And now Kristin had lived at Jrundgaard for almost a year with only two of her sons. But she was surprised it wasn't longer than that. On that day, the previous fall, when she had come riding past the church and looked down to see the slopes lying under a blanket of cold, raw fog so that she couldn't make out the buildings of her own estate-she had accompanied her two oldest sons as far as Dovre-then she had thought this was what someone must feel who is riding toward home and knows that the farm lying there is nothing but ashes and cold, charred timbers.

Now, whenever she took the old path home past the site of the smithy-and by now it was almost overgrown, with tufts of yellow bedstraw, bluebells, and sweet peas spilling over the borders of the lush meadow-it seemed almost as if she were looking at a picture of her own life: the weather-beaten, soot-covered old hearth that would never again be lit by a fire. The ground was strewn with bits of coal, but thin, short, gleaming tendrils of gra.s.s were springing up all over the abandoned site. And in the cracks of the old hearth blossomed fireweed, which sows its seeds everywhere, with its exquisite, long red ta.s.sels.

CHAPTER 2.

SOMETIMES, AFTER KRISTIN had gone to bed, she would be awakened by people entering the courtyard on horseback. There would be a pounding on the door to the loft, and she would hear Gaute greet his guests loudly and joyously. The servants would have to get up and go out. There was a clattering and stomping overhead; Kristin could hear Ingrid's cross voice. Yes, she was a good child, that young maid, and she didn't let anyone get too forward with her. A roar of laughing young voices would greet her sharp and lively words. Frida shrieked; the poor thing, she never grew any wiser. She was not much younger than Kristin, and yet at times her mistress had to keep an eye on her.

Then Kristin would turn over in bed and go back to sleep.

Gaute was always up before dawn the next morning, as usual. He never stayed in bed any longer even if he had been up drinking ale the night before. But his guests wouldn't appear until breakfast time. Then they would stay at the manor all day; sometimes they had trade to discuss, sometimes it was merely a friendly visit. Gaute was most hospitable.

Kristin saw to it that Gaute's friends were offered the best of everything. She wasn't aware that she went about smiling quietly at the hum of youth and merry activity returning to her father's estate. But she seldom talked with the young men, and she saw little of them. What she did see was that Gaute was well liked and happy.

Gaute Erlendssn was as much liked by commoners as by the wealthy landowners. The case against the men who killed Erlend had brought great misfortune upon their kin, and there were doubtless people on many manors and belonging to many lineages who vigilantly avoided meeting any of the Erlendssns, but Gaute himself had not a single foe.

Sir Sigurd of Sundbu had taken a keen liking to his young kinsman. This cousin of hers, whom Kristin had never met until fate led him to the deathbed of Erlend Nikulaussn, had shown her the greatest loyalty of a kinsman. He stayed at Jrundgaard almost until Christmas and did everything he could to help the widow and her fatherless young boys. The sons of Erlend displayed their grat.i.tude in a n.o.ble and courteous manner, but only Gaute drew close to him and had spent a great deal of time at Sundbu since then.

When this nephew of Ivar Gjesling eventually died, the estate would pa.s.s out of the hands of his lineage; he was childless, and the Haftorssns were his closest descendants. Sir Sigurd was already quite an old man, and he had endured a terrible fate when his young wife lost her wits during her first childbirth. For nearly forty years now he had been married to this madwoman, but he still went in almost daily to see how she was doing. She lived in one of the best houses at Sundbu and had many maids to look after her. "Do you know me today, Gyrid?" her husband would ask. Sometimes she didn't answer, but other times she said, "I know you well. You're the prophet Isaiah who lives north at Brotveit, beneath Brotveit Peak." She always had a spindle at her side. When she was feeling good, she would spin a fine, even yarn, but when things were bad, she would unravel her own work and strew all over the room the wool that her maids had carded. After Gaute had told Kristin about this, she always welcomed her cousin with the most heartfelt kindness when he came to visit. But she declined to go to Sundbu; she hadn't been there since the day of her wedding.

Gaute Erlendssn was much smaller in stature than Kristin's other sons. Between his tall mother and lanky brothers he looked almost short, but he was actually of average height. In general Gaute seemed to have grown larger in all respects now that his two older brothers and the twins, who were born after him, had left. Beside them he had always been a quiet figure. People in the region called him an exceedingly handsome man, and he did have a lovely face. With his flaxen yellow hair and big gray eyes so finely set beneath his brow, with his narrow, suitably full countenance, fresh complexion, and beautiful mouth, he looked much like his grandfather Lavrans. His head was handsomely set on his shoulders, and his hands, which were well shaped and rather large, were unusually strong. But the lower half of his body was a little too short, and he was quite bowlegged. For this reason he always wore his clothing long unless, for the sake of his work, he had to put on a short tunic-although at the time it was more and more thought to be elegant and courtly for men to have their banquet attire cut shorter than in the past. The farmers learned of this fashion from traveling n.o.blemen who pa.s.sed through the valley. But whenever Gaute Erlendssn arrived at church or at a feast wearing his ankle-length embroidered green Sabbath surcoat, the silver belt around his waist and the great cape with the squirrel-skin lining thrown back over his shoulders, the people of the parish would turn pleased and gentle eyes on the young master of Jrundgaard. Gaute always carried a magnificent silver-chased axe Lavrans Bjrg ulfsn had inherited from his father-in-law, Ivar Gjesling. And everyone thought it splendid to see Gaute Erlendssn following in the footsteps of his forefathers, even as young as he was, and keeping up the good farming traditions of the past, in his attire, demeanor, and the way he lived.

On horseback Gaute was the handsomest man anyone had ever seen. He was the boldest of riders, and people in the countryside boasted there wasn't a horse in all of Norway that Gaute couldn't manage to tame and ride. When he was in Bjrgvin the year before, he had purportedly mastered a young stallion that no man had ever been able to handle or ride; under Gaute's hands he was so submissive that he could be ridden without a saddle and with a maiden's ribbons as reins. But when Kristin asked her son about this story, he merely laughed and refused to talk about it.

Kristin knew that Gaute was reckless in his dealings with women, and this did not please her, but she thought it was mostly because the women treated the handsome young man much too kindly, and Gaute had an open and charming manner. Surely it was largely banter and foolishness; he didn't take such matters seriously or go about concealing things the way Naakkve had. He came and told his mother himself when he had conceived a child with a young girl over at Sundbu; that had happened two years ago. Kristin heard from Sir Sigurd that Gaute had generously provided the mother with a good dowry, befitting her position, and he wanted to bring the child to Jrundgaard after she had been weaned from her mother's breast. He seemed to be quite fond of his little daughter; he always went to see her whenever he was at Vaagaa. She was the loveliest child, Gaute proudly reported, and he had had her baptized Magnhild. Kristin agreed that since the boy had sinned, it was best if he brought the child home and became her loyal father. She looked forward with joy to having little Magnhild live with them. But then she died, only a year old. Gaute was greatly distressed when he heard the news, and Kristin thought it sad that she had never seen her little granddaughter.

Kristin had always had a difficult time reprimanding Gaute. He had been so miserable when he was little, and later he had continued to cling to his mother more than the other children had. Then there was the fact that he resembled her father. And he had been so steadfast and trustworthy as a child; with his somber and grown-up manner he had walked at her side and often lent her a well-intentioned helping hand that he, in his childish innocence, thought would be of the greatest benefit to his mother. No, she had never been able to be stern with Gaute; when he did something wrong out of thoughtlessness or the natural ignorance of his years, he never needed more than a few gentle, admonishing words, so sensible and wise the boy was.

When Gaute was two years old, their house priest at Husaby, who had a particularly good understanding of childhood illnesses, advised that the boy be given mother's milk again, since no other measures had helped. The twins were newborns, and Frida, who was nursing Skule, had much more milk than the infant could consume. But the maid found the poor boy loathsome. Gaute looked terrible, with his big head and thin, wizened body; he could neither speak nor stand on his own. She was afraid he might be a changeling, even though the child had been healthy and fair-looking up until he fell ill at the age of ten months. All the same, Frida refused to put Gaute to her breast, and so Kristin had to nurse him herself, and he was allowed to suckle until he was four winters old.

Since then Frida had never liked Gaute; she was always scolding him, as much as she dared for fear of his mother. Frida now sat next to her mistress on the women's bench and carried her keys whenever Kristin was away from home. She said whatever she liked to the mistress and her family; Kristin showed her great forbearance and found the woman amusing, even though she was often annoyed with her too. Nevertheless, she always tried to make amends and smooth things over whenever Frida had done something wrong or spoken too coa.r.s.ely. Now the maid had a hard time accepting that Gaute sat in the high seat and was to be master of the estate. She seemed to consider him no more than a foolish boy; she boasted about his brothers, especially Bjrgulf and Skule, whom she had nursed, while she mocked Gaute's short stature and crooked legs. Gaute took it with good humor.

"Well, you know, Frida, if I had nursed at your breast, I would have become a giant just like my brothers. But I had to be content with my mother's breast." And he smiled at Kristin.

Mother and son often went out walking in the evening. In many places the path across the fields was so narrow that Kristin had to walk behind Gaute. He would stroll along carrying the long-hafted axe, so manly that his mother had to smile behind his back. She had an impetuous, youthful desire to rush at him from behind and pull him to her, laughing and chattering with Gaute the way she had done occasionally when he was a child.

Sometimes they would go all the way down to the place on the riverbank where the washing was done and sit down to listen to the roar of the water rushing past, bright and roiling in the dusk. Usually they said very little to each other. But once in a while Gaute would ask his mother about the old days in the region and about her own lineage. Kristin would tell him what she had heard and seen in her childhood. His father and the years at Husaby were never mentioned on those nights.

"Mother, you're sitting here shivering," Gaute said one evening. "It's cold tonight."

"Yes, and I've grown stiff from sitting on this stone." Kristin stood up. "I'm getting to be an old woman, my Gaute!"

Walking back, she placed her hand on his shoulder for support.

Lavrans was sleeping like a rock in his bed. Kristin lit the little oil lamp; she felt like sitting up for a while to enjoy the sea calm in her own soul. And there was always some task to occupy her hands. Upstairs Gaute was clattering around with something; then she heard him climb into bed. Kristin straightened her back for a moment, smiling a bit at the tiny flame in the lamp. She moved her lips faintly, making the sign of the cross over her face and breast and in the air in front of her. Then she picked up her sewing again.

Bjrn, the old dog, stood up and shook himself, stretching out his front paws full length as he yawned. He padded across the floor to his mistress. As soon as she started petting him, he placed his front paws on her lap. When she spoke to him gently, the dog eagerly licked her face and hands as he wagged his tail. Then Bjrn slunk off again, turning his head to peer at Kristin. Guilt shone in his tiny eyes and was evident in his whole bulky, wiry-haired body, right down to the tip of his tail. Kristin smiled quietly and pretended not to notice; then the dog jumped up onto her bed and curled up at the foot.

After a while she blew out the lamp, pinched the spark off the wick, and tossed it into the oil. The light of the summer night was rising outside the little windowpane. Kristin said her last prayers of the day, silently undressed, and slipped into bed. She tucked the pillows comfortably under her breast and shoulders, and the old dog settled against her back. A moment later she fell asleep.

Bishop Halvard had a.s.signed Sira Dag to the cleric's position in the parish, and from him Gaute had purchased the bishop's t.i.thes for three years hence. He had also traded for hides and food in the region, sending the goods over the winter roads to Raumsdal and from there by ship to Bjrgvin in the spring. Kristin wasn't pleased with these ventures of her son; she herself had always sold her goods in Hamar, because both her father and Simon Andressn had done so. But Gaute had formed some sort of trade partnership with his kinsman Gerlak Paus. And Gerlak was a clever merchant, with close ties to many of the richest German merchants in Bjrgvin.

Erlend's daughter Margret and her husband had come to Jrundgaard during the summer after Erlend's death. They presented great gifts to the church for his soul. When Margret was a young maiden back home at Husaby, there had been scant friendship between her and her stepmother, and she had cared little for her small half brothers. Now she was thirty years old, with no children from her marriage; now she showed her handsome, grown-up brothers the most loving sisterly affection. And she was the one who arranged the agreement between Gaute and her husband.

Margret was still beautiful, but she had grown so big and fat that Kristin didn't think she had ever seen such a stout woman. But there was all the more room for silver links on her belt, while a silver brooch as large as a small shield fit nicely between her enormous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her heavy body was always adorned like an altar with the costliest of fabrics and gilded metals. Gerlak Tiede kenssn seemed to have the greatest love for his wife.

A year earlier Gaute had visited his sister and brother-in-law in Bjrgvin during the spring meetings, and in the fall he traveled over the mountains with a herd of horses, which he sold in town. The journey turned out to be so profitable that Gaute swore he would do it again this autumn. Kristin thought he should be allowed to do as he wished. No doubt he had some of his father's l.u.s.t for travel in his blood; surely he would settle down as he grew older. When his mother saw that he was aching to get away, she urged him to go. Last year he had been forced to come home through the mountains at the height of winter.

He set off on a beautiful sunny morning right after Saint Bartholomew's Day. It was the time for slaughtering the goats, and the whole manor smelled of cooked goat meat. Everyone had eaten his fill and was feeling content. All summer long they had tasted no fresh meat except on high holy days, but now they had their share of the pungent meat and the strong, fatty broth at both breakfast and supper for many days. Kristin was exhausted and elated after helping with the first big slaughtering of the year and making sausages. She stood on the main road and waved with a corner of her wimple at Gaute's entourage. It was a lovely sight: splendid horses and fresh young men riding along with glittering weapons and jangling harnesses. There was a great thundering as they rode across the high bridge. Gaute turned in his saddle and waved his hat, and Kristin waved back, giving a giddy little cry of joy and pride.

Just after Winter Day1 rain and sleet swept in over the countryside, with storms and snow in the mountains. Kristin was a little uneasy, for Gaute had still not returned. But she was never as fearful for him as she had been for the others; she believed in the good fortune of this son. rain and sleet swept in over the countryside, with storms and snow in the mountains. Kristin was a little uneasy, for Gaute had still not returned. But she was never as fearful for him as she had been for the others; she believed in the good fortune of this son.

A week later Kristin was coming out of the cowshed late one evening when she caught sight of several hors.e.m.e.n up by the manor gate. The fog was billowing like white smoke around the lantern she carried; she began walking through the rain to meet the group of dark, fur-clad men. Could it be Gaute? It was unlikely that strangers would be arriving so late.

Then she saw that the rider in front was Sigurd of Sundbu. With the slight stiffness of an old man, he dismounted from his horse.

"Yes, I bring you news from Gaute, Kristin," he said after they had greeted each other. "He arrived at Sundbu yesterday."

It was so dark she couldn't make out his expression. But his voice sounded so strange. And when he walked toward the door of the main house, he told his men to go with Kristin's stableboy to the servants' quarters. She grew frightened when he said nothing more, but when they were alone in the room, she asked quite calmly, "What news do you bring, kinsman? Is he ill, since he hasn't come home with you?"

"No, Gaute is so well that I've never seen him look better. But his men were tired . . ."

He blew at the foam on the ale bowl that Kristin handed to him, then took a swallow and praised the brew.

"Good ale should be given to the one who brings good news," said the mistress with a smile.

"Well, I wonder what you'll say when you've heard all of my news," he remarked rather diffidently. "He did not return alone this time, your son . . ."

Kristin stood there waiting.

"He has brought along . . . well, she's the daughter of Helge of Hovland. He has apparently taken this-this maiden . . . taken her by force from her father."

Kristin still said nothing. But she sat down on the bench across from him. Her lips were narrow and pressed tight.

"Gaute asked me to come here; I suppose he was afraid you wouldn't be pleased. He asked me to tell you the news, and now I've done so," concluded Sir Sigurd faintly.

"You must tell me everything you know about this matter, Sigurd," said Kristin calmly.

Sir Sigurd did as she asked, in a vague and disjointed way, with a great deal of roundabout talk. He himself seemed to be quite horrified by Gaute's action. But from his account Kristin discerned that Gaute had met the maiden in Bjrgvin the year before. Her name was Jofrid, and no, she had not been abducted. But Gaute had probably realized that it would do no good to speak to the maiden's kinsmen about marriage. Helge of Hovland was a very wealthy man and belonged to the lineage known as Duk, with estates all over Voss. And then the Devil had tempted the two young people. . . . Sir Sigurd tugged at his clothing and scratched his head, as if he were swarming with lice.

Then, this past summer-when Kristin thought that Gaute was at Sundbu and was going to accompany Sir Sigurd into the mountain pastures to hunt for two vicious bears-he had actually journeyed over the heights and down to Sogn; Jofrid was staying there with a married sister. Helge had three daughters and no sons. Sigurd groaned in distress; yes, he had promised Gaute to keep silent about this. He knew the boy must be going to see a maiden, but he had never dreamed that Gaute was thinking of doing anything so foolish.

"Yes, my son is going to have to pay dearly for this," replied Kristin. Her face was impa.s.sive and calm.

Sigurd said that winter had now set in for good, and the roads were nearly impa.s.sable. After the men of Hovland had had time to think things over, perhaps they would see . . . It was best if Gaute won Jofrid with the consent of her kinsmen-now that she was already his.

"But what if they don't see things that way? And demand revenge for abducting a woman?"

Sir Sigurd squirmed and scratched even more.

"I suppose it's an unredeemable offense,"2 he said quietly. "I'm not quite certain . . ." he said quietly. "I'm not quite certain . . ."

Kristin did not reply.

Then Sir Sigurd continued, his voice imploring, "Gaute said . . . He expected that you would welcome them kindly. He said that surely you are not so old that you've forgotten . . . Well, he said that you won the husband you insisted on having-do you understand?"

Kristin nodded.

"She's the fairest child I have ever seen in my life, Kristin," said Sigurd fervently. Tears welled up in his eyes. "It's terrible that the Devil has lured Gaute into this misdeed, but surely you will receive these two poor children with kindness, won't you?"

Kristin nodded again.

The countryside was sodden the next day, pallid and black under torrents of rain when Gaute rode into the courtyard around mid afternoon prayers.

Kristin felt a cold sweat on her brow as she leaned against the doorway. There stood Gaute, lifting down from her horse a woman dressed in a hooded black cloak. She was small in build, barely reaching up to his shoulders. Gaute tried to take her hand to lead her forward, but she pushed him away and came to meet Kristin alone. Gaute busied himself talking to the servants and giving orders to the men who had accompanied him. Then he cast another glance at the two women standing in front of the door; Kristin was holding both hands of the newly arrived girl. Gaute rushed over to them with a joyful greeting on his lips. In the entryway Sir Sigurd put his arm around his shoulder and gave him a fatherly pat, huffing and puffing after the strain.

Kristin was taken by surprise when the girl lifted her face, so white and so lovely inside the drenched hood of her cloak. And she was so young and as small as a child.

Then the girl said, "I do not expect to be welcomed by you, Gaute's mother, but now all doors have been closed to me except this one. If you will tolerate my presence here on the manor, mistress, then I will never forget that I arrived here without property or honor, but with good intentions to serve you and Gaute, my lord."

Before she knew it, Kristin had taken the girl's hands and said, "May G.o.d forgive my son for what he has brought upon you, my fair child. Come in, Jofrid. May G.o.d help both of you, just as I will help you as best I can!"

A moment later she realized that she had offered much too warm a welcome to this woman, whom she did not know. But by then Jofrid had taken off her outer garments. Her heavy winter gown, which was a pale blue woven homespun, was dripping wet at the hem, and the rain had soaked right through her cloak to her shoulders. There was a gentle, sorrowful dignity about this child-like girl. She kept her small head with its dark tresses gracefully bowed; two thick pitch-black braids fell past her waist. Kristin kindly took Jofrid's hand and led her to the warmest place on the bench next to the hearth. "You must be freezing," she said.

Gaute came over and gave his mother a hearty embrace. "Mother, things will happen as they must. Have you ever seen as beautiful a maiden as my Jofrid? I had to have her, whatever it may cost me. And you must treat her with kindness, my dearest mother. . . ."

Jofrid Helgesdatter was indeed beautiful; Kristin could not stop looking at her. She was rather short, with wide shoulders and hips, but a soft and charming figure. And her skin was so delicate and pure that she was lovely even though her face was quite pale. The features of her face were short and broad, but the expansive, strong arc of her cheeks and chin gave it beauty, and her wide mouth had thin, rosy lips with small, even teeth that looked like a child's first teeth. When she raised her heavy eyelids, her clear gray-green eyes were like shining stars beneath the long black eyelashes. Black hair, light-colored eyes-Kristin had always thought that was the most beautiful combination, ever since she had seen Erlend for the first time. Most of her own handsome sons had that coloring.

Kristin showed Jofrid to a place on the women's bench next to her own. She sat there, graceful and shy, among all the servants she didn't know, eating little and blushing every time Gaute drank a toast to her during the meal.

He was bursting with pride and restless elation as he sat in the high seat. To honor her son's return home, Kristin had spread a cloth over the table that evening and set two wax tapers in the candlesticks made of gilded copper. Gaute and Sir Sigurd were constantly toasting each other, and the old gentleman grew more and more maudlin, putting his arm around Gaute's shoulder and promising to speak on his behalf to his wealthy kinsmen, yes, even to King Magnus himself. Surely he would be able to obtain for him reconciliation with the maiden's offended kin. Sigurd Eldjarn himself had not a single foe; it was his father's rancorous temperament and his own misfortune with his wife that had made him so alone.

In the end Gaute sprang to his feet with the drinking horn in his hand. How handsome he is, thought Kristin, and how like Father! Her father had been the same way when he was beginning to feel drunk-so radiant with joy, straight-backed and lively.

"Things are now such between this woman, Jofrid Helgesdatter, and myself that today we celebrate our homecoming, and later we will celebrate our wedding, if G.o.d grants us such happiness. You, Sigurd, we thank for your steadfast kinship, and you, Mother, for welcoming us as I expected you would, with your loyal, motherly warmth. As we brothers have often discussed, you seem to us the most magnanimous of women and the most loving mother. Therefore I ask you to honor us by preparing our bridal bed in such a fine and beautiful manner that without shame I can invite Jofrid to sleep there beside me. And I ask you to accompany Jofrid up to the loft yourself, so that she might retire with as much seemliness as possible since she has neither a mother still alive nor any kinswomen here."

Sir Sigurd was now quite drunk, and he burst out laughing. "You slept together in my loft; if I didn't know better . . . I thought the two of you had already shared a bed before."

Gaute shook his golden hair impatiently. "Yes, kinsman, but this is the first night Jofrid will sleep in my arms on her own manor, G.o.d willing.

"But I beg you good people to drink and be merry tonight. Now you have seen the woman who will be my wife here at Jrundgaard. This woman and no other-I swear this before G.o.d, our Lord, and on my Christian faith. I expect all of you to respect her, both servants and maids, and I expect you, my men, to help me keep and protect her in a seemly manner, my boys."

During all the shouting and commotion that accompanied Gaute's speech, Kristin quietly left the table and whispered to Ingrid to follow her up to the loft.

Lavrans Bjrgulfsn's magnificent loft room had fallen into disrepair over the years, after the sons of Erlend had moved in. Kristin hadn't wanted to give the reckless boys any but the coars est and most essential of bedclothes and pieces of furniture, and she seldom had the room cleaned, for it wasn't worth the effort. Gaute and his friends tracked in filth and manure as quickly as she swept it out. There was an ingrained smell from men coming in and flinging themselves onto the beds, soaked and sweaty and muddy from the woods and the farmyard-a smell of the stables and leather garments and wet dogs.

Now Kristin and her maid quickly swept and cleaned as best they could. The mistress brought in fine bed coverlets, blankets, and cushions and burned some juniper. On a little table which she moved close to the bed she placed a silver goblet filled with the last of the wine in the house, a loaf of wheat bread, and a candle in an iron holder. This was as elegant as she could make things on such short notice.

Weapons hung on the timbered wall next to the alcove: Erlend's heavy two-handed sword and the smaller sword he used to carry, along with felling axes and broadaxes; Bjrgulf's and Naakkve's axes still hung there too. And the two small axes that the boys seldom used because they considered them too lightweight. But these were the tools that her father had used to carve and shape all manner of objects with such skill and care that afterward he only had to do the fine polishing with his gouge and knife. Kristin carried the axes into the alcove and put them inside Erlend's chest, where his b.l.o.o.d.y shirt lay, along with the axe he was holding in his hand when he received the mortal wound.

Laughing, Gaute invited Lavrans to light the way up to the loft for his bride. The boy was both embarra.s.sed and proud. Kristin saw that Lavrans understood his brother's unlawful wedding was a dangerous game, but he was high-spirited and giddy from these strange events; with sparkling eyes he gazed at Gaute and his beautiful betrothed.

On the stairs up to the loft the candle went out. Jofrid said to Kristin, "Gaute should not have asked you to do this, even though he was drunk. Don't come any farther with me, mistress. Have no fear that I might forget I'm a fallen woman, cut off from the counsel of my kin."

"I'm not too good to serve you," said Kristin, "not until my son has atoned for his sin against you and you can rightly call me mother-in-law. Sit down and I'll comb your hair. Your hair is beautiful beyond compare, child."

But after the servants were asleep and Kristin was lying in bed, she once again felt a certain uneasiness. Without thinking, she had told this Jofrid more than she meant to . . . yet. But she was so young, and she showed so clearly that she didn't expect to be regarded as any better than what she was: a child who had fled from honor and obedience.

So that's the way it looked . . . when people let the bridal procession and homeward journey come before the wedding. Kristin sighed. Once she too had been willing to risk the same for Erlend, but she didn't know whether she would have dared if his mother had been living at Husaby. No, no, she wouldn't make things any worse for the child upstairs.

Sir Sigurd was still staggering around the room; he was to sleep with Lavrans. In a mawkish way, but with sincere intentions, he talked about the two young people; he would spare nothing to help them find a good outcome to this reckless venture.

The next day Jofrid showed Gaute's mother what she had brought along to the manor: two leather sacks with clothes and a little chest made of walrus tusk in which she kept her jewelry. As if she had read Kristin's thoughts, Jofrid said that these possessions belonged to her; they had been given to her for her own use, as gifts and inherited items, mostly from her mother. She had taken nothing from her father.

Full of sorrow, Kristin sat leaning her cheek on her hand. On that night, an eternity ago, when she had collected her gold in a chest to steal away from home . . . Most of what she she had put inside were gifts from the parents she had secretly shamed and whom she was openly going to offend and distress. had put inside were gifts from the parents she had secretly shamed and whom she was openly going to offend and distress.

But if these were Jofrid's own possessions and if her mother's inheritance was only jewelry, then she must come from an exceedingly wealthy home. Kristin estimated that the goods she saw before her were worth more than thirty marks in silver. The scarlet gown alone, with its white fur and silver clasps and the silk-lined hood that went with it, must have cost ten or twelve marks. It was all well and good if the maiden's father would agree to reconcile with Gaute, but her son could never be considered an equal match for this woman. And if Helge brought such harsh charges against Gaute, as he had the right and ability to do, things looked quite bleak indeed.

"My mother always wore this ring," said Jofrid. "If you will accept it, mistress, then I'll know that you don't judge me as sternly as a good and highborn woman might be expected to do."

"Oh, but then I might be tempted to take the place of your mother," said Kristin with a smile, putting the ring on her finger. It was a little silver ring set with a lovely white agate, and Kristin thought the child must consider it especially precious because it reminded her of her mother. "I expect I must give you a gift in return." She brought over her chest and took out the gold ring with sapphires. "Gaute's father put this ring in my bed after I brought his son into the world."

Jofrid accepted the ring by kissing Kristin's hand. "Otherwise I had thought of asking you for another gift . . . Mother. . . ." She smiled so charmingly. "Don't be afraid that Gaute has brought home a lazy or incapable woman. But I own no proper work dress. Give me an old gown of yours and allow me to lend you a hand; perhaps then you will soon grow to like me better than it is reasonable for me to expect right now."

And then Kristin had to show the young maiden everything she had in her chests, and Jofrid praised all of Kristin's lovely handiwork with such rapt attention that the older woman ended up giving her one thing after another: two linen sheets with silk-knotted embroidery, a blue-trimmed towel, a coverlet woven in four panels, and finally the long tapestry with the falcon hunt woven into it. "I don't want these things to leave this manor, but with the help of G.o.d and the Virgin Mary, this house will someday be yours." Then they both went over to the storehouses and stayed there for many hours, enjoying each other's company.