But one evening, toward the end of Yuletide, came Sira Sigurd, Trond Gjesling’s house-priest, driving in a great sledge, and his chief errand was to bid them all to a feast at Sundbu.
Sira Sigurd was ill-liked in the parishes about, for it was he who really managed Trond’s estates; or, at the least, he got the blame for Trond’s hard and unjust dealings, and there was no denying Trond was something of a plague to his tenants. His priest was most learned in writing and reckoning, versed in the law, and a skilful leech — if not quite so skilful as he deemed himself. But from his ways, no one would have thought him otherwise; he often said foolish things. Ragnfrid and Lavrans never liked him, but the Sundbu folk, as was but reason, set great store by their priest, and both they and he felt very bitter that he had not been called in to Ulvhild.
Now by ill-fortune it fell out that when Sira Sigurd came to Jörundgaard, Lady Aashild and Sir Björn were there already, besides Sira Eirik, Gyrd and Inga of Finsbrekken, Arne’s parents, old Jon from Loptsgaard, and a Preaching Friar from Hamar, Brother Aasgaut.
While Ragnfrid had the tables spread anew with Christmas fare, and Lavrans looked into the letters brought by Sira Sigurd, the priest wished to look at Ulvhild. She was already abed for the night and sleeping, but Sira Sigurd woke her, felt her back and limbs, and asked her many questions, at first gently enough, but then roughly and impatiently as the child grew frightened. Sigurd was a little man, all but a dwarf, with a great, flaming, red face. As he made to lift her out upon the floor to test her feet, she began screaming loudly. On this Lady Aashild rose, went to the bed, and covered Ulvhild with the skins, saying the child was so sleepy she could not have stood upon the floor even had her legs been strong.
The priest began then to speak loudly; he too was reckoned to know somewhat of leech-craft. But Lady Aashild took him by the hand, brought him forward to the high-seat and fell to telling him what she had done for Ulvhild, and asking his judgment on each and every matter. On this he grew somewhat milder of mood, and ate and drank of Ragnfrid’s good cheer.
But as the beer and wine began to mount to his head, Sira Sigurd’s humour changed again and he grew quarrelsome and hotheaded — he knew well enough there was no one in the room who liked him. First he turned on Gyrd — he was the bishop of Hamar’s bailiff in Vaage and Sil, and there had been many quarrels ’twixt the Bishop’s see and Trond Ivarsön. Gyrd said not much, but Inga was a fiery woman, and then Brother Aasgaut joined in, and spoke:
“You should not forget, Sira Sigurd, our reverend Father Ingjald is your overlord, too — we know enough of you in Hamar. You wallow in all good things at Sundbu, never thinking that you are vowed to other work than to do Trond eye-service, helping him in all wrong and injustice, to the peril of his soul and the minishing of the rights of Holy Church. Have you never heard how it fares with the false and unruly priests who hatch out devices against their spiritual fathers and those in authority? Wot you not of that time when the angels took St. Thomas of Canterbury to the door of hell and let him peep in? He wondered much that he saw none of the priests who had set themselves up against him, as you have set yourself against your bishop. He was about to praise God’s mercy, for the holy man begrudged not salvation to all sinners — but at that the angel bade the devil lift his tail a little, and out there came, with a great bang and a foul smell of sulphur, all the priests and learned men who had wrought against the good of the Church. Thus did he come to know whither they had gone.”
“There you lie, monk,” said the priest. “I have heard that tale too; only they were not priests, but beggar-monks, who came from the rear of the devil like wasps out of a wasp-nest.”
Old Jon laughed louder than all the serving-folk, and roared:
“There were both sorts, I’ll be bound —”
“Then the devil must have a fine broad tail,” said Björn Gunnarsön; and Lady Aashild smiled, and said:
“Ay, have you not heard that all evil drags a long tail behind it?”
“Be still, Lady Aashild,” cried Sira Sigurd: “do not you talk of the long tail evil drags after it. You sit here as though you were mistress in the house, and not Ragnfrid. But ’tis strange you could not help her child — have you no more of that strong water you dealt in once, which could make whole the sheep already boiling in the pot, and turn women to maids in the bridal-bed? Think you I know not of the wedding in this very parish where you made a bath for the bride that was no maid —”
Sira Eirik sprang up, gripped the other priest by the shoulder and thigh, and flung him right over the table, so that the jugs and tankards were overturned and food and drink ran upon the cloths and floor, while Sira Sigurd lay his length upon the ground with torn garments. Eirik leaped over the board, and would have struck him again, roaring above the tumult:
“Hold your filthy mouth, priest of hell that you are —”
Lavrans strove to part them, but Ragnfrid stood, white as death, by the board, and wrung her hands. Then Lady Aashild ran and helped Sira Sigurd to his feet, and wiped the blood from his face. She poured a beaker of mead down his throat, saying:
“You must not be so strict, Sira Eirik, that you cannot bear to listen to jesting so far on in a drinking bout. Seat yourselves now and you shall hear of that wedding. ’Twas not here in the Dale at all, nor had I the good fortune to be the one that knew of that water — could I have brewed it, I trow we would not be sitting now on a hill-croft in the wilds. I might have been a rich woman and had lands in the great, rich parishes — nigh to town and cloisters and bishop and chapter,” and she smiled at the three churchmen.
“But ’tis said, sure enough, that the art was known in the olden days.”
And the lady told a merry tale of a misadventure that befell in King Inga’s time, when the magic wash was used by mistake by the wrong woman, and of what followed thereon.
Great was the laughter in the room, and both Gyrd and Jon shouted for more such tales from Lady Aashild. But the lady said: “No! Here sit two priests and Brother Aasgaut, and young lads and serving-maids; ’tis best we cease before the talk grows unseemly and gross; let us bear in mind ’tis a holy day.”
The men made an outcry, but the women held with Lady Aashild. No one saw that Ragnfrid had left the room. Soon after, it was time that Kristin, who sat lowest on the women’s bench among the serving-maids, should go to bed — she was sleeping in Tordis’ house, there were so many guests at the manor.
It was biting cold, and the northern lights flamed and flickered over the brows of the fells to the north. The snow crackled under Kristin’s feet as she ran over the courtyard shivering, her arms crossed on her breast.
Then she was aware of a woman in the shadow of the old loft walking hurriedly to and fro in the snow, throwing her arms about, wringing her hands, and wailing aloud. Kristin saw it was her mother, and ran to her affrighted, asking if she were ill.
“No, no,” burst out Ragnfrid. “But I could not stay within — go you to bed, child.”
As Kristin turned away, her mother called her softly:
“Go back to the room and lie beside your father and Ulvhild — take her in your arms so that he may not roll upon her by mischance; he sleeps so heavily when he has drunk deep. I am going up to sleep in the old loft-room to-night.”
“Jesus, mother,” says Kristin, “you will freeze to death if you lie there — alone, too. And what think you father will say if you come not to bed to-night?”
“He will not mark it,” answered her mother, “he was all but asleep when I left, and to-morrow he will waken late. Go and do as I have said.”
“ ’Twill be so cold for you,” said Kristin, whimpering; but her mother sent her away, a little more kindly, and shut herself into the loft-room.
Within it was as cold as without, and it was pitch dark. Ragnfrid groped her way to the bed, pulled off her headdress, undid her shoes, and crept in among the skins. They chilled her to the bone; it was like sinking into a snowdrift. She pulled the skins over her head,
and drew her knees up to her chin, and thrust her hands into her bosom — so she lay and wept; now quite low, with flowing tears; now crying aloud and grinding her teeth. But in time she had warmed the bed around her so much that she grew drowsy, and at last wept herself to sleep.
5
THE YEAR that Kristin was fifteen in the spring, Lavrans Björgulfsön and Sir Andres Gudmundsön of Dyfrin made tryst at the Holledis Thing. There ’twas agreed between them that Andres’ second son, Simon, should wed Kristin Lavransdatter and should have Formo, Sir Andres’ mother’s udal estate. This the two men shook hands upon; yet it was not put in writing, for Sir Andres had first to settle with his other children about their heritage. And for this reason no betrothal feast was held; but Sir Andres and Simon came to Jörundgaard to see the bride, and Lavrans gave them a great banquet.
By this time Lavrans had ready his new dwelling-house of two storeys, with corner fireplaces of masonry both in the living-room and the loft-room above; richly furnished and adorned with fair wood-carvings. He had rebuilt the old loft-room too, and bettered the other houses in many ways, so that he was now housed as befitted an esquire bearing arms. He was very wealthy now, for he had had good fortune in his undertakings and was a shrewd and careful husband of his goods; above all was he known as a breeder of the finest horses and the goodliest cattle of all kinds. And now he had been able so to order things that his daughter was to wed into the Dyfrin kindred and the Formo estate, all folks deemed he had brought to a happy end his purpose to be the foremost man in the countryside. He, and Ragnfrid too, were well pleased with the betrothal, as were Sir Andres and Simon.
Kristin was a little cast down when she first saw Simon Andressön; for she had heard great talk of his good looks and seemly bearing, so that she had outrun all measure in her hopes of what her bridegroom would be.
Truly Simon was well favoured, but he was something fat to be only twenty years of age; he was short of neck and had a face as round and shining as the moon. He had goodly hair, brown and curly, and his eyes were grey and clear, but lay deep and as it were shut in, the lids were so fat; his nose was over small and his mouth was small too, and pouting, but not unsightly. In spite of his stoutness he was light, and quick, and nimble in all his ways, and was skilled in all sports. He was something too brisk and forward in his speech, but Lavrans held he showed both good wit and learning when he talked with older men.
Ragnfrid soon came to like him, and Ulvhild was taken at once with the greatest love for him — he was more gentle and kind with the little sick maid than with any other. And when Kristin had grown used a little to his round face and his way of speech, she grew to be well content with her betrothed, and happy in the way her father had ordered things for her.
Lady Aashild was at the feast. Since Jörundgaard had opened its doors to her, the great folk in the parishes round about had begun to call to mind her high birth and to think less of her doubtful fame, so that the lady came much out among people. She said when she had seen Simon:
“ ’Tis a good match, Kristin; this Simon will go forward in the world — you will be spared many cares, and he will be good to live with. But to my mind he seems something too fat and too cheerful — . Were it now in Norway as it was in days gone by, and as it is still in other lands — that folk were not more hard to sinners than is God Himself, I would say you should find yourself a friend who is lean and sorrowful — one you could have to sit and hold converse with. Then would I say, you could not fare better than you would with Simon.”
Kristin grew red, though she understood not well what the lady’s words might mean. But as time went on and her bridal chests filled, and she evermore heard talk of her wedding, and of what she was to take into the new household, she began to long that the betrothal-knot should be tied once for all, and that Simon should come north; thus she thought much about him in the end, and was glad at the thought of meeting him again.
Kristin was full-grown now and very fair to look upon. She was most like her father and had grown tall; she was small waisted, with slender, fine limbs and joints, yet round and plump withal. Her face was somewhat short and round, her forehead low and broad and white as milk; her eyes large, grey and soft, under fairly drawn eyebrows. Her mouth was something large, but it had full bright red lips, and her chin was round as an apple and well shaped. She had goodly long, thick hair; but ’twas something dark in hue, almost as much brown as yellow, and quite straight. Lavrans liked nothing better than to hear Sira Eirik boast of Kristin — the priest had seen the maid grow up, had taught her her books and writing, and loved her much. But the father was not so pleased when the priest sometimes likened his daughter to an unblemished, silken-coated filly.
Yet all men said that had not that sorrowful mishap befallen, Ulvhild had been many times more comely than her sister. She had the fairest and sweetest face, white and red as lilies and roses; and light yellow hair, soft as silk, which waved and clung about her slender throat and small shoulders. Her eyes were like those of her Gjesling kin; they were deep set, under straight, dark brows, and were clear as water and grey-blue; but her glance was mild, not sharp like theirs. Then, too, the child’s voice was so clear and lovely that it was a joy to hearken to her, whether she spoke or sang. She was most apt at book-learning and all kinds of string-instruments and draughts, but had little mind to work with her hands, for her back soon grew weary.
There seemed little hope, indeed, this fair child should ever have full use of her limbs. It is true she had mended a little after her father and mother had been to Nidaros with her to St. Olav’s shrine. Lavrans and Ragnfrid had gone thither on foot, without man or serving-maid to attend them; they bore the child between them on a litter the whole way. After the journey Ulvhild grew so far well that she could walk a little with a crutch. But they could not hope that she should grow well enough to be wedded, and so it was like that, when the time came, she must be given to a cloister with all the wealth that should fall to her.
They never spoke of this, and Ulvhild herself scarce knew how much unlike she was to other children. She was very fond of finery and pretty clothes, and her father and mother had not the heart to deny her anything; so Ragnfrid stitched and sewed for her, and decked her out like any king’s child. Once some pedlars passing through the parish lay overnight at Laugarbru; and Ulvhild got a sight of their wares there. They had some amber-coloured silk-stuff, and she set her heart on having a shift of it. Lavrans was not wont to deal with such folk, who went around against the law, selling wares from the market-towns in the country parishes; but now he bought the whole bale at once. He gave Kristin some of the stuff, too, for a bridal shift, and she was sewing on it this summer. Until now all the shifts she owned had been of wool, or of linen for best wear. But now Ulvhild had a shift of silk for feast days and a Sunday shift of linen with silk let in above.
Lavrans Björgulfsön owned Laugarbru too now, and Tordis and Jon were in charge there. With them was Lavrans’ and Ragnfrid’s youngest daughter, Ramborg, whom Tordis had nursed. Ragnfrid would scarce look at the child for some time after it was born, for, she said, she brought her children ill-fortune. Yet she loved the little maid much and was ever sending gifts to her and Tordis; and later she went often over to Laugarbru and saw Ramborg, but she liked best to come after the child was asleep and sit by her. Lavrans and the two older daughters were often at Laugarbru to play with the little one; she was a strong and healthy child, but not so fair as her sisters.
This was the last summer Arne Gyrdsön was on Jörundgaard. The Bishop had promised Gyrd to help the youth on in the world, and in the autumn Arne was to set out for Hamar.
Kristin knew well enough that she was dear to Arne, but she was in many ways still a child in mind, and she thought little about it, but bore herself to him as she had always done from the time they were children; was with him as often as she could, and always stood up with him when there was dancing at home or upon the church-green. That her mother did not like this, seemed to h
er something of a jest. But she never spoke to Arne of Simon or of her wedding, for she marked that he grew heavy-hearted when there was talk of it.
Arne was a very handy man, and was now making Kristin a sewing-chair* as a keepsake. He had covered both the box and the frame of the chair with fair, rich carving, and was now busy in the smithy on iron bands and a lock for it. On a fine evening well on in summer Kristin had gone down to him. She had taken with her a jacket of her father’s she had to mend, and sat upon the stone threshold sewing while she chatted with the youth in the smithy. Ulvhild was with her; she hopped about upon her crutch, eating the raspberries which grew among the heaps of stone around the field.
After a while Arne came to the smithy door to cool himself. He made as though to seat himself beside Kristin, but she moved a little away and bade him have a care not to dirty the sewing she had upon her knee.
“Is it come to this between us,” said Arne, “that you dare not let me sit by you for fear the peasant boy should soil you?”
Kristin looked at him in wonder, and answered:
“You know well enough what I meant. But take your apron off, wash the charcoal from your hands and sit down a little and rest you here by me —” And she made room for him.
But Arne laid himself in the grass in front of her; then she said again:
“Nay, be not angry, my Arne. Can you think I could be unthankful for the brave gift you are making me, or ever forget you have been my best friend at home here all my days?”
“Have I been that?” he asked.
“You know it well,” said Kristin. “And never will I forget you. But you, who are to go out into the world — maybe you will gain wealth and honour or ever you think — you will like enough forget me, long before I forget you —”
The Bridal Wreath Page 7