This thought, that her mother was on her way to be with her, became so entrenched in Kristin’s mind that one day she thought she could sense that her mother would arrive that very day. In the early morning she put on her cloak and went out to meet her on the road which leads from Gauldal to Skaun. No one noticed her leave the estate.
Erlend had ordered timber to be brought for the improvement of the buildings, so the road was good, but walking was still difficult for her. She was short of breath, her heart pounded, and she had a pain in both sides—it felt as if the taut skin would burst apart after she had walked a short while. And most of the road passed through dense forest. She was afraid, but there had been no word of wolves in the area that winter. And God would protect her, since she was on her way to meet her mother, to fall down before her and beg forgiveness—and she could not stop walking.
She reached a small lake where there were several farms. At the spot where the road led out onto the ice, she sat down on a log. She sat there for a while, walked a little farther when she began to freeze, and waited for many hours. But at last she had to turn back and head for home.
The next day she wandered along the same road. But when she crossed the courtyard of one of the small farms near the lake, the farmer’s wife came running after her.
“In God’s name, mistress, you mustn’t do that!”
When the other woman spoke, Kristin grew so frightened herself that she didn’t dare move. Trembling, her eyes wide with fear, she stared at the farmer’s wife.
“Through the woods—just think if a wolf caught your scent. Other terrible things could happen to you, too. How can you do something so foolish?”
The farmer’s wife put her arm around the young mistress and supported her; she looked into Kristin’s gaunt face with the yellowish, brown-flecked skin.
“You must come into our house and rest for a while. Then someone from here will escort you home,” said the farmer’s wife as she led Kristin indoors.
It was a cramped and impoverished house, and there was great disarray inside; many little children were playing on the floor. Their mother sent them out to the cookhouse, took her guest’s cloak, seated her on a bench, and pulled off her snowy shoes. Then she wrapped a fur around Kristin’s feet.
No matter how much Kristin begged the woman not to trouble herself, the farmer’s wife continued to dish up food and ale from the Christmas cask. All the while the woman thought: So that’s how things are at Husaby! She was a poor man’s wife; they had little help on the farm, and usually none at all; but Øistein had never allowed her to walk alone outside the courtyard fence when she was with child—yes, even if she was just going out to the cowshed after dark, someone would have to keep watch for her. But the richest mistress in the parish could go out and risk the most hideous death, and not a Christian soul was looking out for her—even though the servants were falling over each other at Husaby and did no work. It must be true then what people said, that Erlend Nikulaussøn was already tired of his marriage and cared nothing for his wife.
But she chatted with Kristin the whole time and urged her to eat and drink. And Kristin was thoroughly ashamed, but she had a craving for food such as she had not felt before—not since the spring. This kind woman’s food tasted so good. And the woman laughed and said that the gentry’s women probably were created no different from other people. If a woman couldn’t stand to look at food at home, someone else’s food could often make her almost greedy, even if it was poor and coarse fare.
Her name was Audfinna Andunsdatter, and she was from Updal, she said. When she noticed that it put her guest at ease, she began to talk about her home and her village. And before Kristin knew it, her own tongue was loosened, and she was talking about her own home and her parents and her village. Audfinna could see that the young woman’s heart was almost bursting with homesickness, so she stealthily prodded Kristin to keep talking. Hot and giddy from the ale, Kristin talked until she was laughing and crying at the same time. All that she had futilely tried to sob out of her heart during the lonely evening hours at Husaby, now was gradually released as she spoke to this kind farmer’s wife.
It was quite dark above the smoke vent, but Audfinna wanted ristin to wait for Øistein or her sons to return from the woods so they could accompany her. Kristin fell silent and grew drowsy, but she sat there smiling, her eyes shining—she hadn’t felt this way since she had to come to Husaby.
Then a man tore open the door, shouting: Had they seen any sign of the mistress? Then he noticed her and went back outside. A moment later Erlend’s tall figure ducked through the doorway. He set down the axe he was carrying and leaned back against the wall. He had to put his hands behind him to support himself, and he could not speak.
“You have feared for your wife?” asked Audfinna, going over to him.
“Yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it.” Erlend pushed back his hair. “No man has ever been as frightened as I was tonight. When I heard that she had gone through the woods . . .”
Audfinna told him how Kristin had happened to come there. Erlend took the woman’s hand.
“I will never forget this—either you or your husband,” he said.
Then he went over to where his wife was sitting, stood next to her, and placed his hand on the back of her neck. He didn’t say a word to her, but he stood there like that for as long as they remained in the house.
Now they all came inside, the servants from Husaby and men from the nearest farms. Everyone looked as if they could use something fortifying to drink, so Audfinna served ale all around before they left.
The men set off on skis across the fields, but Erlend had given his to a servant; he walked along, holding Kristin under his cape, and headed down the slope. It was quite dark now, but a starry night.
Then they heard it from the forest behind them—a long, drawn-out howl that grew and grew in the night. It was the howl of the wolf—and there were several of them. Shivering, Erlend stopped and let Kristin go. She sensed that he crossed himself while he gripped the axe in his other hand. “If you were now . . . oh, no!” He pulled her to him so hard that she whimpered.
The skiers out in the field turned around and made their way back toward the two as fast as they could. They slung the skis over their shoulders and closed around her in a tight group with spears and axes. The wolves followed them all the way to Husaby—so close that once or twice they caught a glimpse of the beasts in the dark.
When the men entered the hall at home, many of them were gray or white in the face. “That was the most horrifying . . .” said one man, and he at once threw up into the hearth. The frightened maids put their mistress to bed. She could eat nothing. But now that the terrible, sickening fear was over, in an odd way she thought it was good to see that everyone had been so scared on her behalf.
When they were alone in the hall, Erlend came over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why did you do that?” he whispered. And when she didn’t reply, he said even more softly, “Do you so regret that you came to my manor?”
It took a moment before she realized what he meant.
“Jesus, Maria! How can you think something like that!”
“What did you mean that time when you said—when we were at Medalby, and I was going to ride away from you—that I would have had to wait a good long time before you followed me to Husaby?” he asked in the same tone of voice.
“Oh, I spoke in anger,” said Kristin quietly, embarrassed. And now she told him why she had gone out these past few days. Erlend sat quite still and listened to her.
“I wonder when the day will come when you’ll think of Husaby here with me as your home,” he said, bending toward her in the dark.
“Oh, that time is probably no more than a week away,” whispered Kristin, laughing uncertainly. When he lay his face next to hers, she threw her arms around his neck and returned his ardent kisses.
“That’s the first time you’ve ventured to embrace me since I struck you,” said Erlend in a low voice. “You hold a grudge for a long time, my Kristin.”
It occurred to her that this was the first time, since the night when he realized that she was with child, that she dared to caress him without his asking.
But after that day, Erlend was so kind to her that Kristin regretted every hour that she had spent feeling angry toward him.
CHAPTER 4
SAINT GREGOR’S DAY came and went, and Kristin had thought that surely her time would have come by then. But now it would soon be the Feast of the Annunciation, and she was still on her feet.
Erlend had to go to Nidaros for the mid-Lenten
ting;
he said he would certainly be home on Monday evening, but by Wednesday morning he had still not returned. Kristin sat in the hall and didn’t know what to do with herself—she felt as if she couldn’t bear to start on anything.
Sunlight came flooding down through the smoke vent, and she sensed that outdoors it must be an almost springlike day. Then she stood up and threw a cloak around her shoulders.
One of the maids had mentioned that if a woman carried a child too long, then a good remedy was to let the bridal horse eat grain from her lap. Kristin paused for a moment in the doorway—in the dazzling sunshine the courtyard looked quite brown with glistening rivulets that had washed shiny, icy stripes through the horse manure and dirt. The sky arched bright and silky-blue above the old buildings, and the two dragon figureheads which were carved into the gables of the eastern storehouse glistened against the sky with the remnants of ancient gilding. Water dripped and trickled off the roofs, and smoke whirled and danced in the little, warm gusts of wind.
She walked over to the stable and went inside, filling her skirt with oats from the grain chest. The smell of the stable and the sound of the horses stirring in the dark did her good. But there were people in the stable, so she didn’t have the nerve to do what she had come for.
She went out and threw the grain to the chickens that were strutting around in the courtyard, sunning themselves. Absentmindedly she watched Tore, the stableboy, who was grooming and brushing the gray gelding, which was shedding heavily. Once in a while she would close her eyes and turn her wan, house-pale face up toward the sun.
As Kristin was standing like that, three men rode into the courtyard. The one in front was a young priest she didn’t know. As soon as he saw Kristin, he jumped down from his saddle and came straight over to her with his hand outstretched.
“I doubt you had intended to do me this honor, mistress, of standing outside to receive me,” he said, smiling. “But I thank you for it all the same. For you must certainly be my brother’s wife, Kristin Lavransdatter?”
“Then you must be Master Gunnulf, my brother-in-law,” she replied, blushing crimson. “Well met, sir! And welcome home to Husaby!”
“Thank you for your kind greeting,” said the priest. He bent down to kiss her cheek in the manner which she knew was the custom abroad, when kinsmen meet. “I hope I find you well, Erlend’s wife!”
Ulf Haldorssøn came out and told a servant to take the guests’ horses. Gunnulf greeted Ulf heartily.
“Are you here, kinsman? I had expected to find you now a married and settled man.”
“No, I won’t be marrying until I have to choose between a wife and the gallows,” said Ulf with a laugh, and the priest laughed too. “I’ve made the Devil as firm a promise to live unwed as you have promised the same to God.”
“Well, then you’ll be safe, no matter which way you turn, Ulf,” replied Master Gunnulf, laughing. “Since you’ll do well the day you break the promise that you’ve given. But then it is also said that a man should keep his word, even if it’s to the Devil himself.
“Isn’t Erlend home?” he asked, surprised. He offered Kristin his hand as they turned to go into the main house.
To hide her shyness, Kristin busied herself among the servant women and tended to the setting of the table. She invited Erlend’s learned brother to sit in the high seat, but since she didn’t want to sit there with him, he moved down to the bench next to her.
Now that he was sitting at her side, Kristin saw that Master Gunnulf must be at least half a head shorter than Erlend, but he was much heavier. He was stronger and stockier in build and limbs, and his broad shoulders were perfectly straight. Erlend’s shoulders drooped a bit. Gunnulf wore dark clothing, very proper for a priest, but his ankle-length surcoat, which came almost up to the neckband of his linen shirt, was fastened with enameled buttons; from his woven belt hung his eating utensils in a silver sheath.
She glanced up at the priest’s face. He had a strong, round head and a lean, round face with a broad, low forehead, somewhat prominent cheekbones, and a finely rounded chin. His nose was straight and his ears small and lovely, but his mouth was wide, and his upper lip protruded slightly, overshadowing the little patch of red made by his lower lip. Only his hair looked like Erlend’s—the thick fringe around the priest’s shaved crown was black with the luster of dry soot and it looked as silky-soft as Erlend’s hair. Otherwise he was not unlike his cousin Munan Baardsøn—now Kristin could see that it might be true after all that Munan had been handsome in his youth. No, it was his Aunt Aashild whom he resembled—now she saw that he had the same eyes as Fru Aashild: amber-colored and bright beneath narrow, straight black eyebrows.
At first Kristin was a little shy of this brother-in-law who had been educated in so many fields of knowledge at the great universities of Paris and Italy. But little by little she lost her embarrassment. It was so easy to talk to Gunnulf. It didn’t seem as if he were talking about himself—least of all that he wanted to boast about his learning. But before she knew it, he had told her about so many things that Kristin felt she had never before realized what a vast world there was outside Norway. She forgot about herself and everything around her as she sat and looked up into the priest’s round, strong-boned face with the bright and delicate smile. He had crossed one leg over the other under his surcoat, and he sat there with his white, powerful hands clasped around his ankle.