It angered Kristin that Erlend so often took his ill temper out on Orm. The boy had no children of his own age to play with, so he was frequently peevish and in the way; he also got into a good deal of mischief. One day he took his father’s French crossbow without permission, and something broke in the lock. Erlend was very angry; he struck Orm on the ear and swore that the boy would not be allowed to touch a bow again at Husaby.
“It wasn’t Orm’s fault,” said Kristin without turning around. She was sitting with her back to the two, sewing. “The spring was bent when he took it, and he tried to straighten it out. You can’t be so unreasonable to refuse to allow this big son of yours to use a single bow out of all those you have on the estate. Why don’t you give him one of the bows from up in the armory?”
“You can give him a bow yourself, if you feel like it,” said Erlend furiously.
“I’ll do that,” replied Kristin in the same tone as before. “I’ll speak to Ulf about it the next time he goes to town.”
“You must go over and thank your kind stepmother, Orm,” said Erlend, his voice derisive and angry.
Orm obeyed. And then he fled out the door as fast as he could. Erlend stood there for a moment.
“You did that mostly to annoy me, Kristin,” he said.
“Yes, I know I’m a witch. You’ve said that before,” replied his wife.
“Do you also remember, my sweet,” said Erlend sadly, “that I didn’t mean it seriously that time?”
Kristin neither answered nor looked up from her sewing. Then Erlend left, and afterwards she sat there and cried. She was fond of Orm, and she thought Erlend was often unreasonable toward his son. But the fact was that her husband’s taciturn and aggrieved demeanor now tormented her so that she would lie in bed and weep half the night. And then she would walk around with an aching head the next day. Her hands had become so gaunt that she had to slip several small silver rings from her childhood days onto her fingers after her betrothal and wedding rings to keep them from falling off while she slept.
On the Sunday before Lent, late in the afternoon, Sir Baard Peters?n arrived unexpectedly at Husaby with his daughter, a widow, and Sir Munan Baards?n and his wife. Erlend and Kristin went out to the courtyard to bid the guests welcome.
As soon as Sir Munan caught sight of Kristin, he slapped Erlend on the shoulder.
“I see that you’ve known how to treat your wife, kinsman, so that she is thriving on your estate. You’re not so thin and miserable now as you were at your wedding, Kristin. And you have a much healthier color too,” he laughed, for Kristin had turned as red as a rosehip.
Erlend did not reply. Sir Baard wore a dark expression, but the two women seemed neither to hear nor see a thing; they greeted their hosts formally and with courtesy.
Kristin had ale and mead brought over to the hearth while they waited for the food. Munan Baards?n talked without stopping. He had letters for Erlend from the duchess—she was inquiring what had become of him and his bride: whether he was now married to the same maiden that he had wanted to carry off to Sweden. It was hellish traveling now, in midwinter—up through the valleys and by ship to Nidaros. But he was on the king’s business, so it would do no good to grumble. He had stopped by to see his mother at Haugen and he brought them greetings from her.
“Were you at J?rundgaard?” Kristin ventured.
No, for he had heard that they had gone to a wake at Blakarsarv. A terrible event had occurred. The mistress, Tora, Ragnfrid’s kinswoman, had fallen from the storeroom gallery and had broken her back, and it was her husband who had inadvertently pushed her out. It was one of those old storerooms without a proper gallery; there were merely several floorboards placed on top of the posts at the second-story level. They had been forced to tie up Rolv and keep watch over him night and day ever since the accident occurred. He wanted to lay hands on himself.
Everyone sat in silence, shivering. Kristin didn’t know these kinsmen well, but they had come to her wedding. She felt suddenly strange and weak—everything went black before her eyes. Munan was sitting across from her and he leaped to his feet. When he stood over her, his arm around her shoulder, he looked so kind. Kristin realized that it was perhaps not so odd for Erlend to be fond of this cousin of his.
“I knew Rolv when we were young,” he said. “People felt sorry for Tora Guttormsdatter—they said he was wild and hard-hearted. But now you can see that he cared for her. Oh yes, many a man may boast and pretend that he’d like to be rid of his spouse, but most men know full well that a wife is the worst thing they can lose—”