The Son Avenger (30 page)

“No, no.” He shook her hand off. “I had not thought of that.”

“Come up now,” Eldrid begged him. “Do not go moping here in the rain.”

Eirik looked at her; then, rather unwillingly, he went back with the woman.

She had heaped fuel on the fire—the light of the flames played over the walls and roof in the low room with the heavy beams
under which a grown man could not stand upright, except under the roof-tree. Eirik drank a little of the milk she offered him, absently thinking it was not so ill to have the fireplace in the corner, as here—the rain did not fall into the fire when the smoke-vent was open as now.

“Let us go to rest,” Eldrid then said. “You need no more ride out at night.”

Eirik undressed, so far as was his habit. But then he remained sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed, with his arm around the carved horse’s head, staring at the embers that shrank together in the fireplace. Eldrid already lay under the skins in her bed. “Lie down now,” she bade him more than once, and Eirik answered: “Yes,” but stayed where he was.

Then she sprang out again and came over to him, barefooted, in her coarse, dark under-kirtle. She seized him by the shoulders, forced him to sit upright, so sharply that his neck struck against the log of the wall.

“Do not sit staring like this!” she said impatiently. “You have not a little to learn yet, Eirik!”

“Learn—” He took hold of her wrist. “Shall I learn of you maybe?”

She looked down into his distorted face. Her nostrils expanded and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, ay—I could teach you much—”

Then he pulled her down to him, crushed her broken lips with kisses.

E
VER
since he was at the convent Eirik had been used to wake at the time when the brethren rose to go to matins. And he did the same now, when he slept in Eldrid’s arms.

Now the caller passed through the dormitory whispering
“Benedicamus Domino,”
and the friars answered softly:
“Deo gratias,”
as they slipped from their pallets. He himself had been one of those who filed quietly down into the bright choir to sing the hymn of praise at daybreak; he himself had knelt and prayed from the first faint streak of dawn until the sun ruled in all its
power and all men had gone to their labour. And now he had strayed hither, and what this woman had taught him was such that he had felt a blast of the heat of hell.—And yet, he thought, with a strange rigour of pain, what had befallen him was a destiny that had been laid on him from his birth, and now it was accomplished. More and more clearly he felt the familiarity of this forest wilderness: it had all been in his dream—even the little cornfield with the withered bush fence about it; in his dream he had ridden the bay, when Leman came flying on her broad blue wings, plucked him from his horse, and flung herself upon him with the wild, hot caresses that terrified him. Ay, now she had him under her wings, had beak and claws in him, struck at his heart and drank his life-blood.

He knew of no return. This time he could not tear himself away from Leman and fly as in his dream—he had no strength for that now. Of the women he had possessed, she was the first he loved—and the first who had desired
him
and not a penny in reward. And then—to ride away from her one day and leave her alone, deserted and in want, that he could never bring himself to do.

And in the midst of his misfortune it dawned upon him—this was not the end. He had been drawn down into evil before, but he had been saved, his feet had been set on the firm rock and he had been made a freer man than before. And He who had saved him then would save him again. From his destiny no man can fly, but above his destiny is God. And so in what had befallen him it could not have been designed that Leman should strike her beak into his heart and drink him dry and empty, but he began to think he might be called to set free Leman from her semblance.

It had lasted for more than a week. He continued to work for Eldrid in the daytime, and he had become acquainted with his three house-mates, the hag, the herdboy, and Holgeir, Eldrid’s old kinsman. They seemed not to be surprised—folk were not likely to be surprised at anything with Eldrid. Nor was he himself surprised, somehow—all that lay between his childhood in the forest and the present, when the forest had recaptured him, seemed like a dream.

Once or twice he had taken bow and arrows—the house was well furnished with arms; when he asked Eldrid who was their owner, she merely answered: “I.” Then he went hunting.

He came home toward noon on the tenth day after Guttorm’s visit to the Ness, bringing Eldrid two wood-grouse. Then he asked her abruptly, with no beating about the bush:

“Will you marry me, Eldrid?”

Eldrid gave a little laugh. “No, I will not.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know how many men I have had?” she asked mockingly.

“Scarce so many, I warrant, as that Mary of Magdala.”

“Ho, ho! Is that your aim? You may spare yourself the trouble, Eirik. A monk too I have had—when I made him go the way I would, he was the worst of all.”

“Ay, that is likely enough,” said Eirik. “Since he had broken a holy vow. But none can say that of me—it must be held that Gunhild has released me from all oaths and promises.”

Eldrid had dropped her work and stood staring at her young lover.

“Well, how had you thought this would end?” asked Eirik.

“Oh—some I drove away when I grew tired of them—others were tired of me first and went of themselves. Which it will be with you I have not yet thought.”

“Eldrid,” said Eirik, “I have seen it in your eyes, every time I took the bow and went into the woods, you were afraid I would not come back.”

She stared at him, red and speechless. But then she broke out:

“Afraid! Ay, ’tis true—and think you I am afraid to be afraid? Did you know—I learned what it is to be afraid while you were yet sucking your mother’s breasts—afraid!” Eldrid’s great eyes flashed. “Take yourself off, little lad, when you will, and go back to saying your hours and creeping to the cross and doing penance—not for me! I prayed, the day I rode as a bride to Harald’s house—the storm came upon us on the way, I prayed God to send his lightning and save me. I prayed Mary Virgin—to take me in her keeping—I too was a virgin of fourteen years as she was when the angel visited her. I prayed her send the angel with the flaming sword and save me. It had struck the great ash in Castle Cleft, we saw the marks of the lightning in the grass as we rode up; but there was no mercy for me. And you talk to me of being afraid—” She stalked hither and thither in the little room.

“You
say ‘afraid’ to me—I think ’twould scare you from your
wits were I to tell you all the vengeance I took upon Harald, with his own house-carls, before his eyes, while he lay palsied and speechless. That might have been enough—the rest I have regretted; maybe ’twas stupid, not worth the pains—after Harald was dead and his children had driven me out and I dwelt at Sigurdstad wasting myself and my estate—but I rejoice whenever I recall Harald, as he lay there babbling and glaring—”

Eldrid stood facing Eirik, with a sneer on her dry, brown lips. “Go! You are afraid of
me
now—milksop, puny creature that you are—your face is grey and white as a flock of wool!”

Eirik shook his head. “I am not afraid.” He smiled faintly. “And I mean to stay here and be married to you.”

Some evenings later, when old Holgeir was with them in the room, Eirik said to him:

“I have asked Eldrid if she will marry me. She is a widow and can dispose of herself, but ’twere better she acted in accord with one of her kinsmen. Therefore I now ask you.”

Holgeir answered that if Eirik would make him a promise in the presence of witnesses that he should remain here in the same condition, even if Eldrid took a husband, he would give his consent. To this Eirik agreed.

When Holgeir had gone out he turned to Eldrid. “Say yes, you too—’twill be tiresome for both you and me to be talking for ever of the same thing.”

Eldrid replied hotly: “You are like the witless beasts, Eirik, like a horse or a steer; ’tis vain to try to save them from the fire—they run straight back into the flames.”

“May I take that for consent?” asked Eirik with a little laugh.

“Take it for what you will!”

Then he sold to Holgeir the little silver chain with a cross on it which he had worn round his neck under his clothes since he was a boy, and bought meal and malt. Eldrid brewed and baked and they killed a calf; she made preparations for the betrothal feast with a gloomy air and strange words, but every time he held her in his arms he knew why she was thus—it was because he now had power over her: she still thought this marriage was madness, but she could not lose him.

One night she asked him: “What will you do with me when you go back home to Hestviken?”

“’Tis not sure it will ever be ours to dwell there, so long as Father lives,” said Eirik. “But you have had a greater manor than that under you ere now.”

She was so thin when he pressed her to him that it made him think of grouse he had sometimes shot—they had once been winged, but had lived on and supported themselves in a fashion long after.

Just before marrying, then, Eirik invited the neighbours to a feast, and then he went off to the parish priest at Saana church. Eirik had lent Holgeir the bay, and himself walked behind with the two peasants from the little farms up in the woods.

Holgeir was spokesman. Eirik gave his name and his father’s name and his home parish. Sira Jon promised to publish the banns of marriage in lawful manner and he also promised to come to the betrothal feast.

It was held three days before Knut’s mass
²
and all went well. Eirik betrothed Eldrid with his ring; for surety’s sake he turned his words so as to say: “I take you to wife,” so that he might be sure the marriage was now made, since he had already lived with the woman. Eldrid used the same form of words in her response.

Sira Jon then said some prayers, blessed them with holy water, blessed the company and the food. The feast passed off right well. The poor peasants who were witnesses seemed to have known but little of their neighbour ere now, but they made good cheer at her table. The priest was allotted the high seat; now that he and his two assistants had removed their white vestments he grew very talkative and very cheerful. He was himself the son of a poor peasant of the neighbouring parish, and he had often been at the Ness in his childhood, for it was of his aunt’s husband that Benedikt Bersesson had bought the farm for his sister. He boasted greatly of what the Ness had been in those days and gave Eirik good advice as to what he ought to do now that he was to be master here, at the same time enjoining him to show gratitude to God for having been raised to such prosperity.

It dawned on Eirik that the priest took him to be a man of naught who had taken service here and was now to get a farm
and a wife who came of great folk, though she was somewhat the worse for wear. All the guests thought the same—they had seen him working here in a rough frock that Eldrid had made for him and shoes of rawhide that he had made for himself. None but Eldrid and Holgeir knew more of him than that. This roused all his old love of giving play to his fancy—he grew very free and said not a word that might lead any of them to suspect the truth, but talked and behaved as though he were a poor serving-man who was now being received into the ranks of landowners.

The priest said among other things that nowhere in the land was better fish to be found than in this lake, especially the perch. Eirik promised to render his fishing-tithes well and duly, and said that if one day he caught some fine perch in his nets he would bring the priest a little present.

The banns had been called twice for Eirik and Eldrid. But one morning during the week before the third time of asking, Eirik had a great catch of fine fish in his nets, and so he thought he would now fulfil his promise to the priest and bring him some fresh fish for the fast-day. He strung the biggest of the perch together, took his horse, and rode off.

But no sooner had he entered the door of the priest’s house than Sira Jon came at him, looking as if the eyes would start from his head; he took the string of fish and flung it away, as though it were a string of vipers:

“Man of ill omen—you have befooled me abominably and made sport of me—so you are none other than the only son of Olav Audunsson of Hestviken!” He waved his hands in dismay.

“Nay, Sira, have I befooled you? I told you my name and my father’s name and where I came from—”

“Ay, Eirik and Olav—there are many of those names. Then I send word to your parish priest, to know if you were unmarried and in no affinity to the woman—and this is what I hear!”

“Ay, but you cannot possibly have heard of any lawful hindrance?”

“His only son besides, and heir to an estate—and you will be married to Eldrid Bersesdatter!”

“Ay,” smiled Eirik, “since I hold myself to be an equal mate for her.”

At this Sira Jon exclaimed that never in this world would he
say their bridal mass, nor would he publish the banns the third time.

“That you have no right to refuse us, Sira!”

“Right—ay, I know you have had your nose inside a convent and have smelled at the books they had there—you may complain to Dean Peter or to the Bishop, if you dare!”

All that Eirik could say was of no avail—that he had long been of full age and that Eldrid was a widow and had betrothed herself to him by the counsel of a kinsman, and that their cohabitation was already binding marriage by the law of the Church and could not be dissolved without mortal sin; and since neither Olav nor Berse were sheep of his flock, he could not see why the priest was so afraid of them. It was all of no use, even when he tried to tempt Sira Jon, promising to remember him when once he was master of Hestviken.

So nothing came of the wedding. Eirik cared little—since Eldrid seemed not to take it to heart. What had been done was enough to satisfy the law of God, according to which they were husband and wife; and what view the law of the land might take of their cohabitation mattered little, as yet anyway.