They greeted each other and walked across the slope toward the spot where the men's horses were tethered. As they exchanged words about the weather, the beautiful ma.s.s, and the great crowd of people in attendance, the fat, ruddy-faced gentleman-he wore golden spurs and his name was Sir Munan Baardsn-offered his hand to Ingebjrg. He seemed to find the maiden exceedingly attractive. Erlend and Kristin fell behind; they walked along in silence.

There was a great hubbub on the church hill as people began to ride off. Horses jostled past each other and people shouted, some of them angry, some of them laughing. Many of them rode in pairs-men with their wives behind them or children in front on the saddle-and young boys leaped up to ride with a friend. They could already see the church banners, the nuns, and the priest far below them.

Sir Munan rode past; Ingebjrg was sitting in front of him, in his arms. They both shouted and waved.

Then Erlend said, "My men are both here with me. They could take one of the horses and you could have Haftor's-if you would prefer that?"

Kristin blushed as she replied, "We're so far behind the others already, and I don't see your men, so . . ." Then she laughed and Erlend smiled.

He leaped into the saddle and helped her up behind him. At home Kristin often sat sideways behind her father after she grew too old to sit astride the horse's loins. And yet she felt a little shy and uncertain as she placed one of her hands over Erlend's shoulder; with the other hand she supported herself against the horse's back. Slowly they rode down toward the bridge.

After a while Kristin felt that she ought to speak since he did not, and she said, "It was unexpected, sir, to meet you here today."

"Was it unexpected?" asked Erlend, turning his head around toward her. "Hasn't Ingebjrg Filippusdatter brought you my greeting?"

"No," said Kristin. "I haven't heard of any greeting. She has never mentioned you since that day when you came to our aid back in May," she said slyly. She wanted Ingebjrg's duplicity to come to light.

Erlend didn't turn around, but she could hear in his voice that he was smiling when he spoke again.

"And what about the little black-haired one-the novitiate-I can't remember her name. I even paid her a messenger's fee to give you my greetings."

Kristin blushed, but then she had to laugh. "Yes, I suppose I owe it to Helga to tell you that she earned her pay," she said.

Erlend moved his head slightly, and his neck came close to her hand. Kristin shifted her hand at once to a place farther out on his shoulder. Rather uneasy, she thought that perhaps she had shown greater boldness than was proper, since she had come to this feast after a man had, in a sense, arranged to meet her there.

After a moment Erlend asked, "Will you dance with me tonight, Kristin?"

"I don't know, sir," replied the maiden.

"Perhaps you think it might not be proper?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he went on. "It could be that it's not. But I thought perhaps you might not think it would do any harm if you took my hand tonight. And by the way, it has been eight years since I took part in a dance."

"Why is that, sir?" asked Kristin. "Is it because you are married?" But then it occurred to her that if he were a married man, it would not have been seemly for him to arrange this rendezvous with her. So she corrected herself and said, "Perhaps you have lost your betrothed or your wife?"

Erlend turned around abruptly and gave her a peculiar look. "Me? Hasn't Fru Aashild . . ." After a moment he asked, "Why did you blush when you heard who I was that evening?"

Kristin blushed again but did not reply.

Then Erlend went on. "I would like to know what my aunt has told you about me."

"Nothing more than that she praised you," said Kristin hastily. "She said you were handsome and so highborn that . . . she said that compared to a lineage such as yours and hers, we were of little consequence, my ancestors and I."

"Is she still talking about such things, there, where she now resides?" said Erlend with a bitter laugh. "Well, well, if it comforts her . . . And she has said nothing else about me?"

"What else would she say?" asked Kristin. She didn't know why she felt so strange and anxious.

"Oh, she might have said . . . ," replied Erlend in a low voice, his head bowed, "she might have said that I had been excommunicated and had to pay dearly for peace and reconciliation."

Kristin said nothing for a long time. Then she said quietly, "I've heard it said that there are many men who are not masters of their fortunes. I've seen so little of the world. But I would never believe of you, Erlend, that it was for any . . . ign.o.ble . . . matter."

"G.o.d bless you for such words, Kristin," said Erlend. He bent his head and kissed her wrist so fervently that the horse gave a start beneath them. When the animal was once again walking calmly, he said with great ardor, "Won't you dance with me tonight, Kristin? Later I'll tell you everything about my circ.u.mstances-but tonight let's be happy together."

Kristin agreed, and they rode for a while in silence.

But a short time later Erlend began asking about Fru Aashild, and Kristin told him everything she knew; she had much praise for her.

"Then all doors are not closed to Bjrn and Aashild?" asked Erlend.

Kristin replied that they were well liked and that her father and many others thought that most of what had been said of the couple was untrue.

"What did you think of my kinsman, Munan Baardsn?" asked Erlend with a chuckle.

"I didn't pay much heed to him," said Kristin, "and it didn't seem to me that he was much worth looking at anyway."

"Didn't you know that he's her son?" asked Erlend.

"Fru Aashild's son?" said Kristin in astonishment.

"Yes, the children couldn't take their mother's fair looks, since they took everything else," said Erlend.

"I didn't even know the name of her first husband," said Kristin.

"They were two brothers who married two sisters," said Erlend. "Baard and Nikulaus Munansn. My father was the older one; Mother was his second wife, but he had no children by his first wife. Baard, who married Aashild, wasn't a young man either, and apparently they never got on well. I was a child when it all happened, and they kept as much from me as they could. But she left the country with Herr Bjrn and married him without the counsel of her kinsmen-after Baard was dead. Then people wanted to annul their marriage. They claimed that Bjrn had slept with her while her first husband was still alive and that they conspired together to get rid of my father's brother. But they couldn't find any proof of this, and they had to let the marriage stand. But they had to give up all their possessions. Bjrn had killed their nephew too-the nephew of my mother and Aashild, I mean."

Kristin's heart was pounding. At home her parents had taken strict precautions to keep the children from hearing impure talk. But things had occurred in their village, too, that Kristin had heard about-a man who lived in concubinage with a married woman. That was adultery, one of the worst of sins. They were also to blame for the husband's violent death, and then it was a case for excommunication and banishment. Lavrans had said that no woman had to stay with her husband if he had been with another man's wife. And the lot of offspring from adultery could never be improved, even if the parents were later free to marry. A man could pa.s.s on his inheritance and name to his child by a prost.i.tute or a wandering beggar woman, but not to his child from adultery-not even if the mother was the wife of a knight.

Kristin thought about the dislike she had always felt toward Herr Bjrn, with his pallid face and his slack, corpulent body. She couldn't understand how Fru Aashild could always be so kind and amenable toward the man who had lured her into such shame; to think that such a gracious woman could have allowed herself to be fooled by him. He was not even nice to her; he let her toil with all the work on the farm. Bjrn did nothing but drink ale. And yet Aashild was always so gentle and tender when she spoke to her husband. Kristin wondered whether her father knew about this, since he had invited Herr Bjrn into their house. Now that she thought about it, it seemed odd to her that Erlend would speak in this manner of his close kinsmen. But he probably thought that she knew about it already.

"It would please me," said Erlend after a moment, "to visit her, my Aunt Aashild, sometime-when I journey north. But is he still a handsome man, my kinsman Bjrn?"

"No," said Kristin. "He looks like a mound of hay that has lain on the ground all winter long."

"Ah yes, it must wear on a man," said Erlend with the same bitter smile. "Never have I seen a more handsome man-that was twenty years ago, and I was only a small boy back then-but I have never seen his equal."

A short time later they reached the hospice. It was an enormous and grand estate with many buildings of both stone and wood: a hospital, an almshouse, a guest inn for travelers, the chapel, and the rectory. There was a great tumult in the courtyard, for food was being prepared for the banquet in the hospice's cookhouse, and the poor and the sick guild members were also to be served the very best on that day.

The guild hall was beyond the gardens of the hospice, and people were heading that way through the herb garden, for it was quite famous. Fru Groa had brought in plants that no one in Norway had ever heard of before and, besides that, all the plants that usually grew in such gardens seemed to thrive better in hers-flowers and cooking herbs and medicinal herbs. She was the most skilled woman in all such matters, and she had even translated herbals from Salerno into the Norwegian language. Fru Groa had been particularly friendly toward Kristin ever since she noticed that the maiden knew something of the art of herbs and wanted to know more about it.

So Kristin pointed out to Erlend what plants were growing in the beds on both sides of the green lane as they walked. In the noonday sun there was a hot, spicy fragrance of dill and celery, onions and roses, southernwood and wallflowers. Beyond the shadeless, sun-baked herb garden, the rows of fruit trees looked enticingly cool; red cherries gleamed in the dark foliage, and apple trees bowed their branches, weighted down by green fruit.

Surrounding the garden was a hedge of sweetbriar. There were still some roses left-they looked no different from other hedge roses, but the petals smelled of wine and apples in the heat of the sun. People broke off twigs and pinned them to their clothing as they pa.s.sed. Kristin picked several roses too, tucking them into the circlet at her temples. She held one in her hand, and after a moment Erlend took it from her, without saying a word. He carried it for a while and then stuck it into the filigree brooch on his chest. He looked self-conscious and embarra.s.sed, and did it so clumsily that he scratched his fingers and drew blood.

In the banquet loft several wide tables had been set up: one for the men and one for the women along the walls. In the middle of the floor there were two tables where the children and the young people sat together.

At the women's table Fru Groa sat in the high seat; the nuns and most of the wives of high standing sat along the wall, and the unmarried women sat on the opposite bench, with the maidens from Nonneseter closest to the head of the table. Kristin knew that Erlend was looking at her, but she didn't dare turn her head even once, either when they were standing or after they sat down. Not until they rose and the priest began to read the names of the deceased guild brothers and sisters did she cast a hasty glance toward the men's table. She caught a glimpse of him as he stood near the wall, behind the burning candle on the table. He was looking at her.

The meal lasted a long time with all of the toasts in honor of G.o.d, the Virgin Mary, and Saint Margareta, Saint Olav, and Saint Halvard, interspersed with prayers and hymns.

Kristin could see through the open door that the sun had gone down; the sound of fiddles and songs could be heard from out on the green, and the young people had already left the tables when Fru Groa said to the young daughters that now they might go out to play for a while, if they so pleased.

Three red bonfires were burning on the green; around them moved the chains of dancers, now aglow, now in silhouette. The fiddlers were sitting on stacks of chests, bowing the strings of their instruments; they were playing and singing a different tune in each circle. There were far too many people to form only one dance. It was nearly dusk already; to the north the crest of the forested ridges stood coal-black against the yellowish green sky.

People were sitting under the gallery of the loft, drinking. Several men leaped up as soon as the six maidens from Nonneseter came down the stairs. Munan Baardsn ran up to Ingebjrg and dashed off with her, and Kristin was seized by the wrist-it was Erlend; she already knew his touch. He gripped her hand so tightly that their rings sc.r.a.ped against each other and bit into their flesh.

He pulled her along to the farthest bonfire, where many children were dancing. Kristin took a twelve-year-old boy by the hand, and Erlend had a tiny, half-grown maiden on his other side.

No one was singing in their circle just then-they walked and swayed from side to side, in time with the sound of the fiddle. Then someone shouted that Sivord the Dane should sing a new ballad for them. A tall, fair man with enormous fists stepped in front of the chain of dancers and performed his song: They are dancing now at Munkholm across the white sand.

There dances Ivar Herr Jonsn taking the Queen's hand.

Do you know Ivar Herr Jonsn?

The fiddle players didn't know the tune; they plucked a little on the strings, and the Dane sang alone. He had a beautiful, strong voice.

Do you remember, Danish Queen, that summer so clear when you were led out of Sweden and to Denmark here.

When you were led out of Sweden and to Denmark here with a golden crown so red and on your cheek a tear.

With a golden crown so red and on your cheek a tear.

Do you remember, Danish Queen, the first man you held dear!

The fiddlers played along once more, and the dancers hummed the newly learned tune and joined in with the refrain.

And are you, Ivar Herr Jonsn, my very own man, then tomorrow from the gallows you shall surely hang!

And it was Ivar Herr Jonsn but he did not quail, he sprang into the golden boat, clad in coat of mail.

May you be granted, Danish Queen, as many good nights as do fill the vault of heaven all the stars so bright.

May you be granted, Danish King, life so fraught with cares as the linden tree has leaves and the hart has hairs.

Do you know Ivar Herr Jonsn?

It was late at night, and the bonfires were mere mounds of glowing embers that grew dimmer and dimmer. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand beneath the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revelers had died out; a few young boys were humming and leaping around the ember mounds, but the fiddlers had gone off to bed and most of the people had left. Here and there a woman walked around in search of her husband, toppled by ale somewhere outdoors.

"I wonder where I've left my cloak," whispered Kristin. Erlend put his arm around her waist and wrapped his cape around both of them. Walking close together, they went into the herb garden.

A remnant of the day's hot, spicy scent wafted toward them, muted and damp with the coolness of the dew. The night was quite dark, the sky hazy gray with clouds above the treetops. But they sensed that others were in the garden.

Erlend pressed the maiden to him once and asked in a whisper, "You're not afraid, are you Kristin?"

Suddenly she vaguely remembered the world outside this night -it was madness. But she was so blissfully robbed of all power. She leaned closer to the man and whispered faintly; she didn't know herself what she said.

They reached the end of the path; there was a stone fence along the edge of the woods. Erlend helped her up. As she was about to jump down to the other side, he caught her and held her in his arms for a moment before he set her down in the gra.s.s.

She stood there with her face raised and received his kiss. He placed his hands at her temples. She thought it so wonderful to feel his fingers sinking into her hair, and then she put her hands up to his face and tried to kiss him the way he had kissed her.

When he placed his hands on her bodice and stroked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she felt as if he had laid her heart bare and then seized it; gently he parted the folds of her silk shift and kissed the place in between-heat rushed to the roots of her heart.

"You I could never hurt," whispered Erlend. "Don't ever weep a single tear for my sake. I never thought a maiden could be as good as you are, my Kristin. . . ."

He pulled her down into the gra.s.s under the bushes; they sat with their backs against the stone fence. Kristin said not a word, but when he stopped caressing her, she raised her hand and touched his face.

After a moment Erlend asked, "Are you tired, dear Kristin?" And when she leaned against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered, "Sleep, Kristin, sleep here with me."

She slipped deeper and deeper into the darkness and the warmth and the joy at his chest.

When she woke up, she was lying stretched out on the gra.s.s with her cheek against the brown silk of his lap. Erlend was still sitting with his back against the stone fence; his face was gray in the gray light, but his wide-open eyes were so strangely bright and beautiful. She saw that he had wrapped his cape all around her; her feet were wonderfully warm inside the fur lining.

"Now you have slept on my lap," he said, smiling faintly. "May G.o.d reward you, Kristin. You slept as soundly as a child in her mother's arms."

"Haven't you slept, Herr Erlend?" asked Kristin, and he smiled down into her newly awakened eyes.

"Perhaps someday the night will come when you and I dare to fall asleep together-I don't know what you will think once you have considered that. I have kept vigil here in the night. There is still so much between us, more than if a naked sword had lain between you and me. Tell me, will you have affection for me after this night is over?"

"I will have affection for you, Herr Erlend," said Kristin. "I will have affection for you as long as you wish-and after that I will love no one else."

"Then may G.o.d forsake me," said Erlend slowly, "if ever a woman or maiden should come into my arms before I dare to possess you with honor and in keeping with the law. Repeat what I have said," he implored her.

Kristin said, "May G.o.d forsake me if I ever take any other man into my arms, for as long as I live on this earth."

"We must go now," said Erlend after a moment. "Before everyone wakes up."

They walked along the outside of the stone fence, through the underbrush.

"Have you given any thought to what should happen next?" asked Erlend.

"You must decide that, Erlend," replied Kristin.

"Your father," he said after a pause. "Over in Gerdarud they say that he's a kind and just man. Do you think he would be greatly opposed to breaking the agreement he has made with Andres Darre?"

"Father has so often said that he would never force any of his daughters," said Kristin. "The main concern is that our lands would fit so well together. But I'm certain that Father would not want me to lose all joy in the world for that reason." She had a sudden inkling that it might not be quite as simple as that, but she pushed it aside.

"Then maybe this will be easier than I thought last night," said Erlend. "G.o.d help me, Kristin-I can't bear to lose you. Now I will never be happy if I can't have you."