Kristin Lavransdatter Part 81

Over the course of the winter Bjrgulf seemed to settle down, as far as Kristin could tell. Once again he came to the table for meals with the servants of the house, he went with them to ma.s.s, and he willingly and gladly accepted the help and services that his mother so dearly wanted to offer him.

As time pa.s.sed and Kristin never heard her sons make any mention of the monastery, she realized how unspeakably reluctant she was to give up her eldest son to the life of a monk.

She couldn't help admitting that a cloister would be the best place for Bjrgulf. But she didn't see how she could bear to lose Naakkve in that way. It must be true, after all, that her firstborn was somehow bound closer to her heart than her other sons.

Nor could she see that Naakkve was suited to be a monk. He did have a talent for learned games and a fondness for devotional practices; nevertheless, his mother didn't think he was particularly disposed toward spiritual matters. He didn't attend the parish church with any special zeal. He often missed the services, giving some meager excuse, and she knew that neither he nor Bjrgulf confessed to their parish priest anything but the most ordinary of sins. The new priest, Sira Dag Rolfssn, was the son of Rolf of Blakarsarv, who had been married to Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter's cousin; for this reason he often visited his kinswoman's estate. He was a young man about thirty years old, well educated and a good cleric, but the two oldest sons never warmed to him. With Gaute, on the other hand, he soon became good friends.

Gaute was the only one of Erlend's sons who had made friends among the people of Sil. But none of the others had continued to be as much an outsider as Nikulaus was. He never had anything to do with the other youths. If he went to the places where young people gathered to dance or meet, he usually stood on the outskirts of the green to watch, a.s.serting by his demeanor that he was too good to take part. But if he was so inclined, he might join in the games unasked, and then everyone saw that he was doing it to show off. He was vigorous, strong, and agile, and it was easy to provoke him to fight. But after he had defeated two or three of the most renowned opponents in the parish, people had to tolerate his presence. And if he wished to dance with a maiden, he paid no heed to her brothers or kinsmen but simply danced with the girl and walked and sat with her alone. No woman ever said no when Nikulaus Erlendssn requested her company, which did not make people like him any better.

After his brother had gone blind, Naakkve seldom left his side, but if he went out in the evening, he acted no differently from before. For the most part he also gave up his long hunting expeditions, but that fall he had bought himself an exceedingly costly white falcon from the sheriff, and he was as eager as ever to practice his bowmans.h.i.+p and prowess in sports. Bjrgulf had taught himself to play chess blind, and the brothers would often spend an entire day at the chessboard; they were both the most zealous of players.

Then Kristin heard people talking about Naakkve and a young maiden, Tordis Gunnarsdatter from Skjenne. The following summer she was staying up in the mountain pastures. Many times Naakkve was away from home at night. Kristin found out that he had been with Tordis.

The mother's heart trembled and twisted and turned like an aspen leaf on its stem. Tordis belonged to an old and respected family; she herself was a good and innocent child. Naakkve couldn't possibly mean to dishonor her. If the two young people forgot themselves, then he would have to make the girl his wife. Sick with anguish and shame, Kristin realized nevertheless that she would not be overly aggrieved if this should happen. Only two years ago she would never have stood for it if Tordis Gunnarsdatter were to succeed her as the mistress of Jrundgaard. The maiden's grandfather was still alive and lived on his estate with four married sons; she herself had many siblings. She would not be a wealthy bride. And every woman of that lineage had given birth to at least one witless child. The children were either exchanged at birth or possessed by the mountain spirits; no matter how they strove to protect the women in childbed, neither baptism nor sacred incantations seemed to help. There were now two old men at Skjenne whom Sira Eirik had judged to be changelings, as well as two children who were deaf and mute. And the wood nymph had bewitched Tordis's oldest brother when he was seventeen. Otherwise those belonging to the Skjenne lineage were a handsome lot, their livestock flourished, and good fortune followed them, but they were too numerous for their family to have any wealth.

G.o.d only knew whether Naakkve could have abandoned his resolve without sinning if he had already promised himself to the service of the Virgin Mary. But a man always had to spend one year as a young brother in the monastery before he was ordained; he could withdraw voluntarily if he realized that he was not meant to serve G.o.d in that way. And she had heard that the French countess who was the mother of the great doctor of theology, the friar Sir Thomas Aquinas, had locked her son in with a beautiful, wanton woman in order to shake his resolve when he wanted to retreat from the world. Kristin thought this was the vilest thing she had ever heard, and yet when the woman died, she had reconciled with G.o.d. So it must not be such a terrible sin if Kristin now imagined that she would open her arms to embrace Tordis of Skjenne as the wife of her son.

In the autumn Jammaelt Halvardssn came to Formo, and he confirmed the rumors of great news that had also reached the valley. In consultation with the highest leaders of the Church and Norway's Council of knights and n.o.blemen, King Magnus Eirikssn had decided to divide his realms between the two sons he had fathered with his queen, Lady Blanche. At the meeting of n.o.bles in Vardberg, he had given the younger son, Prince Haakon, the t.i.tle of king of Norway. Both learned priests and laymen of the gentry had sworn sacred oaths to defend the land under his hand. He was supposed to be a handsome and promising three-year-old child, and he was to be brought up in Norway with four foster mothers, all the most highborn wives of knights, and with two spiritual and two worldly chieftains as his foster fathers when King Magnus and Queen Blanche were in Sweden. It was said that Sir Erling Vidkuns sn and the bishops of Bjrgvin and Oslo were behind this selection of a sovereign, and Bjarne Erlingssn had presented the matter to the king; Lord Magnus loved Bjarne above all his other Norwegian men. Everyone expected the greatest benefits for the realm of Norway now that they would once again have a king who was reared and lived among them, who would protect the laws and rights and interests of the country instead of squandering his time, energies, and the wealth of the kingdom on incursions in other lands.

Kristin had heard about the selection of a king, just as she had heard about the discord with the German merchants in Bjrgvin and about the king's wars in Sweden and Denmark. But these events had touched her so little-like the echo of thunder from the mountains after a storm had pa.s.sed over the countryside and was far away. No doubt her sons had discussed these matters with each other. Jammaelt's account threw the sons of Erlend into a state of violent agitation. Bjrgulf sat with his forehead resting in his hand so he could hide his blind eyes. Gaute listened with his lips parted as his fingers tightly clenched the hilt of his dagger. Lavrans's breathing was swift and audible, and all of a sudden he turned away from his uncle and looked at Naakkve, sitting in the high seat. The oldest son's face was pale, and his eyes blazed.

"It has been the fate of many a man," said Naakkve, "that those who were his fiercest opponents in life found success on the road he had pointed out to them-but only after they had made him into fodder for the worms. After his mouth was stuffed with earth, the lesser men no longer shrank from affirming the truth of his words."

"That may well be, kinsman," said Jammaelt in a placating tone. "You may be right about that. Your father was the first of all men to think of this way out of the foreign lands-with two brothers on the thrones, here and in Sweden. Erlend Nikulaussn was a deep-thinking, wise, and magnanimous man. I see that. But take care what you now say, Nikulaus. Surely you wouldn't want your words to be spread as gossip that might harm Skule."

"Skule didn't ask my permission to do what he did," said Naakkve sharply.

"No, he probably didn't remember that you had come of age by now," replied Jammaelt in the same tone as before. "And I didn't think about it either, so it was with my consent and blessing that he placed his hand on Bjarne's sword and swore allegiance."

"I think he did remember it, but the whelp knew I would never give my consent. And no doubt the Giske men needed this salve for their guilty consciences."

Skule Erlendssn had joined Bjarne Erlingssn as one of his loyal men. He had met the great chieftain when he was visiting his aunt at aelin during Christmas, and Bjarne had explained to the boy that it was largely due to the intercession of Sir Erling and himself that Erlend had been granted his life. Without their support Simon Andressn would never have been able to accomplish his mission with King Magnus. Ivar was still with Inge Fluga.

Kristin knew that what Bjarne Erlingssn had said was not entirely untrue-it was in accordance with Simon's own account of his journey to Tunsberg-and yet during all these years she had always thought of Erling Vidkunssn with great bitterness; it seemed to her that he should have been able to help her husband attain better terms if he had wished to do so. Bjarne hadn't been capable of much back then, as young as he was. But she wasn't pleased that Skule had joined up with this man, and in an odd way it took her breath away that the twins had acted on their own and had set off into the world. They were no more than children, she thought.

After Jammaelt's visit the uneasiness of her mind grew so great that she hardly dared think at all. If it was true what the men said-that the prosperity and security of the people of the realm would increase beyond words if this small boy in Tunsberg Castle were now called Norway's king-then they could have been enjoying this turn of events for almost ten years if Erlend hadn't . . . No! She refused to think about that that when she thought about the dead. But she couldn't help it because she knew that in her sons' eyes their father was magnificent and perfect, the most splendid warrior and chieftain, without faults or flaws. And she herself had thought, during all these years, that Erlend had been betrayed by his peers and wealthy kinsmen; her husband had suffered great injustice. But Naakkve went too far when he said that when she thought about the dead. But she couldn't help it because she knew that in her sons' eyes their father was magnificent and perfect, the most splendid warrior and chieftain, without faults or flaws. And she herself had thought, during all these years, that Erlend had been betrayed by his peers and wealthy kinsmen; her husband had suffered great injustice. But Naakkve went too far when he said that they they had made him into fodder for the worms. She too bore her own heavy share of the blame, but it was mostly Erlend's folly and his desperate obstinacy that had brought about his wretched death. had made him into fodder for the worms. She too bore her own heavy share of the blame, but it was mostly Erlend's folly and his desperate obstinacy that had brought about his wretched death.

But no . . . all the same, she wasn't pleased that Skule was now in the service of Bjarne Erlingssn.

Would she ever live to see the day when she was released from the ceaseless torment of anguish and unrest? Oh Jesus, remember the anguish and grief that your own mother bore for your sake; have mercy on me, a mother, and give me comfort!

She felt uneasy even about Gaute. The boy had the makings of the most capable of farmers, but he was so impetuous in his eagerness to restore prosperity to his lineage. Naakkve gave him free rein, and Gaute had his hands in so many enterprises. With several other men of the parish he had now started up the old iron-smelting sites in the mountains. And he sold off far too much; he sold not only the goods from the land leases but also part of the yield from his own estate. All her days Kristin had been used to seeing full storerooms and stalls on her farm, and she grew a little cross with Gaute when he frowned in disapproval at the rancid b.u.t.ter and made fun of the ten-year-old bacon she had hung up. But she wanted to know that on her manor there would never be a shortage of food; she would never have to turn a poor man away unaided if years of drought should strike the countryside. And there would be nothing lacking when the time came for weddings and christening feasts and banquets to be held once again on the old estate.

Her ambitious hopes for her sons had been diminished. She would be content if they would settle down here in her parish. She could combine and exchange her properties in such a fas.h.i.+on that three of them could live on their own estates. And Jrundgaard, along with the portion of Laugarbru that lay on this side of the river, could feed three leaseholders. They might not be circ.u.mstances fit for n.o.blemen, but they wouldn't be poor folk either. Peace reigned in the valley; here little was heard about all the unrest among chieftains of the land. If this should be perceived as a decline in the power and prestige of their lineage . . . well, G.o.d would be able to further the interests of their descendants if He saw that it would be to their benefit. But surely it would be vain of her to hope that she might see them all gathered around her in this manner. It was unlikely they would settle down so easily, these sons of hers who had Erlend Nikulaussn as their father.

During this time her soul found peace and solace whenever she let her thoughts dwell on the two children she had laid to rest up in the cemetery.

Every day, over the ensuing years, she had thought of them; as she watched children of the same age grow and thrive, she would wonder how her own would have looked by now.

As she went about her daily ch.o.r.es, just as diligent and hardworking as ever, but reticent and preoccupied, her dead children were always with her. In her dreams they grew older and flourished, and they turned out, in every way, to be exactly as she had wished. Munan was as loyal to his kinsmen as Naakkve, but he was as cheerful and talkative with his mother as Gaute was, and he never worried her with unwise impulses. He was as gentle and thoughtful as Lavrans, but Munan would tell his mother all the strange things he was pondering. He was as clever as Bjrgulf, but no misfortune clouded his way through life, so his wisdom held no bitterness. He was as self-reliant, strong, and bold as the twins, but not as unruly or stubborn.

And she recalled once more all the sweet, merry memories of the loving charm of her children when they were small every time she thought about little Erlend. He stood on her lap, waiting to be dressed. She put her hands around his chubby, naked body, and he reached up with his small hands and face and his whole precious body toward her face and her caresses. She taught him to walk. She had placed a folded cloth across his chest and up under his arms; he hung in this harness, as heavy as a sack, vigorously fumbling backward with his feet. Then he laughed until he was wriggling like a worm from laughter. She carried him in her arms out to the farmyard to see the calves and lambs, and he shrieked with joy at the sow with all her piglets. He leaned his head back and gaped at the doves perched in the stable hayloft. He ran to her in the tall gra.s.s around the heaps of stones, crying out at each berry he saw and eating them out of her hand so avidly that her palm was wet from his greedy little mouth.

All the joys of her children she remembered and relived in this dream life with her two little sons, and all her sorrows she forgot.

It was spring for the third time since Erlend had been laid in his grave. Kristin heard no more about Tordis and Naakkve. Neither did she hear anything about the cloister. And her hope grew; she couldn't help it. She was so reluctant to sacrifice her eldest son to the life of a monk.

Right before Saint Jon's Day, Ivar Erlendssn came home to Jrundgaard. The twins had been young lads in their sixteenth year when they left home. Now Ivar was a grown man, almost eighteen years old, and his mother thought he had become so handsome and manly that she could hardly get her fill of looking at him.

On the first morning Kristin took breakfast up to Ivar as he lay in bed. Honey-baked wheat bread, lefse lefse, and ale that she had tapped from the last keg of Christmas brew. She sat on the edge of his bed while he ate and drank, smiling at everything he said. She got up to look at his clothes, turning and fingering each garment; she rummaged through his traveling bag and weighed his new silver brooch in her slender reddish-brown hand; she drew his dagger out of its sheath and praised it, along with all his other possessions. Then she sat down on the bed again, looked at her son, and listened with a smile in her eyes and on her lips to everything the young man told her.

Then Ivar said, "I might as well tell you why I've come home, Mother. I've come to obtain Naakkve's consent for my marriage."

Overwhelmed, Kristin clasped her hands together. "My Ivar! As young as you are . . . Surely you haven't committed some folly!"

Ivar begged his mother to listen. She was a young widow, Signe Gamalsdatter of Rognheim in Fauskar. The estate was worth six marks in land taxes, and most of it was her sole property, which she had inherited through her only child. But she had become embroiled in a lawsuit with her husband's kinsmen, and Inge Fluga had tried to acquire all manner of unlawful benefits for himself if he was to help the widow win justice. Ivar had become indignant and had taken up the woman's defense, accompanying her to the bishop himself, for Lord Halvard had always shown Ivar a fatherly goodwill every time they had met. Inge Munanssn's actions in the county could not bear close scrutiny, but he had been wise enough to stay on friendly terms with the n.o.bles of the countryside, frightening the peasants into their mouseholes. And he had thrown sand in the bishop's eyes with his great cleverness. It was doubtless for Munan's sake that Lord Halvard had refrained from being too stern. But now things did not look good for Inge, so the cousins had parted with the gravest enmity when Ivar took his horse and rode off from Inge Fluga's manor. Then he had decided to pay a visit at Rognheim, in the south, before he left the region. That was at Eastertime, and he had been staying with Signe ever since, helping her on the estate in the springtime. Now they had agreed that he would marry her. She She didn't think that Ivar Er lendssn was too young to be her husband and protect her interests. And the bishop, as he had said, looked on him with favor. He was still much too young and lacking in learning for Lord Halvard to appoint him to any position, but Ivar was convinced that he would do well if he settled at Rognheim as a married man. didn't think that Ivar Er lendssn was too young to be her husband and protect her interests. And the bishop, as he had said, looked on him with favor. He was still much too young and lacking in learning for Lord Halvard to appoint him to any position, but Ivar was convinced that he would do well if he settled at Rognheim as a married man.

Kristin sat fidgeting with her keys in her lap. This was sensible talk. And Inge Fluga certainly deserved no better. But she wondered what that poor old man, Munan Baardsn, would say about all this.

About the bride she learned that Signe was thirty winters old, from a lowborn and impoverished family, but her first husband had acquired much wealth so that she was now comfortably situated, and she was an honorable, kind, and diligent woman.

Nikulaus and Gaute accompanied Ivar south to have a look at the widow, but Kristin wanted to stay home with Bjrgulf. When her sons returned, Naakkve could tell his mother that Ivar was now betrothed to Signe Gamalsdatter. The wedding would be celebrated at Rognheim in the autumn.

Not long after his arrival back home Naakkve came to see his mother one evening as she sat sewing in the weaving room. He barred the door. Then he said that now that Gaute was twenty years old and Ivar would also come of age by marrying, he and Bjrgulf intended to journey north in the fall and ask to be accepted as novices at the monastery. Kristin said little; they spoke mainly about how they would arrange those things that her two oldest sons would want to take with them from their inheritance.

But a few days later men came to Jrundgaard with an invitation to a betrothal banquet: Aasmund of Skjenne was going to celebrate the betrothal of his daughter Tordis to a good farmer's son from Dovre.

That evening Naakkve came again to see his mother in the weaving room, and once again he barred the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the hearth, poking a twig into the embers. Kristin had lit a small fire since the nights were cold that summer.

"Nothing but feasts and carousing, my mother," he said with a little laugh. "The betrothal banquet at Rognheim and the celebration at Skjenne and then Ivar's wedding. When Tordis rides in her wedding procession, I doubt I'll be riding along; by that time I will have donned cloister garb."

Kristin didn't reply at once. But then, without looking up from her sewing-she was making a banquet tunic for Ivar-she said, "Many probably thought it would be a great sorrow for Tordis Gunnarsdatter if you became a monk."

"I once thought so myself," replied Naakkve.

Kristin let her sewing sink to her lap. She looked at her son; his face was impa.s.sive and calm. And he was so handsome. His dark hair brushed back from his white forehead, curling softly behind his ears and along the slender, tan stalk of his neck. His features were more regular than his father's; his face was broader and more solid, his nose not as big, and his mouth not as small. His clear blue eyes were lovely beneath the straight black brows. And yet he didn't seem seem as handsome as Erlend had been. It was his father's animal-like softness and languid charm, his air of inextinguishable youth that Naakkve did not possess. as handsome as Erlend had been. It was his father's animal-like softness and languid charm, his air of inextinguishable youth that Naakkve did not possess.

Kristin picked up her work again, but she didn't go back to sewing. After a moment, as she looked down and tucked in a hem of the cloth with her needle, she said, "Do you realize, Naakkve, that I haven't voiced a single word of objection to your G.o.dly plans? I wouldn't dare do so. But you're young, and you know quite well-being more learned than I am-that it is written somewhere that it ill suits a man to turn around and look over his shoulder once he has set his hand to the plow."

Not a muscle moved in her son's face.

"I know that you've had these thoughts in mind for a long time," continued his mother. "Ever since you were children. But back then you didn't understand what you would be giving up. Now that you've reached the age of a man . . . Don't you think it would be advisable if you waited a while longer to see if you have the calling? You You were born to take over this estate and become the head of your lineage." were born to take over this estate and become the head of your lineage."

"You dare to advise me now?" Naakkve took several deep breaths. He stood up. All of a sudden he slapped his hand to his breast and tore open his tunic and s.h.i.+rt so his mother could see his naked chest where his birthmark, the five little blood-red, fiery specks, shone amid the black hair.

"I suppose you thought I was too young to understand what you were sighing about with moans and tears whenever you kissed me here, back when I was a little lad. I may not have understood, but I could never forget the words you spoke.

"Mother, Mother . . . Have you forgotten that Father died the most wretched of deaths, unconfessed and unanointed? And you you dare to dissuade us! dare to dissuade us!

"I think Bjrgulf and I know what we're turning away from. It doesn't seem to me such a great sacrifice to give up this estate and marriage-or the kind of peace and happiness that you and Father had together during all the years I can remember."

Kristin put down her sewing. All that she and Erlend had lived through, both bad and good . . . A wealth of memories washed over her. This child understood so little what he was renouncing. With all his youthful fights, bold exploits, careless dealings, and games of love-he was no more than an innocent child.

Naakkve saw the tears well up in his mother's eyes; he shouted, "Quid mihi et tibi est, mulier." "Quid mihi et tibi est, mulier."2 Kristin cringed, but her son spoke with violent agitation. "G.o.d did not say those words because he felt scorn for his mother. But he chastised her, that pure pearl without blemish or flaw, when she tried to counsel him on how to use the power that he had been given by his Father in Heaven and not by his mother's flesh. Mother, you must not advise me about this; do not venture to do so." Kristin cringed, but her son spoke with violent agitation. "G.o.d did not say those words because he felt scorn for his mother. But he chastised her, that pure pearl without blemish or flaw, when she tried to counsel him on how to use the power that he had been given by his Father in Heaven and not by his mother's flesh. Mother, you must not advise me about this; do not venture to do so."

Kristin bent her head to her breast.

After a moment Naakkve said in a low voice, "Have you forgotten, Mother, that you pushed me away-" He paused, as if he didn't trust his own voice. But then he continued, "I wanted to kneel beside you at my father's deathbed, but you told me to go away. Don't you realize my heart wails in my chest whenever I think about that?"

Kristin whispered, almost inaudibly, "Is that why you've been so . . . cold . . . toward me during all these years I've been a widow?"

Her son was silent.

"I begin to understand . . . You've never forgiven me for that, have you, Naakkve?"

Naakkve looked away. "Sometimes . . . I have forgiven you, Mother," he said, his voice faint.

"But not very often . . . Oh, Naakkve, Naakkve!" she cried bitterly. "Do you think I loved Bjrgulf any less than you? I'm his mother. I'm mother to both of you! It was cruel of you to keep closing the door between him and me!"

Naakkve's pale face turned even whiter. "Yes, Mother, I closed the door. Cruel, you say. May Jesus comfort you, but you don't know . . ." His voice faded to a whisper, as if the boy's strength were spent. "I didn't think you should . . . We had to spare you."

He turned on his heel, went to the door, and unbarred it. But then he paused and stood there with his back to Kristin. Finally she softly called out his name. He came back and stood before her with his head bowed.

"Mother . . . I know this isn't . . . easy . . . for you."

She placed her hands on his shoulders. He hid his eyes from her gaze, but he bent down and kissed her on the wrist. Kristin recalled that his father had once done the same, but she couldn't remember when.

She stroked his sleeve, and then he lifted his hand and patted her on the cheek. They sat down again, both of them silent for a time.

"Mother," said Naakkve after a while, his voice steady and quiet, "do you still have the cross that my brother Orm left to you?"

"Yes," said Kristin. "He made me promise never to part with it."

"I think if Orm had known about it, he would have consented to letting me have it. I too will now be without inheritance or lineage."

Kristin pulled the little silver cross from her bodice. Naakkve accepted it; it was warm from his mother's breast. Respectfully he kissed the reliquary in the center of the cross, fastened the thin chain around his neck, and hid the cross inside his clothing.

"Do you remember your brother Orm?" asked his mother.

"I'm not sure. I think I do . . . but perhaps that's just because you always talked so much about him, back when I was little."

Naakkve sat before his mother for a while longer. Then he stood up. "Good night, Mother!"

"May G.o.d bless you, Naakkve. Good night!"

He left her. Kristin folded up the wedding tunic for Ivar, put away her sewing things, and covered the hearth.

"May G.o.d bless you, may G.o.d bless you, my Naakkve." Then she blew out the candle and left the old building.

Some time later Kristin happened to meet Tordis at a manor on the outskirts of the parish. The people there had fallen ill and hadn't been able to bring in the hay, so the brothers and sisters of the Olav guild had gone to lend them a hand. That evening Kristin accompanied the girl part of the way home. She walked along slowly, as an old woman does, and chatted; little by little she turned the conversation so that Tordis found herself telling Naakkve's mother all about what there had been between the two of them.

Yes, she had met with him in the paddock at home, and the summer before, when she was staying up in their mountain pastures, he had come to see her several times at night. But he had never tried to be too bold with her. She knew what people said about Naakkve, but he had never offended her, in either word or deed. But he had lain beside her on top of the bedcovers a few times, and they had talked. She once asked him if it was his intention to court her. He replied that he couldn't; he had promised himself to the service of the Virgin Mary. He told her the same thing in the spring, when they happened to speak to each other. And then she decided that she would no longer resist the wishes of her grandfather and father.

"It would have brought great sorrow upon both of you if he had broken his promise and you had defied your kinsmen," said Kristin. She stood leaning on her rake and looked at the young maiden. The child had a gentle, lovely round face, and a thick braid of the most beautiful fair hair. "G.o.d will surely bestow happiness on you, my Tordis. He seems a most intrepid and fine boy, your betrothed."

"Yes, I'm quite fond of Haavard," said the girl, and began to sob bitterly.

Kristin consoled her with words befitting the lips of an old and sensible woman. Inside, she moaned with longing; she so dearly wished she could have called this good, fresh child her daughter.

After Ivar's wedding she stayed at Rognheim for a while. Signe Gamalsdatter was not beautiful and looked both weary and old, but she was kind and gentle. She seemed to have a deep love for her young husband, and she welcomed his mother and brothers as if she thought them to be so high above her that she couldn't possibly honor or serve them well enough. For Kristin it was a new experience to have this woman go out of her way to antic.i.p.ate her wishes and tend to her comfort. Not even when she was the wealthy mistress of Husaby, commanding dozens of servants, did anyone ever serve Kristin in a way that showed they were thinking of the mistress's ease or well-being. She had never spared herself when she bore the brunt of the work for the benefit of the whole household, and no one else ever thought of sparing her either. Signe's obliging concern for the welfare of her mother-in-law during the days she was at Rognheim did Kristin good. She soon grew so fond of Signe that almost as often as she prayed to G.o.d to grant Ivar happiness in his marriage, she also prayed that Signe might never have reason to regret that she had given herself and all her properties to such a young husband.

Right after Michaelmas Naakkve and Bjrgulf headed north for Trndelag. The only thing she had heard since then was that they had arrived safely in Nidaros and had been accepted as novices by the brotherhood at Tautra.