The Son Avenger (24 page)

Eirik lifted Blaalin out of the pit and carried it, and Gunhild took his light spear and walked at his side. It would have been better to kill the poor beast, which was nearly dead already—and the goat was a heavy burden after a while. But he was too glad of the chance of walking thus with her to say anything of this; every moment Gunhild had to caress Blaalin in his arms.

At last they found their way back to the summer byre. Eirik fetched a truss of hay for her to strew under Blaalin, and she had found an old ragged coverlet to spread over the goat.

Then she said: “But you must come in, Eirik, and rest. I have naught else to offer you than goat’s milk and a slice of cheese.”

“Did you sleep here last night?” he asked in a low voice—they entered a little dark hut where the daylight crept in between the logs. The hearth was a hole in the floor, and the couch a pallet of cleft logs with hay and a few blankets spread on top. So she was not proud—gentle she was and full of care for all that was in her charge, faithful and diligent. Eirik looked at her, full of tenderness and wonder, as he sat on the edge of her poor couch and drank the smoky goat’s-milk.

He made up the fire for her, and she put the kettle on. While she waited for the milk to be ready for curdling, they sat side by side on the pallet, chatting together like old friends. Till Gunhild said all at once—and turned red as she spoke:

“I wonder, Eirik—the dairywoman may come back soon—she might think it strange that I have a guest in the hut.”

Eirik rose rather reluctantly. “But go with me across the paddock, Gunhild, if you can leave the kettle.”

He took his horse and led it through the gate into the forest. Then they must needs part.

“You have soot on your hand—” he held it between both his. They stood looking at each other, smiling slightly. She made no resistance when he drew her close to him, and so he threw his arm about the girl and kissed her on the mouth.

She let him do it; then he kissed her all over her face, pressing her tightly against him—till he felt her struggle.

“Eirik—now you must let me go.”

“Oh, no—?”

“Yes—let go!”

He let her go. “Are you angry now, Gunhild?”

“Oh, I know not.” So he drew her toward him again. She flung her arms about his neck an instant. “But now you must go—nay, nay, what are you doing?”

He had thrust a hand down under the neck of her kirtle and pressed it for a moment against her smooth breast. Half laughing and half embarrassed she pushed him from her, and fished up the hard, cold thing he had slipped under her dress.

“Nay, Eirik—you must take this back—so great a gift I may not take from you yet.” She held out the gold brooch he had taken out of his shirt.

“Oh, yes.” He swung himself into the saddle; when she came up, gave him his spear with one hand, and tried to force the brooch on him with the other, he bent down and once more brushed her smooth, cool forehead with his lips. “You are to have it—you must keep it till you can wear it!”

Then he let his horse go. Time after time he turned and nodded to her. When he saw her for the last time, as the path turned down into the thicket, Gunhild raised her hand and waved to him.

Eirik smiled to himself, laughed quietly now and then, as he rode back toward the fiord. At intervals he hummed the notes of the call, but very low, and he dared not sing her name aloud. This was the happiest day he had known.

O
N
the last Sunday but one before Advent, Cecilia Olavsdatter held her churching, and when they came home to Hestviken her father gave her the keys of his stores in the sight of the whole household, asking her to be pleased to take upon herself the duties of mistress of Hestviken.

Olav and Jörund now spoke to each other—not very much but at any rate Olav was not unfriendly toward his son-in-law. And he had visited Cecilia several times to see this last child of hers; the folk of the place thought he must be glad there was once more an Audun at Hestviken. And indeed it was a fine big child. Cecilia was pale and thin, but seemed in good health—she took charge of the house as a capable wife, and the old serving-folk, who had known her from a child, were eager to comply with the behests of their young mistress and loved her little sons.

Eirik’s joy was such that not one of these quiet people in this quiet household could fail to be cheered by it—though he himself was calm enough at this time. Since that day in the forest he had spoken only once with Gunhild—at church—and then he did no more than ask after Blaalin—Blaalin was dead.

But Olav had told him that now Torgrim had received Berse’s answer; they had his leave to come and speak with him of the matter after the last day of Yule—he held it unbecoming to conclude a bargain of this nature during Advent or in the holy-days. The betrothal ale might then take place before Lent, and if Olav Audunsson desired the wedding to be held so soon as the early summer, Berse would not oppose it, seeing that Eirik was not so young and Gunhild had already completed her twentieth year.

And Una said both she and Signe would so order it that he could meet Gunhild Bersesdatter at Yuletide: “for you two ought to hold some converse ere you be bound together in betrothal—since it is now agreed you are to wed Gunhild.”

He was troubled enough in his mind over what he had buried in the ground at Rundmyr. That hiding-place was known to others besides him. True, he had long ago forbidden Arnketil to harbour dishonest folk, but here was proof that at Rundmyr they held his commands but lightly. And Jörund had challenged
him more than once, demanding to know what he had done with the treasure. Eirik put him off, reminding him that he had bought the silver of him for the price of a good horse, and saying that it lay in a spot that it was unsafe to visit even in broad daylight. Moreover, he tried every means of keeping Jörund in good humour—took him out hunting and in his boat and found pretexts for making visits to all the houses where he had friends or kinsfolk. It was no longer quite to his mind to roam about so much, but he saw that the quiet life at Hestviken was dangerous for Jörund: the man was as full of humours as a bull, and if he turned vicious, Eirik was afraid Cecilia would suffer for it.

But he himself was too happy to let any of this take a real hold of him. When he brought Gunhild out hither, he thought that in some way the others’ troubles and difficulties would also grow less. She brought such gladness with her.

Then one morning, a fortnight before Yule, when Eirik came out into the yard he saw that a thin coat of snow lay on the ground. The morning moon shone like a bright speck behind the drifting mist, promising a heavier fall. Eirik made up his mind that today he would take up the silver again; otherwise the snow might force him to wait he knew not how long, and he yearned to be rid of it.

He asked Jörund to go out hunting with him during the day, and when the two came home at dark Eirik had killed a fox and carried with him a little bundle in an earthy homespun cloth.

He did not know whether to tell his father of it or not. But he had no desire to lie more than he could help in this wretched affair. And he was afraid it would trouble and distress Cecilia if there were once more talk of this silver—she had enough hard work in any case, making ready for Yule, and at night she had little rest, for the infant child.

So he merely said to his father that Jörund had business north in the next parish and he had promised to accompany his brother-in-law. Then they rode to Draumtorp.

They arrived there at evening, and Eirik was ill pleased when he heard that Berse of Eiken was there with two of his sons, Gunhild’s own brothers. It had increased his indignation over the affair from the first that Guttorm of Draumtorp was her uncle. But that he should be compelled to utter his lying tale in the
hearing of those who were soon to be his brothers-in-law, that was a thing he had not looked for.

But it went well. When Eirik had once made a beginning, he told a smooth and credible story of his fox-hunt and of his dog that had stuck fast in an earth and of the find they had made, which Jörund and he at once had thought might be a part of the Draumtorp treasure.

Guttorm was glad to get back some of his silver, so Eirik and Jörund were given the best of welcomes. The attack in the Gerdarud forest was then discussed at great length. The brothers-in-law from Hestviken listened to the old men and replied no more than there was need—this seemed to please Berse; he grew very friendly; he even jested with Eirik, saying mayhap they would be better acquainted in time—and in the end Eirik was vouchsafed the honour of escorting Berse to bed. Now that he was rid of his ugly secret, Eirik’s mood soon became light and gay, and he had drunk all he needed, so it was with a right merry heart he helped his father-in-law that was to be. Even when he was overwhelmed by the frailty of his nature, this old Berse contrived somehow to preserve his dignity in the midst of his throes.

Guttorm of Draumtorp had a long talk with Eirik next morning. He seemed to be a wise and sober man. He spoke of Berse, calling to mind that the old man had been honoured for many years as the franklins’ leader, and with every right; he had been a generous, brave, and shrewd man in his younger days. Now in truth he had grown somewhat odd with age—and his young wife, the third, whom he had married when he was already sixty winters old, had no little sway over him, though he would not allow it. And his children by the first wife had brought great sorrow upon him. The son, Benedikt, had blamed his father for his sister’s misfortune, and he had ridden from Eiken in anger; Berse never saw him again, for he fell the year after in Denmark. But Eldrid did not die, ’twas not so well.

“But all the children he had by Helga, my sister, are good and virtuous folk, Eirik—and now I am glad Gunhild shall make so good a marriage.”

Eirik guessed from this that all the maid’s kinsfolk knew of the agreement; her younger brothers, Torleif and Kaare, also greeted him as one who was soon to be their brother-in-law.

Guttorm had once met Olav Audunsson at Hestbæk, and in
taking leave he bade Eirik bring greetings to his father. So when Eirik came home he had to say he had been at Draumtorp and to tell Olav of the finding of the silver. Olav was angry when he heard that such things had been found in his woods. Eirik replied that he had already reproved Anki and Liv and that he would not fail to keep a watch in future, but he begged his father to spare them this time.

At Yule Eirik met the folk from Eiken, and now they greeted him in such wise that all could see what was in the wind. When they rode to church from Skikkjustad on the eighth day of Yule, in driving rain on a road slippery with ice, Berse bade Eirik ride beside Gunhild and keep an eye on her horse; and at Rynjul they were allowed to sit by themselves over the chessboard a whole evening. It was a strange game, for Gunhild was as stupid as could be at this play, but this too became her well in Eirik’s eyes—he had never before played chess with any woman but his sister, and she played better than most men.

That same evening Olav of Hestviken and Berse of Eiken spoke long together in another house on the manor—though it was a holy-day—and kinsmen and friends on both sides were present. Afterwards Olav told Eirik of the agreement they had come to regarding the bride’s portion; Olav was to come to Eiken on the eve of St. Agnes
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with his son and his witnesses, and next day Eirik Olavsson was to betroth Gunhild Bersesdatter with ring and gifts.

On the following morning Gunhild was sent home together with her stepmother and her eldest, married brother, but Berse stayed behind at Rynjul with his two younger sons. It was the finest, clearest winter weather, and so Eirik proposed that they should ride into the town, as many as were minded to see the great procession when the King visited the Church of St. Mary on the day of Epiphany—for it was reported that King Haakon was in Oslo.

All the young men wished to go—Berse’s sons, young Torgils Torgrimsson and his cousin, Sigmund Baardsson from Skikkjustad. Then said Torgrim himself, the master of the house, that he might have a mind to go. “What think you, Olav, shall we two join company with the young folk for once?”

Olav laughed and shook his head. He must be thinking rather
of returning home. “Long enough has Cecilia been left alone at Hestviken.”

Then Berse himself spoke up. He had served in King Eirik’s body-guard and afterwards in King Haakon’s, and now he would do his King a last homage and would take his place in the procession.

Thus they made slow progress, and when they came to the town it was so late that Eirik could not go to his convent and seek lodging there, as had been his intention, but followed the rest of the company to a yard where Guttorm’s son-in-law owned a house.

Late as it was, the upper room into which they came was full of men, and the tables were full of food and drink. The men flocked about Guttorm to tell him the great news that was over the whole town: three nights ago the men of Aker had descended on the den of those miscreants who so long had made the forests around Oslo unsafe. Last autumn the ruffians had fallen upon a little farm in a clearing by Elivaag, where two brothers dwelt with their wives and a young sister; they had plundered the place and slaughtered the cattle, ravished the women, who were alone at home—but one of the robbers seemed to have liked the young girl so well that he had visited her since. She received him with a show of kindness and at last coaxed him into telling her where was the robber stronghold, and so her brothers had gathered the peasants and led them thither; six of the robbers had been slain or burned in their house, but four men and one woman lay in the dungeon of the old royal castle waiting to receive the reward of their misdeeds on the rock of execution. The girl had claimed as her meed to be allowed to hold her ravisher’s hair clear of the headsman’s axe.

At long last, when the men had said their say and drunk their fill, all came to bed. Eirik lay on the outside in a bed with Jörund Rypa and Kaare Bersesson; they two fell asleep at once, but he lay awake, in a torment of dismay, trying to tell himself that he need not be afraid, ere he knew whether there were aught to be afraid of.