The Bishop rubbed his nose uncertainly and remarked that such zeal was understandable in a young man, but that the hour was late, and that it might perhaps be more advisable to postpone the meeting until after the baptism. In the end, however, he allowed himself to be persuaded, summoned one of his deacons, and bade him rouse four men, go with them to the Lady Ermentrude, greet her from the Bishop, and beg her, despite the lateness of the hour, to permit them to bring King Harald’s daughter to him.
“I have done my best to keep her safe from the eyes of men,” he continued when the deacon had left them, “which was very necessary with a girl of her comeliness in such a place as this is, now that the King and his court and all his soldiers have taken up residence here. She is lodged with the blessed Queen Bertha’s nuns, hard by this abbey; and a troublesome guest she has proved to be, despite the fact that all the nuns treat her most affectionately. Twice she has tried to escape, because, so she said, the life wearied her; and on one occasion, not so long ago, she inflamed the lust of two young men of good family who had caught a glimpse of her in the nuns’ garden and had managed to exchange words with her over the wall. Such was the passion that she aroused in them that they climbed into the convent grounds early one morning, accompanied by their servants and henchmen, and fought a duel with swords among the nuns’ flowerbeds to decide which of them should have the right of wooing her. They fought so desperately that in the end they both had to be carried away, bleeding fearfully from their wounds, while she sat at her window laughing to see such sport. Conduct of this nature is unseemly in a convent, for it may infect the pious sisters’ souls and do them great harm. But I confess that her behavior seems to me to be the result of thoughtlessness rather than of evil intentions.”
“Did they both die?” asked Orm.
“No,” replied the Bishop. “They recovered, though their wounds were grave. I myself joined in the prayers for them. I was sick and weary at the time and felt it a heavy burden to have such a charge upon my hands. I admonished her severely and begged her to accept the hand of one or other of the men, seeing that they had fought so desperately for her sake and were both of noble birth. I told her that I should die easier in my mind if I could see her wedded first. But on hearing this she fell into a frenzy and declared that, since both the young men were still living, their duel could not have been very seriously fought, and that she would hear no more of their suits. She said she preferred the sort of man whose enemies needed no prayers or bandages after fighting. It was then that I heard her mention your name.”
The Bishop smiled benevolently at Orm and bade him not to neglect his ale.
“I had other troubles to contend with in this affair,” he continued, “for the Abbess, the pious Lady Ermentrude, had it in her mind to birch the girl on her bare skin for having incited these men to combat. But seeing that my poor godchild was only a guest in the convent, and a king’s daughter to boot, I succeeded in dissuading her from pursuing this extreme course. It was not an easy task, for abbesses are, in general, unwilling to listen to counsel and have little confidence in the wisdom of men, even when they happen to be bishops. In the end, however, she mitigated her sentence to three days’ prayer and fasting, and I think it was probably fortunate that she did so. True it is that the pious Lady Ermentrude is a woman of adamant will and no mean strength of body, being broader in the loins than most of her sex; none the less, God alone can say with certainty which of their two skins would have smarted the more had she attempted to bring the birch to King Harald’s daughter. My poor godchild might have prevailed, and so have fallen even further from grace.”
“The first time she and I spoke together,” said Orm, “it was plain to me that she had never tasted the rod, though I doubted not that she had sometimes deserved it. As I saw more of her, though, the question ceased to trouble me; and I think I shall be able to manage her, even though she may occasionally prove obstinate.”
“The wise King Solomon,” said the Bishop, “observed that a beautiful woman who lacks discipline is like a sow with a gold ring in her snout. This may well be true, for King Solomon was knowledgeable on the subject of women; and sometimes, when her behavior has troubled me, I have been sadly reminded of his words. On the other hand, and it has often surprised me that this is so, I have never found it easy to feel angry toward her. I like to think that her conduct reflects no more than the frenzy and intemperance of youth; and it may be that, as you say, you will be able to curb her without resorting to chastisement, even when she is your wife.”
“There is a further point worth considering,” said Brother Willibald. “I have often observed that women tend to become more tractable after they have borne their first three or four children. Indeed, I have heard married men say that if God had not ordered it so, the state of wedlock would not be easy to endure.”
Orm and the Bishop expressed their agreement with this observation. Then they heard footsteps approaching the door, and Ylva entered. It was dark in the Bishop’s chamber, for no lamps had yet been lighted; but she straightway recognized Orm and ran toward him crying excitedly. The Bishop, however, despite his years, sprang nimbly to his feet and placed himself between them, with his arms stretched wide.
“Not so, not so!” he cried importunately. “In God’s name, calm yourself, dear child! Enter not into lewd embraces in the sight of priests and in the sacred precincts of an abbey! Besides which, he is not yet baptized. Have you forgotten that?”
Ylva tried to push the Bishop aside, but he stood his ground manfully, and Brother Willibald ran to his assistance and seized her by the arm. She ceased struggling and smiled happily at Orm over the Bishop’s shoulder.
“Orm!” she said. “I saw the ships row up the river and knew that men from Denmark were aboard. Then I saw a red beard next to the helmsman of one of them and began to weep, for it looked like you and yet I knew that it could not be you. And the old woman would not let me come to see.”
She rested her head upon the Bishop’s shoulder and began to shake with weeping.
Orm moved toward her, and stroked her hair, but he did not well know what to say, for he knew little about women’s tears.
“I shall thrash the old woman if you so wish it,” he said. “Only promise me that you will not be sad.”
The Bishop tried to edge him away and to persuade Ylva to sit down, speaking soothing words to her.
“My poor child,” he said, “do not weep. You have been alone in a foreign land among strange people, but God has been good to you. Seat yourself on this bench, and you shall have hot wine with honey in it. Brother Willibald shall go at once to prepare it, and there shall be plenty of honey in it; and bright lights also shall be lit. And you shall taste strange nuts from the southland, called almonds, which my good brother the Abbot has given me. You may eat as many of them as you wish to.”
Ylva seated herself, drew her arm across her face, and burst into a loud and merry peal of laughter.
“The old man is as much a fool as you are, Orm,” she said, “though he is the best god-man I have yet come across. He thinks I am unhappy and that he can comfort me with nuts. But even in his kingdom of heaven I do not think there can be many people who are as full of joy as I am at this moment.”
Wax candles were brought in, fair and gleaming, and Brother Willibald followed with the mulled wine. He poured it out into a beaker of green glass, announcing as he did so that it must be drunk at once for its strength and flavor to be fully appreciated; and none of them dared to say that it should be otherwise.
Orm said:
“Fair the glow
Of gleaming candles,
Roman glass
And god-men’s goodness;