Free The Son Avenger by Sigrid Undset

But he had never dreamed that he who had defiled her was Death.
    Cecilia came into the room with red eyes next morning. Nay, Bothild had slept but little, she answered—nay, she had not spokeneither, seemed to have no strength for that—she must have lost more blood this time than ever before.
    Cecilia took the clothes that her brother had worn the evening before. “I will take charge of these and have them washed clean.”
    “’Twill be best for me to take myself away now,” said Eirik doubtfully—“back to Sir Ragnvald—since you have sickness in the house—”
    “Is there any need for that?” asked Cecilia in surprise.
    Eirik said the same to his father when he met him later in the day. Olav gave a start—looked at Eirik so strangely that the young man felt all his old fear of his father awakening. What if
he
had guessed—or Bothild had said something to him. Eirik turned red, and was furious with his father for causing him to blush. Olav answered not a word, but went out.
    Two days later Eirik was ready for the road.
    He wished to set out early in the day; so he had to go and visit Bothild—he must bid her farewell before he left the manor.
    She lay with red roses in her cheeks, but when he came near the bed, he saw that her face had sunk in, especially under the eyes. She had been holding a rosary in her hands; now she hid it hastily under the coverlet. Eirik felt a choking pang of grief as he saw it.
    The sharp and acrid odour of sweat that had inflamed him sooh, now he knew what it meant; in the wasting sickness they sweat so profusely, for it devours them with the heat within. And that little cough of hers which had vexed him so—
    He stood still, resting both hands on the hilt of his sword. He found it impossible to say anything—if he were to ask her forgiveness, there would be no end to it. Rather would he have thrown himself on his knees, laid his head on her sick bosom.
    “You must not believe worse things of me than—My intent was not so evil as it must have seemed. With all my faults I am not such as you believe me now.”
    The sick girl lay looking at him with great dark eyes.
    “You must tell me, Bothild—can you forgive me?”
    “Yes,” was all she answered. Eirik waited yet a little while.
    Then he went right up to the bed, took her hand—it was cold and clammy.
    “Fare you well, then.” He ventured so far as to stroke her cheek—but her face was hot as fire. “God give you health again—that you may be well when we next meet.”
    “Farewell, Eirik. God be with you.”
    His father and sister went with him no farther than to the barn. Alone he had to ride from home. And he could not shake off his heaviness—he felt like one who rode away an outlaw and accursed.
    4 September 8.

5
    B OTHILD lay abed through the autumn. It was up and down with her.
    Olav watched his young daughter moving about, silent and serious, divided between her sick sister and all the household work of the great manor. She was brave and loyal, Cecilia. Her father saw that her heart was oppressed with sorrow and anxiety; she was often not far from tears, but she would not give up—capable and diligent, she performed the work they had shared between them.
    Then Olav said that Cecilia must sleep at night. He himself would watch by the sick girl.
    The cough and the fever left Bothild little sleep—on her worst nights Olav sat by her bedside. For the first time in his life Olav found himself regretting that he had no practice in such things as pass the time—he knew no games, he could not sing, nor tell tales. And to speak to his foster-daughter of death and of heaven was not in his power.
    He had not felt the silence as a burden when he watched over his wife. Between him and Ingunn there had been a life—of childish games and youthful joys and sorrow and shame, and love stronger than death; the silence between them had been a living one, with a murmur like that of the sea. But this child was both known and