He turned abruptly, blushing, ran from her grasp, and strode off rapidly toward the hall.
He drew a deep breath, much relieved after all to find that the rooms beyond were empty. One of the dogs got up and came to meet him, wagging its tail; Olav patted it and spoke a friendly word or two.
He stretched himself and yawned with relief on getting off his tight clothes. The coat had chafed him horribly under the arms-he could not possibly wear it again, unless it was altered. Ingunn could do that.
As he was about to fling himself into his sleeping-place, he saw that there was already a man lying there. “Are you all come home now?” asked the other drowsily. Olav knew by the voice it was Arnvid Finnsson.
“No, it is but I. I had an errand in the town,” he said as calmly as if there were nothing strange in his going to Hamar on business of his own. Arnvid grunted something. In a moment they were both snoring.
6 Norse, Ættarfylgja: the fetch or “doubleganger” of his race.
7 Ere daylight be gone, we pray Thee, Creator of the world, that of Thy mercy Thou wilt be our Guide and Guardian.
May the visions and spectres of the night be far from us; hold back our enemy, lest our bodies be defiled.
Hear our prayer, O Father most holy, and Thou, only-begotten Son, equal to the Father, who with the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, reignest for ever and ever.
3
WHEN Olav awoke, he saw by the light in the hall that it was long past noon. He raised himself on his elbow and found that Ingunn and Arnvid were sitting on the dais. The look on the girl’s face was so strange—at once scared and thoughtful.
She heard him get up and came rapidly to his bed. She wore the same bright-red kirtle as the day before; and with the new vision with which he looked on her, Olav turned hot with joy, for she was fair to see.
“Now methinks we shall soon know what Brother Vegard meant—and the smith—with that they said about the axes,” she said, greatly moved. “Arnvid says that Mattias Haraldsson was at the Thing and fared northward to the manor he has at Birid.”
“Ah,” said Olav. He was bending down to tie his shoestring. Then he straightened himself and gave Arnvid his hand in greeting: “Now we shall see what Steinfinn will do when he hears this.”
“He has heard it,” replied Arnvid. “It is for that he has ridden north to Kolbein, says Ingebjörg.”
“You must go out and fetch me some food, Ingunn,” said Olav. As soon as the girl was out of the hall, he asked the other: “Know you what thoughts Steinfinn has now?”
“I know what thoughts Ingebjörg has,” replied Arnvid.
“Ay, they are easily guessed.”
Olav had always liked Arnvid Finnsson best of all the men he knew—though he had never thought about it. But he felt at ease in Arnvid’s company. For all that, it would never have occurred to him to call the other his friend; Arnvid had been grown up and married almost as long as Olav remembered him; and now he had been two years a widower.
But today it was as though the difference in their ages had vanished—Olav felt it so. He felt that he was grown up and the other was a young man like himself; Arnvid was not settled and fixed in his ways like other married men. His marriage had been like a yoke that was laid upon him in his youth, and since then he had striven instinctively to outgrow the marks of it—all this Olav was suddenly aware of, without knowing whence he had it.
And in the same way Arnvid seemed to feel that the two young ones had shot up much nearer to him in age. He spoke to them as to equals. While Olav was eating, Arnvid sat shaving fine slices, no thicker than a leaf, from a wind-dried shoulder of reindeer, which Ingunn was so fond of chewing.
“The worst of it is that Steinfinn has let this insult grow so old,” said Arnvid. “ ’Tis too late to bring a suit—he must take a dear revenge now, if he would right himself in folks’ eyes.”
“I cannot see how Steinfinn could do aught ere now. The man took pilgrim’s fancies—fled the country with his tail between his legs. But now that we have gotten two unbreeched children for kings, a man may well use his own right arm and need not let the peasants’ Thing be judge of his honour—so I have heard Steinfinn and Kolbein say.”
“Ay, I trow there is many a man now who makes ready to do his pleasure without much questioning of the law of the land or the law of God,” said Arnvid. “There’s many a one is growing restive now, up and down the land.”
“And what of you?” asked Olav. “Will you not be with them, if Steinfinn and Kolbein have thoughts of seeking out Mattias and—chastening him?”
Arnvid made no answer. He sat there, tall and high-shouldered, resting his forehead in his slender, shapely hand, so that his small and ugly face was completely shaded.
Arnvid Finnsson was very tall and slight, of handsome build—above all, his hands and feet were shapely. But his shoulders were too broad and high, and his head was quite small, but he was short-necked; this did much to take the eye away from the rest of his handsome form. His face too was strangely ill-featured, as though compressed, with a low forehead and short, broad chin, and black curly hair like the forelock of a bull. In spite of this, Olav now saw for the first time that Arnvid and Ingunn bore a likeness to each other—Arnvid too had a small nose, as though unfinished, but in the man it seemed pressed in under the brow. Arnvid too had large, dark-blue eyes—but in him they were deep-set.
Arnvid did not belong to the Steinfinn stock, but Tore of Hov had married his father’s sister. And the likeness between his heavy, dark ugliness and Ingunn’s restless charm was not to be mistaken.
“So I see you have little mind to go with your kinsmen in that which is now brewing?” said Olav rather mockingly.
“Be sure I shall not hang back,” answered Arnvid.
“What will he say to it, Bishop Torfinn, your ghostly father, if you make common cause with us in what Steinfinn has on foot?” asked Olav with his little mocking smile.
“He is in Björgvin now, so he cannot hear aught of it till the thing be done,” said Arnvid shortly. “I can do naught else, I must go with my cousin.”
“Ay, and you are not one of his priests either,” said Olav as before.
“No, the more the pity,” replied Arnvid. “Would I were. This matter between Steinfinn and Mattias—the worst of it is, I ween, that it is grown so old. Steinfinn must do something now to win back his honour. But then, you may be sure that all the old talk will be chewed over again, and foully will it stink. I hold myself not more fearful than other men—none the less do I wish I could have held aloof from these doings.”
Olav held his peace. Now they were touching again on a matter that was no clearer to Olav than it was to the Steinfinnssons. Arnvid had been put to book-learning in his childhood. But then both his elder brothers had died, and his parents took him home again and married him to the rich bride who had been promised to his brother. But it seemed Arnvid did not count it as good fortune to be called to the headship of his family and to possess the manor in Elfardal, instead of being made a priest.
The wife he got was fair and rich and only five or six years older than he; yet the young couple seemed ill suited to each other. In some measure this may have come from their having little say in the house so long as Arnvid’s parents were alive. Then Finn, Arnvid’s father, died; but just after that his young wife, Tordis Erlingsdatter, died in childbirth. From that time Arnvid’s mother took control, and they said she was somewhat masterful. Arnvid let her have charge both of the estate and of his three little sons and submitted to her in all things.
In former times many men of the Steinfinn kin had been priests, and even if none of them had made a special mark in the service of the Church, they had yet been good priests. But when it became the rule that priests in Norway must live unmarried, as in other Christian lands, the Steinfinnssons sought no more after book-learning. It was by prudent marriages that the kin had always extended its power, and that a man might make his way in the world without support in his marriage they could not b
elieve.
Summer heat had come in earnest the day Olav and Ingunn had stolen away to Hamar.
From the crag above the outlying barn the fiord could be seen far below, beyond the waves of forest and patches of meadow in the hollows. On clear mornings Lake Mjösen lay reflecting the headlands, scored with light stripes, which betokened fine weather. As the day went on, all nature was bathed in heat haze, the land on the other side in blue mist, through which the green paddocks around the farms shimmered brightly. Far to the south on Skrei Fell there was still a glitter of snow high up, gleaming like water and cloud, but the patches of snow grew smaller day by day. Fair-weather clouds were piled up everywhere on the horizon and sailed over forest and lake, casting shadows below. Sometimes they thinned out and spread over the sky, making it a dull white, and the lake turned grey and no longer reflected the land. But the rain came to nothing—it was blown away, and all the trees glittered with leaves flickering in the sunshine, as though the very land panted for heat.
The turf roots began to look scorched and the cornfields yellowed in patches, where the soil was thin; but the weeds flourished and grew high above the light shoots of young corn. The meadows burst into purple with sorrel and monk’s-hood and St. Olav’s flower. There was little to do on the farm now, and nothing was done—the few who were left at home spent their days in waiting.
Olav and Ingunn idled among the houses. Separately and as though by chance they wandered down to the beck that ran north of the farm. It flowed between high banks worn in the turf; the water rushed over great bedded rocks that stretched from bank to bank, and fell into a pool below with a strangely soothing murmur.
The two found a place under a clump of quivering aspens above the stream. The ground was dry here, with fine, thin grass and no flowers.
“Come and lay your head in my lap,” said the girl, “and I will clean it for you.”
Olav shifted a little and laid his head on her knees. Ingunn turned his fair, silky hair over and over, till the boy dozed, breathing evenly and audibly. She took the little kerchief that covered the throat of her dress and wiped the sweat from Olav’s face; then sat with the kerchief in her hand fanning off the flies and midges.
From the higher ground she heard her mother’s sharp, impetuous voice. The lady Ingebjörg and Arnvid Finnsson were walking on the path at the edge of the corn.
Every day Ingebjörg Jonsdatter went up and sat on the crag above the manor, gazing out as she talked and talked—of her old deadly hatred of Mattias Haraldsson and of her and Steinfinn’s long-hatched plans of revenge. It was always Arnvid who had to go with her and listen and give ever the same answers to the lady’s speech.
Olav slept with his head in Ingunn’s lap; she sat with her neck against the stem of an aspen, staring before her, thoughtlessly happy, as Arnvid came down, wading through the long grass of the meadow.
“I saw you two sitting here—”
“ ’Tis cool and pleasant here,” said Ingunn.
“It seems high time to begin haymaking,” said Arnvid; he looked up the slope as a gust of wind swayed the grass.
Olav awoke and turned over, laying the other cheek in Ingunn’s lap. “We shall begin after the holy-day—I spoke to Grim this morning.”
“You do Steinfinn no little service here, Olav?” asked Arnvid, to draw him.
“Oh—” Olav paused. “But ’tis ever the same here, everything is left undone; ’tis of little use to take a hand. For all that—now there must come a change; Steinfinn will surely be more minded to look to his affairs. But this is my last summer here.”
“Are you to leave Frettastein now?” asked Arnvid.
“I trow I must go home and see to my own property some time,” said Olav with a wisdom beyond his years. “So when Steinfinn has made an end of this matter, there will be talk of my going home to Hestviken. Steinfinn will be glad enough to have Ingunn and me off his hands.”
“ ’Tis not so sure that Steinfinn will have peace to settle such matters at present,” said Arnvid below his breath.
Olav shrugged his shoulders, putting on a bold air.
“All the more need for him that I take over the charge of my own estate. He knows I am no shirker, but will back my foster-father.”
“You two are young yet to take over the charge of a great manor.”
“You were no older, Arnvid, when you were married.”
“No, but we had my parents to back us—and yet I was the youngest. But they feared our line should die out, when my brothers were dead.”
“Ay, and I am the last man of my race, I too,” said Olav.
“That is so,” replied Arnvid. “But Ingunn is very young.”
All this Olav had thought out since the journey to Hamar.
After that first sweet and frenzied day, when he was plunged from one bewilderment to another with his playmate, he calmed down as soon as they were back at Frettastein. None there had so much as noticed their flight. And this had a strangely cooling effect on his mental tumult. Then there was this too, that change and great events were in the air at the very moment when he himself felt that he was grown up—and this seemed to make it more natural that he too should feel an inward change.
He left off playing with the other boys of the place; and none was surprised at this, for the tension that now prevailed at Frettastein had spread to all their neighbours on the hills.
Thus it seemed now quite natural that he should think seriously of his marriage. And in these long, sunny days of summer that he spent with Ingunn he felt a kind of tangible satisfaction in that he now had a much better understanding of the future that was in store for him than he ever could have had in his more childish years.
Instead of uneasiness and timid shame there was come a joyful and inquiring expectation. Something must happen now. Steinfinn would no doubt seize the opportunity—strike a blow. Of the consequences that might follow if Steinfinn struck his blow, Olav had little thought—instinctively he had absorbed the Steinfinnssons’ ideas of their own power and glory; there was none to touch them. But neither had he any other thought than that Steinfinn would at once consent when, after the deed was done, he asked leave to go home and hold his wedding. That would be next autumn or winter. And his new-born desire to possess her became one with his new-born ambition—to be his own master. When he took her in his arms, it was as though he held a pledge of his maturity. When they came to Hestviken, they would sleep together and rule together, indoors and out, and there would be none to give orders but they two. Then they would come into their full rights.
It was not often, however, that Olav caressed his betrothed now. If he no longer was so shy and afraid, nor had gloomy thoughts, as when he felt the first breath of desire, he now had a clear view of what was manly and seemly. Only, when they parted for the night, he would often seek an occasion to bid her good-night alone, in the manner he deemed proper to two lovers who were soon to be married.
That Ingunn’s eyes betrayed far too much whenever they chanced to look at each other seemed to Olav a part of the good fortune fate had prepared for him. He noted how she watched for a chance of looking at him, and her glance was strange, heavy, and full of delightful darkness. Then she met his eyes—a little sparkle was kindled in hers; she looked away, afraid she might smile. She stole a chance of stroking him with her hand when they met—was fond of playing with his hair whenever they were left alone for a moment. She was very eager to do things for him—offered to mend his clothes, brought in his food if he came to a meal a little later than the rest of the men. And when he said good-night to her, she clung to him as though hungry and thirsty for his caresses. Olav took this to mean that she too longed for their wedding, and he thought that natural—time must be long for her too in this house; she must look forward eagerly to being mistress of her own home. It never occurred to him that there might be young people who did not care for one another although they were betrothed.
But the journey to Hamar remained a dream to Olav. He t
hought of it most often when he lay down at night, and he lived it again till he felt the strange, sweet tremor in body and mind. He recalled how they had knelt at dawn behind the widow’s byre, leaning breast to breast, and he had dared to kiss her on the temple, under the hair that smelt so warm and good. And then this unaccountable melancholy and dread settled on him. He tried to think of the future—and for them the path of the future was a straight one, to the church door and the high seat and the bridal bed. But his heart seemed to grow weak and faint when in these night hours he tried to rejoice in all that awaited them—as though, after all, the future could have nothing in store for them so sweet as that morning kiss.
“What is it?” asked Arnvid crossly. “Cannot you lie still?”
“I am going out awhile.” Olav got up, dressed again, and threw a cloak about him.
There was already less light in the sky at night; the thick foliage of the trees looked darker against the misty blue of the hills beyond. The clouds to the northward were streaked with yellow. A bat flittered past him, black and swift as lightning.
Olav went to the bower where Ingunn slept. The door was left ajar for coolness’ sake—and still it was close inside, with a smell of sun-baked timber, of bedding, and of human sweat.
The maid who lay next the wall snored loudly in her sleep. Olav knelt down and bent his face over her who lay outside. With cheek and lips he gently touched Ingunn’s breast. For an instant he kept quite still so as to feel the soft, warm bosom that lightly rose and fell as she breathed in sleep—and he heard her heartbeats under it. Then he drew his face up to hers and she awoke.
“Dress yourself,” he whispered in her ear. “Come out awhile—”
He waited outside on the balcony. Soon Ingunn appeared in the low doorway and stood awhile, as though surprised at the stillness. She took a few deep breaths—the night was cool and good. They sat down side by side at the top of the stairway.
And now they both felt it so strange that they should be the only ones awake in the whole manor—neither was used to being out at night. So they sat there without moving, scarce venturing to whisper a word now and then. Olav had thought he would wrap his cloak around her and put an arm about her waist. But all he did was to place one of her hands on his knee and stroke her fingers; till Ingunn withdrew her hand, threw her arm about his shoulder, and pressed her face hard against his neck.
The Axe Page 6