On the day she rode with Erlend to the anchorage at Birgsi, she couldn’t feel either fearful or sad. She was almost intoxicated with him and with his joy and high spirits.
At that time she didn’t know she was already carrying another child. When she felt unwell she had thought . . . Erlend was so exuberant, there had been so much commotion and drinking at home, and Naakkve was sucking the strength out of her. When she felt the new life stir inside her, she was . . . She had been looking forward to the winter, to traveling to town and around the valley with her bold and handsome husband; she was young and beautiful herself. She had planned to wean the boy by autumn; it was troublesome always having to take him and the nursemaid along wherever she went. She was certain that in this Russian campaign Erlend would prove fit for something other than ruining his name and his property. No, she had not been glad, and she told this to Sira Eiliv. Then the priest had reprimanded her quite sternly for her unloving and worldly disposition. And all summer long she had tried to be happy and to thank God for the new child she was to have, and for the good reports she heard about Erlend’s courageous actions in the north.
Then he returned home just before Michaelmas. And she saw that he was not pleased when he realized what was to come. He said as much that evening.
“I thought that when I finally had you, it would be like celebrating Christmas every day. But now it seems that there will be mostly long periods of fasting.”
Every time she thought about this, the blood would rush to her face, just as hot as on that evening when she turned away from him, flushing deep red and shedding no tears. Erlend had tried to make amends with love and kindness. But she couldn’t forget it. The fire inside her, which all her tears of remorse had been unable to extinguish and all her fear of sin could not smother—it was as if Erlend had stomped it out with his foot when he said those words.
Late that night they sat in front of the fireplace in Gunnulf’s house—the priest and Kristin and Orm. A jug of wine and a few small goblets stood at the edge of the hearth. Master Gunnulf had suggested several times that his guests ought to seek rest. But Kristin begged to stay sitting there a little longer.
“Do you remember, brother-in-law,” she said, “that I once told you that the priest back home at J?rundgaard counseled me to enter a cloister if Father would not give his consent for Erlend to marry me?”
Gunnulf glanced involuntarily at Orm. But Kristin said with a wry little smile, “Do you think this grown-up boy doesn’t know that I’m a weak and sinful woman?”
Master Gunnulf replied softly, “Did you feel a yearning for the life of a nun back then, Kristin?”
“No doubt God would have opened my eyes once I had decided to serve Him.”
“Perhaps He thought that your eyes needed to be opened so you would learn that you ought to serve Him wherever you are. Your husband, children, and the servants at Husaby need to have a faithful and patient servant woman of God living among them and tending to their welfare.
“Of course the maiden who makes the best marriage is the one who chooses Christ as her bridegroom and refuses to give herself to a sinful man. But the child who has already done wrong . . .”
“ ‘I wish that you could have come to God with your wreath,’ ” whispered Kristin. “That’s what he said to me, Brother Edvin Rikardss?n, the monk I’ve often told you about. Do you feel the same way?”
Gunnulf Nikulauss?n nodded. And yet many a woman has pulled herself up from a life of sin with such strength that we dare pray for her intercession. But this happened more often in the past, when she was threatened with torture and fire and glowing tongs if she called herself a Christian. I have often thought, Kristin, that back then it was easier to tear oneself away from the bonds of sin, when it could be done forcefully and all at once. And yet we humans are so corrupt—but courage is by nature present in the heart of many, and courage is what often drives a soul to seek God. The torments have incited just as many people to faithfulness as they have frightened others into apostasy. But a young, lost child who is torn from sinful desire even before she has learned to understand what it has brought upon her soul—a child placed in an order of nuns among pure maidens who have given themselves up to watch over and pray for those who are asleep out in the world . . .
“I wish it would soon be summer,” he said suddenly and stood up.
The other two looked at him in amazement.
“Oh, I happened to think about when the cuckoo was singing on the slopes in the morning back home at Husaby. First we would hear the one on the ridge to the east, behind the buildings, and then the other would reply from far off, in the woods close to By. It sounded so lovely out across the lake in the stillness of the morning. Don’t you think it’s beautiful at Husaby, Kristin?”