The Son Avenger (29 page)

Yet he could not believe that everything he had heard about her was true. And even if she had erred—gravely—they must first have wronged her cruelly. And however that might be, it was a pitiable sight to see this fair and high-born woman, banished and aging, dwelling in so miserable a cabin.

Then he began and told her the whole story of his courtship from beginning to end.

“So it was she who sent you hither?”

“Yes.”

“And you expect her to keep her word and come hither?”

“Yes. But if you will tell us of a place where we can find lodging till she be rested, we will gladly betake ourselves thither, if you would rather have it so.”

“If I am afraid to have to do with this affair, you mean?” Eldrid laughed. “Rather will Gunhild be afraid, when she comes from Eiken and sees how her sister lives.”

“She will think as I do,” said Eirik quietly. “It should not be so. And it must be mended.”

“Do you seek to tempt me with a reward?” asked Eldrid mockingly.

“I know not if you will call it a reward if I do what I can to see my sister-in-law righted. I have heard that your brother tried, but he fell—”

Eldrid let her hands sink into her lap. But then she said: “You seem to have no fear of defiling yourself, Eirik, if you touch pitch. But if you purpose ever to be reconciled with Berse, you must throw over both that brother-in-law of yours who deals in stolen goods and the sister-in-law who is a whore. Ay, Berse was the first of all men who called me by that name, and he told no lie of his best friend’s wife. Better that no man hear of it, if it should come about that you lie with your young bride at the Ness any night.”

“I thought to ask one other boon of you,” said Erik. “I will ask you to show Gunhild such kindness as to ride north in our company. None will think it of you that you sold your young sister to dishonour.”

Slowly Eldrid’s face flushed red. But then she laughed. “I should have to ride my grey bull then—I have no horse!”

“The bay will carry both Gunhild and me,” said Eirik imperturbably, “till we get one for you on the way.”

Eldrid only laughed again.

“Must you do your spring husbandry here without a horse?” asked Eirik after a while. “Or do you borrow one of your neighbours?”

“I have mattock and spade,” replied Eldrid shortly. “And basket and pannier.”

Now he was told that she lived here alone with the old hag he had seen, a palsied old man who was her kinsman—she had taken him in because he was Berse’s enemy—and a half-grown lad who herded for her and helped with whatever there might be.

“But then we must seize the opportunity while I am here with my horse,” said Eirik. And when she would not hear of it, he laughed and said she must take it as if she had a brother come to the house. Then he jumped up and ran out.

When she came out awhile after, she found him down in the cornfield, where only a little work had been done in one corner. He had dragged out an old plough and was engaged in putting it in order so that he could harness the bay to it. His long cloak and his blue holy-day kirtle lay on the ground, and Eirik stood in nothing but a red homespun shirt, short breeches, long hose, and riding-boots.

“Are you going to plough in those boots?” asked Eldrid.

“No, if you could lend me something else to wear on my feet, it would be better.”

“How old are you, Eirik Olavsson?” asked Eldrid.

“Oh—I am not young—nine and twenty.”

“One would not think you were nineteen.”

“When I was nineteen,” replied Eirik with a laugh, “I was far wiser—as folks reckon.”

Late in the afternoon Eirik said he would ride northward—to see if anyone were in sight.

“How did you think she would come hither?” asked Eldrid.

Eirik said he did not know—perhaps she had someone at the manor who was faithful to her.

“I believe you think she will come!” Then she said: “It will be late ere you come back?”

No, said Eirik, the bay was tired—“but I can go into the barn and lie there, as I lay last night.”

“No,” said Eldrid curtly; “’tis not often we have guests here, but since you are come, I will not suffer that you be treated otherwise than is fitting. I shall make ready the outer bed for you and leave the door unbolted.”

It was nevertheless later than he had thought when he returned. A white mist was rising from the water and the bog as he rode across from the end of the lake; all was still at the homestead. Eirik stole in quietly. The room was dark and warm; he guessed that Eldrid was in bed.

He had not said his hours since prime, so he knelt at the foot of the bed and prayed—seven paternosters for each of the lesser hours, fifteen for vespers, and seven for complin. The last he said for her who gave him hospitality: he had seen something of her loneliness, and he swore that if it were in his power he would better her condition.

He had taken off his outer garments and was climbing into bed when Eldrid’s voice came from the far corner:

“I have left milk and food for you on the hearth—you played truant from your supper.”

“Thanks, I am not hungry. ’Twas ill of me to wake you.”

“Is it your practice every evening—to pray so long?” she asked again.

“Yes. But I have told you, I had as lief sleep in the barn. Then I shall not disturb you with my practices.”

She gave a little laugh. “Nay, you may freely keep your practices for me.”

The days went by. When Eirik thought of Hestviken and Saltviken and of his people there, it all seemed strangely far away and long ago. He wondered at times what they could think had become of him. And he wondered a little how Gunhild would contrive to come hither. Now it would soon be a week—

But he felt it was as it should be, that he was living here at this strange and lonely homestead in the depth of the dark forest. Every morning when he came out, the ness lay like an island in a sea of white mist, and above it rose the hills, dark with firs. Then
came the sun and drove away the mist, and all day long it shone on these awakening fields, the corn that she had sown before he came was already green, and the leaves grew denser in the thickets, and the grass in the meadow was long and glossy. He determined to do all the work for her that he could find—and there was enough to put one’s hand to here. Her poverty astonished him—she had scarcely any meal in the house, and of her cows three gave no milk and the other two but little, though they were in better condition than most cows in springtime—she had pasture for many more cattle than she owned. Most of her sheep had been taken by wild beasts the year before, and her corn had frozen; houses and implements were as might be expected in a place where there was no man and no horse to bring in materials of any sort. To make up for the shortage of food she had nets in the lake and snares in the woods, and Eirik undertook to look after both for her.

It dawned on Eirik that this place had a strangely familiar air-as though he had once lived here, long ago. It was the first home he could remember that now came back to him—it was long since he had thought of it, but now it stood forth; that too had been a place far out of the way and deep in the forest, but he did not recall any water. And Eldrid became merged in a strange way with a dream he had had when a child—of a woman in a blue mantle, half human and half bird; he had been afraid of her, but she was beautiful too, and he had called her Leman, for he was so small he knew not the meaning of that word, but he thought it was something that flew. Ay, he had confused this dream vision with his mother—he knew not how it was, but now it came over him that the Ness was like that first place he remembered in the world, and Eldrid reminded him of Leman in his dream.

But every evening he rode out along the road by which he had come, to meet Gunhild, and back he came across the marshes, when evening had deepened to grey spring night and the white mist from lake and meadows was rising about Eldrid’s farm.

On the seventh day it clouded over—there had been some showers, but toward evening the sun gleamed fitfully over the Ness. Eirik was sawing up some logs that lay on the woodpile—from where he stood he could see Eldrid at the door of the byre; she was calling in her cows. Last of all came the little shaggy grey bull, splashing through the mire. Eldrid waited for its coming,
laid her hands on its cheeks, and leaned her forehead caressingly against the bull’s head.

Eirik went in to put on his kirtle and cloak. There was food left for him on the step of his bed—she took care now that he had something before he rode out. He did not hear anyone coming until the horses were just outside the house; then he started up and ran to the outer door.

Outside, where drops of rain now glittered in the sunlight, two men had dismounted from their horses. The second one, a young lad, swung himself back into the saddle, took his master’s horse by the bridle, and rode off into the fields; but the first was a tall, elderly man of fine presence; it was Guttorm from Draumtorp, and he hurried in out of the rain.

“’Tis wellnigh more than I had looked for,” he said as he stepped into Eldrid’s house, “that you should be here!”

Eirik had turned white in the face. “Have you come!”

“Ay, it is I who have come. Gunhild has yet so much kindness for you—though God knows how you deserved it!—that she turned to me and neither to her father nor her brothers. You may well suppose they would not have met you without drawn swords in their hands.”

“I should have liked that better.” Involuntarily Eirik’s hand went to his sword-hilt.

“Silence with such talk! Can you expect we should think much of your manhood—do you call it manly to try to entice the child out of her kinsmen’s keeping—to such a den as this?”

“This is her sister’s house—”

“Did you think Gunhild would submit to be ruled by you, because she is sister to Eldrid? But they are not daughters of the same mother—”

“Can you not say what you have to say, Guttorm, without abusing a woman?”

“You may be right, there. Not many words are needed either. Gunhild bade me give you back this—that says enough, I think.”

Eirik took what Guttorm handed him, scarcely looking at it. Then he let the gold brooch drop and it fell at his feet.

Guttorm spoke again, sadly: “Ay, it made me angry to hear this, Eirik Olavsson—never would I have thought such a thing of the son of so upright a franklin as Olav is. I took you for an honourable
man—I believed you on your bare word, though appearances were against you.”

“You do not so now?”

“We will not speak of that,” replied Guttorm hotly. “I have delivered my message and now I will go. How would you have me judge your conduct toward my niece?” he flared up; “you have lain in wait by the fence like a barn-door thief, decoyed the child out to you late at night, visited her at the sæter and sat with her alone in the hut as if she were a hireling—you hear, she had to make a clean breast of how she came by your brooch. And because she is innocent and childlike, you thought you could decoy her to you—hither!”

“Will you not greet the mistress of the house, man!” cried Eirik furiously.

Eldrid had gone in, clad as she came from the byre. Calmly and proudly she returned Guttorm’s greeting.

“You have received a message from my sister, Eirik?” she asked gently.

“Yes, I have brought him a message.”

“But so far as I understood you, Master Guttorm, this sister of mine has told you it was Eirik’s device that they should seek refuge with me? Eirik told me it was Gunhild who prayed him to come hither, saying she would follow—”

“Said he
that!”

Eirik himself replied; he was pale even to the lips: “Yes.”

“Shame on you, then!” Guttorm spat.

Eldrid spoke. “So said Eirik—and that he purposed, as soon as she was rested, to take her away to his rich kinsfolk in the Upplands, give the maid into their charge, until he might be reconciled with Berse. I believe he too thought that Gunhild had chosen unwisely when she appointed this as their trysting-place.”

“Gunhild has heard nothing of his rich kinsfolk in the Upplands, so far as I know. But ’tis not amiss if he has since thought better of his design.”

Eirik said, calmly and earnestly: “Does it seem so strange to you, Guttorm—’tis known to every soul in the parishes hereabout that Berse sold his eldest daughter to—to—Jephthah’s daughter in Jewry had a better bargain than the mistress here. I had conceived a love for Gunhild—and I know she liked me well. When therefore
I came to hear that Berse had allotted the same fate to her—would give her to a hideous ancient who had already worn out one wife at least—”

“What stuff is this?” Guttorm interrupted angrily; “old—he is a year or two older than yourself, a courteous and goodly man. Ay, he was married ere he was of age, but Mistress Hillebjörg lived but a year or two—”

“Was it when she heard this of her new bridegroom,” asked Eldrid, “that my sister gave up her sinful project and took counsel of you?”

“No,” replied Guttorm reluctantly, dropping his voice. “I got wind that the child meditated a mischief. But since she has seen Sir Magnus she must needs admit that her father has sought to provide well for her in every way.—But enough said of this. Good night.”

“Nay, tarry awhile, master—” Eldrid followed Guttorm out.

In a few moments she came back; Eirik had not moved.

“Nay, he would neither rest nor take food,” she said. She looked up at the tall, dark man, who loomed huge in the dim light of the room. “Now I trow ’twill be long ere you believe a woman’s word again?” she asked, with something like mockery.

Eirik turned from her and went out.

It was now raining quietly and steadily, and the growing scent of spring seemed even heavier in the wet evening. Eirik thought that now he could only leave this place—but he felt so strangely weak and empty, almost as when he had been stabbed with knives up at Haugsvik and came near bleeding to death. He wandered along a path through the meadow, down toward the lake. He thought of taking the boat and rowing somewhere.

Then Eldrid came running after him in great haste and seized him by the arm. “Eirik—where are you going? Man, you do not think to drown yourself for such foolishness as this!”