“Ingebj?rg says she doesn’t want to . . . and I did promise Haakon to dance with him, Father,” said Margret.
Simon Darre had no wish to dance. He stood next to an old woman for a while and watched; now and then his gaze fell on Kristin. While her servants cleared away the dishes, wiped the table, and brought in more liquor and walnuts, Kristin stood at the end of the table. Then she sat down near the fireplace and talked to a priest who was one of the guests. After a while Simon sat down near them.
They had danced to one or two ballads when Erlend came over to his wife. “Come and dance with us, Kristin,” he begged, holding out his hand.
“I’m tired,” she said, looking up for a moment.
“You ask her, Simon. She can’t refuse to dance with you.”
Simon rose halfway and held out his hand, but Kristin shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Simon. I’m so tired. . . .”
Erlend stood there for a moment, looking as if he were embarrassed. Then he went back to Fru Sunniva and took her hand in the circle of dancers as he shouted to Margit that now she should sing for them.
“Who is that dancing next to your stepdaughter?” asked Simon. He thought he didn’t much care for that fellow’s face, even though he was a stalwart and boyish-looking young man with a healthy, tan complexion, fine teeth, and sparkling eyes, but they were set too close to his nose and he had a large, strong mouth and chin, although his face was narrow across the brow. Kristin told him it was Haakon Eindridess?n of Gimsar, the grandson of Tore Ein dridess?n, the sheriff of Gauld?la county. Haakon had recently married the lovely little woman who was sitting on the lap of Judge Olav—he was her godfather. Simon had noticed her because she looked a little like his first wife, although she was not as beautiful. When he now heard that there was kinship between them, he went over and greeted Ingebj?rg and sat down to talk to her.
After a while the dancing broke up. The older folks sat down to drink, but the younger ones continued to sing and frolic out on the floor. Erlend came over to the fireplace along with several elderly gentlemen, but he was still absentmindedly leading Fru Sunniva by the hand. The men sat down near the fire, but there was no room for Sunniva, so she stood in front of Erlend and ate the walnuts he cracked in his hands for her.
“You’re an unchivalrous man, Erlend,” she said suddenly. “There you sit while I have to stand.”
“Then sit down,” said Erlend with a laugh, pulling her down onto his lap. She struggled against him, laughing and shouting to his wife to come and see how her husband was treating her.
“Erlend just does that to be kind,” replied Kristin, laughing too. “My cat can’t rub against his leg without him picking her up and putting her in his lap.”
Erlend and Fru Sunniva remained sitting there as before, feigning nonchalance, but they had both turned crimson. He held his arm lightly around her, as if he hardly noticed she was sitting there, while he and the men talked about the enmity between Erling Vidkunss?n and Chancellor Paal which was so much on everyone’s mind. Erlend said that Paal Baards?n had displayed his attitude toward Erling in quite a womanish way—as they could judge for themselves:
“Last summer a young country boy had come to the gathering of the chieftains to offer his services to the king. Now this poor boy from Vors was so eager to learn courtly customs and manners that he tried to embellish his speech with Swedish words—it was French back when I was young, but today it’s Swedish. So one day the boy asks someone how to say traakig, which happens to mean ‘boring’ in Norwegian. Sir Paal hears this and says: ‘Traakig, my friend, that’s what Sir Erling’s wife, Fru Elin, is.’ The boy now thinks this means beautiful or noble, because that’s what she is, and apparently the poor fellow hadn’t had much opportunity to hear the woman talk. But one day Erling meets him on the stairs outside the hall, and he stops and speaks kindly to the youth, asking him whether he liked being in Nidaros, and such things, and then he tells him to give his greetings to his father. The boy thanks him and says it will please his father greatly when he returns home with greetings ‘from you, kind sir, and your boring wife.’ Whereupon Erling slaps him in the face so the boy tumbles backwards down three or four steps until a servant catches him in his arms. Now there’s a great commotion, people come running, and the matter is finally cleared up. Erling was furious at being made a laughingstock, but he feigned indifference. And the only response from the chancellor was that he laughed and said he should have explained that ‘traakig’ was what the regent was—then the boy couldn’t have misunderstood.”