But the evil deeds were her own.
She had clung to everyone who offered her protection and support. Brother Edvin’s loving admonitions, his sorrow over her sin, his tender intercessionary prayers which she had received—and then she had flung herself into passionate sinful desire as soon as she was beyond the light of his gentle old eyes. She lay down in cowsheds and outbuildings and scarcely felt any shame that she was deceiving the good and honorable Abbess Groa; she had accepted the kind concern of the pious sisters and hadn’t even had the wit to blush when they praised her gentle and seemly behavior before her father.
Oh, the worst was thinking about her father. Her father, who had not said a single unkind word when he came to visit this spring.
Simon had concealed the fact that he had caught his betrothed with a man at an inn for wandering soldiers. And she had let him take the blame for her breach of promise, had let him bear the blame before her father.
Oh, but her father, that was the worst. No, her mother, that was even worse. If Naakkve should grow up to show his mother as little love as she had shown her own mother—oh, she couldn’t bear it. Her mother, who had given birth to her and nursed her at her breast, kept watch over her when she was sick, washed and combed her hair and rejoiced at its beauty. And the first time that Kristin felt she needed her mother’s help and comfort, she had waited for her mother to come, in spite of all her own disdain. “You should know that your mother would have come north to be with you if she had known that it might give you comfort,” her father had said. Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother!
She had seen the water from the well back home. It looked so clean and pure when it was in the wooden cups. But her father owned a glass goblet, and when he filled it with water and the sun shone through, the water was muddy and full of impurities.
Yes, my Lord and King, now I see the way I am!
Goodness and love she had accepted from everyone, as if they were her right. There was no end to the goodness and love she had encountered all her days. But the first time someone confronted her, she had risen up like a snake and struck. Her will had been as hard and sharp as a knife when she drove Eline Ormsdatter to her death.
Just as she would have risen up against God Himself if He had placed His righteous hand on the back of her neck. Oh, how could her father and mother bear it? They had lost three young children; they had watched Ulvhild sicken until she died, after they had striven those long sorrowful years to give the child back her health. But they had borne all these trials with patience, never doubting that God knew what was best for their children. Then she had caused them all this sorrow and shame.
But if there had been anything wrong with her child—if they had taken her child the way they were now taking Sigrid Andresdatter’s child from her . . . Oh, lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
She had wandered to the very edge of Hell’s abyss. If she should lose her son, after she had thrown herself into the seething rapids, turned away with scorn from any hope of joining the good and dear people who loved her—giving herself into the Devil’s power . . .
It was no wonder that Naakkve bore the mark of a bloody hand on his chest.
Oh, Holy Olav, you who heard me when I prayed for you to help my child. I prayed that you would turn the punishment upon me and spare the innocent one. Yes, Lord, I know how I kept my part of the agreement.
Like a wild, heathen animal she had reared up at the first chastisement. Erlend. Not for a moment did she ever believe that he no longer loved her. If she had believed that, then she would not have had the strength to live. Oh no. But she had secretly thought that when she was beautiful again, and healthy and lively—then she would act in such a way that he would have to beg her. It wasn’t that he had been unloving during the winter. But she, who had heard ever since she was a girl that the Devil always keeps close to a woman with child and tempts her because she is weak—she had turned a willing ear to the Devil’s lies. She had pretended to believe that Erlend didn’t care for her because she was ugly and ill, when she noticed that he was distressed because he had made both her and himself the subject of gossip. She had flung his timid and tender words back at him, and when she drove him to say harsh and thoughtless things, she would bring them up later to rebuke him. Jesus, what an evil woman she was—she had been a bad wife.
“Now do you understand, Kristin, that you need help?”
Yes, my Lord and King, now I understand. I am in great need of your support so that I won’t turn away from God again. Stay with me, you who are the chieftain of His people, as I step forward with my prayers; pray for mercy for me. Holy Olav, pray for me!
Cor mundum crea in me, Deus, et Spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis.
Ne projicias me a facie tua.
Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis me?.3
The service was over. People were leaving the church. The two farmers’ wives who were kneeling near Kristin stood up. But the boy between them did not get up. He began moving across the floor by setting his knuckles on the flagstones and hopping along like a fledgling crow. He had tiny legs, bent crooked under his belly. The women walked in such a way as to hide him with their clothes as best they could.
When they were out of sight, Kristin threw herself down and kissed the floor where they had walked past her.
Feeling lost and uncertain, she was standing at the entrance to the chancel when a young priest came out the grated door. He stopped in front of the young woman with the tear-stained face, and Kristin did her best to explain the reason for her journey. At first he didn’t understand. Then she pulled out the golden crown and held it out.
“Oh, are you Kristin Lavransdatter, the wife of Erlend of Husaby?” He gave her a rather surprised look; her face was quite swollen from weeping. “Yes, your brother-in-law, Gunnulf, spoke of you, yes he did.”
He led her into the sacristy and took the crown; he unwrapped the linen cloth and looked at it. Then he smiled.
“Well, you must realize that there will have to be witnesses and the like. You can’t give away such a costly treasure as if it were a piece of buttered lefse. But I can keep it for you in the meantime; no doubt you would prefer not to carry it around with you in town.
“Oh, ask Herr Arne if he wouldn’t mind coming here,” he said to a sexton. “I think that by rights your husband should be present too. But perhaps Gunnulf has a letter from him.
“You wish to speak to the archbishop himself, is that right? Otherwise there is Hauk Tomass?n, who is the penitentiarius. I don’t know whether Gunnulf has spoken to Archbishop Eiliv. But you must come here for matins tomorrow, and then you can ask for me after lauds. My name is Paal Aslakss?n. That,” and he pointed to the child, “you must leave at the hostel. I seem to remember your brother-in-law saying that you’re staying with the sisters at Bakke, is that right?”
Another priest came in, and the two men talked to each other briefly. The first priest then opened a small cupboard in the wall and took out a balance scale and weighed the crown, while the other made a note of it in a ledger. Then they placed the crown in the cupboard and closed the door.
Herr Paal was about to escort Kristin out, but then he asked her whether she would like him to lift her son up to Saint Olav’s shrine.
He picked up the boy with the confident, almost indifferent ease of a priest who was used to holding children for baptism. Kristin followed him into the church, and he asked her whether she too would like to kiss the shrine.