Kristin Lavransdatter (35 page)

She looked at Kristin for the first time and met the girl’s eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she gazed at the other woman with a calm and searching expression.

Kristin was as calm as a rock. From the moment she heard who had arrived, she realized that it was the thought of Eline Ormsdatter that she had been constantly fleeing from, that she had tried to drown it out with defiance and restlessness and impatience. The whole time she had been striving not to think about whether Erlend had freed himself completely from his former mistress. Now she had been overtaken, and it was futile to fight it anymore. But she did not try to avoid it.

She saw that Eline Ormsdatter was beautiful. She was no longer young, but she was lovely, and at one time she must have been radiantly beautiful. She had let her hood fall back; her forehead was round and smooth, her cheekbones jutted out slightly—but it was still easy to see that once she had been quite striking. Her wimple covered only the back of her head; as she spoke, Eline tucked the shiny gold, wavy hair in front under the cloth. Kristin had never seen a woman with such big eyes; they were dark brown, round, and hard, but beneath the narrow, coal-black eyebrows and the long eyelashes her eyes were strangely beautiful next to her golden hair. Her skin and lips were chapped from the ride in the cold, but this did not detract from her appearance; she was much too beautiful for that. The heavy traveling clothes enshrouded her figure, but she wore them and carried herself as only a woman can who bears the most confident pride in the splendor of her own body. She was not quite as tall as Kristin, but she had such a bearing that she seemed taller than the slim, small-boned girl.

“Has she been with you at Husaby the whole time?” Kristin asked quietly.

“I haven’t been at Husaby,” said Erlend brusquely, his face flushing again. “I’ve been at Hestnæs for most of the summer.”

“Here is the news I wanted to bring you, Erlend,” said Eline. “You no longer need to seek lodgings with your kinsmen and test their hospitality while I keep house for you. This autumn I became a widow.”

Erlend stood motionless.

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to come to Husaby to keep house last year,” he said with difficulty.

“I heard that everything was going downhill there,” said Eline. “I still had enough good feelings toward you from the old days, Erlend, that I thought I should look out for your well-being—though God knows you haven’t treated me or our children very kindly.”

“I’ve done what I could for the children,” said Erlend, “and you know full well that it was for their sake that I allowed you to stay at Husaby. You can’t say that you did either them or me any good,” he added, smiling spitefully. “Gissur could manage quite well without your help.”

“Yes, you’ve always trusted Gissur,” said Eline, laughing softly. “But the fact is, Erlend—now I am free. If you wish, you can keep the promise you once gave me.”

Erlend was silent.

“Do you remember,” said Eline, “the night I gave birth to your son? You promised then that you would marry me when Sigurd died.”

Erlend pushed back his hair, wet with sweat.

“Yes, I remember,” he said.

“Will you keep your word now?” asked Eline.

“No,” said Erlend.

Eline Ormsdatter looked over at Kristin, smiled slightly, and nodded. Then she turned back to Erlend.

“That was ten years ago, Eline,” he said. “Since that day we have lived together year in and year out like two people condemned to Hell.”

“That’s not entirely true,” she said with the same smile.

“It’s been years since there was anything else,” said Erlend, exhausted. “It wouldn’t help the children. And you know . . . you know that I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you anymore,” he almost screamed.

“I didn’t notice that when you were home this summer,” said Eline with a telling smile. “We weren’t enemies then. Not all the time.”

“If you think that meant we were friends, go ahead and think so,” said Erlend wearily.

“Are you just going to stand here?” said Fru Aashild. She ladled some porridge into two large wooden trenchers and handed one of them to Kristin. The girl took it. “Take it over to the house. Here, Ulv, take the other one. Put them on the table; we must have supper no matter how things stand.”

Kristin and the servant went out with the dishes of food. Fru Aashild said to the others, “Come along, you two; it does no good for you to stand here barking at each other.”

“It’s best for Eline and me to talk this out with each other now,” said Erlend.

Fru Aashild said no more and left.

 

Over in the house Kristin put the food on the table and brought up ale from the cellar. She sat down on the outer bench, erect as a candlestick, her face calm, but she did not eat. Bjørn and Erlend’s men didn’t have much appetite either. Only Bjørn’s man and the servant who had come with Eline ate anything. Fru Aashild sat down and ate a little porridge. No one said a word.

Finally Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Fru Aashild offered her a place between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate something. Every once in a while the trace of a secret smile flitted across her face, and she would glance at Kristin.

 

After a while Fru Aashild went out to the cookhouse.

The fire had almost gone out. Erlend was sitting on the three-legged stool near the hearth, huddled up with his head on his arms. Fru Aashild went over and put her hand on his shoulder. “God forgive you, Erlend, for the way you have handled things.”

Erlend looked up. His face was tear-streaked with misery.

“She’s with child,” he said and closed his eyes.

Fru Aashild’s face flamed up; she gripped his shoulder hard. “Whose is it?” she asked bluntly and with contempt.

“Well, it isn’t mine,” said Erlend dully. “But you probably won’t believe me. No one will. . . .” He collapsed once more.

Fru Aashild sat down in front of him at the edge of the hearth.

“You must try to pull yourself together, Erlend. It’s not so easy to believe you in this matter. Do you swear that it’s not yours?”

Erlend lifted his haggard face. “As truly as I need God’s mercy. As truly as I hope that . . . that God has comforted Mother in Heaven for all that she had to endure down here. I have
not
touched Eline since the first time I saw Kristin!” He shouted so that Fru Aashild had to hush him.

“Then I don’t see that this is such a misfortune. You must find out who the father is and pay him to marry her.”

“I think it’s Gissur Arnfinsøn, my foreman at Husaby,” said Erlend wearily. “We talked about it last fall—and since then too. Sigurd’s death has been expected for some time. Gissur was willing to marry her when she became a widow if I would give her a sufficient dowry.”

“I see,” said Fru Aashild.

Erlend went on. “She swears that she won’t have him. She will name me as the father. If I swear that I’m not . . . do you think anyone will believe that I’m not swearing falsely?”

“You’ll have to dissuade her,” said Fru Aashild. “There’s no other way out. You must go home with her to Husaby tomorrow. And then you must stand firm and arrange this marriage between your foreman and Eline.”

“You’re right,” said Erlend. Then he bent forward and sobbed aloud.

“Don’t you see, Aunt . . . What do you think Kristin will believe?”

 

That night Erlend slept in the cookhouse with the servants. In the house Kristin slept with Fru Aashild in her bed, and Eline Ormsdatter slept in the other one. Bjørn went out to sleep in the stable.

The next morning Kristin followed Fru Aashild out to the cowshed. While Fru Aashild went to the cookhouse to make breakfast, Kristin carried the milk up to the house.

A candle was burning on the table. Eline was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. Kristin greeted her quietly, got out a basin, and strained the milk.

“Would you give me some milk?” asked Eline. Kristin took a wooden ladle and handed it to the woman. She drank greedily and looked over the rim at Kristin.

“So you’re Kristin Lavransdatter, the one who has robbed me of Erlend’s affections,” she said, handing the ladle back.

“You’re the one who should know whether there were any affections to rob,” replied the young maiden.

Eline bit her lip. “What will you do,” she said, “if Erlend grows tired of you and one day offers to marry you to his servant? Would you obey Erlend in that too?”

Kristin didn’t answer.

Then the other woman laughed and said, “You obey him in everything, I imagine. What do you think, Kristin—shall we throw the dice for our man, we two mistresses of Erlend Nikulaussøn?” When she received no reply, she laughed again and said, “Are you so simple-minded that you don’t deny you’re a kept woman?”

“To you I don’t feel like lying,” said Kristin.

“It wouldn’t do you much good anyway,” replied Eline in the same tone of voice. “I know that boy. I can imagine that he probably rushed at you like a black grouse the second time you were together. And it’s too bad for you, pretty child that you are.”

Kristin’s cheeks grew pale. Sick with loathing she said quietly, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Do you think he’ll treat you any better than he did me?” Eline continued.

Then Kristin replied sharply, “I won’t complain about Erlend, no matter what he does. I was the one who took the wrong path, and I won’t moan and feel sorry for myself even if it leads me out over the scree.”

Eline was silent for a moment. Then she said, flushed and uncertain, “I was a maiden too, when he took me, Kristin—even though I had been the old man’s wife for seven years. But you probably can’t understand what a wretched life that was.”

Kristin started to tremble violently. Eline gazed at her. Then she took a little horn out of her traveling box which stood at her side on the step of the bed.

She broke the seal and said quietly, “You are young and I am old, Kristin. I know it’s useless for me to fight against you—now it’s your turn. Will you drink with me, Kristin?”

Kristin didn’t move. Then the other woman put the horn to her lips. Kristin noticed that she did not drink.

Eline said, “You might at least do me the honor of drinking to me—and promise that you won’t be a harsh stepmother to my children.”

Kristin took the horn. At that moment Erlend opened the door. He stood there, looking from one woman to the other.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Then Kristin replied, and her voice was shrill and wild. “We’re drinking to each other, your two mistresses.”

He grabbed her wrist and snatched away the horn. “Be quiet,” he said harshly. “You shall not drink with her.”

“Why not?” said Kristin in the same voice as before. “She was just as pure as I was when you seduced her.”

“She’s said that so often that she believes it herself,” replied Erlend. “Do you remember when you made me go to Sigurd with that lie, Eline, and he produced witnesses that he had caught you with another man?”

Pale with disgust, Kristin turned away. Eline’s face had flushed dark red. Then she said spitefully, “Even so, that girl isn’t going to turn into a leper if she drinks with me.”

Furious, Erlend turned toward Eline—and then his face suddenly grew rigid and the man gasped in horror.

“Jesus!” he said almost inaudibly. He grabbed Eline by the arm.

“Then drink to
her,
” he said, his voice harsh and quavering. “Drink first, and then she’ll drink with you.”

Eline wrenched herself away with a gasp. She fled backward across the room, the man after her.

“Drink,” he said. He pulled his dagger out of his belt and followed her with it in his hand. “Taste the drink you’ve made for Kristin.” He grabbed Eline by the arm, dragged her over to the table, and forced her to bend toward the horn.

Eline screamed once and hid her face in her arm.

Erlend released her and stood there shaking.

“It was a hell with Sigurd,” shrieked Eline. “You . . . you promised—but you’ve treated me even worse, Erlend!”

Then Kristin stepped forward and grabbed the horn. “One of us must drink—you can’t keep both of us.”

Erlend took the horn from her and flung her across the room so she fell to the floor over by Fru Aashild’s bed. He forced the drink to Eline Ormsdatter’s mouth. Standing with one knee on the bench next to her and his hand on her head, he tried to force her to drink.

She fumbled under his arm, snatched the dagger from the table, and stabbed at the man. The blow didn’t seem to cut much but his clothes. Then she turned the point on herself, and immediately fell sideways into his arms.

Kristin got up and came over to them. Erlend was holding Eline; her head hung back over his arm. The death rattle came almost at once; she had blood in her throat and it was running out of her mouth. She spat out a great quantity and said, “I had intended . . . that drink . . . for you . . . for all the times . . . you betrayed me.”

“Go get Aunt Aashild,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood motionless.

“She’s dying,” said Erlend.

“Then she’ll fare better than we will,” replied Kristin. Erlend looked at her, and the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room.

“What is it?” asked Fru Aashild when Kristin called her away from the cookhouse.

“We’ve killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She’s dying.”

Fru Aashild set off at a run. But Eline breathed her last as she stepped through the door.

 

Fru Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench; she wiped the blood from her face and covered it with a linen cloth. Erlend stood leaning against the wall behind the body.

“Do you realize,” said Fru Aashild, “that this was the worst thing that could have happened?”

She had put branches and kindling into the fireplace; now she placed the horn in the middle and blew on it till it flared up.