The Snake Pit (7 page)

He was ashamed of himself for the way he had behaved to her when he came home before. ’Twas far from seemly for a man to show his wife such conduct. He was afraid she might feel insulted.

“Have I frightened you?” Olav spoke in his usual voice, calmly, with a shade of tender solicitude. He placed himself beside her, a little awkwardly—took a pinch of the curds she was now kneading into balls, and ate it.

“I never did this work until I came hither,” she said in excuse. “Dalla would never let me. Maybe I have not pressed out the whey enough.”

“You will learn it, I doubt not,” her husband comforted her. “We have time enough, Ingunn.—I was so vexed over that matter of the horse—but the man Stein provoked me to it.” He looked down with embarrassment, turned red and laughed with annoyance.
“You know ’tis not like me—to make a fool’s bargain. I was so glad when you came out to meet me—” he looked at her as though begging forgiveness.

She bent yet deeper over her work, and her cheeks flushed darkly.

“She is not yet fit for much,” thought her husband. “The unwonted labour tires her.”—If only the old man in the closet would keep quiet tonight. His poor frame was rent by rheumatic pains, so that he often wailed aloud for hours at night, and the young people got little rest.

Olav Ingolfsson had broken down completely as soon as his young kinsman had relieved him of the duties of master. He had worn himself out at Hestviken, though there was but little to show for it. Now he abandoned himself wholly to the afflictions of old age. The two young people were kind to him. Olav felt it as a support—without being clear in what way he needed support-that after years of waiting he was living under the same roof as a man of his father’s kindred. And he was glad that Ingunn was so kind and thoughtful in her manner toward the feeble old man. He had been a little disappointed that she seemed to like neither the daughters of Arne nor their father, whom they had since met. Olav himself had a great liking for this cousin of his father’s. Arne of Hestbæk was a man of some fifty years, white-haired, but handsome and of good presence; the family likeness between him and Olav Audunsson was striking. Arne Torgilsson received Olav very open-heartedly and bade him be his guest at Yule. And for this Olav had a right good mind; but Ingunn did not seem so set on going.

But he was glad that in any case she seemed to take to Olav Ingolfsson, though the old man gave no little trouble. He was often restless at night—and then he befouled the place with all the simples and unguents he prepared for himself—and the old dog, who lay in his bed at night and was to draw out the pain from his sick leg, was uncleanly, thievish, and cross-tempered. But Ingunn patiently assisted the old man, spoke to him gently as a daughter, and was kind to his dog.

Both the young people found it diverting to listen to old Olav’s talk in the evenings. There was no end to what he knew of men and families and their seats in all the country around Folden. Of
the warfare that followed Sverre Priest’s coming to Norway he could tell them many tales learned from his father; but in King Skule’s cause Olav Half-priest had fought himself. Olav Audunsson’s great-grandfather, Olav Olavsson of Hestviken, had followed Sigurd Ribbung to the last, and then he had fought
against
Skule. But when the Duke was proclaimed King at the Öre Thing, Olav Ribbung mustered men about him and marched northward with his three sons to offer him his support; and his brother, Ingolf the priest, gave his son leave to accompany his cousins: “We were then in our fifteenth year, Torgils and I—but we gave a good account of ourselves. The scar I bear on my back was gotten at Laaka. They made such sport of me, the Vaarbelgs,
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for getting hurt
there—
but we had come into a deep cleft with a stream between landslides and had the Birchlegs above us both behind and before—there were Torgils and I and three other lads—there were so many young lads among our party. One of them we called Surt, for he had the reddest hair I have seen on any man.
⁸
It chanced, as we followed Gudine Geig into the Eastern Dales, that we lay one night at a little farm and woke to find the house afire. ‘You have lain with your shockhead against the bare wall, you devil,’ said Gudine. ‘Yes, and then you blew on it,’ said Surt—he-he-he, his words were less decent than I will repeat for Ingunn’s sake; we lay all over the floor, Surt just behind Gudine. The penthouse was all ablaze, but out we came and hacked our way through. They had an ill habit of setting fire to houses, the Birch-legs—’twas a jest with us that there were so many sons of bathhouse carls and bake-house wives among them. But now you are to hear how we fared, Torgils and I, at Laaka—nay, first let me tell you a little of this Gudine Geig—”

Olav noticed that it vexed Ingunn when the old man questioned her impatiently whether she would not soon have news for them. Now she and Olav had been married five months—

“We do what we can, kinsman,” said Olav with a little laugh.

But the old man was angry and told him not to jest lightly with the matter, but rather to make vows and pray God to grant them an heir betimes. Olav laughed and thought there was no such haste. In his own mind he deemed it hard enough for Ingunn, even now when she was in full health, to cope with the affairs of the household and keep her three serving-women to their work.

But Olav Ingolfsson complained: he believed he had not long to live. Now he had known four generations of the family, greatgrandfather, grandfather, father, and son—”I would fain greet a son of yours, Olav, before I quit this world.”

“Oh, you will live sure enough to greet both my son and my grandson,” Olav consoled him. But the old man was despondent:

“Olav Torgilsson, who was the first man of our race here in Hestviken, was married to Tora Ingolfsdatter ten years before they had children—and he fell before his sons saw the light. That was his punishment, to my mind, for having married her against his father’s will. Ingolf of Hestviken and Torgils of Dyfrin had been enemies, but Olav Torgilsson said he would not forgo this good marriage because the two old men had quarrelled once in a drinking-bout. Tora was the heiress here, for Ingolf was the last man of the old Hestvik line, who are said to have dwelt in this spot since there were men in Norway. And Torgils Fivil was the last of the barons’ line at Dyfrin. Sverre gave the manor and Torgils’s young widow to one of his own men—he had been thrice married, Torgils Fivil. He had been given the name in his youth from his flaxen hair and the fine, white skin that has ever been an inheritance in our kin.
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“So you may see, our ancestor had cause enough for vengeance upon Sverre—his manor, his father, and three brothers. And the winter that his wife perceived there was a hope that the race would survive them was the same winter when the country folk here around Folden rose to take vengeance for Magnus, their crowned King, and strike down that Sverre, who had no right to the kingdom and sought to upset all our ancient rights and bring in new customs, which we liked not. Men of the Vik and of the Upplands, of Ranrike and Elvesyssel, wellnigh the whole people of Norway were with us. Olav Torgilsson was among the
nobles who were foremost in counsel and boldest in fight from the very first.

“You know how we fared at Oslo that time. The Devil helps his own, and he bore up Sverre Priest till he had him well housed within the gates of hell, ’tis my belief. Olav Torgilsson fell there on the ice; but some men from these parts rescued the body and carried him home. So many men had fallen above Olav there around the standard that the Birchlegs had not despoiled him, and home he came, axe in hand; they could not loosen the dead man’s grip of the weapon. But when the widow came up and took hold of it, he let go—the arm dropped, and Tora was left with the axe, and at the same moment the child quickened within her—’twas as though the unborn babe had struck out with his clenched fist, she told the sons she bore that spring. From the time they were big enough to understand, she spoke of this early and late, that they had vowed to avenge their father while they were yet in the womb. That axe was the one you have now, ‘Kin-fetch.’ Tora gave it that name; of old it was called ‘Wrathful Iron.’ It came to Olav, since he was the elder of the twins, when she sent the boys to a man named Benedikt, who was said to be a son of King Magnus Erlingsson. His was the first company in which these brothers took part.

“I can well call to mind my grandmother, Tora Ingolfsdatter. She was a large-hearted woman, of great judgment, feared God, and was charitable toward the poor. While she was mistress here—and she had a long life; your great-grandfather and my father obeyed her to her dying day—there was great fishery here in Hestviken. Grandmother sent her ships along the whole coast, as far as the border by the Gauta River and down to Denmark—you can guess, she spied out news of what was brewing against the race of Sverre. Tora always had scent of all such plans that were afoot, and all who were minded to oppose the Birchlegs found good backing with the widow of Olav Torgilsson. Tora had loved her husband with marvellous devotion. Olav Torgillson was a little fair-skinned man, but full of strength, and handsome—somewhat lacking in chastity, but so they were, the men of King Magnus’s time.

“Grandmother herself can never have been fair of face. At the time I remember her she was so tall and so portly that she had to
go sideways and bend double to get through the door here in the new house. She was half a head taller than her sons, and they were big men. But fair she was not: she had a nose so big and so crooked that I know not to what I can liken it, and eyes like gulls’ eggs, and her chins hung down upon her chest and her breasts upon her stomach.

“First she sent her sons to Filippus, the Bagler King,
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but soon she grew very dissatisfied with him, deeming him lacking in energy, lazy, and a lover of peace. When therefore this Benedikt came forward in the Marches, she bade the lads go to him. His company was for the most part a rabble of vagabonds of every kind—my father always said that this Benedikt was of little worth as a leader. He was rash and heedless and somewhat foolish—sometimes a coward and sometimes overbold. But Olav held staunchly to him, always, for he firmly believed that Benedikt was King Magnus’s son, though he did not come up to his father. Now, it befell Bene that at the first he had but this herd of rogues that they called the ragged host, but soon more and more good franklins took up his cause, since no more likely leader could be found at the time. But then they were minded to rule Bene and not let themselves be ruled by their claimant to the crown. And when, after a time, Sigurd Ribbung came forward and gained the support of the nobles, the old Bagler leaders, the chiefs of the ragged host took Bene with them and went over to Sigurd, and Benedikt had to content himself with being one of Sigurd Ribbung’s petty chieftains. But Olav Olavsson always bore in mind that Benedikt was the lord to whom he had first sworn fealty, and served and honoured him accordingly. Olav was a loyal man.

“Tora made good marriages for her sons—for Olav, Astrid Helgesdatter of Mork; they were very young, some sixteen years both of them, and they had a goodly life together and loved each other with true affection. Their sons were Ingolf, your grandfather, he was the eldest; then there was the Helge who fell at Nidaros with King Skule, and Torgils, he was the youngest of the sons; he and I were of equal age. The daughters of Olav and Astrid were Halldis, who was married to Ivar Staal of Aas in Hudrheim, and Borgny, the nun—a lovable, holy woman. She died the year after you were born.

“Father was older when he married, for he wished to be a priest. It was the Bishop himself, Nikulaus Arnesson, who ordained him, and he loved my father very dearly, for Father was exceeding pious and learned and wrote books more fairly than any priest in the diocese. My mother, Bergljot of Tveit, was merry, fond of feasting and show, so she and Father were ill matched and did not agree well together, though they had many children—five of us lived to grow up. She was somewhat greedy of money, my mother—Father was so generous that he robbed his own larder behind Mother’s back to give alms. But it chanced unluckily that the townsmen got word of this and laughed at it—you know, it looks ill if a priest be not master in his own house. I remember one day Mother was angry over something—she took two sheets of a book Father had just finished writing and threw them on the fire, but then he beat her. Father was a big, strong, valiant man and he had fought bravely against the Birchlegs, but toward his even Christians he was the most gentle and peaceful of men—but with Mother there was ever some dissension. Between our house at Oslo and the sea there was a piece—one could not call it ground; ’twas but beach and weeds and bare rock. The townspeople had been wont to use a path across it to shorten the way. Mother wished to close this path—Father deemed it unseemly for a priest to wrangle over such a small matter. But there were quarrels without end on account of this right of way—between Father and Mother and between us and our neighbours.

“When the order came that the priests of Norway were to live in celibacy like those of other Christian lands, Father bade my mother go home to Tveit, to enjoy the manor and a great part of his estate. But she and her kinsmen and my brothers and sisters were very wroth, for they thought in their hearts that Father was more glad than sorry to be forced to break up their married life. I know full well that my father had always held the marriage of priests to be an evil custom, and that was also the opinion of Bishop Nikulaus—but ’twas the usage when my father was a young man, and then he had to do as his mother willed. My brothers and sisters and my mother then went upcountry, and I have not seen much of them since: Kaare, my brother, got Tveit, and Erlend got Aasheim; now both the manors are divided among many children. I stayed with Father; I had always been intended for the priesthood—and Father and I lived happily together and looked
on Halvard’s Church as our true home. I was ordained subdeacon three years after King Skule’s fall. Grandmother Tora died soon after.