“No, but that’s not what I had in mind, either,” said Simon.
He led the horse out to the open area behind the farm, let him run and walk, rode the animal himself, and then had Kristin ride him too. They stayed outdoors in the white pasture for a long time.
Finally, as Kristin was feeding bread to the horse from her hand, Simon leaned against the animal with his arm over his back and said suddenly, “It seems to me, Kristin, that you and my mother have been rather cross with each other.”
“I haven’t meant to be cross with your mother,” she said, “but I can’t find much to say to Fru Angerd.”
“You don’t seem to find much to say to me, either,” said Simon. “I won’t force myself on you, Kristin, before the time comes. But things can’t go on like this; I never get a chance to talk to you.”
“I have never been talkative,” said Kristin. “I know that myself, and I don’t expect you to think it a great loss if things don’t work out between us.”
“You know what I think about that subject,” replied Simon, looking at her.
Kristin blushed as red as blood. And she was startled to find that she was not averse to Simon Darre’s wooing.
After a moment he said, “Is it Arne Gyrds?n, Kristin, that you think you can’t forget?” Kristin stared at him. Simon continued, and his voice was kind and understanding, “I won’t blame you for that. You grew up as siblings, and barely a year has passed. But you can depend on this: I want only what’s best for you.”
Kristin’s face had grown quite pale. Neither of them spoke as they walked through town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the greenish blue sky, the crescent of the new moon hung with a bright star in its embrace.
One year, thought Kristin, and she could hardly remember when she had last given Arne a thought. It gave her a fright—maybe she was a loose, vile woman. A year since she had seen him lying on the bier in the death chamber, when she thought she would never be happy again. She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things. Erlend, Erlend—would he forget her? But worse yet was that she might ever forget him.
Sir Andres and his children went to the great Christmas celebration at the king’s castle. Kristin saw all the finery and splendor, and they were also invited into the hall where King Haakon sat with Fru Isabel Bruce, the widow of King Eirik. Sir Andres went forward to greet the king, while his children and Kristin remained behind. She thought of everything that Fru Aashild had told her, and she remembered that the king was Erlend’s close kinsman—their fathers’ mothers had been sisters. And she was Erlend’s wife by seduction; she had no right to stand here, especially not among these good, fine people, the children of Sir Andres.
Suddenly she saw Erlend Nikulauss?n. He had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel and was standing there with his head bowed and his hand on his breast while she spoke a few words to him. He was wearing the brown silk surcoat that he had worn to their banquet rendezvous. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres’s daughters.
When Fru Angerd, some time later, escorted the three maidens over to the queen, Kristin could not see Erlend anywhere, but she didn’t dare raise her eyes from the floor. She wondered if he was standing somewhere in the hall; she thought she could feel his eyes on her. But she also thought that everyone was staring at her, as if they could tell that she was standing there like a liar with the gold wreath on her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders.
He was not in the hall where the young people were served dinner and where they danced after the tables had been cleared away. Kristin had to dance with Simon that evening.
Along one wall stood a built-in table, and that’s where the king’s servants set ale and mead and wine all night long. Once when Simon took Kristin over there and drank a toast to her, she saw that Erlend was standing quite close to her, behind Simon. He looked at her, and Kristin’s hand shook as Simon gave her the goblet and she raised it to her lips. Erlend whispered fiercely to the man who was with him—a tall, heavyset, but handsome older man, who shook his head dismissively with an angry expression. In the next moment Simon led Kristin back to the dance.
She had no idea how long that dance lasted; the ballad seemed endless and every moment was tedious and painful with longing and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon escorted her over to the table for drinks again.
One of his friends approached and spoke to him, leading him away a few paces, over to a group of young men. Then Erlend stood before her.
“I have so much I want to say to you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to say first. In Christ’s name, Kristin, how are things with you?” he asked hastily, for he noticed that her face had turned as white as chalk.
She couldn’t see him clearly; it was as if there was running water between their faces. He picked up a goblet from the table, drank from it, and handed it to Kristin. She thought it was much too heavy, or that her arm had been pulled from its socket; she couldn’t manage to raise it to her lips.
“Is that how things stand—that you’ll drink with your betrothed but not with me?” asked Erlend softly. But Kristin dropped the goblet and swooned forward into his arms.
When she woke up she was lying on a bench with her head in the lap of a maiden she didn’t know. They had loosened her belt and the brooch on her breast. Someone was slapping her hands, and her face was wet.
She sat up. Somewhere in the circle of people around her she saw Erlend’s face, pale and ill. She felt weak herself, as if all her bones had melted, and her head felt huge and hollow. But somewhere in her mind a single thought, clear and desperate, shone—she had to talk to Erlend.
Then she said to Simon Darre, who was standing close by, “It must have been too hot for me. There are so many candles burning in here, and I’m not accustomed to drinking so much wine.”
“Are you all right now?” asked Simon. “You frightened everyone. Perhaps you would like me to take you home?”
“I think we should wait until your parents leave,” said Kristin calmly. “But sit down here. I don’t feel like dancing anymore.” She patted the cushion beside her. Then she stretched out her other hand to Erlend.
“Sit down here, Erlend Nikulauss?n. I didn’t have a chance to give you my full greeting. Ingebj?rg was just saying lately that she thought you had forgotten all about her.”
She saw that he was having a much more difficult time composing himself than she was. It cost her great effort to hold back the tender little smile that threatened to appear on her lips.
“You must thank the maiden for still remembering me,” he said, stammering. “And here I was so afraid that she had forgotten me.”
Kristin hesitated for a moment. She didn’t know what message she could bring from the flighty Ingebj?rg that would be interpreted correctly by Erlend. Then bitterness rose up inside her for all those months of helplessness, and she said, “Dear Erlend, did you think that we maidens would forget the man who so magnificently defended our honor?”
She saw that he looked as if she had struck him. And she regretted it at once when Simon asked what she meant. Kristin told him of her adventure with Ingebj?rg out in the Eikaberg woods. She noticed that Simon was not pleased. Then she asked him to go in search of Fru Angerd, to see if they would be leaving soon. She was tired after all. When he had gone, she turned to look at Erlend.
“It’s odd,” he said in a low voice, “how resourceful you are—I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”
“I’ve had to learn to conceal things, as you might well imagine,” she said somberly.
Erlend breathed heavily. He was still quite pale.