Kristin Lavransdatter (23 page)

“My father got wind of it, and then King Haakon found out too. And he . . . he banished me from his court. And if you need to know the whole story: there’s nothing left between Eline and me except the children, and she cares very little for them. They’re at Østerdal, on a farm that I own there. I’ve given the farm to Orm, the boy. But she doesn’t want to be with them. I suppose she expects that Sigurd can’t live forever, but I don’t know what she wants.

“Sigurd took her back, but she says she was treated like a dog and a slave on his farm. So she asked me to meet her in Nidaros. I was not faring much better at Husaby with my father. I sold everything I could get my hands on and fled with her to Halland; Count Jacob has been a kind friend to me. What else could I do? She was carrying my child. I knew that so many men had managed to escape unscathed from such a relationship with another man’s wife—if they were rich, that is. But King Haakon is the sort of man who treats his own most sternly. We were separated from each other for a year, but then my father died, so she came back. And then other things happened. My tenants refused to pay their land rent or to speak to my envoys because I had been excommunicated. I retaliated harshly, and then a case was brought against me for robbery, but I had no money to pay my house servants. You can see that I was too young to deal sensibly with these difficulties, and my kinsmen refused to help me—except for Munan, who did as much as he dared without angering his wife.

“So now you know, Kristin, that I have compromised much, both my land and my honor. You would certainly be much better served if you stayed with Simon Andressøn.”

Kristin put her arms around his neck.

“We will stand by what we swore to each other last night, Erlend—if you feel as I do.”

Erlend pulled her close, kissed her, and then said, “You must also have faith that my circumstances are bound to change. Now no one in the world has power over me except you. Oh, I thought about so many things last night as you lay asleep in my lap, my fair one. The Devil cannot have so much power over a man that I would ever cause you sorrow or harm, you who are the most precious thing in my life.”

DURING THE TIME he lived at Skog, Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn had given property to Gerdarud Church for requiems to be held for the souls of his parents on the anniversaries of their deaths. His father Bjørg ulf Ketilsøn’s death date was the thirteenth of August, and this year Lavrans had made arrangements for his brother to bring Kristin out to his estate so that she could attend the mass.

She was afraid that something might happen to prevent her uncle from keeping his promise. She thought she had noticed that Aasmund was not particularly fond of her. But on the day before the mass was to be held, Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn arrived at the convent to get his niece. Kristin was told to dress in secular attire, but dark and simple in appearance. People had begun to remark that the sisters of Nonneseter spent a great deal of time outside the convent, and the bishop had therefore decreed that the young daughters who were not to become nuns should not wear anything resembling convent garb when they went to visit their kinsmen—then the populace would not mistake them for novices or nuns of the order.

Kristin was in a joyous mood as she rode along the road with her uncle, and Aasmund became more cheerful and friendly toward her when he noticed that the maiden was an affable companion. Otherwise, Aasmund was rather dejected; he said it seemed likely that a campaign
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was about to be launched in the fall and that the king would sail with his army to Sweden to avenge the vile deed that had been perpetrated against his brother-in-law and his niece’s husband. Kristin had heard about the murder of the Swedish dukes and thought it an act of the worst cowardice, although all such affairs of the realm seemed so distant to her. No one talked much about such things back home in the valley. But she also remembered that her father had participated in the campaign against Duke Eirik at Ragnhildarholm and Konungahella. Aasmund explained everything that had happened between the king and the dukes. Kristin didn’t understand much of what he said, but she paid close attention to what her uncle told her about the betrothals that had been agreed upon and then broken by the king’s daughters. It gave her some comfort to hear that it was not the same in all places as it was back home in the villages, where an arranged betrothal was considered almost as binding as a marriage. So she gathered her courage, told her uncle about her adventures on the evening before the Vigil of Saint Halvard, and asked him whether he knew Erlend of Husaby. Aasmund gave Erlend a good report, saying that he had acted unwisely, but that his father and the king were mostly to blame. He said they had behaved as if the boy had been the horn of the Devil himself because he had landed in such a predicament. The king was much too pious, and Sir Nikulaus was angry because Erlend had wasted so much good property, so they had both thundered about adultery and the fires of hell.

“Any able-bodied young man has to have a certain amount of defiance in him,” said Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn. “And the woman was exceedingly beautiful. But you have no reason to have anything to do with Erlend, so pay no heed to his affairs.”

 

Erlend did not attend the mass as he had promised Kristin he would, and she thought more about this than about the word of God. But she felt no remorse over it. She merely had the odd feeling of being a stranger to everything to which she had previously felt herself bound.

She tried to console herself; Erlend probably thought it best that no one who had authority over her should find out about their friendship. She could understand this herself. But she had longed to see him with all her heart, and she wept when she went to bed that evening in the loft where she slept with Aasmund’s small daughters.

 

The next day she headed up toward the woods with the youngest of her uncle’s children, a little maiden six years old. When they had gone some distance, Erlend came running after them. Kristin knew who it was before she even saw him.

“I’ve been sitting up here on the hill looking down at the farmyard all day long,” he said. “I was sure that you’d find some chance to slip away.”

“Do you think I’ve come out here to meet you?” said Kristin with a laugh. “And aren’t you afraid to be wandering in my uncle’s woods with your dogs and bow?”

“Your uncle has given me permission to hunt here for a short time,” said Erlend. “And the dogs belong to Aasmund—they found me up here this morning.” He patted the dogs and picked up the little girl. “You remember me, don’t you, Ragndid? But you mustn’t say that you’ve talked to me, and then I’ll give you this.” He took out a little bundle of raisins and handed it to the child. “I had intended it for you,” he told Kristin. “Do you think this child can keep quiet?”

Both of them spoke quickly and laughed. Erlend was wearing a short, snug brown tunic, and he had a small red silk cap pressed down onto his black hair; he looked so young. He laughed and played with the child, but every once in a while he would take Kristin’s hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt.

He talked about the rumors of the campaign with joy. “Then it will be easier for me to win back the friendship of the king. Everything will be easier then,” he said fervently.

At last they sat down in a meadow some distance up in the woods. Erlend had the child on his lap. Kristin sat at his side. He was playing with her fingers in the grass. He put into her hand three gold rings tied together with a string.

“Later on,” he whispered to her, “you shall have as many as you can fit on your fingers.

“I’ll wait for you here in this field every day at this time, for as long as you are at Skog,” he said as they parted. “Come when you can.”

 

The next day Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn, along with his wife and children, left for Gyrid’s ancestral estate at Hadeland. They had become alarmed by the rumors of the campaign. The people around Oslo were still filled with terror ever since Duke Eirik’s devastating incursion
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into the region some years before. Aasmund’s old mother was so frightened that she decided to seek refuge at Nonneseter; she was too frail to travel with the others. So Kristin would stay at Skog with the old woman, whom she called Grandmother, until Aasmund returned from Hadeland.

Around noontime, when the servants on the farm were resting, Kristin went up to the loft where she slept. She had brought along some clothing in a leather bag, and she hummed as she changed her clothes.

Her father had given her a dress made of thick cotton fabric from the East; it was sky-blue with an intricate red flower pattern. This is what she put on. She brushed and combed out her hair, tying it back from her face with red silk ribbons. She wrapped a red silk belt tightly around her waist and slipped Erlend’s rings onto her fingers, all the while wondering whether he would find her beautiful.

She had let the two dogs that had been up in the forest with Erlend sleep in the loft with her at night. Now she enticed them to come with her. She sneaked around the buildings and took the same path up through the outlying fields that she had used the day before.

The forest meadow lay empty and still in the glare of the noonday sun. There was a hot fragrance coming from the spruce trees that surrounded it on all sides. The blazing sun and the blue sky seemed strangely close and harsh against the treetops.

Kristin sat down in the shade at the edge of the clearing. She wasn’t disappointed at Erlend’s absence. She was sure that he would come, and she felt a peculiar joy at being allowed to sit there alone, the first to arrive.

She listened to the soft buzz of insects across the yellow, scorched grass. She plucked off several dry, spice-scented flowers that she could reach without moving more than her hand. She twirled them between her fingers and sniffed at them; with her eyes wide open she sank into a kind of trance.

She didn’t move when she heard a horse approaching from the forest. The dogs growled and raised their hackles; then they bounded up across the meadow, barking and wagging their tails. Erlend jumped down from his horse at the edge of the forest and let it go with a slap on its loins. Then he ran down toward Kristin with the dogs leaping around him. He grabbed their snouts with his hands and walked toward her between the two animals, which were elk-gray and wolflike. Kristin smiled and reached out her hand without getting up.

 

Once, as she was looking down at his dark-brown head lying in her lap between her hands, a memory abruptly rose up before her. It stood there, clear and distant, the way a house far off on the slope of a ridge can suddenly emerge quite clearly from the dark clouds as it is struck by a ray of sunshine on a turbulent day. And her heart suddenly seemed filled with all of the tenderness that Arne Gyrdsøn had once wanted, back when she hardly even understood his words. Anxiously she drew the man to her, pressing his face against her breast, kissing him as if she were afraid that he might be taken from her. And when she looked at his head lying in her embrace, she thought it was like having a child in her arms. She hid his eyes with her hand and sprinkled little kisses over his mouth and cheek.

The sun had disappeared from the meadow. The intense color above the treetops had deepened to a dark blue, spreading over the entire sky. There were small copper-red streaks in the clouds, like smoke from a fire. Bajard came toward them, gave a loud whinny, and then stood motionless, staring. A moment later the first lightning flashed, followed at once by thunder, not far away.

Erlend stood up and took the reins of the horse. There was an old barn at the bottom of the meadow, and that’s where they headed. He tethered Bajard to some planks just inside the door. In the back of the barn was a mound of hay, and there Erlend spread out his cape. They sat down with the dogs at their feet.

Soon the rain had formed a curtain in front of the doorway. The wind rushed through the forest and the rain lashed against the hillside. A moment later they had to move farther inside because of a leak in the roof.

Every time there was lightning and thunder, Erlend would whisper, “Aren’t you afraid, Kristin?”

“A little,” she would whisper back and then press closer to him.

 

They had no idea how long they sat there. The storm passed over quite quickly, and they could still hear the thunder far away, but the sun was shining outside the door in the wet grass, and fewer and fewer glittering drops were falling from the roof. The sweet smell of hay grew stronger in the barn.

“I have to go now,” said Kristin.

And Erlend replied, “I suppose you do.” He put his hand on her foot. “You’ll get wet. You must ride, and I’ll walk. Out of the forest . . .” He gave her such a strange look.

Kristin was trembling—she thought it was because her heart was pounding so hard—and her hands were clammy and cold. When he kissed the bare skin above her knee, she tried powerlessly to push him away. Erlend raised his face for a moment, and she was suddenly reminded of a man who had once been given food at the convent—he had kissed the bread they handed to him. She sank back into the hay with open arms and let Erlend do as he liked.

 

She was sitting bolt upright when Erlend lifted his head from his arms. Abruptly he propped himself up on his elbow.

“Don’t look like that, Kristin!”

His voice etched a wild new pain into Kristin’s soul. He wasn’t happy—he was distressed too.

“Kristin, Kristin . . .”

And a moment later he asked, “Do you think I lured you out here to the woods because I wanted this from you, to take you by force?”

She stroked his hair but didn’t look at him.

“I wouldn’t call it force. No doubt you would have let me go as I came if I had asked you to,” she said softly.

“I’m not sure of that,” he replied, hiding his face in her lap.