scrap of light in the roof where the moon shone on the horn pane of the smoke vent.
Fru Aashild lay in the other bed, but Ragnfrid never knew whether she was asleep or awake. Fru Aashild never mentioned that they had known each other in the past, and that frightened Ragnfrid quite badly. She thought she had never felt so bitterly sad or in such an agony of fear as she did now, even though she knew that Lavrans would regain his full health—and that Ulvhild would survive.
Fru Aashild seemed to enjoy talking to Kristin, and for each day that passed, the maiden became better friends with her.
One day when they had gone out to pick herbs, they sat down next to the river in a little grassy clearing at the foot of a scree. They could look down at the courtyard of Formo and see Arne Gyrdsøn’s red shirt. He had ridden over with them and was going to look after their horses while they were up in the mountain meadow gathering herbs.
As they sat there, Kristin told Fru Aashild about her encounter with the dwarf maiden. She hadn’t thought about the incident for many years, but now it suddenly came back to her. And as she spoke, the strange thought occurred to her that there was some resemblance between Fru Aashild and the dwarf woman—even though she realized full well that they did not look at all alike.
But when she had finished telling the story, Fru Aashild sat in silence for a moment and gazed out across the valley.
Finally she said, “It was wise of you to flee, since you were only a child back then. But haven’t you ever heard of people who took the gold the dwarf offered them, and then trapped the troll in a rock afterward?”
“I’ve heard of such stories,” said Kristin, “but I would never dare do that myself. And I don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s good when you don’t dare do something that doesn’t seem right,” said Fru Aashild with a little laugh. “But it’s not so good if you think something isn’t right because you don’t dare do it.” Then she added abruptly, “You’ve grown up a great deal this summer. I wonder if you realize how lovely you’ve become.”
“Yes, I know,” said Kristin. “They say I look like my father.”
Fru Aashild laughed softly.
“Yes, it would be best if you took after Lavrans, both in temperament and appearance. And yet it would be a shame if they married you to someone up here in the valley. Farming customs and the ways of smallholders should not be disdained, but these gentry up here all think they’re so grand that their equals are not to be found in all of Norway. I’m sure they wonder how I can manage to live and prosper even though they’ve closed their doors to me. But they’re lazy and arrogant and refuse to learn new ways—and then they blame everything on the old enmity with the monarchy in the time of King Sverre. 1 It’s all a lie—your ancestor reconciled with King Sverre and accepted gifts from him. But if your mother’s brother wanted to serve the king and join his retinue, then he would have to cleanse himself, both inside and out, which is not something Trond is willing to do. But you, Kristin, you ought to marry a man who is both chivalrous and courtly. . . .”
Kristin sat staring down at the Formo courtyard, at Arne’s red back. She hadn’t been aware of it herself, but whenever Fru Aashild talked about the world she had frequented in the past, Kristin always pictured the knights and counts in Arne’s image. Before, when she was a child, she had always envisioned them in her father’s image.
“My nephew, Erlend Nikulaussøn of Husaby—now he would have been a suitable bridegroom for you. He has grown up to be so handsome, that boy. My sister Magnhild came to visit me last year when she was on her way through the valley, and she brought her son along with her. Well, you won’t be able to marry him, of course, but I would have gladly spread the blanket over the two of you in the wedding bed. His
Fru Aashild lay in the other bed, but Ragnfrid never knew whether she was asleep or awake. Fru Aashild never mentioned that they had known each other in the past, and that frightened Ragnfrid quite badly. She thought she had never felt so bitterly sad or in such an agony of fear as she did now, even though she knew that Lavrans would regain his full health—and that Ulvhild would survive.
Fru Aashild seemed to enjoy talking to Kristin, and for each day that passed, the maiden became better friends with her.
One day when they had gone out to pick herbs, they sat down next to the river in a little grassy clearing at the foot of a scree. They could look down at the courtyard of Formo and see Arne Gyrdsøn’s red shirt. He had ridden over with them and was going to look after their horses while they were up in the mountain meadow gathering herbs.
As they sat there, Kristin told Fru Aashild about her encounter with the dwarf maiden. She hadn’t thought about the incident for many years, but now it suddenly came back to her. And as she spoke, the strange thought occurred to her that there was some resemblance between Fru Aashild and the dwarf woman—even though she realized full well that they did not look at all alike.
But when she had finished telling the story, Fru Aashild sat in silence for a moment and gazed out across the valley.
Finally she said, “It was wise of you to flee, since you were only a child back then. But haven’t you ever heard of people who took the gold the dwarf offered them, and then trapped the troll in a rock afterward?”
“I’ve heard of such stories,” said Kristin, “but I would never dare do that myself. And I don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s good when you don’t dare do something that doesn’t seem right,” said Fru Aashild with a little laugh. “But it’s not so good if you think something isn’t right because you don’t dare do it.” Then she added abruptly, “You’ve grown up a great deal this summer. I wonder if you realize how lovely you’ve become.”
“Yes, I know,” said Kristin. “They say I look like my father.”
Fru Aashild laughed softly.
“Yes, it would be best if you took after Lavrans, both in temperament and appearance. And yet it would be a shame if they married you to someone up here in the valley. Farming customs and the ways of smallholders should not be disdained, but these gentry up here all think they’re so grand that their equals are not to be found in all of Norway. I’m sure they wonder how I can manage to live and prosper even though they’ve closed their doors to me. But they’re lazy and arrogant and refuse to learn new ways—and then they blame everything on the old enmity with the monarchy in the time of King Sverre. 1 It’s all a lie—your ancestor reconciled with King Sverre and accepted gifts from him. But if your mother’s brother wanted to serve the king and join his retinue, then he would have to cleanse himself, both inside and out, which is not something Trond is willing to do. But you, Kristin, you ought to marry a man who is both chivalrous and courtly. . . .”
Kristin sat staring down at the Formo courtyard, at Arne’s red back. She hadn’t been aware of it herself, but whenever Fru Aashild talked about the world she had frequented in the past, Kristin always pictured the knights and counts in Arne’s image. Before, when she was a child, she had always envisioned them in her father’s image.
“My nephew, Erlend Nikulaussøn of Husaby—now he would have been a suitable bridegroom for you. He has grown up to be so handsome, that boy. My sister Magnhild came to visit me last year when she was on her way through the valley, and she brought her son along with her. Well, you won’t be able to marry him, of course, but I would have gladly spread the blanket over the two of you in the wedding bed. His
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