Kristin herself had no other kinsmen in Norway from her father’s lineage than Ketil Aasmundssøn of Skog and Sigurd Kyrning, who was married to her uncle’s oldest daughter. The second daughter was a widow, and the third was a nun. All four of the men of Sundbu seemed to be involved in the case. Lavrans had become such foes with Erlend Eldjarn over the inheritance after Ivar Gjesling’s death that they had refused to see each other ever again, so Kristin did not know her aunt’s husband or his son.
The ailing monk at the friars’ monastery was Erlend’s only close kinsman. And the one who stood closest to Kristin in the world was Simon Darre, since he was married to her only sister.
Munan woke up and began to whimper. Kristin turned over in bed and placed the child to her other breast. She couldn’t take him with her to Nidaros, as uncertain as everything now stood. Perhaps this would be the last drink the poor child would ever have from his own mother’s breast. Perhaps this was the last time in this world that she would lie in bed holding a little infant . . . so good, so good . . . If Erlend was condemned to death . . . Blessed Mary, Mother of God, if she had ever for an hour or a day been impatient because of the children that God had granted to her . . . Was this to be the last kiss she ever received from a little mouth, sweet with milk?
CHAPTER 5
KRISTIN WENT TO the king’s palace the next evening, as soon as she arrived in Nidaros. Where are they holding Erlend? she wondered as she looked around at the many stone buildings. She seemed to be thinking more about how Erlend might be faring than about what she needed to find out. But she was told that the royal treasurer was not in town.
Her eyes were stinging from the long boat trip in the glittering sunshine, and her breasts were bursting with milk. After the servants who slept in the main house had fallen asleep, she got out of bed and paced the floor all night.
The next day she sent Haldor, her personal servant, over to the king’s palace. He came back shocked and distressed.
His uncle, Ulf Haldorssøn, had been taken prisoner on the fjord as he attempted to reach the monastery on the island of Holm. The royal treasurer had not yet returned.
This news also frightened Kristin terribly. Ulf had not lived at Husaby during the past year but had served as the sheriff’s deputy, residing for the most part at Skjoldvirkstad, a large share of which he now owned. What kind of matter could this be when so many men seemed to be involved? She couldn’t stop herself from thinking the worst, ill and exhausted as she now was.
By the morning of the third day, Sir Baard had still not returned home. And a message that Kristin had tried to send to her husband was not allowed through. She thought about seeking out Gunnulf at the monastery, but decided against it. She paced the floor at home, back and forth, again and again, with her eyes half-closed and burning. Now and then she felt as if she were walking in her sleep, but as soon as she lay down, fear and pain would seize hold of her and she would have to get up again, wide awake, and walk to make it bearable.
Shortly after mid-afternoon prayers Gunnulf Nikulaussøn came to see her. Kristin walked swiftly toward the monk.
“Have you seen Erlend? Gunnulf, what are they accusing him of?”
“The news is troubling, Kristin. No, they won’t allow anyone near Erlend—least of all any of us from the monastery. They think that Abbot Olav knew about his undertakings. He borrowed money from the brothers, but they swear they knew nothing about what he intended to use it for when they placed the cloister’s seal on the document. And Abbot Olav refuses to give any explanation.”
“Yes, but what is it all about? Was it the duchess who lured Erlend into this?”
Gunnulf replied, “It seems instead that they had to press hard before she would agree. Someone . . . has seen drafts of a letter, which Erlend and his friends sent to her in the spring; it’s not likely to fall into the hands of the authorities unless they can threaten Lady Ingebjørg to part with it. And they haven’t found any drafts. But according to both the reply letter and the letter from Herr Aage Laurisen, which they seized from Borgar Trondssøn in Veøy, it seems certain enough that she did receive such a missive from Erlend and the men who have joined forces with him in this plan. For a long time she clearly seemed to fear sending Prince Haakon to Norway; but they persuaded her that no matter what the outcome might be, King Magnus would not possibly harm the child, since they are brothers. Even if Haakon Knutssøn did not win the Crown in Norway, he would be no worse off than before. But these men were willing to risk their lives and their property to put him on the throne.”
For a long time Kristin sat in utter silence.
“I understand. These are more serious matters than what came between Sir Erling or the Haftorssøns and the king.”
“Yes,” said Gunnulf in a subdued voice. “Haftor Olavssøn and Erlend were supposedly sailing to Bjørgvin. But they were actually heading for Kalundborg, and they were to bring Prince Haakon back with them to Norway while King Magnus was abroad courting his bride.”
After a moment the monk continued in the same tone of voice. “It must be . . . nearly a hundred years since any Norwegian has dared attempt such a thing: to overthrow the man who was king by right of succession and replace him with an opposing king.”
Kristin sat and stared straight ahead; Gunnulf could not see her face.
“Yes. The last men who dared undertake this game were your ancestors and Erlend’s. Back then my deceased kinsmen of the Gjesling lineage were also on the side of King Skule,” she said pensively.
She met Gunnulf’s searching glance and then exclaimed hotly and fiercely, “I’m merely a simple woman, Gunnulf—I paid little attention when my husband spoke with other men about such matters. I was unwilling to listen when he wanted to discuss them with me. God help me, I don’t have the wits to understand such weighty topics. But foolish woman that I am, with knowledge of nothing more than my household duties and rearing children—even I know that justice had much too long a road to travel before any grievance could find its way to the king and then back again to the villages. I too have seen that the peasants of this country are faring worse and must endure more hardships now than when I was a child, and blessed King Haakon was our lord. My husband . . .” She took several quick, shuddery breaths. “My husband took up a cause that was so great that none of the other chieftains in all the land dared raise it. I see that now.”
“That he did.” The monk clasped his hands tightly together. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Such a great cause that many will think it very grave that he brought about its downfall himself . . . and in this way . . .”
Kristin cried out and leaped to her feet. She moved with such force that the pain in her breast and arms brought the sweat pouring from her body. Agitated and dizzy with fever, she turned to Gunnulf and shouted loudly, “Erlend is not to blame . . . it just happened . . . it was his misfortune . . .”
She threw herself to her knees and pressed her hands on the bench; she lifted her blazing, desperate face to the monk.
“You and I, Gunnulf . . . you, his brother, and I, his wife for thirteen years, we shouldn’t blame Erlend now that he’s a poor prisoner, with his life perhaps in danger.”
Gunnulf’s face quivered. He looked down at the kneeling woman. “May God reward you, Kristin, for accepting things in this manner.” Again he wrung his emaciated hands. “God . . . may God grant Erlend life and such circumstances that he might repay your loyalty. May God turn this evil away from you and your children, Kristin.”
“Don’t talk like that!” She straightened her back as she knelt, and looked up into the monk’s eyes. “No good has come of it, Gunnulf, whenever you have taken on Erlend’s affairs or mine. No one has judged him more harshly than you—his brother and God’s servant.”
“Never have I judged Erlend more harshly than . . . than was necessary.” His pale face had grown even paler. “I’ve never loved anyone on earth more than my brother. That is no doubt why . . . They stung me as if they were my own sins, sins that I had to repent myself, when Erlend dealt with you so badly. And then there is Husaby. Erlend alone must carry on the lineage which is also mine. And I have put most of my inheritance into his hands. Your sons are the men who are closest to me by blood. . . .”
“Erlend has
not
dealt with me badly! I was no better than him! Why are you talking to me this way, Gunnulf? You were never my confessor. Sira Eiliv never blamed my husband—he admonished
me
for my sins whenever I complained of my difficulties to him. He was a better priest than you are; he’s the one God has placed over me, he’s the one I must listen to, and he has never said that I suffered unjustly. I will listen to him!”
Gunnulf stood up when she did. Pale and distressed, he murmured, “What you say is true. You must listen to Sira Eiliv.”
He turned to go, but she gripped his hand tightly. No, don’t leave me like this! I remember, Gunnulf . . . I remember when I visited you here on this estate, back when it belonged to you. And you were kind to me. I remember the first time I met you—I was in great need and anguish. I remember you spoke to me in Erlend’s defense; you couldn’t know . . . You prayed and prayed for my life and my child’s. I know that you meant us well, and that you loved Erlend. . . .
“Oh, don’t speak harshly of Erlend, Gunnulf! Who among us is pure before God? My father grew fond of him, and our children love their father. Remember that he found me weak and easy to sway, but he led me to a good and honorable place. Oh, yes, Husaby is beautiful. On the night before I left, it was so lovely; the sunset was magnificent that evening. We’ve spent many a good day there, Erlend and I. No matter how things go, no matter what happens, he is still my husband—my husband, whom I love.”
Gunnulf leaned both hands on his staff, which he always carried now whenever he left the monastery.
“Kristin . . . Do not put your faith in the red of the sunset and in the . . . love that you remember, now that you fear for his life.
“I remember, when I was young—only a subdeacon. Gudbjørg, whom Alf of Uvaasen later married, was serving at Siheim then. She was accused of stealing a gold ring. It turned out that she was innocent, but the shame and the fear shook her soul so fiercely that the Fiend seized power over her. She went down to the lake and was about to sink into the water. She has often told us of this afterwards: that the world seemed to her such a lovely red and gold, and the water glistened and felt wondrously warm. But as she stood out there in the lake, she spoke the name of Jesus and made the sign of the cross—and then the whole world grew gray and cold, and she saw where she was headed.”
“Then I won’t say his name.” Kristin spoke quietly; her bearing was rigid and erect. “If I thought that, then I would be tempted to betray my lord when he is in need. But I don’t think it would be the name of Christ but rather the name of the Devil that would bring this about. . . .”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant . . . May God give you strength, Kristin, that you may have the will to do this, to bear your husband’s faults with a loving spirit.”
“You can see that’s what I’m doing,” she said in the same voice as before.
Gunnulf turned away from her, pale and trembling. He drew his hand over his face.
“I must go home now. It’s easier . . . at home it’s easier for me to collect myself—to do what I can for Erlend and for you. God . . . May God and all the saints protect my brother’s life and freedom. Oh, Kristin . . . You mustn’t ever think that I don’t love my brother.”
But after he had left, Kristin thought everything seemed much worse. She didn’t want the servants in the room with her; she paced back and forth, wringing her hands and moaning softly. It was already late in the evening when people came riding into the courtyard. A moment later, as the door was thrown open, a tall, stout man wearing a traveling cloak appeared in the twilight; he walked toward her with his spurs ringing and his sword trailing behind. When she recognized Simon Andressøn, Kristin broke into loud sobbing and ran toward him with outstretched arms, but she shrieked in pain when he embraced her.
Simon let her go. She was standing with her hands on his shoulders and her forehead leaning against his chest, weeping inconsolably. He put his hands lightly on her hips.
“In God’s name, Kristin!” There was a sense of deliverance in the very sound of his dry, warm voice and in the vital male smell about him: of sweat, road dust, horses, and leather harnesswork. “In God’s name, it’s much too soon to lose all hope and courage. Surely there must be a way . . .”
After a while she regained her composure enough to ask his forgiveness. She was feeling quite wretched because she had been forced to take the youngest child from her breast so suddenly.
Simon heard how she had been faring the last three days. He shouted for her maid and asked angrily whether there wasn’t a single woman on the estate who had enough wits to see what was wrong with the mistress. But the maid was an inexperienced young girl, and Erlend’s foreman of his Nidaros manor was a widower with two unmarried daughters. Simon sent a man to town to find a woman skilled in healing, but he begged Kristin to lie down and rest. When she felt a little better he would come in and talk to her.
While they waited for the woman to arrive, Simon and his man were given food in the hall. As they ate, he talked to Kristin, who was undressing in the alcove. Yes, he had ridden north as soon as he heard what had happened at Sundbu. He had come here, while Ramborg went to stay with the wives of Ivar and Borgar. They had taken Ivar to Mjøs Castle, but they allowed Haavard to remain free, although he had to promise to stay in the village. It was said that Borgar and Guttorm had been fortunate enough to flee; Jon of Laugarbru had ridden out to Raumsdal to hear the news and would send word to Nidaros. Simon had reached Husaby around midday, but he hadn’t stayed long. The boys were fine, but Naakkve and Bjørgulf had begged him earnestly to bring them along.