Kristin Lavransdatter

  “The more bold and swaggering they are when they meet my father, the more easily he will comply,” she said. “And Olav Piper could never hide the fact that he would be pleased to sit on the same bench as men from the ancient lineages.”

  The only one who did not seem to feel quite comfortable in this gathering of kin was Sir Jammaelt Halvardssøn. King Magnus had made him a knight at Christmas; Ramborg Lavransdatter was now the wife of a knight.

  This time Sir Jammaelt had brought his eldest son, Andres Si monssøn, along with him. Kristin had asked him to do so the last time Jammaelt came north, for she had heard a rumor that there was supposedly something strange about the boy. Then she grew terribly frightened; she wondered whether some harm might have been done to his soul or body because of what she had done in his behalf when he was a child. But his stepfather said no, the boy was healthy and strong, as good as gold, and perhaps cleverer than most people. But it was true that he had second sight. Sometimes he seemed to drift away, and when he came back, he would often do peculiar things. Such as the year before. One day he took his silver spoon, the one Kristin had given to him at his birth, and a torn shirt that had belonged to his father, and he left the manor and went down to a bridge that stretches across the river along the main road near AElin. There he sat for many hours, waiting. Eventually three poor people came walking across the bridge: an old beggar and a young woman holding an infant. Andres went over and gave the things to them, and then asked if he might carry the child for the woman. Back home everyone was desperate with anguish when Andres didn’t appear for meals or by nightfall. They went out looking for him, and at last Jammaelt heard that Andres had been seen far north in the next parish, in the company of a couple known as Krepp and Kraaka; he was carrying their infant. When Jammaelt finally found the boy on the following day, Andres explained that he had heard a voice during mass on the previous Sunday while he was looking at the images painted on the front of the altar. It showed the Mother of God and Saint Joseph leaving the land of Egypt and carrying a child, and he wished that he had lived back then, for he would have asked to accompany them and carry the child for the Virgin Mary. Then he heard a voice, the gen tlest and sweetest voice in the world, and it promised to show him a sign if he would go out to Bjerkheim Bridge on a certain day.

  Otherwise Andres was reluctant to speak of his visions, because their parish priest had said they were partly imagined and partly due to a confused and muddled state of mind, and he frightened his mother out of her wits with his strange ways. But he talked to an old servant woman, an exceedingly pious woman, and to a friar who used to wander through the countryside during Lent and Advent. The boy would doubtless choose the spiritual life, so Simon Simonssøn was sure to be the one who would settle at Formo when the time came. He was a healthy and lively child who looked a great deal like his father, and he was Ramborg’s favorite.

  Ramborg and Jammaelt had not yet had a child of their own. Kristin had heard from those who had seen Ramborg at Raumarike that she had grown quite fat and lazy. She kept company with the wealthiest and mightiest people in the south, but she never wanted to make the trip to her home valley, and Kristin hadn’t seen her only sister since they parted on that day at Formo. But Kristin was convinced that Ramborg’s resentment toward her remained unchanged. She got on well with Jammaelt, and he tended to the well-being of his stepchildren with loving care. If he should die with no children of his own, he had arranged for the eldest son of the man who would inherit most of his property to marry Ulvhild Simonsdatter; in that way at least the daughter of Simon Darre would have some benefit from his inheritance. Arngjerd had married Grunde of Eiken the year after her father’s death; Gyrd Darre and Jammaelt had provided her with a rich dowry, as they knew Simon would have wanted. And Jammaelt said she was well. Grunde appeared to let his wife guide him in all manner of things, and they already had three handsome children.

  Kristin was strangely moved when she saw Simon and Ramborg’s oldest son again. He was the living image of Lavrans Bjørg ulfsøn, even more than Gaute. And over the past few years Kristin had given up her belief that Gaute might be anything like her father in temperament.

  Andres Darre was now twelve years old, tall and slender, fair and lovely and rather quiet, although he seemed robust and cheerful enough, with good physical abilities and a hearty appetite, except that he refused to eat meat. There was something that set him apart from other boys, but Kristin couldn’t say what it was, although she watched him closely. Andres became good friends with his aunt, but he never mentioned his visions, and he didn’t have any of his spells while in Sil.

  The four sons of Erlend seemed to enjoy being together on their mother’s estate, but Kristin didn’t manage to talk much with her sons. When they were discussing things among themselves, she felt as if their lives and well-being had now slipped beyond her view. The two who came from far away had left their childhood home behind, and the two who lived on the manor were on the verge of taking its management out of her hands. The gathering took place in the midst of the springtime shortages, and she saw that Gaute must have been making preparations for it by rationing the fodder more strictly than usual that winter; he had also borrowed fodder from Sir Sigurd. But he had done all these things without consulting her. And all the advice regarding Gaute’s case was also presented without including her, even though she sat in the same room with the men.

  For this reason she was not surprised when Ivar came to her one day and said that Lavrans would be leaving with him when he went back to Rognheim.

  Ivar Erlendssøn also told his mother on another day that he thought she should move to Rognheim with him after Gaute was married. “Signe is a more amenable daughter-in-law to live with, I think. And it can’t possibly be easy for you to give up your charge of the household when you are used to running everything.” But otherwise he seemed to be fond of Jofrid—he and all the other men. Only Sir Jammaelt seemed to regard her with some coolness.

  Kristin sat with her little grandson on her lap, thinking that it wouldn’t be easy no matter where she was. It was difficult getting old. It seemed such a short time ago that she herself was the young woman, when it was her fate that prompted the clamor of the men’s counsel and strife. Now she had been pushed into the background. Not long ago her own sons had been just like this little boy. She recalled her dream about the newborn child. During this time the thought of her own mother often came to her; she couldn’t remember her mother except as an aging and melancholy woman. But she too had once been young, when she lay and warmed herself with the heat of her own body; her mother’s body and soul had also been marked in her youth by carrying and giving birth to her children. And doubtless she hadn’t given it any more thought than Kristin had when she sat with the sweet young life at her breast—that as long as they both should live, each day would take the child farther and farther away from her arms.

  “After you had a child yourself, Kristin, I thought you would understand,” her mother had once said. Now she realized that her mother’s heart had been deeply etched with memories of her daughter, memories of her thoughts about the child from before she was born and from all the years the child could not remember, memories of fears and hopes and dreams that children would never know had been dreamed on their behalf, before it was their own turn to fear and hope and dream in secret.

  Finally the gathering of kinsmen split up, and some went to stay with Jammaelt at Formo while others accompanied Sigurd over to Vaagaa. Then one day two of Gaute’s leaseholders from the south of the valley came racing into the courtyard. The sheriff was on his way north to seek out Gaute at home, and the maiden’s father and kinsmen were with him. Young Lavrans ran straight to the stable. The next evening it looked as if an army had gathered at Jørund gaard; all of Gaute’s kinsmen were there along with their armed men, and his friends from the countryside had come as well.

  Then Helge of Hovland arrived in a great procession to demand his rights from the man who had abducted his
daughter. Kristin caught a glimpse of Helge Duk as he rode into the courtyard alongside Sir Paal Sørkvessøn, the sheriff himself. Jofrid’s father was an older, tall, and stoop-backed man who looked quite ill; it was evident that he limped when he got off his horse. Her sister’s husband, Olav Piper, was short, wide, and thickset; both his face and hair were red.

  Gaute stepped forward to meet them, his posture erect and dignified, and behind him he had an entire phalanx of kinsmen and friends. They stood in a semicircle in front of the stairs to the high loft; in the middle were the two older gentlemen holding the rank of knight: Sir Sigurd and Sir Jammaelt. Kristin and Jofrid watched the meeting from the entryway to the weaving room, but they couldn’t hear what was said.

  The men went up to the loft, and the two women retreated inside the weaving room. Neither of them felt like talking. Kristin sat down near the hearth; Jofrid paced the floor, holding her child in her arms. They continued in this way for a while; then Jofrid wrapped a blanket around the boy and left the room with him. An hour later Jammaelt Halvardssøn came in to find his wife’s sister sitting alone, and he told her what had happened.

  Gaute had offered Helge Duk sixteen marks in gold for Jofrid’s honor and for taking her by force. This was the same amount that Helge’s brother had been given in restitution for the life of his son. Gaute would then wed Jofrid with her father’s consent and provide all the proper betrothal and wedding gifts, but in return Helge would have to accept Gaute and Jofrid with full reconciliation so that she would be given the same dowry as her sisters and share with them in the inheritance. Sir Sigurd, on behalf of Gaute’s kinsmen, offered a guarantee that he would keep to this agreement. Helge Duk seemed willing to accept this offer at once, but his sons-in-law—Olav Piper and Nerid Kaaressøn, who was betrothed to Aasa—voiced objections. They said Gaute must be the most arrogant of men if he dared to think he could set his own terms for his marriage to a maiden he had shamed while she was at her brother-in-law’s manor and had then been taken by force. Or to demand that she be allowed to share the inheritance with her sisters.

  It was easy to see, said Jammaelt, that Gaute was not pleased he would have to haggle over the price for marrying a highborn maiden whom he had seduced and who had now given birth to his son. But it was also easy to see that he had learned his lessons and prayers by heart, so he didn’t have to read them out of a book.

  In the midst of the discussion, as friends on both sides attempted to mediate, Jofrid came into the room with the child in her arms. Then her father broke down and could no longer hold back his tears. And so the matter was decided as she wished.

  It was clear that Gaute could never have paid such a fine, but Jofrid’s dowry was set at the same amount, so things came out even. The result of the meeting was that Gaute won Jofrid but received little more than what she had brought in her sacks when she arrived at Jørundgaard. But he gave her documents for almost all that he owned as betrothal and wedding gifts, and his brothers gave their assent. One day he would acquire great riches from her—provided their marriage was not childless, said Ivar Gjesling with a laugh, and the other men laughed too. But Kristin blushed crimson because Jammaelt sat there listening to all the coarse jests that were uttered.

  The next day Gaute Erlendssøn was betrothed to Jofrid Helgesdatter, and afterward she went to church for the first time after the birth, honored as if she had been a married woman. Sira Dag said she was entitled to this. Then she went to Sundbu with the child and remained under Sir Sigurd’s protection until the wedding.

  It took place a month later, just after Saint Jon’s Day, and it was both beautiful and grand. The following morning Kristin Lavransdatter, with great ceremony, gave her keys to her son, and Gaute then fastened the ring to his wife’s belt.

  Afterward Sir Sigurd Eldjarn held a great banquet at Sundbu, and there he and his cousins, the former Sundbu men, solemnly swore and sealed a vow of friendship. Sir Sigurd generously presented costly gifts from his estate, both to the Gjeslings and to all his guests, according to how close they were as kin or friends—drinking horns, eating vessels, jewelry, weapons, furs, and horses. People then judged that Gaute Erlendssøn had brought this matter of abducting his bride to the most honorable of ends.

  CHAPTER 4

  ONE SUMMER MORNING a year later Kristin was out on the gallery of the old hearth house, cleaning out several chests of tools that stood there. When she heard horses being led into the courtyard, she went to have a look, peering between the narrow pillars of the gallery. One of the servants was leading two horses, and Gaute had appeared in the stable doorway; the boy Erlend was sitting astride his father’s shoulders. The bright little face looked over the top of the man’s yellow hair, and Gaute was holding the boy’s tiny hands clasped in his own big tan hands under his chin. He handed the child to a maid who came across the courtyard and then mounted his horse. But when Erlend screamed and reached for his father, Gaute took him back and set him in front of him on the saddle. At that moment Jofrid came out of the main house.

  “Are you taking Erlend with you? Where are you headed?”

  Gaute replied that he was going up to the mill; the river was threatening to carry it away. “And Erlend says he wants to go with his father.”

  “Have you lost your wits?” She quickly pulled the boy down, and Gaute roared with laughter.

  “I think you actually believed I was going to take him along!”

  “Yes.” His wife laughed too. “You’re always taking the poor boy everywhere. I think you’d do the same as the lynx: eat your own young before you’d let anyone else take him.”

  She lifted the child’s hand to wave to Gaute as he rode off from the estate. Then she put the boy down on the grass and squatted down next to him for a moment to talk to him a bit before she continued on her way over to the new storeroom and up to the loft.

  Kristin stood where she was, gazing at her grandson. The morning sun shone so brightly on the little child dressed in red. Young Erlend twirled around in circles, staring down at the grass. Then he caught sight of a big pile of wood chips, and at once he busily began strewing them all around. Kristin laughed.

  He was fifteen months old, but his parents thought he was ahead of his age, because he could walk and run and even say two or three words. Now he was heading straight for the little stream that ran through the lower part of the courtyard and became a gurgling creek whenever it rained in the mountains. Kristin ran over and picked him up in her arms.

  “You mustn’t. Your mother will be cross if you get wet.”

  The boy drew his lips into a pout; he was probably wondering whether to cry because he wasn’t allowed to splash in the stream or to give in. Getting wet was quite a big sin for him. Jofrid was much too strict with him about such matters. But he looked so clever. Laughing, Kristin kissed the boy, put him down, and went back to the gallery. But she made little headway with her work; mostly she stood and looked out at the courtyard.

  The morning sun glowed so gentle and lovely above the three storerooms across from her. Kristin felt as if she hadn’t taken a good look at them for a long time. How splendid the buildings were with the pillars adorning their loft galleries and the elaborate carvings. The gilded weather vane on the crossed timbers of the gable of the new storeroom glittered against the blue haze covering the mountains in the distance. This year, after the wet spring, the grass was so fresh on the rooftops.

  Kristin gave a little sigh, cast another glance at little Erlend, and then turned back to the chests.

  Suddenly the wailing cry of a child pierced the air behind her. She threw down everything she was holding and rushed outside. Erlend was shrieking as he looked back and forth from his finger to a half-dead wasp lying in the grass. When his grandmother lifted him up to soothe him, he screamed even louder. And when she, amid much crying and complaining, put some damp earth and a cold green leaf on the sting, his wailing became quite dreadful.

  Hushing and caressing him, Kristin carried the boy into h
er house, but he screamed as if he were in deadly pain—and then stopped short in the middle of a howl. He recognized the box and horn spoon that his grandmother was taking down from above the door. Kristin dipped pieces of lefse in honey and fed them to the child as she continued to soothe him, placing her cheek against his fair neck where the hair was still short and curly from the days when he lay in his cradle and rubbed his head against the pillow. And then Erlend forgot all about his sorrow and turned his face up toward Kristin, offering to pat and kiss her with sticky hands and lips.

  As they sat there, Jofrid came into the room.

  “Have you brought him indoors? You didn’t need to do that, Mother. I was just upstairs in the loft.”

  Kristin mentioned what had happened to Erlend outside. “Didn’t you hear him scream?”

  Jofrid thanked her mother-in-law. “But now we won’t trouble you anymore.” And she picked up the child, who was now reaching out for his mother and wanted to go to her, and they left the room.

  Kristin put away the honey box. Then she continued to sit there, with nothing to occupy her hands. The chests on the gallery could wait until Ingrid came in.

  It had been intended that she would have Frida Styrkaarsdatter as her maid when she moved out to the old house. But then Frida married one of the servants who had come with Helge Duk, a lad young enough to be her son.