Kristin Lavransdatter (88 page)

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

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

“You’re an unchivalrous man, Erlend,” she said suddenly. “There you sit while I have to stand.”

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

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

Erlend and Fru Sunniva remained sitting there as before, feigning nonchalance, but they had both turned crimson. He held his arm lightly around her, as if he hardly noticed she was sitting there, while he and the men talked about the enmity between Erling Vidkunssøn and Chancellor Paal which was so much on everyone’s mind. Erlend said that Paal Baardsøn had displayed his attitude toward Erling in quite a womanish way—as they could judge for themselves:

“Last summer a young country boy had come to the gathering of the chieftains to offer his services to the king. Now this poor boy from Vors was so eager to learn courtly customs and manners that he tried to embellish his speech with Swedish words—it was French back when I was young, but today it’s Swedish. So one day the boy asks someone how to say
traakig,
which happens to mean ‘boring’ in Norwegian. Sir Paal hears this and says: ‘
Traakig,
my friend, that’s what Sir Erling’s wife, Fru Elin, is.’ The boy now thinks this means beautiful or noble, because that’s what she is, and apparently the poor fellow hadn’t had much opportunity to hear the woman
talk.
But one day Erling meets him on the stairs outside the hall, and he stops and speaks kindly to the youth, asking him whether he liked being in Nidaros, and such things, and then he tells him to give his greetings to his father. The boy thanks him and says it will please his father greatly when he returns home with greetings ‘from you, kind sir, and your boring wife.’ Whereupon Erling slaps him in the face so the boy tumbles backwards down three or four steps until a servant catches him in his arms. Now there’s a great commotion, people come running, and the matter is finally cleared up. Erling was furious at being made a laughingstock, but he feigned indifference. And the only response from the chancellor was that he laughed and said he should have explained that ‘
traakig
’ was what the regent was—then the boy couldn’t have misunderstood.”

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

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

She replied, “Right now I’m thinking about Margret.”

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

“That’s not what you thought last week,” said Kristin, her voice scornful and bitter.

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

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

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

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

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