Kristin wrung her hands as she sat there. She felt as if she would scream—with terror and the utmost dread, but also with a power that was stronger than either her torment or her fear. The way she had screamed when she gave birth to these men. Wound after countless wound she had endured in this life, but now she knew that they all had healed; the scars were as tender as raw flesh, but she knew that she would not bleed to death. Never had she felt more alive than she did now.
Blossoms and leaves had been stripped away from her, but she had not been cut down, nor had she fallen. For the first time since she had given birth to the children of Erlend Nikulaussøn, she completely forgot about the father and saw only her sons.
But the sons did not look at their mother, who sat there, pale, with strained and frightened eyes. Munan was still on her lap; he hadn’t let go of her even for a moment. The five boys left the loft.
Kristin stood up and stepped out onto the gallery. They emerged from behind the buildings and walked swiftly along the path toward Romundgaard between the pale, swaying acres of barley. Their steel caps and iron hats gleamed dully, but the sun glittered on Naakkve’s lance and on the spearpoints of the twins. She stood staring after the five young men. She was mother to them all.
Back inside she collapsed before the chest over which the picture of Mary hung. Sobs tore her apart. Munan began to cry too, and weeping, he crept close to his mother. Lavrans leaped out of bed and threw himself to his knees on the other side of her. She put her arms around both her youngest sons.
Ever since the infant had died, she had wondered why she should pray. Hard, cold, and heavy as stone, she had felt as if she were falling into the gaping maw of Hell. Now the prayers burst from her lips of their own volition; without any conscious will, her soul streamed toward Mary, maiden and mother, the Queen of Heaven and earth, with cries of anguish and gratitude and praise. Mary, Mary, I have so much—I still have endless treasures that can be plundered from me. Merciful Mother, take them into your protection!
There were many people in the courtyard of Romundgaard. When the sons of Erlend arrived, several farmers asked them what they wanted.
“We want nothing from you . . . yet,” said Naakkve, smiling slyly. “We have business with the bishop today, Magnus. Later my brothers and I may decide that we want to have a few words with the rest of you too. But today you have no need to fear us.”
There was a great deal of shouting and commotion. Sira Solmund came out and tried to forbid the boys to stay, but then several farmers took up their cause and said they should be allowed to make inquiries about this charge against their mother. The bishop’s men came out and told the sons of Erlend they would have to leave because food was being served and no one had time to listen to them. But the farmers were not pleased by this.
“What is it, good folks?” thundered a voice overhead. No one had noticed that Lord Halvard himself had come out onto the loft gallery. Now he was standing there in his violet robes, with the red silk cap on his white hair, tall and stout and looking like a chieftain. “Who are these young men?”
He was told that they were Kristin’s sons from Jørundgaard.
“Are you the oldest?” the bishop asked Naakkve. “Then I will talk to you. But the others must wait here in the courtyard in the meantime.”
Naakkve climbed the steps to the high loft and followed the bishop into the room. Lord Halvard sat down in the high seat and looked at the young man standing before him, leaning on his lance.
“What is your name?”
“Nikulaus Erlendssøn, my Lord.”
“Do you think you need to be so well armed, Nikulaus Er lendssøn, in order to speak to your bishop?” asked the other man with a little smile.
Nikulaus blushed bright red. He went over to the corner, put down his weapons and cape, and came back. He stood before the bishop, bareheaded, his face lowered, with one hand clasping the wrist of the other, his bearing easy and free, but seemly and respectful.
Lord Halvard thought that this young man had been taught courtly and noble manners. And he couldn’t have been a child when his father lost his riches and honorable position; he must certainly remember the time when he was considered the heir of Husaby. He was a handsome lad as well; the bishop felt great compassion for him.
“Were those your brothers, all those young men who were with you? How many of you are there, you sons of Erlend?”
“There are seven of us still living, my Lord.”
“So many young lives involved in this.” The bishop gave an involuntary sigh. “Sit down, Nikulaus. I suppose you want to talk to me about these rumors that have come forth about your mother and her overseer?”
“Thank you, Your Grace, but I would prefer to stand.”
The bishop looked thoughtfully at the youth. Then he said slowly, “I must tell you, Nikulaus, that I find it difficult to believe that what has been said about Kristin Lavransdatter is true. And no one other than her husband has the right to accuse her of adultery. But then there is the matter of the kinship between your father and this man Ulf and the fact that he is your godfather. Jardtrud has presented her complaint in such a manner that there is much to indicate a lack of honor on your mother’s part. Do you know whether it’s true what she says: that the man often struck her and that he has shunned her bed for almost a year?”
“Ulf and Jardtrud did not live well together; our foster father was no longer young when he married, and he can be rather stubborn and hot-tempered. Toward myself and my brothers, and toward our father and mother, he has always been the most loyal kinsman and friend. That is the first request I intended to make of you, kind sir: If it is at all possible, that you would release Ulf as a free man against payment of a guarantee.”
“You are not yet of lawful age?” asked the bishop.
“No, my Lord. But our mother is willing to pay whatever guarantee you might demand.”
The bishop shook his head.
“But my father will do the same, I’m certain of that. It’s my intention to ride straight from here to see him, to tell him what has happened. If you would grant him an audience tomorrow . . .”
The bishop rested his chin on his hand and sat there stroking his beard with his thumb, making a faint scraping sound.
“Sit down, Nikulaus,” he said, “and we’ll be able to talk better.” Naakkve bowed politely and sat down. “So then it’s true that Ulf has refused to live with his wife?” he continued as if he just happened to remember it.
“Yes, my Lord. As far as I know . . .”
The bishop couldn’t help smiling, and then the young man smiled a little too.
“Ulf has been sleeping in the loft with all of us brothers since Christmas.”
The bishop sat in silence for a moment. “What about food? Where does he eat?”
“He had his wife pack provisions for him whenever he went into the woods or left the estate.” Naakkve’s expression grew a little uncertain. “There were some quarrels about that. Mother thought it best for him to take his meals with us, as he did before he was married. Ulf didn’t want to do that because he said people would talk if he changed the terms of the agreement which he and Father made when he set up his own household, about the goods that he would be given from the estate. And he didn’t think it was right for Mother to provide food for him again without some deductions in what he had been granted. But it was arranged as Mother wanted, and Ulf began taking his meals with us again. The other part was to be figured out later.”
“Hmm . . . Otherwise your mother has a reputation for keeping a close eye on her property, and she is an exceedingly enterprising and frugal woman.”
“Not with food,” said Naakkve eagerly. “Anyone will tell you that—any man or woman who has ever served on our estate. Mother is the most generous of women when it comes to food. In that regard she’s no different now from when we were rich. She’s never happier than when she can set some special dish on the table, and she makes such an abundance that every servant, right down to the goatherd and the beggar, receives his share of the good food.”
“Hmm . . .” The bishop sat lost in thought. “You mentioned that you wanted to seek out your father?”
“Yes, my Lord. Surely that must be the reasonable thing to do?” When the bishop didn’t reply, he continued. “We spoke to Father this winter, my brother Gaute and I. We also told him that Mother was with child. But we saw no sign, nor did we hear a single word from his lips, that might indicate he had doubts that Mother had not been as faithful as gold to him or that he was surprised. But Father has never felt at ease in Sil; he wanted to live on his own farm in Dovre, and Mother was up there for a while this summer. He was angry because she refused to stay and keep house for him. He wanted her to let Gaute and me manage Jørundgaard while she moved to Haugen.”
Bishop Halvard kept rubbing his beard as he studied the young man.
No matter what sort of man Erlend Nikulaussøn might be, surely he wouldn’t have been contemptible enough to accuse his wife of adultery before their young sons.
In spite of everything that seemed to speak against Kristin Lavransdatter, he just didn’t believe it. He thought she was telling the truth when she denied knowledge of the suspicions about her and Ulf Haldorssøn. And yet he remembered that this woman had been weak before, when desires of the flesh had beckoned; with loathsome deceit she and this man with whom she now lived in discord had managed to win Lavrans’s consent.
When the talk turned to the death of the child, he saw at once that her conscience troubled her. But even if she had neglected her child, she could not be brought before a court of law for that reason. She would have to repent before God, in accordance with the strictures of her confessor. And the child might still be her husband’s even if she had cared for it poorly. She couldn’t possibly be glad to be burdened with another infant, now that she was no longer young and had been abandoned by her husband, with seven sons already, and in much more meager circumstances than was their birthright. It would be unreasonable to expect that she could have had much love for that child.
He didn’t think she was an unfaithful wife, although only God knew what he had heard and experienced in the forty years he had been a priest and listened to confessions. But he believed her.
And yet there was only one way in which he could interpret Erlend Nikulaussøn’s behavior in this matter. He had refused to seek out his wife while she was with child, or after the birth, or when the infant died. He must have thought that he was not the father.
What now remained to find out was how the man would act. Whether he would stand up and defend his wife all the same, for the sake of his seven sons, as an honorable man would do. Or whether, now that these rumors were being openly discussed, he would bring charges against her. Based on what the bishop had heard about Erlend of Husaby, he wasn’t sure he could count on the man not to do this.
“Who are your mother’s closest kinsmen?” he asked.
“Jammælt Halvardssøn of Ælin is married to her sister, the widow of Simon Darre of Formo. She also has two cousins: Ketil Aasmundssøn of Skog and his sister, Ragna, who is married to Sigurd Kyrning. Ivar Gjesling of Ringheim and his brother, Haavard Trondssøn, are the sons of her mother’s brother. But all of them live far away.”
“What about Sir Sigurd Eldjarn of Sundbu? He and your mother are cousins. In a case like this the knight must step forward to defend his kinswoman, Nikulaus! You must seek him out this very day and tell him about this, my friend!”
Naakkve replied reluctantly, “Honorable Lord, there has been little kinship between him and us. And I don’t think, my Lord, that it would benefit Mother’s case if this man came to her defense. Erlend Eldjarn’s lineage is not well liked here in the villages. Nothing harmed my father more in the eyes of the people than the fact that the Gjeslings had joined him in the plot that cost us Husaby, while they lost Sundbu.”
“Yes, Erlend Eldjarn . . .” The bishop laughed a little. “Yes, he had a talent for disagreeing with people; he quarreled with all his kinsmen up here in the north. Your maternal grandfather, who was a pious man and not afraid to give in if it meant strengthening the peace and harmony among kin—even he couldn’t manage any better. He and Erlend Eldjarn were the bitterest of foes.”
“Yes.” Naakkve couldn’t help chuckling. “And it wasn’t over anything important either: two embroidered sheets and a blue-hemmed towel. Altogether they weren’t worth more than two marks. But my grandmother had impressed upon her husband that he must make sure to acquire these things when her father’s estate was settled, and Gudrun Ivarsdatter had also spoken of them to her own husband. Erlend Eldjarn finally seized them and hid them away in his traveling bag, but Lavrans took them out again. He felt he had the most right to these things, for it was Ragnfrid who had made them as a young maiden, while she was living at home at Sundbu. When Erlend became aware of this, he struck my grandfather in the face, and then Grandfather threw him to the floor three times and shook him like a pelt. After that they never spoke again, and it was all because of those scraps of fabric; Mother has them at home in her chest.”
The bishop laughed heartily. He knew this story well, which had amused everyone greatly when it occurred: that the husbands of the daughters of Ivar should be so eager to please their wives. But he had achieved what he intended: The features of the young man’s face had thawed into a smile, and the wary, anguished expression had been driven from his handsome blue-gray eyes for a moment. Then Lord Halvard laughed even louder.
“Oh yes, Nikulaus, they did speak to each other one more time, and I was present. It was in Oslo, at the Christmas banquet, the year before Queen Eufemia died. My blessed Lord King Haakon was talking to Lavrans; he had come south to bring his greetings to his lord and to pledge his loyal service. The king told him that this enmity between the husbands of two sisters was unchristian and the behavior of petty men. Lavrans went over to where Erlend Eldjarn was standing with several other royal retainers and asked him in a friendly manner to forgive him for losing his temper; he said he would send the things to Fru Gudrun with loving greetings from her brother and sister. Erlend replied that he would agree to reconcile if Lavrans would accept the blame before the men standing there and admit that he had acted like a thief and a robber with regard to the inheritance of their father-in-law. Lavrans turned on his heel and walked away—and
that,
I believe, was the last time Ivar Gjesling’s sons-in-law ever met on this earth,” concluded the bishop, laughing loudly.