They rode through the valley floor, with the curve of the river at their backs. Erlend wrapped his cape around the boy as best he could. Lavrans dozed and kept threatening to fall asleep. He sensed that his father’s body smelled like that of a poor man. He had a vague memory from his early childhood, while they were living at Husaby, when his father would come from the bathhouse on Saturdays and he would have several little balls in his hands. They smelled so good, and the delicate, sweet scent would cling to his palms and to his clothing during the whole Sabbath.
Erlend rode steadily and briskly. Down on the moors it was pitch-dark. Without thinking about it, he knew at every moment where he was; he recognized the changing sound of the river’s clamor, as the Laag rushed through rapids and plunged over falls. Their path took them across flat stretches, where the sparks flew from the horse’s hooves. Soten ran with confidence and ease among the writhing roots of pine trees, where the road passed through thick forest; there was a soft gurgling and rushing sound as he raced across small green plains where a meandering rivulet from the mountains streamed across. By daybreak he would be home, and that would be a fitting hour.
The whole time Erlend was doubtless thinking about that moon-blue wintry night long ago when he drove a sleigh down through this very valley. Bj?rn Gunnarss?n sat in back, holding a dead woman in his arms. But the memory was pale and distant, just as everything the child had told him seemed distant and unreal: all that had happened down in the village and those mad rumors about Kristin. Somehow his mind refused to grasp it. After he arrived, there would surely be time enough to think about what he should do. Nothing seemed real except the feeling of strain and fear—now that he would soon see Kristin.
He had waited and waited for her. He had never doubted that one day she would come to him—up until he heard what name she had given the child.
Stepping out of the church into the gray light were those people who had been to early mass to hear one of the priests from Hamar preach. The ones who emerged first saw Erlend Nikulauss?n ride past toward home, and they told the others. Some uneasiness and a great deal of talk arose; people headed down the slope and stood in groups at the place where the lane to J?rundgaard diverged from the main road.
Erlend rode into the courtyard as the waning moon sank behind the rim of clouds and the mountain ridge, pale in the dawn light.
Outside the foreman’s house stood a group of people: Jardtrud’s kinsmen and her friends who had stayed with her overnight. At the sound of horse hooves in the courtyard the men who had been keeping guard in the room under the high loft came outside.
Erlend reined in his horse. He gazed down at the farmers and said in a loud, mocking voice, “Is there a feast being held on my estate and I know nothing about it? Or why are you good folks gathered here at this early hour?”
Angry, dark looks met him from all sides. Erlend sat tall and slender astride the long-legged foreign stallion. Before, Soten’s mane had been clipped short, but now it was thick and uncut. The horse was ungroomed and had gray hairs on his head, but his eyes glittered dangerously, and he stomped and shifted uneasily, laying his ears back and tossing his small, elegant head so that flecks of lather sprinkled his neck and shoulders and the rider. The harnesswork had once been red and the saddle inlaid with gold; now they were worn and broken and mended. And the man was dressed almost like a beggar. His hair, which billowed from under a simple black woolen hat, was grayish white; a gray stubble grew on his pale, furrowed face with the big nose. But he sat erect, and he was smiling arrogantly down at the crowd of farmers. He looked young, in spite of everything, and like a chieftain. Fierce hatred surged toward this outsider, who sat there, holding his head high and uncowed—after all the grief and shame and misery he had brought upon those whom these people considered their own chieftains.
And yet the farmer who was the first to answer Erlend spoke with restraint. “I see you have found your son, Erlend, so I think you must know that we have not gathered here for any feast. And it seems strange you would jest about such a matter.”
Erlend looked down at the child, who was still asleep. His voice grew more gentle.
“The boy is ill; surely you must see that. The news he brought me from here in the parish seemed so unbelievable that I thought he must be speaking in a feverish daze.
“And some of it is nonsense, after all, I see.” Erlend frowned as he glanced at the stable door. Ulf Haldorss?n and two other men—one of them his brother-in-law—were at that moment leading out several horses.
Ulf let go of his horse and strode swiftly toward his master.
“Have you finally come, Erlend? And there’s the boy—praise be to Christ and the Virgin Mary! His mother doesn’t know he was missing. We were about to go out to look for him. The bishop released me on my sworn oath when he heard the child had set off alone for Vaagaa. How is Lavrans?” he asked anxiously.
“Thank God you’ve found the boy,” said Jardtrud, weeping. She had come out into the courtyard.
“Are you here, Jardtrud?” said Erlend. “That will be the first thing I see to: that you leave my estate, you and your cohorts. First we’ll drive off this gossiping woman, and then anyone else who has spread lies about my wife will be fined.”
“That cannot be done, Erlend,” said Ulf Haldorss?n. “Jardtrud is my lawful wife. I don’t think either she or I has any desire to stay together, but she will not leave my house until I have placed in the hands of my brothers-in-law her livestock, dowry, betrothal gifts, and wedding gifts.”
“Am I not the master of this estate?” asked Erlend, furious.
“You will have to ask Kristin Lavransdatter about that,” said Ulf. “Here she comes.”
The mistress was standing on the gallery of the new storeroom. Now she slowly came down the stairs. Without thinking, she pulled her wimple forward—it had slipped back off her head—and she smoothed her church gown, which she had worn since the day before. But her face was as motionless as stone.
Erlend rode forward to meet her, at a walking pace. Bending down a bit, he stared with fearful confusion at his wife’s gray, dead face.
“Kristin,” he implored. “My Kristin. I’ve come home to you.”
She didn’t seem to hear or see him. Then Lavrans, who was sitting in his father’s arms and had gradually woken up, slid down to the ground. The moment his feet touched the grass, the boy collapsed and he lay in a heap.
A tremor passed over his mother’s face. She leaned down and lifted the big boy in her arms, pressing his head against her throat, as if he were a little child. But his long legs hung down limply in front of her.
“Kristin, my dearest love,” begged Erlend in despair. “Oh, Kristin, I know I’ve come to you much too late . . .”
Again a tremor passed over his wife’s face.
“It’s not too late,” she said, her voice low and harsh. She stared down at her son, who lay in a swoon in her arms. “Our last child is already in the ground, and now it’s Lavrans’s turn. Gaute has been banished by the Church, and our other sons . . . But the two of us still own much that can be ruined, Erlend!”
She turned away from him and began walking across the courtyard with the child. Erlend rode after her, keeping his horse at her side.
“Kristin—Jesus, what can I do for you? Kristin, don’t you want me to stay with you now?”
“I don’t need you to do anything more for me,” said his wife in the same tone of voice. “You cannot help me, whether you stay here or you throw yourself into the Laag.”
Erlend’s sons had come out onto the gallery of the high loft. Now Gaute ran down and raced toward his mother, trying to stop her.
“Mother,” he begged. Then she gave him a look, and he halted in bewilderment.
Several farmers were standing at the bottom of the loft stairs.
“Move aside, men,” said the mistress, trying to pass them with her burden.
Soten tossed his head and danced uneasily; Erlend turned the horse halfway around, and Kolbein Jonss?n grabbed the bridle. Kristin hadn’t seen what was happening; now she turned to look over her shoulder.
“Let go of the horse, Kolbein. If he wants to ride off, then let him.”