The graves of his parents lay in front of Saint Anna’s altar in the north aisle of the nave. As Erlend said his prayers, he noticed that Fru Sunniva Olavsdatter and her maid had entered the church portal. When he finished praying, he went over to greet her.
In all the years he had known Fru Sunniva, things had always been such between them that they could banter and jest quite freely whenever they met. On this evening, as they sat on the bench and waited for evensong to begin, he grew so bold that several times she had to remind him that they were in church, with people constantly coming in.
“Yes, yes,” said Erlend, “but you’re so lovely tonight, Sunniva! It’s wonderful to banter with a woman who has such gentle eyes.”
“You’re not worthy enough, Erlend Nikulauss?n, for me to look at you with gentle eyes,” she said, laughing.
“Then I’ll come and banter with you after it grows dark,” replied Erlend in the same tone of voice. “When the mass is over, I’ll escort you home.”
At that moment the priests entered the choir, and Erlend went over to the south nave to join the other men.
When the service came to an end, he left the church through the main door. He saw Fru Sunniva and her maid a short distance down the street. He thought it best he didn’t accompany her and go right home instead. Just then a group of Icelanders from the trading ship appeared in the street, staggering and clinging to each other, and seemed intent on blocking the way of the two women. Erlend ran after them. As soon as the seamen saw a gentleman with a sword on his belt approaching, they stepped aside and made room for the women to pass.
“I think it would be best if I escorted you home, after all,” said Erlend. “There’s too much unrest in town tonight.”
“What do you think, Erlend? As old as I am . . . And yet perhaps it doesn’t displease me if a few men still find me pretty enough to try to block my passage. . . .”
There was only one answer that a courteous man could give.
He returned to his own residence at dawn the next morning, pausing for a moment outside the bolted door to the main building, frozen, dead tired, heartsick, and dejected. Should he pound on the door to wake the servants and then slip inside to crawl into bed next to Kristin, who lay there with the child at her breast? No. He had with him the key to the eastern storehouse loft; that’s where he kept some possessions that were in his charge. Erlend unlocked the door, pulled off his boots, and spread some homespun fabric and empty sacks on top of the straw in the bed. He wrapped his cape around him, crept under the sacks, and was fortunate enough to fall asleep and forget everything, exhausted and confused as he was.
Kristin was pale and weary from a sleepless night as she sat down to breakfast with her servants. One of the men said he had asked the master to come to the table—he was sleeping in the east loft—but Erlend told him to go to the Devil.
Erlend was supposed to go to Elgeseter after the morning service to be a witness to the sale of several estates. Afterwards he managed to excuse himself from the meal in the refectory, and to slip away from Arne Gjavvaldss?n, who had also declined to stay and drink with the brothers but wanted Erlend to come home to Ranheim with him.
Later he regretted that he had parted company with the others, and he was filled with dread as he walked home alone through town—now he would have to think about what he had done. For a moment he was tempted to go straight down to Saint Gregor’s Church; he had promised to make confession to one of the priests whenever he was in Nidaros. But if he did it again, after he had confessed, it would be an even greater sin. He had better wait for a while.
Sunniva must think he was little better than a chicken she had caught with her bare hands. But no, the Devil take him if he’d ever thought a woman would be able to teach him so many new things—here he was walking around and gasping with astonishment at what he had encountered. He had imagined himself to be rather experienced in ars amoris, or whatever the learned men called it. If he had been young and green, he would probably have felt quite cocky and thought it splendid. But he didn’t like that woman—that wild woman. He was sick of her. He was sick of all women except his own wife—and he was sick of her as well! By the Holy Cross, he had been so married to her that he had grown pious himself, because he had believed in her piety. But what a handsome reward he had been given by his pious wife for his faithfulness and love—witch that she was! He remembered the sting of her spiteful words from the evening before. So she thought he acted as if he were descended from thralls. . . . And that other woman, Sunniva, no doubt thought he was inexperienced and clumsy because he had been caught off guard and showed some surprise at her skills in love. Now he would show her that he was no more a saint than she was. He had promised her to come to Baardsgaard that night, and he might as well go. He had committed the sin—he might as well enjoy the pleasure that it offered.
He had already broken his vows to Kristin, and she herself was to blame, with her spiteful and unreasonable behavior toward him. . . .
He went home and wandered through the stables and outbuildings, looking for something to complain about; he quarreled with the priest’s servant from the hospital because she had brought malt into the drying room, even though he knew that his own servants had no use for the grain-drying house while they were in Nidaros. He wished that his sons were with him; they would have been good company. He wished he could go back home to Husaby at once. But he had to stay in Nidaros and wait for letters to arrive from the south; it was too risky to receive such letters at his own home in the village.
The mistress of the house didn’t come to the evening meal. She was lying in bed in the alcove, said her maid Signe, with a reproachful look at her master. Erlend replied harshly that he hadn’t asked about her mistress. After the servants had left the room, he went into the alcove. It was oppressively dark. Erlend bent over Kristin on the bed.
“Are you crying?” he asked very softly, for her breathing sounded so strange. But she answered brusquely that she wasn’t.
“Are you tired? I’m about to go to bed too,” he murmured.
Kristin’s voice quavered as she said, “Then I would rather, Erlend, that you went to bed in the same place where you slept last night.”
Erlend didn’t reply. He went out and then returned with the candle from the hall and opened up his clothes chest. He was already dressed suitably enough to go out wherever he liked, for he was wearing the violet-blue cote-hardi because he had been to Elgeseter in the morning. But now he took off these garments, slowly and deliberately, and put on a red silk shirt and a mouse-gray, calf-length velvet tunic with small silver bells on the points of the sleeves. He brushed his hair and washed his hands, all the while keeping his eyes on his wife. She was silent and didn’t move. Then he left without bidding her good night. The next day he openly returned home to the estate at breakfast time.