“As God is my witness along with all holy men: never have I coveted your property, kinsman—because otherwise there is only Gunnulf between me and Husaby. But I said to you, Baard, as you know—to Kristin’s firstborn son I would give my gold-encrusted dagger with its walrus-tusk sheath. Here, take it,” he shouted, sobbing, and he tossed the magnificent weapon across the table to her. “If it’s not a son this time, then it’ll be one next year.”
Tears of shame and anger were pouring down Kristin’s hot cheeks. She struggled fiercely not to break down. But the two women guests sat and ate as calmly as if they were used to such commotion. And Erlend whispered that she should take the dagger “or Munan will just keep on all night.”
“Yes, and I’m not going to hide the fact,” Munan went on, “that I wish your father could see, Kristin, that he was too quick to defend your soul. So arrogant Lavrans was—we weren’t good enough for him, Baard and I, and you were much too delicate and pure to tolerate a man like Erlend in your bed. He talked as if he didn’t believe that you could stand to do anything in the nighttime hours except sing in the nuns’ choir. I said to him, ‘Dear Lavrans,’ I said, ‘your daughter is a beautiful and healthy and lively young maiden, and the winter nights are long and cold here in this country. . . .’ ”
Kristin pulled her wimple over her face. She was sobbing loudly and tried to get up, but Erlend pulled her back down in her seat.
“Try to get hold of yourself,” he said vehemently. “Don’t pay any attention to Munan—you can see for yourself that he’s dead drunk.”
She sensed that Fru Katrin and Fru Vilborg thought it pitiable that she didn’t have better command of herself. But she couldn’t stop her tears.
Baard Peters?n said furiously to Munan, “Shut your rotten trap. You’ve been a swine all your days—but even so, you can spare an ill woman from that filthy talk of yours.”
“Did you say swine? Yes, I do have more bastard children than you do, be that as it may. But one thing I’ve never done—and Erlend hasn’t either—we’ve never paid another man to be the child’s father for us.”
“Munan!” shouted Erlend, springing to his feet. “Now I demand peace here in my hall!”
“Oh, demand peace in your backside! My children call the man ‘father’ who sired them—in my swinish life, as you call it!” Munan pounded the table so the cups and small plates danced. “Our sons don’t go around as servants in the house of our kinsmen. But here sits your son across the table from you, and he’s sitting on the servants’ bench. That seems to me the worst of all shame.”
Baard leaped up and threw his goblet into the other man’s face. The two fell upon each other so the table plank tipped onto its side, and food and vessels slid into the laps of those sitting on the outer bench.
Kristin sat there white-faced, with her mouth agape. Once she stole a glance at Ulf—the man was laughing openly, crudely and maliciously. Then he tipped the table plank back into place and shoved it against the two combatants.
Erlend leaped up onto the table. Kneeling in the middle of the mess, he seized hold of Munan’s arms, then grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him up next to him; he turned bright red in the face from the effort. Munan managed to give Baard a kick so that the old man began to bleed from the mouth—then Erlend flung Munan over the table and out onto the floor. He jumped down after him, and stood there huffing like a bellows.
The other man got to his feet and rushed at Erlend, who slipped under his arms a couple of times. Then he fell on Munan and held him entangled in the grip of his long, supple limbs. Erlend was as agile as a cat, but Munan held his ground; strong and bulky, he refused to be forced to the floor. They whirled around and around the room while the serving women shrieked and screamed, and none of the men made a move to separate them.
Then Fru Katrin stood up, heavy and fat and slow; she stepped onto the table as calmly as if she were walking up the storehouse stairs.
“Stop that now,” she said in her husky, sated voice. “Let go of him, Erlend! It was wrong, husband—to speak that way to an old man and close kinsman.”
The men obeyed her. Munan stood meekly and let his wife wipe his bloody nose with her wimple. She told him to go to bed, and he followed docilely when she led him away to the bed on the south wall. His wife and one of his servants pulled the clothes off him, toppled him into the bed, and closed the door.