Kristin Lavransdatter Part 27

But then he said, "And yet I would not have believed it of you, Kristin, that you could walk around bearing such a secret rancor toward me, and still act so gentle and happy. For you must have known long ago how things stood with you. And I believed that you were as bright and honest as the rays of the sun."

"Oh, Erlend," she said sadly. "You of all people in the world should know best that I have followed forbidden paths and acted falsely toward those who have trusted me most." But she wanted so much for him to understand. "I don't know whether you recall, my dear, but in the past you have behaved toward me in a manner that some might not call proper. And G.o.d and the Virgin Mary know that I didn't bear you any grudge, nor did I love you any less."

Erlend's face grew tender.

"So I thought," he said quietly. "But you know too that I have striven all these years to rectify the harm I have done. I consoled myself that in the end I would be able to reward you, for you were so faithful and patient."

Then she said to him, "No doubt you have heard about my grandfather's brother and the maiden Bengta, who fled from Sweden against the wishes of her kinsmen. G.o.d punished them by refusing to give the couple a child. Haven't you ever feared, during all these years, that He might punish us in that way too?"

She added, her voice quavering and soft, "You can understand, my Erlend, that I was not very happy this summer when I first became aware of it. And yet I thought . . . I thought that if you should die before we were married, I would rather be left behind with your child than alone. I thought that if I should die in childbirth . . . it was still better than if you had no lawful son who could take your high seat after you, when you must leave this earth."

Erlend replied vehemently, "Then I would think my son was too dearly bought if he should cost you your life. Don't talk like that, Kristin." A little later he said, "Husaby is not so dear to me. Especially since I realized that Orm can never inherit my ancestral property after me."1 "Do you care more for her her son than for mine?" Kristin then asked. son than for mine?" Kristin then asked.

"Your son . . . ," Erlend gave a laugh. "Of him I know nothing more than that he will arrive half a year or so before he should. Orm I have loved for twelve years." son . . . ," Erlend gave a laugh. "Of him I know nothing more than that he will arrive half a year or so before he should. Orm I have loved for twelve years."

Some time later Kristin asked, "Do you ever long for these children of yours?"

"Yes," said her husband. "In the past I often went over to see them in Osterdal, where they are living."

"You could go there now, during Advent," said Kristin quietly.

"You wouldn't be averse to it?" asked Erlend happily.

Kristin said that she would find it reasonable. Then he asked whether she would be against it if he brought the children back home for Christmas. "You will have to see them sometime, after all." And again she had replied that this too seemed reasonable to her.

While Erlend was away, Kristin worked hard to prepare for Christmas. It distressed her greatly to be living among these unfamiliar men and servant women now-she had to take a firm grip on herself whenever she dressed or undressed in the presence of the two maids, whom Erlend had ordered to sleep with her in the hall. She had to remind herself that she would never have dared to sleep alone in the large house-where another had slept with Erlend before her.

The serving women on the estate were no better than could be expected. Those farmers who kept close watch over their daughters did not send them to serve on an estate where the master had lived openly with a concubine and had placed such a woman in charge. The maids were lazy and not in the habit of obeying their mistress. But some of them soon came to like the fact that Kristin was putting the house in good order and personally lent a hand with their work. They grew talkative and joyful when she listened to them and answered them gently and cheerfully. And each day Kristin showed her house servants a kind and calm demeanor. She reprimanded no one, but if a maid refused her orders, then the mistress would act as if the girl did not understand what was asked of her and would quietly show her how the work was to be done. This was how Kristin had seen her father behave toward new servants who grumbled, and no man had tried twice to disobey Lavrans of Jrundgaard.

In this manner they would have to make it through the winter. Later she would see about getting rid of those women she disliked or could not bring around.

There was one type of work that Kristin didn't dare take up unless she was free from the eyes of these strangers. But in the morning, when she was alone in the hall, she would sew the clothing for her child-swaddling clothes of soft homespun, ribbons of red and green fabric from town, and white linen for the christening garments. As she sat there with her sewing, her thoughts would tumble between fear and then faith in the holy friends of humankind, to whom she had prayed for intercession. It was true that the child lived and moved inside her so that she had no peace, night or day. But she had heard about children who were born with a pelt where they should have had a face, with their heads turned around backwards, or their toes where their heels should have been. And she pictured Svein, who was purple over half his face because his mother had inadvertently looked at a fire.2 Then Kristin would cast aside her sewing and go over to kneel before the image of the Virgin Mary and say seven Ave Marias Ave Marias. Brother Edvin had said that the Mother of G.o.d felt an equal joy every time she heard the angel's greeting, even if it came from the lips of the most wretched sinner. And it was the words Dominus tec.u.m Dominus tec.u.m that most cheered Mary's heart; that was why Kristin always said them three times. that most cheered Mary's heart; that was why Kristin always said them three times.

This always helped her for a while. She knew of many people, both men and women, who paid scant honor to G.o.d or to His Mother and who kept the commandments poorly-but she hadn't seen that they gave birth to misshapen children because of it. Often G.o.d was so merciful that He did not visit the sins of the parents upon their poor children, although every once in a while He had to show people a sign that He could not perpetually tolerate their evil. But surely it would not be her her child . . . child . . .

Then she called in her heart upon Saint Olav.3 He was the one she had heard so much about that it was as though she had known him while he lived in Norway and had seen him here on this earth. He was not tall, quite stout, but straight-backed and fair, with the gold crown and s.h.i.+ning halo on his golden curls, and a curly red beard on his firm, weatherbeaten, and intrepid face. But his deep-set and blazing eyes looked straight through everyone; those who had strayed did not dare look into them. Kristin didn't dare either. She lowered her gaze before his eyes, but she was not afraid. It was more as if she were a child and had to lower her eyes before her father's glance when she had done something wrong. Saint Olav looked at her, sternly but not harshly-she had promised to better her life, after all. She longed so fervently to go to Nidaros He was the one she had heard so much about that it was as though she had known him while he lived in Norway and had seen him here on this earth. He was not tall, quite stout, but straight-backed and fair, with the gold crown and s.h.i.+ning halo on his golden curls, and a curly red beard on his firm, weatherbeaten, and intrepid face. But his deep-set and blazing eyes looked straight through everyone; those who had strayed did not dare look into them. Kristin didn't dare either. She lowered her gaze before his eyes, but she was not afraid. It was more as if she were a child and had to lower her eyes before her father's glance when she had done something wrong. Saint Olav looked at her, sternly but not harshly-she had promised to better her life, after all. She longed so fervently to go to Nidaros4 and kneel down before his shrine: Erlend had promised her this, when they came north-that they would go there very soon. But the journey had been postponed. And now Kristin realized that he was reluctant to travel with her; he was ashamed and afraid of gossip. and kneel down before his shrine: Erlend had promised her this, when they came north-that they would go there very soon. But the journey had been postponed. And now Kristin realized that he was reluctant to travel with her; he was ashamed and afraid of gossip.

One evening when she was sitting at the table with her servants, one of the maids, a young girl who helped in the house, said, "I was wondering, Mistress, whether it wouldn't be better if we started sewing swaddling clothes and infant garments before we set up the loom that you're talking about. . . ."

Kristin pretended not to hear and kept on talking about wool dyeing.

Then the girl continued, "But perhaps you have brought such garments from home?"

Kristin smiled faintly and then turned back to the others. When she glanced at the maid a little while later, she was sitting there bright red in the face and peering anxiously at her mistress. Kristin smiled again and spoke to Ulf across the table. Then the young girl began to weep. Kristin laughed a bit, and the maid cried harder and harder until she was sniffing and snuffling.

"Stop that now, Frida," Kristin finally said calmly. "You hired on here as a grown-up serving maid; you shouldn't behave as if you were a little child."

The maid whimpered. She hadn't meant to be impertinent, and Kristin mustn't be angry.

"No," said Kristin, smiling again. "Eat your food now and stop crying. The rest of us have no more sense, either, than what G.o.d has granted us."

Frida jumped up and ran out, sobbing loudly.

Later, when Ulf Haldorssn stood talking to Kristin about the work that had to be done the next day, he laughed and said, "Erlend should have married you ten years ago, Kristin. Then his affairs would have been in a better state today, in every respect."

"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling as before. "Back then I was nine winters old. Do you think Erlend would have been capable of waiting for a child bride for years on end?"

Ulf laughed and went out.

But at night Kristin would lie in bed and weep with loneliness and humiliation.

Then Erlend came home during the week before Christmas, and Orm, his son, rode at his father's side. Kristin felt a stab in her heart when Erlend led the boy forward and told him to greet his stepmother.

He was the most handsome child. This was how she had thought he he would look, the son that she carried. Sometimes, when she dared to be happy, to believe that her child would be born healthy and well-formed, and to think ahead about the boy who would grow up at her knee, then it was like this she pictured him-just like his father. would look, the son that she carried. Sometimes, when she dared to be happy, to believe that her child would be born healthy and well-formed, and to think ahead about the boy who would grow up at her knee, then it was like this she pictured him-just like his father.

Orm was perhaps a little small for his age, and slight, but handsomely built, with fine limbs and a lovely face, his complexion and hair dark, but with big blue eyes and a soft red mouth. He greeted his stepmother courteously, but his expression was hard and cold. Kristin had not had the chance to talk with the boy further. But she sensed his eyes on her, wherever she walked or stood, and she felt as if her body and gait grew even more heavy and clumsy when she knew the boy was staring at her.

She didn't notice Erlend talking much with his son, but she realized that it was the boy who held back. Kristin told her husband that Orm was handsome and looked intelligent. Erlend had not brought his daughter along; he thought Margret was too young to make the long journey in the winter. She was even more lovely than her brother, he said proudly when Kristin asked about the little maiden-and much more clever; she had her foster parents wrapped around her little finger. She had wavy golden hair and brown eyes.

Then she must look much like her mother, thought Kristin. And she couldn't help the feeling of envy that burned inside her. She wondered whether Erlend loved his daughter the way her father had loved her. His voice had sounded so tender and warm when he spoke of Margret.

Kristin stood up and went over to the main door. It was so dark and heavy with rain outside that there seemed to be no moon or stars. But she thought it must soon be midnight. She picked up a lantern from the entryway, went inside, and lit it. Then she threw on her cloak and went out into the rain.

"In Christ's name," she whispered, crossing herself three times as she stepped out into the night.

At the upper end of the courtyard stood the priest's house. It was empty now. Ever since Erlend had been released from the ban of excommunication, there had not been a private cleric at Husaby; now and then one of the a.s.sistant priests from Orkedal would come over to say ma.s.s, but the new priest who had been a.s.signed to the church was abroad with Master Gunnulf; they were apparently friends from school. They had been expected home this past summer, but now Erlend thought they wouldn't return until after spring. Gunnulf had had a lung ailment in his youth, so he would be unlikely to travel during the winter.

Kristin let herself into the cold, deserted house and found the key to the church. Then she paused for a moment. It was very slippery, pitch dark, windy, and rainy. It was reckless of her to go out at night, and especially on Christmas Eve, when all the evil spirits were in the air. But she refused to give up-she had to go to the church.

"In the name of G.o.d, the Almighty, I here proceed," she whispered aloud. Lighting her way with the lantern, Kristin set her feet down where stones and tufts of gra.s.s stuck up from the icy ground. In the darkness the path to the church seemed exceedingly long. But at last she stood on the stone threshold in front of the door.

Inside it was piercingly cold, much colder than out in the rain. Kristin walked forward toward the chancel and knelt down before the crucifix, which she glimpsed in the darkness above her.

After she had said her prayers and stood up, she stopped for a moment. She seemed to expect something to happen to her. But nothing did. She was freezing and scared in the desolate, dark church.

She crept up toward the altar and shone her light on the paintings. They were old, ugly, and stern. The altar was bare stone. She knew that the cloths, books, and vessels lay locked up in a chest.

In the nave a bench stood against the wall. Kristin went over and sat down, placing the lantern on the floor. Her cloak was wet, and her feet were wet and cold. She tried to pull one leg up underneath her, but the position was uncomfortable. So she wrapped the cloak tightly around her and struggled to focus her thoughts on the fact that now it was once again the holy midnight hour when Christ was born to the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem.

Verb.u.m caro factum est et habitavit in n.o.bis.5 Kristin remembered Sira Eirik's deep, pure voice. And Audun, the old deacon, who never attained a higher position. And their church back home where she had stood at her mother's side and listened to the Christmas ma.s.s. Every single year she had heard it. She tried to recall more of the holy words, but she could only think about their church and all the familiar faces. In front, on the men's side, stood her father, staring with remote eyes into the dazzling glow of candles from the choir.

It was so incomprehensible that their church was no more. It had burned to the ground. She burst into tears at the thought. And here she was, sitting alone in the dark on this night when all Christian people were gathered in happiness and joy in G.o.d's house. But perhaps that was as it should be, that tonight she was shut out from the celebration of the birth of G.o.d's son to a pure and innocent maiden.

Her parents were no doubt at Sundbu this Christmas. But there would be no ma.s.s in the chapel tonight; she knew that on Christmas Eve those who lived at Sundbu always attended the service at the main church in Ladalm.

This was the first time, for as far back as Kristin could remember, that she was not at the Christmas ma.s.s. She must have been quite young the first time her parents took her along. She could recall that she was bundled up in a fur-lined sack, and her father had carried her in his arms. It was a terribly cold night, and they were riding through a forest-the pine torches shone on fir trees heavy with snow. Her father's face was dark red, and the fur border on his hood was chalk-white with frost. Now and then he would bend forward and nip the end of her nose and ask her whether she could feel it. Then, laughing, he would shout over his shoulder to her mother that Kristin's nose hadn't frozen off yet. That must have been while they were still living at Skog; she couldn't have been more than three winters old. Her parents were quite young back then. Now she remembered her mother's voice on that night-clear and happy and full of laughter-when she called out to her husband and asked about the child. Yes, her mother's voice had been young and fresh.

Bethlehem. In Norwegian it means the place of bread. For that was where the bread which will nourish us for eternal life was given to the people.

It was at the ma.s.s on Christmas Day that Sira Eirik stepped forward to the pulpit and explained the gospels in the language of his own country.

In between the ma.s.ses everyone would sit in the banquet hall north of the church. They had brought ale with them and pa.s.sed it around. The men slipped out to the stables to see to the horses. But on vigil nights, in the summertime before a holy day, the congregation would gather on the church green, and then the young people would dance among the servants.

And the blessed Virgin Mary wrapped her son in swaddling clothes. She placed him in the straw of the manger from which the oxen and a.s.ses ate. . . .

Kristin pressed her hands against her sides.

Little son, my own sweet child, my own son. G.o.d will have mercy on us for the sake of His own blessed Mother. Blessed Mary, you who are the clear star of the sea,6 the crimson dawn of eternal life who gave birth to the sun of the whole world-help us! Little child, what is it tonight? You're so restless. Can you feel beneath my heart that I am so bitterly cold? the crimson dawn of eternal life who gave birth to the sun of the whole world-help us! Little child, what is it tonight? You're so restless. Can you feel beneath my heart that I am so bitterly cold?

It was on the Children's Day last year, the fourth day of Christmas, when Sira Eirik preached about the innocent children whom the cruel soldiers had slaughtered in their mothers' arms. But G.o.d had chosen these young boys to enter into the hall of heaven before all other blood witnesses. And it would be a sign that such belong to the Kingdom of Heaven. And Jesus picked up a little boy and put him among them. Unless you create yourselves in their image, you cannot enter into the hall of heaven, dear brothers and sisters. So let this be a solace to every man and woman who mourns a young child's death. . . .

Then Kristin had seen her father's eyes meet her mother's across the church, and she withdrew her gaze, because she knew that this was not meant for her.

That was last year. The first Christmas after Ulvhild's death. Oh, but not my my child! Jesus, Maria. Let me keep my son! child! Jesus, Maria. Let me keep my son!

Her father had not wanted to ride in the races on Saint Stefan's Day last year, but the men begged him until he finally agreed. The course extended from the church hill at home, down to the confluence of the two rivers near Loptsgaard; that's where they joined up with the men from Ottadal. She remembered her father racing past on his golden stallion. He stood up in his stirrups and bent low over the horse's neck, shouting and urging the animal on, with the whole group thundering behind.

But last year he had come home early, and he was completely sober. Normally on that day the men would return home late, tremendously drunk, because they had to ride into every farm courtyard and drink from the bowls brought out to them, to honor Christ and Saint Stefan, who first saw the star in the east as he drove King Herod's foals to the River Jordan for water. Even the horses were given ale on that day, for they were supposed to be wild and reckless. On Saint Stefan's Day the farmers were allowed to race their horses until vespers-it was impossible to make the men think or talk of anything but horses.

Kristin could remember one Christmas when they held the great drinking feast at Jrundgaard. And her father had promised a priest who was among the guests that he would be given a young red stallion, son of Guldsvein, if he could manage to swing himself up onto the animal as it ran around unsaddled in the courtyard.

That was a long time ago-before the misfortune with Ulvhild occurred. Her mother was standing in the doorway with the little sister in her arms, and Kristin was holding onto her dress, a bit scared.

The priest ran after the horse and grabbed the halter, leaping so that his ankle-length surcoat swirled around him, and then he let go of the wild, rearing beast.

"Foal, foal-whoa, foal. Whoa, son!" he cried out. He hopped and he danced like a billy goat. Her father and an old farmer stood with their arms around each other's necks, the features of their faces completely dissolved in laughter and drunkenness.

Either the priest must have won Rauden or else Lavrans gave the foal to him all the same, for Kristin remembered that he rode away from Jrundgaard on the horse. By that time they were all sober enough; Lavrans respectfully held the stirrup for him, and the priest blessed them with three fingers in farewell. He was apparently a cleric of high standing.

Oh yes. It was often quite merry at home during the Christmas season. And then there were the Christmas masqueraders. Kristin's father would sling her up onto his back, his tunic icy and his hair wet. To clear their heads before they went to vespers, the men threw ice water over each other down by the well. They laughed when the women voiced their disapproval of this. Kristin's father would take her small, cold hands and press them against his forehead, which was still red and burning hot. This was out in the courtyard, in the evening. A new white crescent moon hung over the mountain ridge in the watery-green air. Once when he stepped into the main house with her, Kristin hit her head on the doorframe so she had a big b.u.mp on her forehead. Later she sat on his lap at the table. He lay the blade of his dagger against her bruise, fed her tidbits of food, and let her drink mead from his goblet. Then she wasn't afraid of the masqueraders who stormed into the room.

"Oh Father, oh Father. My dear, kind father!"

Sobbing loudly, Kristin now hid her face in her hands. Oh, if only her father knew how she felt on this Christmas Eve!

When she walked back across the courtyard, she saw that sparks were rising up from the cookhouse roof. The maids had set about preparing food for the churchgoers.

It was gloomy in the hall. The candles on the table had burned out, and the fire in the hearth was barely smoldering. Kristin put more wood on and blew at the embers. Then she noticed that Orm was sitting in her chair. He stood up as soon as his stepmother saw him.

"My dear-" said Kristin. "Didn't you go with your father and the others to ma.s.s?"

Orm swallowed hard a couple of times. "I guess he forgot to wake me. Father told me to lie down for a while in the bed on the south wall. He said he would wake me. . . ."

"That's too bad, Orm," said Kristin.

The boy didn't reply. After a moment he said, "I thought you went with them after all. I woke up and was alone here in the hall."

"I went over to the church for a little while," said Kristin.

"Do you dare to go out on Christmas Eve?" asked the boy. "Don't you know that the spirits of the dead could come and seize you?"7 "I don't think it's only the evil spirits that are out tonight," she said. "Christmas Eve must be for all spirits. I once knew a monk who is now dead and standing before G.o.d, I think, because he was pure goodness. He told me . . . Have you ever heard about the animals in the stable and how they talked to each other on Christmas Eve? They could speak Latin back then. And the rooster crowed: 'Christus natus est!' 'Christus natus est!' No, now I can't remember the whole thing. The other animals asked 'Where?' and the goat bleated, No, now I can't remember the whole thing. The other animals asked 'Where?' and the goat bleated, 'Betlem, Betlem,' 'Betlem, Betlem,' and the sheep said, and the sheep said, 'Eamus, eamus.' 'Eamus, eamus.' " "

Orm smiled scornfully.

"Do you think I'm such a child that you can comfort me with tales? You should offer to take me on your lap and put me to your breast."

"I told the story mostly to comfort myself, Orm," said Kristin quietly. "I would have liked to go to ma.s.s too."

Now she couldn't stand to look at the littered table any longer. She went over, swept all the sc.r.a.ps into a trencher and set it on the floor for the dog. Then she found the whisk made of sedge under the bench and scrubbed off the tabletop.

"Would you come with me over to the western storehouse, Orm? To get bread and salted meat. Then we'll set the table for the holy day," said Kristin.

"Why don't you let your maidservants do that?" asked the boy.

"This is the way I was taught by my father and mother," replied the young mistress. "That at Christmastime no one should ever ask anyone else for anything, but we all should strive to do our utmost. Whoever serves the others most during the holidays is the most blessed."

"But you're asking me," said Orm.

"That's a different matter-you're the son here on the estate."

Orm carried the lantern and they walked across the courtyard together. Inside the storehouse Kristin filled two trenchers with Christmas food. She also took a bundle of large tallow candles.

While they were working, the boy said, "That must be a peasant custom, what you mentioned a moment ago. For I've heard he's nothing more than a homespun farmer, Lavrans Bjrgulfsn."

"Who did you hear that from?" asked Kristin.

"From Mother," said Orm. "I heard her say it all the time to Father when we were living here at Husaby before. She said he could see that not even a gray-clad farmer would give his daughter's hand in marriage to him."

"It must have been pleasant here at Husaby back then," said Kristin curtly.

The boy didn't reply. His lips quivered.

Kristin and Orm carried the filled trenchers back to the hall, and she set the table. But she had to go back over to the storehouse for food once again.

Orm took the trencher and said, a little awkwardly, "I'll go over there for you, Kristin. It's so slippery in the courtyard."

She stood outside the door and waited until he returned.