It was a pleasure to see her once again dressed in a manner befitting a highborn woman. The thin little silk wimple covered only half of her golden brown tresses; her braids had been pinned up so they peeked out in front of her ears. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, but that didn’t matter. And she was wearing a magnificent blue surcoat made of velvet and trimmed with marten fur. The bodice was cut so low and the sleeve holes so deep that the garment clung to her breast and shoulders like the narrow straps of a bridle. It looked so lovely. Underneath there was a glimpse of something sand yellow, a gown that fit snugly to her body, all the way up to her throat and down to her wrists. It was held closed with dozens of tiny gilded buttons, which touched him so deeply. God forgive him—all those little golden buttons gave him as much joy as the sight of a flock of angels.
He stood there and felt the strong, steady beat of his own heart. Something had fallen away from him—yes, like chains. Vile, hateful dreams—they were just phantoms of the night. Now he could see the love he felt for her in the light of day, in full sunlight.
“You’re looking at me so strangely, Simon. Why are you smiling like that?”
The man gave a quiet, merry laugh but did not reply. Before them stretched the valley, filled with the golden warmth of the evening sun. Flocks of birds warbled and chirped metallically from the edge of the woods. Then the full, clear voice of the song thrush rang out from somewhere inside the forest. And here she stood, warmed by the sun, radiant in her brilliant finery, having emerged from the dark, cold house and the rough, heavy clothing that smelled of sweat and toil. My Kristin, it’s good to see you this way again.
He took her hand, which lay before him on the railing of the gallery, and lifted it to his face. “The ring you’re wearing is so lovely.” He turned the gold ring on her finger and then put her hand back down. It was reddish and rough now, and he didn’t know how he could ever make amends to it—so fair it had once been, her big, slender hand.
“There’s Arngjerd and Gaute,” said Kristin. “The two of them are quarreling again.”
Their voices could be heard from underneath the loft gallery, shrill and angry. Now the maiden began shouting furiously, “Go ahead and remind me of that. It seems to me a greater honor to be called my father’s bastard daughter than to be the lawful son of yours!”
Kristin spun on her heel and ran down the stairs. Simon followed and heard the sound of two or three slaps. She was standing under the gallery, clutching her son by the shoulder.
The two children had their eyes downcast; they were red-faced, silent, and defiant.
“I see you know how to behave as a guest. You do us such honor, your father and me.”
Gaute stared at the ground. In a low, angry voice he said to his mother, “She said something . . . I don’t want to repeat it.”
Simon put his hand under his daughter’s chin and tilted her face up. Arngjerd turned even brighter red, and her eyes blinked under her father’s gaze.
“Yes,” she said, pulling away from him. “I reminded Gaute that his father was a condemned villain and traitor. But before that he called you . . . He said that you, Father, were the traitor, and that it was thanks to Erlend that you were now sitting here, safe and rich, on your own manor.”
“I thought you were a grown-up maiden by now. Are you going to let childish chatter provoke you so that you forget both your manners and honor among kin?” Angrily he pushed the girl away, turned toward Gaute, and asked calmly, “What do you mean, Gaute, my friend, that I betrayed your father? I’ve noticed before that you’re cross with me. Now tell me: What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean!”
Simon shook his head.
Then the boy shouted, his eyes flashing with bitterness, “The letter they tortured my father on the rack for, trying to make him say who had put their seal on it—I saw that letter myself! I was the one who took it and burned it.”
“Keep silent!” Erlend broke in among them. His face was deathly white, all the way to his lips; his eyes blazed.
“No, Erlend. It’s better that we clear up this matter now. Was my name mentioned in that letter?”
“Keep silent!” Furiously Erlend seized Gaute by the shoulder and chest. “I trusted you. You, my son! It would serve you right if I killed you now.”
Kristin sprang forward, as did Simon. The boy tore himself loose and took refuge with his mother. Beside himself with rage, he screamed furiously as he hid behind Kristin’s arm, “I picked it up and looked at the seals before I burned it, Father! I thought the day might come when I could serve you by doing so. . . .”