She sat in silence for a moment.

"When he came out to Skog . . . a year had pa.s.sed, and I didn't think much about it anymore. But he came to visit. He said that he regretted what he had done, that he would have taken me then if I hadn't been married, that he was fond of me. So he said. G.o.d must judge whether he spoke the truth. After he left . . . I didn't dare go out on the fjord; I didn't dare because of the sin, not with the child. And by then I had . . . by then I had begun to love you so!" She uttered a cry, as if in the wildest torment. Her husband turned his head toward her.

"When Bjrgulf was born," Ragnfrid went on, "oh, I thought I loved him more than my own life. When he lay there, struggling with death, I thought: If he perishes, I will perish too. But I did not not ask G.o.d to spare the boy's life." ask G.o.d to spare the boy's life."

Lavrans sat for a long time before he asked, his voice heavy and dead, "Was it because I wasn't his father?"

"I didn't know whether you were or not," said Ragnfrid, stiffening.

For a long time both of them sat there, as still as death.

Then the husband said fervently, "In the name of Jesus, Ragnfrid, why are you telling me this-now?"

"Oh, I don't know." She wrung her hands so hard that her knuckles cracked. "So that you can take vengeance on me. Chase me away from your manor . . ."

"Do you think that would help me?" His voice was shaking with scorn. "What about our daughters?" he said quietly. "Kristin, and the little one?"

Ragnfrid said nothing for a moment.

"I remember how you judged Erlend Nikulaussn," she murmured. "So how will you judge me?"

A long icy shiver rippled through the man's body, releasing some of his stiffness.

"You have now . . . we have now lived together . . . for almost twenty-seven years. It's not the same thing as with a man who's a stranger. I can see that you have suffered the greatest anguish."

Ragnfrid collapsed into sobs at his words. She tried to reach out for his hand. He didn't move, but sat as still as a dead man. Then she wept louder and louder, but her husband sat motionless, staring at the gray light around the door. Finally she lay there as if all her tears had run out. Then he gave her arm a fleeting caress. And she began to cry again.

"Do you remember," she said in between her sobs, "that man who once visited us while we were at Skog? The one who knew the old ballads? Do you remember the one about a dead man who had come back from the land of torment and told his son the legend of what he had seen? He said that a great clamor was heard from the depths of h.e.l.l, and unfaithful wives ground up earth for their husbands' food. b.l.o.o.d.y were the stones that they turned, b.l.o.o.d.y hung their hearts from their b.r.e.a.s.t.s . . ."

Lavrans said nothing.

"For all these years I have thought of those words," said Ragnfrid. "Each day I felt as if my heart were bleeding, for I felt as if I were grinding up earth for your food."

Lavrans didn't know why he answered the way he did. His chest felt empty and hollow, like a man whose heart and lungs had been ripped out through his back. But he placed his hand, heavy and weary, on his wife's head and said, "Earth has to be ground up, my Ragnfrid, before the food can grow."

When she tried to take his hand to kiss it, he pulled it abruptly away. Then he looked down at his wife, took her hand, placed it on his knee, and leaned his cold, rigid face against it. And in this manner they sat there together, without moving and without speaking another word.

II: THE WIFE.

IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER.

INGVALD UNDSET.

PART I.

THE FRUIT OF SIN.

CHAPTER 1.

ON THE EVE of Saint Simon's Day, Baard Petersn's ship anch.o.r.ed at the spit near Birgsi. Abbot Olav of Nidarholm had ridden down to the sh.o.r.e himself to greet his kinsman Erlend Nikulaussn and to welcome the young wife he was bringing home. The newly married couple would be the guests of the abbot and spend the night at Vigg.

Erlend led his deathly pale and miserable young wife along the dock. The abbot bantered about the wretchedness of the sea voyage; Erlend laughed and said that his wife was no doubt longing to sleep in a bed that stood firmly next to a wall. And Kristin tried to smile, but she was thinking that she would not go willingly on board a ship again for as long as she lived. She felt ill if Erlend merely came close to her, so strongly did he smell of the ship and the sea-his hair was completely stiff and tacky with salt water. He had been quite giddy with joy the entire time they were on board ship, and Sir Baard had laughed. Out there at Mre, where Erlend had grown up, the boys were constantly out in the boats, sailing and rowing. They had felt some sympathy for her, both Erlend and Sir Baard, but not as much as her misery warranted, thought Kristin. They kept saying that the seasickness would pa.s.s after she got used to being on board. But she had continued to feel wretched during the entire voyage.

The next morning she felt as if she were still sailing as she rode up through the outlying villages. Up one hill and down the next, carried over steep moraines of clay, and if she tried to fix her eyes up ahead on the mountain ridge, she felt as if the whole countryside was pitching, rising up like waves, and then tossed up against the pale blue-white of the winter morning sky.

A large group of Erlend's friends and neighbors had arrived at Vigg that morning to accompany the married couple home, so they set off in a great procession. The horses' hooves rang hollowly, for the earth was now as hard as iron from black frost. Steam enveloped the people and the horses; rime covered the animals' bodies as well as everyone's hair and furs. Erlend looked as white-haired as the abbot, his face glowing from the morning drink and the biting wind. Today he was wearing his bridegroom's clothing; he looked so young and happy that he seemed radiant, and joy and wild abandon surged in his beautiful, supple voice as he rode, calling to his guests and laughing with them.

Kristin's heart began quivering so strangely, from sorrow and tenderness and fear. She was still feeling sick after the voyage; she had that terrible burning in her breast that now appeared whenever she ate or drank even the smallest amount. She was bitterly cold; and lodged deep in her soul was that tiny, dull, mute anger toward Erlend, who was so free of sorrow. And yet, now that she saw with what naive pride and sparkling elation he was escorting her home as his wife, a bitter remorse began trickling inside her, and her breast ached with pity for him. Now she wished she hadn't held to her own obstinate decision but had told Erlend when he visited them in the summer that it would not be fitting for their wedding to be celebrated with too much grandeur. And yet she had doubtless wished he might see for himself that they would not be able to escape their actions without humiliation.

But she had also been afraid of her father. And she had thought that after their wedding was celebrated, they would be going far away. She wouldn't see her village again for a long time-not until all talk of her had long since died out.

Now she realized that this would be much worse. Erlend had mentioned the great homecoming celebration that he would hold at Husaby, but she hadn't envisioned that it would be like a second wedding feast. And these guests-they were the people she and Erlend would live among; it was their respect and friendship that they needed to win. These were the people who had witnessed Erlend's foolishness and misfortune all these years. Now he believed that he had redeemed himself in their opinion, that he could take his place among his peers by right of birth and fortune. But he would be ridiculed everywhere, here in the villages, when it became apparent that he had taken advantage of his own lawfully betrothed bride.

The abbot leaned over toward Kristin.

"You look so somber, Kristin Lavransdatter. Haven't you recovered from your seasickness yet? Or are you longing for your mother, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, Father," said Kristin softly. "I suppose I'm thinking of my mother."

They had reached Skaun. They were riding high up along the mountainside. Beneath them, on the valley floor, the leafless forest stood white and furry with frost; it glittered in the sunlight, and there were glints from a little blue lake down below. Then they emerged from the evergreen grove. Erlend pointed ahead.

"There you can see Husaby, Kristin. May G.o.d grant you many happy days there, my wife!" he said warmly.

Spread out before them were vast acres, white with rime. The estate stood on what looked like a wide ledge midway up the mountain slope. Closest to them was a small, light-colored stone church, and directly to the south stood all the buildings; they were both numerous and large. Smoke was swirling up from the smoke vents. The bells began to chime from the church and people came streaming out toward them from the courtyard,1 shouting and waving. The young men in the bridal procession clanged their weapons against each other-and with much banging and clattering and joyous commotion the group raced toward the manor of the newly married man. shouting and waving. The young men in the bridal procession clanged their weapons against each other-and with much banging and clattering and joyous commotion the group raced toward the manor of the newly married man.

They stopped in front of the church. Erlend lifted his bride down from her horse and led her to the door, where an entire crowd of priests and clerics stood waiting to receive them. It was bitterly cold inside, and the daylight seeped in through the small arched windows in the nave, making the glow of the tapers in the choir pale.

Kristin felt abandoned and afraid when Erlend let go of her hand and went over to the men's side while she joined the group of unfamiliar women, dressed in their holiday finery. The service was very beautiful. But Kristin was freezing, and it seemed as if her prayers were blown back to her when she tried to ease her heart and lift it upwards. She thought it was probably not a good omen that it was Saint Simon's Day-since he was the patron saint of the man whom she had treated so badly.

From the church they walked in procession down toward the manor; first the priests and then Kristin and Erlend, hand in hand, followed by the guests, two by two. Kristin was so distracted that she didn't notice much of the estate. The courtyard was long and narrow; the buildings stood in two rows along the south and north sides. They were ma.s.sive and set close together, but they seemed old and in disrepair.

The procession stopped at the door to the main house, and the priests blessed it with holy water. Then Erlend led Kristin inside, through a dark entryway. On her right a door was thrown open to brilliant light. She ducked through the doorway and stood next to Erlend in his hall.

It was the largest room she had ever seen on any man's estate. There was a hearthplace in the middle of the floor, and it was so long that fires were burning at both ends. And the room was so wide that the crossbeams were supported by carved pillars. It seemed to Kristin more like the interior of a church or a king's great hall than the hall of a manor. At the east end of the house, where the high seat2 stood in the middle of the bench along the wall, enclosed beds had been built into the walls between the pillars. stood in the middle of the bench along the wall, enclosed beds had been built into the walls between the pillars.

And so many candles were now burning in the room-on the tables, which groaned with precious vessels and platters, and in brackets attached to the walls. As was the custom in the old days, weapons and shields hung between the draped tapestries. The wall behind the high seat was covered with velvet, and that was where a man now hung Erlend's gold-chased sword and his white shield with the leaping red lion.

Serving men and women had taken the guests' outer garments from them. Erlend took his wife by the hand and led her forward to the hearthplace; the guests formed a semicircle behind them. A heavyset woman with a gentle face stepped forward and shook out Kristin's wimple, which had wrinkled a bit under her cloak. As the woman stepped back to her place, she bowed to the young couple and smiled. Erlend bowed and smiled in return and then looked down at his wife. At that moment his face was so handsome. And once again Kristin's heart seemed to sink-she felt such pity for him. She knew what he was now thinking; he saw her standing there in his hall with the long, snow-white wimple of a married woman spread out over her scarlet wedding gown. That morning she had been forced to wind a long woven belt tightly around her stomach and waist under her clothing before she could get the gown to fit properly. And she had rubbed her cheeks with a red salve that Fru Aashild had given her. While she was doing this, she had thought with indignation and sadness that Erlend didn't seem to look at her much, now that he had won her-since he hadn't yet noticed her condition. Now she bitterly regretted that she hadn't told him before.

As the couple stood there, hand in hand, the priests walked around the room, blessing the house and the hearth, the bed and the table.

Then a servant woman brought the keys of the house over to Erlend. He hung the heavy key ring on Kristin's belt-and as he did this he looked as if he wanted to kiss her at the same time. A man brought a large drinking horn, ringed in gold, and Erlend put it to his lips and drank to her.

"Health and happiness on your estate, my wife!"

And the guests shouted and laughed as she drank with her husband and then threw the rest of the wine into the hearth fire.

Then the musicians began to play as Erlend Nikulaussn led his lawful wife to the high seat and the banquet guests sat down at the table.

On the third day the guests began to leave, and by the fifth day, just before mid-afternoon prayers, the last ones had departed. Then Kristin was alone with her husband at Husaby.

The first thing she did was to ask the servants to remove all the bedclothes from the bed, to wash them and the surrounding walls with lye, and to carry out the straw and burn it. Then she had the bed filled with fresh straw and on top she spread the bedclothes that she had brought with her to the estate. It was late at night before the work was done. But Kristin said that this should be done with all the beds on the farm, and all the furs were to be steamed in the bathhouse. The maids would have to start first thing in the morning and do as much as they could before the sabbath. Erlend shook his head and laughed-what a wife she was! But he was quite ashamed.

Kristin had not slept much on the first night, even though the priests had blessed her bed. On top were spread silk-covered pillows, a linen sheet, and the finest blankets and furs, but underneath lay filthy, rotting straw; there were lice in the bedclothes and in the magnificent black bear pelt that lay on top.

Many things she had noticed during those days. Behind the costly tapestries which covered the walls, the soot and the dirt had not been washed from the timbers. There was an abundance of food for the feast, but much of it was spoiled or ill-prepared. And they had lit the fires with raw, wet wood that offered hardly any heat and filled the room with smoke.

Poor management she had seen everywhere when, on the second day, she walked around with Erlend to look at the estate. There would be empty stalls and storerooms after the celebration was over; the flour bins were almost swept clean. And she couldn't understand how Erlend planned to feed all the horses and so much livestock with what was left of the straw and hay; there was not even enough fodder for the sheep.

But there was a loft half-filled with flax, and nothing had been done with it-it seemed to be a large part of several years' harvest. And a storeroom full of ancient, unwashed, and stinking wool, some in sacks and some lying loose all around. When Kristin put her hand into the wool, tiny brown worm eggs spilled out of it-moths and maggots had gotten into the wool.

The cattle were feeble, gaunt, scabrous, and chafed; never had she seen so many old animals in one place. Only the horses were beautiful and well cared for. But none of them was a match for Guldsvein or Ringdrott, the stallion that her father now owned. Slngvanbauge, the horse that he had given her from home, was the most splendid horse in Husaby's stables. She couldn't resist putting her arm around his neck and pressing her face against his coat when she went over to him. And the gentry of Trndelag3 looked at the horse and praised his strong, stout legs, his deep chest and high neck, his small head and broad flanks. The old man from Gimsar swore by both G.o.d and the Fiend that it was a great sin that they had gelded the horse-what a battle horse he might have been. Then Kristin had to boast a little about his sire, Ringdrott. He was much bigger and stronger; there wasn't another stallion that could compete with him; her father had even tested him against the most celebrated horses all the way north to this parish. Lavrans had given these horses the unusual names-Ringdrott and Slngvanbauge-because they were golden in color and had markings that were like reddish-gold rings. The mother of Ringdrott had strayed from the other mares one summer up near the Boar Range, and they thought that a bear had taken her, but then she came back to the farm late in the fall. And the foal she bore the following year had surely not been bred by a stallion belonging to anyone aboveground. So they burned sulfur and bread over the foal, and Lavrans gave the mare to the church, to be even safer. But the foal had grown so magnificent that he now said he would rather lose half his estate than Ringdrott. looked at the horse and praised his strong, stout legs, his deep chest and high neck, his small head and broad flanks. The old man from Gimsar swore by both G.o.d and the Fiend that it was a great sin that they had gelded the horse-what a battle horse he might have been. Then Kristin had to boast a little about his sire, Ringdrott. He was much bigger and stronger; there wasn't another stallion that could compete with him; her father had even tested him against the most celebrated horses all the way north to this parish. Lavrans had given these horses the unusual names-Ringdrott and Slngvanbauge-because they were golden in color and had markings that were like reddish-gold rings. The mother of Ringdrott had strayed from the other mares one summer up near the Boar Range, and they thought that a bear had taken her, but then she came back to the farm late in the fall. And the foal she bore the following year had surely not been bred by a stallion belonging to anyone aboveground. So they burned sulfur and bread over the foal, and Lavrans gave the mare to the church, to be even safer. But the foal had grown so magnificent that he now said he would rather lose half his estate than Ringdrott.

Erlend laughed and said, "You don't talk much, Kristin, but when you talk about your father, you're quite eloquent!"

Kristin abruptly fell silent. She remembered her father's face when she was about to ride off with Erlend and he lifted her onto her horse. Lavrans had put on a happy expression because there were so many people around them, but Kristin saw his eyes. He stroked her arm and took her hand to say farewell. At that time her main thought had been that she was glad to be leaving. Now she thought that for as long as she lived, she would feel a sting in her soul whenever she remembered her father's eyes on that day.

Then Kristin Lavransdatter set about organizing and managing her household. She was up before dawn each morning, even though Erlend protested and pretended that he would keep her in bed by force; no one expected a newly married woman to be running from one building to another long before the light of day.

When she saw into what a sorry state everything had fallen and how much she would have to tend to, then the thought shot through her mind, hard and clear: if she had committed a sin to come to this place, so be it-but it was also a sin to make use of G.o.d's gifts as was done here. Shame was deserved by those who had been in charge before, along with all of those who had allowed Erlend's manor to decline so badly. There had not been a proper foreman at Husaby for the past two years; Erlend himself had been away from home much of the time, and besides, he had little knowledge of how to run the estate. So it was only to be expected that his envoys farther out in the countryside cheated him, as Kristin suspected they did, or that the servants at Husaby worked only as much as they pleased and whenever and in whatever manner it suited each of them. It would not be easy now for her to restore order to things.

One day she talked about this with Ulf Haldorssn, Erlend's personal servant. They should be done with the threshing, at least of the grain on their own land-and there wasn't much of it-before it was time for the slaughtering.

Ulf said, "You know, Kristin, that I'm not a farmer. We were to be Erlend's weapons bearers, Haftor and I-and I am no longer practiced in farming ways."

"I know that," said the mistress. "But as things stand, Ulf, it won't be easy for me to manage this winter, newly arrived as I am in this northern region and unfamiliar with our people. It would be kind of you to help me and advise me."

"I can see, Kristin, that you won't have an easy time this winter," said the man. He looked at her with a little smile-that odd smile he always wore whenever he spoke to her or to Erlend. It was impudent and mocking, and yet there was in his bearing both kindness and a certain esteem for her. And she didn't feel that she had the right to be offended when Ulf a.s.sumed a more familiar att.i.tude toward her than might otherwise be fitting. She and Erlend had allowed this man to be a witness to their improper and sinful behavior; now she saw that he also knew in what condition she found herself. That was something she would have to bear. She saw that Erlend too tolerated whatever Ulf said or did, and the man did not show much respect for his master. But they had been friends in their childhood; Ulf was from Mre, the son of a smallholder who lived near Baard Petersn's estate. He used the familiar form of address when he spoke to Erlend, as he now did with her-but that was more the custom among people up north than back home in her village.

Ulf Haldorssn was quite a striking man, tall and dark, with handsome eyes, but his speech was ugly and coa.r.s.e. Kristin had heard terrible things about him from the maids on the farm. When he went into town he would drink ferociously, reveling and carousing in the houses that stood along the alleyways; but when he was home at Husaby, he was the most steadfast of men, the most capable, the hardest worker, and the wisest. Kristin had taken a liking to him.

"It would not be easy for any woman to come to this estate, after all that has gone on here," he said. "And yet, I believe, Mistress Kristin, that you will fare better here than most women might. You're not the kind to sit down and whimper and complain; instead, you think of protecting the inheritance here for your descendants, when no one else gives any thought to that. And you know full well that you can count on me; I'll help you as much as I can. You must remember that I'm unaccustomed to farming ways. But if you will seek my counsel and allow me to advise you, then we should be able to make it through this winter, after a fashion."

Kristin thanked Ulf and went inside the house.

Her heart was heavy with fear and anguish, but she struggled to free herself. Part of her worry was that she didn't understand Erlend-he still didn't seem to notice anything. But the other part, and this was worse, was that she couldn't feel any life in the child she was carrying. She knew that at twenty weeks it should begin to move; now it was more than three weeks past that time. At night she would lie in bed and feel this burden which was growing and becoming heavier but which continued to be as dull and lifeless as ever. And hovering in her thoughts was all that she had heard about children who were born lame, with hardened sinews; about creatures that came to light without limbs, that had almost no human form. Before her closed eyes pa.s.sed images of tiny infants, hideously deformed; one horrific sight melted into another that was even worse. In the south of Gudbrandsdal, at Lidstad, they had a child-well, it must be full grown by now. Her father had seen it, but he would never speak of it; she noticed that he grew distressed if anyone even mentioned it. She wondered how it looked . . . Oh, no. Holy Olav, pray for me! She must believe firmly in the beneficence of the Holy King. She had given her child into his care, after all. With patience she would suffer for her sins and place her faith, with all her soul, in help and mercy for the child. It must be the Fiend himself who was tempting her with these loathsome sights in order to lure her into despair. But it was worse at night. If a child had no limbs, if it was lame, then the mother would doubtless feel no sign of life. Half-asleep, Erlend noticed that his wife was uneasy. He folded her tighter into his arms and buried his face in the hollow of her neck.

But in the daytime Kristin acted as if nothing was wrong. And each morning she would dress carefully, to hide from the house servants a little while longer that she was not walking alone.

It was the custom at Husaby that after the evening meal the servants would retire to the buildings where they slept. Then she and Erlend would sit alone in the hall. In general the customs here on the manor were more as they had been in the old days, back when people had thralls to do the housework. There was no permanent table in the hall, but each morning and evening a large plank was placed on trestles and then set with dishes, and after the meal it was hung back up on the wall. For the other meals everyone took their food over to the benches and sat there to eat. Kristin knew that this had been the custom in the past. But nowadays, when it was hard to find men to serve at the table and everyone had to be content with maids to do the work indoors, it was no longer practical-the women didn't want to waste their strength by lifting the heavy tables. Kristin remembered her mother telling her that at Sundbu they had a permanent table when she was eight winters old, and the women thought this a great advantage in every way. Then they no longer had to go out to the women's house with their sewing but could sit in the main room and cut and clip, and it looked so fine to have candlesticks and a few lovely vessels always standing there. Kristin thought that in the summer she would ask Erlend to put a table along the north wall.

That's where it stood at home, and her father had his high seat at the head of the table. But at Jrundgaard the beds stood along the wall to the entryway. At home her mother sat at the end of the outer bench so that she could go back and forth and keep an eye on the food being served. Only when there were guests did Ragnfrid sit at her husband's side. But here the high seat was in the middle beneath the east gable, and Erlend always wanted Kristin to sit with him. At home her father always offered G.o.d's servants a place in the high seat if they were guests at Jrundgaard, and he and Ragnfrid would serve them while they ate and drank. But Erlend refused to do so unless they were of high rank. He had little love for priests or monks-they were costly friends, he said. Kristin thought about what her father and Sira Eirik always said when people complained about the avarice of clerics: every man forgets the sinful pleasure he has enjoyed when he has to pay for it.

She asked Erlend about life at Husaby in the old days. But he knew very little. Such and such he had heard, if he remembered rightly-but he couldn't recall exactly. King Skule had owned the manor and built it up, presumably intending to make Husaby his home when he donated Rein manor to the convent. Erlend was exceedingly proud that he was descended from the duke, as he always called the king, and from Bishop Nikulaus. The bishop was the father of his grandfather, Munan Biskopssn. But Kristin thought that he knew less about these men than she did from her own father's stories. At home things were different. Neither her father nor her mother boasted of the power or prestige of their deceased ancestors. But they often spoke of them, holding out the good they knew about them as an example and telling of their faults and the evil that had resulted as a warning. And they knew amusing little tales-about Ivar Gjesling the Elder and his enmity with King Sverre, about Dean Ivar's sharp and witty replies, about Haavard Gjesling's tremendous girth, and about Ivar Gjesling the Younger's wondrous luck in hunting. Lavrans told of his grandfather's brother who abducted the Folkung maiden from Vreta cloister; about his grandfather, the Swedish knight Ketil; and about his grandmother, Ramborg Sunesdatter, who always longed for her home in Vastergotaland and who one day drove her sleigh through the ice of Lake Vanern when she was visiting her brother at Solberga. He told of his father's skill with weapons and of his inexpressible sorrow at the death of his young first wife, Kristin Sigurdsdatter, who died in childbed, giving birth to Lavrans. And he read from a book about his ancestor, the Holy Fru Elin of Skvde, who was blessed to become G.o.d's martyr. Lavrans had often said that he and Kristin should make a pilgrimage to the grave of the holy widow. But nothing had ever come of it.

In her fear and need, Kristin tried to pray to this holy woman to whom she was bound by blood. She prayed to Saint Elin for her child and kissed the cross that her father had given her; inside was a sc.r.a.p of the holy saint's shroud. But Kristin was afraid of Saint Elin, now that she had shamed her lineage so terribly. When she prayed to Saint Olav and Saint Thomas for their intercession, she often felt that her laments reached living ears and sympathetic hearts. Her father loved these two martyrs of righteousness above all the other saints, even more than Saint Lavrans himself, whose name he bore, and whose feast day in late summer he always honored with a great banquet and rich alms. Kristin's father had seen Saint Thomas in his dreams one night when he lay wounded outside of Baagahus. No one could describe how loving and venerable he was in appearance, and Lavrans himself had not been able to utter anything but "Lord, Lord!" But the radiant bishop had tenderly touched the man's wound and promised him life and vigor so that he would once again see his wife and daughter, as he had prayed for. And yet at that time not a soul had believed that Lavrans Bjrgulfsn would live through the night.

Well, Erlend had said. One heard so many things. Nothing like that had ever happened to him, and it wasn't likely to, either. He had never been a pious man like Lavrans.

Then Kristin asked about the people who had attended their homecoming feast. Erlend had little to say about them either. It occurred to Kristin that her husband did not resemble the people here in the countryside. Many of them were handsome; blond and ruddy-hued, with round, hard heads; strong and stocky in build. Many of the old men were immensely fat. Erlend looked like a strange bird among his guests. He was a head taller than most of the men, thin and lean, with slender limbs and fine joints. And he had black, silken hair and a tan complexion, but pale blue eyes beneath coal black brows and shadowy black lashes. His forehead was high and narrow, his temples hollowed; his nose was a little too big and his mouth a little too small and weak for a man. And yet he was handsome; Kristin had never seen a man who was half as handsome as Erlend. Even his soft, quiet voice was unlike the husky voices of the others.

Erlend laughed and said that his lineage was not from around here, except for his paternal great-grandmother, Ragnrid Skulesdatter. People said that he was much like his mother's father, Gaute Erlendssn of Skogheim. Kristin asked him what he knew of this man. But he knew almost nothing.

One evening Erlend and Kristin were undressing. Erlend couldn't unfasten the strap on his shoe, so he cut it off, and the knife sliced into his hand. He bled heavily and cursed fiercely. Kristin took a cloth out of her linen chest. She was wearing only her shift. Erlend put his other arm around her waist as she bandaged his hand.

Suddenly he looked down into her face with horror and confusion-and flushed bright red himself. Kristin bowed her head.

Erlend withdrew his arm. He said nothing, and so Kristin walked quietly away and climbed into bed. Her heart thudded hollowly and hard against her ribs. Now and then she cast a glance at her husband. He had turned his back to her, slowly taking off one garment after the other. Then he came over and lay down.

Kristin waited for him to speak. She waited so long that her heart seemed to stop beating and just stood still, quivering in her breast.