Kristin Lavransdatter Part 78

"Mother," said Naakkve, "now I think it best if you go, and take Munan with you. You mustn't leave him alone even for a moment until he is calmer," he said quietly. "Keep him indoors so he doesn't see that his brothers are under guard."

Kristin stood up. "My sons, if you don't think me undeserving, then I would ask that you kiss me before I leave."

Naakkve, Bjrgulf, Ivar, and Skule went over and kissed her. The one who had been banned gave his mother a sorrowful look; when she held out her hand to him, he took a fold of her sleeve and kissed it. Kristin saw that all of them, except for Gaute, were now taller than she was. She straightened up Lavrans's bed a bit, and then she left with Munan.

There were four buildings with lofts at Jrundgaard: the high loft house, the new storeroom-which had been the summer quarters during Kristin's childhood, before Lavrans built the large house-the old storeroom, and the salt shed, which also had a loft. That's where the servingwomen slept in the summer.

Kristin went up to the loft above the new storeroom with Munan. The two of them had slept there ever since the death of the infant. She was pacing back and forth when Frida and Gunhild brought the evening porridge. Kristin asked Frida to see to it that the guardsmen were given ale and food. The maid replied that she had already done so-at Naakkve's bidding-but the men had said they would not accept anything from Kristin since they were at her manor for such a purpose. They had received food and drink from somewhere else.

"Even so, you must have a keg of foreign ale brought to them."

Gunhild, the younger maid, was red-eyed from weeping. "None of the house servants believes this of you, Kristin Lavransdatter; surely you must know that. We always said that we knew it was a lie."

"So you have heard this gossip before?" said her mistress. "It would have been better if you had mentioned it to me."

"We didn't dare because of Ulf," said Frida.

And Gunhild said as she wept, "He warned us to keep it from you. I often thought that I should mention it and beg you to be more wary . . . when you would sit and talk to Ulf until late into the night."

"Ulf . . . so he has known about this?" asked Kristin softly.

"Jardtrud has accused him of it for a long time; that was apparently always the reason that he struck her. One evening during Christmas, about the time when you were growing heavy, we were sitting and drinking with them in the foreman's house. Solveig and Oivind were there too, along with several people from south in the parish. Suddenly Jardtrud said that he was the one who had caused it. Ulf hit her with his belt so the buckle drew blood. Since then Jardtrud has gone around saying that Ulf did not deny it with a single word."

"And ever since people have been talking about this in the countryside?" asked the mistress.

"Yes. But those of us who are your servants have always denied it," said Gunhild in tears.

To calm Munan, Kristin had to lie down next to the boy and take him in her arms, but she did not undress, and she did not sleep that night.

In the meantime, up in the high loft, young Lavrans had gotten out of bed and put on his clothes. Toward evening, when Naakkve went downstairs to help tend to the livestock, the boy went out to the stable. He saddled the red gelding that belonged to Gaute; it was the best horse except for the stallion, which he didn't trust himself to ride.

Several of the men standing guard on the estate came out and asked the boy where he was headed.

"I didn't know that I I was a prisoner too," replied young Lavrans. "But I don't need to hide it from you. Surely you wouldn't refuse to allow me to ride to Sundbu to bring back the knight to defend his kinswoman." was a prisoner too," replied young Lavrans. "But I don't need to hide it from you. Surely you wouldn't refuse to allow me to ride to Sundbu to bring back the knight to defend his kinswoman."

"It will soon be dark, my boy," said Kolbein Jonssn. "We can't let this child ride across Vaage Gorge at night. We must speak to his mother."

"No, don't do that," said Lavrans. His lips quivered. "The purpose of my journey is such that I will trust in G.o.d and the Virgin Mary to keep watch over me, if my mother is without blame. And if not, then it makes little difference-" He broke off, for he was close to tears.

The man stood in silence for a moment. Kolbein gazed at the handsome, fair-haired child. "Go on then, and may G.o.d be with you, Lavrans Erlendssn," he said, and was about to help the boy into the saddle.

But Lavrans led the horse forward so the men had to step aside. At the big boulder near the manor gate, he climbed up and then flung himself onto the back of Raud. Then he galloped westward, along the road to Vaagaa.

CHAPTER 8.

LAVRANS HAD RIDDEN his horse into a lather by the time he reached the spot where he knew a path led up through the scree and steep cliffs that rise up everywhere on the north side of Silsaa valley. He knew he had to make it to the heights before dark. He didn't know these mountains between Vaagaa, Sil, and Dovre, but the gelding had grazed here one summer, and he had carried Gaute to Haugen many times, although along different paths. Young Lavrans leaned forward and patted the neck of his horse.

"You must find the way to Haugen, Raud, my son. You must carry me to Father tonight, my horse."

As soon as he reached the crest of the mountains and was once again sitting in the saddle, darkness fell quickly. He rode through a marshy hollow; an endless progression of narrow ridges was silhouetted against the ever-darkening sky. There were groves of birches on the valley slopes, and their trunks shone white. Wet cl.u.s.ters of leaves constantly brushed against the horse's chest and the boy's face. Stones were dislodged by the animal's hooves and rolled down into the creek at the bottom of the incline. Raud found his way in the dark, up and down the hillsides, and the trickling of the creek sounded first close and then far away. Once some beast bayed into the mountain night, but Lavrans couldn't tell what it was. And the wind rushed and sang, first stronger, then fainter.

The child held his spear along the neck of his horse, so that the tip pointed forward between the animal's ears. This was bear country, this valley here. He wondered when it would end. Very softly he began to hum into the darkness: "Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison." "Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison."

Raud splashed through the shallow crossing of a mountain stream. The sky became even more star-strewn all around; the mountain peaks looked more distant against the blackness of the night, and the wind sang with a different tone in the vast s.p.a.ce. The boy let the horse choose his own path as he hummed as much as he could remember of the hymn, "Jesus Redemptor omnium-Tu lumen et splendor patris," interspersed with "Kyrie eleison "Kyrie eleison." Now he could see by the stars that they were riding almost due south, but he didn't dare do anything but trust the horse and let him lead. They were riding over rocky slopes with reindeer moss gleaming palely on the stones beneath him. Raud paused for a moment, panting and peering into the night. Lavrans saw that the sky was growing lighter in the east; clouds were billowing up, edged with silver underneath. His horse moved on, now headed directly toward the rising moon. It must be about an hour before midnight, as far as the boy could tell.

When the moon slipped free of the crests off in the distance, new snow gleamed atop the domes and rounded summits, and drifting wisps of fog turned the pa.s.ses and peaks white. Lavrans recognized where he was in the mountians. He was on the mossy plateau beneath the Blue Domes.

Soon afterward he found a path leading down into the valley. And three hours later Raud limped into the courtyard of Haugen, which was white with moonlight.

When Erland opened the door, the boy collapsed on the floor of the gallery in a deep faint.

Some time later Lavrans woke up in bed, lying between filthy, rank-smelling fur covers. Light shone from a pine torch that had been stuck in a crack in the wall nearby. His father was standing over him, moistening his face with something. His father was only half dressed, and the boy noticed in the flickering light that his hair was completely gray.

"Mother . . ." said young Lavrans, looking up.

Erlend turned away so his son wouldn't see his face. "Yes," he said after a moment, almost inaudibly. "Is your mother-has she . . . is your mother . . . ill?"

"You must come home at once, Father, and save her. Now they're accusing her of the worst of things. They've taken Ulf and her and my brothers captive, Father!"

Erlend touched the boy's hot face and hands; his fever had flared up again. "What are you saying?" But Lavrans sat up and gave a fairly coherent account of everything that had taken place back home the day before. His father listened in silence, but halfway through the boy's story he began to finish getting dressed. He pulled on his boots and fastened his spurs. Then he went to get some milk and food and brought them over to the child.

"But you can't stay here alone in this house, my son. I will take you over to Aslaug, north of here in Brekken, before I ride home."

"Father." Lavrans grabbed his arm. "No, I want to go home with you."

"You're ill, little son," said Erlend, and the boy couldn't recall ever hearing such a tender tone in his father's voice.

"No, Father . . . I want to go home with you-to Mother. I want to go home to my mother. . . ." Now he was weeping like a small child.

"But Raud is limping, my boy." Erlend took his son on his lap, but he could not console the child. "And you're so tired. . . ." Finally he said, "Well, well . . . Soten can surely carry both of us."

After he had led out the stallion, put Raud inside, and tended to the animal, he said, "You must make sure to remember that someone comes north to take care of your horse . . . and my things."

"Are you going to stay home now, Father?" asked Lavrans joyfully.

Erlend gazed straight ahead. "I don't know. But I have a feeling I won't be back here again."

"Shouldn't you be better armed, Father?" the boy asked, for aside from his sword Erlend had picked up only a small, lightweight axe and was now about to leave the house. "Aren't you even going to take your s.h.i.+eld?"

Erlend looked at his s.h.i.+eld. The oxhide was so scratched and torn that the red lion against the white field had almost disappeared. He put it back down and spread the covers over it again.

"I'm armed well enough to drive a horde of farmers from my manor," he said. He went outside, closed the door to the house, mounted his horse, and helped the boy climb up behind him.

The sky was growing more and more overcast. By the time they had come partway down the slope, where the forest was quite dense, they were riding in darkness. Erlend noticed that his son was so tired that he could hardly hold on. Then he let Lavrans sit in front of him, and he held the boy in his arms. The young, fair-haired head rested against his chest; of all the children, Lavrans was most like his mother. Erlend kissed the top of his head as he straightened the hood on the boy's cape.

"Did your mother grieve greatly when the infant died this summer?" he asked once, quite softly.

Young Lavrans replied, "She didn't cry after he died. But she has gone up to the cemetery gate every night since. Gaute and Naakkve usually follow her when she leaves, but they haven't dared speak to her, and they don't dare let Mother see that they've been keeping watch over her."

A little later Erlend said, "She didn't cry? I remember back when your mother was young, and she wept as readily as the dew drips from goat willow reeds along the creek. She was so gentle and tender, Kristin, whenever she was with people whom she knew wished her well. Later on she had to learn to be harder, and most often I was the one to blame."

"Gunhild and Frida say that in all the days our youngest brother lived," continued Lavrans, "she cried every minute when she thought no one would see her."

"May G.o.d help me," said Erlend in a low voice. "I've been a foolish man."

They rode through the valley floor, with the curve of the river at their backs. Erlend wrapped his cape around the boy as best he could. Lavrans dozed and kept threatening to fall asleep. He sensed that his father's body smelled like that of a poor man. He had a vague memory from his early childhood, while they were living at Husaby, when his father would come from the bathhouse on Sat.u.r.days and he would have several little b.a.l.l.s in his hands. They smelled so good, and the delicate, sweet scent would cling to his palms and to his clothing during the whole Sabbath.

Erlend rode steadily and briskly. Down on the moors it was pitch-dark. Without thinking about it, he knew at every moment where he was; he recognized the changing sound of the river's clamor, as the Laag rushed through rapids and plunged over falls. Their path took them across flat stretches, where the sparks flew from the horse's hooves. Soten ran with confidence and ease among the writhing roots of pine trees, where the road pa.s.sed through thick forest; there was a soft gurgling and rus.h.i.+ng sound as he raced across small green plains where a meandering rivulet from the mountains streamed across. By daybreak he would be home, and that would be a fitting hour.

The whole time Erlend was doubtless thinking about that moon-blue wintry night long ago when he drove a sleigh down through this very valley. Bjrn Gunnarssn sat in back, holding a dead woman in his arms. But the memory was pale and distant, just as everything the child had told him seemed distant and unreal: all that had happened down in the village and those mad rumors about Kristin. Somehow his mind refused to grasp it. After he arrived, there would surely be time enough to think about what he should do. Nothing seemed real except the feeling of strain and fear-now that he would soon see Kristin.

He had waited and waited for her. He had never doubted that one day she would come to him-up until he heard what name she had given the child.

Stepping out of the church into the gray light were those people who had been to early ma.s.s to hear one of the priests from Hamar preach. The ones who emerged first saw Erlend Nikulaussn ride past toward home, and they told the others. Some uneasiness and a great deal of talk arose; people headed down the slope and stood in groups at the place where the lane to Jrundgaard diverged from the main road.

Erlend rode into the courtyard as the waning moon sank behind the rim of clouds and the mountain ridge, pale in the dawn light.

Outside the foreman's house stood a group of people: Jardtrud's kinsmen and her friends who had stayed with her overnight. At the sound of horse hooves in the courtyard the men who had been keeping guard in the room under the high loft came outside.

Erlend reined in his horse. He gazed down at the farmers and said in a loud, mocking voice, "Is there a feast being held on my estate and I know nothing about it? Or why are you good folks gathered here at this early hour?"

Angry, dark looks met him from all sides. Erlend sat tall and slender astride the long-legged foreign stallion. Before, Soten's mane had been clipped short, but now it was thick and uncut. The horse was ungroomed and had gray hairs on his head, but his eyes glittered dangerously, and he stomped and s.h.i.+fted uneasily, laying his ears back and tossing his small, elegant head so that flecks of lather sprinkled his neck and shoulders and the rider. The harnesswork had once been red and the saddle inlaid with gold; now they were worn and broken and mended. And the man was dressed almost like a beggar. His hair, which billowed from under a simple black woolen hat, was grayish white; a gray stubble grew on his pale, furrowed face with the big nose. But he sat erect, and he was smiling arrogantly down at the crowd of farmers. He looked young, in spite of everything, and like a chieftain. Fierce hatred surged toward this outsider, who sat there, holding his head high and uncowed-after all the grief and shame and misery he had brought upon those whom these people considered their own chieftains.

And yet the farmer who was the first to answer Erlend spoke with restraint. "I see you have found your son, Erlend, so I think you must know that we have not gathered here for any feast. And it seems strange you would jest about such a matter."

Erlend looked down at the child, who was still asleep. His voice grew more gentle.

"The boy is ill; surely you must see that. The news he brought me from here in the parish seemed so unbelievable that I thought he must be speaking in a feverish daze.

"And some of it is nonsense, after all, I see." Erlend frowned as he glanced at the stable door. Ulf Haldorssn and two other men-one of them his brother-in-law-were at that moment leading out several horses.

Ulf let go of his horse and strode swiftly toward his master.

"Have you finally come, Erlend? And there's the boy-praise be to Christ and the Virgin Mary! His mother doesn't know he was missing. We were about to go out to look for him. The bishop released me on my sworn oath when he heard the child had set off alone for Vaagaa. How is Lavrans?" he asked anxiously.

"Thank G.o.d you've found the boy," said Jardtrud, weeping. She had come out into the courtyard.

"Are you here, Jardtrud?" said Erlend. "That will be the first thing I see to: that you leave my estate, you and your cohorts. First we'll drive off this gossiping woman, and then anyone else who has spread lies about my wife will be fined."

"That cannot be done, Erlend," said Ulf Haldorssn. "Jardtrud is my lawful wife. I don't think either she or I has any desire to stay together, but she will not leave my house until I have placed in the hands of my brothers-in-law her livestock, dowry, betrothal gifts, and wedding gifts."

"Am I not the master of this estate?" asked Erlend, furious.

"You will have to ask Kristin Lavransdatter about that," said Ulf. "Here she comes."

The mistress was standing on the gallery of the new storeroom. Now she slowly came down the stairs. Without thinking, she pulled her wimple forward-it had slipped back off her head-and she smoothed her church gown, which she had worn since the day before. But her face was as motionless as stone.

Erlend rode forward to meet her, at a walking pace. Bending down a bit, he stared with fearful confusion at his wife's gray, dead face.

"Kristin," he implored. "My Kristin. I've come home to you."

She didn't seem to hear or see him. Then Lavrans, who was sitting in his father's arms and had gradually woken up, slid down to the ground. The moment his feet touched the gra.s.s, the boy collapsed and he lay in a heap.

A tremor pa.s.sed over his mother's face. She leaned down and lifted the big boy in her arms, pressing his head against her throat, as if he were a little child. But his long legs hung down limply in front of her.

"Kristin, my dearest love," begged Erlend in despair. "Oh, Kristin, I know I've come to you much too late . . ."

Again a tremor pa.s.sed over his wife's face.

"It's not too late," she said, her voice low and harsh. She stared down at her son, who lay in a swoon in her arms. "Our last child is already in the ground, and now it's Lavrans's turn. Gaute has been banished by the Church, and our other sons . . . But the two of us still own much that can be ruined, Erlend!"

She turned away from him and began walking across the courtyard with the child. Erlend rode after her, keeping his horse at her side.

"Kristin-Jesus, what can I do for you? Kristin, don't you want me to stay with you now?"

"I don't need you to do anything more for me," said his wife in the same tone of voice. "You cannot help me, whether you stay here or you throw yourself into the Laag."

Erlend's sons had come out onto the gallery of the high loft. Now Gaute ran down and raced toward his mother, trying to stop her.

"Mother," he begged. Then she gave him a look, and he halted in bewilderment.

Several farmers were standing at the bottom of the loft stairs.

"Move aside, men," said the mistress, trying to pa.s.s them with her burden.

Soten tossed his head and danced uneasily; Erlend turned the horse halfway around, and Kolbein Jonssn grabbed the bridle. Kristin hadn't seen what was happening; now she turned to look over her shoulder.