It was late when the house servants left the hall, but the two brothers and Kristin remained behind, sitting over their drink. Erlend was seated atop the table with his face turned toward his brother.
“Yes, I thought about that during my wedding,” he said, pointing to his mother’s chest, “and that Kristin should have it. And yet I forget things so quickly, while you forget nothing, my brother. But I think Mother’s ring has come to grace a fair hand, don’t you?” He placed Kristin’s hand on his knee and twisted her betrothal ring around.
Gunnulf nodded. He placed the psaltery on Erlend’s lap. “Sing now, brother. You used to sing so beautifully and play so well.”
“That was many years ago,” said Erlend more somberly. Then he ran his fingers over the strings.
Olav the king, Harald’s son,
rode out in the thick woods,
found a tiny footprint there—
and so the news is great.
Then said he, Finn Arness?n,
riding before the band:
Fair must be so small a foot,
clad in scarlet hose.
Erlend smiled as he sang, and Kristin looked up at the priest a little shyly—to see whether the ballad of Saint Olav and Alvhild might displease him. But Gunnulf sat there smiling too, and yet she suddenly felt certain that it was not because of the ballad but because of Erlend.
“Kristin doesn’t have to sing; you must be short of breath now, my dear,” Erlend said, caressing her cheek. “But you can. . . .” He handed the stringed instrument to his brother.
It could be heard in the priest’s playing and in his voice that he had learned well in school.
North over the mountains rode the king—
He heard the dove lament bitterly:
“The hawk took my sweetheart away from me!”
Then he rode so far and wide
The hawk flew over the countryside.
Into a garden the hawk then flew,
Where it blossoms ever anew.
In that garden there is a hall,
Draped with purple over all.
There lies a knight, seeping blood,
He is our Lord so fine and good.
Beneath the blue scarlet he does lie
And etched atop: Corpus domini.
“Where did you learn that ballad?” asked Erlend.
“Oh. Some fellows were singing it outside the hostel where I was staying in Canterbury,” said Gunnulf. “And I was tempted to turn it into Norwegian. But it doesn’t work so well. . . .” He sat there strumming a few notes on the strings.
“Well, brother, it’s long past midnight. Kristin must need to go to bed. Are you tired, my wife?”
Kristin looked up at the men timidly; she was very pale.
“I don’t know . . . But I don’t think I should sleep in the bed in here.”
“Are you ill?” they both asked, bending toward her.
“I don’t know,” she replied in the same voice. She pressed her hands to her flanks. “It feels so strange in the small of my back.”
Erlend leaped up and headed for the door. Gunnulf followed. “It’s shameful that you haven’t yet brought the women here who will help her,” he said. “Is it long before her time?”
Erlend turned bright red.
“Kristin said she didn’t need anyone but her maids. They’ve borne children themselves, some of them.” He tried to laugh.
“Have you lost your senses?” Gunnulf stared at him. “Even the poorest wench has servant women and neighbors with her when she takes to childbed. Should your wife crawl into a corner to hide and give birth like a cat? No, brother, so much a man you must be that you bring to Kristin the foremost women of the parish.”
Erlend bowed his head, blushing with shame.
“You speak the truth, brother. I will ride down to Raasvold myself, and I’ll send men to the other farms. You must stay with Kristin.”
“Are you going away?” asked his wife, frightened, when she saw Erlend put on his outer garments.
He went over to Kristin and put his arms around her.
“I’m going to bring back the noblest women for you, my Kristin. Gunnulf will stay with you while the maids get ready for you in the little house,” he said, kissing her.
“Couldn’t you send word to Audfinna Audunsdatter?” she pleaded. “But not until morning—I don’t want her to be wakened from her sleep for my sake—she has so much work to do, I know.”
Gunnulf asked his brother who Audfinna was.
“It doesn’t seem to me proper,” said the priest. “The wife of one of your leaseholders—”
“Kristin must have whatever she wants,” said Erlend. And as Gunnulf accompanied him out and Erlend waited for his horse, he told the priest how Kristin had come to meet the farmer’s wife. Gunnulf bit his lip and looked pensive.
Now there was noise and commotion on the estate; men rode off and servant women came running in to ask how their mistress was faring. Kristin said there was nothing to worry about yet, but they were to make everything ready in the little house. She would send word when she wanted to be escorted there.
Then she sat alone with the priest. She tried to talk calmly and cheerfully with him as she had before.
“You’re not afraid then?” he asked with a little smile.
“Yes, of course, I’m afraid!” She looked up into his eyes—her own were dark and frightened. “Can you tell me, brother-in-law, whether they were born here at Husaby—Erlend’s other children?”
“No,” replied the priest quickly. “The boy was born at Hune hals, and the maiden over at Strind, on an estate that he once owned there.” A moment later he asked, “Is that it? Has the thought of that other woman here with Erlend tormented you?”
“Yes,” said Kristin.
“It would be difficult for you to judge Erlend’s behavior in this dealing with Eline,” said the priest somberly. “It wasn’t easy for Erlend to know what to do. It was never easy for Erlend to know what was right. Ever since we were children, our mother thought whatever Erlend did was right, and our father thought it was wrong. But he has probably told you so much about our mother that you know all about this.”
“I can only recall that he has mentioned her two or three times,” said Kristin. “But I understood that he did love her. . . .”
Gunnulf said softly, “I doubt there has ever been such a love between a mother and her son. Mother was much younger than my father. But then that whole trouble with Aunt Aashild happened. Our uncle Baard died, and it was said . . . well, you know about this, don’t you? Father thought the worst and said to Mother . . . Erlend once flung his knife at Father; he was only a young boy. He rushed at Father more than once in Mother’s defense when he was growing up.
“When Mother fell ill, he parted with Eline Ormsdatter. Mother grew sick with sores and scabs on her skin, and Father said it was leprosy.4 He sent her away—tried to threaten her into taking a corrody 5 with the sisters at the hospice. Then Erlend went to get Mother and took her to Oslo—they stayed with Aashild too; she’s a good healer. And the king’s French doctor also said that she was not leprous. King Haakon received Erlend kindly then, and bade him seek out the grave of the holy King Erik Valdemarss?n—the king’s grandfather. Many people found cures for their skin afflictions there.
“Erlend journeyed to Denmark with Mother, but she died on board his ship, south of Stad. When Erlend brought her home—well, you must remember that Father was very old, and Erlend had been a disobedient son all his days. When Erlend came to Nidaros with Mother’s body, Father was staying at our town estate, and he refused to allow Erlend inside until he determined whether the boy had been infected, as he said. Erlend got on his horse and rode off, not resting until he arrived at the manor where Eline was staying with his son. After that he stood by her, in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that he had grown weary of her; and that’s how he happened to bring her here to Husaby and put her in charge when he became owner of the estate. She had such a hold on him, and she said that if he deserted her after this, then he deserved to be struck by leprosy himself.
“But it must be time for your women to tend to you, Kristin.” He looked down into the young, gray face that was rigid with fear and anguish.