It was like waking up as they emerged from the forest, out onto the slopes below the Marte outcrop. The sun had gone down and the town and the bay lay below them in clear, pallid light. The Aker ridges were limned with bright yellow beneath the pale blue sky. Sounds carried a long way in the quiet of the evening, as if they were coming from the depths of the cool air. From somewhere along the road came the screech of a wagon wheel, and dogs barked to each other from farms on opposite sides of the town. But in the forest behind them birds chirped and sang at the top of their voices now that the sun had gone down.
Smoke drifted through the air as dry grass and leaves were burned, and in the middle of a field a bonfire flared red; the great fiery rose made the clarity of the night seem dim.
They were riding between the fences of the convent’s fields when the stranger spoke to Ingebj?rg again. He asked her what she thought would be best: Should he escort her to the door and ask to speak with Fru Groa, so that he could tell her how this had all come about? But Ingebj?rg thought they should sneak in through the church; then they might be able to slip into the convent without being noticed. They had been gone much too long. Perhaps Sister Potentia had forgotten them because of the visit from her kinsmen.
It didn’t occur to Kristin to wonder why it was so quiet in the square in front of the west entrance of the church. Usually there was a great hubbub in the evening as people from the neighboring area came to the nuns’ church. And all around stood houses where many of the lay servants and corrodians lived. This was where they said farewell to Erlend. Kristin paused to pet his horse; it was black, with a handsome head and gentle eyes. She thought it looked like Morvin, the horse she had ridden back home when she was a child.
“What’s the name of your horse, sir?” she asked as the animal turned his head and snuffled at the man’s chest.
“Bajard,” he said, looking at Kristin over the horse’s neck. “You ask the name of my horse, but not mine?”
“I would indeed like to know your name, sir,” she replied, with a little bow.
“Erlend Nikulauss?n is my name,” he said.
“Then we must thank you, Erlend Nikulauss?n, for your good assistance tonight,” replied Kristin, giving him her hand.
Suddenly her face flushed bright red; she pulled her hand halfway out of his grasp.
“Fru Aashild Gautesdatter at Dovre—is she your kinswoman?” she asked.
She saw with surprise that he too turned blood red. He let go of her hand abruptly and replied, “She is my mother’s sister. It’s true that I am Erlend Nikulauss?n of Husaby.” He gave Kristin such a strange look that she grew even more confused, but she pulled herself together.
“I should have thanked you with better words, Erlend Niku laussen, but I don’t know what to say to you.”
Then he bowed, and she thought she should say goodbye, even though she would have preferred to talk with him longer. At the entrance to the church she turned around, and when she saw that Erlend was still standing next to his horse, she raised her hand and waved.
Inside the convent great fear and commotion reigned. Haakon had sent a messenger home on horseback while he himself walked through the town searching for the maidens, and servants had been sent out to help him. The nuns had heard that the wild animals had supposedly killed and devoured two children in town. This turned out to be a rumor, and the leopard—there was only one—had been captured well before vespers by several men from the king’s castle.
Kristin stood with her head bowed and kept silent as the abbess and Sister Potentia vented their anger on the maidens. She seemed to be asleep inside. Ingebj?rg wept and spoke in their defense: they had gone out with Sister Potentia’s permission, after all, with the proper escort, and they were not to blame for what had happened afterward.
But Fru Groa told them to stay in the church until the clock struck midnight and try to turn their thoughts to spiritual matters and thank God, who had saved their lives and honor. “God has clearly shown you the truth about the world,” she said. “Wild beasts and the Devil’s servants threaten His children every step of the way, and there is no salvation unless you cleave to Him with entreaties and prayers.”
She gave each of them a lit candle and told them to go with Sister Cecilia Baardsdatter, who often sat in the church alone, praying into the night.
Kristin placed her candle on the altar of Saint Laurentius and knelt down on the prayer bench. She stared steadily into the flame as she said her Pater noster and Ave Maria. Gradually the glow of the taper seemed to envelop her, shutting out everything else surrounding her and the candle. She felt her heart open up, brimming over with gratitude and promises and love for God and His gentle Mother—she felt them so near. She had always known that they saw her, but on this night she felt that it was so. She saw the world as if in a vision: a dark room into which a beam of sunlight fell, with dust motes tumbling in and out, from darkness to light, and she felt that now she had finally moved into the sunbeam.