Kristin Lavransdatter (64 page)

“No, Erlend,” said Lavrans bluntly, “more is needed for that than a man who is capable of seducing women. If there was no more to Knut Porse than his ability to play the fox in the goose pen, then all of us Norwegian noblemen would be much too lazy to make the effort to leave our manors to chase him off—even if the goose was our own king’s mother. But no matter who Sir Knut may lure into committing foolish acts in his behalf, he never commits follies without having some reason for doing so. He has his purpose, and you can be certain that he won’t take his eyes off it.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Then Erlend spoke, and his eyes glittered.

“Then I would wish that Sir Knut were a Norwegian man!”

The others were silent. Sir Erling drank from his goblet and said, “God forbid. If we had such a man among us here in Norway, then I fear there would be a sudden end to peace in the land.”

“Peace in the land!” said Erlend scornfully.

“Yes, peace in the land,” replied Erling Vidkunssøn. “You must remember, Erlend, that we knights are not the only ones who live in this country. To you it might seem amusing if an adventurous and ambitious man like Knut Porse should rise up here. In the past, things were such in the world that if a man stirred up a group of rebels, it was always easy for him to win a following among the noblemen. Either they won and acquired titles and land, or their kinsmen won and they were granted a reprieve for both their lives and their estates. Yes, those who lost their lives have been entered in the records, but the majority survived, no matter whether things went one way or the other—that’s how it was for
our
fathers. But the farmers and the townspeople, Erlend—the workers who often had to make payments to two masters many times in a single year, but who still had to rejoice each time a band of rebels raced through their villages without burning their farms or slaughtering their cattle—the peasants, who had to endure such intolerable burdens and attacks—I think
they
must thank God and Saint Olav for old King Haakon and King Magnus and his sons, who fortified the laws and secured the peace.”

“Yes, I can believe you would think that way.” Erlend threw back his head. Lavrans sat and stared at the young man—Erlend was now fully alert. A flush had spread over his dark, fierce face, the sinews of his throat were arched taut in his slender, tan neck. Then Lavrans glanced at his daughter. Kristin had let her needlework sink to her lap, and she was intently following the men’s conversation.

“Are you so sure that the farmers and common men think this way and are rejoicing over the new sovereign?” said Erlend. “It’s true that they often had difficult times—back when kings and their rivals waged war throughout the land. I know they still remember the time when they had to flee to the mountains with their livestock and wives and children while their farms stood in flames down below in the valley. I’ve heard them talking about it. But I know they remember something else—that their own fathers were part of the hordes. We weren’t alone in the battle for power, Erling. The sons of farmers were part of it too—and sometimes they even won our ancestral estates. When law rules the land, a bastard son from Skidan who doesn’t know his own father’s name cannot win a baron’s widow and her estate, such as Reidar Darre did. His descendant was good enough to be betrothed to your daughter, Lavrans; and now he’s married to your wife’s niece, Erling! Now law and order rule—and I don’t understand how it happens, but I do know that farmers’ lands have fallen into our hands, and lawfully so. The more entrenched the law, the more quickly they lose their power and authority to take part in their own affairs or those of the realm. And that, Erling, is something that the farmers know too! Oh, no, don’t be too certain, any of you, that the peasants aren’t longing for the past when they might lose their farms by fire and force—but they could also win with weapons more than they can win with law.”

Lavrans nodded. “There may be some truth in what Erlend says,” he murmured.

But Erling Vidkunssøn stood up. “I believe you’re right; the peasants remember better the few men who rose up from meager circumstances to become lords—in the time of the sword—than the unspeakable numbers who perished in filthy poverty and wretchedness. And yet none was a sterner master to the commoners than they were. I think it was of them that the saying was first spoken: kinsmen behave worst toward their own. A man must be born to be a master, or he will turn out to be a harsh one. But if he has spent his childhood among servant men and women, then he will have an easier time understanding that without the commoners, we are in many ways helpless children all our days, and that for God’s sake as well as our own, we ought to serve them in turn with our knowledge and protect them with our chivalry. Never has it been possible to sustain a kingdom without noblemen who had the ability and the will to secure with their power the rights of those poorer than themselves.”

“You could compete in sermonizing with my brother, Erling,” said Erlend with a laugh. “But I think the people of Outer Trøn-delag liked the gentry better back when we led their sons on military incursions, let our blood run and mingle with theirs across the planks, and split apart rings and divided up the booty with our serving men. Yes, as you can hear, Kristin, sometimes I sleep with one ear open when Sira Eiliv reads aloud from the great books.”

“Property that is unlawfully won shall not be handed down to the third heir,” said Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn. “Haven’t you ever heard that before, Erlend?”

“Of course I’ve heard that!” Erlend laughed loudly. “But I’ve never seen it happen.”

Erling Vidkunssøn said, “Things are such, Erlend, that few are born to rule, but everyone is born to serve; the proper way to rule is to be your servants’ servant.”

Erlend clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched, smiling. “I’ve never thought about that. And I don’t think my leaseholders have any favors to thank me for. And yet, strange as it may seem, I think they’re fond of me.” He rubbed his cheek against Kristin’s black kitten, which had jumped up onto his shoulder and was now walking around his neck, purring and with its back arched. “But my wife here—she is the most eager to serve of all women, although you wouldn’t have reason to believe me, since the pitchers and mugs are now empty, my Kristin!”

Orm, who had been sitting quietly and listening to the men’s conversation, stood up at once and left the room.

“Your wife grew so bored that she fell asleep,” said Haftor, smiling. “And the blame is yours—you could have let me talk to her in peace—a man who knows how to speak to women.”

“All this talk has no doubt gone on much too long for you, mistress,” began Sir Erling contritely, but Kristin answered with a smile.

“It’s true, sir, that I haven’t understood everything that’s been said here this evening, but I will remember it well, and I will have plenty of time to think about it later.”

Orm came back with several maids who brought in more ale. The boy walked around, pouring for the men. Lavrans looked sorrowfully at the handsome child. He had tried to start up a conversation with Orm Erlendssøn, but he was a taciturn boy, although he had a striking and noble bearing.

One of the maids whispered to Kristin that Naakkve was awake over in the little house and crying terribly. Kristin then bid the men good night and followed the maids out when they left.

The men started drinking again. Sir Erling and Lavrans exchanged occasional glances, and then the former said, “There is something, Erlend, that I meant to discuss with you. A campaign force will certainly be summoned from the countryside here around the fjord and from Møre. People to the north are afraid that the Russians will return this summer, stronger than before, and they won’t be able to handle their defense alone. This is the first benefit for which we can thank the royal union with Sweden—but it wouldn’t be right for the people of Haalogaland
⁸
to profit from it alone. Now, things are such that Arne Gjavvaldssøn is too old and sickly—so there has been talk of making you chieftain of the farmers’ ships from this side of the fjord. What would you think of that?”

Erlend pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. His whole face glowed. “What I would think of it!”

“It’s unlikely that a large contingent could be mustered,” said Erling, admonishingly. “But perhaps you should find out what the sheriffs think. You’re well known in this area—there has been talk among the men on the council that you were perhaps the man who could do something about this matter. There are those who still remember that you won more than a little honor when you were a guardsman for Earl Jacob. I myself recall hearing him say to King Haakon that he had acted unwisely when he dealt so harshly with a capable young man. He said you were destined to be a support to your king.”

Erlend snapped his fingers. “You’re not thinking of becoming our king, Erling Vidkunssøn! Is that what all of you are plotting?” he asked, laughing boisterously. “To make Erling king?”

Erling said impatiently, “No, Erlend. Can’t you tell that now I was speaking in earnest?”

“God help me—were you joking before? I thought you were speaking in earnest all evening. All right then, let’s speak seriously. Tell me about this matter, kinsman.”

 

Kristin was asleep with the child at her breast when Erlend came into the little house. He stuck a pine branch into the embers of the hearth and then let it shine on the two of them for a long time.

How beautiful she was. And he was a handsome child, their son. Kristin was always so sleepy in the evening now. As soon as she lay down and placed the boy close to her, they would both fall asleep. Erlend laughed a bit and tossed the twig back into the hearth. Slowly he undressed.

Northward in the spring with
Margygren
and three or four warships. Haftor Graut with three ships from Haalogaland. But Haftor had no experience; Erlend would be able to command him as he liked. Yes, he realized that he would have to take charge himself because this Haftor did not look either fearful or indecisive. Erlend stretched and smiled in the dark. He was thinking of finding a crew for
Margygren
outside of Møre. But there were plenty of bold and hearty boys both here in the parish and in Birgsi—he would be able to choose from the finest of men.

He had been married little more than a year. Childbirth, penance, and fasting. And now the boy, always the boy, night and day. And yet . . . she was still the same sweet, young Kristin, whenever he could make her forget the priest’s words and the greedy suckling child for a brief time.

He kissed her shoulder, but she didn’t notice. Poor thing—he would let her sleep. He had so much to think about tonight. Erlend turned away from her and lay staring across the room at the tiny glowing dot in the hearth. He ought to get up and cover the ashes, but he didn’t feel like it.

In bits and pieces, memories from his youth came back to him. A quivering ship’s prow that paused a scant moment, waiting for the approaching swell; then the sea washing over it. The mighty sound of the storm and the sea. The whole vessel shuddered under the press of the waves, the top of the mast cut a wild arc through the scudding clouds. It was somewhere off the coast of Halland. Overwhelmed, Erlend felt tears fill his eyes. He hadn’t realized himself how much these years of idleness had tormented him.

The next morning Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn and Sir Erling Vidkunssøn were standing at the end of the courtyard, watching some of Erlend’s horses that were running loose outside the fence.

“I think,” said Lavrans, “that if Erlend is to come to this meeting, then he is of such high position and birth, being the kinsman of the king and his mother, that he must step forward to join the ranks of the foremost men. But I don’t know, Sir Erling, whether you feel you can trust that his judgment in these matters won’t lead him to the opposing side. If Ivar Ogmundssøn attempts to make a countermove . . . Erlend is also strongly tied to the men who will follow Sir Ivar.”

“I think it unlikely that Sir Ivar will do anything,” said Erling Vidkunssøn. “And Munan . . .” He gave a slight smile. “He’s wise enough to stay away. He knows that otherwise it might become clear to everyone how much or how little influence Munan Baard-søn wields.” They both laughed. “The truth is . . . Yes, no doubt you know better than I, Lavrans Lagmanssøn,
⁹
you who have your ancestors and kinsmen over there, that the Swedish nobles are reluctant to consider our knighthood equal to their own. For that reason it’s important that we exclude no man who is among the richest and most highborn. We cannot afford to let a man like Erlend win permission to stay at home, jesting with his wife and tending to his estates—in whatever manner he tends to them,” he said when he saw Lavrans’s expression.

A smile flickered across Lavrans’s face.

“But if you think it unwise to pressure Erlend in order to make him join us, then I will not do so.”