The Knight by Margit Sandemo

Author:Margit Sandemo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jentas A/S
Published: 2017-09-06T13:21:45+00:00

The evening lay heavy over Graastensholm. Everyone was dancing in the great hall; it was stiflingly hot; the peasants’ fine clothes gave off an animal smell – but what did that matter? Everybody was having a good time!

The new dances that were in vogue at the courts of Europe had not yet reached the parish of Graastensholm, and it would probably be many years before they did. People in the great hall performed a wonderful mixture of peasant dances, folk dances and simple round dances.

Villemo and Dominic had taken part in the feast and enjoyed every moment; maybe, slightly ashamed that they were conscious of the social divide, they acted even jollier than they felt. But they had enjoyed themselves. At the other end of the great hall they could see Ulvhedin with his Elisa. She had young Jon with her and couldn’t care less that a baby barely six months old ought not to be up this late. There were many small children around the walls, hoping that their parents wouldn’t notice them for a while. Today was one of the best days of the year.

Villemo saw that Ulvhedin bent to straighten the blanket around little Jon’s feet. What a difference from the wild animal they had met up there on Norefjell. She felt almost shocked. It was as if it was only now that she registered his alteration. It was very much thanks to her, and she was proud of that.

A kind of sour understanding had developed between Villemo and Ulvhedin. They never admitted to one another that they would be friends until death. There was much sarcasm and they loved to hurl hard and acid comments at one another. Neither of them would yield in the tremendous battle of wits they conducted all the time. Now and then, their eyes would meet in wonderful humour, and then they felt, right at their core, how well they understood one another and how wonderfully they thrived in each other’s company. They were both in happy marriages so there was no erotic tension between them. Just something as rare as a friendship for life.

But admit that openly? Never! They both had their pride. Moreover, they probably feared that such an admission would put an end to their magnificent banter. That was something they didn’t want to lose for the world.

The young people, led by a clever lead singer, began singing the oldest folk song of the Nordic countries – in the whole of Europe, in fact: the Song of Roland. Dominic and Villemo were hot and tired so they just wanted to watch and listen to the exciting, heavy stomping and the pagan, raw text with its orgies of Old Norse diphthongs, sung in a minor key.

There was agitation down by the door. Somebody had entered, clearly enquiring about something. What he said seemed to make people angry.

The dancing went on, blocking the view. The lead singer sang and the refrain echoed through the great hall. The song had reached the part about the Battle at Roncesvalles – or Ronsarvollen, which had become its Nordic name.

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