Olav nodded in silence. He stood up and began to dress.
“It will be more difficult for us now,” he said quietly, “for Ingunn and me—to be brought together.”
“At the last I trow her kinsmen will tire of having to keep her—when she is neither rightly married nor unmarried,” said the priest. “But you two can surely wait a few years now.”
Olav contracted his brows, looking straight before him. “That we have promised each other last night—we shall keep the troth we plighted to each other, and I shall come back to her, alive or dead.”
“That was an ungodly promise,” said Asbjörn dryly. “But ’tis as I thought.—It is an easy matter, Olav, to be a good Christian so long as God asks no more of you than to hear sweet singing in church, and to yield Him obedience while He caresses you with the hand of a father. But a man’s faith is put to the test on the day God’s will is not his. But now I will tell you what Bishop Torfinn said to me one day—it was of you and your suit we were speaking. ‘God grant,’ he said, ‘that he may learn to understand in time that whoso is minded to do as he himself wills will soon enough see the day when he will find he has done that which he had never willed.’ “
Olav looked earnestly before him. Then he nodded: “Ay. That is true. I know it.”
They took some food, and awhile after, they lay down in their clothes, all but Arnvid; he offered to watch. He sat beside the hearth, reading softly from a book he had brought in his travelling-wallet. Now and again he went out of doors to see the time. It had cleared now and the stars sparkled densely over the whole vault of heaven—it was freezing hard. Once he knelt down and prayed with his arms stretched out in the form of a cross.
At last he saw that the light of the rising moon was growing over the top of the ridge. He turned and went in, to the bed where Olav and Ingunn slept together, cheek to cheek. He roused the man: “Now it is near time you were gone.”
Olav opened his eyes, gently freed himself from the woman’s arms, and at once got out of bed. He was fully clad, all but his boots and outer garment. He now drew on his footgear and a coat of reindeer-skin; Arnvid had provided clothing more suited to a long journey on skis than the kirtle and the red cordwain boots, which had suffered badly on the night before.
“This Guttorm of mine knows his way everywhere about here on both sides of the border,” said Arnvid. This was Arnvid’s old henchman, his foster-father he might be called, who was to act as guide for Olav. Arnvid handed Olav his own sword, a spear, and a purse of money. “We will say that you have sold me your horse Elk—you know I have always wished he was mine.”
“So be it.”
“That foul talk Einar came out with—” muttered Arnvid hesitatingly as he looked down into the fire. “He was always ill-natured and a liar—And a lecherous goat himself, and never guessed that other men may—may turn sick at what he—”
Olav cast down his eyes, mortally embarrassed. He understood not a word.
“I was fain you should have Ingunn, for I believed you would be good to her.—Will you swear, Olav, never to desert my kinswoman?”
“Yes. And I may rely that you will hold your hand over her? Did I not know that I can feel safe leaving her in your care, I would never in this world do as Asbjörn says and fly to Sweden. But I know you are fond of her—”
“I am.” Arnvid burst out laughing. He struggled against it, but could not stop; he trembled with suppressed giggling till the tears ran down his cheeks. At last he sat doubled up and laughed till he shook, with his arms on his knees and his head buried in them. Olav stood by, profoundly uncomfortable.
“Nay—now you and Guttorm must be gone.” Arnvid pulled himself together, wiped the tears of laughter from his face, and stood up. He went and called the three others.
Olav and old Guttorm stood out in the yard, with their skis bound fast to their feet, well armed, and furnished with all they required. The three others stood before the door of the house as Ingunn went up to Olav and gave him her hand. He shook it hard, and they spoke together, a few words, in low tones. She was calm and altogether self-possessed.
The waning moon had soared up into the sky high enough to cast long, uncertain shadows across the heaped-up drifts of the snow-field.
“In the forest the going will be fine, I trow,” the priest encouraged them.
Olav turned and glided back to his two friends who stood at the door. He shook hands with them too and thanked them handsomely for their help. Then he faced about. Arnvid Finnsson and Asbjörn stood watching the two, Olav Audunsson and his guide, as they glided over the long stretch of fields toward the forest with powerful, dogged strokes. Then they passed into the shadow at the edge of the woods.
“Ay, laus Deo,” said the priest. “So ill is it that this is the best. I was afraid Ingunn would break out into a fit, shriek and howl at the last minute.”
“Oh no,” said Arnvid. He looked up at the moon with a strangely frolicsome smile. “ ’Tis only in trifles that she takes on like that. When serious matters are at stake, she is as good as gold.”
“Say you so?—ay, you should know her better than I,” said Asbjörn Priest unconcernedly. “Now it is we two, Arnvid. This may prove a dear jest for us, that we have helped Olav Audunsson to get away.”
“Ay, but there was no other way.”
“No.” The priest shook his head. “But I wonder whether Olav has any notion that you and I have risked much by helping him in this?”
“Nay, have you lost your wits?” said Arnvid, and the waves of laughter heaved up in him again. “You surely know he has no notion of what anything costs, at his age.”
Asbjörn All-fat gave a little laugh; then he yawned. And the three, the priest, the other man, and the woman, went in and lay down again.
PART TWO
Ingunn Steinfinnsdatter
1
AFTER Olav Audunsson’s flight Bishop Torfinn said he no longer had the right to keep back Ingunn Steinfinnsdatter from her uncles. But Arnvid Finnsson answered that the woman was sick and he could not send her away. Lord Torfinn was very angry when he learned that Arnvid too refused to bow to the law further than it suited himself. And now the Bishop sought to order matters so that Ingunn should go to her father’s sister at Berg; but Arnvid said that she was utterly unfit for any journey.
On their side Kolbein Toresson and Haftor were beside themselves with wrath that Olav had escaped, and they said the Bishop certainly had had a finger in it—though the lord Torfinn had been away from the town when the slaying was done and did not return home till after the slayer had fled—and though Arnvid Finnsson made known that it was he who had helped Olav over to Sweden. When it came out that Asbjörn All-fat had been privy to the matter and that the fugitive had been received by the priest’s sister, who was married in Sweden, Lord Torfinn was so indignant that he sent Asbjörn away from him for a time, after the priest had bought his peace for his part in the affair. But although no man seriously believed that the Bishop had been a party to Olav’s flight, there were many who counted him to blame in that one of his priests had broken the law, connived with an outlaw, and helped him to safety.
The Sheriff proclaimed Olav’s outlawry, and then at last Helge of Tveit and his sons came forward and offered on Olav’s behalf to make amends for the slaying according to the judgment of good men and true at the Thing. However, these men were not Olav’s nearest kinsmen; they were descended from a brother of his great-grandfather, and the two branches, that of Tveit and that of Hestviken, had held little intercourse through the years. The old man at Hestviken was Olav’s true guardian. It was therefore a long and difficult matter for Olav’s spokesmen to accomplish anything in his case, and as Bishop Torfinn had to journey to Björgvin on another errand in the course of the spring, he let Jon Helgesson of Tveit go thither in his company, in order that he might beg permission of the King for Olav to return to the country. Kolbein demanded that Olav should be declared a felon. What could it be but a felony? he mainta
ined—Olav had debauched Kolbein’s niece in her father’s house and afterwards struck down the girl’s cousin when he called Olav to account for his misdeed. As his spokesmen at Björgvin, Kolbein chose the knight Gaut Torvardsson and his son Haakon. Sir Gaut was a kinsman of Baron Andres Plytt; Lord Andres sat in the council that was to govern Norway while the King was under age, and he was one of the leaders of those nobles who were now determined to join issue with the prelates over the rights and liberties of the Church. It appeared that these were the men on whose support the Toressons had relied, and Haakon Gautsson was to have had Ingunn to wife.
Then once more the Bishop of Hamar took upon himself to plead Olav’s cause. He insisted that it was impossible to charge Olav with rape if he had taken Ingunn to himself in good faith in an old betrothal, and Ivar and Kolbein had already promised to grant Olav atonement on this score when the man had the misfortune to kill Einar in a brawl, as they sat drinking with several other men in the preaching friars’ guest-house at Hamar. He said it would be the direst injustice if Olav were not accorded the same mercy as any other man who became a homicide—be given grace to remain at home and security for his possessions, if he was willing to pay weregild to the King and blood-fine to Einar Kolbeinsson’s heirs. Although, for that matter, in every parish of Norway might be found men who had manslaughters or other outlawry charges hanging over them sitting safely on their estates with royal letters of grace—nay, those who thought themselves powerful enough stayed calmly on without such letters. But then it must be plain to every man that it was beyond measure unjust if harsher treatment were meted out to Olav, who was so young that, had it not been for the last amendment of the law under their late lord, King Magnus, none could have done him any worse thing than order him to leave the country and stay abroad until he was of age. And Olav had at once sent word to Kolbein through Arnvid Finnsson and Asbjörn All-fat that he was quite willing to pay the fine for the slaughter.
Olav had entered Norway again at Whitsuntide down in Elvesyssel, near Mariaskog convent. He owned a small farm there which he held on udal tenure, and some shares in other farms; this estate had come to the men of Hestviken with the wife of Olav’s grandfather, Ingolf Olavsson. Here no one attempted to seize him, but the King’s officers let him stay in peace till far on in the autumn—it was a long way from the parts frequented by Olav’s enemies. But when proclamation was made in the autumn that Olav Audunsson’s goods in the north had been attached—the movables he had left behind him in the Upplands and his estate in the Vik, save only his udal lands—Olav left the country for the second time, and now he sailed southward to Denmark.
At Miklebö, Mistress Hillebjörg had given Ingunn Steinfinnsdatter a good reception. She had liked Olav, the little she had seen of him, and she liked him no less for having made an inroad on the brood of Tore’s leman. She treated her son with more kindness than she was wont, and when a suit of outlawry was brought against Arnvid for having helped Olav, she laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “ ’Twas none too soon either, my son, that you too had a taste of the law; I never liked your meek ways.”
She was gentler with the sick young woman than Arnvid had ever seen her with anyone. Ingunn was no more than moderately well; she was so troubled with giddiness that when she got out of bed in the morning, she had to stand a long while holding on to something, for the room turned round with her, and dark mists came before her eyes, so that she could not see. If she had to stoop and pick up anything from the floor, this mist came on and blinded her for a long time. She could not take food, and she fell away and grew thin, till she was pale to the very corners of her eyes. Hillebjörg brewed drinks for her, which were to remedy her affliction—but Ingunn could not keep these either. The old woman laughed and consoled her—’twas known such sickliness endured but for its time, and soon she would feel better. Ingunn made no reply when the mistress jested in this way, but bent her head and tried to hide the tears that filled her eyes. Otherwise she never wept, but was very quiet and patient.
She was not fit to perform the smallest piece of work, but sat with a ribbon in her hand, sewing a border of fine flowers and animals. Or else she was making the linen shirt she had cut out while she was at Hamar. She had always been skilful at fine needlework, and she put all her art and industry into this shirt, which Olav was to have when he came home; but the work went but slowly. Or she made playthings for Arnvid’s sons, wove them breastplates of straw, feathered their arrows, and made bats and balls that were better than any they had had before. It was because she had always played with boys that she could do this so well, she told Arnvid. Olav had taught her this. She sang to the children and told them stories and rhymes, and she seemed to be of better cheer when caring for these three little lads—she would gladly have had one of the children on her knees always. Magnus was five years old now, and the twins, Finn and Steinar, nearly four. Magnus and Finn were strong, romping little fellows and did not care so much to be fondled by women, but Steinar was weaker and took a fancy to Ingunn. So she led the boy with her wherever she went, carried him in her arms, and took him to her bed at night. Steinar was also his father’s favourite, and Arnvid often sat with Ingunn in the evening, while the child played on her lap, and he sang to them till the little one fell asleep with his head resting on Ingunn’s bosom. Then she whispered to him to be quiet, and sat in silence, gazing before her and down at the sleeping child, kissed the boy’s hair softly, and gazed into vacancy again.
But as it drew on toward summer, it became clear that there was no natural cause for Ingunn’s disorder, and no one could guess what ailed her.
Arnvid wondered whether it could be sorrow alone that had broken her down so completely—for she grew no better, but rather worse: the fainting-fits gained upon her, and often she fell into a swoon, all the food she tried to eat came up again, and she complained of constant pains in the back across her hips, as though she had had a heavy blow with a stick—and there was such a queer feeling in her legs, as though they were withered; she was scarcely able to walk any more.
She longed for Olav day and night, Arnvid could see that, and then there was her sorrow over her parents, which had now come upon her again; for a while she had half forgotten it on Olav’s account. But now she accused herself bitterly for this, saying she had thrown away by her fault a happiness that bade fair to be hers: “The night that mother died I became Olav’s wife!”
A strange look came over Arnvid’s face as she said this, but he held his peace.
She grieved also at being parted from her brothers and sister. Tora was at Berg with her aunt, and though there had never been any very warm affection between Ingunn and Tora, she now longed for her sister. But it was far sadder to think of her two young brothers; with them she had always been good friends, but now they were at Frettastein with Haftor and his young wife—and now of course Hallvard and Jon would be brought up in hatred of Olav Audunsson and anger with her.
She spoke of all this to Arnvid, without many tears—but it was almost as though she were too hopeless and heavy of heart to be able to weep. Arnvid wondered whether she would die of grief.
But Mistress Ingebjörg hinted that this sickness that had fallen upon Ingunn was so strange as almost to persuade her it was the work of some guile.
One evening at the beginning of summer Arnvid was able to coax Ingunn to walk down with him to look at the corn that was coming up so finely in the fair weather. He had to support her as she walked, and he saw that she moved her feet as though they were hindered by invisible fetters. He had got her as far as the edge of the wood when she suddenly sank to the ground and lay in a swoon. At long last he succeeded in bringing her back to life; so long he thought her fits had never lasted before. She could not stand on her feet, so he had to carry her in as one carries a child. She was so thin and weighed so little that he was quite scared.
Next morning it proved that she could not move her legs—the lower part of her body was quite paralysed. At first she lay moan
ing softly—the pains in her back were so grievous. But as the days went by they passed off, and now her body seemed to be entirely without feeling, from the waist downward. In this state she remained. She never complained, spoke but little, and often seemed absent from all around her. The only thing she asked for was to have Steinar with her, and when he crept up into the bed and played and frolicked over her half-dead body, which was now wasted to a skeleton, she appeared to be content.
During this time none knew where Olav was. Arnvid thought that Ingunn must surely die, and he could send no word to Olav of how matters were with her.
But Mistress Hillebjörg now said aloud to everyone she spoke with that it was certain someone had put the sickness upon Ingunn by witchcraft. She had stuck pins into the woman’s thighs and calves and burned her with red-hot irons, but Ingunn felt nothing; she could bring witnesses to this, men and women of good repute and her parish priest and her son. But there was none beside Kolbein and Haftor who could be suspected of this misdeed. And here lay the unhappy child, wasting away and slowly dying. Now therefore she charged her son that he should call upon the Bishop to take up the matter and inquire into it.
Arnvid came near believing his mother had guessed rightly, and he promised to go to the lord Torfinn, as soon as the Bishop came home from his visitation. Meanwhile he made Ingunn speak to the priest and make her confession, and he had masses said for her. Thus the time passed till the birthday of our Lady. That day Arnvid had confessed and taken corpus Domini, and during mass he had prayed for his sick kinswoman so long and so earnestly that he was all in a sweat. It was past noonday before the church folk from Miklebö came home. Arnvid stood talking to Guttorm about his horse Elk, which had fallen lame as he rode homeward, when he heard loud cries for help from the room in which Ingunn lay.