Kristin Lavransdatter (93 page)

The mistress of the house didn’t come to the evening meal. She was lying in bed in the alcove, said her maid Signe, with a reproachful look at her master. Erlend replied harshly that he hadn’t asked about her mistress. After the servants had left the room, he went into the alcove. It was oppressively dark. Erlend bent over Kristin on the bed.

“Are you crying?” he asked very softly, for her breathing sounded so strange. But she answered brusquely that she wasn’t.

“Are you tired? I’m about to go to bed too,” he murmured.

Kristin’s voice quavered as she said, “Then I would rather, Erlend, that you went to bed in the same place where you slept last night.”

Erlend didn’t reply. He went out and then returned with the candle from the hall and opened up his clothes chest. He was already dressed suitably enough to go out wherever he liked, for he was wearing the violet-blue
cote-hardi
because he had been to Elgeseter in the morning. But now he took off these garments, slowly and deliberately, and put on a red silk shirt and a mouse-gray, calf-length velvet tunic with small silver bells on the points of the sleeves. He brushed his hair and washed his hands, all the while keeping his eyes on his wife. She was silent and didn’t move. Then he left without bidding her good night. The next day he openly returned home to the estate at breakfast time.

 

This went on for a week. Then one evening, when Erlend came back home after going up to Hangrar on business, he was told that Kristin had set off for Husaby that morning.

He was already quite aware that no man had ever had less pleasure from a sin than he was having from his dealings with Sunniva Olavsdatter. In his heart he was so unbearably tired of that demented woman—sick of her even as he played with her and caressed her. He had also been reckless; it must be known all over town and throughout the countryside by now that he had been spending his nights at Baardsgaard. And it was not worth having his reputation sullied for Sunniva’s sake. Occasionally he also wondered whether there might be consequences. After all, the woman had a husband, such as he was, decrepit and sickly. He pitied Baard for being married to such a wanton and foolish woman; Erlend was hardly the first to tread too close to the man’s honor. And Haftor . . . but when he took up with Sunniva he hadn’t remembered that she was Haftor’s sister; he didn’t think of this until it was too late. The situation was as bad as it could possibly be. And now he realized that Kristin knew about it.

Surely she wouldn’t think of bringing a charge against him before the archbishop, seeking permission to leave him. She had Jørundgaard to flee to, but it would be impossible for her to travel over the mountains at this time of year; even more so if she wanted to take the children along, and Kristin would never leave them behind. He reassured himself that she wouldn’t be able to travel by ship with Munan and Lavrans so early in the spring. No, it would be unlike Kristin to seek help from the archbishop against him. She had reason to do so, but he would willingly stay away from their bed until she understood that he felt true remorse. Kristin would never allow this matter to become a public case. Yet he realized it had been a long time since he could be certain what his wife might or might not do.

That night he lay in his own bed, letting his thoughts roam. It occurred to him that he had acted with even greater folly than he had first thought when he entered into this miserable affair, now that he was involved in the greatest plans.

He cursed himself for still being such a fool over a woman that she could drive him to this. He cursed both Kristin and Sunniva. By Devil, he was no more besotted with women than other men; he had gotten involved with fewer of them than most of the men he knew. But it was as if the Fiend himself were after him; he couldn’t come near a woman without landing in mire up to his armpits.

It had to be stopped now. Thank the Lord he had other matters on his hands. Soon, very soon, he would receive Lady Ingebjørg’s letters. Well, he couldn’t avoid trouble with women in this matter either, but that must be God’s punishment for the sins of his youth. Erlend laughed out loud in the dark. Lady Ingebjørg would have to see that what they had told her about the situation was true. The question was whether it would be one of her sons or the sons of her unlawful sister whom the Norwegians supported to oppose King Magnus. And she loved the children she had borne to Knut Porse in a way she had never loved her other children.

Soon, very soon . . . then it would be the sharp wind and the salty waves that would fill his embrace. God in Heaven, it would be good to be soaked through by the sea swells and feel the fresh wind seep into his marrow—to be quit of women for a good long time.

Sunniva. Let her think what she would. He wouldn’t go back there again. And Kristin could go off to Jørundgaard if she liked. It might be safest and best for her and the children to be far away in Gudbrandsdal this summer. Later on he would no doubt make amends with her again.

The following morning he rode up toward Skaun. He decided he wouldn’t have any peace until he knew what his wife intended to do.

She received him politely, her demeanor gentle and cool, when he arrived at Husaby later in the day. Unless he asked her a question, she said not a word, not even anything unkind, and she didn’t object when later that evening he came over and tentatively lay down in their bed. But when he had lain there for a while, he hesitantly tried to put his hand on her breast.

Kristin’s voice shook, but Erlend couldn’t tell if it was from sorrow or bitterness, when she whispered, “Surely you’re not so lowly a man, Erlend, that you will make this even worse for me. I cannot start a quarrel with you, since our children are sleeping all around. And since I have seven sons by you, I would rather our servants didn’t see that I know I’m a woman who has been betrayed.”

Erlend lay there in silence for a long time before he dared reply.

“Yes, may God have mercy on me, Kristin—I have betrayed you. I wouldn’t have . . . wouldn’t have done it if I had found it easier to bear those vicious words you said to me in Nidaros. I haven’t come home to beg your forgiveness, for I know this would be too much to ask of you right now.”

“I see that Munan Baardsøn spoke the truth,” replied his wife. “The day will never come when you will stand up and take the blame for what you have done. You should turn to God and seek redemption from Him. You need to ask His forgiveness more than you need to ask mine.”

“Yes, I know that,” said Erlend bitterly. And then they said no more. The next morning he rode back to Nidaros.

He had been in town several days when Fru Sunniva’s maid came to speak to him in Saint Gregor’s Church one evening. Erlend thought he ought to talk to Sunniva one last time and told the girl to keep watch that night; he would come the same way as before.

He had to creep and climb like a chicken thief to reach the loft where they always met. This time he felt sick with shame that he had made such a fool of himself—at his age and in his position. But in the beginning it had amused him to carry on like a youth.

Fru Sunniva received him in bed.

“So you’ve finally come, at this late hour?” she laughed and yawned. “Hurry up, my friend, and come to bed. We can talk later about where you’ve been all this time.”

Erlend didn’t know what to do or how to tell her what was on his mind. Without thinking, he began to unfasten his clothing.

“We’ve both been reckless, Sunniva—I don’t think it advisable that I stay here tonight. Surely Baard must be expected home sometime?” he said.

“Are you afraid of my husband?” teased Sunniva. “You’ve seen for yourself that Baard didn’t even prick up his ears when we flirted right in front of him. If he asks me whether you’ve been spending time here at the manor, I’ll just convince him that it’s the same old nonsense. He trusts me much too well.”

“Yes, he does seem to trust you too well,” laughed Erlend, digging his fingers into her fair hair and her firm, white shoulders.

“Do you think so?” She gripped his wrist. “And do you trust your own wife? I was still a shy and virtuous maiden when Baard won me. . . .”

“We’ll keep
my
wife out of this,” said Erlend sharply, releasing her.

“Why is that? Does it seem to you less proper for us to talk about Kristin Lavransdatter than about Sir Baard, my husband?”

Erlend clenched his teeth and refused to answer.

“You must be one of those men, Erlend,” said Sunniva scornfully, “who thinks you’re so charming and handsome that a woman can hardly be blamed if her virtue is like fragile glass to you—when usually she’s as strong as steel.”

“I’ve never thought that about you,” replied Erlend roughly.

Sunniva’s eyes glittered. “What did you want with me then, Erlend? Since you have married so well?”

“I told you not to mention my wife.”

“Your wife or my husband.”

“You were always the one who started talking about Baard, and you were the worst to ridicule him,” said Erlend bitterly. “And if you didn’t mock him in words . . . I’d like to know how dearly you held his honor when you took another man in your husband’s place.
She
is not diminished by my misdeeds.”

“Is that what you want to tell me—that you still love Kristin even though you like me well enough to want to play with me?”

“I don’t know how well I like you . . . You were the one who showed your affection for me.”

“And Kristin doesn’t care for your love?” she sneered. “I’ve seen how tenderly she looks at you, Erlend. . . .”

“Be silent!” he shouted. “Perhaps she knew how worthless I was,” he said, his voice harsh and hateful. “You and I might be each other’s equal.”

“Is that it?” threatened Sunniva. “Am I supposed to be the whip you use to punish your wife?”

Erlend stood there, breathing hard. “You could call it that. But you put yourself willingly into my hands.”

“Take care,” said Sunniva, “that the whip doesn’t turn back on you.”

She was sitting up in bed, waiting. But Erlend made no attempt to argue or to make amends with his lover. He finished getting dressed and left without saying another word.

He wasn’t overly pleased with himself or with the way he had parted with Sunniva. There was no honor in it for him. But it didn’t matter now; at least he was rid of her.

DURING THAT SPRING and summer they saw little of the master at home at Husaby. On those occasions when he did return to his manor, he and his wife behaved with courtesy and friendliness toward each other. Erlend didn’t try in any way to breach the wall that she had now put up between them, even though he would often give her a searching look. Otherwise, he seemed to have much to think about outside his own home. And he never inquired with a single word about the management of the estate.

This was something his wife mentioned when, shortly after Holy Cross Day, he asked her whether she wanted to accompany him to Raumsdal. He had business to tend to in the Uplands; perhaps she would like to take the children along, spend some time at Jørundgaard, visit kinsmen and friends in the valley? But Kristin had no wish to do so, under any circumstances.

Erlend was in Nidaros during the Law
ting
and afterwards out in Orkedal. Then he returned home to Husaby but immediately began preparations for a journey to Bjørgvin. The
Margygren
was anchored out at Nidarholm, and he was only waiting for Haftor Graut, who was supposed to sail with him.

Three days before Saint Margareta’s Day, the hay harvesting began at Husaby. It was the finest weather, and when the workers went back out into the meadows after the midday rest, Olav the overseer asked the children to come along.

Kristin was up in the clothing chamber, which was on the second story of the armory. The house was built in such a fashion that an outside stair led up to this room and the exterior gallery running along the side; projecting over it was the third floor, which could be reached only by means of a ladder through a hatchway inside the clothing chamber. It was standing open because Erlend was up in the weapons loft.

Kristin carried the fur cape that Erlend wanted to take along on his sea voyage out to the gallery and began to shake it. Then she heard the thunder of a large group of horsemen, and a moment later she saw men come riding out of the forest on Gauldal Road. An instant later, Erlend was standing at her side.

“Is it true what you said, Kristin, that the fire went out in the cookhouse this morning?”

“Yes, Gudrid knocked over the soup kettle. We’ll have to borrow some embers from Sira Eiliv.”

Erlend looked over at the parsonage.

“No, he can’t get mixed up in this. . . . Gaute,” he called softly to the boy dawdling under the gallery, picking up one rake after another, with little desire to go out to the hay harvesting. “Come up the stairs, but stop at the top or they’ll be able to see you.”

Kristin stared at her husband. She’d never seen him look this way before. A taut, alert calm came over his voice and face as he peered south toward the road, and over his tall, supple body as he ran inside the loft and came back at once with a flat package wrapped in linen. He handed it to the boy.

“Put this inside your shirt, and pay attention to what I tell you. You must safeguard these letters—it’s more important than you can possibly know, my Gaute. Put your rake over your shoulder and walk calmly across the fields until you reach the alder thickets. Keep to the bushes down by the woods—you know the place well, I know you do—and then sneak through the densest underbrush all the way over to Skjoldvirkstad. Make sure that things are calm at the farm. If you notice any sign of unrest or strange men around, stay hidden. But if you’re sure it’s safe, then go down and give this to Ulf, if he’s home. If you can’t put the letters into his own hand and you’re sure that no one is near, then burn them as soon as you can. But take care that both the writing and the seals are completely destroyed, and that they don’t fall into anyone’s hands but Ulf’s. May God help us, my son—these are weighty matters to put into the hands of a boy only ten winters old; many a good man’s life and welfare . . . Do you understand how important this is, Gaute?”