Kristin felt as if she would sink into the earth from sorrow and shame on that first Sunday when she arrived at the green in front of the church and saw Simon standing a short distance away, among a group of farmers. He greeted her and her family with a nod, but it was the first time he didn’t come over to shake hands and talk with them.
Ramborg did come over to her sister and took her hand. “It’s dreadful that our husbands have fallen into discord, but you and I need not quarrel because of that.” She stood on her toes to kiss Kristin so that everyone in the churchyard could see it. Kristin wasn’t sure why, but she seemed to sense that Ramborg was not as sad as she might have been. She had never liked Erlend; God only knew whether she had set her husband against him, intentionally or not.
And yet Ramborg always came over to greet her sister whenever they met at church. Ulvhild asked in a loud voice why her aunt didn’t come south to visit them anymore; then she ran over to Erlend, to cling to him and his oldest sons. Arngjerd stood quietly at her stepmother’s side, took Kristin’s hand, and looked embarrassed. Simon and Erlend, along with his sons, vigilantly avoided each other.
Kristin greatly missed her sister’s children as well. She had grown fond of the two maidens. One day when Ramborg brought her son to mass, Kristin kissed Andres after the service and then burst into tears. She loved this tiny, frail boy so dearly. She couldn’t help it, but now that she no longer had any small children of her own, it was a comfort to her to look after this little nephew from Formo and pamper him whenever his parents brought him along to Jørundgaard.
From Gaute she learned a little more about the matter because he told her what words were spoken between Erlend and Simon on that night when they met at Skindfeld-Gudrun’s hut. The longer Kristin thought about it, the more it seemed to her that Erlend was most at fault. She had felt bitter toward Simon because he ought to have known his kinsman well enough to realize that Erlend would not have betrayed and deceived his brother in any dishonorable way, no matter how many strange things he might do out of recklessness or on impulse. And whenever Erlend saw what he had done, he usually behaved like a skittish stallion that has torn its reins loose and become wild with fright at what is dragging along behind.
But Erlend never seemed to understand that sometimes other people needed to protect their own interests in the face of the mischief that he had such a rare talent for stirring up. Then Erlend would fail to guard his tongue or watch how he behaved. She remembered from her own experience, back when she was still young and tender; time after time she had felt as if he were trampling on her heart with his reckless behavior. He had driven away his own brother. Even before Gunnulf entered the monastery, he had withdrawn from them, and she knew that Erlend was to blame. He had so often offended his pious and worthy brother, even though Gunnulf had never done anything but good for Erlend, as far as she knew. Now he had pushed Simon away, and when she wanted to know what had caused this animosity between him and their only friend, Erlend merely gave her a stubborn look and said he couldn’t tell her.
She could see that he had told Naakkve more.
Kristin felt dismayed and uneasy when she noticed that Erlend and her eldest son would fall silent or change the topic of their conversation as soon as she came near, and this was not a rare occurrence.
Gaute and Lavrans and Munan kept closer to their mother than Nikulaus had ever done, and she had always talked more to them than to him. And yet she still felt that of all her children, her firstborn son was in some sense closest to her heart. After she had returned to live at Jørundgaard, memories of the time when she bore this son under her heart and gave birth to him became strangely vivid and alive. For she noticed in so many ways that the people of Sil had not forgotten the sins of her youth. It was almost as if they felt she had tarnished the honor of the entire region when she, daughter of the man who was regarded as their chieftain, had gone astray. They had not forgiven her, or the fact that she and Erlend had added mockery to Lavrans’s sorrow and shame when they fooled him into giving away a seduced maiden with the grandest wedding that had ever been seen in Gudbrandsdal.
Kristin didn’t know whether Erlend realized that people had begun gossiping about these old subjects again. If he did, he probably paid them no mind. He considered her neighbors no more than homespun farmers and fools, every one of them. And he taught his sons to think the same. It pained her soul to know that these people who had wished her so well back when she was Lavrans Bjørg ulfsøn’s pretty daughter, the rose of the northern valley, now despised Erlend Nikulaussøn and his wife and judged them harshly. She didn’t plead with them; she didn’t weep because she had become a stranger among them. But it hurt nevertheless. And it seemed as if even the steep mountains surrounding the valley that had sheltered her childhood now looked differently at her and her home: black with menace and stone-gray with a fierce determination to subdue her.
Once she had wept bitterly. Erlend knew about it, and he had had little patience with her back then. When he discovered that she had walked alone for many months with the burden of his child under her frightened, sorrowful heart, he did not take her in his arms and console her with tender and loving words. He was bitter and ashamed that it would come out how dishonorably he had acted toward Lavrans. But he hadn’t thought about how much more difficult it would be for her on that day when she stood in disgrace before her proud and loving father.
And Erlend had not greeted his son with much joy when she finally brought the child into the light of life. That moment when her soul was released from endless anguish and dread and torment and she saw the hideous, shapeless fruit of her sin come alive under the fervent prayers of the priest and become the most beloved and healthy of children, then it felt as if her heart would melt with humble joy, and even the hot, defiant blood of her body turned to sweet, white, innocent milk. Yes, with God’s help the boy would doubtless become a man, Erlend had said as she lay in bed, wanting him to rejoice with her over this precious treasure, which she could hardly bear to let out of her arms when the women wanted to tend to the child. He loved the children he had by Eline Ormsdatter—that much she had both seen and sensed—but when she carried Naakkve over to Erlend and tried to place him in his father’s arms, Erlend wrinkled his nose and asked what he was supposed to do with this infant who leaked from both ends. For years Erlend would only grudgingly look at his eldest, lawfully born son, unable to forget that Naakkve had come into the world at an inopportune time. And yet the boy was such a handsome and good and promising child that any father would rejoice to see such a son grow up to succeed him.
From the time he was quite little, Naakkve loved his father so dearly that it was wondrous to behold. His whole small, fair face would light up like the sun whenever his father took him on his knee for a moment and spoke a few words to him or he was allowed to hold his father’s hand to cross the courtyard. Steadfastly Naakkve had courted his father’s favor during that time when Erlend was more fond of all his other children than the eldest. Bjørgulf was his father’s favorite when the boys were small, and occasionally Erlend would take his sons along to the armory when he went up there. That was where all the armor and weapons were kept that were not in daily use at Husaby. While his father talked and bantered with Bjørgulf, Naakkve would sit quietly on top of a chest, simply breathing with happiness because he was allowed to be there.
But as time passed and Bjørgulf’s poor eyesight meant that he could not accompany Erlend as readily as his other sons, and Bjørg ulf also grew more taciturn and withdrawn, things changed. Erlend began to seem almost a little embarrassed in the boy’s presence. Kristin wondered whether Bjørgulf, in his heart, blamed his father for destroying their well-being and taking his sons’ future with him when he fell—and whether Erlend knew or guessed as much. However that might be, Bjørgulf was the only one of Erlend’s sons who did not seem to look up to him with blind love and boundless pride at calling him Father.
One morning the two smallest boys noticed that Erlend was reading from the prayer book and fasting on bread and water. They asked him why he was doing this since it wasn’t a fast day. Erlend replied that it was because of his sins. Kristin knew that these fast days were part of the penance that had been imposed upon Erlend for breaking his marriage vows with Sunniva Olavsdatter, and she knew that her oldest sons were aware of this. Naakkve and Gaute seemed untroubled by it, but she happened to glance at Bjørgulf at that moment. The boy was sitting at the table, squinting nearsightedly at his bowl of food and chuckling to himself. Kristin had seen Gunnulf smile that way several times when Erlend was being most boastful. She didn’t like it.
Now it was Naakkve whom Erlend always wanted to take along. And the youth seemed to come alive, as if all his roots were attached to his father. Naakkve served his father the way a young page serves his lord and chieftain. He took care of his father’s horse himself and kept his harnesswork and weapons in order. He fastened Erlend’s spurs on his feet and brought his hat and cape when Erlend was going out. He filled his father’s goblet and served him slices of meat at the table, sitting on the bench just to the right of Erlend’s seat. Erlend jested a bit over the boy’s chivalrous and noble manners, but he was pleased, and he commanded more and more of Naakkve’s attention.
Kristin saw that Erlend had now completely forgotten how she had struggled and begged to win from him a scrap of fatherly love for this child. And Naakkve had forgotten the time when she was the one he turned to, seeking solace from all his ills and advice for all his troubles when he was little. He had always been a loving son toward his mother, and he still was in many ways, but she felt that the older the boy became, the farther away he moved from her and her concerns. Naakkve lacked all sense for what she had to cope with. He was never disobliging when she gave him a task to do, but he was oddly awkward and clumsy at anything that might be called farm work. He did the chores without interest or desire and never finished anything. His mother thought that in many ways he was not unlike his deceased half brother, Orm Er lendssøn; he also resembled him in appearance. But Naakkve was strong and healthy, a lively dancer and sportsman, an excellent bowman and tolerably skilled in the use of other weapons, a good horseman and a superb skier. Kristin spoke about this one day to Ulf Haldorssøn, Naakkve’s foster father.
Ulf said, “No one has lost more from Erlend’s folly than that boy. There is not another youth growing up in Norway today who would make a more splendid horseman and chieftain than Naakkve.”
But Kristin saw that Naakkve never gave a thought to what his father had ruined for him.
At that time there was once again great unrest in Norway, and rumors were flying all through the valleys, some of them reasonable and some of them completely unlikely. The noblemen in the south and west of the kingdom as well as in the uplands had grown exceedingly discontented with the rule of King Magnus. It was said they had even threatened to take up arms, rally the peasantry, and force Lord Magnus Eirikssøn to rule in accordance with their wishes and advice; otherwise they would proclaim his cousin, the young Jon Haftorssøn of Sudrheim, their king. His mother, Lady Agnes, was the daughter of the blessed King Haakon Haalegg. Not much was heard from Jon himself, but his brother Sigurd was supposed to be in the vanguard of the entire enterprise, and Bjarne, Erling Vidkunssøn’s young son, was also part of it. People said that Sigurd had promised that if Jon became king, he would take one of Bjarne’s sisters as his queen because the maidens of Giske were also descended from the ancient Norwegian kings. Sir Ivar Ogmundssøn, who had formerly been one of King Magnus’s most ardent supporters, was now said to have joined forces with these young noblemen, as had many others among the wealthiest and most highborn of men. People said that Erling Vidkunssøn himself and the bishop of Bjørgvin stood behind the effort.
Kristin paid little mind to these rumors; she thought bitterly that she and her family were commoners now and the affairs of the realm no longer concerned them. And yet she had talked about this a bit with Simon Andressøn during the previous fall, and she also knew that he had spoken of it to Erlend. But she saw that Simon was loath to discuss such things—partly, no doubt, because he disapproved of his brothers getting involved in such dangerous matters. And Gyrd, at any rate, was being led along by his wife’s kinsmen. But Simon also feared that it wouldn’t be pleasant for Erlend to hear such talk since he had been born to take his place among men who counseled the rulers of Norway, but now misfortune had shut him out from the company of his peers.
And yet Kristin saw that Erlend spoke of these matters with his sons. One day she heard Naakkve say, “But if these men win out against King Magnus, then surely they can’t be so cowardly, Father, that they wouldn’t take up your case and force the king to make amends with you.”
Erlend laughed.
His son continued, “You were the first to show the way to these men and remind them that it was never the custom among Norwegian nobles in the past to sit back calmly and tolerate injustice from their kings. It cost you your ancestral estates and your position as sheriff. The men who supported you escaped without a scratch. You alone have paid the price for all of them.”
“Yes, and that’s all the more reason why they would want to forget me,” said Erlend with a laugh. “And the archbishopric has acquired Husaby against a loan. I don’t think the gentlemen of the council will urge impoverished King Magnus to redeem it.”
“The king is your kinsman, as are Sigurd Haftorssøn and most of the other men,” replied Naakkve vehemently. “Not without shame can they desert the man who carried his shield with honor to the borderlands of the north and cleared Finnmark and the Gandvik coast
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of the enemies of God and the Crown. Then they would indeed be miserable cowards.”