Kristin sat and looked at her twin sons as Jamm?lt talked. They looked more and more like their father: Silky, fine soot-black hair clung smoothly to their heads, although it curled a bit across their brows and down the back of their slender tan necks. They had thin faces with long, jutting noses and delicate, small mouths with a knot of muscle at each corner. But their chins were blunter and broader and their eyes were darker than Erlend’s. And above all else, his eyes were what had made Erlend so astoundingly handsome, his wife now thought. When he opened them in that lean, dark face beneath the pitch-black hair, they were so unexpectedly clear and light blue.
But now there was a glint of steely blue in the eyes of the young boys when Skule replied to his uncle. He was the one who usually spoke for both twins.
“We thank you for this fine offer, kinsman. But we have already spoken with Sir Munan and Inge and sought the advice of our older brothers, and we have come to an agreement with Inge and his father. These men are our closest kin of Father’s lineage; we will go south with Inge and intend to stay at his estate this summer and for some time to come.”
That evening the boys came downstairs to the main room to speak to Kristin after she had gone to bed.
“We hope that you will understand, Mother,” said Ivar Er lendss?n.
“We refuse to beg for the help and friendship of kin from those men who sat in silence and watched our father wrongly suffer,” added Skule.
Their mother nodded.
It seemed to her that her sons had acted properly. She realized that Jamm?lt was a sensible and fair-minded man, and his offer had been well intended, but she was pleased the boys were loyal to their father. And yet she could never have imagined that her sons would one day come to serve the son of Brynhild Fluga.
The twins left with Inge Fluga as soon as Ivar was strong enough to ride. It was very quiet at the manor after they were gone. Their mother remembered that at this time the year before, she lay in bed in the weaving room with a newborn child; it seemed to her like a dream. Such a short time ago she had felt so young, with her soul stirred up by the yearnings and sorrows of a young woman, by hopes and hatreds and love. Now her flock had shrunk to four sons, and in her soul the only thing stirring was an uneasiness for the grown young men. In the silence that descended upon J?rundgaard after the departure of the twins, her fear for Bj?rgulf flared up with bright flames.
When guests arrived, he and Naakkve moved to the old hearth house. Bj?rgulf would get out of bed in the daytime, but he had still not been outdoors. With deep fear Kristin noticed that Bj?rg ulf was always sitting in the same spot; he never walked around, he hardly moved at all when she came to see him. She knew that his eyes had grown worse during his last illness. Naakkve was terribly quiet, but he had been that way ever since his father’s death, and he seemed to avoid his mother as much as he could.
Finally one day she gathered her courage and asked her eldest son how things now stood with Bj?rgulf’s eyesight. For a while Naakkve gave only evasive replies, but at last she demanded that her son tell her the truth.
Naakkve said, “He can still make out strong light—” All at once the young man’s face lost all color; abruptly he turned away and left the room.
Much later that day, after Kristin had wept until she was so weary that she thought she could trust herself to speak calmly with her son, she went over to the old house.
Bj?rgulf was lying in bed. As soon as she came in and sat down on the edge of his bed, she could tell by his face that he knew she had spoken to Naakkve.
“Mother. You mustn’t cry, Mother,” he begged fearfully.
What she most wanted to do was to fling herself at her son, gather him into her arms, and weep over him, grieving over his harsh fate. But she merely slipped her hand into his under the coverlet.
“God is sorely testing your manhood, my son,” she said hoarsely.
Bj?rgulf’s expression changed, becoming firm and resolute. But it took a moment before he could speak.
“I’ve known for a long time, Mother, that this was what I was destined to endure. Even back when we were at Tautra . . . Brother Aslak spoke to me about it and said that if things should go in such a way . . .
“The way our Lord Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, he said. He told me that the true wilderness for a Christian man’s soul was when his sight and senses were blocked—then he would follow the footsteps of the Lord out of the wilderness, even if his body was still with his brothers or kinsmen. He read to me from the books of Saint Bernard about such things. And when a soul realizes that God has chosen him for such a difficult test of his manhood, then he shouldn’t be afraid that he won’t have the strength. God knows my soul better than the soul knows itself.”