Kristin leaned back in her chair and wrapped her thin hands around the animal heads on the armrests.
“That monk I mentioned—he had also been to England. And he said there is a region where wild rosebushes grow that bloom with white blossoms on Christmas night. Saint Joseph of Arimathea8 put ashore in that area when he was fleeing from the heathens, and there he stuck his staff into the ground and it took root and flowered. He was the first to bring the Christian faith to Bretland. The name of the region is Glastonbury—now I remember. Brother Edvin had seen the bushes himself. King Arthur, whom you’ve no doubt heard stories of, was buried there in Glastonbury with his queen. He was one of the seven most noble defenders of Christendom.
“They say in England that Christ’s Cross was made of alderwood. But we burned ash during Christmas at home, for it was the ash tree that Saint Joseph, the stepfather of Christ, used when he needed to light a fire for the Virgin Mary and the newborn Son of God. That’s something else that Father heard from Brother Edvin.”
“But very few ash trees grow up north here,” said Orm. “They used them all up for spear poles in the olden days, you know. I don’t think there are any ash trees here on Husaby’s land other than the one standing east of the manor gate, and Father can’t chop that one down, because the spirit of the first owner lives underneath. 9 But you know, Kristin, they have the Holy Cross in Romaborg; so they must be able to find out whether it was made of alderwood.”
“Well,” said Kristin, “I don’t know whether it’s true. For you know it’s said that the cross was made from a shoot of the tree of life, which Seth was allowed to take from the Garden of Eden and bring home to Adam before he died.”
“Yes,” said Orm. “But then tell me . . .”
Some time later Kristin said to the boy, “Now you should lie down for a while, kinsman, and sleep. It will be a long time yet before the churchgoers return.”
Orm stood up.
“We have not yet toasted each other as kinsmen, Kristin Lavransdatter.” He went over and took a drinking horn from the table, drank to his stepmother, and handed her the vessel.
She felt as if ice water were running down her back. She couldn’t help remembering that time when Orm’s mother wanted to drink with her. And the child inside her womb began to thrash violently. What’s going on with him tonight? wondered the mother. It seemed as if her unborn son felt everything that she felt, was cold when she was cold, and shrank in fear when she was frightened. But then I mustn’t be so weak, thought Kristin. She took the horn and drank with her stepson.
When she handed it back to Orm, she gently stroked his dark hair. No, I’m certainly not going to be a harsh stepmother to you, she thought. You handsome, handsome son of Erlend.
She had fallen asleep in her chair when Erlend came home and tossed his frozen mittens onto the table.
“Are you back already?” said Kristin, astonished. “I thought you would stay for the daytime mass.”
“Oh, two masses will last me for a long time,” said Erlend as Kristin picked up his icy cape. “Yes, the sky is clear now, so the frost has set in.”
“It was a shame that you forgot to wake Orm,” said his wife.
“Was he sad about it?” asked Erlend. “I didn’t actually forget,” he went on in a low voice. “But he was sleeping so soundly, and I thought . . . You can well believe that people stared enough because I came to church without you. I didn’t want to step forward with the boy at my side on top of that.”
Kristin said nothing, but she felt distressed. She didn’t think Erlend had handled this very well.
CHAPTER 3
THEY DID NOT have many guests at Husaby that Christmas. Erlend didn’t want to travel to any of the places where he was invited; he stayed home on his manor and was in a bad humor.
As it turned out, he took this act of fate more to heart than his wife could know. He had boasted so much of his betrothed, ever since his kinsmen had won Lavrans’s assent at J?rundgaard. This was the last thing Erlend had wanted—for anyone to believe that he considered her or her kinsmen to be lesser than his own people. No, everyone must know that he held it to be an honor and a distinction when Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n betrothed him to his daughter. Now people would say that Erlend had not considered the maiden much more than a peasant child, since he had dared to offend her father in such a manner, by sleeping with the daughter before she had been given to him in marriage. At his wedding, Erlend had urged his wife’s parents to come to Husaby in the summer to see how things were on his estate. He wanted to show them that it was not to paltry circumstances that he had brought their daughter. But he had also looked forward to traveling around and being seen in the company of these gracious and dignified in-laws; he realized that Lavrans and Ragnfrid could hold their own among the most esteemed of people, wherever they might go. And ever since the time when he was at J?rundgaard and the church burned down, Erlend had thought that Lavrans was rather fond of him, in spite of everything. Now it was unlikely that the reunion between Erlend and his wife’s kinsmen would be pleasant for either party.