The Axe (19 page)

“Come here—you can wipe them on the bedspread.” She moved one of the pots. “We can lie down a little, while we wait for it to boil.”

Olav drew off his boots and unfastened his cloak. When he had lain down by her side, he spread it over them both. The next instant she had him in a close embrace, with her face pressed hotly against his cheek, so that her breath tickled his neck.

“Olav—you will not suffer them to take me away with them and part me from you?”

“No. But they will have no power to do that either. But you know that it is no trifling matters Kolbein will claim before he will be reconciled with me.”

“Is it for that?” she whispered, clinging to him yet tighter. “Is it for that you are less fond of me now?”

“I am just as fond of you as I have ever been,” he muttered thickly, groping to get an arm under her neck, but it was so tangled in the wimple.

“Shall I take it off?” she whispered eagerly.

“Oh no, ’twill give you trouble to put it on again.”

“It will soon be a month since—we have scarce seen each other all this time,” she complained.

“Ingunn—you know I only wish for your good,” he pleaded—and recalled at once that he had said this before; when, he could not remember. “To think she has so little wit,” he reflected sadly, “that she cannot see she is tempting me this moment—”

“Ay, but—I long so for you. They are kind, these women here, but, for all that, I long to be with you—”

“Ay. But—’tis so holy a night, this—we must go to mass again in a little while—” He turned red with shame in the dark at his own words. Such things should not even be
spoken—
Quickly he rose in the dark, kissed her eyelids, and felt the eyeballs move and quiver under his mouth, while the tears trickled down and wet his lips.

“Be not angry,” he whispered imploringly. Then he moved to the foot of the bed and lay with his face to the room, looking at the fire. Tormented by the tumult in his heart and in his blood, he listened for any sign of movement or weeping in her. But she kept as still as a mouse. At last he heard that she had fallen asleep. Then he stood up, put on his boots, and took his cloak, wrapping her in the bedcover instead. He was freezing, and felt sleepy and giddy and empty from his long fast. The cauldron of meat was boiling and smelt so good that it gave him a pain in his chest.

Outside, it had turned colder; the snow cried under his feet and there was more frost in the air, he could see that in spite of the darkness. Folk were beginning slowly to go up to the church again; Olav shivered a little under his fur cloak. He was so tired that he had no great mind to go to mass now—would rather have gone home and slept. And he had looked forward so much to this Christmas Night with its three services, each more beautiful than the last, they said.

•   •   •

In the days that intervened before that of the meeting Olav stayed for the most part within the palace and scarcely went beyond the church. Day after day there were splendid services, and the palace was full of guests for the feast; both priests and laymen had their hands so full with all kinds of duties that Olav was left mostly to himself. With the Bishop he had only once had speech—when he thanked him for his new-year’s gift. Lord Torfinn had given him a brown cloth kirtle, reaching to the feet and bordered with fine black otter-skin. It was the first garment Olav had possessed which was altogether handsome and fit for one who would pass for a grown young man, and it added not a little to his self-respect that he could now feel perfectly well dressed—for Arnvid had lent him money to buy a handsome winter cloak, lined with marten, with hose, boots, and other things to go with it.

From Asbjörn All-fat Olav heard that the Bishop had now received an answer from the men he had charged to inquire of Olav’s own kinsmen what they thought of the case. The Bishop was by no means pleased with their answers. So much was certain, that Steinfinn had never taken over the guardianship of Olav in a proper, binding way—and yet none of the men of the family had asked after the child or claimed his return from Frettastein.

“ ’Tis no little trouble and expense our reverend father is put to for your sake, Olav,” said Asbjörn Priest with a little laugh. “Now he has summoned hither these kinsmen of yours from Tveit—it seems he of Hestviken is palsied and in poor case. But the men of Tveit must give consent to your marriage, I trow, before it can be lawful. And they let fall to the parish priest, who spoke with them on Lord Torfinn’s behalf, that if the Toressons would have this marriage, then they must offer you the seduced maid—ay, ’twas their word, not mine—with such dowry as you may be pleased to accept. But they would never consent to your making more amends to her kinsmen than the law allows for fornication. And you know that Kolbein and Ivar cannot accept an atonement on such terms; ’twould be to their shame as long as they live.”

“Methinks ’twould be to my shame and—and to hers,” said Olav angrily. “ ’Twould be the same as were she a—leman—”

“Yes. Therefore the Bishop hinted of another way, which might be the last resort—that you leave the country and stay
abroad four winters, till you be of full age and can parley on your own behalf. Lord Torfinn thought you could betake you to Denmark and seek refuge with your mother’s kin—you know that in that land your mother’s kinsmen are among the mightiest? Your uncle, Sir Barnim Eriksson of Hövdinggaard, is said to be the richest knight in Sealand.”

Olav shook his head. “My mother’s father was called Björn Andersson of Hvitaberg, and her only brother was Stig.—’Twas in Jutland, I have been told—”

“The lady Margrete was twice married; Björn was her second husband, and first she had a son named Erik Eriksson; he owned Hövdinggaard in Sealand. Think you, Olav, ’twould be the worst mischance if you had to live some years in foreign lands and could see something of other folks’ manners and customs—and could associate with right wealthy and powerful kinsfolk to boot?”

The priest’s words turned Olav’s thoughts in a new direction. Since he came to the Bishop’s see, he had indeed found out that it was a very small and narrow piece of the world he knew. These churchmen, they sent letters and messengers north, south, east, and west; in less than six weeks they managed to get word from folk whom it would have been impossible for Olav to reach—they might as well have lived in Iceland or in Rome. And now the Bishop knew more of Olav’s own mother’s kindred than he himself had ever done. In the church were books and candlesticks from France, silk curtains from Sicily sent hither by a pope, woven tapestries from Arras, relics of martyrs and confessors who had lived in Engelland and Asia. Asbjörn All-fat told him of the great schools in Paris and Bologna, where a man might learn all the arts and wisdom in the world—in Salerno one could learn the Greek tongue and how to become proof against steel or poison. Asbjörn was a farmer’s son from the Upplands, and the longest journey he had ever made was north to Eyjabu church, but he talked very often of travelling in foreign lands—and he would surely be sent abroad in time, for he was an able man and useful in many ways.

On most days Olav spoke to Arnvid Finnsson only when they went to bed at night and when they got up. The friends had become strangers to each other since they came to the Bishop’s palace. Arnvid was occupied with so much that Olav did not
understand. And then Arnvid’s presence reminded the young man of so many things that were difficult and humiliating. Olav felt a kind of remorse or shame when he remembered all the things of which Arnvid had been a half-willing, half-reluctant witness—though Olav himself could not understand how he had been able to compel a man who was so much older than he, a rich and powerful landowner, when one came to think of it. But it was as though he had used force upon his friend in one way or another, both in that matter of the ring—and afterwards when Arnvid held his peace about what he knew of Olav’s nightly visits to his young kinswoman. This last would be judged harshly not only by the Toressons but by all others; Arnvid had gotten an ugly stain on his honour there—and for that he was too good. And Olav knew that Arnvid took things greatly to heart. Therefore he was not quite at his ease with Arnvid now.

With Asbjörn Priest he felt safe and easy. He was always the same, a steady, strenuous worker, whether he were saying his hours or passing salted hides. His long, thin, horse’s face was just as unmoved and his voice just as dry and precise when he was saying his mass or when he stood by while goods were being weighed, or tested whether it were true that the supports of a cow-house were rotten on one of the farms of the Bishop’s estate. Olav went with him, thinking of his own future; when he came to Hestviken and would go about in his own boats, among his own quays and byres and storehouses—unconsciously it was this friend he dreamed of imitating.

The memory of those hours alone with Ingunn on Christmas Night had reawakened his longing for her. He thought of the slender, girlish young wife in her woman’s dress, on her knees blowing at the embers, moving in and out of the flickering light, and busying herself between the benches and the hearth. Thus he would lie at home in his own bed at Hestviken on dark winter mornings and look on while Ingunn made a fire on his hearth. He recalled her warm and affectionate embraces when they lay resting in the dark—when they came to Hestviken, they would sleep together in the great bed, as master and mistress of the house. Then he would be able to take her in his arms as often as he would, and every evening he could lie and talk to her of all that had happened to him that day, take counsel with her as to what he should do next. And he would no longer be forced to fear
what he had hitherto dreaded as a misfortune—it would only increase their joy and their repute to have children. Then he would no longer be the last slender twig of a dying race; he would himself become the stem of the new tree.

Then it was that Asbjörn’s words suddenly threw this new, un-imagined thought into his mind. He had never thought it might fall to his lot to roam abroad and see the world. Far, far away—Valland,
Engelland, Denmark—they were all one to the boy, who, as long as he could remember clearly, had travelled no longer road than that between Frettastein and Hamar, had never dreamed of farther voyaging than out from Hestviken and back again with his trading craft. He had been willing to accept the fate prepared for him and had been content therewith—but that was before he had had any thought that it might be different. Now—It was as though he had been offered a gift—four years to look about him in the world and try his fortunes, see peoples and countries, and this just as he had found out what a small and out-of-the way corner of the world they were, these places which he had believed were all he was destined to see. And then there was this other thing, that he was said to come of such great folk on his mother’s side—and they told him that now, just as the Steinfinnssons sought to make him a lesser man than they, and when it appeared that his kinsmen on his father’s side either did not care or were not strong enough to defend his rights. But in Denmark he need only ride straight to the richest and mightiest knight’s castle there was in the land and say to its master: “I am your sister Cecilia’s son.”—One evening Olav took out his mother’s signet-ring and put it on his finger; he might as well wear it himself, till he was reconciled with Ingunn’s kinsmen. And the little gold cross with the gilt chain he hung around his neck and hid on his breast under the shirt; he had heard his mother brought it with her from her home. Just as well to take good care of those things he had which might serve as tokens in case of need. Come what might, he would not be at a loss, even if his enemies set hidden snares for his feet, and his kinsmen in Norway availed him little.

The Steinfinnssons came to Hamar a few days later than they had been summoned. There were Kolbein with both his sons, Ivar Toresson, and a young nephew of the Toressons, Hallvard
Erlingsson. Hallvard’s mother, Ragna, was full sister to Kolbein; she too was one of old Tore’s children by his leman; and Hallvard had been but seldom at Frettastein, so Olav scarcely knew him. But he had heard it said that Hallvard was very stupid.

Olav was not allowed to be present at their audience with the Bishop; Arnvid said it was because his spokesmen had not come, and therefore Olav could not appear himself. It was not on
his
behalf that the Bishop was acting, but on that of the Church, which alone had the right to decide whether a marriage was valid or not. Olav did not like this, nor did he see the difference clearly. But both Arnvid and Asbjörn Priest had been present at the interview. They said that at first Kolbein and Ivar had been very headstrong. What angered them most was that the lord Torfinn had sent Ingunn out of the town, to a farm near Ottastad church. Kolbein said that here in the Upplands it had never been the custom to let the Bishop of Hamar rule like a petty king—’twas easy to see that the man came from Nidaros,
for there the priests did as they pleased in everything. Nevertheless it was surely an unheard-of thing that the Bishop should harbour a seduced maid who had run from her kinsmen to hide her shame and escape chastisement, or should throw his shield over the ravisher.

Bishop Torfinn answered that so far as he knew, Ingunn Stein-finnsdatter had neither run away nor been ravished by Olav Audunsson; but Arnvid Finnsson had brought the two young people hither and requested the Bishop to search out a matter that came under the jurisdiction of the Church and to retain Olav and the girl in the meantime. It was the brothers themselves who had asked Arnvid to stay at Frettastein and take charge of the estate and the children; when therefore he found out that Olav had outraged the elder daughter, he had called the man to account for his conduct. Then it came out that these two childish people had fancied that because their fathers had made a bargain about them when they were small, and both Steinfinn and Audun were now dead and gone, they themselves and none else were now to see that the agreement was kept and the bargain accomplished: wherefore they had cohabited as a married couple ever since Steinfinn’s death, believing that they did no wrong in this. Arnvid had then taken the course of bringing these two to Hamar, in order that learned men might inquire how the case stood.