The day after the Feast of the Birth of Mary, the lord chancellor, Ivar Ogmundssøn, arrived in Nidaros. A court was now appointed, consisting of twelve of the king’s retainers from the northern districts, to decide Erlend Nikulaussøn’s case. Sir Finn Ogmundssøn, the lord chancellor’s brother, was chosen to present the charges against him.
In the meantime, during the summer, Haftor Olavssøn of Godøy had killed himself, using the little dagger that every prisoner was allowed to keep to cut up his food. Imprisonment had apparently taken such a toll on Haftor that he hadn’t had his full wits about him. When Erlend heard of this, he told Simon that at least now he wouldn’t have to worry about what Haftor might say. And yet he was clearly shaken.
Gradually it became a habit for the guard to leave the room on an errand whenever Simon or Kristin was visiting Erlend. Both of them realized, and mentioned it to each other, that Erlend’s first and foremost thought was to make it through the court case without revealing his accomplices. One day he said this quite openly to Simon. He had promised every man who had conspired with him that he would rather cut off his own hand than reveal anything, if it came to that; “and I have never yet betrayed anyone who has put their trust in me.” Simon stared at the man. Erlend’s eyes were blue and clear; it was obvious that he truly believed this about himself.
The king’s envoys had not succeeded in tracking down anyone else who had taken part in Erlend’s plot other than the two brothers, Greip and Torvard Toressøn of Møre. And they refused to admit to knowing anything but that Erlend and several other men planned to persuade Lady Ingebjørg to allow Prince Haakon Knutssøn to be educated in Norway. Later the chieftains would propose to King Magnus that it would be of benefit to both of his kingdoms if he gave his half-brother sovereignty in Norway.
Borgar and Guttorm Trondssøn had been fortunate enough to escape from the king’s castle at Veøy. No one knew how, but people guessed that Borgar had been helped by a woman. He was very handsome and quite impetuous. Ivar of Sundbu was still being held in Mjøs Castle; the brothers had apparently kept young Haavard out of their plans.
At the same time the meeting of the retainers was being held at the king’s palace, the archbishop convened a concilium at his estate. Simon was a man with many friends and acquaintances, and so he could report to Kristin what was happening. Everyone thought that Erlend would be banished and would have to forfeit his properties to the king. Erlend also thought this was how things would turn out, and he was in good spirits; he was planning to go to Denmark. As things now stood in that country, there were always opportunities open for a man who was fit and skilled with weapons, and Lady Ingebjørg would surely embrace his wife as her kinswoman and keep her at her side with the proper honors. Simon would have to take care of the children, although Erlend wanted to take his two eldest sons with him.
Kristin hadn’t been outside of Nidaros for a single day in all this time, nor had she seen her children, except for Naakkve and Bjørg ulf. They had come riding up to the estate one evening alone. Their mother kept them with her for several days, but then she sent them to Raasvold, where Fru Gunna had taken in the younger boys.
This was in accordance with Erlend’s wishes. And she was afraid of the thoughts that might rise up in her mind if she should see her sons around her, hear their questions, and try to explain matters to them. She struggled to push aside all thoughts and memories of her marriage years spent at Husaby, which had been so rich that now they seemed to her like a great calm—the way there is a kind of calm over the waves of the sea if viewed from high enough up a mountain ridge. The swells that surge after each other seem eternal, melding into one; that was the way life had rippled through her soul during that vast span of years.
Now things were once again the way they had been in her youth, when she had put her faith in Erlend, defying everyone and everything. Once again her life had become one long waiting from hour to hour, in between the times when she was allowed to see her husband, to sit at his side on the bed in the tower room of the king’s palace, and to talk with him calmly—until they happened to be alone for a few moments. Then they would throw themselves into each other’s arms with endless, passionate kisses and wild embraces.
At other times she would sit in Christ Church for hours on end. She would sink to her knees and stare up at Saint Olav’s golden shrine behind the gratings of the choir. Lord, I am his wife. Lord, I stood by him when I was his, in sin and iniquity. By the grace of God, we two unworthy souls were joined together in holy marriage. Branded by the flames of sin, bowed by the burdens of sin, we came together at the portals of God’s house; together we received the Savior’s Host from the hand of the priest. Should I now complain if God is testing my faith? Should I now think about anything else but that I am his wife and he is my husband for as long as we both shall live?
On the Thursday before Michaelmas the meeting of the royal retainers was held and sentence was pronounced over Erlend Niku laussøn of Husaby. He was found guilty of attempting to steal land and subjects from King Magnus, of inciting opposition to the king throughout the country, and of attempting to bring into Norway mercenary forces from abroad. After looking into similar cases from the past, the judges found that Erlend Nikulaussøn should forfeit his life and his property at the hands of King Magnus.
Arne Gjavvaldssøn brought the news to Simon Darre and Kristin Lavransdatter at Nikulausgaard. He had been present at the meeting.
Erlend had not tried to prove his innocence. In a clear, firm voice he had acknowledged his intentions: With these undertakings he had sought to force King Magnus Eirikssøn to grant the Crown of Norway to his young half-brother, Prince Haakon Knutssøn Porse. Erlend had spoken eloquently, thought Arne. He had talked about the great hardships that had befallen his countrymen because for the past few years the king had spent little time within Norway’s boundaries and had never seemed willing to appoint representatives who could rule justly and exercise royal authority. Because of the king’s actions in Skaane, and because of the extravagance and inability to handle money matters shown by those men he listened to most, the people had been subjected to great burdens and poverty. And they never felt safe from new demands for aid and taxes above what was normally expected. Since the Norwegian knights and noblemen had far fewer rights and freedom than the Swedish knighthood, it was difficult for the former to compete with the latter. And it was only reasonable that the young and imprudent man, King Magnus Eirikssøn, should listen more to his Swedish lords and love them better, since they had more wealth and thus a greater ability to support him with men who were both armed and experienced in war.
Erlend and his allies had thought they could sense such strong feelings among the majority of their countrymen—the gentry, farmers, and townsmen in the north and west of Norway—that they were certain of finding full support if they could produce a royal rival who was as closely related to our dear lord, the blessed King Haakon, as the king who was now in power. Erlend had expected that his countrymen would rally around the plan to persuade King Magnus to allow his brother to assume the throne here, but Prince Haakon would have to swear to maintain peace and brotherhood with King Magnus, to protect the kingdom of Norway in accordance with the ancient land boundaries, to assert the rights of God’s Church, to enforce the laws and customs of the land according to ancient tradition, along with the rights and freedoms of the peasants and townsmen, as well as to fend off any incursion of foreigners into the realm. It had been the intention of Erlend and his friends to present this plan to King Magnus in a peaceful manner. And yet it had always been the right of Norwegian farmers and chieftains in the past to reject any king who attempted to rule unlawfully.
As to the actions of Ulf Saksesøn in England and Scotland, Erlend said that Ulf’s sole purpose had been to win favor there for Prince Haakon, if God should grant that he became king. No other Norwegian man had taken part in these endeavors except for Haftor Olavssøn of Godøy—may God have mercy on his soul—the three son
s of his kinsman Trond Gjesling of Sundbu, and Greip and Torvard Toressøn of the Hatteberg lineage.
Erlend’s speech had made a deep impression, said Arne Gjav valdssøn. But in the end, when he mentioned that they had expected support from men of the Church, he then referred to the old rumors from the days when King Magnus was growing up, and that had been unwise, thought Arne. The archbishop’s representative had responded sharply: Archbishop Paal Baardsøn, both now and when he was chancellor, felt great love for King Magnus because of his godly temperament, and people wanted to forget that these rumors had ever existed about their king. Now he was about to marry a maiden, the daughter of the Earl of Namur . . . so even if there had ever been any truth to the rumors, Magnus Eirikssøn had now completely turned away from such interests.
Arne Gjavvaldssøn had shown Simon Andressøn the greatest friendship while he was in Nidaros. It was also Arne who now reminded Simon that Erlend had the right to appeal this sentence as having been unlawfully decided. According to the law books, the charge against Erlend had to be brought by one of his peers, but Sir Finn of Hestbø was a knight, while Erlend was a nobleman, but not a knight. Arne thought it was possible that a new court would find that Erlend could not be sentenced to a harsher punishment than banishment.
In terms of what Erlend had proposed, about the kind of sovereignty which he thought would serve the country best . . . that had sounded fine indeed. And everyone knew where the man was who would like to take the helm and steer that course while the new king was underage. Arne scratched the gray stubble of his beard and gave Simon a sidelong glance.
“No one has heard from Erling Vidkunssøn or spoken to him all summer?” asked Simon, also keeping his voice low.
“No. Well, I’ve heard he says he’s fallen out of favor with the king and is keeping out of all such matters. But it’s been years since he could stand to sit at home for such a long time and listen to Fru Elin chattering. And people say his daughters are just as beautiful and just as foolish as their mother.”
Erlend had listened to his sentence with a steadfast, calm expression, and he had greeted the gentlemen of the royal retinue in just as courteous, open, and splendid a manner when he was led out as when he had been escorted in. He was calm and cheerful when Kristin and Simon were allowed to talk to him the following day. Arne Gjavvaldssøn was with them, and Erlend said that he would take Arne’s advice.
“I could never persuade Kristin here to come with me to Denmark before,” he said, putting an arm around his wife’s waist. “And I always had such a desire to journey out into the world with her. . . .” A tremor seemed to pass over his features, and suddenly he pressed an ardent kiss to her pale cheek, without concern for the two men who stood looking on.
Simon Andressøn set off for Husaby to make arrangements for Kristin’s personal possessions to be moved to Jørundgaard. He had also advised her to send the children to Gudbrandsdal at the same time.
Kristin said, “My sons will not leave their father’s estate until they are driven from it.”
“I wouldn’t wait for that, if I were you,” said Simon. “They’re young; they can’t fully understand these things. It would be better if you let them leave Husaby believing that they are merely going to visit their aunt and see their mother’s property in the valley.”
Erlend said that Simon was right about this. But in the end only Ivar and Skule traveled with their uncle south. Kristin didn’t have the heart to send the two youngest boys so far away from her. When Lavrans and Munan were brought to her at the estate in town and she saw that the smallest didn’t even recognize her, she broke down. Simon hadn’t seen her shed a single tear since the first evening he arrived in Nidaros; now she wept and wept over Munan, who squirmed and wriggled in the crush of his mother’s arms, wanting to go to his foster mother. And she wept over little Lavrans, who crept up into his mother’s lap and put his arms around her neck and cried because she was crying. Now she would keep the two youngest with her, along with Gaute, who didn’t want to go with Simon. She also thought it ill-advised to let the child out of her sight, since he had to bear a burden that was much too heavy for his age.
Sira Eiliv had brought the children to Nidaros. He had asked the archbishop for leave from his church and permission to visit his brother in Tautra; this was gladly granted to Erlend Niku laussøn’s house priest. Now he said that Kristin couldn’t stay in town with so many children to care for, and he offered to take Naakkve and Bjørgulf out to the monastery.
On the last evening before the priest and the two boys were to depart—Simon had already left with the twins—Kristin made her confession to the pious and pure-hearted man who had been her spiritual father all these years. They sat together for hours, and Sira Eiliv impressed upon her heart that she must be humble and obedient toward God; patient, faithful, and loving toward her husband. She knelt before the bench where he sat. Then Sira Eiliv stood up and knelt at her side, still wearing the red stole which was a symbol of the yoke of Christ’s love; he prayed long and fervently, without words. But she knew he was praying for the father and mother and the children and all the servants whose salvation he had striven so faithfully to encourage all these years.
The next day Kristin stood on the shore of Bratør and watched the lay brothers from Tautra set sail in the boat that would carry away the priest and her two eldest sons. On her way home she went over to the Minorites’ church and stayed there until she felt strong enough to venture back to her own residence. And in the evening, when the two youngest were asleep, she sat with her spinning and told Gaute stories until it was his bedtime too.
CHAPTER 6
ERLEND WAS HELD at the king’s palace until almost Saint Clement’s Day. Then messages and letters arrived stating that he was to be taken under safe conduct to meet with King Magnus. The king intended to celebrate Christmas at Baagahus that year.
Kristin grew terribly frightened. With unspeakable effort she had accustomed herself to feigning a calm demeanor while Erlend sat in prison, condemned to death. Now he would be taken far away to an uncertain fate. Much was said about the king, and among the circle of men who stood closest to him, her husband had no friends. Ivar Ogmundssøn, who was now the chieftain of the castle at Baagahus, had spoken the harshest words regarding Erlend’s treason. And he was supposedly further enraged at having heard once again some disrespectful remarks which Erlend had made about him.
But Erlend was in good spirits. Kristin could see that he didn’t take their imminent separation lightly, but the long imprisonment had now begun to wear him down; he eagerly seized upon the prospect of a long sea voyage and seemed almost indifferent to everything else.
In a matter of three days everything was arranged, and Erlend sailed with Sir Finn’s ship. Simon had promised to return to Nidaros before Advent, after he had taken care of some obligations at home. If there was any news before then, he had asked Kristin to send word to him, and he would come at once. Now she decided to travel south to visit him, and from there she would go to see the king—to fall at his feet and beg for mercy for her husband. She would gladly give all she possessed in return for his life.
Erlend had sold and mortgaged every part of his residence in Nidaros to various buyers; Nidarholm cloister now owned the main house, but Abbot Olav had written a kind letter to Kristin, offering her the use of the house for as long as she needed it. She was living there alone with one maid and Ulf Haldorssøn—who had been released because they hadn’t been able to prove anything against him—and his nephew, Haldor, who was Kristin’s personal servant.
She sought Ulf’s counsel, and at first he was rather doubtful. He thought it would be a difficult journey for her through the Dovre Range; a great deal of snow had fallen in the mountains. But when he saw the anguish of her soul, he advised her to go. Fru Gunna took the two youngest children out to Raasvold, but Gaute refused to be parted from his mother, and she didn’t dare let the boy out of her sight up there in the north.
The weath
er was so severe when they came south to the Dovre Range that they followed Ulf’s advice to leave their horses behind at Drivstuen and borrowed skis, prepared to spend the next night out in the open if need be. Kristin hadn’t had skis on her feet since she was a child, so it was difficult for her to make progress, even though the men supported her as best they could. They reached no farther that day than halfway over the mountain, between Drivstuen and Hjerdkinn. When it began to grow dark, they had to seek shelter in a birch grove and dig themselves into the snow. At Toftar they managed to hire some horses, but there they ran into fog, and when they had descended partway into the valley, rain set in. When they rode into the courtyard of Formo several hours after dark, the wind was howling around the corners of the buildings, the river was roaring, and a great rushing and droning came from the forested slopes. The courtyard was a soggy mire, muffling the sound of the horses’ hooves. As the Sabbath had already begun at this hour on Saturday evening, there was no sign of life on the large estate, and neither the servants nor the dogs seemed to have noticed their arrival.
Ulf pounded on the door to the main house with his spear; a serving man opened the door. A moment later Simon himself was standing in the entryway, broad and dark against the light behind him, holding a child in his arms. He pushed back the barking dogs. He gave a shout when he recognized his wife’s sister, set the child down, and then pulled Kristin and Gaute inside as he helped them out of their soaked outer garments.
It was splendidly warm in the room, but the air seemed oppressive because it was a hearth room with a flat ceiling beneath the loft hall. And it was full of people; children and dogs were swarming from every corner. Then Kristin caught sight of both of her own small sons, their faces ruddy and warm and gleeful, behind the table on which a lighted candle stood. The two boys came forward and greeted their mother and brother a bit awkwardly; Kristin could see that they had arrived in the midst of everyone’s merriment and fun. And the room was in great disarray. She stepped on crunching nutshells at every turn—they were scattered all over the floor.
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