“No, no,” said Lavrans. “I’m merely going to the meeting, just like the other king’s men of the valley, because we have been summoned.”
But Smid Gudleikss?n spoke again. It was Lavrans who had persuaded him—and Herstein of Kruke and Trond Gjesling and Guttorm Sneis, as well as others who had not wanted to go.
“Isn’t it the custom to invite guests into the house on this estate?” asked Lavrans. “Now we’ll see whether Kristin brews ale as good as her mother’s.” Erlend looked thoughtful, and Kristin was greatly surprised.
“What’s this about, Father?” she asked some time later, when he went with her to the little house where she had taken the child in order not to disturb the guests.
Lavrans sat and bounced his grandchild on his knee. Naakkve was now ten months old, big and handsome. He had been allowed to wear a tunic and hose since Christmas.
“I’ve never heard of you lending your voice to such matters before, Father,” she said. “You’ve always told me that for the country, and for his subjects, it was best for the king to rule, along with those men he called to his side. Erlend says that this attempt is the work of the noblemen in the south; they want to remove Lady Ingebj?rg from power, along with those men whom her father appointed to advise her. They want to steal back the power they had when King Haakon and his brother were children. But that brought great harm to the kingdom—you’ve said so yourself in the past.”
Lavrans whispered that she should send the nursemaid away. When they were alone, he asked, “Where did Erlend get this information? Did he hear it from Munan?”
Kristin told him that Orm had brought a letter from Sir Munan when he returned home in the fall. She didn’t say that she had read it to Erlend herself—he wasn’t very good at deciphering script. But in the letter Munan had complained bitterly that now every man in Norway who bore a coat of arms thought himself better at ruling the kingdom than those men who had stood at King Haakon’s side when he was alive, and they presumed to have a better understanding of the young king’s welfare than the highborn woman who was his own mother. He had warned Erlend that if there were signs that the Norwegian noblemen had intentions of doing as the Swedes had done in Skara2 last summer, of plotting against Lady Ingebj?rg and her old, trusted advisers, then her kinsmen would stand ready and Erlend should go to meet Munan in Hamar.
“Didn’t he mention,” asked Lavrans as he tapped his finger under Naakkve’s chubby chin, “that I’m one of the men opposed to the unlawful call to arms that Munan has been carrying through the valley, in the name of our king?”
“You!” said Kristin. “Did you meet Munan Baards?n last fall?”
“Yes, I did,” replied Lavrans. “And there was not much agreement between us.”
“Did you talk about me?” asked Kristin swiftly.
“No, my dear Kristin,” said her father, with a laugh. “I can’t recall that your name was mentioned by either of us this time. Do you know whether your husband intends to travel south to meet with Munan Baards?n?”
“I think so,” said Kristin. “Sira Eiliv drafted a letter for Erlend not long ago, and he mentioned that he might soon have to go south.”
Lavrans sat in silence for a moment, looking down at the child, who was fumbling with the hilt of his dagger and trying to bite the rock crystal embedded in it.
“Is it true that they want to take the regency away from Lady Ingebj?rg?” asked Kristin.
“She’s about the same age as you are,” replied her father, a slight smile still on his lips. “No one wants to take from the king’s mother the honor and power that are her birthright. But the archbishop and some of our blessed king’s friends and kinsmen have gathered for a meeting to deliberate how Lady Ingebj?rg’s power and honor and the interests of the people should best be protected.”
Kristin said quietly, “I can see, Father, that you haven’t come to Husaby this time just to see Naakkve and me.”
“No, that was not the only reason,” said Lavrans. Then he laughed. “And I can tell, daughter, that you’re not at all pleased!”
He put his hand up to stroke her face, just as he used to do when she was a little girl, any time he had scolded her or teased her.
In the meantime Sir Erling and Erlend were sitting in the armory—that was what the large storehouse was called which stood on the northeast side of the courtyard, right next to the manor gate. It was as tall as a tower, with three stories; on the top floor there was a room with loopholes in the walls for shooting arrows, and that was where all the weapons were stored which were not in daily use on the farm. King Skule had built this structure.
Sir Erling and Erlend were wearing fur capes because it was bitterly cold in the room. The guest walked around looking at the many splendid weapons and suits of armor which Erlend had inherited from his grandfather, Gaute Erlendss?n.
Erling Vidkunss?n was a rather short man, slight in build and yet quite plump, but he carried himself well and with ease. Handsome he was not, although he had well-formed features. But his hair had a reddish tinge, and his eyelashes and brows were white; even his eyes were a very pale blue. That people nevertheless found Sir Erling to be good-looking was perhaps due to the fact that everyone knew he was the wealthiest knight in Norway. But he also had a distinctly winning and modest demeanor. He was exceptionally intelligent, well educated and learned, but because he never tried to boast of his wisdom and always seemed to be willing to listen to others, he had become known as one of the wisest men in the country. He was the same age as Erlend Nikulauss?n, and they were kinsmen, although distant ones, by way of the Stovreim lineage. They had known each other all their lives, but there had never been a close friendship between the two men.
Erlend sat down on a chest and talked about the ship which he had had built in the summer; it was a thirty-two-oar ship, and he deemed it to be a particularly swift sailing ship and easy to steer. He had hired two shipbuilders from the north, and he had personally overseen the work along with them.
“Ships are among the few things I know something about, Erling,” he said. “You just wait—it will be a beautiful sight to see Margygren cutting through the waves.”
“Margygren—what a fearfully heathen name you’ve given your ship, kinsman,” said Erling with a little laugh. “Is it your intention to travel south in it?”
“Are you as pious as my wife? She calls it a heathen name, too. She doesn’t like the ship much, either, but she’s such an inland person—she can’t stand the sea.”
“Yes, she looks pious and delicate and lovely, your wife,” said Sir Erling courteously. “As one might expect from someone of her lineage.”
“Yes,” said Erlend and laughed. “Not a day passes without her going to mass. And Sira Eiliv, our priest, whom you met, reads to us from the holy books. Reading aloud—that’s what he likes best, after ale and sumptuous food. And the poor people come to Kristin for help and advice. I think they would gladly kiss the hem of her skirts; I can scarcely recognize my own servants anymore. She’s almost like one of the women described in the holy sagas that King Haakon forced us to sit and listen to as the priest read them aloud—do you remember? Back when we were pages? Things have changed a great deal here at Husaby since you visited us last, Erling.”
After a moment he added, “It was odd, by the way, that you were willing to come here that time.”
“You mentioned the days when we were pages together,” said Erling Vidkunss?n with a smile that became him. “We were friends back then, weren’t we? We all expected that you would achieve great things here in Norway, Erlend.”
But Erlend merely laughed. “Yes, I expected as much myself.”
“Couldn’t you sail south with me, Erlend?” asked Sir Erling.
“I was thinking of traveling overland,” replied the other man.