CHAPTER 6
AFTERWARD Kristin could not remember everything that Brother Edvin had said to her. But she left him with a strange feeling of clarity and serene peace in her soul.
Before, she had struggled with a hollow and secret fear, trying to defy it: her sin had not been so great. Now she felt that Edvin had shown her clearly and lucidly that she had indeed sinned, that such and such were her sins, and that she would have to take them upon her shoulders and try to bear them with patience and dignity. She strove to think of Erlend without impatience, in spite of the fact that he had sent no word and she missed his caresses. She simply had to be faithful and full of kindness toward him. She thought about her parents and promised herself that she would repay all their love after they had first recovered from the sorrow that she was going to cause them by breaking with the Dyfrin people. And she thought most about Brother Edvin’s advice that she should not seek solace by looking at the failings of others; she felt herself growing humble and kind, and soon realized how easy it was for her to win the friendship of others. At once she felt consoled that it was not so difficult, after all, to get along with people—and then she thought that it shouldn’t be so difficult for her and Erlend either.
Up until the day when she gave Erlend her promise, she had always tried diligently to do everything that was right and good, but she had done everything at the bidding of other people. Now she felt that she had grown up from maiden to woman. This was not just because of the passionate, secret caresses she had received and given. She had not merely left her father’s guardianship and subjected herself to Erlend’s will. Brother Edvin had impressed on her the responsibility of answering for her own life, and for Erlend’s as well, and she was willing to bear this burden with grace and dignity. So she lived among the nuns during the Christmas season; during the beautiful services and amidst the joy and peace, she no doubt felt herself unworthy, but she consoled herself with the belief that the time would soon come when she would be able to redeem herself again.
But on the day after New Year’s, Sir Andres Darre arrived unexpectedly at the convent together with his wife and all five children. They were going to spend the last part of the Christmas holidays with friends and kinsmen in town, and they came to ask Kristin to join them at the place where they were staying for several days.
“I’ve been thinking, my daughter, said Fru Angerd, “that you probably wouldn’t mind seeing some new faces by now.”
The Dyfrin people were staying in a beautiful house that was part of an estate near the bishop’s citadel. Sir Andres’s nephew owned it. There was a large room where the servants slept and a magnificent loft room with a brick fireplace and three good beds. Sir Andres and Fru Angerd slept in one of the beds, along with their youngest son, Gudmund, who was still a child. Kristin and their two daughters, Astrid and Sigrid, slept in the second bed. And in the third slept Simon and his older brother, Gyrd Andressøn.
All of Sir Andres’s children were good-looking—Simon the least so, and yet people still considered him handsome. And Kristin noticed even more than when she had been at the Dyfrin manor the year before that both his parents and his four siblings listened closely to Simon and did everything he wished. All his kinsmen loved each other heartily but agreed without rancor to place Simon foremost.
These people led a joyful and happy life, going to one of the churches each day to make their offerings, meeting to drink among friends each evening, and allowing the young to play and dance. Everyone showed Kristin the greatest kindness, and no one seemed to notice how little joy she felt.
At night, when the candles were put out in the loft and everyone had gone to bed, Simon would get up and come over to where the maidens lay. He would sit for a while on the edge of the bed, speaking mostly to his sisters, but in the dark he would sneak his hand up to Kristin’s breast and let it stay there. She would lie there, sweating with indignation.
Now that her sense for such matters was so much keener, she realized there were many things that Simon was both too proud and too shy to say to her, once he noticed that she didn’t want to go into such topics. And she felt a strange, bitter anger toward him because it seemed to her that he was trying to make himself seem a better man than the one who had taken her—even though he had no idea of the other man’s existence.
But one evening when they had been out dancing at another estate, Astrid and Sigrid stayed behind and were going to sleep with a foster sister. Late that night, when the people from Dyfrin had gone to bed in the loft, Simon came over to Kristin’s bed and climbed in; he lay on top of the furs.
Kristin pulled the covers up to her chin and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. After a moment Simon reached out his hand to touch her breasts. She felt the silk embroidery at his wrists, so she realized that he had not undressed.
“You’re just as shy in the dark as in the daylight, Kristin,” said Simon with a chuckle. “Surely you’ll let me hold your hand, won’t you?” he asked, and Kristin gave him her fingertips.
“Don’t you think we might have a few things to talk about, now that we have the chance to be alone for a little while?” he said. And Kristin thought that now she would be able to speak. So she agreed. But then she could not utter a word.
“Can I come under the furs?” he asked again. “It’s cold in the room.” And he slipped in between the furs and the woolen blanket she had over her. He crooked one arm behind her head, but in such a way that he did not touch her. And they lay there like that for a while.
“You’re not an easy person to woo, either,” said Simon after a pause, and then laughed in resignation. “I promise you I won’t so much as kiss you, if you don’t want me to. But surely you can talk to me, can’t you?”
Kristin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, but she still remained silent.
“It seems to me that you’re lying here trembling,” Simon continued. “Is it because you have something against me, Kristin?”
She didn’t think that she could lie to Simon, so she said, “No,” but nothing more.
Simon lay there a little longer, trying to get a conversation started. But finally he laughed again and said, “I see that you think I should be satisfied with this—that you have nothing against me—for tonight, at least, and that I should even be happy. It’s strange how proud you are too. But you must give me a kiss, all the same; then I’ll go and not plague you any longer.”
He took his kiss, sat up, and set his feet on the floor. Kristin thought that now she would manage to tell him what had to be said—but he had already left her bed, and she could hear him getting undressed.
The next day Fru Angerd was not as friendly toward Kristin as she usually was. The young maiden realized that she must have heard something and felt that the betrothed girl had not received her son in the manner that his mother felt she should have.
Later in the afternoon Simon mentioned that he was thinking of trading for a horse that was owned by one of his friends. He asked Kristin whether she would like to go along and watch. She said yes, and they went into town together.
The weather was clear and beautiful. It had snowed a little during the night, but now the sun was shining, and it was still so cold that the snow squeaked under their feet. Kristin enjoyed getting out in the cold and walking, so when Simon had found the horse that he was thinking of, she talked to him about it in the most lively manner; she had some knowledge of horses, since she had always spent so much time with her father. And this one was a fine animal: a mouse-gray stallion with narrow black stripes along his back and a short, clipped mane. He was well built and spirited, but quite small and slight.
“He won’t last long under a fully-armed man,” said Kristin.
“No, but that’s not what I had in mind, either,” said Simon.
He led the horse out to the open area behind the farm, let him run and walk, rode the animal himself, and then had Kristin ride him too. They stayed outdoors in the white pasture for a long time.
“I haven’t meant to be cross with your mother,” she said, “but I can’t find much to say to Fru Angerd.”
“You don’t seem to find much to say to me, either,” said Simon. “I won’t force myself on you, Kristin, before the time comes. But things can’t go on like this; I never get a chance to talk to you.”
“I have never been talkative,” said Kristin. “I know that myself, and I don’t expect you to think it a great loss if things don’t work out between us.”
“You know what I think about that subject,” replied Simon, looking at her.
Kristin blushed as red as blood. And she was startled to find that she was not averse to Simon Darre’s wooing.
After a moment he said, “Is it Arne Gyrdsøn, Kristin, that you think you can’t forget?” Kristin stared at him. Simon continued, and his voice was kind and understanding, “I won’t blame you for that. You grew up as siblings, and barely a year has passed. But you can depend on this: I want only what’s best for you.”
Kristin’s face had grown quite pale. Neither of them spoke as they walked through town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the greenish blue sky, the crescent of the new moon hung with a bright star in its embrace.
One year, thought Kristin, and she could hardly remember when she had last given Arne a thought. It gave her a fright—maybe she was a loose, vile woman. A year since she had seen him lying on the bier in the death chamber, when she thought she would never be happy again. She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things. Erlend, Erlend—would he forget her? But worse yet was that she might ever forget him.
Sir Andres and his children went to the great Christmas celebration at the king’s castle. Kristin saw all the finery and splendor, and they were also invited into the hall where King Haakon sat with Fru Isabel Bruce, the widow of King Eirik. Sir Andres went forward to greet the king, while his children and Kristin remained behind. She thought of everything that Fru Aashild had told her, and she remembered that the king was Erlend’s close kinsman—their fathers’ mothers had been sisters. And she was Erlend’s wife by seduction; she had no right to stand here, especially not among these good, fine people, the children of Sir Andres.
Suddenly she saw Erlend Nikulaussøn. He had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel and was standing there with his head bowed and his hand on his breast while she spoke a few words to him. He was wearing the brown silk surcoat that he had worn to their banquet rendezvous. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres’s daughters.
When Fru Angerd, some time later, escorted the three maidens over to the queen, Kristin could not see Erlend anywhere, but she didn’t dare raise her eyes from the floor. She wondered if he was standing somewhere in the hall; she thought she could feel his eyes on her. But she also thought that everyone was staring at her, as if they could tell that she was standing there like a liar with the gold wreath on her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders.
He was not in the hall where the young people were served dinner and where they danced after the tables had been cleared away. Kristin had to dance with Simon that evening.
Along one wall stood a built-in table, and that’s where the king’s servants set ale and mead and wine all night long. Once when Simon took Kristin over there and drank a toast to her, she saw that Erlend was standing quite close to her, behind Simon. He looked at her, and Kristin’s hand shook as Simon gave her the goblet and she raised it to her lips. Erlend whispered fiercely to the man who was with him—a tall, heavyset, but handsome older man, who shook his head dismissively with an angry expression. In the next moment Simon led Kristin back to the dance.
She had no idea how long that dance lasted; the ballad seemed endless and every moment was tedious and painful with longing and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon escorted her over to the table for drinks again.
One of his friends approached and spoke to him, leading him away a few paces, over to a group of young men. Then Erlend stood before her.
“I have so much I want to say to you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to say first. In Christ’s name, Kristin, how are things with you?” he asked hastily, for he noticed that her face had turned as white as chalk.
She couldn’t see him clearly; it was as if there was running water between their faces. He picked up a goblet from the table, drank from it, and handed it to Kristin. She thought it was much too heavy, or that her arm had been pulled from its socket; she couldn’t manage to raise it to her lips.
“Is that how things stand—that you’ll drink with your betrothed but not with me?” asked Erlend softly. But Kristin dropped the goblet and swooned forward into his arms.
When she woke up she was lying on a bench with her head in the lap of a maiden she didn’t know. They had loosened her belt and the brooch on her breast. Someone was slapping her hands, and her face was wet.
She sat up. Somewhere in the circle of people around her she saw Erlend’s face, pale and ill. She felt weak herself, as if all her bones had melted, and her head felt huge and hollow. But somewhere in her mind a single thought, clear and desperate, shone—she had to talk to Erlend.
Then she said to Simon Darre, who was standing close by, “It must have been too hot for me. There are so many candles burning in here, and I’m not accustomed to drinking so much wine.”
“Are you all right now?” asked Simon. “You frightened everyone. Perhaps you would like me to take you home?”
“I think we should wait until your parents leave,” said Kristin calmly. “But sit down here. I don’t feel like dancing anymore.” She patted the cushion beside her. Then she stretched out her other hand to Erlend.
“Sit down here, Erlend Nikulaussøn. I didn’t have a chance to give you my full greeting. Ingebjørg was just saying lately that she thought you had forgotten all about her.”
She saw that he was having a much more difficult time composing himself than she was. It cost her great effort to hold back the tender little smile that threatened to appear on her lips.
“You must thank the maiden for still remembering me,” he said, stammering. “And here I was so afraid that she had forgotten me.”
Kristin hesitated for a moment. She didn’t know what message she could bring from the flighty Ingebjørg that would be interpreted correctly by Erlend. Then bitterness rose up inside her for all those months of helplessness, and she said, “Dear Erlend, did you think that we maidens would forget the man who so magnificently defended our honor?”
She saw that he looked as if she had struck him. And she regretted it at once when Simon asked what she meant. Kristin told him of her adventure with Ingebjørg out in the Eikaberg woods. She noticed that Simon was not pleased. Then she asked him to go in search of Fru Angerd, to see if they would be leaving soon. She was tired after all. When he had gone, she turned to look at Erlend.
“It’s odd,” he said in a low voice, “how resourceful you are—I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”
“I’ve had to learn to conceal things, as you might well imagine,” she said somberly.
Erlend breathed heavily. He was still quite pale.
“Is that it?” he whispered. “But you promised to go to my friends if that should come about. God knows, I’ve thought about you every single day, about whether the worst had happened.”
“I know what you mean by the worst,” replied Kristin tersely. “You needn’t worry about that. It seems worse to me that you would not send me a word of greeting. Can’t you understand that I’m living there with the nuns like some strange bird?” She stopped because she could feel the tears rising.
“Is that why you’re with the Dyfrin people now?” he asked. Then she grew so full of despair that she couldn’t answer.<
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She saw Fru Angerd and Simon appear in the doorway. Erlend’s hand lay on his knee, close to her own, but she could not touch it.
“I have to talk to you,” he said fiercely. “We haven’t said a word to each other of what we should have talked about.”
“Come to the mass at the Maria Church after the last day of the Christmas season,” Kristin said hastily, as she stood up and stepped forward to meet the others.
Fru Angerd was quite loving and kind toward Kristin on the way home, and she helped the maiden into bed herself. Kristin didn’t have a chance to speak to Simon until the following day.
Then he said, “How is it that you would agree to convey messages between this Erlend and Ingebjørg Filippusdatter? You should not lend a hand in this matter, if they have some secret business between them.”
“I don’t think there’s anything behind it,” said Kristin. “She’s just a chatterbox.”
“I thought you would have been more sensible,” said Simon, “than to venture into the woods and out onto roads alone with that magpie.” But Kristin reminded him with some fervor that it was not their fault they had gone astray. Simon didn’t say another word.
The next day the Dyfrin people escorted her back to the convent before setting off for home themselves.
Erlend came to vespers at the convent church every day for a week, but Kristin didn’t have the chance to exchange a single word with him. She felt as if she were a hawk that sat chained to a roost with a hood pulled over its eyes. She was also unhappy about every word they had said to each other at their last meeting; that was not the way it was supposed to have been. It didn’t help that she told herself it had happened so suddenly for both of them that they hardly knew what they were saying.
But one afternoon, at dusk, a beautiful woman who looked like the wife of a townsman appeared in the parlatory. She asked for Kristin Lavransdatter and said that she was the wife of a clothing merchant. Her husband had just arrived from Denmark with some fine cloaks, and Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn wished to give one of them to his niece, so the maiden was to go with her to select it herself.
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