When you were led out of Sweden
and to Denmark here
with a golden crown so red
and on your cheek a tear.
With a golden crown so red
and on your cheek a tear.
Do you remember, Danish Queen,
the first man you held dear!
The fiddlers played along once more, and the dancers hummed the newly learned tune and joined in with the refrain.
And are you, Ivar Herr Jonsøn,
my very own man,
then tomorrow from the gallows
you shall surely hang!
And it was Ivar Herr Jonsøn
but he did not quail,
he sprang into the golden boat,
clad in coat of mail.
May you be granted, Danish Queen,
as many good nights
as do fill the vault of heaven
all the stars so bright.
May you be granted, Danish King,
life so fraught with cares
as the linden tree has leaves
and the hart has hairs.
Do you know Ivar Herr Jonsøn?
It was late at night, and the bonfires were mere mounds of glowing embers that grew dimmer and dimmer. Kristin and Erlend stood hand in hand beneath the trees by the garden fence. Behind them the noise of the revelers had died out; a few young boys were humming and leaping around the ember mounds, but the fiddlers had gone off to bed and most of the people had left. Here and there a woman walked around in search of her husband, toppled by ale somewhere outdoors.
“I wonder where I’ve left my cloak,” whispered Kristin. Erlend put his arm around her waist and wrapped his cape around both of them. Walking close together, they went into the herb garden.
A remnant of the day’s hot, spicy scent wafted toward them, muted and damp with the coolness of the dew. The night was quite dark, the sky hazy gray with clouds above the treetops. But they sensed that others were in the garden.
Erlend pressed the maiden to him once and asked in a whisper, “You’re not afraid, are you Kristin?”
Suddenly she vaguely remembered the world outside this night —it was madness. But she was so blissfully robbed of all power. She leaned closer to the man and whispered faintly; she didn’t know herself what she said.
They reached the end of the path; there was a stone fence along the edge of the woods. Erlend helped her up. As she was about to jump down to the other side, he caught her and held her in his arms for a moment before he set her down in the grass.
She stood there with her face raised and received his kiss. He placed his hands at her temples. She thought it so wonderful to feel his fingers sinking into her hair, and then she put her hands up to his face and tried to kiss him the way he had kissed her.
When he placed his hands on her bodice and stroked her breasts, she felt as if he had laid her heart bare and then seized it; gently he parted the folds of her silk shift and kissed the place in between—heat rushed to the roots of her heart.
“You I could never hurt,” whispered Erlend. “Don’t ever weep a single tear for my sake. I never thought a maiden could be as good as you are, my Kristin. . . .”
He pulled her down into the grass under the bushes; they sat with their backs against the stone fence. Kristin said not a word, but when he stopped caressing her, she raised her hand and touched his face.
After a moment Erlend asked, “Are you tired, dear Kristin?” And when she leaned against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered, “Sleep, Kristin, sleep here with me.”
She slipped deeper and deeper into the darkness and the warmth and the joy at his chest.
When she woke up, she was lying stretched out on the grass with her cheek against the brown silk of his lap. Erlend was still sitting with his back against the stone fence; his face was gray in the gray light, but his wide-open eyes were so strangely bright and beautiful. She saw that he had wrapped his cape all around her; her feet were wonderfully warm inside the fur lining.
“Now you have slept on my lap,” he said, smiling faintly. “May God reward you, Kristin. You slept as soundly as a child in her mother’s arms.”
“Haven’t you slept, Herr Erlend?” asked Kristin, and he smiled down into her newly awakened eyes.
“Perhaps someday the night will come when you and I dare to fall asleep together—I don’t know what you will think once you have considered that. I have kept vigil here in the night. There is still so much between us, more than if a naked sword had lain between you and me. Tell me, will you have affection for me after this night is over?”
“I will have affection for you, Herr Erlend,” said Kristin. “I will have affection for you as long as you wish—and after that I will love no one else.”
“Then may God forsake me,” said Erlend slowly, “if ever a woman or maiden should come into my arms before I dare to possess you with honor and in keeping with the law. Repeat what I have said,” he implored her.
Kristin said, “May God forsake me if I ever take any other man into my arms, for as long as I live on this earth.”
“We must go now,” said Erlend after a moment. “Before everyone wakes up.”
They walked along the outside of the stone fence, through the underbrush.
“Have you given any thought to what should happen next?” asked Erlend.
“You must decide that, Erlend,” replied Kristin.
“Your father,” he said after a pause. “Over in Gerdarud they say that he’s a kind and just man. Do you think he would be greatly opposed to breaking the agreement he has made with Andres Darre?”
“Father has so often said that he would never force any of his daughters,” said Kristin. “The main concern is that our lands would fit so well together. But I’m certain that Father would not want me to lose all joy in the world for that reason.” She had a sudden inkling that it might not be quite as simple as that, but she pushed it aside.
“Then maybe this will be easier than I thought last night,” said Erlend. “God help me, Kristin—I can’t bear to lose you. Now I will never be happy if I can’t have you.”
They parted among the trees, and in the dim light of dawn Kristin found the path to the guest house where everyone from Nonneseter was sleeping. All the beds were full, but she threw her cloak over some straw on the floor and lay down in her clothes.
When she woke up, it was quite late. Ingebjørg Filippusdatter was sitting on a bench nearby, mending a fur border that had torn loose from her cloak. She was full of chatter, as always.
“Were you with Erlend Nikulaussøn all night long?” she asked. “You ought to be a little more careful about that young man, Kristin. Do you think Simon Andressøn would like it if you befriended him?”
Kristin found a basin and began to wash herself. “And what about your betrothed? Do you think he would like it that you danced with Munan the Stump last night? But we have to dance with anyone who invites us on such an evening; and Fru Groa gave us permission, after all.”
Ingebjørg exclaimed, “Einar Einarssøn and Sir Munan are friends, and besides, he’s married and old. And he’s ugly too, but amiable and courteous. Look what he gave me as a souvenir of the night.” And she held out a gold buckle which Kristin had seen on Sir Munan’s hat the day before. “But that Erlend—well, the ban was lifted from him this past Easter, but they say that Eline Ormsdatter has been staying at his manor at Husaby ever since. Sir Munan says that he has fled to Sira Jon at Gerdarud because he’s afraid that he’ll fall back into sin if he sees her again.”
Kristin, her face white, went over to the other girl.
“Didn’t you know that?” asked Ingebjørg. “That he lured a woman from her husband somewhere up north in Haalogaland? And that he kept her at his estate in spite of the king’s warning and the archbishop’s ban? They have two children together too. He had to flee to Sweden, and he has had to pay so many fines that Sir Munan says he’ll end up a pauper if he doesn’
t mend his ways soon.”
“Oh yes, you can be sure that I knew all about it,” said Kristin, her face rigid. “But that’s all over now.”
“Yes, that’s what Sir Munan said, that it’s been over between them so many times before,” replied Ingebjørg thoughtfully. “It won’t affect you—you’re going to marry Simon Darre, after all. But that Erlend Nikulaussøn is certainly a handsome man.”
The company from Nonneseter was going to leave that same day, after the midafternoon prayers. Kristin had promised Erlend to meet him at the stone fence where they had sat during the night, if she could find a way to come.
He was lying on his stomach in the grass, with his head on his arms. As soon as he saw her, he leaped up and offered her both of his hands as she was about to jump down.
She took them, and they stood for a moment, hand in hand.
Then Kristin said, “Why did you tell me that story about Herr Bjørn and Fru Aashild yesterday?”
“I can see that you know,” replied Erlend, abruptly letting go of her hands. “What do you think of me now, Kristin?
“I was eighteen years old back then,” he continued vehemently. “It was ten years ago that the king, my kinsman, sent me on the journey to Vargøy House, and then we spent the winter at Steigen. She was married to the judge Sigurd Saksulvsøn. I felt sorry for her because he was old and unbelievably ugly. I don’t know how it happened; yes, I was fond of her too. I told Sigurd to demand what he wanted in fines; I wanted to do right by him—he’s a decent man in many ways—but he wanted things to proceed according to the law, and he took the case to the ting. I was to be branded for adultery with the woman in whose house I had been a guest, you see.
“My father got wind of it, and then King Haakon found out too. And he . . . he banished me from his court. And if you need to know the whole story: there’s nothing left between Eline and me except the children, and she cares very little for them. They’re at Østerdal, on a farm that I own there. I’ve given the farm to Orm, the boy. But she doesn’t want to be with them. I suppose she expects that Sigurd can’t live forever, but I don’t know what she wants.
“Sigurd took her back, but she says she was treated like a dog and a slave on his farm. So she asked me to meet her in Nidaros. I was not faring much better at Husaby with my father. I sold everything I could get my hands on and fled with her to Halland; Count Jacob has been a kind friend to me. What else could I do? She was carrying my child. I knew that so many men had managed to escape unscathed from such a relationship with another man’s wife—if they were rich, that is. But King Haakon is the sort of man who treats his own most sternly. We were separated from each other for a year, but then my father died, so she came back. And then other things happened. My tenants refused to pay their land rent or to speak to my envoys because I had been excommunicated. I retaliated harshly, and then a case was brought against me for robbery, but I had no money to pay my house servants. You can see that I was too young to deal sensibly with these difficulties, and my kinsmen refused to help me—except for Munan, who did as much as he dared without angering his wife.
“So now you know, Kristin, that I have compromised much, both my land and my honor. You would certainly be much better served if you stayed with Simon Andressøn.”
Kristin put her arms around his neck.
“We will stand by what we swore to each other last night, Erlend—if you feel as I do.”
Erlend pulled her close, kissed her, and then said, “You must also have faith that my circumstances are bound to change. Now no one in the world has power over me except you. Oh, I thought about so many things last night as you lay asleep in my lap, my fair one. The Devil cannot have so much power over a man that I would ever cause you sorrow or harm, you who are the most precious thing in my life.”
CHAPTER 4
DURING THE TIME he lived at Skog, Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn had given property to Gerdarud Church for requiems to be held for the souls of his parents on the anniversaries of their deaths. His father Bjørg ulf Ketilsøn’s death date was the thirteenth of August, and this year Lavrans had made arrangements for his brother to bring Kristin out to his estate so that she could attend the mass.
She was afraid that something might happen to prevent her uncle from keeping his promise. She thought she had noticed that Aasmund was not particularly fond of her. But on the day before the mass was to be held, Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn arrived at the convent to get his niece. Kristin was told to dress in secular attire, but dark and simple in appearance. People had begun to remark that the sisters of Nonneseter spent a great deal of time outside the convent, and the bishop had therefore decreed that the young daughters who were not to become nuns should not wear anything resembling convent garb when they went to visit their kinsmen—then the populace would not mistake them for novices or nuns of the order.
Kristin was in a joyous mood as she rode along the road with her uncle, and Aasmund became more cheerful and friendly toward her when he noticed that the maiden was an affable companion. Otherwise, Aasmund was rather dejected; he said it seemed likely that a campaign1 was about to be launched in the fall and that the king would sail with his army to Sweden to avenge the vile deed that had been perpetrated against his brother-in-law and his niece’s husband. Kristin had heard about the murder of the Swedish dukes and thought it an act of the worst cowardice, although all such affairs of the realm seemed so distant to her. No one talked much about such things back home in the valley. But she also remembered that her father had participated in the campaign against Duke Eirik at Ragnhildarholm and Konungahella. Aasmund explained everything that had happened between the king and the dukes. Kristin didn’t understand much of what he said, but she paid close attention to what her uncle told her about the betrothals that had been agreed upon and then broken by the king’s daughters. It gave her some comfort to hear that it was not the same in all places as it was back home in the villages, where an arranged betrothal was considered almost as binding as a marriage. So she gathered her courage, told her uncle about her adventures on the evening before the Vigil of Saint Halvard, and asked him whether he knew Erlend of Husaby. Aasmund gave Erlend a good report, saying that he had acted unwisely, but that his father and the king were mostly to blame. He said they had behaved as if the boy had been the horn of the Devil himself because he had landed in such a predicament. The king was much too pious, and Sir Nikulaus was angry because Erlend had wasted so much good property, so they had both thundered about adultery and the fires of hell.
“Any able-bodied young man has to have a certain amount of defiance in him,” said Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn. “And the woman was exceedingly beautiful. But you have no reason to have anything to do with Erlend, so pay no heed to his affairs.”
Erlend did not attend the mass as he had promised Kristin he would, and she thought more about this than about the word of God. But she felt no remorse over it. She merely had the odd feeling of being a stranger to everything to which she had previously felt herself bound.
She tried to console herself; Erlend probably thought it best that no one who had authority over her should find out about their friendship. She could understand this herself. But she had longed to see him with all her heart, and she wept when she went to bed that evening in the loft where she slept with Aasmund’s small daughters.
The next day she headed up toward the woods with the youngest of her uncle’s children, a little maiden six years old. When they had gone some distance, Erlend came running after them. Kristin knew who it was before she even saw him.
“I’ve been sitting up here on the hill looking down at the farmyard all day long,” he said. “I was sure that you’d find some chance to slip away.”
“Do you think I’ve come out here to meet you?” said Kristin with a laugh. “And aren’t you afraid to be wandering in my uncle’s woods with your dogs and bow?”
“Your uncle has given me permission to hunt here for a short time,” said Erlend. “And the dogs belong to Aasmun
d—they found me up here this morning.” He patted the dogs and picked up the little girl. “You remember me, don’t you, Ragndid? But you mustn’t say that you’ve talked to me, and then I’ll give you this.” He took out a little bundle of raisins and handed it to the child. “I had intended it for you,” he told Kristin. “Do you think this child can keep quiet?”
Both of them spoke quickly and laughed. Erlend was wearing a short, snug brown tunic, and he had a small red silk cap pressed down onto his black hair; he looked so young. He laughed and played with the child, but every once in a while he would take Kristin’s hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt.
He talked about the rumors of the campaign with joy. “Then it will be easier for me to win back the friendship of the king. Everything will be easier then,” he said fervently.
At last they sat down in a meadow some distance up in the woods. Erlend had the child on his lap. Kristin sat at his side. He was playing with her fingers in the grass. He put into her hand three gold rings tied together with a string.
“Later on,” he whispered to her, “you shall have as many as you can fit on your fingers.
“I’ll wait for you here in this field every day at this time, for as long as you are at Skog,” he said as they parted. “Come when you can.”
The next day Aasmund Bjørgulfsøn, along with his wife and children, left for Gyrid’s ancestral estate at Hadeland. They had become alarmed by the rumors of the campaign. The people around Oslo were still filled with terror ever since Duke Eirik’s devastating incursion2 into the region some years before. Aasmund’s old mother was so frightened that she decided to seek refuge at Nonneseter; she was too frail to travel with the others. So Kristin would stay at Skog with the old woman, whom she called Grandmother, until Aasmund returned from Hadeland.
Around noontime, when the servants on the farm were resting, Kristin went up to the loft where she slept. She had brought along some clothing in a leather bag, and she hummed as she changed her clothes.