Sir Sigurd of Sundbu had taken a keen liking to his young kinsman. This cousin of hers, whom Kristin had never met until fate led him to the deathbed of Erlend Nikulauss?n, had shown her the greatest loyalty of a kinsman. He stayed at J?rundgaard almost until Christmas and did everything he could to help the widow and her fatherless young boys. The sons of Erlend displayed their gratitude in a noble and courteous manner, but only Gaute drew close to him and had spent a great deal of time at Sundbu since then.
When this nephew of Ivar Gjesling eventually died, the estate would pass out of the hands of his lineage; he was childless, and the Haftorss?ns were his closest descendants. Sir Sigurd was already quite an old man, and he had endured a terrible fate when his young wife lost her wits during her first childbirth. For nearly forty years now he had been married to this madwoman, but he still went in almost daily to see how she was doing. She lived in one of the best houses at Sundbu and had many maids to look after her. “Do you know me today, Gyrid?” her husband would ask. Sometimes she didn’t answer, but other times she said, “I know you well. You’re the prophet Isaiah who lives north at Brotveit, beneath Brotveit Peak.” She always had a spindle at her side. When she was feeling good, she would spin a fine, even yarn, but when things were bad, she would unravel her own work and strew all over the room the wool that her maids had carded. After Gaute had told Kristin about this, she always welcomed her cousin with the most heartfelt kindness when he came to visit. But she declined to go to Sundbu; she hadn’t been there since the day of her wedding.
Gaute Erlendss?n was much smaller in stature than Kristin’s other sons. Between his tall mother and lanky brothers he looked almost short, but he was actually of average height. In general Gaute seemed to have grown larger in all respects now that his two older brothers and the twins, who were born after him, had left. Beside them he had always been a quiet figure. People in the region called him an exceedingly handsome man, and he did have a lovely face. With his flaxen yellow hair and big gray eyes so finely set beneath his brow, with his narrow, suitably full countenance, fresh complexion, and beautiful mouth, he looked much like his grandfather Lavrans. His head was handsomely set on his shoulders, and his hands, which were well shaped and rather large, were unusually strong. But the lower half of his body was a little too short, and he was quite bowlegged. For this reason he always wore his clothing long unless, for the sake of his work, he had to put on a short tunic—although at the time it was more and more thought to be elegant and courtly for men to have their banquet attire cut shorter than in the past. The farmers learned of this fashion from traveling noblemen who passed through the valley. But whenever Gaute Erlendss?n arrived at church or at a feast wearing his ankle-length embroidered green Sabbath surcoat, the silver belt around his waist and the great cape with the squirrel-skin lining thrown back over his shoulders, the people of the parish would turn pleased and gentle eyes on the young master of J?rundgaard. Gaute always carried a magnificent silver-chased axe Lavrans Bj?rg ulfs?n had inherited from his father-in-law, Ivar Gjesling. And everyone thought it splendid to see Gaute Erlendss?n following in the footsteps of his forefathers, even as young as he was, and keeping up the good farming traditions of the past, in his attire, demeanor, and the way he lived.
On horseback Gaute was the handsomest man anyone had ever seen. He was the boldest of riders, and people in the countryside boasted there wasn’t a horse in all of Norway that Gaute couldn’t manage to tame and ride. When he was in Bj?rgvin the year before, he had purportedly mastered a young stallion that no man had ever been able to handle or ride; under Gaute’s hands he was so submissive that he could be ridden without a saddle and with a maiden’s ribbons as reins. But when Kristin asked her son about this story, he merely laughed and refused to talk about it.
Kristin knew that Gaute was reckless in his dealings with women, and this did not please her, but she thought it was mostly because the women treated the handsome young man much too kindly, and Gaute had an open and charming manner. Surely it was largely banter and foolishness; he didn’t take such matters seriously or go about concealing things the way Naakkve had. He came and told his mother himself when he had conceived a child with a young girl over at Sundbu; that had happened two years ago. Kristin heard from Sir Sigurd that Gaute had generously provided the mother with a good dowry, befitting her position, and he wanted to bring the child to J?rundgaard after she had been weaned from her mother’s breast. He seemed to be quite fond of his little daughter; he always went to see her whenever he was at Vaagaa. She was the loveliest child, Gaute proudly reported, and he had had her baptized Magnhild. Kristin agreed that since the boy had sinned, it was best if he brought the child home and became her loyal father. She looked forward with joy to having little Magnhild live with them. But then she died, only a year old. Gaute was greatly distressed when he heard the news, and Kristin thought it sad that she had never seen her little granddaughter.
Kristin had always had a difficult time reprimanding Gaute. He had been so miserable when he was little, and later he had continued to cling to his mother more than the other children had. Then there was the fact that he resembled her father. And he had been so steadfast and trustworthy as a child; with his somber and grown-up manner he had walked at her side and often lent her a well-intentioned helping hand that he, in his childish innocence, thought would be of the greatest benefit to his mother. No, she had never been able to be stern with Gaute; when he did something wrong out of thoughtlessness or the natural ignorance of his years, he never needed more than a few gentle, admonishing words, so sensible and wise the boy was.
When Gaute was two years old, their house priest at Husaby, who had a particularly good understanding of childhood illnesses, advised that the boy be given mother’s milk again, since no other measures had helped. The twins were newborns, and Frida, who was nursing Skule, had much more milk than the infant could consume. But the maid found the poor boy loathsome. Gaute looked terrible, with his big head and thin, wizened body; he could neither speak nor stand on his own. She was afraid he might be a changeling, even though the child had been healthy and fair-looking up until he fell ill at the age of ten months. All the same, Frida refused to put Gaute to her breast, and so Kristin had to nurse him herself, and he was allowed to suckle until he was four winters old.
Since then Frida had never liked Gaute; she was always scolding him, as much as she dared for fear of his mother. Frida now sat next to her mistress on the women’s bench and carried her keys whenever Kristin was away from home. She said whatever she liked to the mistress and her family; Kristin showed her great forbearance and found the woman amusing, even though she was often annoyed with her too. Nevertheless, she always tried to make amends and smooth things over whenever Frida had done something wrong or spoken too coarsely. Now the maid had a hard time accepting that Gaute sat in the high seat and was to be master of the estate. She seemed to consider him no more than a foolish boy; she boasted about his brothers, especially Bj?rgulf and Skule, whom she had nursed, while she mocked Gaute’s short stature and crooked legs. Gaute took it with good humor.
“Well, you know, Frida, if I had nursed at your breast, I would have become a giant just like my brothers. But I had to be content with my mother’s breast.” And he smiled at Kristin.