But Sir Erling merely said, “And you have no close kinsmen from your mother’s lineage, either, as I recall.”
“No, no closer than the children of my grandfather’s sister. Sigurd Lodinss?n had only two daughters, and they both died giving birth to their first child—and my aunt took hers to the grave with her.”
They sat in silence again for a while.
“Men like Erlend,” said the regent in a low voice. “They’re the most dangerous kind. Men who think a little farther than their own interests, but not far enough. Don’t you think Erlend is just like an indolent youth?” He slid his wine goblet around on the table with annoyance. “But he’s intelligent, isn’t he? And of good family, and courageous? But he never wants to listen to any matter long enough to understand it fully. And if he bothers to hear a man out, he forgets the first part before the discussion comes to an end.”
Lavrans glanced over at the other man. Sir Erling had aged a great deal since he had last seen him. He looked careworn and weary; he seemed to have shrunk in his chair. He had fine, clear features, but they were a little too small, and he had a pallid complexion, as he always had. Lavrans felt that this man—even though he was a knight with integrity, who was wise and willing to serve without deceit, never sparing himself—fell somewhat short in every way as a leader. If he had been a head taller, he might have won full support more easily.
Lavrans said quietly, “Sir Knut is also clever enough that he would realize—if they’re contemplating any kind of incursion down there—that he wouldn’t have much use for Erlend in any secret council.”
“You’re rather fond of this son-in-law of yours, aren’t you, Lavrans?” said the other man, almost crossly. “If truth be told, you have no reason to love him.”
Lavrans sat running his finger through a puddle of spilled wine on the table. Sir Erling noticed that his rings were quite loose on his fingers now.
“Do you?” Lavrans looked up with a little smile. “And yet I think that you too are fond of him!”
“Well . . . God knows . . . But I swear to you, Lavrans, Sir Knut has plenty of things going through his mind right now. He’s the father of a son who is the grandson of King Haakon.”
“Even Erlend must realize that the child’s father has much too broad a back for that poor young nobleman ever to get around it. And his mother has all the people of Norway against her because of this marriage.”
A little while later Erling Vidkunss?n stood up and strapped on his sword. Lavrans had politely taken his guest’s cape from the hook and was holding it in his hands, when he suddenly swayed and was about to collapse, but Sir Erling caught him in his arms. With difficulty he carried the man, who was heavy and tall, over to the bed. It wasn’t a stroke, but Lavrans lay there with his lips pale blue, his limbs weak and limp. Sir Erling raced across the courtyard to wake up the hostel priest.
Lavrans felt quite embarrassed when he came to himself again. Yes, it was a weakness that occurred now and then, ever since an elk hunt two winters before, when he had gotten lost in a blizzard. That was evidently what it took for a man to learn that his body was no longer youthful, and he smiled apologetically.
Sir Erling waited until the monk had bled the ill man, although Lavrans begged him not to take the trouble, because he would have to leave so early in the morning.
The moon was high, shining above the mountains of the main-land; the water lay black below, but out on the fjord the light glinted like flecks of silver. Not a wisp came from the smoke-vent holes; the grass on the rooftops glittered like dew in the moonlight. Not a soul was on the one short street of the town as Sir Erling swiftly walked the few paces down to the king’s fortress, where he was to sleep. He looked strangely fragile and small in the moonlight, with his black cape wrapped tightly around him, shivering slightly. A couple of weary servants, who had sat up waiting for him, tumbled out of the courtyard with a lantern. The regent took the lantern and sent his men off to bed; then he shivered a little again as he climbed the stairs to his chamber up in the loft room.
CHAPTER 7
JUST AFTER SAINT Bartholomew’s Day Kristin set off on the journey home in the company of a large entourage of children, servants, and possessions. Lavrans rode with her as far as Hjerdkinn.
They went out into the courtyard to talk, he and his daughter, on the morning when he was to head back south. Sunlight sparkled over the mountains; the marshes were already crimson, and the slopes were yellow like gold from the alpine birches. Up on the plateau, lakes alternately glittered and then darkened as shadows from the big, glossy, fair-weather clouds passed overhead. They billowed up incessantly, and then sank down between distant clefts and gaps amid all the gray-domed mountains and blue peaks, with patches of new snow and old snowdrifts, which encircled the view far into the distance. The small grayish-green fields of grain belonging to the travelers’ hostel looked so strange in color against the brilliant autumn hues of the mountains.