Kristin Lavransdatter (28 page)

Tears began to slide down Kristin’s cheeks.

Then Erlend said, “Did you hear what I said? That I have spoken to my kinsmen? And they were pleased that I want to marry. Then I told them that it was you I wanted and no one else.”

“And weren’t they pleased about that?” asked Kristin at last, timidly.

“Don’t you see,” said Erlend gloomily, “that there was only one thing they could say? They cannot and they will not ride with me to speak with your father until this agreement between you and Simon Andressøn has been dissolved. It hasn’t made things any easier for us, Kristin, that you have celebrated Christmas with the Dyfrin people.”

Kristin broke down completely and began to sob quietly. She had no doubt felt that there was something unwise and ignoble about her love, and now she realized that the blame was hers.

She shivered with cold as she got out of bed a short time later and Erlend wrapped both cloaks around her. It was now completely dark outside, and Erlend accompanied her to Clement’s churchyard; then Brynhild escorted her the rest of the way to Nonneseter.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK Brynhild Fluga came with word that the cloak was now finished, and Kristin went with her and was with Erlend in the loft room as before.

When they parted he gave her a cloak, “so you have something to show at the convent,” he said. It was made of blue velvet interwoven with red silk, and Erlend asked her whether she noticed that they were the same colors as the dress she had worn on that day in the forest. Kristin was surprised that she could be so happy over what he said; she felt as if he had never given her greater joy than with those words.

But now they could no longer use this excuse to meet, and it was not easy to think of something else. Erlend went to vespers at the convent church, and several times after the service Kristin went on an errand up to the corrodians’ farms; they stole a few words with each other up along the fences in the dark of the winter evening.

Then Kristin thought of asking Sister Potentia for permission to visit several palsied old women, charity cases of the convent, who lived in a house out in a field some distance away. Behind the house was a shed where the women kept a cow. Kristin offered to tend to the animal for them when she visited, and then she would let Erlend come in while she worked.

She noticed with some surprise that in spite of Erlend’s joy at being with her, a tiny scrap of bitterness had settled in his mind that she had been able to think up this excuse.

“It was not to your best advantage that you became acquainted with me,” he said one evening. “Now you’ve learned to use these kinds of secret ruses.”

“
You
should not be blaming me for that,” replied Kristin de jectedly.

“It’s not you that I blame,” said Erlend at once, embarrassed.

“I never thought,” she went on, “that it would be so easy for me to lie. But what must be done can be done.”

“That’s not always true,” said Erlend in the same voice as before. “Do you remember this past winter, when you couldn’t tell your betrothed that you wouldn’t have him?”

Kristin didn’t reply, but merely stroked his face.

She never felt so strongly how much she loved Erlend as when he said such things that made her feel dejected or surprised. And she was glad that she could take the blame for everything that was disgraceful or ignoble about their love. If she had had the courage to speak to Simon as she should have, then they could have progressed a long way in settling these matters. Erlend had done all that he could when he had spoken of marriage to his kinsmen. This is what she told herself whenever the days at the convent grew long and dreary. Erlend had wanted to make everything right and proper. With tender little smiles she would think about him as he looked whenever he described their wedding. She would ride to the church dressed in silk and velvet, and she would be led to the bridal bed with the tall golden crown on her hair, which would be spread out over her shoulders—her lovely, beautiful hair, he said, running her braids through his fingers.

“But for you it won’t be the same as if you had never possessed me,” Kristin once said thoughtfully when he had spoken of such things.

Then he had pulled her ardently to him.

“Don’t you think I can remember the first time I celebrated Christmas, or the first time I saw the mountainsides turn green back home after winter? Oh, of course I’ll remember the first time I had you, and every time after that. But to possess you, that’s like perpetually celebrating Christmas or hunting birds on the green slopes.”

Joyfully she crept closer in his arms.

Not that she for a moment believed that things would go as Erlend so confidently expected. Kristin thought that a judgment day was sure to befall them before long. It was impossible for things to continue to go so well. But she was not particularly afraid. She was much more frightened that Erlend might have to travel north before the matter could be settled, and she would have to stay behind, separated from him. He was over at the fortress on Akersnes right now; Munan Baardsøn was there while the Royal Treasurer was in Tunsberg, where the king lay deathly ill. But one day Erlend would no doubt have to return home to see to his property. She refused to admit that this frightened her because he would be going home to Husaby where his mistress was waiting for him. But she was less afraid of being caught in sin with Erlend than of standing up alone and telling Simon, and her father as well, what was in her heart.

And so she almost wished that some punishment would befall her, and soon. For now she had no thoughts for anything but Erlend. She longed for him in the daytime and she dreamed of him at night. She felt no repentance, but she consoled herself with the thought that the day would come when she would have to pay dearly for everything they had taken in secret. And during those brief evening hours when she could be together with Erlend in the poor women’s cowshed, she would throw herself into his arms so ardently, as if she had paid with her soul to be his.

 

But time passed, and it looked as if Erlend was to have the good fortune that he was counting on. Kristin noticed that no one at the convent ever suspected her, although Ingebjørg had discovered that she met with Erlend. But Kristin could see that the other girl never thought it was anything more than a little amusement she was allowing herself. That a betrothed maiden of good family would dare to break the agreement that her kinsmen had made was something that would never occur to Ingebjørg. And for a moment fear raced through Kristin once more; perhaps this was something completely unheard of, this situation she had landed in. And then she wished again that she would be found out, so that it could be brought to an end.

Easter arrived. Kristin couldn’t understand what had happened to the winter; each day that she had not seen Erlend had been as long as a dismal year, and the long gloomy days had become linked together into endless weeks. But now it was spring and Easter, and it seemed to her as if they had just celebrated Christmas. She asked Erlend not to seek her out during the holidays; and it seemed to Kristin that he acquiesced to all her wishes. It was just as much her fault as his that they had sinned against the strictures of Lent. But she wanted them to observe the Easter holiday—even though it hurt not to see him. He might have to leave quite soon; he hadn’t said anything about it, but she knew that the king was now dying, and she thought that this might cause some change in Erlend’s position.

 

This was how matters stood for Kristin, when, a few days after Easter, she was summoned down to the parlatory to speak with her betrothed.

As soon as Simon came toward her and put out his hand, she realized that something was wrong. His face was not the same as usual; his small gray eyes weren’t laughing, and they were untouched by his smile. Kristin couldn’t help noticing that it suited him to be a little less jovial. And he looked quite handsome in the traveling clothes he wore: a long, blue, tight-fitting outer garment that men called a
cote-hardie
, and a brown shoulder-cape with a hood, which he had thrown back. His light brown hair was quite curly from the raw, damp air.

They sat and talked for a while. Simon had been at Formo during Lent, and he was over at Jørundgaard almost daily. They were all well there. Ulvhild was as healthy as anyone could expect. Ramborg was home now; she was charming and lively.

“The time is almost over, the year that you were supposed to spend here at Nonneseter,” said Simon. “They’re probably preparing everything for our betrothal feast at your home.”

Kristin didn’t reply as Simon continued.

“I told Lavrans that I would ride to Oslo to speak with you about it.”

Kristin looked down and said quietly, “Things are such, Simon, that I would prefer to speak with you in private about this matter.”

“I too have felt that this would be necessary,” replied Simon Andressøn. “I was going to ask that you obtain Fru Groa’s permission for us to walk in the garden together.”

Kristin stood up abruptly, and slipped soundlessly out of the room. A short time later she returned, accompanied by one of the nuns with a key.

A door from the parlatory opened onto the herb garden, which lay beyond the buildings on the west side of the convent. The nun unlocked the door, and they stepped out into a fog so dense that they could see only a few steps in front of them amidst the trees. The closest trunks were black as coal; beads of moisture clung to every branch and twig. Small patches of new snow were melting on the wet soil, but beneath the bushes tiny white and yellow lilies had already sprouted flowers, and it smelled fresh and cool from the violet-grass.

Simon led her to the nearest bench. He sat down, leaning forward slightly with his elbows propped on his knees. Then he looked up at her with an odd little smile.

“I almost think I know what you want to tell me,” he said. “There’s another man that you like better than me?”

“That is true,” replied Kristin softly.

“I think I know his name too,” said Simon, his voice more harsh. “Is it Erlend Nikulaussøn of Husaby?”

After a moment Kristin said in a low voice, “So this has come to your attention?”

Simon hesitated before he answered.

“Surely you can’t think me so stupid that I wouldn’t notice anything when we were together at Christmastime? I couldn’t say anything then, because my father and mother were present. But this is the reason that I wanted to come here alone this time. I don’t know whether it’s wise of me to speak of this matter, but I thought that we ought to talk of such things before we are joined in marriage.

“But as it happened, when I arrived here yesterday, I met my insman, Master Øistein. And he spoke of you. He said that he saw you walking across Clement’s churchyard one evening, and that you were with a woman they call Brynhild Fluga. I swore a sacred oath that he must have been mistaken. And if you tell me that it’s untrue, I will take you at your word.”

“The priest was right,” replied Kristin stubbornly. “You forswore yourself, Simon.”

He sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

“Do you know who this Brynhild Fluga is, Kristin?” When she shook her head, he said, “Munan Baardsøn set her up in a house here in town after he was married—she sells wine illegally and other such things.”

“Do you know her?” asked Kristin derisively.

“I’ve never been inclined to become a monk or a priest,” said Simon, turning red. “But I know that I have never acted unjustly toward a maiden or another man’s wife. Don’t you realize that it’s not the conduct of an honorable man to allow you to go out at night in such company?”

“Erlend did not seduce me,” said Kristin, blushing and indignant. “And he has promised me nothing. I set my heart on him though he did nothing to tempt me. I loved him above all men from the first moment I saw him.”

Simon sat there, playing with his dagger, tossing it from one hand to the other.

“These are strange words to be hearing from one’s betrothed,” he said. “This does not bode well for us now, Kristin.”

Kristin took a deep breath. “You would be poorly served to take me for your wife, Simon.”

“Almighty God knows that this seems to be so,” said Simon Andressøn.

“Then I trust that you will support me,” said Kristin, meek and timid, “so that Sir Andres and my father will retract this agreement between us?”

“Oh, is that what you think?” said Simon. He was silent for a moment. “God only knows whether you truly understand what you’re saying.”

“I do,” Kristin told him. “I know that the law is such that no one can force a maiden into a marriage against her will; then she can bring her case before the
ting
.”

“I think it’s before the bishop,” said Simon, smiling harshly. “But I’ve never had any reason to look into what the law says about such matters. And don’t think you’ll have any need to do so either. You know I won’t demand that you keep your promise if you’re so strongly opposed to it. But don’t you realize . . . it’s been two years since our betrothal was agreed upon, and you’ve never said a word against it until now, when everything is being prepared for the betrothal banquet and the wedding. Have you thought about what it will mean if you step forward and ask for the bond to be broken, Kristin?”

“You wouldn’t want me now, anyway,” said Kristin.

“Yes, I would,” replied Simon curtly. “If you think otherwise, you had better think again.”

“Erlend Nikulaussøn and I have promised ourselves on our Christian faith,” she said, trembling, “that if we cannot be joined in marriage, then neither of us will ever take a husband or a wife.”

Simon was silent for a long time. Then he said wearily, “Then I don’t understand what you meant, Kristin, when you said that he had neither seduced you nor promised you anything. He has lured you away from the counsel of all your kinsmen. Have you thought about what kind of husband you’ll have if you marry a man who took another man’s wife as his mistress? And now he wants to take as his wife another man’s betrothed.”