“Do you think you’re capable of that?” asked Erlend, his voice subdued.
“Yes,” said Erling Vidkunss?n firmly. “I think we are. And everyone else thinks so too, if they refuse to listen to malicious and slanderous talk.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And those of us who are kinsmen of Lady Ingebj?rg should be the last to do that.”
A servant woman raised the hatch in the floor and said that if it suited them, the mistress would now have the food carried into the hall.
While everyone was sitting at the table, the conversation, such as it was, constantly touched on the great news that was circulating. Kristin noticed that both her father and Sir Erling refused to join in; they brought up news of bride purchases and deaths, inheritance disputes and property trades among family and acquaintances. She grew uneasy but didn’t know why. They had business with Erlend—this much she understood. And yet she didn’t want to admit this to herself. She now knew her husband so well that she realized Erlend, with all his stubborn-mindedness, was easily influenced by anyone who had a firm hand in a soft glove, as the saying goes.
After the meal, the gentlemen moved over to the hearth, where they sat and drank. Kristin settled herself on a bench, put her needlework frame in her lap, and began twining the threads. A moment later Haftor Graut came over, placed a cushion on the floor, and sat down at Kristin’s feet. He had found Erlend’s psaltery; he set it on his knee and sat there strumming it as he chatted. Haftor was quite a young man with curly blond hair and the fairest features, but his face was covered with freckles. Kristin quickly noticed that he was exceedingly talkative. He had recently made a rich marriage, but he was bored back home on his estates; that was why he wanted to travel to the gathering of the king’s retainers.
“But it’s understandable that Erlend Nikulauss?n would want to stay home,” he said, laying his head in her lap. Kristin moved away a bit, laughed, and said with an innocent expression that she knew only that her husband was intending to travel south, “for whatever reason that might be. There’s so much unrest in the country right now; it’s difficult for a simple woman to understand such things.”
“And yet it’s the simplicity of a woman that’s the main cause of it all,” replied Haftor, laughing and moving closer. “At least that’s what Erling and Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n say—I’d like to know what they mean by that. What do you think, Mistress Kristin? Lady Ingebj?rg is a good and simple woman. Perhaps right now she is sitting as you are, twining silk threads with her snow-white fingers and thinking: It would be hard-hearted to refuse the loyal chieftain of her deceased husband some small assistance to improve his lot.”
Erlend came and sat down next to his wife so that Haftor had to move over a bit.
“The women chatter about such nonsense in the hostels when their husbands are foolish enough to take them along to the meeting.”
“Where I come from, it’s said that there’s no smoke unless there’s fire,” said Haftor.
“Yes, we have that saying too,” said Lavrans; he and Erling had come over to join them. “And yet I was duped, Haftor, this past winter, when I tried to light my torch with fresh horse droppings.” He perched on the edge of the table. Sir Erling at once brought his goblet and offered it to Lavrans with a word of greeting. Then the knight sat down on a bench nearby.
“It’s not likely, Haftor,” said Erlend, “that up north in Haalogaland you would know what Lady Ingebj?rg and her advisers know about the undertakings and enterprises of the Danes. I suspect you might have been short-sighted when you opposed the king’s demand for help. Sir Knut5—yes, we might as well mention his name since he’s the one that we’re all thinking about—he seems to me a man who wouldn’t be caught unawares. You sit too far away from the cookpots to be able to smell what’s simmering inside them. And better to prepare now than regret later, I say.”
“Yes,” said Sir Erling. “You might almost say that they’re cooking for us on the neighboring farm—we Norwegians will soon be nothing more than their wards. They send over the porridge they’ve made in Sweden and say: Eat this, if you want food! I think our lord, King Haakon, made a mistake when he moved the cookhouse to the outskirts of the farm and made Oslo the foremost royal seat in the land. Before then it was in the middle of the courtyard, if we stay with this image—Bj?rgvin6 or Nidaros—but now the archbishop and chapter7 rule here alone. What do you think, Erlend? You who are from Tr?ndelag and have all your property and all your power in this region?”