As Kristin made all the preparations for the departure of her stepdaughter, Erlend said one day in a brusque voice, “I don’t suppose you’re well enough to travel to town with us?”
“If that’s what you wish, I will certainly go with you,” said Kristin.
“Why should I wish it? You’ve never taken a mother’s place for her before, and you don’t need to do so now. It’s not going to be a festive wedding. And Fru Gunna of Raasvold and her son’s wife have promised to come, for the sake of kinship.”
And so Kristin stayed at Husaby while Erlend was in Nidaros to give his daughter to Gerlak Tiedekenss?n.
CHAPTER 3
THAT SUMMER, JUST before Saint Jon’s Day, Gunnulf Niku lauss?n returned to his monastery. Erlend was in town during the Frosta ting; he sent a message home, asking his wife whether she would care to come to Nidaros to see her brother-in-law. Kristin wasn’t feeling very well, but she went all the same. When she met Erlend, he told her that his brother’s health seemed completely broken. The friars hadn’t had much success with their endeavors up north at Munkefjord. They never managed to have the church they had built consecrated, because the archbishop couldn’t travel north during a time of such unrest. Finally they ended up with no bread or wine, candles or oil for the services, but when Brother Gunnulf and Brother Aslak sailed for Varg?y for supplies, the Finns cast their spells and the ship sank. They were stranded on a skerry for three days, and afterwards neither of them regained his full health. Brother Aslak died a short time later. They had suffered terribly from scurvy during Lent, for they had no flour or herbs to eat along with the dried fish. Then Bishop Haakon of Bj?rgvin and Master Arne, who was in charge of the cathedral chapter while Lord Paal was at the Curia to be ordained as archbishop, instructed the monks who were still alive to return home; the priests at Varg?y were to tend to the flocks at Munkefjord for the time being.
Although she was not unprepared, Kristin was still shocked when she saw Gunnulf Nikulauss?n again. She went with Erlend over to the monastery the next day, and they were escorted into the interview room. The monk came in. His body was bent over, his fringe of hair was now completely gray, and the skin under his sunken eyes was wrinkled and dark brown. But his smooth, pale complexion was flecked with leaden-colored spots, and she noticed that his hand was covered with the same spots when he thrust it out from the sleeve of his robe to take her hand. He smiled, and she saw that he had lost several teeth.
They sat down and talked for a while, but it seemed as if Gunnulf had also forgotten how to speak. He mentioned this himself before they left.
“But you, Erlend, you are just the same—you don’t seem to have aged at all,” he said with a little smile.
Kristin knew that she looked miserable at the moment, while Erlend was so handsome as he stood there, tall and slender and dark and well-dressed. And yet Kristin knew in her heart that he too had been greatly changed. It was odd that Gunnulf couldn’t see it; he had always been so sharp-sighted in the past.
One day late in the summer Kristin was up in the clothing loft, and Fru Gunna of Raasvold was with her. She had come to Husaby to help Kristin when she once again gave birth. They could hear Naakkve and Bj?rgulf singing down in the courtyard as they sharpened their knives—a lewd and vulgar ballad which they sang at the top of their lungs.
Their mother was beside herself with rage as she went downstairs to speak to her sons in the harshest words. She wanted to know who had taught the boys the song—it must have been in the servants’ hall, but who among the men would teach children such a song? The boys refused to answer. Then Skule appeared beneath the loft steps; he told his mother she might as well stop asking, because they had learned the ballad from listening to their father sing it.
Fru Gunna joined in: Had they no fear of God that they would sing such a song? Especially now that they couldn’t be sure, when they went to bed at night, whether they might be motherless before the roosters crowed? Kristin didn’t reply but went quietly back into the house.
Later, after she had taken to her bed to rest, Naakkve came into the room to see her. He took his mother’s hand but did not speak, and then he began to weep softly. She talked to him gently, jesting and begging him not to grieve or cry. She had made it through six times before; surely she would make it through the seventh. But the boy wept harder and harder. Finally she allowed him to crawl into the bed between her and the wall, and there he lay, sobbing, with his arms around her neck and his head pressed to his mother’s breast. But she couldn’t get him to tell her what he was crying about, even though he stayed with her until the servants began carrying in the evening meal.