Kristin Lavransdatter (22 page)

The guild hall was beyond the gardens of the hospice, and people were heading that way through the herb garden, for it was quite famous. Fru Groa had brought in plants that no one in Norway had ever heard of before and, besides that, all the plants that usually grew in such gardens seemed to thrive better in hers—flowers and cooking herbs and medicinal herbs. She was the most skilled woman in all such matters, and she had even translated herbals from Salerno into the Norwegian language. Fru Groa had been particularly friendly toward Kristin ever since she noticed that the maiden knew something of the art of herbs and wanted to know more about it.

So Kristin pointed out to Erlend what plants were growing in the beds on both sides of the green lane as they walked. In the noonday sun there was a hot, spicy fragrance of dill and celery, onions and roses, southernwood and wallflowers. Beyond the shadeless, sun-baked herb garden, the rows of fruit trees looked enticingly cool; red cherries gleamed in the dark foliage, and apple trees bowed their branches, weighted down by green fruit.

Surrounding the garden was a hedge of sweetbriar. There were still some roses left—they looked no different from other hedge roses, but the petals smelled of wine and apples in the heat of the sun. People broke off twigs and pinned them to their clothing as they passed. Kristin picked several roses too, tucking them into the circlet at her temples. She held one in her hand, and after a moment Erlend took it from her, without saying a word. He carried it for a while and then stuck it into the filigree brooch on his chest. He looked self-conscious and embarrassed, and did it so clumsily that he scratched his fingers and drew blood.

 

In the banquet loft several wide tables had been set up: one for the men and one for the women along the walls. In the middle of the floor there were two tables where the children and the young people sat together.

At the women’s table Fru Groa sat in the high seat; the nuns and most of the wives of high standing sat along the wall, and the unmarried women sat on the opposite bench, with the maidens from Nonneseter closest to the head of the table. Kristin knew that Erlend was looking at her, but she didn’t dare turn her head even once, either when they were standing or after they sat down. Not until they rose and the priest began to read the names of the deceased guild brothers and sisters did she cast a hasty glance toward the men’s table. She caught a glimpse of him as he stood near the wall, behind the burning candle on the table. He was looking at her.

The meal lasted a long time with all of the toasts in honor of God, the Virgin Mary, and Saint Margareta, Saint Olav, and Saint Halvard, interspersed with prayers and hymns.

Kristin could see through the open door that the sun had gone down; the sound of fiddles and songs could be heard from out on the green, and the young people had already left the tables when Fru Groa said to the young daughters that now they might go out to play for a while, if they so pleased.

 

Three red bonfires were burning on the green; around them moved the chains of dancers, now aglow, now in silhouette. The fiddlers were sitting on stacks of chests, bowing the strings of their instruments; they were playing and singing a different tune in each circle. There were far too many people to form only one dance. It was nearly dusk already; to the north the crest of the forested ridges stood coal-black against the yellowish green sky.

People were sitting under the gallery of the loft, drinking. Several men leaped up as soon as the six maidens from Nonneseter came down the stairs. Munan Baardsøn ran up to Ingebjørg and dashed off with her, and Kristin was seized by the wrist—it was Erlend; she already knew his touch. He gripped her hand so tightly that their rings scraped against each other and bit into their flesh.

He pulled her along to the farthest bonfire, where many children were dancing. Kristin took a twelve-year-old boy by the hand, and Erlend had a tiny, half-grown maiden on his other side.

No one was singing in their circle just then—they walked and swayed from side to side, in time with the sound of the fiddle. Then someone shouted that Sivord the Dane should sing a new ballad for them. A tall, fair man with enormous fists stepped in front of the chain of dancers and performed his song:

The fiddle players didn’t know the tune; they plucked a little on the strings, and the Dane sang alone. He had a beautiful, strong voice.

The fiddlers played along once more, and the dancers hummed the newly learned tune and joined in with the refrain.

It was late at night, and the bonfires were mere mounds of glowing embers that grew dimmer and dimmer. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand beneath the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revelers had died out; a few young boys were humming and leaping around the ember mounds, but the fiddlers had gone off to bed and most of the people had left. Here and there a woman walked around in search of her husband, toppled by ale somewhere outdoors.

“I wonder where I’ve left my cloak,” whispered Kristin. Erlend put his arm around her waist and wrapped his cape around both of them. Walking close together, they went into the herb garden.

A remnant of the day’s hot, spicy scent wafted toward them, muted and damp with the coolness of the dew. The night was quite dark, the sky hazy gray with clouds above the treetops. But they sensed that others were in the garden.

Erlend pressed the maiden to him once and asked in a whisper, “You’re not afraid, are you Kristin?”

Suddenly she vaguely remembered the world outside this night —it was madness. But she was so blissfully robbed of all power. She leaned closer to the man and whispered faintly; she didn’t know herself what she said.

They reached the end of the path; there was a stone fence along the edge of the woods. Erlend helped her up. As she was about to jump down to the other side, he caught her and held her in his arms for a moment before he set her down in the grass.

She stood there with her face raised and received his kiss. He placed his hands at her temples. She thought it so wonderful to feel his fingers sinking into her hair, and then she put her hands up to his face and tried to kiss him the way he had kissed her.

When he placed his hands on her bodice and stroked her breasts, she felt as if he had laid her heart bare and then seized it; gently he parted the folds of her silk shift and kissed the place in between—heat rushed to the roots of her heart.

“You I could never hurt,” whispered Erlend. “Don’t ever weep a single tear for my sake. I never thought a maiden could be as good as you are, my Kristin. . . .”

He pulled her down into the grass under the bushes; they sat with their backs against the stone fence. Kristin said not a word, but when he stopped caressing her, she raised her hand and touched his face.

After a moment Erlend asked, “Are you tired, dear Kristin?” And when she leaned against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered, “Sleep, Kristin, sleep here with me.”

She slipped deeper and deeper into the darkness and the warmth and the joy at his chest.

 

When she woke up, she was lying stretched out on the grass with her cheek against the brown silk of his lap. Erlend was still sitting with his back against the stone fence; his face was gray in the gray light, but his wide-open eyes were so strangely bright and beautiful. She saw that he had wrapped his cape all around her; her feet were wonderfully warm inside the fur lining.

“Now you have slept on my lap,” he said, smiling faintly. “May God reward you, Kristin. You slept as soundly as a child in her mother’s arms.”

“Haven’t you slept, Herr Erlend?” asked Kristin, and he smiled down into her newly awakened eyes.

“Perhaps someday the night will come when you and I dare to fall asleep together—I don’t know what you will think once you have considered that. I have kept vigil here in the night. There is still so much between us, more than if a naked sword had lain between you and me. Tell me, will you have affection for me after this night is over?”

“I will have affection for you, Herr Erlend,” said Kristin. “I will have affection for you as long as you wish—and after that I will love no one else.”

“Then may God forsake me,” said Erlend slowly, “if ever a woman or maiden should come into my arms before I dare to possess you with honor and in keeping with the law. Repeat what I have said,” he implored her.

Kristin said, “May God forsake me if I ever take any other man into my arms, for as long as I live on this earth.”

“We must go now,” said Erlend after a moment. “Before everyone wakes up.”

They walked along the outside of the stone fence, through the underbrush.

“Have you given any thought to what should happen next?” asked Erlend.

“You must decide that, Erlend,” replied Kristin.

“Your father,” he said after a pause. “Over in Gerdarud they say that he’s a kind and just man. Do you think he would be greatly opposed to breaking the agreement he has made with Andres Darre?”

“Father has so often said that he would never force any of his daughters,” said Kristin. “The main concern is that our lands would fit so well together. But I’m certain that Father would not want me to lose all joy in the world for that reason.” She had a sudden inkling that it might not be quite as simple as that, but she pushed it aside.

“Then maybe this will be easier than I thought last night,” said Erlend. “God help me, Kristin—I can’t bear to lose you. Now I will never be happy if I can’t have you.”

 

They parted among the trees, and in the dim light of dawn Kristin found the path to the guest house where everyone from Nonneseter was sleeping. All the beds were full, but she threw her cloak over some straw on the floor and lay down in her clothes.

When she woke up, it was quite late. Ingebjørg Filippusdatter was sitting on a bench nearby, mending a fur border that had torn loose from her cloak. She was full of chatter, as always.

“Were you with Erlend Nikulaussøn all night long?” she asked. “You ought to be a little more careful about that young man, Kristin. Do you think Simon Andressøn would like it if you befriended him?”

Kristin found a basin and began to wash herself. “And what about your betrothed? Do you think he would like it that you danced with Munan the Stump last night? But we have to dance with anyone who invites us on such an evening; and Fru Groa gave us permission, after all.”

Ingebjørg exclaimed, “Einar Einarssøn and Sir Munan are friends, and besides, he’s married and old. And he’s ugly too, but amiable and courteous. Look what he gave me as a souvenir of the night.” And she held out a gold buckle which Kristin had seen on Sir Munan’s hat the day before. “But that Erlend—well, the ban was lifted from him this past Easter, but they say that Eline Ormsdatter has been staying at his manor at Husaby ever since. Sir Munan says that he has fled to Sira Jon at Gerdarud because he’s afraid that he’ll fall back into sin if he sees her again.”

Kristin, her face white, went over to the other girl.

“Didn’t you know that?” asked Ingebjørg. “That he lured a woman from her husband somewhere up north in Haalogaland? And that he kept her at his estate in spite of the king’s warning and the archbishop’s ban? They have two children together too. He had to flee to Sweden, and he has had to pay so many fines that Sir Munan says he’ll end up a pauper if he doesn’t mend his ways soon.”

“Oh yes, you can be sure that I knew all about it,” said Kristin, her face rigid. “But that’s all over now.”

“Yes, that’s what Sir Munan said, that it’s been over between them so many times before,” replied Ingebjørg thoughtfully. “It won’t affect you—you’re going to marry Simon Darre, after all. But that Erlend Nikulaussøn is certainly a handsome man.”

The company from Nonneseter was going to leave that same day, after the midafternoon prayers. Kristin had promised Erlend to meet him at the stone fence where they had sat during the night, if she could find a way to come.

He was lying on his stomach in the grass, with his head on his arms. As soon as he saw her, he leaped up and offered her both of his hands as she was about to jump down.

She took them, and they stood for a moment, hand in hand.

Then Kristin said, “Why did you tell me that story about Herr Bjørn and Fru Aashild yesterday?”

“I can see that you know,” replied Erlend, abruptly letting go of her hands. “What do you think of me now, Kristin?

“I was eighteen years old back then,” he continued vehemently. “It was ten years ago that the king, my kinsman, sent me on the journey to Vargøy House, and then we spent the winter at Steigen. She was married to the judge Sigurd Saksulvsøn. I felt sorry for her because he was old and unbelievably ugly. I don’t know how it happened; yes, I was fond of her too. I told Sigurd to demand what he wanted in fines; I wanted to do right by him—he’s a decent man in many ways—but he wanted things to proceed according to the law, and he took the case to the
ting
. I was to be branded for adultery with the woman in whose house I had been a guest, you see.