The Wreath (Kristin Lavransdatter #1)(25)
Christmas was a sad time that year. Ulvhild was still unable to stand on her own. And they neither saw nor heard from their kinsmen at Sundbu. Kristin noticed that people in the village were talking about the rift and that her father took it to heart. But her mother didn’t care, and Kristin thought this was callous of her.
One evening toward the end of the holidays, Sira Sigurd, Trond Gjesling’s house priest, arrived in a big sleigh, and his primary mission was to invite them all to visit Sundbu.
Sira Sigurd was not well liked in the surrounding villages, for he was the one who actually managed Trond’s properties for him—or at least he was the one who was blamed whenever Trond acted harshly or unjustly, and Trond tended to plague his tenants somewhat. The priest was exceedingly clever at writing and figuring; he knew the law and was a skilled doctor, although not as skilled as he thought. But judging by his behavior, no one would think him a clever man; he often said foolish things. Ragnfrid and Lavrans had never liked him, but the Sundbu people, as was reasonable, set great store by their priest, and both they and he were greatly disappointed that he had not been called on to tend to Ulvhild.
On the day that Sira Sigurd came to J?rundgaard—unfortunately for him—Fru Aashild and Herr Bj?rn were already there, as were Sira Eirik, Arne’s parents Gyrd and Inga of Finsbrekken, Old Jon from Loptsgaard, and a friar from Hamar, Brother Aasgaut.
While Ragnfrid had the tables set once more with food for the guests and Lavrans pored over the boxes of sealed letters that the priest had brought, Sira Sigurd asked to see Ulvhild. She had already been put to bed for the night and was sleeping, but Sira Sigurd woke her up, examined her back and limbs, and asked her questions—at first kindly enough, but with increasing impatience as Ulvhild grew frightened. Sigurd was a small man, practically a dwarf, but he had a big, flame-red face. When he tried to lift her onto the floor to test her legs, Ulvhild began to scream. Then Fru Aashild stood up, went over to the bed, and covered her with the blanket, saying that the child was sleepy—she wouldn’t have been able to stand up even if her legs were healthy.
The priest began to protest vehemently; he was also considered a capable doctor. But Fru Aashild took his hand, led him over to the high seat2 at the table, and started talking about what she had done for Ulvhild as she asked his opinion on everything. Then he grew more amenable, and he ate and drank of Ragnfrid’s good repast.
But when the ale and wine began to go to his head, Sira Sigurd was once again in a foul mood, quarrelsome and bad tempered. He was quite aware that no one in the room liked him. First he turned to Gyrd, who was the envoy of the Bishop of Hamar at Vaage and Sil. There had been numerous disputes between the bishopric and Trond Ivars?n. Gyrd didn’t say much, but Inga was a hot-tempered woman, and then Brother Aasgaut joined in the discussion.
He said, “You shouldn’t forget, Sira Sigurd, that our worthy Father Ingjald is your prelate too; we know all about you in Hamar. You revel in all that is good at Sundbu, and give little thought to the fact that you are dedicated to other work than acting as Trond’s eye-servant, helping him do everything that is unjust so that he endangers his own soul and diminishes the power of the Church. Haven’t you ever heard about what happens to those disobedient and unfaithful priests who contravene their own spiritual fathers and superiors? Don’t you know about the time when the angels led Saint Thomas of Canterbury to the gates of Hell and let him peek inside? He was greatly surprised not to see any of those who had opposed him as you oppose your bishop. He was just about to praise God’s mercy, for the holy man wished all sinners to be saved, when the angel asked the Devil to lift his tail. With a tremendous roar and a horrid stench of sulfur, out spewed all the priests and learned men who had betrayed the interests of the Church. And then he saw where all of them had ended up.”
“You’re lying, monk,” said the priest. “I’ve heard that story too, but it was friars, not priests, who were spewed out of the Devil’s behind like wasps from a wasp’s nest.”
Old Jon laughed louder than all the servants and cried, “No doubt it was both, I’ll bet it was....”
“Then the Devil must have a very wide tail,” said Bj?rn Gunnars?n.
And Fru Aashild smiled and said, “Yes, haven’t you heard it said that everything bad has a long rump dragging behind?”
“You be quiet, Fru Aashild,” shouted Sira Sigurd. “You shouldn’t talk about the long rump that bad people drag behind them. Here you sit as if you were the mistress of the house instead of Ragnfrid. But it’s odd that you haven’t been able to cure her child—don’t you have any more of that powerful water you used to use? The water that could make a dismembered sheep whole again in the soup pot and turn a woman into a maiden in the bridal bed? I know all about that wedding here in the village when you prepared the bath for the despoiled bride....”
Sira Eirik jumped up, grabbed the other priest by the shoulder and flank, and threw him right across the table so that pitchers and cups toppled and food and drink spilled onto the table-cloths and floor. Sira Sigurd landed flat on his back, his clothing torn.
Eirik leaped over the table and was about to strike him again, bellowing over the din, “Shut your filthy trap, you damned priest!”
Lavrans tried to separate them, but Ragnfrid stood at the table, as white as a corpse, wringing her hands. Then Fru Aashild ran over and helped Sira Sigurd to his feet and wiped the blood from his face.