Kristin Lavransdatter (63 page)

Erling Vidkunssøn was a rather short man, slight in build and yet quite plump, but he carried himself well and with ease. Handsome he was not, although he had well-formed features. But his hair had a reddish tinge, and his eyelashes and brows were white; even his eyes were a very pale blue. That people nevertheless found Sir Erling to be good-looking was perhaps due to the fact that everyone knew he was the wealthiest knight in Norway. But he also had a distinctly winning and modest demeanor. He was exceptionally intelligent, well educated and learned, but because he never tried to boast of his wisdom and always seemed to be willing to listen to others, he had become known as one of the wisest men in the country. He was the same age as Erlend Nikulaussøn, and they were kinsmen, although distant ones, by way of the Stovreim lineage. They had known each other all their lives, but there had never been a close friendship between the two men.

Erlend sat down on a chest and talked about the ship which he had had built in the summer; it was a thirty-two-oar ship, and he deemed it to be a particularly swift sailing ship and easy to steer. He had hired two shipbuilders from the north, and he had personally overseen the work along with them.

“Ships are among the few things I know something about, Erling,” he said. “You just wait—it will be a beautiful sight to see
Margygren
cutting through the waves.”

“
Margygren
—what a fearfully heathen name you’ve given your ship, kinsman,” said Erling with a little laugh. “Is it your intention to travel south in it?”

“Are you as pious as my wife? She calls it a heathen name, too. She doesn’t like the ship much, either, but she’s such an inland person—she can’t stand the sea.”

“Yes, she looks pious and delicate and lovely, your wife,” said Sir Erling courteously. “As one might expect from someone of her lineage.”

“Yes,” said Erlend and laughed. “Not a day passes without her going to mass. And Sira Eiliv, our priest, whom you met, reads to us from the holy books. Reading aloud—that’s what he likes best, after ale and sumptuous food. And the poor people come to Kristin for help and advice. I think they would gladly kiss the hem of her skirts; I can scarcely recognize my own servants anymore. She’s almost like one of the women described in the holy sagas that King Haakon forced us to sit and listen to as the priest read them aloud—do you remember? Back when we were pages? Things have changed a great deal here at Husaby since you visited us last, Erling.”

After a moment he added, “It was odd, by the way, that you were willing to come here that time.”

“You mentioned the days when we were pages together,” said Erling Vidkunssøn with a smile that became him. “We were friends back then, weren’t we? We all expected that you would achieve great things here in Norway, Erlend.”

But Erlend merely laughed. “Yes, I expected as much myself.”

“Couldn’t you sail south with me, Erlend?” asked Sir Erling.

“I was thinking of traveling overland,” replied the other man.

“That will be troublesome for you—setting out over the mountains now, in the wintertime,” said Sir Erling. “It would be pleasant if you would accompany Haftor and myself.”

“I have promised to travel with others,” replied Erlend.

“Ah yes, you will join your father-in-law—yes, that seems only fitting.”

“Well, no—I don’t know these men from the valley who are riding with him.” Erlend sat in silence for a moment. “No, I have promised to look in on Munan at Stange,” he said quickly.

“You don’t need to waste your time looking for Munan there,” replied Erling. “He’s gone to his estates at Hising, and it might be some time before he comes north again. Has it been a long time since you heard from him?”

“It was around Michaelmas—he wrote to me from Ringabu.”

“Well, you know what happened in the valley here last autumn,” said Erling. “You don’t? Surely you must know that he rode around to the district sheriffs of Lake Mjøsa and all along the valley carrying letters stating that the farmers should pay for provisions and horses for a full campaign
³
—with six farmers for each horse—and that the gentry should send horses but would be allowed to stay at home. Haven’t you heard about this? And that the men of the northern valleys refused to pay this war tax when Munan accompanied Eirik Topp to the
ting
in Vaage? And Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn was the one who led the opposition—he demanded that Eirik pursue a lawful course, if anything remained of the lawful taxes, but he called it an injustice against the peasantry to demand war taxes from the farmers to help a Dane in a feud with the Danish king. And yet if our king required the service of his retainers, then he would find them quick enough to respond with good weapons and horses and armed men. But he would not send from Jørundgaard even a goat with a hemp halter unless the king commanded him to ride it himself to the mustering of the army. You truly didn’t know about this? Smid Gudleikssøn says that Lavrans had promised his tenants that he would pay the campaign levies for them, if need be.”

Erlend sat there stunned.

“Lavrans did that? Never have I heard of my wife’s father involving himself in matters other than those concerning his own properties or those of his friends.”

“No doubt he seldom does,” said Sir Erling. “But this much was clear to me when I was at Nes—when Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn decides to speak about a matter, he receives everyone’s full support, for he never speaks without understanding the issue so well that his opinion would be difficult to refute. Now, regarding these events, he has no doubt exchanged letters with his kinsmen in Sweden. Fru Ramborg, his father’s mother, and Sir Erngisle’s grandfather were the children of two brothers, so Lavrans has strong family ties over there. No matter how quiet his manner, your father-in-law commands power of some consequence in those parishes where people know him—although he doesn’t often make use of it.”

“Well, now I can understand why you have taken up with him, Erling,” said Erlend, laughing. “I was rather surprised that you had become such good friends.”

“Why should that surprise you?” replied Erling soberly. “It would be an odd man who would not want to call Lavrans of Jørundgaard his friend. You would be better served, kinsman, to listen to him than to Munan.”

“Munan has been like an older brother to me, ever since the day when I left home for the first time,” said Erlend, a little heatedly. “He has never failed me whenever I was in trouble. So if he’s in trouble now . . .”

“Munan will manage well enough,” said Erling Vidkunssøn, his voice still calm. “The letters he carried were written and sealed with the royal seal of Norway—unlawful, but that’s not his problem. Oh yes, there’s more. That to which he testified and attached his seal when he was a witness to the maiden Eufemia’s betrothal
⁴
—but this cannot be easily revealed without mentioning someone whom we cannot . . . If truth be told, Erlend, I think Munan will save himself without your support—but you may harm yourself if you—”

“It’s Lady Ingebjørg that all of you want to depose, I see,” said Erlend. “But I’ve promised our kinswoman to serve her both here and abroad.”

“I have too,” replied Erling. “And I intend to keep that promise—as does every Norwegian man who has served and loved our lord and kinsman, King Haakon. And she is now best served by being separated from those advisers who counsel so young a woman to the detriment of her son and herself.”

“Do you think you’re capable of
that?
” asked Erlend, his voice subdued.

“Yes,” said Erling Vidkunssøn firmly. “I think we are. And everyone else thinks so too, if they refuse to listen to malicious and slanderous talk.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And those of us who are kinsmen of Lady Ingebjørg should be the last to do that.”

A servant woman raised the hatch in the floor and said that if it suited them, the mistress would now have the food carried into the hall.

 

While everyone was sitting at the table, the conversation, such as it was, constantly touched on the great news that was circulating. Kristin noticed that both her father and Sir Erling refused to join in; they brought up news of bride purchases and deaths, inheritance disputes and property trades among family and acquaintances. She grew uneasy but didn’t know why. They had business with Erlend—this much she understood. And yet she didn’t want to admit this to herself. She now knew her husband so well that she realized Erlend, with all his stubborn-mindedness, was easily influenced by anyone who had a firm hand in a soft glove, as the saying goes.

After the meal, the gentlemen moved over to the hearth, where they sat and drank. Kristin settled herself on a bench, put her needlework frame in her lap, and began twining the threads. A moment later Haftor Graut came over, placed a cushion on the floor, and sat down at Kristin’s feet. He had found Erlend’s psaltery; he set it on his knee and sat there strumming it as he chatted. Haftor was quite a young man with curly blond hair and the fairest features, but his face was covered with freckles. Kristin quickly noticed that he was exceedingly talkative. He had recently made a rich marriage, but he was bored back home on his estates; that was why he wanted to travel to the gathering of the king’s retainers.

“But it’s understandable that Erlend Nikulaussøn would want to stay home,” he said, laying his head in her lap. Kristin moved away a bit, laughed, and said with an innocent expression that she knew only that her husband was intending to travel south, “for whatever reason that might be. There’s so much unrest in the country right now; it’s difficult for a simple woman to understand such things.”

“And yet it’s the simplicity of a woman that’s the main cause of it all,” replied Haftor, laughing and moving closer. “At least that’s what Erling and Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn say—I’d like to know what they mean by that. What do you think, Mistress Kristin? Lady Ingebjørg is a good and simple woman. Perhaps right now she is sitting as you are, twining silk threads with her snow-white fingers and thinking: It would be hard-hearted to refuse the loyal chieftain of her deceased husband some small assistance to improve his lot.”

Erlend came and sat down next to his wife so that Haftor had to move over a bit.

“The women chatter about such nonsense in the hostels when their husbands are foolish enough to take them along to the meeting.”

“Where I come from, it’s said that there’s no smoke unless there’s fire,” said Haftor.

“Yes, we have that saying too,” said Lavrans; he and Erling had come over to join them. “And yet I was duped, Haftor, this past winter, when I tried to light my torch with fresh horse droppings.” He perched on the edge of the table. Sir Erling at once brought his goblet and offered it to Lavrans with a word of greeting. Then the knight sat down on a bench nearby.

“It’s not likely, Haftor,” said Erlend, “that up north in Haalogaland you would know what Lady Ingebjørg and her advisers know about the undertakings and enterprises of the Danes. I suspect you might have been short-sighted when you opposed the king’s demand for help. Sir Knut
⁵
—yes, we might as well mention his name since he’s the one that we’re all thinking about—he seems to me a man who wouldn’t be caught unawares. You sit too far away from the cookpots to be able to smell what’s simmering inside them. And better to prepare now than regret later, I say.”

“Yes,” said Sir Erling. “You might almost say that they’re cooking for us on the neighboring farm—we Norwegians will soon be nothing more than their wards. They send over the porridge they’ve made in Sweden and say: Eat this, if you want food! I think our lord, King Haakon, made a mistake when he moved the cookhouse to the outskirts of the farm and made Oslo the foremost royal seat in the land. Before then it was in the middle of the courtyard, if we stay with this image—Bjørgvin
⁶
or Nidaros—but now the archbishop and chapter
⁷
rule here alone. What do you think, Erlend? You who are from Trøndelag and have all your property and all your power in this region?”

“Well, God’s blood, Erling—if that’s what you want: to carry home the cookpot and hang it over the proper hearth, then—”

“Yes,” said Haftor. “For far too long we up here in the north have had to settle for smelling the soup cooking while we spoon up cold cabbage.”

Lavrans joined in.

“As things stand, Erlend, I would not have presumed to be spokesman for the people of the district back home unless I had letters in my possession from my kinsman, Sir Erngisle. Then I knew that none of the lawful rulers plans to break the peace or the alliance between the countries, neither in the realm of the Danish king nor in that of our own king.”

“If you know who now rules in Denmark, Father-in-law, then you know more than most men,” said Erlend.

“One thing I do know. There is one man that nobody wants to see rule, not here nor in Sweden nor in Denmark. That was the purpose of the Swedes’ actions in Skara last summer, and that is the purpose of the meeting we will now hold in Oslo—to make clear to everyone who has not yet realized it, that on this matter all sober-minded men are agreed.”

By this time they had all drunk so much that they had grown boisterous, except for old Smid Gudleikssøn; he was slumped in his chair next to the hearth.

Erlend shouted, “Yes, you’re all so sober-minded that the Devil himself can’t trick you. It makes sense that you’d be afraid of Knut Porse. You don’t understand, all you good gentlemen, that he’s not the kind who can be satisfied with sitting quietly, watching the days drift past and the grass grow as God wills. I’d like to meet that knight again; I knew him when I was in Halland. And I’d have no objections to being in Knut Porse’s place.”

“That’s not something
I
would dare say if my wife could hear me,” said Haftor Graut.

But Erling Vidkunssøn had also drunk a good deal. He was still trying to maintain his chivalrous manner, but he finally gave up. “You!” he said, laughing uproariously. “You, kinsman? No, Erlend!” He slapped the other man on the shoulder and laughed and laughed.