Kristin didn’t hear of this until much later. But she grieved deeply when she parted with the monk. It seemed to her that he alone knew her whole life—he had known the foolish child that she had been under her father’s care, and he had known of her secret life with Erlend. So he was like a clasp, she thought, which bound everything she had loved to all that now filled her heart. She was now quite cut off from the person she had been—the time when she was a maiden.
CHAPTER 7
AS SHE TESTED the lukewarm brew in the vats, Ragnfrid said, “I think it’s cool enough that we can put in the yeast.”
Kristin had been sitting inside the brewhouse door, spinning, while she waited for the liquid to cool. She set the spindle on the doorstep, unwrapped the blanket from around the bucket with the dissolved yeast, and measured out a portion.
“Shut the door first,” said her mother, “so there won’t be any draft. You’re acting as if you’re asleep, Kristin,” she added, annoyed.
Kristin slowly poured the yeast into the brewing vats as Ragnfrid stirred.
Geirhild Drivsdatter invoked the name of Hatt, but it was Odin who came and helped her with the brewing; in return he demanded what was between her and the vat. This was a saga that Lavrans had once told Kristin when she was little.
What was between her and the vat … Kristin felt ill and dizzy from the heat and the sweet, spicy steam in the dark, close brewhouse.
Out in the courtyard Ramborg was dancing in a circle with a group of children and singing: The eagle sits in the highest hall
flexing his golden claw …
Kristin followed her mother out to the little entryway, which was filled with empty ale kegs and all kinds of implements. From there a door led out to a strip of ground between the back wall of the brewhouse and the fence surrounding the barley field. A swarm of pigs jostled each other, biting and squealing as they fought over the tepid, discarded mash.
Kristin shaded her eyes with her hand from the glaring noonday sun. Her mother glanced at the scuffling pigs and said, “We won’t be able to get by with fewer than eighteen reindeer.”
“Do you think we’ll need so many?” asked her daughter, distracted.
“Yes, we must serve game with the pork each day,” replied her mother. “And we’ll only have enough fowl and hare to serve the guests in the high loft. You must remember that close to two hundred people will be coming here, with their servants and children, and the poor must be fed as well. And even though you and Erlend will leave on the fifth day, some of the guests will no doubt stay on for the rest of the week—at least.
“Stay here and tend to the ale, Kristin,” said Ragnfrid. “I have to go and cook dinner for your father and the haymakers.”
Kristin went to get her spinning and then sat down in the back doorway. She tucked the distaff with the wool under her arm, but her hands sank into her lap, holding the spindle.
Beyond the fence the tips of the barley glinted like silver and silk in the sun. Above the rush of the river, she heard now and then the sound of the scythes in the meadows out on the islet; occasionally the iron would strike against stone. Her father and the servants were working hard to put the worst of the mowing season behind them. There was so much to do for her wedding.
The smell of the tepid mash and the rank breath of the pigs … she suddenly felt nauseated again. And the noontime heat made her so faint and weak. White-faced, her spine rigid, she sat there waiting for the sensation to pass; she didn’t want to be sick again.
She had never felt this way before. It would do no good for her to try to console herself with the thought that it wasn’t yet certain—that she might be mistaken. What was between her and the vat …
Eighteen reindeer. Close to two hundred wedding guests. People would have something to laugh about then, when they heard that all the commotion was for the sake of a pregnant woman who had to be married off in time.
Oh no! She tossed aside her spinning and leaped to her feet. With her forehead pressed against the wall of the brewhouse she vomited into the thicket of nettles that grew in abundance there. Brown caterpillars were swarming over the nettles; the sight of them made her feel even sicker.
Kristin rubbed her temples, wet with sweat. Oh no, surely that was enough.
They were going to be married on the second Sunday after Michaelmas, and then their wedding would be celebrated for five days. That was more than two months away. By then her mother and the other women of the village would be able to see it. They were always so wise about such matters; they could always tell when a woman was with child months before Kristin could see how they knew. Poor thing, she has grown so pale… Impatiently Kristin rubbed her hands against her cheeks, for she could feel that they were wan and bloodless.