About fourteen days later Erlend Nikulaussn was released. Simon, along with two men and Ulf Haldorssn, rode out to Akersnes to bring him home.
The trees were already nearly bare, for there had been a strong wind the week before. Frost had set in-the earth rang hard beneath the horses" hooves, and the fields were pale with rime as the men rode in toward town. It looked like snow; the sky was overcast and the daylight was dreary and a chilly gray.
Simon noticed that Erlend dragged one leg a bit as he came out to the castle courtyard, and his body seemed stiff and clumsy as he mounted his horse. He was also very pale. He had shaved off the beard, and his hair was trimmed and neat; the upper part of his face was now a sallow color, while the lower part was white with bluish stubble. There were deep hollows under his eyes. But he was a handsome figure in the long, dark-blue surcoat and cap, and as he bade farewell to Olav Kyrning and handed out gifts of money to the men who had guarded him and brought him food in prison, he looked like a chieftain who was parting with the servants at a wedding feast.
As they rode off, he seemed at first to be freezing; he shivered several times. Then a little color crept into his cheeks, and his face brightened-as if sap and vitality were welling up inside him. Simon thought it was no easier to break Erlend than a willow branch.
They reached the hostel, and Kristin came out to meet her husband in the courtyard. Simon tried to avert his eyes, but he could not.
They took each other"s hands and exchanged a few words, their voices quiet and clear. They handled this meeting under the eyes of the servants in a manner that was graceful and seemly enough. Except that they flushed bright red as they gazed at each other for a moment, and then they both lowered their eyes. Erlend once again offered his wife his hand, and together they walked toward the loft room, where they would stay while they were in Oslo.
Simon turned toward the room which he and Kristin had shared up until now. Then she turned around on the lowest step to the loft room and called to him with a strange resonance in her voice.
"Aren"t you coming, brother-in-law? Have some food first-and you too, Ulf!"
Her body seemed so young and soft as she stood there with her hip turned slightly, looking back over her shoulder. As soon as she arrived in Oslo, she had begun fastening her wimple in a different manner than before. Here in the south only the wives of smallholders wore the wimple in the old-fashioned way she had worn it ever since she was married: tightly framing her face like a nun"s wimple, with the ends crossed in front so her neck was completely hidden, and the folds draped along the sides and over her hair, which was knotted at the nape of her neck. In Trndelag it was considered a sign of piety to wear the wimple in this manner, which Archbishop Eiliv had always praised as the most seemly and chaste style for married women. But in order to fit in, Kristin had adopted the fashion of the south, with the linen cloth placed smoothly on her head and hanging straight back, so that her hair in front was visible, and her neck and shoulders were free. And another part of the style was to have the braids simply pinned up so they couldn"t be seen under the edge of the wimple, with the cloth fitted softly to the shape of her head. Simon had seen this before and thought it suited her-but he had never noticed how young it made her look. And her eyes were shining like stars.
Later in the day a great many people arrived to bring greetings to Erlend: Ketil of Skog, Markus Torgeirssn, and later that evening Olav Kyrning himself, along with Sira Ingolf and Herr Guttorm, a priest from Saint Halvard"s Church. By the time the two priests arrived, it had begun to snow, a fine, dry powder, and they had lost their way in a field and wandered into some burdock bushes-their clothing was full of burrs. Everyone busily fell to picking the burdocks from the priests and their servants. Erlend and Kristin were helping Herr Guttorm; every now and then they would blush as they jested with the priest, their voices strangely unsteady and quavering when they laughed.
Simon drank a good deal early in the evening, but it didn"t make him merry-only a little more sluggish. He heard every word that was said, his hearing unbearably sharp. The others soon began speaking openly-none of them supported the king.
After a while he felt so strangely weary of it all. They sat there spouting foolish chatter, in loud and heated voices. Ketil Aas mundssn was quite a simpleton, and his brother-in-law Markus was not much more clever himself; Olav Kyrning was a right-minded and sensible man, but short-sighted. And to Simon the two priests didn"t seem any more intelligent. Now they were all sitting there listening to Erlend and agreeing with him-and he grew more and more like the man he had always been: brash and impetuous. Now he had taken Kristin"s hand and placed it on his knee; he was sitting there playing with her fingers-and they sat close together, so their shoulders touched. Now she blushed bright red; she couldn"t take her eyes off him. When he put his arm around her waist, her lips trembled and she had trouble pressing them closed.
Then the door flew open, and Munan Baardsn stepped in.
"At last the mighty ox himself arrives," shouted Erlend, jumping up and going to greet him.
"May G.o.d and the Virgin Mary help us-I don"t think you"re troubled in the least, Erlend," said Munan, annoyed.
"And do you think it would do any good to whine and weep now, kinsman?"
"I"ve never seen anything like it-you"ve squandered all your wealth. . . ."
"Well, I was never the kind of man who would go to h.e.l.l with a bare backside merely to save my breeches from being burned," said Erlend, and Kristin laughed softly, looking fl.u.s.tered.
Simon leaned over the table and rested his head on his arms. If only they would think he was so drunk that he"d fallen asleep-he just wanted to be left alone.
Nothing was any different than he"d expected-or at least ought to have expected. She wasn"t either. Here she sat, the only woman among all these men, as gentle and modest, comfortable and confident as ever. That"s how she had been back then-when she betrayed him-shameless or innocent, he wasn"t sure. Oh, no, that wasn"t true either . . . she hadn"t been confident at all, she hadn"t been shameless-she hadn"t been calm behind that calm demeanor. But the man had bewitched her; for Erlend"s sake she would gladly walk on searing stones-and she had trampled on Simon as if she thought he was nothing more than a cold stone.
And here he lay, thinking foolishness. She had wanted to have her way and thought of nothing else. Let them have their joy-it made no difference to him. He didn"t care if they produced seven more sons; then there would be fourteen to divide up the inheritance from Lavrans Bjrgulfsn"s estate. It didn"t look as if he would have to worry about his own children; Ramborg wasn"t as quick to give birth as her sister. And one day his descendants would be left with power and wealth after his death. But it made no difference to him-not this evening. He wanted to keep on drinking, but he knew that tonight G.o.d"s gifts would have no hold on him. And then he would have to lift his head and perhaps be pulled into the conversation.
"Well, you probably think you would have made a good regent, don"t you?" said Munan scornfully.
"No, you should know that we intended that position for you," laughed Erlend.
"In G.o.d"s name, watch your tongue, man."
The others laughed.
Erlend came over and touched Simon"s shoulder.
"Are you sleeping, brother-in-law?" Simon looked up. Erlend was standing before him with a goblet in his hand. "Drink with me, Simon. To you I owe the most grat.i.tude for saving my life-which is dear to me, even such as it is, my man! You stood by me like a brother. If you hadn"t been my brother-in-law, I would have surely lost my head. Then you could have had my widow. . . ."
Simon leaped to his feet. For a moment they stood there staring at each other. Erlend grew sober and pale; his lips parted in a gasp.
Simon knocked the goblet out of the other man"s hand with his fist; the mead spilled out. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
Erlend stayed where he was. He wiped his hand and wrist on the fabric of his surcoat without realizing that he was doing so, then looked around-the others hadn"t noticed. With his foot he pushed the goblet under the bench, then stood there a moment before following after his brother-in-law.
Simon Darre was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Jon Daalk was leading his horses from the stable. He didn"t move when Erlend came down to stand beside him.
"Simon! Simon . . . I didn"t know. I didn"t know what I was saying!"
"Now you do."
Simon"s voice was toneless. He stood stock-still, without looking at the other man.
Erlend glanced around him helplessly. A pale sliver of the moon shone through the veil of clouds; small, hard bits of snow were falling. Erlend shivered in the cold.
"Where . . . where are you going?" he asked uncertainly, looking at the servant and horses.
"To find myself another inn," said Simon curtly. "You know full well that I can"t stay here. here."
"Simon!" Erlend exclaimed. "Oh, I don"t know what I would give to have those words unsaid!"
"As would I," replied the other man in the same voice.
The door to the loft opened. Kristin stepped out onto the gallery with a lantern in her hand; she leaned over and shone the light on them.
"Is that where you are?" she asked in her clear voice. "What are you doing outdoors?"
"I thought I should see to my horses-as it"s the custom for polite people to say," replied Simon, laughing up at her.
"But . . . you"ve taken your horses out!" she said merrily.
"Yes, a man can do strange things when he"s been drinking," said Simon in the same manner as before.
"Well, come back up here now!" she called, her voice bright and joyful.
"Yes. At once." She went inside, and Simon shouted to Jon to put the horses back in the stable. Then he turned to Erlend, who was standing there, his expression and demeanor oddly numb. "I"ll come inside in a few minutes. We must try to pretend it was never said, Erlend-for the sake of our wives. But this much you might realize: that you were the last man on earth I wanted . . . to know about . . . this. And don"t forget that I"m not as forgetful as you are!"
The door above them opened again; the guests came swarming out, and Kristin was with them; her maid carried the lantern.
"Well, it"s getting late," teased Munan Baardsn, "and I think these two must be longing for bed. . . ."
"Erlend. Erlend. Erlend." Kristin had flung herself into his arms as soon as they were alone inside the loft. She clung tightly to him. "Erlend, you look sad," she whispered fearfully, with her half-parted lips against his mouth. "Erlend?" She pressed both of her hands to his temples.
He stood there for a moment with his arms limply clasped around her. Then, with a soft moaning sound in his throat, he crushed her to him.
Simon walked over to the stable; he was going to tell Jon something, but halfway there he forgot what it was. For a moment he stood in front of the stable door and looked up at the hazy moonlight and the snow drifting down-now bigger flakes were beginning to fall. Jon and Ulf came out and closed the door behind them, and then the three men walked together over to the building where they would sleep.
III: THE CROSS.
PART I.
HONOR AMONG KIN.
CHAPTER 1.
DURING THE SECOND year that Erlend Nikulaussn and Kristin Lavransdatter lived at Jrundgaard, Kristin decided to spend the summer up in the mountain pastures.
She had been thinking about this ever since winter. At Skjenne it had long been the custom for the mistress herself to stay in the mountain pastures; in the past a daughter from the manor had once been lured into the hills, and afterward her mother insisted on living in the mountains each summer. But in many ways they had their own customs at Skjenne; people in the region were used to it and expected as much.
But elsewhere it wasn"t customary for the women of the gentry on the large estates to go up to the pastures. Kristin knew that if she did so, people would be surprised and would gossip about it.
In G.o.d"s name, then, let them talk. No doubt they were already talking about her and her family.
Audun Torbergssn owned nothing more than his weapons and the clothes on his back when he was wed to Ingebjrg Nikulaus-datter of Loptsgaard. He had been a groom for the bishop of Hamar. It was back when the bishop came north to consecrate the new church that Ingebjrg suffered the misfortune. Nikulaus Sigurds sn took it hard at first, swearing by G.o.d and man that a stableboy would never be his son-in-law. But Ingebjrg gave birth to twins, and people said with a laugh that Nikulaus evidently thought it would be too much to support them on his own. He allowed his daughter to marry Audun.
This happened two years after Kristin"s wedding. It had not been forgotten, and people probably still thought of Audun as a stranger to the region; he was from Hadland, of good family, but his lineage had become quite impoverished. And the man himself was not well liked in Sil; he was obstinate, hardheaded, and slow to forget either bad or good, but he was a most enterprising farmer, with a fair knowledge of the law. In many ways Audun Torbergssn was now a respected man in the parish and a man with whom people were loath to become foes.
Kristin thought about Audun"s broad, tanned face with the thick, curly red hair and beard and those sharp, small blue eyes of his. He looked like many other men she had seen; she had seen such faces among their servants at Husaby, among Erlend"s men and ship"s crew.
She sighed. It must be easier for such a man to a.s.sert himself as he sat there on his wife"s ancestral estate since he had never ruled over anything else.
All winter and spring Kristin spent time talking to Frida Styrkaarsdatter, who had come with them from Trndelag and was in charge of all her other maids. Again and again she would tell the woman that such and such was the way they did things here in the valley during the summer, this was what the haymakers were used to getting, and this was how things were done at harvest time. Surely Frida must remember how Kristin had done things the year before. For she wanted everything on the manor to be just as it was during Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter"s time.
But to come right out and say that she would not be there on the farm during the summer, that was hard for her to do. She had been the mistress of Jrundgaard for two winters and a summer, and she knew that if she went up to the mountain pastures now, it would be the same as running away.
She realized that Erlend was in a terribly difficult position. Ever since the days when he sat on his foster mother"s knee, he had never known anything other than that he was born to command and rule over everything and everyone around him. And if the man had allowed himself to be ruled and commanded by others, at least he had never been aware of this himself.
He couldn"t possibly feel the way he outwardly seemed. He must be unhappy here. She herself . . . Her father"s estate at the bottom of the quiet, closed-in valley, the flat fields along the curve of the gleaming river through the alder woods, the farms on the cultivated land far below at the foot of the mountain, and the steep slopes above, with the gray clefts against the sky overhead, pale slides of scree and the spruce forest and leafy woods clambering upward through the meadows from the valley-no, this no longer seemed to her the most beautiful and safest home in the world. It felt closed off. Surely Erlend must think that it was ugly and confining and unpleasant.
But no one could tell anything from his appearance except that he seemed content.
On the day when they let out the livestock at Jrundgaard, she finally managed to speak of it, in the evening as they ate their supper. Erlend was picking through the fish platter in search of a good piece; in surprise he sat there with his fingers in the dish while he stared at his wife. Then Kristin added quickly that it was mostly because of the throat ailment that was rampant among the children in the valley. Munan wasn"t strong; she wanted to take him and Lavrans along with her up to the mountains.
Well, said Erlend. In that case it would be advisable for Ivar and Skule to go with her too.
The twins leaped up from the bench. During the rest of the meal they both chattered at once. They wanted to go with Erling, who would be camping north among the Gray Peaks with the sheep. Three years before, the sheepherders from Sil had caught a poacher and killed him near his stone hut in the Boar Range; he was a man who had been banished to the forest from ster Odal. As soon as the servants got up from the table, Ivar and Skule brought into the hall all the weapons they owned and sat down to tinker with them.
A little later that evening Kristin set off southward with Simon Andressn"s daughters and her own sons Gaute and Lavrans. Arngjerd Simonsdatter had been at Jrundgaard most of the winter. The maiden was now fifteen years old, and one day during Christmas at Formo, Simon had mentioned that Arngjerd ought to learn something more than what they could teach her at home; she was just as skilled as the serving maids. Kristin had then offered to take the girl home with her and teach her as best she could, for she could see that Simon dearly loved his daughter and worried a great deal about her future. And the child needed to learn other ways than those practiced at Formo. Since the death of his wife"s parents Simon Andressn was now one of the richest men in the region. He managed his properties with care and good sense, and he oversaw the farm work at Formo with zeal and intelligence. But indoors things were handled poorly; the serving women were in charge of everything. Whenever Simon noticed that the disarray and slovenliness in the house had surpa.s.sed all bounds, he would hire one or two more maids, but he never spoke of such things to his wife and seemed neither to wish nor to expect that she should pay more attention to the housekeeping. It was almost as if he didn"t yet consider her to be fully grown up, but he was exceedingly kind and amenable toward Ramborg and was constantly showering her and the children with gifts.
Kristin grew fond of Arngjerd after she got to know her. The maiden was not pretty, but she was clever, gentle, good-hearted, nimble-fingered, and diligent. When the young girl accompanied her around the house or sat by her side in the weaving room in the evenings, Kristin often thought that she wished one of her own children had been a daughter. A daughter would spend more time with her mother.
She was thinking about that on this evening as she led Lavrans by the hand and looked at the two children, Gaute and Arngjerd, who were walking ahead of her along the road. Ulvhild was running about, stomping through the brittle layer of nighttime ice on the puddles of water. She was pretending to be some kind of animal and had turned her red cloak around so that the white rabbit fur was on the outside.
Down in the valley in the dusk the shadows were deepening across the bare brown fields. But the air of the spring evening seemed sated with light. The first stars were sparkling, wet and white, high up in the sky, where the limpid green was turning blue, moving toward darkness and night. Above the black rim of the mountains on the other side of the valley a border of yellow light still lingered, and its glow lit up the scree covering the steep slope that towered above them as they walked. At the very top, where the snowdrifts jutted out over the ridges, the snow glistened, and underneath glittered the glaciers, which gave birth to the streams rushing and splashing everywhere down through the scree. The sound of water completely filled the air of the countryside; from below reverberated the loud roar of the river. And the singing of birds came from the groves and leafy shrubbery on all sides.
Once Ulvhild stopped, picked up a stone, and threw it toward the sound of the birds. Her big sister grabbed her arm, and she walked on calmly for a while. But then she tore herself away and ran down the hill until Gaute shouted after her.
They had reached the place where the road headed into the forest; from the thickets came the ringing of a steel bow. Inside the woods snow lay on the ground, and the air smelled cold and fresh. A little farther on, in a small clearing, stood Erlend with Ivar and Skule.
Ivar had taken a shot at a squirrel; the arrow was stuck high up in the trunk of a fir tree, and now he was trying to get it down. He pitched stone after stone at it; the huge mast tree resonated when he struck the trunk.
"Wait a minute. I"ll try to see if I can shoot it down for you," said his father. He shook his cape back over his shoulders, placed an arrow in his bow, and took aim rather carelessly in the uncertain light among the trees. The string tw.a.n.ged; the arrow whistled through the air and buried itself in the tree trunk right next to the boy"s. Erlend took out another arrow and shot again; one of the two arrows sticking out of the tree clattered down from branch to branch. The shaft of the other one had splintered, but the point was still embedded in the tree.
Skule ran into the snow to pick up the two arrows. Ivar stood and stared up at the treetop.
"It"s mine-the one that"s still up there, Father! It"s buried up to the shaft. That was a powerful shot, Father!" Then he proceeded to explain to Gaute why he hadn"t hit the squirrel.
Erlend laughed softly and straightened his cape. "Are you going to turn back now, Kristin? I"m setting off for home; we"re planning to go after wood grouse early in the morning, Naakkve and I."
Kristin told him briskly no, that she wanted to accompany the maidens to their manor. She wanted to have a few words with her sister tonight.
"Then Ivar and Skule can go with Mother and escort her home if I can stay with you, Father," said Gaute.
Erlend lifted Ulvhild Simonsdatter up in his arms in farewell. Because she was so pretty and pink and fresh, with her brown curls under the white fur hood, he kissed her before he set her back down and then turned and headed for home with Gaute.