She had been so unhappy the entire autumn. It did no good to tell herself that Bentein had done her no harm; she felt herself defiled just the same.
Nothing could be as it had been before, now that a man had dared to do such a thing to her. She lay awake at night, burning with shame, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She remembered Bentein’s body against hers when she fought with him, and his hot ale-breath. She was forced to think about what might have happened, and she was reminded, as a shudder rippled through her flesh, of what he had said: that if it could not be concealed, then Arne would be blamed. Images raced through her head of everything that would have followed if she had ended up in such misfortune and then people had found out about her meeting with Arne. And what if her mother and father had believed such a thing of Arne? And Arne himself . . . She saw him as he had looked on that last evening, and she felt as if she were sinking down before him in shame simply because she might have dragged him down along with her into sorrow and disgrace. And her dreams were so vile. She had heard about the desires and temptations of the flesh in church and in the Holy Scriptures, but it had meant nothing to her. Now it had become clear that she herself and everyone else had a sinful, fleshly body encompassing the soul, biting into it with harsh bands.
Then she imagined how she might have killed Bentein or blinded him. That was the only consolation she could find—to indulge in dreams of revenge against that hideous dark figure who was always haunting her thoughts. But it never helped for long; she would lie next to Ulvhild at night and weep about everything that had been visited upon her by violence. In her mind, Bentein had managed to breach her maidenhood all the same.
On the first workday after the Christmas season, all the women of J?rundgaard were busy in the cookhouse. Ragnfrid and Kristin had also spent most of the day there. Late in the evening, while some of the women were cleaning up after the baking and others were preparing the evening meal, the milkmaid came rushing in, screaming as she threw up her hands.
“Jesus, Jesus—has anyone ever heard more dreadful news! They’re carrying Arne Gyrds?n home in a sleigh—God help Gyrd and Inga in their misery.”
In came a man who lived in a house a short way down the road, and with him was Halvdan. They were the ones who had met the funeral procession.
The women crowded around them. On the very outskirts of the circle stood Kristin, pale and trembling. Halvdan, Lavrans’s own servant who had known Arne since he was a boy, sobbed loudly as he spoke.
It was Bentein Prestes?n who had killed Arne. On New Year’s Eve the bishop’s men were sitting in the men’s house drinking, when Bentein came in. He had become a scribe for a priest, a Corpus Christi prebendary.1 At first the men didn’t want to let Bentein in, but he reminded Arne that they were from the same village. So Arne allowed him to sit with him, and they both began to drink. But then they came to blows, and Arne fought so fiercely that Bentein seized a knife from the table and stabbed Arne in the throat and then several times in the chest. Arne died almost at once.
The bishop took this misfortune greatly to heart; he personally saw to it that the body was properly tended to, and he had his own men accompany it on the long journey home. He had Bentein thrown in irons and excommunicated from the Church, and if he had not already been hanged, then he soon would be.
Halvdan had to tell the story several times as more people crowded into the room. Lavrans and Simon also came over to the cookhouse when they noticed all the noise and commotion in the courtyard. Lavrans was much distressed; he ordered his horse to be saddled, for he wanted to ride over to Brekken at once. As he was about to leave, his eyes fell on Kristin’s white face.
“Perhaps you would like to go with me?” he asked. Kristin hesitated for a moment, shuddering, but then she nodded, for she didn’t dare utter a word.
“Isn’t it too cold for her?” said Ragnfrid. “Tomorrow they will hold the wake, and then we’ll all go.”
Lavrans looked at his wife; he also glanced at Simon’s face, and then he went over and put his arm around Kristin’s shoulder.
“You must remember that she’s his foster sister,” he said. “Perhaps she would like to help Inga attend to the body.”
And even though Kristin’s heart was gripped with fear and despair, she felt a warm surge of gratitude toward her father for his words.
Then Ragnfrid wanted them to eat the evening porridge before they left, if Kristin would be going along. She also wanted to send gifts to Inga—a new linen sheet, candles, and freshly baked bread. She asked them to tell Inga that she would come to help them prepare for the burial.
Little was eaten but much was said in the room while the food stood on the table. One person reminded the other about the trials that God had visited upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been destroyed by a rock slide and flood, and many of their older children had died, so all of Arne’s siblings were still quite young. But fortune had been with them for several years now, ever since the bishop had appointed Gyrd of Finsbrekken as his envoy, and the children they had been blessed to keep were good-looking and full of promise. But Inga had loved Arne more dearly than all the rest.
People felt sorry for Sira Eirik too. The priest was loved and respected, and the people in the village were proud of him; he was well educated and capable, and in all his years with the Church he had not missed a single holy day or mass or service that he was obliged to observe. In his youth he had been a soldier under Count Alv of Tornberg, but he had brought trouble on himself by killing a man of exceedingly high birth, and so he had turned to the Bishop of Oslo. When the bishop realized how quick Eirik was to acquire book learning, he had accepted him into the priesthood. And if not for the fact that he still had enemies because of that killing in the past, Sira Eirik would probably never have stayed at that little church. It’s true that he was quite avaricious, both for his own purse and for his church. But the church was, after all, quite attractively furnished with vessels and draperies and books, and he did have those children—but he had never had anything but trouble and sorrow from his family. In the countryside people thought it unreasonable to expect priests to live like monks, since they had to have women servants on their farms and might well be in need of a woman to look after things for them when they had to make such long and arduous journeys through the parish in all kinds of weather. People also remembered that it was not so long ago that priests in Norway had been married men. So no one blamed Sira Eirik for having three children by the housekeeper who was with him when he was young. On this evening, however, they said that it looked as if God wanted to punish Eirik for taking a mistress, since his children and grandchildren had caused him so much grief. And some people said that there was good reason for priests not to have wives or children—for enmity and indignation were bound to arise between the priest and the people of Finsbrekken. Until now they had been the best of friends.