“Naught said he,” answered her mother, “but that Erlend of Husaby is better of name than of fame. Ay, for he spoke to Aasmund, it seems, to say a good word for him to Lavrans. Small joy was it to your father when he heard this.”
But Kristin sat beaming with gladness. Erlend had spoken to her father’s brother. And she had been vexing her heart because he made no sign!
Then her mother spoke again:
“Yet another thing is: that Aasmund said somewhat of a waif word that went about in Oslo, that folk had seen this Erlend hang about in the byways near by the convent, and that you had gone out and spoken with him by the fences there.”
“What then?” asked Kristin.
“Aasmund counselled us, you understand, to take this proffer,” said Ragnfrid. “But at that Lavrans grew more wroth than I can call to mind I saw him ever before. He said that a wooer who tried to come to his daughter by that road should find him in his path sword in hand. ’Twas little honour enough to us to have dealt as we had with the Dyfrin folk; but were it so that Erlend had lured you out to gad about the ways in the darkness with him, and that while you were dwelling in a cloister of holy nuns, ’twas a full good token you would be better served by far by missing such a husband.”
Kristin crushed her hands together in her lap — the colour came and went in her face. Her mother put an arm about her waist — but the girl shrank away from her, beside herself with the passion of her mood, and cried:
“Let me be, mother! Would you feel, maybe, if my waist hath grown —”
The next moment she was standing up, holding her hand to her cheek — she looked down bewildered at her mother’s flashing eyes. None had ever struck her before since she was a little child.
“Sit down,” said Ragnfrid. “Sit down,” she said again, and the girl was fain to obey. The mother sat awhile silent; when she spoke, her voice was shaking:
“I have seen it full well, Kristin — much have you never loved me. I told myself, maybe ’twas that you thought I loved not you so much — not as your father loves you. I bided my time — I thought when the time came that you had borne a child yourself, you would surely understand.…
“While yet I was suckling you, even then was it so, that when Lavrans came near us two, you would let go my breast and stretch out towards him, and laugh so that my milk ran out over your lips. Lavrans thought ’twas good sport— and God knows I was well content for his sake. I was well content, too, for your sake, that your father laughed and was merry each time he laid eyes on you. I thought my own self ’twas pity of you, you little being, that I could not have done with all that much weeping. I was ever thinking more whether I was to lose you too, than joying that I had you. But God and His holy Mother know that I loved you no whit less than Lavrans loved.”
The tears were running down over Ragnfrid’s cheeks, but her face was quite calm now, and so too was her voice:
“God knows I never bore him or you a grudge for the love that was between you. Methought ’twas little enough joy I had brought him in the years we had lived together; I was glad that he had joy in you. I thought, too, that had my father, Ivar, been such a father to me …
“There are many things, Kristin, that a mother should have taught her daughter to beware of. But methought there was little need of this with you, who have followed about with your father all these years — you should know, if any know, what right and honour are. That word you spoke but now — think you I could believe you would have the heart to bring on Lavrans such a sorrow …?
“I would say but this to you — my wish is that you may win for husband a man you can love well. But that this may be, you must bear you wisely — let not Lavrans have cause to think that he you have chosen is a breeder of trouble, and one that regards not the peace of women, nor their honour. For to such an one he will never give you — not if it were to save you from open shame. Rather would Lavrans let the steel do judgment between him and the man who had marred your life.…”
And with this the mother rose and went from her.
2
AT the Haugathing held on the day of Bartholomew’s Mass, the 24th of August, the daughter’s son of King Haakon of happy memory was hailed as King. Among the men sent thither from Northern Gudbrandsdal was Lavrans Björgulfsön. He had had the name of kingsman since his youth, but in all these years he had but seldom gone nigh the Household, and the good name he had won in the war against Duke Eirik he had never sought to turn to account. Nor had he now much mind to this journey to the homaging, but he could not deny himself to the call. Besides, he and the other Thing-men from, the upper valley were charged to try and buy corn in the south and send it round by ship to Romsdal.
The folk of the parishes round about were heartless now, and went in dread of the winter that was at hand. An ill thing, too, the farmers deemed it that once again a child would be King in Norway. Old folks called to mind the time when King Magnus was dead and his sons were little children, and Sira Eirik said:
“V æ terr æ, ubi puer rex est. Which in the Norse tongue is: ‘No resting o’ nights for rats in the house where the cat’s a kitten.’ ”
Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter managed all things on the manor while her husband was gone, and it was good both for Kristin and for her that they had their heads and hands full of household cares and work. All over the parish the folks were busy gathering in moss from the hills and stripping bark from the trees, for the hay-crop had been but light, and of straw there was next to none; and even the leaves gathered after St. John’s eve were yellow and sapless. On Holy Cross Day, when Sira Eirik bore the crucifix about the fields, there were many in the procession who wept and prayed aloud to God to have mercy on the people and the dumb beasts.
A week after Holy Cross, Lavrans Björgulfsön came home from the Thing.
It was long past the house-folks’ bedtime, but Ragnfrid still sat in the weaving-house. She had so much to see to in the daytime now, that she often worked on late into the night at weaving and sewing. Ragnfrid liked the house well, too. It had the name of being the oldest on the farm; it was called the Mound-house, and folk said it had stood there ever since the old heathen ages. Kristin and the girl called Astrid were with Ragnfrid; they were sitting spinning by the hearth.
They had been sitting for a while sleepy and silent, when they heard the hoof-beats of a single horse — a man came riding at a gallop into the wet farm-place. Astrid went to the outer room to look out — in a moment she came in again, followed by Lavrans Björgulfsön.
Both his wife and his daughter saw at once that he had been drinking more than a little. He reeled in his walk, and held to the pole of the smoke-vent while Ragnfrid took from him his dripping wet cloak and hat and unbuckled his sword-belt.
“What have you done with Halvdan and Kolbein?” she said, in some fear; “have you left them behind on the road?”
“No, I left them behind at Loptsgaard,” he said, with a little laugh. “I had such a mind to come home again — there was no rest for me till I did — the men went to bed down at Loptsgaard, but I took Guldsveinen and galloped home.…
“You must find me a little food, Astrid,” he said to the servant. “Bring it in here, girl; then you need not go so far in the rain. But be quick, for I have eaten no food since early morning —”
“Had you no food at Loptsgaard, then?” asked his wife in wonder.
Lavrans sat rocking from side to side on the bench, laughing a little.
“Food there was, be sure — but I had no stomach to it when I was there. I drank a while with Sigurd — but — methought then ’twas as well I should come home at once as wait till to-morrow —”
Astrid came back bearing food and ale; she brought with her, too, a pair of dry shoes for her master.
Lavrans fumbled with his spur-buckles to unloose them; but came near to falling on his face.
“Come hither, Kristin, my girl,” he said, “and help your father. I know you will do it from a loving heart — ay, a loving heart ?
?? to-day.”
Kristin kneeled down to obey. Then he took her head between his two hands and turned her face up:
“One thing I trow you know, my daughter — I wish for naught but your good. Never would I give you sorrow, except I see that thereby I save you from many sorrows to come. You are full young yet, Kristin — ’twas but seventeen years old you were this year — three days after Halvard’s Mass — but seventeen years old —”
Kristin had done with her service now. She was a little pale as she rose from her knees and sat down again on her stool by the hearth.
Lavrans’ head seemed to grow somewhat clearer as he ate and was filled. He answered his wife’s questions and the servant-maid’s about the Haugathing.… Ay, ’twas a fair gathering. They had managed to buy corn, and some flour and malt, part at Oslo and part at Tunsberg; the wares were from abroad — they might have been better, but they might have been worse, too. Ay, he had met many, both kinsfolk and friends, and they had sent their greetings home with him.… But the answers dropped from him, one by one, as he sat there.
“I spoke with Sir Andres Gudmundsön,” he said, when Astrid was gone out. “Simon marries the young widow at Manvik; he has held his betrothal feast. The wedding will be at Dyfrin at St. Andrew’s Mass. He has chosen for himself this time, has the boy. I held aloof from Sir Andres at Tunsberg, but he sought me out — ’twas to tell me he knew for sure that Simon saw Lady Halfrid for the first time this midsummer. He feared that I should think Simon had this rich marriage in mind when he broke with us.” Lavrans paused a little and laughed joylessly. “You understand — that good and worthy man feared much that we should believe such a thing of his son.”
Kristin breathed more freely. She thought it must be this that had troubled her father so sorely. Maybe he had been hoping all this time that it might come to pass after all, her marriage with Simon Andressön. At first she had been in dread lest he had heard some tidings of her doings in the south at Oslo.
She rose up and said good-night; but her father bade her stay yet a little.
“I have one more thing to tell,” said Lavrans. “I might have held my peace about it before you — but ’tis better you should know it. This it is, Kristin — the man you have set your heart on, him must you strive to forget.”
Kristin had been standing with arms hanging down and bent head. She looked up now into her father’s face. She moved her lips, but no sound came forth that could be heard.
Lavrans looked away from his daughter’s eyes; he struck out sideways with his hand:
“I wot well you know that never would I set myself against it, could I anyways believe ’twould be for your good.”
“What are the tidings that have been told you on this journey, father?” said Kristin, in a clear voice.
“Erlend Nikulaussön and his kinsman, Sir Munan Baardsön, came to me at Tunsberg,” answered Lavrans. “Sir Munan asked for you for Erlend, and I answered him: No.”
Kristin stood awhile, breathing heavily.
“Why will you not give me to Erlend Nikulaussön?” she asked.
“I know not how much you know of the man you would have for husband,” said Lavrans. “If you cannot guess the reason for yourself, ’twill be no pleasing thing for you to hear from my lips.”
“Is it because he has been outlawed, and banned by the Church?” asked Kristin as before.
“Know you what was the cause that King Haakon banished his near kinsman from his Court — and how at last he fell under the Church’s ban for defying the Archbishop’s bidding — and that when he fled the land ’twas not alone?”
“Ay,” said Kristin. Her voice grew unsteady: “I know, too, that he was but eighteen years old when he first knew her — his paramour.”
“No older was I when I was wed,” answered Lavrans. “We reckoned, when I was young, that at eighteen years a man was of age to answer for himself, and care for others’ welfare and his own.”
Kristin stood silent.
“You called her his paramour, the woman he has lived with for ten years, and who has borne him children,” said Lavrans after awhile. “Little joy would be mine the day I sent my daughter from her home with a husband who had lived openly with a paramour year out, year in, before ever he was wed. But you know that ’twas not loose life only, ’twas life in adultery.”
Kristin spoke low:
“You judged not so hardly of Lady Aashild and Sir Björn.”
“Yet can I not say I would be fain we should wed into their kindred,” answered Lavrans.
“Father,” said Kristin, “have you been so free from sin all your life, that you can judge Erlend so hardly — ?”
“God knows,” said Lavrans sternly, “I judge no man to be a greater sinner before Him than I am myself. But ’tis not just reckoning that I should give away my daughter to any man that pleases to ask for her, only because we all need God’s forgiveness.”
“You know I meant it not so,” said Kristin hotly. “Father — mother — you have been young yourselves — have you not your youth so much in mind that you know ’tis hard to keep oneself from the sin that comes of love — ?”
Lavrans grew red as blood:
“No,” he said curtly.
“Then you know not what you do,” cried Kristin wildly, “if you part Erlend Nikulaussön and me.”
Lavrans sate himself down again on the bench.
“You are but seventeen, Kristin,” he began again. “It may be so that you and he — that you have come to be more dear to each other than I thought could be. But he is not so young a man but he should have known — had he been a good man, he had never come near a young, unripe child like you, with words of love.… That you were promised to another seemed to him, mayhap, but a small thing.
“But I wed not my daughter to a man who has two children by another’s wedded wife. You know that he has children?
“You are too young to understand that such a wrong breeds enmity in a kindred — and hatred without end. The man cannot desert his own offspring, and he cannot do them right — hardly will he find a way to bring his son forth among good folk, or to get his daughter married with any but a serving-man or a cottar. They were not flesh and blood, those children, if they hated not you and your children with a deadly hate.…
“See you not, Kristin — such sins as these — it may be that God may forgive such sins more easily than many others — but they lay waste a kindred in such wise that it can never be made whole again. I thought of Björn and Lady Aashild too — there stood this Munan, her son; he was blazing with gold; he sits in the Council of the King’s Counsellors; they hold their mother’s heritage, he and his brothers; and he hath not come once to greet his mother in her poverty in all these years. Ay, and ’twas this man your lover had chosen to be his spokesman.
“No, I say — no! Into that kindred you shall never come, while my head is above the ground.”
Kristin buried her face in her hands and broke into weeping:
“Then will I pray God night and day, night and day, that if you change not your will, He may take me away from this earth.”
“ It boots not to speak more of this to-night,” said her father; with anguish in his voice. “You believe it not now, maybe; but I must needs guide your life so as I may hope to answer it hereafter. Go now, child, and rest.”
He held out his hand toward her; but she would not see it, and went sobbing from the room.
The father and mother sat on a while. Then Lavrans said to his wife:
“Would you fetch me in a draught of ale? — no, bring in a little wine,” he asked. “I am weary —”
Ragnfrid did as he asked. When she came back with the tall wine stoup, her husband was sitting with his face hidden in his hands. He looked up, and passed his hand over her headdress and her sleeves:
“Poor wife, now you are wet.… Come, drink to me, Ragnfrid.”
She barely touched the cup with her lips.
“Nay, now drink with me,” said Lavr
ans vehemently, and tried to draw her down on his knees. Unwillingly the woman did as he bade. Lavrans said: “You will stand by me in this thing, wife of mine, will you not? Surely ’twill be best for Kristin herself that she understand from the very outset she must drive this man from her thoughts.”
“ ’Twill be hard for the child,” said the mother.
“Ay; well do I see it will,” said Lavrans.
They sat silent awhile, then Ragnfrid asked:
“How looks he, this Erlend of Husaby?”
“Oh,” said Lavrans slowly, “a proper fellow enough — after a fashion. But he looks not a man that is fit for much but to beguile women.”
They were silent again for awhile; then Lavrans said: “The great heritage that came to him from Sir Nikulaus — with that I trow he has dealt so that it is much dwindled. ’Tis not for such a son-in-law that I have toiled and striven to make my children’s lives sure.”
The mother wandered restlessly up and down the room. Lavrans went on:
“Least of all did it like me that he sought to tempt Kolbein with silver — to bear a secret letter to Kristin.”
“Looked you what was in the letter?” asked Ragnfrid.
“No, I did not choose,” said Lavrans curtly. “I handed it back to Sir Muñan, and told him what I thought of such doings. Erlend had hung his seal to it too — I know not what a man should say of such child’s tricks. Sir Munan would have me see the device of the seal; that ’twas King Skule’s privy seal, come to Erlend through his father. His thought was, I trow, that I might bethink me how great an honour they did me to sue for my daughter. But ’tis in my mind that Sir Munan had scarce pressed on this matter for Erlend so warmly, were it not that in this man’s hands ’tis downhill with the might and honour of the Husaby kindred, that it won in Sir Nikulaus’ and Sir Baard’s days.… No longer can Erlend look to make such a match as befitted his birth.”
Ragnfrid stopped before her husband:
“Now I know not, husband, if you are right in this matter. First must it be said that, as times are now, many men round about us on the great estates have had to be content with less of power and honour than their fathers had before them. And you, yourself, best know that ’tis less easy now for a man to win riches either from land or from merchantry than it was in the old world —”