw myself at his feet and confess all and beseech him to forgive
-me—and command me—.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They were come far on in the long fast. Folks had begun slaughtering the
-small stock they had hoped to save alive, for fear they should die of
-themselves. And the people themselves sickened and pined from living on
-fish, with naught besides but a little wretched meal and flour. Sira
-Eirik gave leave to the whole parish to eat milk food if they would. But
-few of the folk could come by a drop of milk.
-
-Ulvhild lay in bed. She lay alone in the sisters’ bed, and someone
-watched by her each night. It chanced sometimes that both Kristin and
-her father would be sitting by her. On such a night Lavrans said to his
-daughter:
-
-“Mind you what Brother Edwin said that time about Ulvhild’s lot? Even
-then the thought came to me that maybe he meant this. But I thrust it
-from me then.”
-
-Sometimes in these nights he would speak of this thing and that from the
-time when the children were small. Kristin sat there, white and
-desperate—she knew that behind the words her father was beseeching her.
-
-One day Lavrans had gone with Kolbein to hunt out a bear’s winter lair
-in the wooded hills to the north. They came home with a she-bear on a
-sledge, and Lavrans brought with him a living bear-cub in the bosom of
-his coat. Ulvhild brightened a little when he showed it to her. But
-Ragnfrid said that was surely no time to rear up such a beast—what would
-he do with it at a time like this?
-
-“I will rear it up and bind it before my daughters’ bower,” said
-Lavrans, laughing harshly.
-
-But they could not get for the cub the rich milk it needed, and Lavrans
-had to kill it a few days after.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The sun had gained so much strength now that sometimes, at midday, the
-roofs would drip a little. The titmice clambered about, clinging on the
-sunny side of the timber walls, and pecked till the wood rang, digging
-for the flies sleeping in the cracks. Over the rolling fields around,
-the snow shone hard and bright as silver.
-
-At last one evening clouds began to draw together over the moon. And the
-next morning the folks at Jörundgaard woke in the midst of a whirling
-world of snow that shut in their sight on every hand.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-That day they knew that Ulvhild was dying.
-
-All the house-folk were indoors, and Sira Eirik came over to them. Many
-candles were burning in the hall. Early in the evening Ulvhild passed
-away, quietly and peacefully, in her mother’s arms.
-
-Ragnfrid bore it better than any had thought possible. The father and
-mother sat together; both were weeping very quietly. All in the room
-were weeping. When Kristin went across to her father, he laid his arm
-round her shoulders. He felt how she shook and trembled, and he drew her
-close in to him. But to her it seemed that he must feel as if she were
-further from him far than the dead child in the bed.
-
-She understood not how it was that she still held out. She scarce
-remembered herself what it was she held out for; but, lulled and dumb
-with grief as she was, she held herself up and did not yield—
-
-—A few planks were torn up from the church floor in front of St.
-Thomas’s shrine, and a grave was hewn in the stone-hard ground beneath
-for Ulvhild Lavransdatter.
-
-It was snowing thick and silently all through those days, while the
-child lay in the dead-straw; it was snowing still when she was borne to
-the grave; and it went on snowing, almost without cease, till a whole
-month was out.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-To the folk of the Dale, waiting and waiting for the spring to deliver
-them, it seemed as though it would never come. The days grew long and
-light, and the steam-cloud from the melting snow lay on all the valley
-as long as the sun shone. But the cold still held the air, and there was
-no strength in the heat to overcome it. By night it froze hard—there was
-loud cracking from the ice, there were booming sounds from the distant
-fells; and the wolves howled and the fox barked down among the farms as
-at midwinter. Men stripped the bark from the trees for their cattle, but
-they dropped down dead in their stalls by scores. None could tell how
-all this was to end.
-
-Kristin went out on such a day, when water was trickling in the ruts and
-the snow on the fields around glistened like silver. The snow-wreaths
-had been eaten away hollow on the side toward the sun, so that the fine
-ice-trellis of the snow-crust edges broke with a silver tinkle when her
-foot touched them. But everywhere, where the smallest shadow fell, the
-sharp cold held the air and the snow was hard.
-
-She went upward towards the church—she knew not herself what she went to
-do, but something drew her there. Her father was there—some of the
-free-holders, guild-brothers, were to meet in the cloister-way, she
-knew.
-
-Half-way up the hill she met the troop of farmers, coming down. Sira
-Eirik was with them. The men were all on foot; they walked stoopingly in
-a dark, shaggy knot, and spoke no word together. They gave back her
-greeting sullenly, as she went by them.
-
-Kristin thought how far away the time was when every soul in the parish
-had been her friend. Like enough all men knew now that she was a bad
-daughter. Perhaps they knew yet more about her. It might well be that
-all believed now there had been some truth in the old talk about her and
-Arne and Bentein. It might be that she had fallen into the worst
-ill-fame. She held her head high and passed on toward the church.
-
-The door stood ajar. It was cold in the church, yet was it as though a
-mild warmth streamed into her heart from the brown dusky hall with the
-high, upspringing pillars holding up the darkness under the roof-beams.
-There was no light on the altars, but a ray of sun shone in through a
-chink of the door and gleamed faintly back from the pictures and the
-holy vessels.
-
-Far in before the altar of St. Thomas she saw her father kneeling with
-head bent forward on his folded hands, which held his cap crushed to his
-breast.
-
-Shrinking back in fear and sadness, Kristin stole out and stood in the
-cloister-way, with her hands about two of its small pillars. Framed in
-the arch between them she saw Jörundgaard lying below, and behind her
-home the pale-blue haze that filled the valley. Where the river lay
-stretched through the country-side its ice and water sent out white
-sparkles in the sunshine. But the alder thickets along its bed were
-yellow-brown with blossom, even the pine-wood up by the church was
-tinged with spring green, and there was a piping and twittering and
-whistling of little birds in the grove near by. Aye, there had been
-bird-song like this each evening after the sun was down.
-
-And she felt that the longing she thought must have been racked out of
-her long since, the longing in her body and her blood, was stirring now
-again, faintly and feebly, as about to waken from a winter sleep.
-
-Lavrans Björgulfsön came out and locked the church-door behind him. He
-came and stood by his daughter, looking out through the arch next to
-her. She saw how the winter gone by had harrowed her father’s face. She
-understood not herself how she could touch now on what was between them,
-but the words seemed to rush out of themselves:
-
-“Is it true, what mother told me the other day—that you said to her: had
-it been Arne Gyrdsön you would have given me my will?”
-
-“Aye,” said Lavrans, not looking at her.
-
-“You said not so while yet Arne lived,” said Kristin.
-
-“It never came in question. I saw well enough that the boy held you
-dear—but he said nothing—and he was young—and I marked not ever that you
-had such thoughts towards him. You could scarce think I would _proffer_
-my daughter to a man of no estate?” he smiled slightly. “But I loved the
-boy,” he said in a low voice; “and had I seen you pining for love of
-him—”
-
-They stood still, gazing. Kristin felt that her father was looking at
-her—she strove hard to be calm of face, but she felt herself grow deadly
-white. Then her father came towards her, put both his arms around her
-and pressed her strongly to him. He bent her head backwards, looked down
-into his daughter’s face, and then hid it again on his shoulder.
-
-“Jesus Kristus, little Kristin, are you _so_ unhappy—?”
-
-“I think I shall die of it, father,” she said, her face pressed to him.
-
-She burst into weeping. But she wept because she had felt in his caress
-and seen in his eyes that now he was so worn out with pain that he could
-not hold out against her any more. She had overcome him.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Far on in the night she was wakened in the dark by her father’s touch on
-her shoulder.
-
-“Get up,” he said softly. “Do you hear—?”
-
-She heard the singing of the wind round the house-corners—the deep, full
-note of the south-wind, heavy with wetness. Streams were pouring from
-the roof; there was the whisper of rain falling on soft melting snow.
-
-Kristin flung her dress on her back and went after her father to the
-outer door. They stood together looking out into the twilight of the May
-night—warm wind and rain smote against them—the heavens were a welter of
-tangled drifting rain-clouds, the woods roared, the wind whistled
-between the houses, and from far up in the fells they heard the dull
-boom of snow-masses falling.
-
-Kristin felt for her father’s hand and held it. He had called her that
-he might show her this. So had it been between them before, that he
-would have done this; and so it was now again.
-
-When they went in to bed again, Lavrans said:
-
-“The stranger serving-man that came last week brought me letters from
-Sir Munan Baardsön. He is minded to come up the Dale to our parts next
-summer to see his mother; and he asked if he might meet me and have
-speech with me.”
-
-“What will you answer him, my father?” she whispered.
-
-“That can I not tell you now,” said Lavrans. “But I will speak with him;
-and then must I order this matter so as I may deem I can answer it to
-God, my daughter.”
-
-Kristin crept in again beside Ramborg, and Lavrans went and lay down by
-the side of his sleeping wife. He lay thinking that if the flood came
-over-sudden and strong there were few places in the parish that lay so
-much in its path as Jörundgaard. Folk said there was a prophecy that
-some day the river would carry it away.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   5
-
-Spring came at a single bound. Only a few days after the sudden thaw the
-whole parish lay dark brown under the flooding rain. The waters rushed
-foaming down the hillsides, the river swelled up and lay in the
-valley-bottom, like a great leaden-grey lake, with lines of tree-tops
-floating on its waters and a treacherous bubbling furrow where the
-current ran. At Jörundgaard the water stood far up over the fields. But
-everywhere the mischief done was less than folk had feared.
-
-Of necessity the spring work was thrown late, and the people sowed their
-scanty corn with prayers to God that He would save it from the
-night-frosts in autumn. And it looked as though He would hearken to them
-and a little ease their burdens. June came in with mild, growing
-weather, the summer was good, and folk set their faces forward in hope
-that the marks of the evil year might be wiped out in time.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The hay harvest had been got in, when one evening four men rode up to
-Jörundgaard. First came two knights, and behind them their serving-men;
-and the knights were Sir Munan Baardsön and Sir Baard Petersön of
-Hestnæs.
-
-Ragnfrid and Lavrans had the board spread in the upper hall, and beds
-made ready in the guest-room over the store-house. But Lavrans begged
-the knights to tarry with their errand till the next day, when they
-should be rested from their journey.
-
-Sir Munan led the talk throughout the meal; he turned much to Kristin in
-talking, and spoke as if he and she were well-acquainted. She saw that
-this was not to her father’s liking. Sir Munan was square-built,
-red-faced, ugly, talkative, and something of a buffoon in his bearing.
-People called him Dumpy Munan or Dance Munan. But for all his flighty
-bearing Lady Aashild’s son was a man of understanding and parts, who had
-been used by the Crown more than once in matters of trust, and was known
-to have a word in the counsels of them that guided the affairs of the
-kingdom. He held his mother’s heritage in the Skogheim Hundred; was
-exceeding rich, and had made a rich marriage. Lady Katrin, his wife, was
-hard-featured beyond the common, and seldom opened her mouth; but her
-husband ever spoke of her as if she were the wisest of dames, so that
-she was known in jest as Lady Katrin the Ready-witted, or the
-Silver-tongued. They seemed to live with each other well and lovingly,
-though Sir Munan was known all too well for the looseness of his life
-both before and after his marriage.
-
-Sir Baard Petersön was a comely and a stately old man, even though now
-somewhat ample of girth and heavy-limbed. His hair and beard were faded
-now, but their hue was still as much yellow as ’twas white. Since King
-Magnus Haakonsön’s death he had lived retired, managing his great
-possessions in Nordmöre. He was a widower for the second time, and had
-many children, who, it was said, were all comely, well-nurtured and
-well-to-do.
-
-The next day Lavrans and his guests went up to the upper hall for their
-parley. Lavrans would have had his wife be present with them, but she
-would not:
-
-“This matter must be in your hands wholly. You know well ’twill be the
-heaviest of sorrows for our daughter if it should come to naught; but I
-see well that there are but too many things that may make against this
-marriage.”
-
-Sir Munan brought forth a letter from Erlend Nikulaussön. Erlend’s
-proffer was that Lavrans should fix, himself, each and all of the
-conditions, if he would betroth his daughter Kristin to him. Erlend was
-willing to have all his possessions valued and his incomings appraised
-by impartial men, and to grant to Kristin such extra-gift and
-morning-gift, that she would possess a third of all his estate besides
-her own dowry and all such heritage as might come to her from her kin,
-should she be left a widow without living children. Further his proffer
-was to grant Kristin full power to deal at her pleasure with her share
-of the common estate, both what she had of her own kindred and what came
-to her from her husband. But if Lavrans wished for other terms of
-settlement, Erlend was most willing to hear his wishes and to follow
-them in all things. To one thing only he asked that Kristin’s kindred,
-on their side, should bind themselves: that, should the guardianship of
-his children and Kristin’s ever come to them, they would never try to
-set aside the gifts he had made to his children by Eline Ormsdatter, but
-would let all such gifts hold good, as having passed from his estate
-before his entry into wedlock with Kristin Lavransdatter. At the end of
-all Erlend made proffer to hold the wedding in all seemly state at
-Husaby.
-
-Lavrans spoke in reply:
-
-“This is a fair proffer. I see by it that your kinsman has it much at
-heart to come to terms with me. All the more is this plain to me by
-reason that he has moved you, Sir Munan, to come for the second time on
-such an errand to a man like me, who am of little weight beyond my own
-country-side; and that a knight like you, Sir Baard, hath been at the
-pains of making such a journey to further his cause. But concerning
-Erlend’s proffer I would say this: my daughter has not been bred up to
-deal herself with the ordering of goods and gear, but I have ever hoped
-to give her to such a man as that I could lay the maid’s welfare in his
-hands with an easy mind. I know not, indeed, whether Kristin be fit to
-be set in such authority, but I can scarce believe that ’twould be for
-her good. She is mild of mood and biddable—and ’twas one of the reasons
-I have had in mind in setting myself against this marriage, that ’tis
-known Erlend has shown want of understanding in more matters than one.
-Had she been a power-loving, bold and head-strong woman, then indeed the
-matter had taken on another face.”
-
-Sir Munan burst out laughing:
-
-“Dear Lavrans, lament you that the maid is not head-strong enough—?” and
-Sir Baard said with a little smile:
-
-“Methinks your daughter has shown that she lacks not a will of her
-own—for two years now she has held to Erlend clean against your will.”
-
-Lavrans said:
-
-“I have not forgotten it; yet do I know well what I say. She has
-suffered sorely herself all this time she has stood against me; nor will
-she long be glad with a husband who cannot rule her.”
-
-“Nay then the devil’s in it!” said Sir Munan. “Then must your daughter
-be far unlike all the women I have known; for I have never seen _one_
-that was not fain to rule herself—and her man to boot!”
-
-Lavrans shrugged his shoulders and made no answer.
-
-Then said Baard Petersön:
-
-“I can well believe, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that you have found this
-marriage between your daughter and my foster-son no more to your liking,
-since the woman who had lived with him came to the end we know of last
-year. But you must know it has come out now that the unhappy woman had
-let herself be led astray by another man, Erlend’s steward at Husaby.
-Erlend knew of this when he went with her down the Dale; he had
-proffered to portion her fittingly, if the man would wed her.”
-
-“Are you well assured that this is so?” asked Lavrans. “And yet I know
-not,” he said again, “if the thing is anyway bettered thereby. Hard must
-it be for a woman come of good kindred to go into a house hand and hand
-with the master, and be led out by the serving-man.”
-
-Munan Baardsön took the word:
-
-“’Tis plain to me, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that what goes against my cousin
-most with you, is that he has had these hapless dealings with Sigurd
-Saksulvsön’s wife. And true it is that ’twas not well done of him. But
-in God’s name, man, you must remember this—here was this young boy
-dwelling in one house with a young and fair woman, and she had an old,
-cold, strengthless husband—and the night is a half-year long up there:
-methinks a man could scarce look for aught else to happen, unless Erlend
-had been a very saint. There is no denying it: Erlend had made at all
-times but a sorry monk; but methinks your young, fair daughter would
-give you little thanks, should you give her a monkish husband.—True it
-is that Erlend bore himself like a fool then, and a yet greater fool
-since—But the thing should not stand against him for ever—we his kinsmen
-have striven to help the boy to his feet again; the woman is dead; and
-Erlend has done all in his power to care for her body and her soul; the
-Bishop of Oslo himself hath absolved him of his sin, and now is he come
-home again made clean by the Holy Blood at Schwerin—would you be
-stricter than the Bishop of Oslo, and the Archbishop at Schwerin—or
-whoever it may be that hath charge of that precious blood—?
-
-“Dear Lavrans, true it is that chastity is a fair thing indeed; but ’tis
-verily hard for a grown man to attain to it without a special gift of
-grace from God. By St. Olav—Aye, and you should remember too that the
-Holy King himself was not granted that gift till his life here below was
-drawing to an end—very like ’twas God’s will that he should first beget
-that doughty youth King Magnus, who smote down the heathen when they
-raged against the Nordlands. I wot well King Olav had that son by
-another than his Queen—yet doth he sit amidst the highest saints in the
-host of heaven. Aye, I can see in your face that you deem this unseemly
-talk—”
-
-Sir Baard broke in:
-
-“Lavrans Björgulfsön, I liked this matter no better than you, when first
-Erlend came to me and said he had set his heart on a maid that was
-handfast to another. But since then I have come to know that there is so
-great kindness between these two young folk, that ’twould be great pity
-to part their loves. Erlend was with me at the last Yule-tide feasting
-King Haakon held for his men—they met together there, and scarce had
-they seen each other when your daughter swooned away and lay a long
-while as one dead—and I saw in my foster-son’s face that he would rather
-lose his life than lose her.”
-
-Lavrans sat still awhile before answering:
-
-“Aye; all such things sound fair and fine when a man hears them told in
-a knightly saga of the Southlands. But we are not in Bretland here, and
-’tis like you too would ask more in the man you would choose for
-son-in-law than that he had brought your daughter to swoon away for love
-in all folk’s sight—”
-
-The two others were silent, and Lavrans went on:
-
-“’Tis in my mind, good Sirs, that had Erlend Nikulaussön not made great
-waste both of his goods and of his fame, you would scarce be sitting
-here pleading so strongly with a man of my estate that I should give my
-daughter to him. But I would be loth it should be said of Kristin that
-’twas an honour for her to wed a great estate and a man from amongst the
-highest in the land—after the man had so beshamed himself, that he could
-not look to make a better match, or keep undiminished the honour of his
-house.”
-
-He rose in heat, and began walking to and fro.
-
-But Sir Munan started up:
-
-“Now, before God, Lavrans, if the talk is of shame, I would have you
-know you are over-proud in—”
-
-Sir Baard broke in quickly, going up to Lavrans:
-
-“Proud you are, Lavrans—you are like those udal farmers we have heard of
-in olden times, who would have naught to do with the titles the Kings
-would have given them, because their pride could not brook that folk
-should say they owed thanks to any but themselves. I tell you, that were
-Erlend still master of all the honour and riches the boy was born to,
-yet would I never deem that I demeaned him or myself in asking a
-well-born and wealthy man to give his daughter to my foster-son, if I
-knew that the two young creatures might break their hearts if they
-parted. And the rather,” he said in a low voice, laying his hand on
-Lavrans’ shoulder, “if so it were that ’twould be best for the souls of
-both they should wed each other.”
-
-Lavrans drew away from the other’s hand; his face grew set and cold:
-
-“I scarce believe I understand your meaning, Sir Knight?”
-
-The two men looked at each other for a space; then Sir Baard said:
-
-“I mean that Erlend has told me, they two have sworn troth to each other
-with the dearest oaths. Maybe you would say that you have power to loose
-your child from her oath, since she swore without your will. But Erlend
-you cannot loose.—And for aught I can see what most stands in the road
-is your pride—and the hate you bear to sin. But in that ’tis to me as
-though you were minded to be stricter than God himself, Lavrans
-Björgulfsön.”
-
-Lavrans answered somewhat uncertainly:
-
-“It may be there is truth in this that you say to me, Sir Baard. But
-what most has set me against this match is that I have deemed Erlend to
-be so unsure a man that I could not trust my daughter to his hands.”
-
-“Methinks I can answer for my foster-son now,” said Baard quietly.
-“Kristin is so dear to him that I know, if you will give her to him, he
-will prove in the event such a son-in-law that you shall have no cause
-of grief.”
-
-Lavrans did not answer at once. Then Sir Baard said earnestly, holding
-out his hand:
-
-“In God’s name, Lavrans Björgulfsön, give your consent!”
-
-Lavrans laid his hand in Sir Baard’s:
-
-“In God’s name!”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Ragnfrid and Kristin were called to the upper hall, and Lavrans told
-them his will. Sir Baard greeted the two women in fair and courtly
-fashion; Sir Munan took Ragnfrid by the hand and spoke to her in seemly
-wise, but Kristin he greeted in the foreign fashion with a kiss, and he
-took time over his greeting. Kristin felt that her father looked at her
-while this was doing.
-
-“How like you your new kinsman, Sir Munan?” he asked jestingly when he
-was alone with her for a moment late that evening.
-
-Kristin looked beseechingly at him. Then he stroked her face a little
-and said no more.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-When Sir Baard and Sir Munan went to their room, Munan broke out:
-
-“Not a little would I give to see this Lavrans Björgulfsön’s face,
-should he come to know the truth about this precious daughter of his.
-Here have you and I had to beg on our knees to win for Erlend a woman he
-has had with him in Brynhild’s house many times—”
-
-“Hold your peace—no word of that,” answered Sir Baard in wrath. “’Twas
-the worst deed Erlend ever did, to lure that child to such places—and
-see that Lavrans never hear aught of it; the best that can happen now
-for all is that those two should be friends.”
-
-The feast for the drinking of the betrothal ale was appointed to be held
-that same autumn. Lavrans said he could not make the feast very great,
-the year before had been such a bad one in the Dale; but to make up he
-would bear the cost of the wedding himself, and hold it at Jörundgaard
-in all seemly state. He named the bad year again as the cause why he
-required that the time of betrothal should last a year.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   6
-
-For more reasons than one the betrothal feast was put off; it was not
-held till the New Year; but Lavrans agreed that the bridal need not
-therefore be delayed; it was to be just after Michaelmas, as was fixed
-at first.
-
-So Kristin sat now at Jörundgaard as Erlend’s betrothed in all men’s
-sight. Along with her mother she looked over all the goods and gear that
-had been gathered and saved up for her portion, and strove to add still
-more to the great piles of bedding and clothes; for when once Lavrans
-had given his daughter to the master of Husaby, it was his will that
-naught should be spared.
-
-Kristin wondered herself at times that she did not feel more glad. But,
-spite of all the busyness, there was no true gladness at Jörundgaard.
-
-Her father and mother missed Ulvhild sorely, that she saw. But she
-understood too that ’twas not that alone which made them so silent and
-so joyless. They were kind to her, but when they talked with her of her
-betrothed, she saw that they did but force themselves to it to please
-her and show her kindness; ’twas not that they themselves had a mind to
-speak of Erlend. They had not learned to take more joy in the marriage
-she was making, now they had come to know the man. Erlend, too, had kept
-himself quiet and withdrawn the short time he had been at Jörundgaard
-for the betrothal—and like enough this could not have been otherwise,
-thought Kristin; for he knew it was with no good will her father had
-given his consent.
-
-She herself and Erlend had scarce had the chance to speak ten words
-alone together. And it had brought a strange unwonted feeling, to sit
-together thus in all folk’s sight; at such times they had little to say,
-by reason of the many things between them that could not be said. There
-arose in her a doubtful fear, vague and dim, but always present—perhaps
-’twould make it hard for them in some way after they were wedded, that
-they had come all too near to each other at the first, and after had
-lived so long quite parted.
-
-But she tried to thrust the fear away. It was meant that Erlend should
-visit them at Whitsuntide; he had asked Lavrans and Ragnfrid if they had
-aught against his coming, and Lavrans had laughed a little, and answered
-that Erlend might be sure his daughter’s bridegroom would be welcome.
-
-At Whitsuntide they would be able to go out together; they would have a
-chance to speak together as in the old days, and then surely it would
-fade away, the shadow that had come between them in this long time
-apart, when each had gone about alone bearing a burden the other could
-not share.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-At Easter Simon Andressön and his wife came to Formo. Kristin saw them
-in the church. Simon’s wife was standing not far off from her.
-
-She must be much older than he, thought Kristin—nigh thirty years old.
-Lady Halfrid was little and slender and thin, but she had an exceeding
-gracious visage. The very hue of her pale-brown hair as it flowed in
-waves from under her linen coif, seemed, as it were, so gentle, and her
-eyes too were full of gentleness; they were great grey eyes flecked with
-tiny golden specks. Every feature of her face was fine and pure—but her
-skin was something dull and grey, and when she opened her mouth one saw
-that her teeth were not good. She looked not as though she were strong,
-and folks said indeed that she was sickly—she had miscarried more than
-once already, Kristin had heard. She wondered how it would fare with
-Simon with this wife.
-
-The Jörundgaard folk and they of Formo had greeted each other across the
-church-green more than once, but had not spoken. But on Easter-day Simon
-was in the church without his wife. He went across to Lavrans, and they
-spoke together a while. Kristin heard Ulvhild’s name spoken. Afterwards
-he spoke with Ragnfrid. Ramborg, who was standing by her mother, called
-out aloud: “I mind you quite well—_I_ know who you are.” Simon lifted
-the child up a little and twirled her round: “’Tis well done of you,
-Ramborg, not to have forgotten me.” Kristin he only greeted from some
-way off; and her father and mother said no word afterward of the
-meeting.
-
-But Kristin pondered much upon it. For all that had come and gone, it
-had been strange to see Simon Darre again as a wedded man. So much that
-was past came to life again at the sight; she remembered her own blind
-and all-yielding love for Erlend in those days. Now, she felt, there was
-some change in it. The thought came to her: how if Simon had told his
-wife how they had come to part, he and she—but she knew he had kept
-silence—“for my father’s sake,” she thought scoffingly. ’Twas a poor
-showing, and strange, that she should be still living here unwed, in her
-parents’ house. But at least they were betrothed; Simon could see that
-they had had their way in spite of all. Whatever else Erlend might have
-done, to _her_ he had held faithfully, and she had not been loose or
-wanton.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-One evening in early spring Ragnfrid had to send down the valley to old
-Gunhild, the widow who sewed furs. The evening was so fair that Kristin
-asked if she might not go; at last they gave her leave, since all the
-men were busy.
-
-It was after sunset, and a fine white frost-haze was rising toward the
-gold-green sky. Kristin heard at each hoof-stroke the brittle sound of
-the evening’s ice as it broke and flew outwards in tinkling splinters.
-But from all the roadside brakes there was a happy noise of birds
-singing, softly but full-throated with spring, into the twilight.
-
-Kristin rode sharply downwards; she thought not much of anything, but
-felt only it was good to be abroad alone once more. She rode with her
-eyes fixed on the new moon sinking down toward the mountain ridge on the
-far side of the Dale; and she had near fallen from her horse when he
-suddenly swerved aside and reared.
-
-She saw a dark body lying huddled together at the roadside—and at first
-she was afraid. The hateful fear that had passed into her blood—the fear
-of meeting people alone by the way—she could never quite be rid of. But
-she thought ’twas maybe a wayfaring man who had fallen sick; so when she
-had mastered her horse again, she turned and rode back, calling out to
-know who it was.
-
-The bundle stirred a little, and a voice said:
-
-“Methinks ’tis you yourself, Kristin Lavransdatter—?”
-
-“Brother Edwin?” she asked softly. She came near to thinking this was
-some phantom or some deviltry sent to trick her. But she went nigh to
-him; it was the old monk himself, and he could not raise himself from
-the ground without help.
-
-“My dear Father—are you wandering at this time of the year?” she said in
-wonder.
-
-“Praise be to God, who sent you this way to-night,” said the monk.
-Kristin saw that his whole body was shaking. “I was coming north to you
-folks, but my legs would carry me no further this night. Almost I deemed
-’twas God’s will that I should lie down and die on the roads I have been
-wandering about on all my life. But I was fain to see you once again, my
-daughter—”
-
-Kristin helped the monk up on her horse; then led it homeward by the
-bridle, holding him on. And, all the time he was lamenting that now she
-would get her feet wet in the icy slush, she could hear him moaning
-softly with pain.
-
-He told her that he had been at Eyabu since Yule. Some rich farmers of
-the parish had vowed in the bad year to beautify their church with new
-adornments. But the work had gone slowly; he had been sick the last of
-the winter—the evil was in his stomach—it could bear no food, and he
-vomited blood. He believed himself he had not long to live, and he
-longed now to be home in his cloister, for he was fain to die there
-among his own brethren. But he had a mind first to come north up the
-Dale one last time, and so he had set out, along with the monk who came
-from Hamar to be the new prior of the pilgrim hospice at Roaldstad. From
-Fron he had come on alone.
-
-“I heard that you were betrothed,” he said, “to that man—and then such a
-longing came on me to see you. It seemed to me a sore thing that that
-should be our last meeting, that time in our church at Oslo. It has been
-a heavy burden on my heart, Kristin, that you had strayed away into the
-path where is no peace—”
-
-Kristin kissed the monk’s hand:
-
-“Truly I know not, Father, what I have done, or how deserved, that you
-show me such great love.”
-
-The monk answered in a low voice:
-
-“I have thought many a time, Kristin, that had it so befallen we had met
-more often, then might you have come to be as my daughter in the
-spirit.”
-
-“Mean you that you would have brought me to turn my heart to the holy
-life of the cloister?” asked Kristin. Then, a little after, she said:
-“Sira Eirik laid a command on me that, should I not win my father’s
-consent and be wed with Erlend, then must I join with a godly sisterhood
-and make atonement for my sins—”
-
-“I have prayed many a time that the longing for the holy life might come
-to you,” said Brother Edwin. “But not since you told me that you wot
-of—I would have had you come to God, wearing your garland, Kristin—”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-When they came to Jörundgaard Brother Edwin had to be lifted down and
-borne in to his bed. They laid him in the old winter house, in the
-hearth-room, and cared for him most tenderly. He was very sick, and Sira
-Eirik came and tended him with medicines for the body and the soul. But
-the priest said the old man’s sickness was cancer, and it could not be
-that he had long to live. Brother Edwin himself said that when he had
-gained a little strength he would journey south again and try to come
-home to his own cloister. But Sira Eirik told the others he could not
-believe this was to be thought of.
-
-It seemed to all at Jörundgaard that a great peace and gladness had come
-to them with the monk. Folks came and went in the hearth room all day
-long, and there was never any lack of watchers to sit at nights by the
-sick man. As many as had time flocked in to listen, when Sira Eirik came
-over and read to the dying man from godly books, and they talked much
-with Brother Edwin of spiritual things. And though much of what he said
-was dark and veiled, even as his speech was wont to be, it seemed to
-these folks that he strengthened and comforted their souls, because each
-and all could see that Brother Edwin was wholly filled with the love of
-God.
-
-But the monk was fain to hear, too, of all kind of other things—asked
-the news of the parishes round, and had Lavrans tell him all the story
-of the evil year of drought. There were some folk who had betaken them
-to evil courses in that tribulation, turning to such helpers as
-Christian men should most abhor. Some way in over the ridges west of the
-Dale was a place in the mountains where were certain great white stones,
-of obscene shapes, and some men had fallen so low as to sacrifice boars
-and gib-cats before these abominations. So Sira Eirik moved some of the
-boldest, most God-fearing farmers to come with him one night and break
-the stones in pieces. Lavrans had been with them, and could bear witness
-that the stones were all besmeared with blood, and there lay bones and
-other refuse all around them—’Twas said that up in Heidal the people had
-had an old crone sit out on a great earth-fast rock three Thursday
-nights, chanting ancient spells.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-One night Kristin sat alone by Brother Edwin. At midnight he woke up,
-and seemed to be suffering great pain. Then he bade Kristin take the
-book of Miracles of the Virgin Mary, which Sira Eirik had lent to
-Brother Edwin, and read to him.
-
-Kristin was little used to read aloud, but she set herself down on the
-step of the bed and placed the candle by her side; she laid the book on
-her lap and read as well as she could.
-
-In a little while she saw that the sick man was lying with teeth set
-tight, clenching his wasted hands as the fits of agony took him.
-
-“You are suffering much, dear Father,” said Kristin sorrowfully.
-
-“It seems so to me, now. But I know ’tis but that God has made me a
-little child again and is tossing me about, up and down—
-
-“I mind me one time when I was little—four winters old I was then—I had
-run away from home into the woods. I lost myself, and wandered about
-many days and nights—My mother was with the folks that found me, and
-when she caught me up in her arms, I mind me well, she bit me in my
-neck. I thought it was that she was angry with me—but afterward I knew
-better—
-
-“I long, myself, now, to be home out of this forest. It is written:
-forsake ye all things and follow me—but there has been all too much in
-this world that I had no mind to forsake—”
-
-“_You_, Father?” said Kristin. “Ever have I heard all men say that you
-have been a pattern for pure life and poverty and humbleness—”
-
-The monk laughed slily.
-
-“Aye, a young child like you thinks, maybe, there are no other lures in
-the world than pleasure and riches and power. But I say to you, these
-are small things men find by the wayside; and I—I have loved the ways
-themselves—not the small things of the world did I love, but the _whole_
-world. God gave me grace to love Lady Poverty and Lady Chastity from my
-youth up, and thus methought with these playfellows it was safe to
-wander, and so I have roved and wandered, and would have been fain to
-roam over all the ways of the earth. And my heart and my thoughts have
-roamed and wandered too—I fear me I have often gone astray in my
-thoughts on the most hidden things. But now ’tis all over, little
-Kristin; I will home now to my house and lay aside all my own thoughts,
-and hearken to the clear words of the Gardian telling what I should
-believe and think concerning my sin and the mercy of God—”
-
-A little while after he dropped asleep. Kristin went and sat by the
-hearth tending the fire. But well on in the morning, when she was nigh
-dozing off herself, of a sudden Brother Edwin spoke from the bed:
-
-“Glad am I, Kristin, that this matter of you and Erlend Nikulaussön is
-brought to a good end.”
-
-Kristin burst out weeping:
-
-“We have done so much wrong before we came so far. And what gnaws at my
-heart most is that I have brought my father so much sorrow. He has no
-joy in this wedding either. And even so he knows not—did he know all—I
-trow he would take his kindness quite from me.”
-
-“Kristin,” said Brother Edwin gently, “see you not, child, that ’tis
-therefore you must keep it from him, and ’tis therefore you must give
-him no more cause of sorrow—because he never will call on you to pay the
-penalty. Nothing you could do could turn your father’s heart from you.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-A few days later Brother Edwin was grown so much better that he would
-fain set out on his journey southward. Since his heart was set on this,
-Lavrans had a kind of litter made, to be slung between two horses, and
-on this he brought the sick man as far south as to Lidstad; there they
-gave him fresh horses and men to tend him on his way, and in this wise
-was he brought as far as Hamar. There he died in the cloister of the
-Preaching Friars, and was buried in their church. Afterward the Barefoot
-Friars claimed that his body should be delivered to them; for that many
-folks all about in the parishes held him to be a holy man, and spoke of
-him by the name of Saint Evan. The peasants of the Uplands and the
-Dales, all the way north to Trondheim, prayed to him as a saint. So it
-came about that there was a long dispute between the two Orders about
-his body.
-
-Kristin heard naught of this till long after. But she grieved sorely at
-parting from the monk. It seemed to her that he alone knew all her
-life—he had known the innocent child as she was in her father’s keeping,
-and he had known her secret life with Erlend; so that he was, as it
-were, a link, binding together all that had first been dear to her with
-all that now filled her heart and mind. Now was she quite cut off from
-herself as she had been in the time when she was yet a maid.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-“Aye,” said Ragnfrid, feeling with her hand the lukewarm brew in the
-vats, “methinks ’tis cool enough now to mix in the barm.”
-
-Kristin had been sitting in the brew-house doorway spinning, while she
-waited for the brew to cool. She laid down the spindle on the threshold,
-unwrapped the rug from the pail of risen yeast, and began measuring out.
-
-“Shut the door first,” bade her mother, “so the draught may not come
-in—you seem walking in your sleep, Kristin,” she said testily.
-
-Kristin poured the yeast in to the vats, while Ragnfrid stirred.
-
-—Geirhild Drivsdatter called on Hatt, but he was Odin. So he came and
-helped her with the brewing; and he craved for his wage that which was
-between the vat and her—’Twas a saga that Lavrans had once told when she
-was little. That which was between the vat and her—
-
-Kristin felt dizzy and sick with the heat and the sweet spicy-smelling
-steam that filled the dark close-shut brew-house.
-
-Out in the farm-place Ramborg and a band of children were dancing in a
-ring, singing:
-
-                “The eagle sits on the topmost hill-crag
-                    Crooking his golden claws....”
-
-Kristin followed her mother through the little outer room where lay
-empty ale-kegs and all kinds of brewing gear. A door led from it out to
-a strip of ground between the back wall of the brew-house and the fence
-round the barley-field. A herd of pigs jostled each other, and bit and
-squealed as they fought over the lukewarm grains thrown out to them.
-
-Kristin shaded her eyes against the blinding midday sunlight. The mother
-looked at the pigs and said:
-
-“With less than eighteen reindeer we shall never win through.”
-
-“Think you we shall need so many?” said her daughter, absently.
-
-“Aye, for we must have game to serve up with the pork each day,”
-answered Ragnfrid. “And of wild-fowl and hare we shall scarce have more
-than will serve for the table in the upper hall. Remember, ’twill be
-well on toward two hundred people we shall have on the place—counting
-serving-folk and children—and the poor that have to be fed. And even
-should you and Erlend set forth on the fifth day, some of the guests, I
-trow, will stay out the week—at the least.”
-
-“You must stay here and look to the ale, Kristin,” she went on. “’Tis
-time for me to get dinner for your father and the reapers.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Kristin fetched her spinning gear and sat herself down there in the back
-doorway. She put the distaff with the bunch of wool up under her
-arm-pit, but her hands, with the spindle in them, sank into her lap.
-
-Beyond the fence the ears of barley gleamed silvery and silken in the
-sunshine. Above the song of the river she heard now and again from the
-meadows on the river-island the ring of a scythe—sometimes the iron
-would strike upon a stone. Her father and the house-folk were hard at
-work on the hay-making, to get it off their hands. For there was much to
-get through and to make ready against her wedding.
-
-The scent of the lukewarm grains, and the rank smell of the swine—she
-grew qualmish again. And the midday heat made her so dizzy and faint.
-White and stiffly upright she sat and waited for it to pass over—she
-_would_ not to be sick again—
-
-Never before had she felt what now she felt. ’Twas of no avail to try to
-tell herself for comfort: it was not certain yet—she might be
-wrong——That which was between the vat and her—
-
-Eighteen reindeer. Well on toward two hundred wedding-guests—Folk would
-have a rare jest to laugh at when ’twas known that all this hubbub had
-but been about a breeding woman they had to see and get married before—
-
-Oh no. She threw her spinning from her and started up as the sickness
-overcame her again—Oh no, it was sure enough!—
-
-They were to be wedded the second Sunday after Michaelmas, and the
-bridal was to last for five days. There were more than two months still
-to wait; they would be sure to see it on her—her mother and the other
-housewives of the parish. They were ever wise in such things—knew them
-months before Kristin could understand how they saw them. “Poor thing,
-she grows so pale”—Impatiently Kristin rubbed her hands against her
-cheeks; she felt that they were white and bloodless.
-
-Before, she had so often thought: this must happen soon or late. And she
-had not feared it so terribly. But ’twould not have been the same then,
-when they could not—were forbidden to come together in lawful wise. It
-was counted—aye, a shame in a manner, and a sin too—but if ’twere two
-young things who _would not_ let themselves be forced apart, folk
-remembered that ’twas so, and spoke of them with forbearance. _She_
-would not have been ashamed. But when such things happened between a
-betrothed pair—there was naught for them but laughter and gross jesting.
-She saw it herself—one could not but laugh: here was brewing and mixing
-of wine, slaughtering and baking and cooking for a wedding that should
-be noised far abroad in the land—and she, the bride, grew qualmish if
-she but smelt food, and crept in a cold sweat behind the out-houses to
-be sick.
-
-Erlend. She set her teeth hard in anger. He should have spared her this.
-For she had not been willing. He should have remembered that before,
-when all had been so unsure for her, when she had had naught to trust to
-but his love, she had ever, ever gladly been his. He should have let her
-be now, when she tried to deny him because she thought ’twas not well of
-them to take aught by stealth, after her father had joined their hands
-together in the sight of Erlend’s kinsmen and hers. But he had taken her
-to him, half by force, with laughter and caresses; so that she had not
-had strength enough to show him she was in earnest in her denial.
-
-She went in and saw to the beer in the vats, then came back again and
-stood leaning on the fence. The standing grain moved gently in shining
-ripples before a breath of wind. She could not remember any year when
-she had seen the corn-fields bear such thick and abundant growth.—The
-river glittered far off, and she heard her father’s voice shouting—she
-could not catch the words, but she could hear the reapers on the island
-laughing.
-
-Should she go to her father and tell him: ’Twould be best to let be all
-this weary bustle and let Erlend and her come together quietly without
-church-wedding or splendid feasts—now that the one thing needful was
-that she should bear the name of wife before ’twas plain to all men that
-she bore Erlend’s child under her heart already?
-
-_He_ would be a laughing-stock, Erlend too, as much as she—or even more,
-for he was no green boy any longer. But it was he who would have this
-wedding; he had set his heart on seeing her stand as his bride in silk
-and velvets and tall golden crown—_that_ was his will, and it had been
-his will, too, to possess her in those sweet secret hours of last
-spring. She had yielded to him in that. And she must do his will too in
-this other thing.
-
-But in the end ’twas like he would be forced to see—no one could have it
-both ways in such things. He had talked so much of the great Yule-tide
-feast he would hold at Husaby the first year she sat there as mistress
-of his house—how he would show forth to all his kinsmen and friends and
-all the folks from far around the fair wife he had won. Kristin smiled
-scornfully. A seemly thing ’twould be this Yule-tide, such a home-coming
-feast!
-
-Her time would be at St. Gregory’s Mass or thereabout. Thoughts seemed
-to swarm and jostle in her mind when she said to herself that at
-Gregory’s Mass she was to bear a child. There was some fear among the
-thoughts—she remembered how her mother’s cries had rung all round the
-farm-place for two whole days, the time that Ulvhild was born. At
-Ulvsvold two young wives had died in childbirth, one after the other—and
-Sigurd of Loptsgaard’s first wives too. And her own father’s mother,
-whose name she bore—
-
-But fear was not uppermost in her mind. She had often thought, when
-after that first time she saw no sign that she was with child—maybe this
-was to be their punishment—hers and Erlend’s. She would always be
-barren. They would wait and wait in vain for what they had feared
-before, would hope as vainly as of old they had feared needlessly—till
-at last they would know that one day they should be borne forth from the
-home of his fathers and be as though they had never been—for his brother
-was a priest, and the children he had could inherit naught from him.
-Dumpy Munan and his sons would come in and sit in their seats, and
-Erlend would be blotted out from the line of his kindred.
-
-She pressed her hand hard to her body. It was there—between the fence
-and her—between the vat and her. ’Twas between her and all the
-world—Erlend’s own son. She had made the trial already that she had once
-heard Lady Aashild speak of; with blood from her right arm and her left.
-’Twas a son that was coming to her—whatever fate he was to bring—She
-remembered her dead little brothers, her parents’ sorrowful faces when
-they spoke of them; she remembered all the times she had seen them both
-in despair for Ulvhild’s sake—and the night when Ulvhild died. And she
-thought of all the sorrow she herself had brought them, of her father’s
-grief-worn face—and the end was not yet of the sorrows she was to bring
-on her father and mother.
-
-And yet—and yet. Kristin laid her head on the arm that rested on the
-fence; the other hand she still held to her body. Even if it brought her
-new sorrows, even if it led her feet down to death—she would rather die
-in bearing Erlend a son than that they should both die one day, and
-leave their houses standing empty, and the corn on their lands should
-wave for strangers—
-
-She heard a footstep in the room behind her. The ale! thought Kristin—I
-should have seen to it long ago. She stood up and turned—and Erlend came
-stooping through the doorway and stepped out into the sunlight—his face
-shining with gladness.
-
-“Is this where you are?” he asked. “And not a step will you come to meet
-me, even?” he said; and came and threw his arms about her.
-
-“Dearest; are you come hither?” she said in wonder.
-
-It was plain he was just alighted from his horse—his cloak still hung
-from his shoulder, and his sword at his side—he was unshaven,
-travel-soiled and covered with dust. He was clad in a red surcoat that
-hung in folds from its collar and was open up the sides almost to the
-armpits. As they passed through the brew-house and across the courtyard,
-the coat swung and flapped about him so that his thighs showed right up
-to the waist. His legs bent a little outwards when he walked—it was
-strange she had never marked it before—she had only seen that he had
-long slender legs, with fine ankles and small well-shaped feet.
-
-Erlend had come well-attended—with five men and four led-horses. He told
-Ragnfrid that he was come to fetch Kristin’s goods—’twould be more
-homely for her, he thought, to find the things awaiting her at Husaby
-when she came thither. And so late in the autumn as the wedding was to
-be, it might be harder then to have the goods brought across the
-hills—besides they might easily be spoiled by the sea-water on
-ship-board. Now the Abbot of Nidarholm had proffered to give him leave
-to send them by the Laurentius galleass—’twas meant she should sail from
-Veöy about Assumption Day. So he was come to have the goods carted over
-to Romsdal and down to Næs.
-
-He sat in the doorway of the kitchen-house, drinking ale and talking
-while Ragnfrid and Kristin plucked the wild-duck Lavrans had brought
-home the day before. Mother and daughter were alone on the place; all
-the women were busy raking in the meadows. He looked so glad and
-happy—he was pleased with himself for coming on such a wise and prudent
-errand.
-
-Ragnfrid went out, and Kristin stayed minding the spit with the roasting
-birds. Through the open door she could catch a glimpse of Erlend’s men
-lying in the shadow on the other side of the courtyard, with the
-ale-bowl circling among them. Erlend himself sat on the threshold,
-chatting and laughing—the sun shone right down on his uncovered
-coal-black hair; she spied some white threads in it. Aye, he must be
-near thirty-two years old—but he bore himself like a mischievous boy.
-She knew she would not be able to tell him of her trouble—time enough
-when he saw it for himself. Laughing tenderness streamed through her
-heart, over the hard little spot of anger at its core, like a glittering
-river flowing over stones.
-
-She loved him above all on earth—her soul was filled with her love,
-though all the time she saw and remembered all those other things. How
-ill this gallant in the fine red surcoat, with silver spurs on heel and
-belt adorned with gold, suited with the busy harvest-time of
-Jörundgaard.—She marked well, too, that her father came not up to the
-farm, though her mother had sent Ramborg down to the river to bear him
-word of the guest that was come.
-
-Erlend stood beside her and passed his arm around her shoulders:
-
-“Can you believe it!” he said joyfully, “Seems it not marvellous to
-you—that ’tis for our wedding, all this toil and bustle?”
-
-Kristin gave him a kiss and thrust him aside—then turned to basting the
-birds and bade him stand out of the way. No, she would not say it—
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was not till supper-time that Lavrans came back to the farm—along
-with the other harvesters. He was clad much like his workmen, in an
-undyed wadmal coat cut off at the knees and loose breeches reaching to
-the ankles; he walked barefoot, with his scythe over his shoulder. There
-was naught in his dress to mark him off from the serving-men, save the
-leathern shoulder-piece that made a perch for the hawk he bore on his
-left shoulder. He led Ramborg by the hand.
-
-He greeted his son-in-law heartily enough, begging him to forgive that
-he had not come before—’twas that they must push on with the farm work
-as hard as they could, for he himself had a journey to make to the
-market town between the hay and the corn harvests. But when Erlend told
-the errand he had come on, as they sat at the supper-board, Lavrans grew
-something out of humour.
-
-’Twas impossible he should spare carts and horses for such work at this
-time. Erlend answered: he had brought four pack-horses with him. But
-Lavrans said there would be three cartloads at the least. Besides, the
-maid must have her wearing apparel with her here. And the bed-furniture
-that Kristin was to have with her, they would need here too for the
-wedding, so many guests as they would have in the house.
-
-Well, well, said Erlend. Doubtless some way could be found to have the
-goods sent through in the autumn. But he had been glad, and had thought
-it seemed a wise counsel, when the Abbot had proffered to have the goods
-brought in the Church galleass. The Abbot had reminded him of their
-kinship. “They are all ready now to remember that,” said Erlend,
-smiling. His father-in-law’s displeasure seemed not to trouble him in
-the least.
-
-But in the end it was agreed that Erlend should be given the loan of a
-cart and should take away a cartload of the things Kristin would need
-most when first she came to her new home.
-
-The day after they were busy with the packing. The big and the little
-loom the mother thought might go at once—Kristin would scarce have time
-for weaving much more before the wedding. Ragnfrid and her daughter cut
-off the web that was on the loom. It was undyed wadmal, but of the
-finest, softest wool, with unwoven tufts of black sheep’s wool that made
-a pattern of spots. Kristin and her mother rolled up the stuff and laid
-it in the leather sack. Kristin thought: ’twould make good warm
-swaddling-cloths—and right fair ones, too, with blue or red bands
-wrapped round them.
-
-The sewing-chair, too, that Arne had once made her, was to be sent.
-Kristin took out of the box-seat all the things Erlend had given her
-from time to time. She showed her mother the blue velvet cloak patterned
-in red that she was to wear at the bridal, on the ride to church. The
-mother turned it about and about, and felt the stuff and the fur lining.
-
-“A costly cloak, indeed,” said Ragnfrid. “When was it Erlend gave you
-this?”
-
-“He gave it me when I was at Nonneseter,” said her daughter.
-
-Kristin’s bride-chest, that held all the goods her mother had gathered
-together and saved up for her since she was a little child, was emptied
-and packed anew. Its sides and cover were all carved in squares, with a
-leaping beast or a bird amidst leaves in each square. The wedding-dress
-Ragnfrid laid away in one of her own chests. It was not quite ready yet,
-though they had sewed on it all winter. It was of scarlet silk, cut to
-sit very close to the body. Kristin thought: ’twould be all too tight
-across the breast now.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Toward evening the whole load stood ready, firmly bound under the
-wagon-tilt. Erlend was to set forth early the next morning.
-
-He stood with Kristin leaning over the courtyard gate, looking northward
-to where a blue-black storm-cloud filled the Dale. Thunder was rolling
-far off in the mountains—but southward the green fields and the river
-lay in yellow, burning sunshine.
-
-“Mind you the storm that day in the woods at Gerdarud?” he asked softly,
-playing with her fingers.
-
-Kristin nodded and tried to smile. The air was so heavy and close—her
-head ached, and at every breath she took her skin grew damp with sweat.
-
-Lavrans came across to the two as they stood by the gate, and spoke of
-the storm. ’Twas but rarely it did much harm down here in the parish—but
-God knew if they should not hear of cattle and horses killed up in the
-mountains.
-
-It was black as night above the church up on the hillside. A lightning
-flash showed them a troop of horses standing uneasily huddled together
-on the green-sward outside the church gate. Lavrans thought they could
-scarce belong here in the parish—rather must they be horses from Dovre
-that had been running loose up on the hills below Jetta; but yet he had
-a mind to go up and look at them, he shouted through a peal of
-thunder—there might be some of his among them—
-
-A fearful lightning-flash tore the darkness above the church—the thunder
-crashed and bellowed so as to deafen them to all other sounds. The
-cluster of horses burst asunder, scattering over the hill-slopes beneath
-the mountain ridge. All three of them crossed themselves—
-
-Then came another flash; it was as though the heavens split asunder
-right above them, a mighty snow-white flame swooped down upon them—the
-three were thrown against each other, and stood with shut, blinded eyes,
-and a smell in their nostrils as of burning stone—while the crashing
-thunder rent their ears.
-
-“Saint Olav, help us!” said Lavrans in a low voice.
-
-“Look! the birch—the birch,” shouted Erlend; the great birch-tree in the
-field near by seemed to totter—and a huge bough parted from the tree and
-sank to the ground, leaving a great gash in the trunk.
-
-“Think you ’twill catch fire—Jesus Kristus! The churchroof is alight!”
-shouted Lavrans.
-
-They stood and gazed—no—yes! Red flames were darting out among the
-shingles beneath the ridge-turret.
-
-Both men rushed back across the courtyard. Lavrans tore open the doors
-of all the houses he came to and shouted to those inside; the house-folk
-came swarming out.
-
-“Bring axes, bring axes—timber axes,” he cried, “and bill-hooks”—he ran
-on to the stables. In a moment he came out leading Guldsveinen by the
-mane; he sprang on the horse’s bare back and dashed off up the hill,
-with the great broad-axe in his hand. Erlend rode close behind him—all
-the men followed; some were a-horseback, but some could not master the
-terrified beasts, and giving up, ran on afoot. Last came Ragnfrid and
-all the women on the place with pails and buckets.
-
-None seemed to heed the storm any longer. By the light of the flashes
-they could see folk streaming out of the houses further down the valley.
-Sira Eirik was far up the hill already, running with his house-folk
-behind him. There was a thunder of horses’ hoofs on the ridge below—some
-men galloped past, turning white, appalled faces toward their burning
-church.
-
-It was blowing a little from the southeast. The fire had a strong hold
-on the north wall; on the west the entrance door was blocked already.
-But it had not caught yet on the south side nor on the apse.
-
-Kristin and the women from Jörundgaard came into the graveyard south of
-the church at a place where the fence was broken.
-
-The huge red glare lighted up the grove of trees north of the church and
-the green by it where there were bars to tie the horses to. None could
-come thither for the glowing heat—the great cross stood alone out there,
-bathed in the light of the flames. It looked as though it lived and
-moved.
-
-Through the hissing and roar of the flames sounded the thudding of axes
-against the staves of the south wall. There were men in the cloister-way
-hewing and hammering at the wall, while others tried to tear down the
-cloister itself. Someone called out to the Jörundgaard women that
-Lavrans and a few other men had followed Sira Eirik into the church, and
-now ’twas high time to cut a passage through the south wall—small
-tongues of flame were peeping out among the shingles here too; and
-should the wind go round or die down, the fire would take hold on the
-whole church.
-
-To think of putting out the fire was vain; there was no time to make a
-chain down to the river; but at Ragnfrid’s bidding the women made a line
-and passed water along from the little beck that ran by the roadside—it
-was but little to throw on the south wall and over the men working
-there. Many of the women sobbed and wept the while, in terror for the
-men who had made their way into the burning building, and in sorrow for
-their church.
-
-Kristin stood foremost in the line of women handing along the pails—she
-gazed breathless at the burning church—they were both there, inside—her
-father—and surely Erlend too.
-
-The torn-down pillars of the cloister-way lay in a tangled mass of
-timber and shingles from its roof. The men were attacking the inner wall
-of staves now with all their might—a group of them had lifted up a great
-log and were battering the wall with it.
-
-Erlend and one of his men came out of the little door in the south wall
-of the choir, carrying between them the great chest from the
-sacristy—the chest Eirik was used to sit on when he heard confession.
-Erlend and the man flung the chest out into the churchyard.
-
-He shouted out something, but Kristin could not hear; he dashed on at
-once into the cloister-way. Nimble as a cat he seemed as he ran—he had
-thrown off his outer garments and had naught on him but shirt, breeches
-and hose.
-
-The others took up his shout—the choir and the sacristy were burning;
-none could pass from the nave to the south-door any longer—the fire had
-blocked both ways of escape. Some of the staves in the wall had been
-splintered by the ram—Erlend had seized a fire-hook and with it he
-tugged and wrenched at the wreckage of the staves—he and those with him
-tore a hole in the side of the church, while other folks cried to take
-care, for the roof might fall and shut in the men inside; the shingle
-roof on this side too was burning hard now, and the heat had grown till
-’twas scarce to be borne.
-
-Erlend burst through the hole and helped out Sira Eirik. The priest came
-bearing the holy vessels from the altars in the skirt of his gown.
-
-A young boy followed, with one hand over his face and the other holding
-the tall processional cross lance-wise in front of him. Lavrans came
-next. He kept his eyes shut against the smoke—he staggered under the
-weight of the great crucifix, which he bore in his arms; it was much
-taller than the man himself.
-
-Folk ran forward and helped them out and into the churchyard. Sira Eirik
-stumbled and fell on his knees, and the altar vessels rolled out down
-the slope. The silver dove flew open and the Host fell out—the priest
-took it up, brushed the soil off it and kissed it, sobbing aloud; he
-kissed the gilded head, too, that had stood on the altar with shreds of
-the nails and hair of Saint Olav in it.
-
-Lavrans Björgulfsön still stood holding up the Holy Rood. His arm lay
-along the arms of the cross; his head was bowed against the shoulder of
-the Christ-figure; it seemed as though the Redeemer bent his fair,
-sorrowful face over the man to pity and to comfort.
-
-The roof on the north side of the church had begun to fall in by bits—a
-burning piece from a falling beam was hurled outwards and struck the
-great bell in the belfry by the churchyard gate. The bell gave out a
-deep sobbing note, which died in a long wail that was drowned in the
-roaring of the flames.
-
-None had paid heed to the weather all this time—the whole had lasted
-indeed no long time, but whether short or long scarce any could have
-told. The thunder and lightning had passed now far down the Dale; the
-rain, that had begun some time back, fell ever the more heavily, and the
-wind had died down.
-
-But of a sudden it was as though a sheet of flame shot up from the
-groundsill of the building—a moment, and with a mounting roar the fire
-had swallowed up the church from end to end.
-
-The people scattered, rushing away to escape the devouring heat. Erlend
-was at Kristin’s side on the instant, dragging her away down the hill.
-The whole man smelt of burning—when she stroked his head and face her
-hand came away full of burnt hair.
-
-They could not hear each other’s voices for the roaring of the fire. But
-she saw that his eyebrows were burnt off to the roots; he had burns on
-his face, and great holes were burnt in his shirt. He laughed as he
-dragged her along with him after the others.
-
-All the folk followed the old priest as he went weeping, with Lavrans
-Björgulfsön bearing the crucifix.
-
-At the foot of the churchyard Lavrans set the Rood from him up against a
-tree, and sank down to a seat on the wreckage of the fence. Sira Eirik
-was sitting there already—he stretched out his arms toward the burning
-church:
-
-“Farewell, farewell, thou Olav’s-Church; God bless thee, thou my
-Olav’s-Church; God bless thee for every hour I have chanted in thee and
-said Mass in thee—thou Olav’s-Church, good-night, good-night—”
-
-The church-folk wept aloud with their priest. The rain streamed down on
-the groups of people, but none thought of seeking shelter. Nor did it
-seem to check the fierce burning of the tarred woodwork—brands and
-glowing shingles were tossed out on every side. Then, suddenly, the
-ridge-turret crashed down into the fiery furnace, sending a great shower
-of sparks high into the air.
-
-Lavrans sat with one hand over his face; the other arm lay in his lap,
-and Kristin saw that the sleeve was all bloody from the shoulder down,
-and blood ran down over his fingers. She went to him and touched his
-arm.
-
-“Not much is amiss, methinks—there fell somewhat on my shoulder,” he
-said, looking up. He was white to the lips. “Ulvhild,” he murmured in
-anguish, gazing into the burning pile.
-
-Sira Eirik heard the word and laid a hand on his shoulder:
-
-“’Twill not wake your child, Lavrans—she will sleep none the less sound
-for the burning above her bed. _She_ hath not lost her soul’s home, as
-we others have lost ours this night.”
-
-Kristin hid her face on Erlend’s breast, and stood there feeling the
-grasp of his arm round her shoulders. Then she heard her father asking
-for his wife.
-
-Someone answered that a woman had fallen in labour from the fright; they
-had borne her down to the parsonage, and Ragnfrid had gone with her
-there.
-
-Then Kristin called to mind again what she had clean forgotten ever
-since they saw that the church was afire. She should not have looked on
-this. There lived a man in the south of the parish who had a red stain
-over half his face; ’twas said he was thus because his mother had looked
-at a burning house while she was big with him. Dear, Holy Virgin Mother,
-she prayed in her heart, let not my child have been marred by this—
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The day after, the whole parish was called to meet on the church-green
-to take counsel how best to build up the church anew.
-
-Kristin sought out Sira Eirik at Romundgaard before the time set for the
-meeting. She asked the priest if he deemed she should take this as a
-sign. Maybe ’twas God’s will that she should say to her father she was
-unworthy to wear the bridal crown; that it were more seemly she should
-be given in marriage to Erlend Nikulaussön without feasting, or bridal
-honours.
-
-But Sira Eirik flew up at her with eyes glistening with wrath:
-
-“Think you that God cares so much how you sluts may fly about and cast
-yourselves away, that He would burn up a fair, venerable church for your
-sake? Leave you your sinful pride, and bring not on your mother and
-Lavrans such a sorrow as they would scarce win through for many a day.
-If you wear not the crown with honour on your honourable day—the worse
-for you; but the more need have you and Erlend of all the rites of the
-Church when ye are brought together. Each and all of us have sins to
-answer for; ’tis therefore, I trow, that this visitation is come upon us
-all. See you to it that you mend your life, and that you help to build
-up our church again, both you and Erlend.”
-
-It was in Kristin’s mind that he knew not all, for that yet she had not
-told him of this last thing that was come upon her—but she rested
-content and said no more.
-
-She went with the men to the meeting. Lavrans came with his arm in a
-sling, and Erlend had many burns on his face; he was ill to look upon,
-but he laughed it off. None of the wounds were large, and he said he
-hoped they would not spoil his face too much when he came to be a
-bridegroom. He stood up after Lavrans and promised four marks of silver
-as an offering to the church, and for his betrothed, with Lavrans’
-assent, land worth sixty cows from her holdings in the parish.
-
-It was found needful for Erlend to stay a week at Jörundgaard by reason
-of his burns. Kristin saw that ’twas as though Lavrans had come to like
-his son-in-law better since the night of the fire; the men seemed now to
-be good friends enough. She thought: maybe her father might grow to like
-Erlend Nikulaussön so well that he would not judge them too strictly,
-and would not take the matter so hardly as she had feared when the time
-came when he must know that they had transgressed against him.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-                                   8
-
-The year proved a rarely good one over all the north part of the Dale.
-The hay crop was heavy, and it was got in dry; the folk came home from
-the sæters in autumn with great store of dairy-stuff and full and fat
-flocks and herds—they had been mercifully spared from wild beasts, too,
-this year. The corn stood tall and thick as few folks could call to mind
-having seen it before—it grew full-eared and ripened well, and the
-weather was fair as heart could wish. Between St. Bartholomew’s and the
-Virgin’s Birthfeast, the time when night-frosts were most to be feared,
-it rained a little and was mild and cloudy, but thereafter the time of
-harvest went by with sun and wind and mild, misty nights. The week after
-Michaelmas most of the corn had been garnered all over the parish.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-At Jörundgaard all folks were toiling and moiling, making ready for the
-great wedding. The last two months Kristin had been so busy from morning
-to night that she had but little time to trouble over aught but her
-work. She saw that her bosom had filled out; the small pink nipples were
-grown brown, and they were tender as smarting hurts when she had to get
-out of bed in the cold—but it passed over when she had worked herself
-warm, and after that she had no thought but of all she must get done
-before evening. When now and again she was forced to straighten up her
-back and stand and rest a little, she felt that the burden she bore was
-growing heavy—but to look on she was still slim and slender as she had
-ever been. She passed her hands down her long shapely thighs. No, she
-would not grieve over it now. Sometimes a faint creeping longing would
-come over her with the thought: like enough in a month or so she might
-feel the child quick within her—By that time she would be at
-Husaby.—Maybe Erlend would be glad—She shut her eyes and fixed her teeth
-on her betrothal ring—then she saw before her Erlend’s face, pale and
-moved, as he stood in the hall here in the winter and said the words of
-espousal with a loud clear voice:
-
-“So be God my witness and these men standing here, that I Erlend
-Nikulaussön do espouse Kristin Lavransdatter according to the laws of
-God and men, on such conditions as here have been spoken before these
-witnesses standing hereby. That I shall have thee to my wife and thou
-shalt have me to thy husband, so long as we two do live, to dwell
-together in wedlock, with all such fellowship as God’s law and the law
-of the land do appoint.”
-
-As she ran on errands from house to house across the farm-place, she
-stayed a moment—the rowan trees were so thick with berries this
-year—’twould be a snowy winter. The sun shone over the pale stubble
-fields where the corn sheaves stood piled on their stakes. If this
-weather might only hold over the wedding!
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Lavrans stood firmly to it that his daughter should be wedded in church.
-It was fixed, therefore, that the wedding should be in the chapel at
-Sundbu. On the Saturday the bridal train was to ride over the hills to
-Vaage; they were to lie for the night at Sundbu and the neighbouring
-farms, and ride back on Sunday after the wedding-mass. The same evening
-after Vespers, when the holy day was ended, the wedding feast was to be
-held, and Lavrans was to give his daughter away to Erlend. And after
-midnight the bride and bridegroom were to be put to bed.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-On Friday, after noon, Kristin stood in the upper hall balcony, watching
-the bridal train come riding from the north, past the charred ruins of
-the church on the hillside. It was Erlend coming with all his groomsmen;
-she strained her eyes to pick him out among the others. They must not
-see each other—no man must see her now before she was led forth
-to-morrow in her bridal dress.
-
-Where the ways divided, a few women left the throng and took the road to
-Jörundgaard. The men rode on toward Laugarbru; they were to sleep there
-that night.
-
-Kristin went down to meet the comers. She felt wearied after the bath,
-and the skin of her head was sore from the strong lye her mother had
-used to wash her hair, that it might shine fair and bright on the
-morrow.
-
-Lady Aashild slipped down from her saddle into Lavrans’ arms. How can
-she keep so light and young, thought Kristin. Her son Sir Munan’s wife,
-Lady Katrin, might have passed for older than she; a big plump dame,
-with dull and hueless skin and eyes. Strange, thought Kristin; she is
-ill-favoured and he is unfaithful, and yet folks say they live well and
-kindly together. Then there were two daughters of Sir Baard Petersön,
-one married and one unmarried. They were neither comely nor
-ill-favoured; they looked honest and kind, but held themselves something
-stiffly in the strange company. Lavrans thanked them courteously that
-they had been pleased to honour this wedding at the cost of so far a
-journey so late in the year.
-
-“Erlend was bred in our father’s house, when he was a boy,” said the
-elder, moving forward to greet Kristin.
-
-But now two youths came riding into the farm-place at a sharp trot—they
-leaped from their horses and rushed laughing after Kristin, who ran
-indoors and hid herself. They were Trond Gjesling’s two young sons, fair
-and likely lads. They had brought the bridal crown with them from Sundbu
-in a casket. Trond and his wife were not to come till Sunday, when they
-would join the bridal train after the mass.
-
-Kristin fled into the hearth-room; and Lady Aashild, coming after, laid
-her hands on the girl’s shoulders, and drew down her face to hers to
-kiss it.
-
-“Glad am I that I live to see this day,” said Lady Aashild.
-
-She saw how thin they were grown, Kristin’s hands, that she held in
-hers. She saw that all else about her was grown thin, but that her bosom
-was high and full. All the features of the face were grown smaller and
-finer than before; the temples seemed as though sunken in the shadow of
-the heavy, damp hair. The girl’s cheeks were round no longer, and her
-fresh hue was faded. But her eyes were grown much larger and darker.
-
-Lady Aashild kissed her again:
-
-“I see well you have had much to strive against, Kristin,” she said.
-“To-night will I give you a sleepy drink, that you may be rested and
-fresh to-morrow.”
-
-Kristin’s lips began to quiver.
-
-“Hush,” said Lady Aashild, patting her hand. “I joy already that I shall
-deck you out to-morrow—none hath seen a fairer bride, I trow, than you
-shall be to-morrow.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Lavrans rode over to Laugarbru to feast with his guests who were housed
-there.
-
-The men could not praise the food enough—better Friday food than this a
-man could scarce find in the richest monastery. There was rye-meal
-porridge, boiled beans and white bread—for fish they had only trout,
-salted and fresh, and fat dried halibut.
-
-As time went on and the men drank deeper, they grew ever more wanton of
-mood, and the jests broken on the bridegroom’s head ever more gross. All
-Erlend’s groomsmen were much younger than he—his equals in age and his
-friends were all long since wedded men. The darling jest among the
-groomsmen now was that he was so aged a man and yet was to mount the
-bridal bed for the first time. Some of Erlend’s older kinsmen, who yet
-kept their wits, sat in dread, at each new sally, that the talk would
-come in upon matters it were best not to touch. Sir Baard of Hestnæs
-kept an eye on Lavrans. The host drank deep, but it seemed not that the
-ale made him more joyful—he sat in the high-seat, his face growing more
-and more strained, even as his eyes grew more fixed. But Erlend, who sat
-on his father-in-law’s right hand, answered in kind the wanton jests
-flung at him, and laughed much; his face was flushed red and his eyes
-sparkled.
-
-Of a sudden Lavrans flew out:
-
-“That cart, son-in-law—while I remember—what have you done with the cart
-you had of me on loan in the summer?”
-
-“Cart—?” said Erlend.
-
-“Have you forgot already that you had a cart on loan from me in the
-summer—God knows ’twas so good a cart I look not ever to see a better,
-for I saw to it myself when ’twas making in my own smithy on the farm.
-You promised and you swore—I take God to witness, and my house-folk know
-it besides—you gave your word to bring it back to me—but that word you
-have not kept—”
-
-Some of the guests called out that this was no matter to talk of now,
-but Lavrans smote the board with his fist and swore that he would know
-what Erlend had done with his cart.
-
-“Oh like enough it lies still at the farm at Næs, where we took boat out
-to Veöy,” said Erlend lightly. “I thought not ’twas meant so nicely. See
-you, father-in-law, thus it was—’twas a long and toilsome journey with a
-heavy-laden cart over the hills, and when we were come down to the
-fjord, none of my men had a mind to bring the cart all the way back
-here, and then journey north again over the hills to Trondheim. So we
-thought we might let it be there for a time—”
-
-“Now, may the devil fly off with me from where I sit this very hour, if
-I have ever heard of your like,” Lavrans burst out. “Is this how things
-are ordered in your house—doth the word lie with you or with your men,
-where they are to go or not to go—?”
-
-Erlend shrugged his shoulders:
-
-“True it is, much hath been as it should not have been in my
-household—But now will I have the cart sent south to you again, when
-Kristin and I are come thither—Dear my father-in-law,” said he, smiling
-and holding out his hand, “be assured, ’twill be changed times with all
-things, and with me too, when once I have brought Kristin home to be
-mistress of my house. ’Twas an ill thing, this of the cart. But I
-promise you, this shall be the last time you have cause of grief against
-me.”
-
-“Dear Lavrans,” said Baard Petersön, “forgive him in this small matter—”
-
-“Small matter or great—” began Lavrans—but checked himself, and took
-Erlend’s hand.
-
-Soon after he made the sign for the feast to break up, and the guests
-sought their sleeping-places.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-On the Saturday before noon all the women and girls were busy in the old
-store-house loft-room, some making ready the bridal bed, some dressing
-and adorning the bride.
-
-Ragnfrid had chosen this house for the bride-house, in part for its
-having the smallest loft-room—they could make room for many more guests
-in the new store-house loft, the one they had used themselves in summer
-time to sleep in when Kristin was a little child, before Lavrans had set
-up the great new dwelling-house, where they lived now both summer and
-winter. But besides this, there was no fairer house on the farm than the
-old store-house, since Lavrans had had it mended and set in order—it had
-been nigh falling to the ground when they moved in to Jörundgaard. It
-was adorned with the finest woodcarving both outside and in, and if the
-loft-room were not great, ’twas the easier to hang it richly with rugs
-and tapestries and skins.
-
-The bridal bed stood ready made, with silk-covered pillows; fine
-hangings made as it were a tent about it; over the skins and rugs on the
-bed was spread a broidered silken coverlid. Ragnfrid and some other
-women were busy now hanging tapestries on the timber walls and laying
-cushions in order on the benches.
-
-Kristin sat in a great arm-chair that had been brought up thither. She
-was clad in her scarlet bridal robe. Great silver brooches held it
-together over her bosom, and fastened the yellow silk shift showing in
-the neck-opening; golden armlets glittered on the yellow silken sleeves.
-A silver-gilt belt was passed thrice around her waist, and on her neck
-and bosom lay neck-chain over neck-chain, the uppermost her father’s old
-gold chain with the great reliquary cross. Her hands, lying in her lap,
-were heavy with rings.
-
-Lady Aashild stood behind her chair, brushing her heavy, gold-brown hair
-out to all sides.
-
-“To-morrow shall you spread it loose for the last time,” she said
-smiling, as she wound the red and green silk cords that were to hold up
-the crown, around Kristin’s head—Then the women came thronging round the
-bride.
-
-Ragnfrid and Gyrid of Skog took the great bridal crown of the Gjesling
-kin from the board. It was gilt all over, the points ended in alternate
-crosses and clover-leaves, and the circlet was set with great
-rock-crystals.
-
-They pressed it down on the bride’s head. Ragnfrid was pale, and her
-hands were shaking, as she did it.
-
-Kristin rose slowly to her feet. Jesus! how heavy ’twas to bear up all
-this gold and silver—Then Lady Aashild took her by the hand and led her
-forward to a great tub of water—while the bridesmaids flung open the
-door to the outer sunlight, so that the light in the room should be
-bright.
-
-“Look now at yourself in the water, Kristin,” said Lady Aashild, and
-Kristin bent over the tub. She caught a glimpse of her own face rising
-up white through the water; it came so near that she saw the golden
-crown above it. Round about, many shadows, bright and dark, were
-stirring in the mirror—there was somewhat she was on the brink of
-remembering—then ’twas as though she was swooning away—she caught at the
-rim of the tub before her. At that moment Lady Aashild laid her hand on
-hers, and drove her nails so hard into the flesh, that Kristin came to
-herself with the pain.
-
-Blasts of a great horn were heard from down by the bridge. Folk shouted
-up from the courtyard that the bridegroom was coming with his train. The
-women led Kristin out onto the balcony.
-
-In the courtyard was a tossing mass of horses in state trappings and
-people in festival apparel, all shining and glittering in the sun.
-Kristin looked out beyond it all, far out into the Dale. The valley of
-her home lay bright and still beneath a thin misty-blue haze; up above
-the haze rose the mountains, grey with screes and black with forest, and
-the sun poured down its light into the great bowl of the valley from a
-cloudless sky.
-
-She had not marked it before, but the trees had shed all their
-leaves—the groves around shone naked and silver-grey. Only the alder
-thickets along the river had a little faded green on their topmost
-branches, and here and there a birch had a few yellow-white leaves
-clinging to its outermost twigs. But, for the most the trees were almost
-bare—all but the rowans; they were still bright, with red-brown leaves
-around the clusters of their blood-red berries. In the still, warm day a
-faint mouldering smell of autumn rose from the ashen covering of fallen
-leaves that strewed the ground all about.
-
-Had it not been for the rowans, it might have been early spring. And the
-stillness too—but this was an autumn stillness, deathly still. When the
-horn-blasts died away, no other sound was heard in all the valley but
-the tinkling of bells from the stubble fields and fallows where the
-beasts wandered, grazing.
-
-The river was shrunken small, its roar sunk to a murmur; it was but a
-few strands of water running amidst banks of sand and great stretches of
-white round boulders. No noise of becks from the hillsides—the autumn
-had been so dry. The fields all around still gleamed wet—but ’twas but
-the wetness that oozes up from the earth in autumn, howsoever warm the
-days may be, and however clear the air.
-
-The crowd that filled the farm-place fell apart to make way for the
-bridegroom’s train. Straightway the young groomsmen came riding
-forward—there went a stir among the women in the balcony.
-
-Lady Aashild was standing by the bride:
-
-“Bear you well now, Kristin,” said she, “’twill not be long now till you
-are safe under the linen coif.”
-
-Kristin nodded helplessly. She felt how deathly white her face must be.
-
-“Methinks I am all too pale a bride,” she said in a low voice.
-
-“You are the fairest bride,” said Lady Aashild; “and there comes Erlend,
-riding—fairer pair than you twain would be far to seek.”
-
-Now Erlend himself rode forward under the balcony. He sprang lightly
-from his horse, unhindered by his heavy, flowing garments. He seemed to
-Kristin so fair that ’twas pain to look on him.
-
-He was in dark raiment, clad in a slashed silken coat falling to the
-feet, leaf-brown of hue and inwoven with black and white. About his
-waist he had a gold-bossed belt, and at his left thigh hung a sword with
-gold on hilt and sheath. Back over his shoulders fell a heavy dark-blue
-velvet cloak, and pressed down on his coal-black hair he wore a black
-French cap of silk that stood out at both sides in puckered wings, and
-ended in two long streamers, whereof one was thrown from his left
-shoulder right across his breast and out behind over the other arm.
-
-Erlend bowed low before his bride as she stood above; then went up to
-her horse and stood by it with his hand on the saddle-bow, while Lavrans
-went up the stairs. A strange dizzy feeling came over Kristin at the
-sight of all this splendour—in this solemn garment of green velvet,
-falling to his feet, her father might have been some stranger. And her
-mother’s face, under the linen coif, showed ashen-grey against the red
-of her silken dress. Ragnfrid came forward and laid the cloak about her
-daughter’s shoulders.
-
-Then Lavrans took the bride’s hand and led her down to Erlend. The
-bridegroom lifted her to the saddle, and himself mounted. They stayed
-their horses, side by side, these two, beneath the bridal balcony, while
-the train began to form and ride out through the courtyard gate. First
-the priests: Sira Eirik, Sira Tormod from Ulvsvolden, and a Brother of
-the Holy Cross from Hamar, a friend of Lavrans. Then came the groomsmen
-and the bridesmaids, pair by pair. And now ’twas for Erlend and her to
-ride forth. After them came the bride’s parents, the kinsmen, friends
-and guests, in a long line down betwixt the fences to the highway. Their
-road for a long way onward was strewn with clusters of rowan-berries,
-branches of pine, and the last white dogfennel of autumn, and folk stood
-thick along the waysides where the train passed by, greeting them with a
-great shouting.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-On the Sunday, just after sunset, the bridal train rode back to
-Jörundgaard. Through the first falling folds of darkness the bonfires
-shone out red from the courtyard of the bridal-house. Minstrels and
-fiddlers were singing and making drums and fiddles speak as the crowd of
-riders drew near to the warm red glare of the fires.
-
-Kristin came near to falling her length on the ground when Erlend lifted
-her from her horse beneath the balcony of the upper hall.
-
-“Twas so cold upon the hills,” she whispered—“I am so weary—” She stood
-for a moment—and when she climbed the stairs to the loft-room she swayed
-and tottered at each step.
-
-Up in the hall the half-frozen wedding-guests were soon warmed up again.
-The many candles burning in the room gave out heat; smoking hot dishes
-of food were borne around, and wine, mead and strong ale circled about.
-The loud hum of voices, and the noise of many eating sounded like a far
-off roaring in Kristin’s ears.
-
-It seemed as she sat there she would never be warm through again. In a
-while her cheeks began to burn, but her feet were still unthawed, and
-shudders of cold ran down her back. All the heavy gold that was on her
-head and body forced her to lean forward as she sat in the high-seat by
-Erlend’s side.
-
-Every time her bridegroom drank to her, she could not keep her eyes from
-the red stains and patches that stood out on his face so sharply as he
-began to grow warm after his ride in the cold. They were the marks left
-by the burns of last summer.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The horror had come upon her last evening, when they sat over the
-supper-board at Sundbu, and she met Björn Gunnarsön’s lightless eyes
-fixed on her and Erlend—unwinking, unwavering eyes. They had dressed up
-Sir Björn in knightly raiment—he looked like a dead man brought to life
-by an evil spell.
-
-At night she had lain with Lady Aashild—the bridegroom’s nearest
-kinswoman in the wedding company.
-
-“What is amiss with you, Kristin?” said Lady Aashild, a little sharply.
-“Now is the time for you to bear up stiffly to the end—not give way
-thus.”
-
-“I am thinking,” said Kristin, cold with dread, “on all them we have
-brought to sorrow, that we might see this day.”
-
-“’Tis not joy alone, I trow, that you two have had,” said Lady Aashild.
-“Not Erlend at the least. And methinks it has been worse still for you.”
-
-“I am thinking on his helpless children,” said the bride again. “I am
-wondering if they know their father is drinking to-day at his wedding
-feast.—”
-
-“Think on your own child,” said the Lady. “Be glad that you are drinking
-at your wedding with him who is its father.”
-
-Kristin lay awhile, weak and giddy. ’Twas so strange to hear that name,
-that had filled her heart and mind each day for three months and more,
-and whereof yet she had not dared speak a word to a living soul. It was
-but for a little though, that this helped her.
-
-“I am thinking of her who had to pay with her life, because she held
-Erlend dear,” she whispered, shivering.
-
-“Well if you come not to pay with your life yourself, ere you are half a
-year older,” said Lady Aashild harshly. “Be glad while you may—
-
-“What shall I say to you, Kristin?” said the old woman in a while,
-despairingly. “Have you clean lost courage this day of all days? Soon
-enough will it be required of you twain that you shall pay for all you
-have done amiss—have no fear that it will not be so.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-But Kristin felt as though all things in her soul were slipping,
-slipping—as though all were toppling down that she had built up since
-that day of horror at Haugen, in that first time when, wild and blind
-with fear, she had thought but of holding out one day more, and one day
-more. And she had held out till her load grew lighter—and at last grew
-even light, when she had thrown off all thought but this one thought:
-that now their wedding-day was coming at last, Erlend’s wedding-day at
-last.
-
-But, when she and Erlend knelt together in the wedding-mass, all around
-her seemed but some trickery of the sight—the tapers, the pictures, the
-glittering vessels, the priests in their copes and white gowns. All
-those who had known her where she had lived before—they seemed like
-visions of a dream, standing there, close-packed in the church in their
-unwonted garments. But Sir Björn stood against a pillar, looking at
-those two with his dead eyes, and it seemed to her that that other who
-was dead must needs have come back with him, on his arm.
-
-She tried to look up at Saint Olav’s picture—he stood there red and
-white and comely, leaning on his axe, treading his own sinful human
-nature underfoot—but her glance would ever go back to Sir Björn; and
-nigh to him she saw Eline Ormsdatter’s dead face, looking unmoved upon
-her and Erlend. They had trampled her underfoot that they might come
-hither—and she grudged it not to them.
-
-The dead woman had arisen and flung off her all the great stones that
-Kristin had striven to heap up above her. Erlend’s wasted youth, his
-honour and his welfare, his friends’ good graces, his soul’s health. The
-dead woman had shaken herself free from them all. “He would have me and
-I would have him; you would have him and he would have you,” said Eline.
-“I have paid—and he must pay and you must pay when your time comes. When
-the time of sin is fulfilled, it brings forth death—”
-
-It seemed to her she was kneeling with Erlend on a cold stone. He knelt
-there with the red, burnt patches on his pale face; she knelt under the
-heavy bridal crown, and felt the dull, crushing weight within her—the
-burden of sin that she bore. She had played and wantoned with her sin,
-had measured it as in a childish game. Holy Virgin—now the time was nigh
-when it should lie full-born before her, look at her with living eyes;
-show her on itself the brands of sin, the hideous deformity of sin;
-strike in hate with misshapen hands at its mother’s breast. When she had
-borne her child, when she saw the marks of her sin upon it and yet loved
-it as she had loved her sin, then would the game be played to an end.
-
-Kristin thought what if she shrieked aloud now, a shriek that would cut
-through the song and the deep voices intoning the mass, and echo out
-over the people’s heads? Would she be rid then of Eline’s face—would
-there come life into the dead man’s eyes? But she clenched her teeth
-together.
-
-“—Holy King Olav, I cry upon thee. Above all in Heaven I pray for help
-to thee, for I know thou didst love God’s justice above all things. I
-call upon thee, that thou hold thy hand over the innocent that is in my
-womb. Turn away God’s wrath from the innocent; turn it upon me; Amen, in
-the precious name of the Lord—”
-
-“My children,” said Eline’s voice, “are _they_ not guiltless? Yet is
-there no place for them in the lands where Christians dwell. Your child
-is begotten outside the law, even as were my children. No rights can you
-claim for it in the land you have strayed away from, any more than I for
-mine—”
-
-“Holy Olav! Yet do I pray for grace. Pray thou for mercy for my son;
-take him beneath thy guard; so shall I bear him to thy church on my
-naked feet, so shall I bear my golden garland of maidenhood in to thee
-and lay it down upon thy altar, if thou wilt but help me—amen.”
-
-Her face was set hard as stone in her struggle to be still and calm; but
-her whole body throbbed and quivered as she knelt there through the holy
-mass that wedded her to Erlend.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-And now, as she sat beside him in the high-seat at home, all things
-around her were but as shadows in a fevered dream.
-
-There were minstrels playing on harps and fiddles in the loft-room; and
-the sound of music and song rose from the hall below and the courtyard
-outside. There was a red glare of fire from without, when the door was
-opened for the dishes and tankards to be borne in and out.
-
-Those around the board were standing now; she was standing up between
-her father and Erlend. Her father made known with a loud voice that he
-had given Erlend Nikulaussön his daughter Kristin to wife. Erlend
-thanked his father-in-law, and he thanked all good folk who had come
-together there to honour him and his wife.
-
-She was to sit down, they said—and now Erlend laid his bridal gifts in
-her lap. Sira Eirik and Sir Munan Baardsön unrolled deeds and read aloud
-from them concerning the jointures and settlements of the wedded pair;
-while the groomsmen stood around, with spears in their hands, and now
-and again during the reading, or when gifts and bags of money were laid
-on the table, smote with the butts upon the floor.
-
-The tables were cleared away; Erlend led her forth upon the floor, and
-they danced together. Kristin thought: our groomsmen and our
-bridesmaids—they are all too young for us—all they that were young with
-us are gone from these places; how is it we are come back hither?
-
-“You are so strange, Kristin,” whispered Erlend, as they danced. “I am
-afraid of you, Kristin—are you not happy—?”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-They went from house to house and greeted their guests. There were many
-lights in all the rooms, and everywhere crowds of people drinking and
-singing and dancing. It seemed to Kristin she scarce knew her home
-again—and she had lost all knowledge of time—hours and the pictures of
-her brain seemed strangely to float about loosely, mingled with each
-other.
-
-The autumn night was mild; there were minstrels in the courtyard too,
-and people dancing round the bonfire. They cried out that the bride and
-bridegroom must honour them, too—and then she was dancing with Erlend on
-the cold, dewy sward. She seemed to wake a little then, and her head
-grew more clear.
-
-Far out in the darkness a band of white mist floated above the murmur of
-the river. The mountains stood around coal-black against the
-star-sprinkled sky.
-
-Erlend led her out of the ring of dancers—and crushed her to him in the
-darkness under the balcony.
-
-“Not once have I had the chance to tell you—you are so fair—so fair and
-so sweet. Your cheeks are red as flames—” he pressed his cheek to hers
-as he spoke. “Kristin, what is it ails you—?”
-
-“I am so weary, so weary,” she whispered back.
-
-“Soon will we go and sleep,” answered her bridegroom, looking up at the
-sky. The Milky Way had wheeled, and now lay all but north and south.
-“Mind you that we have not once slept together since that one only night
-I was with you in your bower at Skog?”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Soon after, Sira Eirik shouted with a loud voice out over the farmstead
-that now it was Monday. The women came to lead the bride to bed. Kristin
-was so weary that she was scarce able to struggle and hold back as ’twas
-fit and seemly she should do. She let herself be seized and led out of
-the loft-room by Lady Aashild and Gyrid of Skog. The groomsmen stood at
-the foot of the stair with burning torches and naked swords; they formed
-a ring round the troop of women and attended Kristin across the
-farm-place, and up into the old loft-room.
-
-The women took off her bridal finery, piece by piece, and laid it away.
-Kristin saw that over the bed-foot hung the violet velvet robe she was
-to wear on the morrow, and upon it lay a long, snow-white,
-finely-pleated linen cloth. It was the wife’s linen coif. Erlend had
-brought it for her; to-morrow she was to bind up her hair in a knot and
-fasten the head-linen over it. It looked to her so fresh and cool and
-restful.
-
-At last she was standing before the bridal bed, on her naked feet,
-bare-armed, clad only in the long golden-yellow silken shift. They had
-set the crown on her head again—the bridegroom was to take it off, when
-they two were left alone.
-
-Ragnfrid laid her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, and kissed her on
-the cheek—the mother’s face and hands were strangely cold, but it was as
-though sobs were struggling, deep in her breast. Then she threw back the
-coverings of the bed, and bade the bride seat herself in it. Kristin
-obeyed, and leaned back on the pillows heaped up against the
-bed-head—she had to bend her head a little forward to keep on the crown.
-Lady Aashild drew the coverings up to the bride’s waist, and laid her
-hands before her on the silken coverlid; then took her shining hair and
-drew it forward over her bosom and the slender bare upper arms.
-
-Next the men led the bridegroom into the loft-room. Munan Baardsön
-unclasped the golden belt and sword from Erlend’s waist—when he leaned
-over to hang it on the wall above the bed, he whispered something to the
-bride—Kristin knew not what he said, but she did her best to smile.
-
-The groomsmen unlaced Erlend’s silken robe and lifted off the long heavy
-garment over his head. He sat him down in the great chair and they
-helped him off with his spurs and boots—
-
-Once and once only the bride found courage to look up and meet his eyes—
-
-Then began the good-nights. Before long all the wedding-guests were gone
-from the loft. Last of all, Lavrans Björgulfsön went out and shut the
-door of the bride-house.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Erlend stood up, stripped off his under-clothing, and flung it on the
-benches. He stood by the bed, took the crown and the silken cords from
-off her hair, and laid them away on the table. Then he came back and
-mounted into the bed. Kneeling by her side he clasped her round the
-head, and pressed it in against his hot naked breast, while he kissed
-her forehead all along the red-streak the crown had left on it.
-
-She threw her arms about his shoulders and sobbed aloud—she had a sweet,
-wild feeling that now the horror, the phantom visions were fading into
-air—now, now once again naught was left but he and she. He lifted up her
-face a moment, looked down into it, and drew his hand down over her face
-and body, with a strange haste and roughness, as though he tore away a
-covering:
-
-“Forget,” he begged, in a fiery whisper, “forget all, my Kristin—all but
-this, that you are my own wife, and I am your own husband—”
-
-With his hand he quenched the flame of the last candle, then threw
-himself down beside her in the dark—he too was sobbing now:
-
-“Never have I believed it, never in all these years, that we should see
-this day—”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Without, in the courtyard, the noise died down little by little. Wearied
-with the long day’s ride, and dizzy with much strong drink, the guests
-made a decent show of merry-making a little while yet—but more and ever
-more of them stole away and sought out the places where they were to
-sleep.
-
-Ragnfrid showed all the guests of honour to their places, and bade them
-good-night. Her husband, who should have helped her in this, was nowhere
-to be seen.
-
-The dark courtyard was empty, save for a few small groups of young
-folks—servants most of them—when at last she stole out to find her
-husband and bring him with her to his bed. She had seen as the night
-wore on that he had grown very drunken.
-
-She stumbled over him at last, as she crept along in her search outside
-the cattle-yard—he was lying in the grass behind the bath-house, on his
-face.
-
-Groping in the darkness, she touched him with her hand—aye, it was he.
-She thought he was asleep, and took him by the shoulder—she must get him
-up off the icy-cold ground. But he was not asleep, at least, not wholly.
-
-“What would you?” he asked, in a thick voice.
-
-“You cannot lie here,” said his wife. She held him up, as he stood
-swaying. With one hand she brushed the soil off his velvet robe. “’Tis
-time we too went to rest, husband.” She took him by the arm, and drew
-him, reeling, up towards the farm-yard buildings.
-
-“_You_ looked not up, Ragnfrid, when you sat in the bridal bed beneath
-the crown,” he said in the same voice. “Our daughter—_she_ was not so
-shamefast—her eyes were not shamefast when she looked upon her
-bridegroom.”
-
-“She has waited for him seven half-years,” said the mother in a low
-voice. “No marvel if she found courage to look up—”
-
-“Nay, devil damn me if they have waited!” screamed the man—as his wife
-strove fearfully to hush him.
-
-They were in the narrow passage between the back of the privy and a
-fence. Lavrans smote with his clenched fist on the beam across the
-cess-pit:
-
-“I set thee here for a scorn and for a mockery, thou beam. I set thee
-here that filth might eat thee up. I set thee here in punishment for
-striking down that tender little maid of mine.—I should have set thee
-high above my hall-room door; and honoured thee and thanked thee with
-fairest carven ornament; because thou didst save her from shame and from
-sorrow,—because ’twas thy work that my Ulvhild died a sinless child—”
-
-He turned about, reeled toward the fence and fell forward upon it, and
-with his head between his arms fell into an unquenchable passion of
-weeping, broken by long, deep groans.
-
-His wife took him by the shoulder.
-
-“Lavrans, Lavrans!” But she could not stay his weeping. “Husband.”
-
-“Oh, never, never, never should I have given her to that man! God help
-me—I must have known it all the time—he had broken down her youth and
-her fairest honour. I believed it not—nay, could I believe the like of
-Kristin?—but still I knew it. And yet is she too good for this weakling
-boy, that hath made waste of himself and her—had he lured her astray ten
-times over, I should never have given her to him, that he may spill yet
-more of her life and her happiness—”
-
-“But what other way was there?” said the mother despairingly. “You know
-now, as well as I—she was his already—”
-
-“Aye, small need was there for me to make such a mighty to-do in giving
-Erlend what he had taken for himself already,” said Lavrans. “’Tis a
-gallant husband she has won—my Kristin—” He tore at the fence; then fell
-again a-weeping. He had seemed to Ragnfrid as though sobered a little,
-but now the fit overcame him again.
-
-She deemed she could not bring him, drunken and beside himself with
-despair as he was, to the bed in the hearth-room where they should have
-slept—for the room was full of guests. She looked about her—close by
-stood a little barn where they kept the best hay to feed to the horses
-at the spring ploughing. She went and peered in—no one was there; she
-took her husband’s hand, led him inside the barn, and shut the door
-behind them.
-
-She piled up hay over herself and him and laid their cloaks above it to
-keep them warm. Lavrans fell a-weeping now and again, and said
-somewhat—but his speech was so broken, she could find no meaning in it.
-In a little while she lifted up his head on to her lap.
-
-“Dear my husband—since now so great a love is between them, maybe ’twill
-all go better than we think—”
-
-Lavrans spoke by fits and starts—his mind seemed growing clearer:
-
-“See you not—he has her wholly in his power—he that has never been man
-enough to rule himself.—’Twill go hard with her before she finds courage
-to set herself against aught her husband wills—and should she one day be
-forced to it, ’twill be bitter grief to her—my own gentle child—
-
-—“Now am I come so far I scarce can understand why God hath laid so many
-and such heavy sorrows upon me—for I have striven faithfully to do His
-will. Why hath He taken our children from us, Ragnfrid, one by one—first
-our sons—then little Ulvhild—and now I have given her that I loved
-dearest, honourless, to an untrusty and a witless man. Now is there none
-left to us but the little one—and unwise must I deem it to take joy in
-her, before I see how it will go with her—with Ramborg.”
-
-Ragnfrid shook like a leaf. Then the man laid his arm about her
-shoulders:
-
-“Lie down,” he said, “and let us sleep—” He lay for a while with his
-head against his wife’s arm, sighing now and then, but at last he fell
-asleep.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was still pitch-dark in the barn when Ragnfrid stirred—she wondered
-to find that she had slept. She felt about with her hands; Lavrans was
-sitting up with knees updrawn and his arms around them.
-
-“Are _you_ awake already?” she asked in wonder. “Are you cold?”
-
-“No,” said he in a hoarse voice, “but I cannot go to sleep again.”
-
-“Is it Kristin you are thinking on?” asked the mother. “Like enough
-’twill go better than we think, Lavrans,” she said again.
-
-“Aye, ’tis of that I was thinking,” said the man. “Aye, aye—maid or
-woman, at least she is come to the bride-bed with the man she loves. And
-’twas not so with either you or me, my poor Ragnfrid.”
-
-His wife gave a deep, dull moan, and threw herself down on her side
-amongst the hay. Lavrans put out a hand and laid it on her shoulder.
-
-“But ’twas that I _could_ not,” said he, with passion and pain. “No, I
-_could_ not—be as you would have had me—when we were young. I am not
-such a one—”
-
-In a while Ragnfrid said softly through her weeping:
-
-“Yet ’twas well with us in our life together—Lavrans—was it not?—all
-these years?”
-
-“So thought I myself,” answered he gloomily.
-
-Thoughts crowded and tossed to and fro within him. That single unveiled
-glance in which the hearts of bridegroom and bride had leapt
-together—the two young faces flushing up redly—to him it seemed a very
-shamelessness. It had been agony, a scorching pain to him, that this was
-his daughter. But the sight of those eyes would not leave him—and wildly
-and blindly he strove against the tearing away of the veil from
-something in his own heart, something that he had never owned was there,
-that he had guarded against his own wife when she sought for it.
-
-’Twas that he _could_ not, he said again stubbornly to himself. In the
-devil’s name—he had been married off as a boy; he had not chosen for
-himself; she was older than he—he had not desired her; he had had no
-will to learn this of her—to love. He grew hot with shame even now when
-he thought of it—that she would have had him love her, when he had no
-will to have such love from her. That she had proffered him all this
-that he had never prayed for.
-
-He had been a good husband to her—so he had ever thought. He had shown
-her all the honour he could, given her full power in her own affairs,
-and asked her counsel in all things; he had been true to her—and they
-had had six children together. All he had asked had been that he might
-live with her, without her for ever grasping at this thing in his heart
-that he would not lay bare—
-
-To none had he ever borne love—Ingunn, Karl Steinsön’s wife, at Bru?
-Lavrans flushed red in the pitch darkness. He had been their guest ever,
-as often as he journeyed down the Dale. He could not call to mind that
-he had spoken with the housewife _once_ alone. But when he saw her—if he
-but thought of her, a sense came over him as of the first breath of the
-plough-lands in the spring, when the snows are but now melted and gone.
-He knew it now—it might have befallen him too—he, too, could have loved.
-
-But he had been wedded so young, and he had grown shy of love. And so
-had it come about that he throve best in the wild woods—or out on the
-waste uplands—where all things that live must have wide spaces around
-them—room to flee through—fearfully they look on any stranger that would
-steal upon them—
-
-One time in the year there was, when all the beasts in the woods and on
-the mountains forgot their shyness—when they rushed to their mates. But
-his had been given him unsought. And she had proffered him all he had
-not wooed her for.
-
-But the young ones in the nest—they had been the little warm green spot
-in the wilderness—the inmost, sweetest joy of his life. Those little
-girl-heads under his hand—
-
-Marriage—they had wedded him, almost unasked. Friends—he had many, and
-he had none. War—it had brought him gladness, but there had been no more
-war—his armour hung there in the loft-room, little used. He had turned
-farmer—But he had had his daughters—all his living and striving had
-grown dear to him, because by it he cherished them and made them safe,
-those soft, tender little beings he had held in his hands. He remembered
-Kristin’s little two-year-old body on his shoulder, her flaxen, silky
-hair against his cheek; her small hands holding to his belt, while she
-butted her round, hard child’s forehead against his shoulder-blades,
-when he rode out with her behind him on his horse.
-
-And now had she that same glow in her eyes—and she had won what was
-hers. She sat there in the half-shadow against the silken pillows of the
-bed. In the candle-light she was all golden—golden crown and golden
-shift and golden hair spread over the naked golden arms. Her eyes were
-shy no longer—
-
-Her father winced with shame.
-
-And yet it was as though his heart was bleeding within him, for what he
-himself had never won; and for his wife, there by his side, whom he had
-never given what should have been hers.
-
-Weak with pity, he felt in the darkness for Ragnfrid’s hand:
-
-“Aye, methought it was well with us in our life together,” he said.
-“Methought ’twas but that you sorrowed for our children—aye, and that
-you were born heavy of mood. Never did it come to my mind, it might be
-that I was no good husband to you—”
-
-Ragnfrid trembled fitfully:
-
-“You were ever a good husband, Lavrans.”
-
-“Hm,” Lavrans sat with his chin resting on his knees. “Yet had it mayhap
-been better with you, if you had been wedded even as our daughter was
-to-day—”
-
-Ragnfrid started up with a low, piercing cry:
-
-“You know! How did you know it—how long have you known—?”
-
-“I know not what ’tis you speak of,” said Lavrans after a while in a
-strange deadened voice.
-
-“This do I speak of—that I was no maid, when I came to be your wife,”
-said Ragnfrid, and her voice rang clear in her despair.
-
-In a little while Lavrans answered, as before:
-
-“That have I never known, till now.”
-
-Ragnfrid laid her down among the hay, shaken with weeping. When the fit
-was over she lifted her head a little. A faint grey light was beginning
-to creep in through the window-hole in the wall. She could dimly see her
-husband sitting with his arms thrown round his knees, motionless as
-stone.
-
-“Lavrans—speak to me—” she wailed.
-
-“What would you I should say?” asked he without stirring.
-
-“Oh—I know not—curse me—strike me—”
-
-“’Twould be something late now,” answered the man; there seemed to be
-the shade of a scornful smile in his voice.
-
-Ragnfrid wept again: “Aye—I heeded not then that I was betraying you. So
-betrayed and so dishonoured, methought, had I been myself. There was
-none had spared me. They came and brought you—you know yourself, I saw
-you but three times before we were wed—Methought you were but a boy,
-white and red—so young and childish—”
-
-“I was so,” said Lavrans, and a faint ring of life came to his voice.
-“And therefore a man might deem that you, who were a woman—you might
-have been more afraid to—to deceive one who was so young that he knew
-naught—”
-
-“So did _I_ think after,” said Ragnfrid, weeping. “When I had come to
-know you. Soon came the time, when I would have given my soul twenty
-times over, to be guiltless of sin against you.”
-
-Lavrans sat silent and motionless; then said his wife:
-
-“You ask not anything?”
-
-“What use to ask? It was he that—we met his burial-train at
-Feginsbrekka, as we bore Ulvhild in to Nidaros—”
-
-“Aye,” said Ragnfrid. “We had to leave the way—go aside into a meadow. I
-saw them bear him on his bier—with priests and monks and armed yeomen. I
-heard he had made a good end—had made his peace with God. I prayed as we
-stood there with Ulvhild’s litter between us—I prayed that my sin and my
-sorrow might be laid at his feet on the Last Day—”
-
-“Aye, like enough you did,” said Lavrans, and there was the same shade
-of scorn in his quiet voice.
-
-“You know not all,” said Ragnfrid, cold with despair. “Mind you that he
-came out to us at Skog the first winter we were wedded—?”
-
-“Aye,” answered the man.
-
-“When Björgulf was born—oh, I thought he was dearer spared me—He was
-drunk when he did it—afterward he said he had never cared for me, he
-would not have me—bade me forget it. My father knew it not; _he_ did not
-betray you—never think that. But Trond—we were the dearest of friends to
-each other then—I made my moan to him. He tried to force the man to wed
-me; but he was but a boy; he was beaten—Afterwards he counselled me to
-hold my peace, and to take you—”
-
-She sat a while in silence.
-
-“Then _he_ came out to Skog—a year was gone by; I thought not on it so
-much any more. But he came out thither—he said that he repented, he
-would have had me now, had I been unwedded—he loved me. He said so. God
-knows if he said true. When he was gone—I dared not go out on the fjord,
-dared not for my sin, not with the child. And I had begun—I had begun to
-love you so!” She cried out, a single cry of the wildest pain. The man
-turned his head quickly towards her.
-
-“When Björgulf was dying—Oh, no one, no one had to me than my life. When
-he lay in the death-throes—I thought, if he died, I must die too. But I
-prayed _not_ God to spare my boy’s life—”
-
-Lavrans sat a long time silent—then he asked in a dead, heavy voice:
-
-“Was it because I was not his father?”
-
-“I knew not if you were,” said Ragnfrid, growing stiff and stark where
-she sat.
-
-Long they sat there in a deathly stillness. Then the man asked
-vehemently of a sudden:
-
-“In Jesus name, Ragnfrid—why tell you me all this—now?”
-
-“Oh, I know not!” She wrung her hands till the joints cracked. “That you
-may avenge you on me—drive me from your house—”
-
-“Think you that would help me—” His voice shook with scorn. “Then there
-are our daughters,” he said quietly. “Kristin—and the little one.”
-
-Ragnfrid sat still a while.
-
-“I mind me how you judged of Erlend Nikulaussön,” she said softly. “How
-judge you of me, then—?”
-
-A long shudder of cold passed over the man’s body—yet a little of the
-stiffness seemed to leave him.
-
-“You have—we have lived together now for seven and twenty years—almost.
-’Tis not the same as with a stranger. I see this too—worse than misery
-has it been for you.”
-
-Ragnfrid sank together sobbing at the words. She plucked up heart to put
-her hand on one of his. He moved not at all—sat as still as a dead man.
-Her weeping grew louder and louder—but her husband still sat motionless,
-looking at the faint grey light creeping in around the door. At last she
-lay as if all her tears were spent. Then he stroked her arm lightly
-downward—and she fell to weeping again.
-
-“Mind you,” she said through her tears, “that man who came to us one
-time, when we dwelt at Skog? He that knew all the ancient lays? Mind you
-the lay of a dead man that was come back from the world of torment, and
-told his son the story of all that he had seen? There was heard a
-groaning from Hell’s deepest ground, the querns of untrue women grinding
-mould for their husbands’ meat. Bloody were the stones they dragged
-at—bloody hung the hearts from out their breasts—”
-
-Lavrans was silent.
-
-“All these years have I thought upon those words,” said Ragnfrid. “Every
-day ’twas as though my heart was bleeding, for every day methought I
-ground you mould for meat—”
-
-Lavrans know not himself why he answered as he did. It seemed to him his
-breast was empty and hollow, like the breast of a man that has had the
-blood-eagle carven through his back. But he laid his hand heavily and
-wearily on his wife’s head, and spoke:
-
-“Mayhap mould must needs be ground, my Ragnfrid, before the meat can
-grow.”
-
-When she tried to take his hand and kiss it, he snatched it away. But
-then he looked down at his wife, took one of her hands and laid it on
-his knee, and bowed his cold, stiffened face down upon it. And so they
-sat on, motionless, speaking no word more.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-
-
- ● Transcriber’s Notes:
-    ○ There is no section number 7 in Book III.
-    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
-    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
-    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
-      when a predominant form was found in this book.
-    ○ Text that:
-      was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
-      was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=).
-
-
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDAL WREATH ***
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