He had brought along his son Inge, whom people called Fluga, after his mother. He was already an old man. The father had offered this son a great deal of help in the world; he had found him a rich match and managed to get Bishop Halvard to take an interest in Inge. Munan had been married to the bishop’s cousin Katrin. Lord Halvard wanted to help Inge become prosperous so that he wouldn’t deplete the inheritance of Fru Katrin’s children. The bishop had been given authority over the county of Hedemark, and he had then made Inge Munanssøn his envoy, so he now owned quite a few properties in Skaun and Ridabu. His mother had also bought a farm in those parts; she was now a most pious and charitable woman who had vowed to live a pure life until her death. “Well, she is neither aged nor infirm,” said Munan crossly when Kristin laughed. He had doubtless wanted to arrange things so that Brynhild would move in with him and manage his household at his estate in Hamar, but she had refused.
He had so little joy in his old age, Sir Munan complained. His children were full of rancor. Those siblings who had the same mother had joined forces against the others, quarreling and squabbling with their half siblings. Worst of all was his youngest daughter; she had been born to one of his paramours while he was a married man, so she could be given no share of the inheritance. For that reason, she was trying to glean from him all that she could while he was still alive. She was a widow and had settled at Skogheim, the estate which was Sir Munan’s only real home. Neither her father nor her siblings could roust her from the place. Munan was deathly afraid of her, but whenever he tried to run off to live with one of his other children, they would torment him with complaints about the greed and dishonest behavior of their other siblings. He felt most comfortable with his youngest, lawfully born daughter, who was a nun at Gimsøy. He liked to stay for a time in the convent’s hostel, striving hard to better his soul with penances and prayers under the guidance of his daughter, but he didn’t have the strength to stay there for long. Kristin wasn’t convinced that Brynhild’s sons were any kinder toward their father than his other children, but that was something that Munan Baardsøn refused to admit; he loved them more than all his other offspring.
As pitiful as this kinsman of hers now was, it was during the time spent with him that Kristin’s stony grief first began to thaw. Sir Munan talked about Erlend day and night. When he wasn’t lamenting over his own trials, he could talk of nothing else but his dead cousin, boasting of Erlend’s exploits—particularly about his reckless youth. Erlend’s wild boldness as soon as he made his way out into the world, away from his home at Husaby—where Fru Magnhild went about raging over his father while his father raged over his elder son—and away from Hestnes and Sir Baard, his pious, somber foster father. It might have seemed that Sir Munan’s chatter would offer an odd sort of consolation for Erlend’s grieving widow. But in his own way the knight had loved his young kinsman, and all his days he had thought Erlend surpassed every other man in appearance, courage—yes, even in good sense, although he had never wanted to use it, said Munan earnestly. And even though Kristin had to recall that it surely was not in Erlend’s best interest that he had joined the king’s retainers at the age of sixteen, with this cousin as his mentor and guide, nevertheless she had to smile with tender sorrow at Munan Baardsøn. He talked so that the spittle flew from his lips and the tears seeped from his old red-rimmed eyes, as he remembered Erlend’s sparkling joy and spirit in those days of his youth, before he became tangled up in misfortune with Eline Ormsdatter and was branded for life.
Jammaelt Halvardssøn, who was having a serious conversation with Gaute and Naakkve, cast a wondering glance at his sister-in-law. She was sitting on the bench against the wall with that loathsome old man and Ulf Haldorssøn, who Jammaelt thought looked so sinister, but she was smiling as she talked to them and served them ale. He hadn’t seen her smile before, but it suited her, and her little, low laugh was like that of a young maiden.
Jammaelt said that it would be impossible for all six brothers to continue living on their mother’s estate. It was not expected that any wealthy man of equal birth would give one of his kinswomen to Nikulaus in marriage if his five brothers settled there with him and perhaps continued to take their food from the manor after they married. And they ought to see about finding a wife for the young man; he was already twenty winters old and seemed to have a hardy disposition. For this reason Jammaelt wanted to take Ivar and Skule home with him when he returned south; he would find some way to ensure their future. After Erlend Nikulaussøn had lost his life in such an unfortunate manner, it so happened that the great chieftains of the land suddenly remembered that the murdered man had been one of their peers—by birth and blood meant to surpass most of them, charming and magnanimous in many ways, and in battle a daring chieftain and skilled swordsman. But he had not had fortune on his side. Measures of the utmost severity had been levied against those men who had taken part in the murder of the landowner in his own courtyard. And Jammaelt could report that many had asked him about Erlend’s sons. He had met the men of Sudrheim during Christmas, and they had mentioned that these young boys were their kinsmen. Sir Jon had asked him to bring his greetings and say that he would receive and treat the sons of Erlend Nikulaussøn as his kin if any of them wanted to join his household. Jon Haftorssøn was now about to marry the maiden Elin, who was Erling Vidkunssøn’s youngest daughter, and the young bride had asked whether the sons looked like their father. She remembered that Erlend had visited them in Bjørgvin when she was a child, and she had thought him to be the handsomest of men. And her brother, Bjarne Erlingssøn, had said that anything he could do for Erlend Nikulaussøn’s sons, he would do with the most heartfelt joy.
Kristin sat and looked at her twin sons as Jammaelt talked. They looked more and more like their father: Silky, fine soot-black hair clung smoothly to their heads, although it curled a bit across their brows and down the back of their slender tan necks. They had thin faces with long, jutting noses and delicate, small mouths with a knot of muscle at each corner. But their chins were blunter and broader and their eyes were darker than Erlend’s. And above all else, his eyes were what had made Erlend so astoundingly handsome, his wife now thought. When he opened them in that lean, dark face beneath the pitch-black hair, they were so unexpectedly clear and light blue.
But now there was a glint of steely blue in the eyes of the young boys when Skule replied to his uncle. He was the one who usually spoke for both twins.
“We thank you for this fine offer, kinsman. But we have already spoken with Sir Munan and Inge and sought the advice of our older brothers, and we have come to an agreement with Inge and his father. These men are our closest kin of Father’s lineage; we will go south with Inge and intend to stay at his estate this summer and for some time to come.”
That evening the boys came downstairs to the main room to speak to Kristin after she had gone to bed.
“We hope that you will understand, Mother,” said Ivar Er lendssøn.
“We refuse to beg for the help and friendship of kin from those men who sat in silence and watched our father wrongly suffer,” added Skule.
Their mother nodded.
It seemed to her that her sons had acted properly. She realized that Jammaelt was a sensible and fair-minded man, and his offer had been well intended, but she was pleased the boys were loyal to their father. And yet she could never have imagined that her sons would one day come to serve the son of Brynhild Fluga.
The twins left with Inge Fluga as soon as Ivar was strong enough to ride. It was very quiet at the manor after they were gone. Their mother remembered that at this time the year before, she lay in bed in the weaving room with a newborn child; it seemed to her like a dream. Such a short time ago she had felt so young, with her soul stirred up by the yearnings and sorrows of a young woman, by hopes and hatreds and love. Now her flock had shrunk to four sons, and in her soul the only thing stirring was an uneasiness for the grown young men. In the silence that descended upon Jørundgaard after the dep
arture of the twins, her fear for Bjørgulf flared up with bright flames.
When guests arrived, he and Naakkve moved to the old hearth house. Bjørgulf would get out of bed in the daytime, but he had still not been outdoors. With deep fear Kristin noticed that Bjørg ulf was always sitting in the same spot; he never walked around, he hardly moved at all when she came to see him. She knew that his eyes had grown worse during his last illness. Naakkve was terribly quiet, but he had been that way ever since his father’s death, and he seemed to avoid his mother as much as he could.
Finally one day she gathered her courage and asked her eldest son how things now stood with Bjørgulf’s eyesight. For a while Naakkve gave only evasive replies, but at last she demanded that her son tell her the truth.
Naakkve said, “He can still make out strong light—” All at once the young man’s face lost all color; abruptly he turned away and left the room.
Much later that day, after Kristin had wept until she was so weary that she thought she could trust herself to speak calmly with her son, she went over to the old house.
Bjørgulf was lying in bed. As soon as she came in and sat down on the edge of his bed, she could tell by his face that he knew she had spoken to Naakkve.
“Mother. You mustn’t cry, Mother,” he begged fearfully.
What she most wanted to do was to fling herself at her son, gather him into her arms, and weep over him, grieving over his harsh fate. But she merely slipped her hand into his under the coverlet.
“God is sorely testing your manhood, my son,” she said hoarsely.
Bjørgulf’s expression changed, becoming firm and resolute. But it took a moment before he could speak.
“I’ve known for a long time, Mother, that this was what I was destined to endure. Even back when we were at Tautra . . . Brother Aslak spoke to me about it and said that if things should go in such a way . . .
“The way our Lord Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, he said. He told me that the true wilderness for a Christian man’s soul was when his sight and senses were blocked—then he would follow the footsteps of the Lord out of the wilderness, even if his body was still with his brothers or kinsmen. He read to me from the books of Saint Bernard about such things. And when a soul realizes that God has chosen him for such a difficult test of his manhood, then he shouldn’t be afraid that he won’t have the strength. God knows my soul better than the soul knows itself.”
He continued to talk to his mother in this manner, consoling her with a wisdom and strength of spirit that seemed far beyond his years.
That evening Naakkve came to Kristin and asked to speak with her alone. Then he told her that he and Bjørgulf intended to enter the holy brotherhood and to take the vows of monks at Tautra.
Kristin was dismayed, but Naakkve kept on talking, quite calmly. They would wait until Gaute had come of age and could lawfully act on behalf of his mother and younger siblings. They wanted to enter the monastery with as much property as was befitting the sons of Erlend Nikulaussøn of Husaby, but they also wanted to ensure the welfare of their brothers. From their father the sons of Erlend had inherited nothing of value that was worth mentioning, but the three who were born before Gunnulf Niku laussøn had entered the cloister owned several shares of estates in the north. He had made these gifts to his nephews when he dispersed his wealth, although most of what he hadn’t given to the Church or for ecclesiastical use he had left to his brother. And since Naakkve and Bjørgulf would not demand their full share of the inheritance, it would be a great relief to Gaute, who would then become the head of the family and carry on the lineage, if the two of them were dead to the world, as Naakkve put it.
Kristin felt close to fainting. Never had she dreamed that Naakkve would consider a monk’s life. But she did not protest; she was too overwhelmed. And she didn’t dare try to dissuade her sons from such a noble and meaningful enterprise.
“Back when we were boys and were staying with the monks up there in the north, we promised each other that we would never be parted,” said Naakkve.
His mother nodded; she knew that. But she had thought their intention was for Bjørgulf to continue to live with Naakkve, even after the older boy was married.
It seemed to Kristin almost miraculous that Bjørgulf, as young as he was, could bear his misfortune in such a manly fashion. Whenever she spoke to him of it, during that spring, she heard nothing but god-fearing and courageous words from his lips. It seemed to her incomprehensible, but it must be because he had realized for many years that this would be the outcome of his failing eyesight, and he must have been preparing his soul ever since the time he had stayed with the monks.
But then she had to consider what a terrible burden this unfortunate child of hers had endured—while she had paid so little heed as she went about absorbed with her own concerns. Now, whenever she had a moment to herself, Kristin Lavransdatter would slip away and kneel down before the picture of the Virgin Mary up in the loft or before her altar in the north end of the church when it was open. Lamenting with all her heart, she would pray with humble tears for the Savior’s gentle Mother to serve as Bjørgulf’s mother in her stead and to offer him all that his earthly mother had left undone.
One summer night Kristin lay awake in bed. Naakkve and Bjørg ulf had moved back into the high loft room, but Gaute was sleeping downstairs with Lavrans because Naakkve had said that the older brothers wanted to practice keeping vigil and praying. She was just about to fall asleep at last when she was awakened by someone walking quietly along the gallery of the loft. She heard a stumbling on the stairs and recognized the blind man’s gait.
He must be going out on some errand, she thought, but all the same she got up and began looking for her clothes. Then she heard a door flung open upstairs, and someone raced down the steps, taking them two or three at a time.
Kristin ran to the entryway and out the door. The fog was so thick outside that only the buildings directly across the courtyard could be glimpsed. Up by the manor gate Bjørgulf was furiously struggling to free himself from his brother’s grasp.
“Do you lose anything,” cried the blind man, “if you’re rid of me? Then you’ll be released from all your oaths . . . and you won’t have to be dead to this world.”
Kristin couldn’t hear what Naakkve said in reply. She ran barefoot through the soaking wet grass. By this time Bjørgulf had pulled free; suddenly, as if struck down, he fell upon the boulder by the gate and began beating it with his fists.
Naakkve saw his mother and took a few swift steps in her direction. “Go inside, Mother. I can handle this best alone. You must go inside, I tell you,” he whispered urgently, and then he turned around and went back to lean over his brother.
Their mother remained standing some distance away. The grass was drenched with moisture, water was dripping from all the eaves, and drops were trickling from every leaf; it had rained all day, but now the clouds had descended as a thick white fog. When her sons headed back after a while—Naakkve had taken Bjørgulf by the arm and was leading him—Kristin retreated to the entryway door.
She saw that Bjørgulf’s face was bleeding; he must have hit himself on the rock. Involuntarily Kristin pressed her hand to her lips and bit her own flesh.
On the stairs Bjørgulf tried once more to pull away from Naakkve. He threw himself against the wall and shouted, “I curse, I curse the day I was born!”
When she heard Naakkve shut the loft door behind them, Kristin crept upstairs and stood outside on the gallery. For a long time she could hear Bjørgulf’s voice inside. He raged and shouted and swore; a few of his vehement words she could understand. Every once in a while she would hear Naakkve talking to him, but his voice was only a subdued murmur. Finally Bjørgulf began sobbing, loudly and as if his heart would break.
Kristin stood trembling with cold and anguish. She was wearing only a cloak over her shift; she stood there so long that her loose, flowing hair became wet with the raw night air. At last there was silence in the loft.
Entering the main room downstairs, she went over to the bed where Gaute and Lavrans were sleeping. They hadn’t heard anything. With tears streaming down her face, she reached out a hand in the dark and touched the two warm faces, listening to the boys’ measured, healthy breathing. She now felt as if these two were all that she had left of her riches.
Shivering with cold, she climbed into her own bed. One of the dogs lying next to Gaute’s bed came padding across the room and jumped up, circling around and then leaning against her feet. The dog was in the habit of doing this at night, and she didn’t have the heart to chase him away, even though he was heavy and pressed on her legs so they would turn numb. But the dog had belonged to Erlend and was his favorite—a shaggy coal-black old bearhound. Tonight, thought Kristin, it was good to have him lying there, warming her frozen feet.
She didn’t see Naakkve the next morning until at the breakfast table. Then he came in and sat down in the high seat, which had been his place since his father’s death.
He didn’t say a word during the meal, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His mother followed him when he went back outside.
“How is Bjørgulf now?” she asked in a low voice.
Naakkve continued to evade her eyes, but he replied in an equally low voice that Bjørgulf was asleep.
“Has . . . has he been this way before?” she whispered fearfully.
Naakkve nodded, turned away from her, and went back upstairs to his brother.
Naakkve watched over Bjørgulf night and day, and kept his mother away from him as much as possible. But Kristin saw that the two young men spent many hours struggling with each other.
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