The procession stopped at the door to the main house, and the priests blessed it with holy water. Then Erlend led Kristin inside, through a dark entryway. On her right a door was thrown open to brilliant light. She ducked through the doorway and stood next to Erlend in his hall.
It was the largest room she had ever seen on any man’s estate. There was a hearthplace in the middle of the floor, and it was so long that fires were burning at both ends. And the room was so wide that the crossbeams were supported by carved pillars. It seemed to Kristin more like the interior of a church or a king’s great hall than the hall of a manor. At the east end of the house, where the high seat2 stood in the middle of the bench along the wall, enclosed beds had been built into the walls between the pillars.
And so many candles were now burning in the room—on the tables, which groaned with precious vessels and platters, and in brackets attached to the walls. As was the custom in the old days, weapons and shields hung between the draped tapestries. The wall behind the high seat was covered with velvet, and that was where a man now hung Erlend’s gold-chased sword and his white shield with the leaping red lion.
Serving men and women had taken the guests’ outer garments from them. Erlend took his wife by the hand and led her forward to the hearthplace; the guests formed a semicircle behind them. A heavyset woman with a gentle face stepped forward and shook out Kristin’s wimple, which had wrinkled a bit under her cloak. As the woman stepped back to her place, she bowed to the young couple and smiled. Erlend bowed and smiled in return and then looked down at his wife. At that moment his face was so handsome. And once again Kristin’s heart seemed to sink—she felt such pity for him. She knew what he was now thinking; he saw her standing there in his hall with the long, snow-white wimple of a married woman spread out over her scarlet wedding gown. That morning she had been forced to wind a long woven belt tightly around her stomach and waist under her clothing before she could get the gown to fit properly. And she had rubbed her cheeks with a red salve that Fru Aashild had given her. While she was doing this, she had thought with indignation and sadness that Erlend didn’t seem to look at her much, now that he had won her—since he hadn’t yet noticed her condition. Now she bitterly regretted that she hadn’t told him before.
As the couple stood there, hand in hand, the priests walked around the room, blessing the house and the hearth, the bed and the table.
Then a servant woman brought the keys of the house over to Erlend. He hung the heavy key ring on Kristin’s belt—and as he did this he looked as if he wanted to kiss her at the same time. A man brought a large drinking horn, ringed in gold, and Erlend put it to his lips and drank to her.
“Health and happiness on your estate, my wife!”
And the guests shouted and laughed as she drank with her husband and then threw the rest of the wine into the hearth fire.
Then the musicians began to play as Erlend Nikulauss?n led his lawful wife to the high seat and the banquet guests sat down at the table.
On the third day the guests began to leave, and by the fifth day, just before mid-afternoon prayers, the last ones had departed. Then Kristin was alone with her husband at Husaby.
The first thing she did was to ask the servants to remove all the bedclothes from the bed, to wash them and the surrounding walls with lye, and to carry out the straw and burn it. Then she had the bed filled with fresh straw and on top she spread the bedclothes that she had brought with her to the estate. It was late at night before the work was done. But Kristin said that this should be done with all the beds on the farm, and all the furs were to be steamed in the bathhouse. The maids would have to start first thing in the morning and do as much as they could before the sabbath. Erlend shook his head and laughed—what a wife she was! But he was quite ashamed.
Kristin had not slept much on the first night, even though the priests had blessed her bed. On top were spread silk-covered pillows, a linen sheet, and the finest blankets and furs, but underneath lay filthy, rotting straw; there were lice in the bedclothes and in the magnificent black bear pelt that lay on top.
Many things she had noticed during those days. Behind the costly tapestries which covered the walls, the soot and the dirt had not been washed from the timbers. There was an abundance of food for the feast, but much of it was spoiled or ill-prepared. And they had lit the fires with raw, wet wood that offered hardly any heat and filled the room with smoke.
Poor management she had seen everywhere when, on the second day, she walked around with Erlend to look at the estate. There would be empty stalls and storerooms after the celebration was over; the flour bins were almost swept clean. And she couldn’t understand how Erlend planned to feed all the horses and so much livestock with what was left of the straw and hay; there was not even enough fodder for the sheep.
But there was a loft half-filled with flax, and nothing had been done with it—it seemed to be a large part of several years’ harvest. And a storeroom full of ancient, unwashed, and stinking wool, some in sacks and some lying loose all around. When Kristin put her hand into the wool, tiny brown worm eggs spilled out of it—moths and maggots had gotten into the wool.
The cattle were feeble, gaunt, scabrous, and chafed; never had she seen so many old animals in one place. Only the horses were beautiful and well cared for. But none of them was a match for Guldsvein or Ringdrott, the stallion that her father now owned. Sl?ngvanbauge, the horse that he had given her from home, was the most splendid horse in Husaby’s stables. She couldn’t resist putting her arm around his neck and pressing her face against his coat when she went over to him. And the gentry of Tr?ndelag3 looked at the horse and praised his strong, stout legs, his deep chest and high neck, his small head and broad flanks. The old man from Gimsar swore by both God and the Fiend that it was a great sin that they had gelded the horse—what a battle horse he might have been. Then Kristin had to boast a little about his sire, Ringdrott. He was much bigger and stronger; there wasn’t another stallion that could compete with him; her father had even tested him against the most celebrated horses all the way north to this parish. Lavrans had given these horses the unusual names—Ringdrott and Sl?ngvanbauge—because they were golden in color and had markings that were like reddish-gold rings. The mother of Ringdrott had strayed from the other mares one summer up near the Boar Range, and they thought that a bear had taken her, but then she came back to the farm late in the fall. And the foal she bore the following year had surely not been bred by a stallion belonging to anyone aboveground. So they burned sulfur and bread over the foal, and Lavrans gave the mare to the church, to be even safer. But the foal had grown so magnificent that he now said he would rather lose half his estate than Ringdrott.
Erlend laughed and said, “You don’t talk much, Kristin, but when you talk about your father, you’re quite eloquent!”
Kristin abruptly fell silent. She remembered her father’s face when she was about to ride off with Erlend and he lifted her onto her horse. Lavrans had put on a happy expression because there were so many people around them, but Kristin saw his eyes. He stroked her arm and took her hand to say farewell. At that time her main thought had been that she was glad to be leaving. Now she thought that for as long as she lived, she would feel a sting in her soul whenever she remembered her father’s eyes on that day.