Ulf Haldorssøn was sitting with his chin in his hand and gazing at the mistress of Husaby. Kristin sat and listened, answering quietly and gently and courteously—just as calm and refined as if she were a guest at one of the grand estates back home in Trøndelag.
“Well, Kristin Lavransdatter, you won honor and the name of wife,” said Brynhild Fluga, “even though you came willingly enough to meet Erlend up in my loft. But I was called a wanton and loose woman all my days; my stepmother sold me into the hands of that man there—I bit and fought, and the scratches from my fingernails marked his face before he had his way with me.”
“Are you going to bring that up again?” fretted Munan. “You know full well . . . I’ve told you so many times before . . . I would have let you go in peace if you had behaved properly and begged me to spare you, but you rushed at my face like a wildcat before I had even stepped inside the door.”
Ulf Haldorssøn chuckled to himself.
“And I’ve treated you well ever since,” said Munan. “I gave you everything you wanted . . . and our children . . . well, they’re in a better and more secure position than those poor sons of Kristin. May God protect the poor boys, the way Erlend has left things for his children! I think that must be more important to a mother’s heart than the name of wife—and you know how many times I wished that you had been highborn so that I might marry you—I’ve never liked any other woman as much as you, even though you were seldom gentle or kind to me . . . and the wife I did have, may God reward her. I’ve established an altar for my Katrin and me in our church, Kristin—I’ve thanked God and Our Lady every day for my marriage. . . . no man has had things better. . . .” He sniffed and began to cry.
A little later Ulf Haldorssøn said they would have to leave. He and Kristin didn’t exchange a single word on the way home. But outside the main door, she took Ulf’s hand.
“Ulf—my kinsman and my friend!”
“If it would help,” he said quietly, “I would gladly go to the gallows in Erlend’s place—for his sake and for yours.”
In the evening, a little before bedtime, Kristin was sitting alone in the room with Simon. Suddenly she began to tell him where she had been that day. She recounted the conversation they had had out there.
Simon was sitting on a small stool a short distance away. Bending forward slightly, with his arms resting on his thighs and his hands hanging down, he sat and gazed up at her with a peculiar, searching look in his small, sharp eyes. He didn’t say a word, and not a muscle twitched in his heavy, broad face.
Then Kristin mentioned that she had told her father everything, and what his response had been.
Simon sat in the same position, without moving. But after a while he said calmly, “That was the only request I have ever made of you in all the years we’ve known each other . . . if I remember right . . . that you should . . . but if you couldn’t keep that to yourself to spare Lavrans, then . . .”
Kristin’s body trembled violently. “Yes. But . . . Oh, Erlend, Erlend, Erlend!”
At her wild cries, the man leaped to his feet. Kristin had flung herself forward, and with her head in her arms she was rocking from side to side, calling to Erlend over and over in between the quavering, racking sobs that seemed to be wrung from her body, filling her mouth with moans that welled up and spilled out.
“Kristin, in the name of Jesus!”
When he grasped her arms and tried to console her, she threw her full weight against his chest and put her arms around his neck, as she continued to weep and call out her husband’s name.
“Kristin—calm yourself. . . .” He crushed her in his arms but saw that she took no notice; she was crying so hard that she couldn’t stand on her own. Then he lifted her in his arms—held her tight for a moment, and then carried her over to the bed and laid her down.
“Calm yourself,” he again implored, his voice stifled and almost threatening. He placed his hands over her face, and she took hold of his wrists and arms and then clung to him.
“Simon . . . Simon . . . oh, he must be saved. . . .”
“I’ll do what I can, Kristin. But now you
must
calm yourself!” Abruptly he turned away, walked to the door, and went out. He shouted so loudly that his voice echoed between the buildings; he called for the serving maid Kristin had hired in Oslo. She came running, and Simon told her to go in to her mistress. A moment later the girl came back out—her mistress wanted to be left alone, she fearfully told Simon; he hadn’t moved from the spot where he stood.
He nodded and went over to the stable, staying there until his servant Gunnar and Ulf Haldorssøn came out to give the horses their evening fodder. Simon began talking with them and then went with Ulf back to the main house.
Kristin saw little of her brother-in-law the following day. But after mid-afternoon prayers, as she sat and sewed on a garment she was going to take to her husband, Simon came dashing into the room. He didn’t speak to her or look at her; he merely threw open his traveling chest, filled his silver goblet with wine, and left. Kristin stood up and followed. Outside the main door stood a stranger, still holding the reins of his horse. Simon took a gold ring off his finger, tossed it into the goblet, and drank a toast to the messenger.
Kristin guessed what the news was and shouted joyfully, “You’ve been given a son, Simon!”
“Yes.” He slapped the messenger on the shoulder as the man uttered his thanks and tucked the goblet and ring under his belt. Then Simon put his arm around the waist of his wife’s sister and spun her around. He looked so happy that Kristin had to put her hands on his shoulders; then he kissed her full on the mouth and laughed loudly.
“I see it will be the Darre lineage, after all, that will live on at Formo after you’re gone, Simon,” she said joyously.
“So be it . . . if God wills.”
When Kristin asked him if they should go to evensong together, he replied, “No, tonight I want to go alone.”
That evening he told Kristin he had heard that Erling Vidkuns søn was supposed to be at his manor, Aker, near Tunsberg. Earlier in the day Simon had booked passage on a ship down the fjord; he wanted to talk to Sir Erling about Erlend’s case.
Kristin said very little. They had mentioned this possibility before, but avoided discussing it further—whether Sir Erling had known about Erlend’s endeavor or not. Simon said he would seek Erling Vidkunssøn’s counsel—ask him what he thought of Kristin’s plan that Simon should accompany her to meet with Lavrans’s powerful kinsmen in Sweden, to ask the help of friends and kin.
Then she said, “But you have received such great news, brother-in-law, that it seems to me it would be more reasonable for you to postpone this journey to Aker and first travel to Ringheim, to see Ramborg and your son.”
He had to turn away, he felt so weak. He had been waiting for this—whether Kristin would show some sign that she understood how he longed to see his son. But when he had regained mastery of his feelings, he said with some embarrassment, “I’ve been thinking, Kristin, that God will perhaps grant the boy better health if I can be patient and rein in my longing to see him until I’ve helped Erlend and you a little more in this matter.”
The next day Simon went out and bought rich and splendid gifts for his wife and son, as well as for all the women who had been at Ramborg’s side when she gave birth. Kristin took out a beautiful silver spoon she had inherited from her mother; this was for the infant, Andres Simonssøn. But to her sister she sent the heavy gilded silver chain, which Lavrans had once given her in her childhood along with the reliquary cross. The cross she now moved to the chain Erlend had given her as a betrothal present. The following day, around noon, Simon set sail.
In the evening the ship anchored off an island in the fjord. Simon stayed on board, lying in a sleeping bag made of pelts, with several homespun blankets spread on top; he looked up at the starry skies, where the images seemed to rock and sway as the ship pitched on the sleepily gliding swells. The water sloshed and the ice floes scraped and hammered against the sides of the vessel. It was almost pleasant to feel the cold seeping deeper and deeper into his body. It was soothing. . . .
And yet he was now certain that as bad as things had been, they would never be so again. Now that he had a son. It was not that he thought he would love the boy more than he did his daughters. But this was different. As joyful as the small maidens could make him feel whenever they came to their father with their games and laughter and chatter, and as wonderful as it felt to have them sitting on his lap with their soft hair beneath his chin—a man could not claim the same position in the succession of men among his kin if his estate and property and the memory of his deeds in this world should be transferred on the hand of his daughter to some other lineage. But now that he dared to hope—if only God would allow this infant boy to grow up—that son would follow father at ormo: Andres Gudmundssøn, Simon Andressøn, Andres Simons søn. Then it was clear that he must be for Andres what his own father had been for him: a man of integrity, both in his secret thoughts and in his actions.
Sometimes he felt he didn’t have the strength to continue. If only he had seen a single sign that she understood. But Kristin behaved toward him as if they were actual siblings: considerate of his welfare, kind and loving and gentle. And he didn’t know how long it could last: living together in the same house in this manner. Didn’t she ever think about the fact that he couldn’t forget? Even though he was now married to her sister, he could still never forget that they had once been betrothed to live together as man and wife.
But now he had a son. Whenever he said his prayers, he had always shied away from adding any of his own words, whether wishes or words of gratitude. But Christ and Mary knew full well what he meant when he had said double the number of
Pater noster
s and
Ave Marias
lately. He would continue to do so as long as he was away from home. And he would show his gratitude in an equally fitting and generous manner. Then perhaps he would receive help on this journey, as well.
In truth, he thought it unreasonable to expect to make any gains from this meeting. Relations between Erling and the king were now quite cold. And no matter how powerful and proud the former regent might be, no matter how little he needed to fear the young king—who was in a much more difficult position than Norway’s wealthiest and most highborn man—it was still unlikely that he would want to provoke King Magnus even more by speaking on Erlend Nikulaussøn’s behalf and drawing suspicion upon himself that he might have known about Erlend’s treasonous plans. Even if Erling had taken part in them—yes, even if he was behind the whole undertaking, prepared to intervene and allow himself to be placed in charge of the realm as soon as there was once again an underaged king in the land—he would not feel bound to take any risks to help the man who had ruined the entire plan for the sake of a shameful love affair. This was something Simon almost forgot whenever he was together with Erlend and Kristin, for the two of them seemed hardly to remember it anymore. But it was true that Erlend himself was to blame for the whole endeavor resulting in nothing more than misfortune for him and the good men who had been exposed by his foolish philandering.
He must try every recourse to help her and her husband. And now he began to hope. Perhaps God and the Virgin Mary or some of the saints, whom he had always honored with offerings and alms, would support him in this undertaking too.
He arrived at Aker quite late the following evening. An overseer on the estate met him and sent servants on ahead, some with the horses and some to escort Simon’s man over to the servants’ hall. The overseer himself went up to the loft where the knight was sitting and drinking. A moment later Sir Erling came out onto the gallery and stood there as Simon climbed the stairs. Then he welcomed his guest courteously enough and led him into the chamber where Stig Haakonssøn of Mandvik was sitting with a very young man who was Erling’s only son, Bjarne Erlingssøn.
Simon was received in a friendly fashion; the servants took his outer garments and brought in food and drink. But he could see that the men had guessed why he had come—or at least Erling and Stig had—and he noticed their reticence. When Stig began to talk about how rare it was to see Simon in that part of the country, and how he wasn’t exactly wearing down the doorstep of his former kinsmen—he hadn’t even been farther south than to Dyfrin since Halfrid died—then Simon replied, “No, not until this winter.” But he had been in Oslo for several months now with his wife’s sister, Kristin Lavransdatter, who was married to Erlend Nikulaussøn.
At that they all fell silent. Then Sir Erling asked politely about Kristin and about Simon’s wife and siblings, and Simon asked about Fru Elin and Erling’s daughters, and Stig’s health, and news from Mandvik and old neighbors there.
Stig Haakonssøn was a stout, dark-haired man a few years older than Simon, the son of Halfrid Erlingsdatter’s half-brother, Sir Haakon Toressøn, and the nephew of Erling Vidkunssøn’s wife, Elin Toresdatter. He had lost his position as sheriff of Skidu and his command of the castle at Tunsberg two winters earlier when he fell out of favor with the king, but otherwise he lived well enough at Mandvik, although he was a widower with no children. Simon knew him quite well and had been on good terms with him, as he was with all the kinsmen of his first wife—although the friendship had never been overly warm. He knew what they had all thought about Halfrid’s second marriage: Sir Andres Gudmundssøn’s younger son might be both well positioned and of good lineage, but he was not an equal marriage match for Halfrid Erlingsdatter, and he was ten years younger than she was. They couldn’t understand why she had set her heart on this young man, but they allowed her to do as she wished, since she had suffered so unbearably with her first husband.