CHAPTER 3.

KRISTIN SAT WITH Gaute on her lap and stared into the distance from the hill north of the manor. It was such a lovely evening. Below, the lake lay glistening and still, reflecting the mountain ridges, the buildings of By, and the golden clouds in the sky. The strong smell of leaves and earth rose up after the rainfall earlier in the day. The gra.s.s in the meadows must be knee-deep by now, and the fields were covered with spears of grain.

Sounds traveled a long way on such an evening. Now the pipes and drums and fiddles began playing down on the green near Vinjar; they sounded so splendid up on the hill.

The cuckoo fell silent for long periods, but then it would cry out a few notes, far away in the woods to the south. And birds whistled and warbled in all the groves around the farm-but sporadic and quiet, because the sun was still high.

The livestock were bellowing and their bells were ringing as they returned home from the pasture across from the farmyard gate.

"Now Gaute will soon have his milk," she cooed to the infant, lifting him up. The boy lay as he usually did, with his heavy head resting on his mother's shoulder. Now and then he would press closer, and Kristin took this as a sign that he understood her endearing words and chatter.

She walked down toward the buildings. Outside the main hall Naakkve and Bjrgulf were leaping around, trying to entice a cat down from the roof where it had taken refuge. Then the boys took up the broken dagger which belonged to both of them and went back to digging a hole in the earthen floor of the entryway.

Dagrun came into the hall carrying a basin of goat milk, and Kristin let Gaute drink ladle after ladle of the warm liquid. The boy grunted crossly when the servant woman spoke to him; when she tried to take him away, he struck out at her and hid his face on his mother's breast.

"But it seems to me that he's getting better," said the milkmaid.

Kristin cupped the little face in her hand; it was yellowish-white, like tallow, and his eyes were always tired. Gaute had a big, heavy head and thin, frail limbs. He had turned two years old on the eighth day after Saint Lavrans's Day, but he still couldn't stand on his own, he had only five teeth, and he couldn't speak a word.

Sira Eiliv said that it wasn't rickets; and neither the alb nor the altar books had helped. Everywhere the priest went he would ask advice about this illness that had overtaken Gaute. Kristin knew that he mentioned the child in all his prayers. But to her he could only say that she must patiently submit to G.o.d's will. And she should let him have warm goat milk.

Her poor little boy. Kristin hugged him and kissed him after the woman had left. How handsome, how handsome he was. She thought she could see that he took after her father's family-his eyes were dark gray and his hair as pale as flax, thick and silky soft.

Now he began to whimper again. Kristin stood up and paced the floor as she held him. Small and weak though he was, he still grew heavy after a while. But Gaute refused to leave his mother's arms. So she walked back and forth in the dim hall, carrying the boy and lulling him to sleep.

Someone rode into the courtyard. Ulf Haldorssn's voice echoed between the buildings. Kristin went over to the entryway door with the child in her arms.

"You'll have to unsaddle your own horse tonight, Ulf. All the men have gone off to the dance. It's a shame you should have to be troubled with this, but I'm afraid it can't be helped."

Ulf muttered with annoyance, but he unsaddled the horse. Naakkve and Bjrgulf swarmed around him and wanted to ride the horse over in the pasture.

"No, Naakkve, you must stay with Gaute-play with your brother so he doesn't cry while I'm in the cookhouse," said Kristin.

The boy frowned unhappily. But then he got down on all fours, roaring and b.u.t.ting at his little brother whom Kristin had put down on a cushion near the entryway door. She bent down and stroked Naakkve's hair. He was so good to his younger brothers.

When Kristin came back to the hall holding the big trencher in her hands, Ulf Haldorssn was sitting on the bench, playing with the children. Gaute liked to be with Ulf as long as he didn't see his mother-but now he began crying at once and reached out for her. Kristin put down the trencher and picked Gaute up.

Ulf blew on the foam of the newly tapped ale, took a swallow, and then began taking food from the small bowls on the trencher.

"Are all of your maidservants out tonight?"

Kristin said, "There are fiddles and drums and pipes-a group of musicians arrived from Orkedal after the wedding. And you know that as soon as they heard about them . . . They're young girls, after all."

"You let them run around too freely, Kristin. I think you're most afraid that it'll be hard to find a wet nurse this autumn."

Kristin involuntarily smoothed down her gown over her slender waist. She had blushed dark red at the man's words.

Ulf laughed harshly. "But if you keep carrying around Gaute this way, then things may go as they did last year. Come here to your foster father, my boy, and I'll give you some food from my plate."

Kristin didn't reply. She set her three small sons in a row on the bench along the opposite wall, brought the basin of milk porridge, and pulled over a little stool close by. There she sat, feeding the boys, although Naakkve and Bjrgulf grumbled-they wanted spoons so they could feed themselves. The oldest was now four, and the other would soon be three years old.

"Where's Erlend?" asked Ulf.

"Margret wanted to go to the dance, and so he went with her."

"It's good he understands he should keep a watchful eye on that maiden of his," said Ulf.

Again Kristin did not reply. She undressed the children and put them to bed-Gaute in the cradle and the other two in her own bed. Erlend had resigned himself to having them there after she recovered from her long illness the year before.

When Ulf had eaten his fill, he stretched out on the bench. Kristin pushed the chair carved from a tree stump over to the cradle, got her basket of wool, and began to wind up b.a.l.l.s of yarn for her loom as she gently and quietly rocked the cradle.

"Shouldn't you go to bed?" she asked once without turning her head. "Aren't you tired, Ulf?"

The man got up, poked at the fire a bit, and came over to Kristin. He sat down on the bench across from her. Kristin saw that he was not as spent from carousing as he usually was whenever he had been in Nidaros for a few days.

"You don't even ask about news from town, Kristin," he said, looking at her as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Her heart began pounding with fear. She could see from the man's expression and manner that again there was news that wasn't good. But she said with a gentle and calm smile, "You must tell me, Ulf-have you heard anything?"

"Yes, well . . ." But first he took out his traveling bag and unpacked the things he had brought from town for her. Kristin thanked him.

"I understand that you've heard some news in Nidaros," she said after a while.

Ulf looked at the young mistress; then he turned his gaze to the pale, sleeping child in the cradle.

"Does he always sweat like this?" he asked softly, gently pushing back the boy's damp, dark hair. "Kristin-when you were betrothed to Erlend . . . the doc.u.ment that was drawn up regarding the ownership of both your possessions-didn't it state that you should manage with full authority those properties which he gave you as betrothal and wedding gifts?"

Kristin's heart pounded harder, but she said calmly, "It's also true, Ulf, that Erlend has always asked my advice and sought my consent in all dealings with those properties. Is this about the sections of the estate in Verdal that he has sold to Vigleik of Lyng?"

"Yes," said Ulf. "He has bought a ship called Hugrekken Hugrekken from Vigleik. So now he's going to maintain two ships. And what do you gain in return, Kristin?" from Vigleik. So now he's going to maintain two ships. And what do you gain in return, Kristin?"

Erlend's share of Skjervastad and two plots of land in Ulfkel stad-each taxed by one month's worth of food-and what he owns of Aarhammar," she said. "Surely you didn't think Erlend would sell that estate without my permission or without repaying me?"

"Hmm . . ." Ulf sat in silence for a moment. "And yet your income will be reduced, Kristin. Skjervastad-that was where Erlend obtained hay this past winter and in return he released the farmer from the land tax for the next three years."

"Erlend was not to blame because we had no dry hay last year. I know, Ulf, you did everything you could, but with all the misery we had here last summer-"

"He sold more than half of Aarhammar to the sisters at Rein back when he was preparing to flee the country with you." Ulf laughed. "Or pledged it as security, which amounts to the same thing, in Erlend's case. Free of war levies-the entire burden rests on Audun, who oversees the farm which you will now call your own."

"Can't he lease the land from the convent?" asked Kristin.

"The nuns' tenant farmer on the neighboring estate has leased it," said Ulf. "It's difficult and risky for leaseholders to manage when lands are split up the way Erlend is bent on doing."

Kristin was silent. She knew he was right.

"Erlend is working quickly," said Ulf, "to increase his lineage and to destroy his property."

When she didn't reply, Ulf went on, "You will soon have many many children, Kristin Lavransdatter." children, Kristin Lavransdatter."

"But none I would give up," she said, with a slight quaver in her voice.

"Don't be so fearful for Gaute-I'm sure he'll grow strong over time," said Ulf softly.

"It must be as G.o.d wills, but it's difficult to wait."

He could hear the concealed suffering in the mother's voice; a strange sense of helplessness came over the ponderous, gloomy man.

"It's of such little avail, Kristin. You have accomplished much here at Husaby, but if Erlend is now going to set off with two ships . . . I have no faith that there will be peace in the north, and your husband has so little cunning; he doesn't know how to turn to his advantage what he has gained in the past two years. Bad years they have been, and you have been constantly ill. If things should continue in this way, you'll be brought to your knees in the end, and as such a young woman. I've helped you as best I could here on the estate, but this other matter, Erlend's lack of prudence-"

"Yes, G.o.d knows you have," she interrupted him. "You've been the best of kinsmen toward us, Ulf my friend, and I can never fully thank you or repay you."

Ulf stood up, lit a candle at the hearth, and set it in the candlestick on the table; he stood there with his back turned to Kristin. She had let her hands sink into her lap as they talked, but now she began winding up the yarn and rocking the cradle with her foot again.

"Can't you send word to your parents back home?" he asked. "So that Lavrans might journey north in the fall along with your mother when she comes to help you?"

"I hadn't thought of troubling my mother this fall. She's getting older, and it happens much too often now that I must lie down in the straw to give birth. I can't ask her to come every time." Her smile looked a bit strained.

"Do it this time," said Ulf. "And ask your father to come along, so you can seek his advice on these matters."

"I will not ask my father's advice about this," she said quietly but firmly.

"What about Gunnulf then?" asked Ulf after a moment. "Can't you speak to him?"

"It's not proper to disturb him with such things now," said Kristin in the same tone of voice.

"Do you mean because he has entered a monastery?" Ulf laughed scornfully. "I've never noticed that monks had less understanding about managing estates than other people."

When she didn't answer, he said, "But if you won't seek advice from anyone, Kristin, then you must speak to Erlend. Think of your sons, Kristin!"

She sat in silence for a long time.

"You who are so good toward our children, Ulf," she said at last. "It would seem to me more reasonable if you married and had your own worries to tend to-than that you should stay here, tormenting yourself . . . with Erlend's and my troubles."

Ulf turned to face her. He stood with his hands gripping the edge of the table behind him and looked at Kristin Lavransdatter. She was still straight-backed and slender and beautiful as she sat there. Her gown was made of dark, hand-dyed woolen cloth, but she wore a fine, soft linen wimple around her calm, pale face. The belt from which her ring of keys hung was adorned with small silver roses. On her breast glittered two chains with crosses, the larger one on gilded links which hung almost to her waist; that one had been given to her by her father. On top lay the thin silver chain with the little cross which Orm had given to his stepmother, asking her to wear it always.

So far she had recovered from each childbirth looking just as lovely as ever-only a little quieter, with heavier responsibilities on her young shoulders. Her cheeks were thinner, her eyes a little darker and more somber beneath the wide, white forehead, and her lips were a little less red and full. But her beauty would soon be worn away before many more years had pa.s.sed if things continued in this fashion.

"Don't you think, Ulf, that you would be happier if you settled down on your own farm?" she continued. "Erlend told me that you've bought three more plots of land at Skjoldvirkstad-you will soon own half the estate. And Isak has only the one child-Aase is both beautiful and kind, a capable woman, and she seems to like you-"

"And yet I don't want her if I have to marry her," sneered the man crudely and laughed. "Besides, Aase Isaksdatter is too good for . . ." His voice changed. "I've never known any other father but my foster father, Kristin, and I think it's my fate not to have any other children but foster children."

"I'll pray to the Virgin Mary that you'll have better fortune, kinsman."

"I'm not so young, either. Thirty-five winters, Kristin," he laughed. "It wouldn't take many more than that and I could be your father."

"Then you must have begun your sinful ways early," replied Kristin. She tried to make her voice sound merry and light-hearted.

"Shouldn't you go to sleep now?" Ulf asked.

"Yes, soon-but you must be tired too, Ulf. You should go to bed."

The man quietly bade her good night and left the room.

Kristin took the candlestick from the table and shone the light on the two sleeping boys in the enclosed bed. Bjrgulf's eyelashes were not festering-thank G.o.d for that. The weather would stay fine for a while yet. As soon as the wind blew hard or the weather forced the children to stay inside near the hearth, his eyes would grow inflamed. She stood there a long time, gazing at the two boys. Then she went over and bent down to look at Gaute in his cradle.

They had been as healthy as little fledglings, all three of her sons-until the sickness had come to the region last summer. A fever had carried off children in homes all around the fjord; it was a terrible thing to see and to hear about. She had been allowed to keep hers-all her own children.

For five days she had sat near the bed on the south wall where they lay, all three of them, with red spots covering their faces and with feverish eyes that shunned the light. Their small bodies were burning hot. She sat with her hand under the coverlet and patted the soles of Bjrgulf's feet while she sang and sang until her poor voice was no more than a whisper.

Shoe, shoe the knight's great horse.

How are we to shoe it best?

Iron shoes will pa.s.s the test.

Shoe, shoe the earl's great horse.

How are we to shoe it best?

Silver shoes will pa.s.s the test.

Shoe, shoe the king's great horse.

How are we to shoe it best?

Golden shoes will pa.s.s the test.

Bjrgulf was less sick than the others, and more restless. If she stopped singing for even a minute, he would throw off the coverlets at once. Gaute was then only ten months old; he was so ill that she didn't think he would survive. He lay at her breast, wrapped in blankets and furs, and had no strength to nurse. She held him with one arm as she patted the soles of Bjrgulf's feet with her other hand.

Now and then, if all three of them happened to fall asleep for a while, she would stretch out on the bed beside them, fully dressed. Erlend came and went, looking helplessly at his three small sons. He tried to sing to them, but they didn't care for their father's fine voice-they wanted their mother to sing, even though she didn't have the voice for it.

The servant women would come in, wanting their mistress to rest; the men would come in to inquire about the boys; and Orm tried to play with his young brothers. At Kristin's advice, Erlend had sent Margret over to Osterdal, but Orm wanted to stay-he was grown up now, after all. Sira Eiliv sat at the children's bedside whenever he wasn't out tending to the sick. Through work and worry the priest had shed all the corpulence he had acquired at Husaby; it grieved him greatly to see so many fair young children perish. And some grownups had died too.

By the evening of the sixth day, all the children were so much better that Kristin promised her husband to undress and go to bed that night. Erlend offered to keep watch along with the maids and to call Kristin if need be. But at the supper table she noticed that Orm's face was bright red and his eyes were shiny with fever. He said it was nothing, but he jumped up abruptly and rushed out. When Erlend and Kristin went out to him, they found him vomiting in the courtyard.