This went on for a week. Then one evening, when Erlend came back home after going up to Hangrar on business, he was told that Kristin had set off for Husaby that morning.
He was already quite aware that no man had ever had less pleasure from a sin than he was having from his dealings with Sunniva Olavsdatter. In his heart he was so unbearably tired of that demented woman—sick of her even as he played with her and caressed her. He had also been reckless; it must be known all over town and throughout the countryside by now that he had been spending his nights at Baardsgaard. And it was not worth having his reputation sullied for Sunniva’s sake. Occasionally he also wondered whether there might be consequences. After all, the woman had a husband, such as he was, decrepit and sickly. He pitied Baard for being married to such a wanton and foolish woman; Erlend was hardly the first to tread too close to the man’s honor. And Haftor . . . but when he took up with Sunniva he hadn’t remembered that she was Haftor’s sister; he didn’t think of this until it was too late. The situation was as bad as it could possibly be. And now he realized that Kristin knew about it.
Surely she wouldn’t think of bringing a charge against him before the archbishop, seeking permission to leave him. She had J?rundgaard to flee to, but it would be impossible for her to travel over the mountains at this time of year; even more so if she wanted to take the children along, and Kristin would never leave them behind. He reassured himself that she wouldn’t be able to travel by ship with Munan and Lavrans so early in the spring. No, it would be unlike Kristin to seek help from the archbishop against him. She had reason to do so, but he would willingly stay away from their bed until she understood that he felt true remorse. Kristin would never allow this matter to become a public case. Yet he realized it had been a long time since he could be certain what his wife might or might not do.
That night he lay in his own bed, letting his thoughts roam. It occurred to him that he had acted with even greater folly than he had first thought when he entered into this miserable affair, now that he was involved in the greatest plans.
He cursed himself for still being such a fool over a woman that she could drive him to this. He cursed both Kristin and Sunniva. By Devil, he was no more besotted with women than other men; he had gotten involved with fewer of them than most of the men he knew. But it was as if the Fiend himself were after him; he couldn’t come near a woman without landing in mire up to his armpits.
It had to be stopped now. Thank the Lord he had other matters on his hands. Soon, very soon, he would receive Lady Ingebj?rg’s letters. Well, he couldn’t avoid trouble with women in this matter either, but that must be God’s punishment for the sins of his youth. Erlend laughed out loud in the dark. Lady Ingebj?rg would have to see that what they had told her about the situation was true. The question was whether it would be one of her sons or the sons of her unlawful sister whom the Norwegians supported to oppose King Magnus. And she loved the children she had borne to Knut Porse in a way she had never loved her other children.
Soon, very soon . . . then it would be the sharp wind and the salty waves that would fill his embrace. God in Heaven, it would be good to be soaked through by the sea swells and feel the fresh wind seep into his marrow—to be quit of women for a good long time.
Sunniva. Let her think what she would. He wouldn’t go back there again. And Kristin could go off to J?rundgaard if she liked. It might be safest and best for her and the children to be far away in Gudbrandsdal this summer. Later on he would no doubt make amends with her again.
The following morning he rode up toward Skaun. He decided he wouldn’t have any peace until he knew what his wife intended to do.
She received him politely, her demeanor gentle and cool, when he arrived at Husaby later in the day. Unless he asked her a question, she said not a word, not even anything unkind, and she didn’t object when later that evening he came over and tentatively lay down in their bed. But when he had lain there for a while, he hesitantly tried to put his hand on her breast.
Kristin’s voice shook, but Erlend couldn’t tell if it was from sorrow or bitterness, when she whispered, “Surely you’re not so lowly a man, Erlend, that you will make this even worse for me. I cannot start a quarrel with you, since our children are sleeping all around. And since I have seven sons by you, I would rather our servants didn’t see that I know I’m a woman who has been betrayed.”
Erlend lay there in silence for a long time before he dared reply.
“Yes, may God have mercy on me, Kristin—I have betrayed you. I wouldn’t have . . . wouldn’t have done it if I had found it easier to bear those vicious words you said to me in Nidaros. I haven’t come home to beg your forgiveness, for I know this would be too much to ask of you right now.”
“I see that Munan Baards?n spoke the truth,” replied his wife. “The day will never come when you will stand up and take the blame for what you have done. You should turn to God and seek redemption from Him. You need to ask His forgiveness more than you need to ask mine.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Erlend bitterly. And then they said no more. The next morning he rode back to Nidaros.
He had been in town several days when Fru Sunniva’s maid came to speak to him in Saint Gregor’s Church one evening. Erlend thought he ought to talk to Sunniva one last time and told the girl to keep watch that night; he would come the same way as before.
He had to creep and climb like a chicken thief to reach the loft where they always met. This time he felt sick with shame that he had made such a fool of himself—at his age and in his position. But in the beginning it had amused him to carry on like a youth.
Fru Sunniva received him in bed.
“So you’ve finally come, at this late hour?” she laughed and yawned. “Hurry up, my friend, and come to bed. We can talk later about where you’ve been all this time.”
Erlend didn’t know what to do or how to tell her what was on his mind. Without thinking, he began to unfasten his clothing.
“We’ve both been reckless, Sunniva—I don’t think it advisable that I stay here tonight. Surely Baard must be expected home sometime?” he said.
“Are you afraid of my husband?” teased Sunniva. “You’ve seen for yourself that Baard didn’t even prick up his ears when we flirted right in front of him. If he asks me whether you’ve been spending time here at the manor, I’ll just convince him that it’s the same old nonsense. He trusts me much too well.”
“Yes, he does seem to trust you too well,” laughed Erlend, digging his fingers into her fair hair and her firm, white shoulders.
“Do you think so?” She gripped his wrist. “And do you trust your own wife? I was still a shy and virtuous maiden when Baard won me. . . .”
“We’ll keep my wife out of this,” said Erlend sharply, releasing her.
“Why is that? Does it seem to you less proper for us to talk about Kristin Lavransdatter than about Sir Baard, my husband?”
Erlend clenched his teeth and refused to answer.
“You must be one of those men, Erlend,” said Sunniva scornfully, “who thinks you’re so charming and handsome that a woman can hardly be blamed if her virtue is like fragile glass to you—when usually she’s as strong as steel.”
“I’ve never thought that about you,” replied Erlend roughly.
Sunniva’s eyes glittered. “What did you want with me then, Erlend? Since you have married so well?”
“I told you not to mention my wife.”
“Your wife or my husband.”
“You were always the one who started talking about Baard, and you were the worst to ridicule him,” said Erlend bitterly. “And if you didn’t mock him in words . . . I’d like to know how dearly you held his honor when you took another man in your husband’s place. She is not diminished by my misdeeds.”