A muted, rancorous uneasiness passed through the crowd as Kristin and her escort moved forward. A young man slapped his thigh and laughed but was fiercely hushed by his elders. Kristin walked with measured steps and erect bearing across the green and then entered the cemetery. She paused for a moment at her child’s grave and at that of Simon Andress?n. A flat gray stone had been placed on top of it, and on the stone was etched the likeness of a man wearing a helmet and coat of mail, leaning his hands on a big, triangular shield with his coat of arms. Around the edge of the stone were chiseled the words: In pace. Simon Armiger. Proles Dom. Andreae Filii Gudmundi Militis Pater Noster.
Ulf was standing outside the south door; he had left his sword in the gallery.
At that moment Jardtrud entered the cemetery in the company of four men: her two brothers and two old farmers. One of them was Kolbein Jonss?n, who had been Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n’s arms bearer for many years. They walked toward the priest’s entrance south of the choir.
Ulf Haldorss?n raced over to block their way. Kristin heard them speaking rapidly and vehemently; Ulf was trying to prevent his wife and her escorts from going any farther. People in the churchyard drew nearer; Kristin too moved closer. Then Ulf jumped up onto the stone foundation on which the gallery rested, leaned in, and pulled out the first axe he could reach. When one of Jardtrud’s brothers tried to pull it out of his hand, Ulf leaped forward and swung the axe in the air. The blow fell on the man’s shoulder, and then people came running and seized hold of Ulf. He struggled to free himself. Kristin saw that his face was dark red, contorted, and desperate.
Then Sira Solmund and a cleric from the bishop’s party appeared in the priest’s doorway. They exchanged a few words with the farmers. Three men who bore the white shields of the bishop took Ulf away at once, leading him out of the cemetery, while his wife and her escorts followed the two priests into the church.
Kristin approached the group of farmers. “What is it?” she asked sharply. “Why did they take Ulf away?”
“Surely you saw that he struck a man in the cemetery,” replied one of them, his voice equally sharp. Everyone moved away from her so that she was left standing alone with her son at the church door.
Kristin thought she understood. Ulf’s wife wanted to present a complaint against him to the bishop. By losing mastery of his feelings and breaching the sanctity of the cemetery, he had placed himself in a difficult position. When an unfamiliar deacon came to the door and peered outside, she went over to him, told him her name, and asked whether she might be taken to the bishop.
Inside the church all the sacred objects had been set out, but the candles on the altars were not yet lit. A little sunshine fell through the round windows high overhead and streamed between the dark brown pillars. Many of the congregation had already entered the nave and were sitting on the benches along the wall. In front of the bishop’s seat in the choir stood a small group of people: Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter and her two brothers—Geirulv with his arm bandaged—Kolbein Jonss?n, Sigurd Geitung, and Tore Borghildss?n. Behind and on either side of the bishop’s carved chair stood two young priests from Hamar, several other men from the bishop’s party, and Sira Solmund.
All of them stared as the mistress of J?rundgaard stepped forward and courtsied deeply before the bishop.
Lord Halvard was a tall, stout man with an exceedingly venerable appearance. Beneath the red silk cap his hair gleamed snow-white at his temples, and his full, oval face was a blazing red. He had a strong, crooked nose and heavy jowls, and his mouth was as narrow as a slit, almost without lips, as it cut through his closely trimmed, grayish-white beard. But his bushy eyebrows were still dark above his glittering, coal-black eyes.
“May God be with you, Kristin Lavransdatter,” said Lord Halvard. He gave the woman a penetrating look from under his heavy eyebrows. With one of his large, pale old man’s hands he grasped the gold cross hanging on his chest; in the other hand, which rested on the lap of his dark violet robes, he held a wax tablet.
“What brings you to seek me out here, Mistress Kristin?” the bishop asked. “Don’t you think it would be more fitting if you waited until the afternoon and came to see me at Romundgaard to tell me what is in your heart?”
“Jardtrud Herbrandsdatter has sought you out here, Reverend Father,” replied Kristin. “Ulf Haldorss?n has now been in the service of my husband for thirty-five years; he has always been our loyal friend and helper and a good kinsman. I thought I might be able to help him in some way.”