Kristin Lavransdatter (30 page)

“Yes,” replied Kristin. “I was the one who sent word to Erlend that we should meet at the Fluga house. I knew the woman.”

“Then shame on you! But you couldn’t have known what kind of woman she is—and he . . . Now listen,” said Simon sternly. “If it
is
possible to conceal it, then you should conceal from Lavrans what you have thrown away. And if you cannot, then you must try to spare him the worst of the shame.”

“You certainly show great concern for my father,” said Kristin, trembling. She tried to speak defiantly, but her voice was about to break with tears.

Simon walked on a short distance. Then he stopped—she caught a glimpse of his face as they stood out there alone in the fog. She had never seen him look that way before.

“I’ve noticed it every time I’ve been out to visit your home,” he said. “You, his women, have so little understanding of the kind of man Lavrans is. Trond Gjesling says that he doesn’t keep you all in line. But why should Lavrans bother with such things when he was born to rule over
men
? He had the makings of a
chieftain
, he was someone men would have followed, gladly; but these are not the times for such men. My father knew him at Baagahus. And so it has ended with him living up there in the valley, almost like a peasant. He was married off much too young; and your mother, with that temperament of hers, was not the one to make it any easier for him to lead such a life. It’s true that he has many friends, but do you think that any one of them can measure up to him? His sons he was not allowed to keep; it was you daughters who were to continue the lineage after him. Will he now have to endure the day when he sees that one is without health and another is without honor?”

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.