“Oh, ask Herr Arne if he wouldn’t mind coming here,” he said to a sexton. “I think that by rights your husband should be present too. But perhaps Gunnulf has a letter from him.
“You wish to speak to the archbishop himself, is that right? Otherwise there is Hauk Tomassøn, who is the
penitentiarius
. I don’t know whether Gunnulf has spoken to Archbishop Eiliv. But you must come here for matins tomorrow, and then you can ask for me after lauds. My name is Paal Aslakssøn. That,” and he pointed to the child, “you must leave at the hostel. I seem to remember your brother-in-law saying that you’re staying with the sisters at Bakke, is that right?”
Another priest came in, and the two men talked to each other briefly. The first priest then opened a small cupboard in the wall and took out a balance scale and weighed the crown, while the other made a note of it in a ledger. Then they placed the crown in the cupboard and closed the door.
Herr Paal was about to escort Kristin out, but then he asked her whether she would like him to lift her son up to Saint Olav’s shrine.
He picked up the boy with the confident, almost indifferent ease of a priest who was used to holding children for baptism. Kristin followed him into the church, and he asked her whether she too would like to kiss the shrine.
I don’t dare, thought Kristin, but she accompanied the priest up the stairs to the dais on which the shrine stood. A great, chalk-white light seemed to pass before her eyes as she pressed her lips to the golden chest.
The priest looked at her for a moment, to see whether she might collapse in a faint. But she got to her feet. Then he touched the child’s forehead to the sacred shrine.
Herr Paal escorted Kristin to the church door and asked whether she was certain she could find her way to the ferry landing. Then he bade her good night. He spoke the whole time in an even and dry voice, like any other courteous young man in the king’s service.
It had started to rain lightly, and a wonderful fragrance wafted blessedly from the gardens and along the street, which, on either side of the worn ruts from the wheel tracks, was as fresh and green as a country courtyard. Kristin sheltered the child from the rain as best she could—he was heavy now, so heavy that her arms were quite numb from carrying him. And he fussed and cried incessantly; he was probably hungry again.
The mother was dead tired from the long journey and from all the weeping and the intense emotions in the church. She was cold, and the rain was coming down harder; the drops splashed on the trees, making the leaves flutter and shake. She made her way down the lanes and came out onto a broad street; from there she could see the rushing river, wide and gray, its surface punctured like a sieve by the falling drops.
There was no ferryboat. Kristin talked to two men who were huddled in a space beneath a warehouse standing on posts at the water’s edge. They told her to go out to the sandbanks—there the nuns had a house, and that’s where the ferryman was.
Kristin went back up the wide street, wet and tired and with aching feet. She came to a small gray stone church; behind it stood several buildings enclosed by a fence. Naakkve was screaming furiously, so she couldn’t go inside the church. But she heard the song from the recessed paneless windows, and she recognized the antiphon:
Lætare, Regina Coeli
—rejoice, thou Queen of Heaven, for he whom you were chosen to bear, has risen, as he promised. Hallelujah!
This was what the Minorites
4
sang after the
completorium
. Brother Edvin had taught her this hymn to the Lord’s Mother as Kristin kept vigil over him during those nights when he lay deathly ill in their home at Jørundgaard. She crept out to the churchyard and, standing against the wall with her child in her arms, she repeated his words softly to herself.
“Nothing you do could ever change your father’s heart toward you. This is why you must not cause him any more sorrow.”
As your pierced hands were stretched out on the cross, O precious Lord of Heaven. No matter how far a soul might stray from the path of righteousness, the pierced hands were stretched out, yearning. Only one thing was needed: that the sinful soul should turn toward the open embrace, freely, like a child who goes to his father and not like a thrall who is chased home to his stern master. Now Kristin realized how hideous sin was. Again she felt the pain in her breast, as if her heart were breaking with remorse and shame at the undeserved mercy.
Next to the church wall there was a little shelter from the rain. She sat down on a gravestone and set about quelling the child’s hunger. Now and then she would bend down and kiss his little down-covered head.
She must have fallen asleep. Someone was touching her shoulder. A monk and an old lay brother holding a spade in his hand stood before her. The barefoot brother asked if she was looking for shelter for the night.
The thought raced through her mind that she would much rather stay here tonight with the Minorites, Brother Edvin’s brothers. And it was so far to Bakke, and she was nearly collapsing with weariness. Then the monk offered to have the lay servant accompany her to the women’s hostel—“and give her a little calamus poultice for her feet; I see that they are sore.”
It was stuffy and dark at the women’s hostel, which stood outside the fence in the lane. The lay brother brought Kristin water to wash with and a little food, and she sat down near the hearth, trying to soothe her child. Naakkve could no doubt tell from her milk that his mother was worn out and had fasted all day. He fretted and whimpered in between attempts to suckle from her empty breasts. Kristin gulped down the milk that the lay brother brought her. She tried to squirt it from her mouth into the child’s, but the boy protested loudly at this new means of being fed, and the old man laughed and shook his head. She would have to drink it herself, and then it would benefit the boy.
Finally the man left. Kristin crept into one of the beds high up beneath the center roof beam. From there she could reach a hatch. There was a foul smell in the hostel—one of the women was in bed with a stomach ailment. Kristin opened the hatch. The summer night was bright and mild, the rain-washed air streamed down on her. She sat in the short bed with her head leaning back against the timbers of the wall; there were few pillows for the beds. The boy was asleep in her lap. She had meant to close the hatch after a moment, but she fell asleep.
In the middle of the night she woke up. The moon, a pale summery honey-gold, was shining down on her and the child and illuminating the opposite wall. At that moment Kristin became aware of a person standing in the midst of the stream of moonlight, hovering between the gable and the floor.
He was wearing an ash-gray monk’s cowl; he was tall and stooped. Then he turned his ancient, furrowed face toward her. It was Brother Edvin. His smile was so inexpressibly tender, and a little sly and merry, just as it was when he lived on this earth.
Kristin was not the least bit surprised. Humbly, joyfully, and filled with anticipation, she looked at him and waited for what he would say or do.
The monk laughed and held up a heavy old leather glove toward her; then he hung it on the moonbeam. He smiled even more, nodded to her, and then vanished.
PART II
HUSABY
CHAPTER 1
ONE DAY JUST after New Year’s, unexpected guests arrived at Husaby. They were Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn and old Smid Gudleikssøn from Dovre, and they were accompanied by two gentlemen whom Kristin didn’t know. But Erlend was very surprised to see his father-in-law in their company—they were Erling Vidkunssøn from Giske and Bjarkøy, and Haftor Graut from Godøy. He hadn’t realized that Lavrans knew them. But Sir Erling explained that they had met at Nes; he had served with Lavrans and Smid on the six-man court, which had finally settled the inheritance dispute among Jon Haukssøn’s descendants. Then he and Lavrans happened to speak of Erlend; and Erling, who had business in Nidaros, mentioned that he had a mind to pay a visit to Husaby if Lavrans would keep him company and sail north with him.
Smid Gudleikssøn said with a laugh that he had practically invited himself along on the journey. “I wanted to see our Kristin again—the loveliest rose of the north valley. And I also thought that my kinswoman Ragnfrid would thank me if I kept an eye on her husband, to see what kind of decisions he was making with such wise and mighty men. Yes, your father has had other matters on his hands this winter, Kristin, than carousing from farm to farm with us and celebrating the Christmas season until Lent begins. All these years we’ve been sitting at home on our estates in peace and quiet, with each man tending to his own interests. But now Lavrans wants the men of the valleys who are the king’s retainers to ride together to Oslo in the harshest time of the winter—now we’re supposed to advise the noblemen of the Council and look after the king’s interests. Lavrans says they’re handling things so badly for the poor, underaged boy.”
1
Sir Erling looked rather embarrassed. Erlend raised his eyebrows.
“Have you decided to support these efforts, Father-in-law? For the great meeting of the royal retainers?”
“No, no,” said Lavrans. “I’m merely going to the meeting, just like the other king’s men of the valley, because we have been summoned.”
But Smid Gudleikssøn spoke again. It was Lavrans who had persuaded him—and Herstein of Kruke and Trond Gjesling and Guttorm Sneis, as well as others who had not wanted to go.
“Isn’t it the custom to invite guests into the house on this estate?” asked Lavrans. “Now we’ll see whether Kristin brews ale as good as her mother’s.” Erlend looked thoughtful, and Kristin was greatly surprised.
“What’s this about, Father?” she asked some time later, when he went with her to the little house where she had taken the child in order not to disturb the guests.
Lavrans sat and bounced his grandchild on his knee. Naakkve was now ten months old, big and handsome. He had been allowed to wear a tunic and hose since Christmas.
“I’ve never heard of you lending your voice to such matters before, Father,” she said. “You’ve always told me that for the country, and for his subjects, it was best for the king to rule, along with those men he called to his side. Erlend says that this attempt is the work of the noblemen in the south; they want to remove Lady Ingebjørg from power, along with those men whom her father appointed to advise her. They want to steal back the power they had when King Haakon and his brother were children. But that brought great harm to the kingdom—you’ve said so yourself in the past.”
Lavrans whispered that she should send the nursemaid away. When they were alone, he asked, “Where did Erlend get this information? Did he hear it from Munan?”
Kristin told him that Orm had brought a letter from Sir Munan when he returned home in the fall. She didn’t say that she had read it to Erlend herself—he wasn’t very good at deciphering script. But in the letter Munan had complained bitterly that now every man in Norway who bore a coat of arms thought himself better at ruling the kingdom than those men who had stood at King Haakon’s side when he was alive, and they presumed to have a better understanding of the young king’s welfare than the highborn woman who was his own mother. He had warned Erlend that if there were signs that the Norwegian noblemen had intentions of doing as the Swedes had done in Skara
2
last summer, of plotting against Lady Ingebjørg and her old, trusted advisers, then her kinsmen would stand ready and Erlend should go to meet Munan in Hamar.
“Didn’t he mention,” asked Lavrans as he tapped his finger under Naakkve’s chubby chin, “that I’m one of the men opposed to the unlawful call to arms that Munan has been carrying through the valley, in the name of our king?”
“You!” said Kristin. “Did you meet Munan Baardsøn last fall?”
“Yes, I did,” replied Lavrans. “And there was not much agreement between us.”
“Did you talk about me?” asked Kristin swiftly.
“No, my dear Kristin,” said her father, with a laugh. “I can’t recall that your name was mentioned by either of us this time. Do you know whether your husband intends to travel south to meet with Munan Baardsøn?”
“I think so,” said Kristin. “Sira Eiliv drafted a letter for Erlend not long ago, and he mentioned that he might soon have to go south.”
Lavrans sat in silence for a moment, looking down at the child, who was fumbling with the hilt of his dagger and trying to bite the rock crystal embedded in it.
“Is it true that they want to take the regency away from Lady Ingebjørg?” asked Kristin.
“She’s about the same age as you are,” replied her father, a slight smile still on his lips. “No one wants to take from the king’s mother the honor and power that are her birthright. But the archbishop and some of our blessed king’s friends and kinsmen have gathered for a meeting to deliberate how Lady Ingebjørg’s power and honor and the interests of the people should best be protected.”
Kristin said quietly, “I can see, Father, that you haven’t come to Husaby this time just to see Naakkve and me.”
“No, that was not the only reason,” said Lavrans. Then he laughed. “And I can tell, daughter, that you’re not at all pleased!”
He put his hand up to stroke her face, just as he used to do when she was a little girl, any time he had scolded her or teased her.
In the meantime Sir Erling and Erlend were sitting in the armory—that was what the large storehouse was called which stood on the northeast side of the courtyard, right next to the manor gate. It was as tall as a tower, with three stories; on the top floor there was a room with loopholes in the walls for shooting arrows, and that was where all the weapons were stored which were not in daily use on the farm. King Skule had built this structure.
Sir Erling and Erlend were wearing fur capes because it was bitterly cold in the room. The guest walked around looking at the many splendid weapons and suits of armor which Erlend had inherited from his grandfather, Gaute Erlendssøn.