The Axe (14 page)

Olav led the way through the fields northward to the woods. On reaching the bare rocks he stopped. From there they looked down upon the houses with the steep-sloping fields below them and the forest around.

“We can sit here,” said Olav. “Here we shall be safe from eavesdroppers.” But he himself remained standing. Arnvid sat with his eyes on the young man.

Olav stood there contracting his white eyebrows—his fair forelock was now grown so long that it almost reached them; this made his face look yet broader, shorter, and more glum. The firm, pale lips were tightly compressed—morose and quarrelsome he looked, and he was become much older in these last weeks. The frank and childlike innocence that had become him so well—since with it all the boy was fully grown and grave of mien—had vanished like the dew. There was another kind of seriousness now upon his wrathful, tormented face. And his paleness and fairness were not so fresh—he was dark under the eyes and had a tired look.

“You have never told me before that you were there when Ingunn and I were given to each other,” said Olav.

“I was but fourteen,” replied Arnvid, “so it mattered not that I was there.”

“Who were the others?” asked Olav.

“My father and Magnus, my brother, Viking and Magnhild from Berg, Tore Bring of Vik and his wife—I know not who the others were. The hall was full of folk, but I cannot call to mind that there were others I knew.”

“Was there none in company with my father?” asked Olav.

“No, Audun Ingolfsson was alone.”

Olav was silent awhile. Then he said, as he sat down: “Then there are no others alive to bear witness than Magnhild and Tore of Vik.—But maybe they can show us the way to some more.”

“That they surely can.”

“If they will—” said Olav in a low voice. “But you, Arnvid? Mayhap your testimony goes for little, since you were a child—but
what is your
judgment?
Were we
affianced
that night, Ingunn and I?”

“Yes,” said Arnvid firmly. “That I have always held for sure. Do you not remember, they made you plight her with a ring?”

Olav nodded.

“Steinfinn must have that ring somewhere.—Think you you would know it again? That must be a good proof, I trow?”

“I mind me the ring well. ’Twas my mother’s signet-ring, with her name and an image of God’s Mother on a green stone. Father had promised it to me—I mind me I was ill pleased to give it to Ingunn.” He laughed a little.

They sat in silence for a while. Then Olav asked slowly: “How liked you the answer Steinfinn gave me when I spoke to him of the matter?”

“I know not what I shall say,” replied Arnvid.

“I know not what assurance I may have,” said Olav still more slowly, “that Steinfinn has spoken in such wise to Kolbein that he holds it for a binding bargain between Steinfinn and my father that I was to have Ingunn.”

“Kolbein will not be the only one to dispose of the children,” said Arnvid.

Olav shrugged his shoulders, smiling scornfully.

“As I said to you,” Arnvid went on, “I have always held it a valid betrothal that was made that night.”

“Then the new sponsors cannot set aside the bargain?”

“No. That I remember is what I heard when I was at the school. If two children be betrothed by their fathers, it cannot be broken, except the children themselves, when they come to years of discretion—fourteen winters, I think it is—declare to their parish priest that they will have the bargain undone. But then they must both make oath that she is a virgin undefiled of him.”

Both the young men’s faces turned red as fire; they avoided each other’s eyes.

“But if they cannot swear such an oath?” asked Olav at last, in a very low voice.

Arnvid looked down at his hands. “Then it is
consensus matrimonialis
, as it is called in Latin—in their deeds they have already conformed to the counsels of their parents, and if after that either of them marries another, willingly or by constraint, then it is whoredom.”

Olav nodded.

“I wonder whether you could help me,” he said after a moment, “to find out what Steinfinn has done with that ring.”

Arnvid muttered something. Without saying more they got up and walked back.

“Autumn will be early this year,” said Olav after a while. The birches already showed yellow leaves among the green, and the ears of corn were turning white among the tall thistles and ragwort. The blue air was full of drifting down—the floating seed of traveller’s-joy.

The evening sun fell right in Olav’s face, making him blink; and his eyes shone keen and blue as ice under the white lashes. The thick, fair down on his upper lip had a golden look against the boy’s milk-white skin. Arnvid felt a drawing as of pain in his chest that his friend was so fair to look upon—he saw himself, dark, ugly as a troll, high-shouldered, and short-necked, against the other’s strong and handsome youth. ’Twas not to be wondered at that Ingunn loved him as she did.

How much of right or wrong there was in those two he left others to judge. He would help them as far as he could. He had always liked Olav—believed him to be steadfast and trusty. And Ingunn was so weak—it must have been for that he had always been so fond of the little maid; she looked as though a hand could break her in two.

The air was so heavy in the loft that night that the holy candle which they burned nightly by the dying man could scarcely live. It gave a faint and drowsy light.

Steinfinn was dozing, utterly worn out. The fever was not so high that night, but he had talked at length with his brothers during the evening, and that had told on him. Afterwards, when his wounds were tended, he had been so overspent that the tears poured down into his beard when Dalla had to go roughly to work to get away some matter.

At last, in the course of the night, Steinfinn seemed to be sleeping more easily. But Arnvid and Olav sat on—till they felt so weary in the heavy air that they could scarce keep awake.

“Ay—” whispered Arnvid at last. “Is it your wish that we seek for that ring?”

“We must do so, I ween.” Everything within him shrank from
the act—and he saw it went much against the grain with Arnvid too, but—Still as a pair of thieves they ransacked Steinfinn’s clothes and emptied his keys out of the pouch of his belt. It dawned on Olav the while that he who has once left the straight path of honour soon finds himself in broken ground, where he may be forced to many a crooked leap. But he could see no other way.

None the less, as he knelt by Steinfinn’s clothes-chest, he thought he had never felt so ill. Now and again they threw a glance at the bed. It was like robbing a corpse.

Arnvid found the little casket, bound all over with meshwork of wrought iron, in which Steinfinn kept his most costly jewels. Key after key they tried before they found one to fit the lock.

Sitting on their haunches, they rummaged among brooches, chains, and buttons. “This is it,” said Olav, drawing a deep breath, unspeakably relieved.

Together they looked at the ring against the light. It was of gold, with a great green stone in it. Arnvid made out the inscription around the image of God’s Mother and the Child, with a roof above and a woman kneeling at the side:
Sigillum Ceciliæ Beornis Filiæ
.

“Will you keep it?” asked Arnvid.

“No. It cannot serve—as proof—except it be found among Steinfinn’s hoard?” Olav thought.

They locked the casket and put all in order again. Arnvid asked: “Will you sleep now, Olav?”

“No, you may sleep first. I am not tired.”

Arnvid lay down on the bench. After a while he said, in a wide-awake voice: “I could wish we had not been forced to do this—”

“I am with you in that wish,” replied Olav with a quiver in his voice.

A
great
sin it was not—could not be, he thought. But it was so ugly. And he was afraid of it as of an evil omen—for the life that lay before him; would a man be forced to do many things that—that irked him so unspeakably as this?

They watched by turns till morning. It made Olav glad whenever he was able to do some little thing for his foster-father—give him to drink or arrange the bedclothes. At last, early in the
day, when Steinfinn awoke out of a doze, he asked: “Is it you two who are still here?” His voice was weak, but he was clear in his senses. “Come hither, Olav,” he bade.

Both the young men came forward. Steinfinn put out his sound hand to Olav. “You are not so wroth with me, foster, that I would not give you your will in what we spoke of that evening, but that you would watch with me all this night? You have ever been obedient and good, Olav—God keep you all your days. As surely as I need His mercy, I tell you, had I had the ruling of it, I should have kept my word to Audun. Were it granted me to live, I should be well pleased to have you as my son-in-law.”

Olav knelt down and kissed his foster-father’s hand. He could say nothing—inwardly he besought Steinfinn to speak the words that could rescue him from all his difficulties. But shame and guilt kept his lips closed.

This was the last time he spoke with Steinfinn Toresson. He and Arnvid were still sleeping in the afternoon when Haftor Kolbeinsson came and woke them. Steinfinn’s death struggle had begun, and all the people of the house went up to be with him.

B
ROTHER
V
EGARD
had given Steinfinn absolution
in articulo mortis;
so he had a fair burial. Steinfinn’s kinsmen and friends spoke big words at the funeral feast; they swore that Mattias Haraldsson should lie unatoned. As yet the dead man’s next of kin had made no sign—but they all lived in other parts of the country. There was also trouble in the air—rumours were abroad of great events that were brewing. And Steinfinn’s kinsmen boasted that the men who would now have most power in the land, while the King and the Duke were children, were their friends.

Only a small part of Steinfinn’s debts and dues were settled at the division of his estate among his under-aged children. The kinsmen made as though there were immense riches—but between man and man many a hint was dropped.

Arnvid Finnsson was to stay at Frettastein with the children until Haftor Kolbeinsson had held his wedding at the New Year.
Then Haftor was to move to the manor and have charge of it for Hallvard, Steinfinn’s elder son, till the boy came of age.

Steinfinn’s brothers stayed behind at Frettastein some days after the funeral guests had departed. The evening before they were to ride away, the men sat as usual drinking ale after the supper had been cleared away. Then Arnvid stood up, making a sign to Olav that he was to come forward.

“It is so, Ivar and Kolbein, that here is my friend, Olav Audunsson, who has bid me lay a matter before you. Steinfinn declared before he died that Olav ought to go home to his own house and speak with his kinsmen of a portion and a morning-gift for Ingunn, when he now takes her to wife. But now we have thought that, as matters stand, ’twill be easier that we conclude this matter at once and that Olav’s wedding be held here—thus both we and his kinsmen will be spared the long road, while winter is at hand and our fortunes are so uncertain. Therefore Olav has bid me tell you that he offers to give surety—and I am willing to be his surety as far as sixteen marks of gold—that he will put to what he gets with Ingunn so much that she shall own the third part of his estate, besides her bedclothes, apparel, and jewels according to their condition. He also offers to give surety that he will make full restitution of its cost to him of you who shall provide his wedding—whether you will have ready money, or that he shall sell you for a fair price Ingunn’s share in Hindkleiv and make amends to her of his lands in the south—”

Arnvid spoke on for a while about the terms that Olav offered his wife’s kinsfolk, and these were unwontedly good. Olav promised masses for the repose of Steinfinn and Ingebjörg, and he pledged himself that the Steinfinnssons should always find in him a trusty and compliant son-in-law, who would hearken to the counsel of his elders as was fitting for a young man of his age. Finally Arnvid asked the Steinfinnssons to receive this offer as it was put forward—with goodwill and in a loyal spirit.

Steinfinn’s brothers listened as though the matter gave them no little trouble. While his friend was speaking, Olav had stood before him, on the outer side of the table. He stood erect, with his calm, pale face turned toward Ingunn’s uncles. Now and again he nodded assent to Arnvid’s words.

At last Kolbein Toresson made reply: “It is true, Olav, that
we know there was once talk between your father and our brother that you should marry one of his daughters. And you must not think we do aught but esteem your goodwill in desiring to order this matter so that we might all have been well pleased. But the thing is whether your kinsmen would
now
be so set upon this marriage of our niece to you that they would consent to your offer. But what weighs most is that we now have greater need to ally ourselves by marriage with men who have power and powerful kinsfolk, and these you have not. We must now seek support rather than riches—we look to you to acknowledge this, since you have shown by your offer that you have foresight far beyond your age. But because of the promise Steinfinn once made to your father that he would help you to a good marriage, we will gladly help you in this matter. For Steinfinn’s daughters we have other designs—but you must not be dejected on that account: with God’s help we shall find you a match as good in every way and better fitted to your age—for young as you are, Olav, you were ill served with a bride as young; you ought either to take a wife who is older and more discerning, or betroth yourself to a maid who is younger and let your wedding wait till you yourself be fully grown.”

Olav had turned red in the face while the other was speaking. Before he could make answer, Arnvid said quickly: “Hereabouts all have held Olav and Ingunn to be betrothed—and I myself stood by when Steinfinn handselled him his daughter—”

“Nay, nay,” said Kolbein. “I have heard of that, it was a game they played—afterward they spoke of it, Steinfinn and Audun, saying it might be fitting if they turned the jest to earnest one day. And that might well have been, had not our brother fallen into these misfortunes. But since this betrothal has never been concluded—”