Erlend threw his arms around the youth.

"Orm, my son. Are you ill?"

"My head aches," complained the boy, and he let his head sink heavily onto his father's shoulder.

That night they kept vigil over Orm. Most of the time he lay there muttering in delirium-then screaming loudly and flailing his long arms about, seeming to see hideous things. What he said they could not understand.

In the morning Kristin collapsed. It turned out that she must have been with child again; now it went very badly for her, and afterwards she lay as if immersed in a deathlike sleep; later she was seized by a terrible fever. Orm had been in the grave for more than two weeks before she learned of her stepson's death.

At the time she was so weak that she couldn't properly grieve. She felt so bloodless and faint that nothing seemed to reach her-she was content to lie in bed, only half-alive. There had been a dreadful time when the women hardly dared touch her or tend to her cleanliness, but that had all merged with the confusion of the fever. Now it felt good to submit to the care of others. Around her bed hung many fragrant wreaths of mountain flowers which were meant to keep the flies away-the people from the mountain pastures had sent them, and they smelled especially sweet whenever there was rain in the air. One day Erlend brought the children to her. She saw that they were haggard from their illness, and that Gaute didn't recognize her, but even that didn't trouble her. She merely sensed that Erlend seemed always to be at her side.

He went to ma.s.s every day, and he knelt at Orm's grave to pray. The cemetery was next to the parish church at Vinjar, but some of the infants in the family had been given a resting place inside the manor church at Husaby-Erlend's two brothers and one of Munan Biskopssn's little daughters. Kristin had often felt sorry for these little ones who lay so alone under the flagstones. Now Orm Erlendssn had his final resting place among these children.

While the others feared for Kristin's life, processions of beggars on their way to Nidaros just before Saint Olav's Day began to pa.s.s through the region. They were mostly the same wandering men and women who had made the journey the year before; the pilgrims in Nidaros were always generous to the poor, since intercessions of this kind were considered particularly powerful. And they had learned to travel by way of Skaun during the years since Kristin had settled at Husaby. They knew that there on the estate they would be given shelter, alms, and an abundance of food before they continued on. This time the servants wanted to send them away because the mistress was ill. But when Erlend, who had been up north the last two summers, heard that his wife was accustomed to receiving the beggars so kindly, he ordered that they should be given food and lodging, just as they had before. And in the morning he himself tended to the wanderers, helping the servants to pour the ale and bring in food for them; he gave them alms as he quietly asked for their prayers of intercession for his wife. Many of the beggars wept when they heard that the gentle young woman lay close to death.

All of this Sira Eiliv had told Kristin when she began to regain her health. Not until Christmastime was she strong enough to take up her keys again.

Erlend had sent word to her parents as soon as she fell ill, but at the time they were in the south, attending a wedding at Skog. Later they came to Husaby; she was better by then, but so tired that she had little energy to talk to them. What she wanted most was simply to have Erlend at her bedside.

Weak and pale and always cold, she would cling to his healthy body. The old fire in her blood had gone. It had disappeared so completely that she could no longer remember how it felt to love in that way, but with it had also vanished the worry and bitterness from the past few years. She felt that things were better now, even though the sorrow over Orm's death lay heavily on both of them, and even though Erlend didn't realize how frightened she was for little Gaute. But things were so good between them. She saw that he had feared terribly that he might lose her.

And so it was difficult and painful for her to speak to him, to touch on matters that might destroy the peace and joy they now shared.

She was standing outside in the bright summer night, in front of the entrance to the main house, when the servants returned from the dance. Margret was clinging to her father's arm. She was dressed and adorned in a fashion that would have been more suited to a wedding feast than to a dance out on the green, where all manner of folk came together. But her stepmother had stopped interfering in the maiden's upbringing. Erlend could do as he pleased in raising his own daughter.

Erlend and Margret were both thirsty, so Kristin brought ale for them. The girl sat and talked with them for a while; she and her stepmother were good friends now that Kristin no longer attempted to instruct her. Erlend laughed at everything his daughter said about the dance. But finally Margret and her maid went up to the loft to sleep.

Erlend continued roaming around the hall; he stretched, yawned, but claimed he wasn't tired. He ran his fingers through his long black hair.

"There wasn't time for it after we were in the bathhouse. Because of the dance. I think you'll have to cut my hair, Kristin; I can't walk around like this during the holy days."

Kristin protested that it was too dark, but Erlend laughed and pointed to the vent hole in the ceiling; it was already daylight again. Then she relit the candle, told him to sit down, and draped a cloth around his shoulders. As she worked, he squirmed from the tickling, and laughed when the scissors came too close to his neck.

Kristin carefully gathered up the hair clippings and burned them in the hearth; she shook out the cloth over the fire as well. Then she combed Erlend's hair straight down from his scalp and snipped here and there, wherever the ends weren't quite even.

Erlend grabbed her hands tightly as she stood behind him, placed them at his throat, and smiled as he tilted his head back to look up at her.

But then he let her go, saying, "You're tired." And he stood up with a little sigh.

Erlend sailed to Bjrgvin right after Midsummer. He was disconsolate because his wife was again unable to travel with him. She smiled wearily; all the same, she wouldn't have been able to leave Gaute.

And so Kristin was once again alone at Husaby in the summer. But she was glad that this year she wouldn't give birth until Saint Matthew's Day; it would be difficult both for her and for the women who would attend her if it occurred during the harvest season.

She wondered whether it would always be this way. Times were different now than when she was growing up. She had heard her father speak of the Danish war, and she remembered when he was away from home during the campaign against Duke Eirik. That was how he got the terrible scars on his body. But back home in the valleys, war had still seemed so far away, and no doubt most people thought it would never return. It was mostly peaceful, and her father was home, managing his estates, and thinking about and caring for all of them.

Nowadays there was always unrest-everyone talked about wars and campaigns and the ruling of the kingdom. In Kristin's mind it all merged with her image of the sea and the coast, which she had seen only once since she had moved north. From the coast they sailed and to the coast they came-men whose heads were full of ideas and plans and counterplots and deliberations; clergymen and laymen. To these men belonged Erlend, by virtue of his high birth and his wealth. But she felt that he stood partially outside their circles.

She pondered and thought about this. What was it that caused her husband to have such a position? How did his peers truly regard him?

When he was simply the man she loved, she had never asked about such things. She could see that he was short-tempered and impetuous and rash, that he had a particular penchant for acting unwisely. But back then she had found excuses for everything, never troubling to think about what his temperament might bring upon them both. When they had won her father's consent to marry, everything would be different-that was how she had consoled herself. Gradually it dawned on her that it was from the moment a child was born to them that she began to think about things. What kind of man was Erlend, whom people called irresponsible and imprudent, a man whom no one could trust?

But she had trusted him. She remembered Brynhild's loft, she remembered how the bond between him and that other woman had finally been severed. She remembered his conduct after she had become his lawful bride. But he had stood by her in spite of all the humiliations and rejections; and she had seen that he did not want to lose her for all the gold on earth.

She thought about Haftor of G.o.dy. He was always following her around, speaking words of nonsense and affection whenever they met, but she had never cared for his attentions. That must be his way of jesting. She didn't think it was more than that; she had been fond of the handsome and boisterous man, and she was still fond of him. But to think that anyone would act that way in mere jest-no, she didn't understand it.

She had met Haftor Graut again at the royal banquets in Nidaros, and he sought out her company there too, just as he usually did. One evening he convinced her to go into a loft room, and she lay down with him on a bed that stood there. Back home in Gudbrandsdal she would never have thought of doing such a thing-there it was not a banquet custom for men and women to slip away, two by two. But here everyone did it; no one seemed to find it improper-it was apparently common practice among knights in other countries. When they first entered the room, Fru Elin, the wife of Sir Erling, was lying on the other bed with a Swedish knight; Kristin could hear that they were talking about the king's earache. The Swede looked pleased when Fru Elin wanted to get up and go back to the hall.

When Kristin realized that Haftor was quite serious about the intentions behind his request as they lay there and talked, she was so astonished that she failed to be either frightened or suitably indignant. They were both married, after all, and they both had children with their spouses. She had never truly believed that such things actually went on. In spite of all she herself had done and experienced-no, she hadn't believed that such things happened. Haftor had always been merry and affectionate and full of laughter. She couldn't say that what he wanted was to try to seduce her; he hadn't been serious enough for that. And yet he wanted her to commit the worst of sins.

He got off the bed the minute she told him to go. He had turned submissive, but he seemed more surprised than ashamed. And he asked in utter disbelief: Did she truly think that married people were never unfaithful? But she must know that few men could admit to never having a paramour. Women were perhaps a little better than the men, and yet . . .

"Did you believe everything the priests preach about sin and the like even back when you were a young maiden?" he asked. "Then I don't understand, Kristin Lavransdatter, how Erlend ever managed to have his way with you."

Then he had looked into her eyes-and her eyes must have spoken, although she wouldn't have discussed this matter with Haftor for any amount of gold. But his voice rang with amazement as he said, "I thought that was only something they wrote about-in ballads."

Kristin had not mentioned this episode to anyone, not even Erlend. He was fond of Haftor. And of course it was dreadful that some people could behave as recklessly as Haftor Graut, but she couldn't see that it was any concern of hers. And he hadn't attempted to be overly familiar toward her since then. Now whenever they met, he would simply sit and stare at her with obvious astonishment in his sea-blue eyes.

No, if Erlend behaved rashly, it was not in that fashion, at any rate. And was he truly so imprudent? she wondered. She saw that people were startled by things he said, and afterwards they would put their heads together to talk. There was often much that was truthful and just in the opinions that Erlend Nikulaussn expressed. The problem was that he never saw what the other men never allowed to slip from view: the cautious hindsight with which they kept an eye on each other. Intrigue, Erlend called it, and then he would laugh insolently, which seemed to provoke people at first but eventually won them over. They would laugh too, slap him on the shoulder, and say that he could be sharp-witted enough, but short-sighted.

Then he would undo his own words with raucous and impudent banter. And people tolerated a great deal of this sort of behavior from Erlend. His wife was dimly aware of why everyone put up with his reckless talk, and it made her feel humiliated. For Erlend would yield as soon as he encountered any man who held firm to his own opinion; even if he understood no more than that this opinion was foolish, Erlend would nevertheless relinquish his own view on the matter. But he covered his retreat with disrespectful gossip about the man. And people were satisfied that Erlend had this cowardice of spirit-reckless as he was with his own welfare, adventurous, and boldly enamored of any danger that could be faced with armed force. All the same, they had no need to worry about Erlend Nikulaussn.

The year before, toward the end of winter, the regent had come to Nidaros, and he had brought the young king along with him. Kristin attended the grand feast at the king's palace. With quiet dignity, wearing a silk wimple and with all her best jewelry adorning her red bridal gown, she had sat there among the most high born women at the banquet. With alert eyes she studied her husband's conduct among the men, watching and listening and pondering-just as she watched and listened and pondered wherever she went with Erlend, and wherever she noticed that people were talking about him.

And she had learned several things. Sir Erling Vidkunssn was willing to risk every effort to a.s.sert the right of the Norwegian Crown north to the Gandvik Sea, to defend and protect Haalogaland. But the Council and the knights opposed him and were reluctant to support any endeavor that might help. The archbishop himself and the clergy of the archdiocese were not unwilling to offer financial support-this she knew from Gunnulf-but otherwise the men of the Church all over the country were opposed to the war, even though it was against the enemies of G.o.d: heretics and heathens. And the n.o.blemen were working against the regent, at least here in Trndelag. They had grown accustomed to disregarding the words of the law books and the rights of the Crown, and they were not pleased that Sir Erling so sternly invoked the spirit of his blessed kinsman King Haakon in these matters. But it was not for these reasons that Erlend refused to allow himself to be used, as Kristin now understood that the regent had intended to use her husband. For Erlend it was simply because the other man's somber and dignified demeanor bored him, so he took revenge by lightly ridiculing his powerful kinsman.

Kristin now thought she understood Sir Erling's att.i.tude toward Erlend. On the one hand, he had felt a certain affection for Erlend ever since their youth; no doubt he thought that if he could win the support of the n.o.ble and fearless master of Husaby, who also had some experience in the art of war from the days when he served Earl Jacob-at any rate more than most of the other men who had stayed at home-then it would be of benefit to both Erling Vidkunssn's plans and to Erlend's welfare. But that's not how things had turned out.

For two summers Erlend had stayed out at sea until late autumn, patrolling the waters off the long northern coast and chasing off pirate vessels with the four small ships that bore his banner. One day he had arrived in search of fresh provisions at a new Norwegian settlement far north in Tana just as the Karelians1 were in the process of plundering it. With the handful of men he had brought ash.o.r.e, he captured eighteen of the pirates and hanged them from the roof beam in the half-burned barn. He cut down a troop of Russians attempting to flee into the mountains; he vanquished and burned several enemy ships somewhere out among the distant skerries. Rumors of his speed and boldness spread through the north; his men from Outer Trndelag and Mre loved their chieftain for his toughness and his willingness to share in all the toil and travails of his crew. He had won friends among the peasants and the young sons on the estates of the chieftains up north in Haalogaland, where people had almost grown accustomed to having to defend their own coasts alone. were in the process of plundering it. With the handful of men he had brought ash.o.r.e, he captured eighteen of the pirates and hanged them from the roof beam in the half-burned barn. He cut down a troop of Russians attempting to flee into the mountains; he vanquished and burned several enemy ships somewhere out among the distant skerries. Rumors of his speed and boldness spread through the north; his men from Outer Trndelag and Mre loved their chieftain for his toughness and his willingness to share in all the toil and travails of his crew. He had won friends among the peasants and the young sons on the estates of the chieftains up north in Haalogaland, where people had almost grown accustomed to having to defend their own coasts alone.

But even so, Erlend was of no help to the regent and his plans for a great crusade north. In Trndelag people boasted of Erlend's exploits in the Russian campaign-if talk turned to this subject, they would point out that he was one of their own. Yes, it had turned out that the young boys from the fjord possessed a fair share of good old-fashioned valor. But no matter what Erlend of Husaby said or did, it was not enough to impress grown-up and sensible men.

Kristin saw that Erlend continued to be counted among the young, even though he was a year older than the regent. She realized that this suited many, because then his words and actions could be disparaged as those of a young and reckless man. People liked him, humored him, and boasted of him-but he was never considered a fully ent.i.tled man. And she saw how willingly he accepted the role that his peers wanted him to play.

He spoke in favor of the Russian war; he talked about the Swedes who shared the Norwegian king. But they refused to acknowledge the Norwegian lords and knights as n.o.blemen, equal with their own. In other countries, for as long as the world had existed, had anyone ever heard of demanding payment of war levies from n.o.blemen in any other form than having them ride their own horses and bear their own shields into battle? Kristin knew this was much the same thing her father had said that time at the ting ting in Vaage, and Lavrans had also mentioned it to Erlend when his son-in-law had not wanted to oppose Munan Baardsn's plans. No, Erlend now said-and he would allude to his father-in-law's powerful kinsmen in Sweden-he knew full well how the Swedish n.o.blemen regarded the Norwegians. "And if we don't show them what we're capable of, we'll soon be considered nothing more than wards of the Swedes." in Vaage, and Lavrans had also mentioned it to Erlend when his son-in-law had not wanted to oppose Munan Baardsn's plans. No, Erlend now said-and he would allude to his father-in-law's powerful kinsmen in Sweden-he knew full well how the Swedish n.o.blemen regarded the Norwegians. "And if we don't show them what we're capable of, we'll soon be considered nothing more than wards of the Swedes."

And people agreed that there was some truth to this. But then they would go back to talking about the regent. Sir Erling had his own reasons for lamenting what went on in the north. One year the Karelians had burned down Bjarky in defiance of his overseer and persecuted his leaseholders. But Erlend would change his tone and jest-Erling Vidkunssn wasn't thinking of his own affairs, he was sure of that. Sir Erling was such a n.o.ble and refined and distinguished knight; they couldn't have found a better man to serve as leader for all of them. By G.o.d, Erling was as honorable and venerable as the most beautiful golden initial capital at the beginning of the book of law. People laughed, less impressed with Erlend's praise of the regent's integrity than with Erlend's comparing him to a gilded letter.

No, they didn't take Erlend seriously-not now, when he was in some ways respected. But back in the days when he was young and stubborn and desperate, when he lived with his concubine and refused to send her away in spite of the king's command and excommunication from the Church-back then they did take him seriously, turning away from him in bitter fury at his unG.o.dly and disgraceful life. Now it was all forgiven and forgotten, and Kristin realized that it was partly out of grat.i.tude for this that her husband so willingly acquiesced and behaved in the way people wanted him to behave. He must have suffered bitterly during that time when he was banished from the company of his peers in Norway. But the problem was, it made her think of her father, when he released incompetent men from their obligations or debts with a mere shrug of his shoulders. It was a Christian duty to bear with those who could not conduct themselves properly. Was it in this manner that Erlend had been forgiven the sins of his youth?

But Erlend had had paid the consequences for his actions when he was living with Eline. He had answered for his sins right up until the moment when he met Kristin and she eagerly followed him into new sin. Was she then the one who . . . paid the consequences for his actions when he was living with Eline. He had answered for his sins right up until the moment when he met Kristin and she eagerly followed him into new sin. Was she then the one who . . .

No. Now she was afraid of her own thoughts.

And she tried to block out of her mind all the worries about things she could not change. She wanted only to think about matters in which she could do something with her compa.s.sion. Everything else she would have to place in G.o.d's hands. G.o.d had helped her in every instance when her own hard work could do some good. Husaby had now been transformed into a prosperous farm, as it had been in the past-in spite of the bad years. Three healthy and handsome sons He had given her, and each year He had granted her new life whenever she was faced with death in childbirth. He had allowed her to recover her full health after each convalescence. She had been permitted to keep all three of her small sons the year before, when illness took the lives of so many fair children in the region. And Gaute-Gaute would would regain his health, that she firmly believed. regain his health, that she firmly believed.

It must be as Erlend had said: It was necessary for him to lead his life and maintain his estates in as costly a fashion as he did. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to a.s.sert himself among his peers and win the rights and revenues that were his birthright under the Crown. She would have to believe that he understood this better than she did.

It was senseless to think that things might have been better in some ways for him-and even for her-back when he was living tangled up in sin with that other woman. In glimpses of memory she saw his face from that time, ravaged with sorrow, contorted with pa.s.sion. No, no, things were fine as they were now. He was merely a little too carefree and thoughtless.

Erlend returned home just before Michaelmas. He had hoped to find Kristin confined to bed, but she was still on her feet. She came to meet him out on the road. Her gait was terribly c.u.mbersome this time-but she had Gaute in her arms, as usual; the two older sons came running ahead of her.

Erlend jumped down from his horse and lifted the boys onto the saddle. Then he took his youngest son from his wife so he could carry him. Kristin's pale, worn face lit up when Gaute wasn't frightened by his father; he must have recognized him, after all. She asked nothing about her husband's travels, but talked only about Gaute's four new teeth which had made him so sick.

Then the boy started to scream; he had sc.r.a.ped his cheek b.l.o.o.d.y on the filigree brooch on his father's chest. He wanted to go back to his mother, and she wanted to take him, no matter how much Erlend protested.

Not until evening, when they were sitting alone in the hall and the children were asleep, did Kristin ask her husband about his journey to Bjrgvin-as if she only then happened to think about it.

Erlend glanced furtively at Kristin. His poor wife-she looked so miserable. He began to tell her all kinds of news. Erling had asked him to send his greetings and give her this-it was a bronze dagger, corroded with verdigris. They had found it in a heap of stones out at Giske; it was supposed to be beneficial to place such a thing in the cradle in case it was rickets that had stricken Gaute.

Kristin wrapped up the dagger again, awkwardly rose from her chair, and went over to the cradle. She put the bundle under the bedclothes with everything else that lay there: a stone axe found buried in the ground, the musk gland of a beaver, a cross made from daphne twigs, old silver, flint, roots of a Mariahand orchid, and an Olav's Beard fern.

"Lie down now, dear Kristin," Erlend said tenderly. He came over and pulled off her shoes and stockings. All the while he talked.

Haakon Ogmundssn had come back, and peace with the Russians and Karelians had been concluded and sealed. Erlend himself would have to travel north this fall. For it was certain that calm would not be restored at once, and a man was needed at Vargy who knew the region. He would be given full authority as the king's officer in command at the fortress up there, which had to be better secured so that peace could be defended at the new border markers.

Erlend looked up into his wife's face with excitement. She seemed a bit alarmed-but she didn't ask many questions, and it was clear that she had little understanding of what his news meant. He saw how tired she was, so he spoke no more about this matter but remained sitting on the edge of her bed for a while.

He understood the gravity of what he had taken on. Erlend laughed quietly to himself as he took his time undressing. There would be no sitting back with his silver belt around his belly, holding feasts for friends and kinsmen, and filing his nails straight and clean as he dispatched his va.s.sals and lieutenants here and there-the way the king's commanders of the castles did here in the south of Norway. And the castle at Vargy was quite a different sort of fortress.

Finns, Russians, Karelians, and mixed breeds of all kinds-troll rabble, conjurers, heathen dogs, the Devil's own precious lambs who had to be taught to pay taxes to the Norwegian emissaries and to leave the Norwegian settlements in peace, which were spread out with as much distance between each other as from Husaby all the way to Mre. Peace-perhaps the king's peace would be possible up there someday, but in his lifetime there would be peace only when the Devil attended ma.s.s. And he would have his own roughnecks to keep in check too. Especially toward the spring, when they began to grow despondent from the darkness and the cold and the h.e.l.lish roar of the sea-when the flour and b.u.t.ter and liquor were in short supply, and they began fighting over their women, and life on the island grew unbearable. Erlend had witnessed some of this when he was there as a young boy with Gissur Galle. No, he wouldn't be lying about idle!

Ingolf Peit, who was now in charge, was able enough. But Erling was right: A man from the knighthood should take control of things up there-not until then would anyone realize that it was the Norwegian king's firm intention to a.s.sert his power over the land. Ha, ha-in that territory he would be like a needle in a coverlet. Not a single Norwegian settlement until as far south as Malang.

Ingolf was a capable fellow, but only as long as he had someone in command over him. He would put Ingolf in charge of his ship Hugrekken Hugrekken. Margygren Margygren was the most splendid of ships; that much he had now learned. Erlend laughed softly and happily. He had told Kristin so often before, this was one mistress she would have to put up with. was the most splendid of ships; that much he had now learned. Erlend laughed softly and happily. He had told Kristin so often before, this was one mistress she would have to put up with.

He was awakened by one of the children crying in the dark. Over by the bed on the opposite wall, he could hear Kristin stirring and speaking gently-it was Bjrgulf who was complaining. Sometimes the boy woke up in the night and couldn't open his festering eyes; then his mother would moisten them with her tongue. Erlend had always been repelled by the sight of this.

Kristin was softly humming. The thin, weak sound of her voice annoyed him.

Erlend remembered what he had been dreaming. He was walking along a sh.o.r.e somewhere; it was low tide, and he was leaping from stone to stone. In the distance the sea was glistening and pale, lapping at the seaweed; it was like a silent, cloudy summer evening, with no sun. At the mouth of the silvery fjord he saw the ship anch.o.r.ed, black and sleek, rocking gently on the waves. There was an unG.o.dly, delicious smell of sea and kelp.

His heart grew sick with longing. Now in the darkness of the night, as he lay here in the guest bed and listened to the monotonous sound of the lullaby gnawing at his ear, he felt how strong his longing was. To be away from this house and the swarms of children who filled it, away from talk of farming matters and servants and tenants and children-and from his anguished concern for her, who was always ill and whom he always had to pity.

Erlend clasped his hands over his heart. It felt as if it had stopped; it merely lay there, shivering with fright inside his breast. He longed to be away from her. When he thought about what she would have to endure, as weak and frail as she now was-and he knew that it could happen at any hour-he felt as if he would suffocate from fear. But if he should lose Kristin . . . He didn't know how he would be able to live without her. But he didn't feel able to live with with her, either, not now. He wanted to flee from everything and breathe freely-as if it were a matter of life itself for him. her, either, not now. He wanted to flee from everything and breathe freely-as if it were a matter of life itself for him.

Jesus, my Savior-oh, what kind of man was he! He realized it now, tonight. Kristin, my sweet, my dearest wife-the only time he had known deep, heartfelt joy with her was when he was leading her astray.

He who had been so convinced on that day when he was given Kristin to have and to hold before G.o.d and man that everything bad would be driven from his life so completely that he would forget it had ever existed.

He must be the kind of man who couldn't tolerate anything truly good or pure to be near him. Because Kristin . . . Ever since she had emerged from the sin and impurity into which he had led her, she had been like an angel from G.o.d's heaven. Kind and faithful, gentle, capable, deserving of respect. She had returned honor to Husaby. She had become once again the person she had been on that summer night, when the pure young maiden had crept under his cape there in the convent garden; and he had thought when he felt that slender young body against his side: The Devil himself wouldn't dare harm this child or cause her sorrow.

Tears streamed down Erlend's face.

It must be true, what the priests had told him, that sin ate up a man's soul like rust-for he could find no rest or peace here with his sweet beloved. He longed to be away from her and everything that was hers.

He had wept himself almost to sleep when he sensed that she was up and pacing the floor, quietly humming and singing.

Erlend sprang out of bed, stumbled in the dark over a child's shoes on the floor, and went right over to his wife and took Gaute from her. The boy started screaming, and Kristin said crossly, "I had almost lulled him to sleep!"

The father shook the crying child, gave him a few slaps on the bottom-and when the boy shrieked even louder, he hushed him so harshly that Gaute fell silent with fear. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

"It's time for you to use what good sense you have, Kristin." His fury robbed him of all power as he stood there, startled and naked and freezing in the pitch-dark room with a sobbing child in his arms. "There has to be an end to this, I tell you-what do you have nursemaids for? The children will sleep with them; you can't keep on this way."

"Won't you allow me to have my children with me during the time I have left?" replied his wife, her voice low and plaintive.

Erlend refused to acknowledge what she meant.

"During the time you have left, you need rest rest. Go to bed now, Kristin," he implored her more calmly.

He took Gaute with him to bed. He hummed to him for a while, and in the dark he found his belt lying on the step of the bed. The little silver medallions adorning it clinked and clattered as the boy played with the belt.

"The dagger isn't in it, is it?" asked Kristin anxiously from her bed, and Gaute began howling again when he heard his mother's voice. Erlend hushed him and made the belt clink-at last the child stopped crying and grew calm.

Perhaps it would be unwise to wish for this poor little boy to grow to adulthood-it was not certain that Gaute possessed all his wits.

Oh no, oh no. Blessed Virgin Mary, he didn't mean that. He didn't wish death for his own little son. No, no. Erlend held the child close in his arms and pressed his face to the soft, fine hair.

Their handsome sons. But he grew so weary of listening to them all day long; of stumbling over them whenever he came home. He couldn't understand how three small children could be everywhere at once on such a large estate. But he remembered how furious he had been with Eline because she showed no interest in their children. He must be an unreasonable man, for he was also resentful that he no longer saw Kristin without children clinging to her.

When he held his lawfully born sons in his arms he never felt the same way he had when they gave him Orm to hold for the first time. Oh Orm, Orm, my son. He had been so tired of Eline by then-sick and tired of her stubbornness and her vehemence and her uncontrollable ardor. He had seen that she was too old for him. And he had begun to realize what this madness would eventually cost him. But he hadn't felt that he could send her away-not after she had given up everything for his sake. The boy's birth had given him a reason to tolerate the mother, it seemed to him. He had been so young when he became Orm's father, and he hadn't fully understood the child's position, since the mother was another man's lawful wife.

Sobs overcame him once more, and he held Gaute tighter. Orm-he had never loved any of his children the way he loved that boy; he missed him terribly, and he bitterly regretted every harsh and impatient word he had ever said to him. Orm couldn't have known how much his father loved him. Bitterness and despair had gradually seized Erlend as it became abundantly clear that Orm would never be considered his lawful son, that he would never be able to inherit his father's coat of arms. And Erlend felt jealousy too because he saw his son draw closer to his stepmother than to him, and it seemed to him that Kristin's calm, gentle kindness toward the boy was a form of reproach.

Then came those days and nights that Erlend could not bear to remember. Orm lay on his bier in the loft, and the women came to tell him that they didn't think Kristin would live. They dug a grave for Orm over in the church, and they asked whether Kristin should be buried there too. Or should she be taken instead to Saint Greg or's Church to be laid to rest beside his parents?