Lavrans stretched out on the earthen bench, which Erlend had prepared for him as best he could, spreading out their knapsacks and capes.
“That’s what soldiers do with stolen chickens, Erlend,” he said with a laugh.
“Yes, I learned a few things when I was in the Earl’s service,” said Erlend, laughing too.
Now he was alert and lively, not silent and rather sluggish the way his father-in-law had most often seen him. As he sat on the floor in front of Lavrans, he started telling stories about the years when he served Earl Jacob in Halland.1 He had been head of the castle guard, and he had patrolled the coast with three small ships. Erlend’s eyes shone like a child’s—he wasn’t boasting, he merely let the words spill out. Lavrans lay there looking down at him.
He had prayed to God to grant him patience with this man, his daughter’s husband. Now he was almost angry with himself because he was more fond of Erlend than he wanted to be. He thought about that night when their church burned down and he had taken a liking to his son-in-law. It was not that Erlend lacked manhood in his lanky body. Lavrans felt a stab of pain in his heart. It was a pity about Erlend; he could have been fit for better things than seducing women. But nothing much had come of that except boyish pranks. If only times had been such that a chieftain could have taken this man in hand and put him to use . . . but as the world was now, when every man had to depend on his own judgment about so many things . . . and a man in Erlend’s circumstances was supposed to make decisions for himself and for the welfare of many other people. And this was Kristin’s husband.
Erlend looked up at his father-in-law. He grew somber too. Then he said, “I want to ask one thing, Lavrans. Before we reach my home, I’d like you to tell me what is in your heart.”
Lavrans was silent.
“You must know,” said Erlend in the same tone of voice, “that I would gladly fall at your feet in whatever manner you wish and make amends in whatever way you deem a fitting punishment for me.”
Lavrans looked down into the younger man’s face; then he smiled oddly.
“That might be difficult, Erlend—for me to decide and for you to do. But now you must make a proper gift to the church at Sundbu and to the priests, whom you have also deceived,” he said adamantly. “I will speak no more of this! And you cannot blame it on your youth. It would have been much more honorable, Erlend, if you had fallen at my feet before you held your wedding.”
“Yes,” said Erlend. “But at the time I didn’t know how things stood, or that it would come to light that I had offended you.”
Lavrans sat up.
“Didn’t you know, when you were wed, that Kristin . . .”
“No,” said Erlend, looking crestfallen. “We were married for almost two months before I realized it.”
Lavrans gave him a look of surprise but said nothing.
Then Erlend spoke again, his voice low and unsteady, “I’m glad that you came with me, Father-in-law. Kristin has been so melancholy all winter—she has hardly said a word to me. Many times it seemed to me that she was unhappy, both with Husaby and with me.”
Lavrans replied somewhat coldly and harshly, “That’s no doubt the way things are with most young wives. Now that she’s well again, you two will probably be just as good friends as you were before.” And he smiled a little mockingly.
But Erlend sat and stared into the glowing embers. He suddenly understood with certainty—but he had realized it from the moment he first saw the tiny red infant face pressed against Kristin’s white shoulder. It would never be the same between them, the way it had been before.
When Kristin’s father stepped inside the little house, she sat up in bed and held out her hands toward him. She threw her arms around his shoulders and wept and wept, until Lavrans grew quite alarmed.
She had been out of bed for some time, but then she learned that Erlend had set off for Gudbrandsdal alone, and when he failed to return home for days on end, she grew so anxious that she developed a fever. And she had to go back to bed.
It was apparent that she was still weak—she wept at everything. The new manor priest,2 Sira Eiliv Serkss?n, had arrived while Erlend was away. He had taken it upon himself to visit the mistress now and then to read to her, but she wept over such unreasonable things that soon he didn’t know what he dared let her hear.
One day when her father was sitting with her, Kristin wanted to change the child herself so that he could see how handsome and well-formed the boy was. He lay naked on the swaddling clothes, kicking on the wool coverlet in front of his mother.