Kristin clasped her hands to her heart. She felt that she had to hold on to it to make herself as hard as she needed to be.
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered after a moment. “You neither want to possess me nor marry me anymore.”
“That . . . I do not,” said Simon uncertainly. “God help me, Kristin. I remember you on that night in the loft at Finsbrekken. But may the Devil take me alive if I ever trust a maiden by her eyes again!
“Promise me this, that you will not see Erlend until your father arrives,” he said as they stood at the gate.
“I won’t promise that,” said Kristin.
“Then he will make me this promise,” said Simon.
“I won’t meet him,” replied Kristin quickly.
“That poor little dog I once sent you,” said Simon before they parted. “You must let your sisters have him—they’re so fond of him—if you don’t mind seeing him in the house, that is.
“I’m heading north tomorrow morning,” he said, taking her hand in farewell as the sister keeping the gate looked on.
Simon Darre walked down toward the town. He struck at the air with his clenched fist as he walked, muttering in a low voice and cursing at the mist. He swore to himself that he wasn’t sorry about her. Kristin was like something he had believed to be pure gold, but when he saw it up close, it was merely brass and tin. White as a snowflake, she had knelt and put her hand into the flame; that was a year ago. This year she was drinking wine with an excommunicated rogue in Fluga’s loft. The Devil take it, no! It was because of Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn, who was sitting up there at Jørundgaard and believed . . . Never would it have occurred to Lavrans that they might betray him in this way. Now he would have to bring Lavrans the message himself and be an accomplice in lying to this man. That was why his heart was burning with grief and rage.
Kristin had not intended to keep her promise to Simon Darre, but she managed to exchange only a few words with Erlend, one evening up on the road.
She stood there holding his hand, strangely submissive, while he talked about what had happened up in Brynhild’s loft the last time they had met. He would speak to Simon Andressøn some other time. “If we had fought up there, news of it would have spread all over town,” said Erlend angrily. “He knew that quite well, that Simon.”
Kristin could see how the incident had made him suffer. She had also been thinking about it constantly ever since. There was no escaping the fact that in this situation, Erlend was left with even less honor than she was. And she felt that now they were truly one flesh; she would have to answer for everything he did, even when she disliked his conduct, and she would feel it on her own hand when Erlend so much as scratched his skin.
Three weeks later Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn came to Oslo to get his daughter.
Kristin was both afraid and sick at heart when she went to the parlatory to meet her father. The first thing that struck her as she watched him conversing with Sister Potentia was that he didn’t look the same as she remembered him. Perhaps he had not actually changed since they parted a year ago, but over the years she had always seen him as the young, vigorous, and handsome man she had been so proud to have as her father when she was small. Each winter and each summer that had passed up there at home had no doubt marked him and made him age, just as they had seen her develop into a grown-up young woman—but she had not noticed it. She hadn’t noticed that his hair had paled in some spots and had acquired a rusty reddish sheen at his temples, the way blond hair goes gray. His cheeks had become dry and thin so that the muscles of his face extended like cords to his mouth; his youthful white and pink complexion had grown uniformly weather-beaten. His back was not bowed, and yet his shoulder blades curved in a different manner beneath his cape. His step was light and steady as he came toward her with his hand outstretched, but these were not the same limber, brisk movements of the past. All of these things had probably been present the year before, but Kristin simply hadn’t noticed. Perhaps there was a slight touch of something else—a touch of dejection—that made her see these things now. She burst into tears.
Lavrans put his arm around her shoulder and held his hand to her cheek.
“Now, now, try to calm yourself, child,” he said gently.
“Are you angry with me, Father?” she asked softly.
“Surely you must realize that I am,” he replied, but he kept on caressing her cheek. “But you also know full well that you needn’t be afraid of me,” he said sadly. “No, you must calm down now, Kristin; aren’t you ashamed to be acting this way?” She was crying so hard that she had to sit down on a bench. “We’re not going to speak of these matters here where people are coming and going,” he said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. “Aren’t you going to ask me about your mother? And your sisters?”
“What does Mother say about all this?” asked his daughter.
“Oh, you can imagine what she thinks—but we’re not going to talk about that here,” he said again. “Otherwise she’s fine.” And then he began to tell her all about everyone back home, until Kristin gradually grew calmer.
But she felt as if the tension only grew worse as her father refused to say anything about her breach of promise. He gave her money to distribute among the poor at the convent and gifts for the lay sisters; he himself gave generously to the convent and to the sisters, and no one at Nonneseter had any other thought than that Kristin was now going home to celebrate her betrothal and her marriage. They both ate the last meal at Fru Groa’s table in the abbess’s room, and the abbess gave Kristin the best report.
But all this finally came to an end. She said her last goodbyes to the sisters and her friends at the convent gate. Lavrans escorted her to her horse and lifted her into the saddle. It was so strange to be riding with her father and the men from Jørundgaard down to the bridge, along the road on which she had crept in the dark; it was odd to be riding so nobly and freely through the streets of Oslo. She thought about the magnificent wedding procession that Erlend had spoken of so often. Her heart grew heavy; it would have been easier if he had taken her with him. There was still a long time remaining for her to be one person in secret and another in public with other people. But then her gaze fell on her father’s aging, somber face, and she tried to convince herself that Erlend was right after all.
There were other travelers at the hostel. In the evening they all ate together in a small room with an open hearth where there were only two beds. Lavrans and Kristin were to sleep there, for they were the foremost guests at the inn. The others left when it grew late, saying a friendly good night and then dispersing to find a place to sleep. Kristin thought about the fact that she was the one who had sneaked up to Brynhild Fluga’s loft and allowed Erlend to take her in his arms. Sick with sorrow and the fear that she might never be his, she felt that she no longer belonged here, among these people.
Her father was sitting over on the bench, looking at her.
“We’re not going to Skog this time?” Kristin asked, to break the silence.
“No,” replied Lavrans. “I’ve had enough of listening to your uncle for a while—about why I don’t use force against you,” he explained when she looked at him.
“Yes, I would force you to keep your word,” he said after a moment, “if only Simon hadn’t said that he did not want an unwilling wife.”
“I have never given Simon my word,” said Kristin hastily. “You always said before that you would never force me into a marriage.”
“It would not be force if I demanded that you keep to an agreement that has been known to everyone for such a long time,” replied Lavrans. “For two winters people have called you betrothed, and you never said a word of protest or showed any unwillingness until the wedding day was set. If you want to hide behind the fact that the matter was postponed last year, so that you have never given Simon your promise, I would not call that honorable conduct.”
Kristin stood there, gazing into the fire.
“I don
’t know which looks worse,” her father continued. “People will either say that you have cast Simon out or that you have been abandoned. Sir Andres sent me a message . . .” Lavrans turned red as he said this. “He was angry with the boy and begged me to demand whatever penalties I might find reasonable. I had to tell him the truth—I don’t know whether the alternative would have been any better—that if there were penalties to be paid, we were the ones to do so. We both share the shame.”
“I can’t see that the shame is so great,” murmured Kristin. “Since Simon and I both agree.”
“Agree!” Lavrans seized upon the word. “He didn’t hide the fact that he was unhappy about it, but he said that after the two of you had talked he didn’t think anything but misery would result if he demanded that you keep the agreement. But now you must tell me why you have made this decision.”
“Didn’t Simon say anything about it?” asked Kristin.
“He seemed to think,” said her father, “that you had given your affections to another man. Now you must tell me how things stand, Kristin.”
Kristin hesitated for a moment.
“God knows,” she said quietly, “I realize that Simon would be good enough for me—more than that. But it’s true that I have come to know another man, and then I realized that I would never have another joyous moment in my life if I had to live with Simon—not if he possessed all the gold in England. I would rather have the other man even if he owned no more than a single cow.”
“You can’t expect me to give you to a servant,” said her father.
“He is my equal and more,” replied Kristin. “He has enough of both possessions and land, but I simply meant that I would rather sleep with him on bare straw than with any other man in a silk bed.”
Her father was silent for a moment.
“It’s one thing, Kristin, that I would not force you to take a man you don’t want—even though only God and Saint Olav know what you might have against the man I had promised you to. But it’s another matter whether the man you have now set your heart on is the sort that I would allow you to marry. You’re young and have little experience . . . and setting his sights on a maiden who is betrothed is not something a decent man would normally do.”
“That’s not something a person can help,” said Kristin vehemently.
“Oh yes, he can. But this much you have to realize—that I will not offend the Dyfrin people by betrothing you again as soon as you turn your back on Simon—and least of all to a man who might seem more distinguished or who is richer. You must tell me who this man is,” he said after a moment.
Kristin clasped her hands tight, breathing hard. Then she said hesitantly, “I can’t do that, Father. Things are such that if I cannot have this man, then you can take me back to the convent and leave me there for good—then I don’t think I can live any longer. But it wouldn’t be right for me to tell you his name before I know whether he has as good intentions toward me as I do toward him. You . . . you mustn’t force me to tell you who he is until . . . until it becomes clear whether he intends to ask you for my hand through his kinsmen.”
Lavrans was silent for a long time. He could not be displeased that his daughter acted in this manner. At last he said, “Then let it be so. It’s reasonable that you would prefer not to give his name, since you don’t know his intentions.”
After a moment he said, “You must go to bed now, Kristin.” He came over to her and kissed her.
“You have caused much sorrow and anger with this notion of yours, my daughter, but you know that your welfare is what I have most at heart. God help me, I would feel the same no matter what you did. He and His gentle Mother will help us to turn this to the best. Go now and sleep well.”
After he had gone to bed, Lavrans thought he heard the faint sound of sobbing from the other bed where his daughter lay, but he pretended to be asleep. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he now feared the old gossip about her and Arne and Bentein would be dug up again. But it weighed heavily on his mind that there was little he could do to prevent the child’s good reputation from being sullied behind his back. And the worst thing was that he thought she might have brought this upon herself by her own thoughtlessness.
PART III
LAVRANS BJØRGULFSØN
CHAPTER 1
KRISTIN CAME HOME during the loveliest time of the spring. The Laag River raced in torrents around the farm and the fields; through the young leaves of the alder thickets the stream glittered and sparkled white with silver flashes. The glints of light seemed to have voices, singing along with the rush of the current; when dusk fell, the water seemed to flow with a more muted roar. The thunder of the river filled the air over Jørundgaard day and night, so that Kristin thought she could feel the very timbers of the walls quivering with the sound, like the sound box of a zither.
Thin tendrils of water shone on the mountain slopes, which were shrouded in a blue mist day after day. The heat steamed and trembled over the land; the spears of grain hid the soil in the fields almost completely, and the grass in the meadows grew deep and shimmered like silk when the wind blew across it. There was a sweet scent over the groves and hills, and as soon as the sun went down, a strong, fresh, sharp fragrance of sap and young plants streamed forth; the earth seemed to heave a great sigh, languorous and refreshed. Trembling, Kristin remembered how Erlend had released her from his embrace. Every night she lay down, sick with longing, and each morning she awoke, sweating and exhausted from her own dreams.
It seemed incomprehensible to her that everyone at home could avoid saying a word about the one thing that was in her thoughts. But week after week went by, and they were silent about her breach of promise to Simon and did not question what she had on her mind. Her father spent a great deal of time in the woods now that the spring plowing was done. He visited his tar-burners, and he took along his hawk and dogs and was gone for days. When he came home, he would speak to his daughter in just as friendly a manner as he always had; but he seemed to have so little to say to her, and he never asked her to come along when he went out riding.
Kristin had dreaded coming home to her mother’s reproaches, but Ragnfrid didn’t say a word, and to Kristin that felt even worse. For his ale feast on Saint Jon’s Day each year, Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn distributed to the poor people of the village all the meat and food that was saved in the house during the last week of fasting. Those who lived closest to Jørundgaard usually came in person to receive the alms. Great hospitality was shown, and Lavrans and his guests and the entire household would gather around these poor folk, for some of them were old people who knew many sagas and ballads. Then they would sit in the hearth room and pass the time drinking ale and engaging in friendly conversation, and in the evening they would dance in the courtyard.
This year Saint Jon’s Day was cold and overcast, but no one complained about it because the farmers of the valley were beginning to fear a drought. No rain had fallen since the Vigil of Saint Halvard, and there was so little snow on the mountains that in the past thirteen years people couldn’t remember seeing the river so low at midsummer.
Lavrans and his guests were in a good mood when they went down to greet the poor folk in the hearth room. The people were sitting around the table eating milk porridge and drinking stout. Kristin went back and forth to the table, serving the old and the sick.
Lavrans greeted his guests and asked them if they were satisfied with the food. Then he went over to welcome a poor old peasant man who had been moved to Jørundgaard that very day. The man’s name was Haakon, and he had been a soldier under old King Haakon and had taken part in the king’s last expedition to Scotland. Now he was impoverished and nearly blind. People had offered to build a cottage for him, but he preferred to be taken from farm to farm, since he was received everywhere as an honored guest. He was unusually knowledgeable and had seen so much of the world.
Lavrans stood with his hand on his brother’s shoulder; Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn had come to Jørundgaard a
s a guest. He too asked Haakon whether he was satisfied with the food.
“The ale is good, Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn,” said Haakon. “But a slut must have made the porridge for us today. Overly bedded cooks make overly boiled porridge, as the saying goes, and this porridge is scorched.”
“It’s a shame for me to give you burned porridge,” said Lavrans. “But I hope that the old saying isn’t always true, because it was my daughter herself who made the porridge.” He laughed and asked Kristin and Tordis to hurry and bring in the meat dishes.
Kristin dashed outside and over to the cookhouse. Her heart was pounding—she had caught a glimpse of her uncle’s face when Haakon was talking about the cook and the porridge.
Late that evening she saw her father and uncle talking for a long time as they walked back and forth in the courtyard. She was dizzy with fear, and it was no better the next day when she noticed that her father was taciturn and morose. But he didn’t say a word to her.
He said nothing after his brother left either. But Kristin noticed that he wasn’t talking to Haakon as much as usual, and when their time was up for housing the old man, Lavrans didn’t offer to keep him longer but let him move on to the next farm.
There were plenty of reasons for Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn to be unhappy and gloomy that summer, because there were signs it would be a bad harvest in the village. The landowners called a ting to discuss how they were going to face the coming winter. By late summer it was already clear to most people that they would have to slaughter their livestock or drive a large part of their cattle to market in the south in order to buy grain for people to eat in the winter. The year before had not been a good year for grain, so supplies of old grain were smaller than normal.
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