During the mass, when everyone had risen, Kristin caught sight of Erlend Nikulauss?n. He was tall, and his head towered above those around him. She saw his face from the side. He had a high, narrow forehead and a large, straight nose; it jutted out like a triangle from his face and was strangely thin, with fine, quivering nostrils. There was something about it that reminded Kristin of a skittish, frightened stallion. He was not as handsome as she thought she had remembered him; the lines in his face seemed to extend so long and somberly down to his soft, small, attractive mouth—oh yes, he was handsome after all.
He turned his head and saw her. She didn’t know how long they continued to stare into each other’s eyes. Then her only thought was for the mass to be over; she waited expectantly to see what would happen next.
As everyone began to leave the crowded church, there was a great crush. Ingebj?rg pulled Kristin along with her, backward into the throng; they were easily separated from the nuns, who were the first to leave. The girls were among the last to approach the altar with their offering and then exit from the church.
Erlend was standing outside, right next to the door, between the priest from Gerdarud and a stout, red-faced man wearing a magnificent blue velvet surcoat. Erlend was dressed in silk but in dark colors—a long, brown-and-black patterned surcoat and a black cape interwoven with little yellow falcons.
They greeted each other and walked across the slope toward the spot where the men’s horses were tethered. As they exchanged words about the weather, the beautiful mass, and the great crowd of people in attendance, the fat, ruddy-faced gentleman—he wore golden spurs and his name was Sir Munan Baards?n—offered his hand to Ingebj?rg. He seemed to find the maiden exceedingly attractive. Erlend and Kristin fell behind; they walked along in silence.
There was a great hubbub on the church hill as people began to ride off. Horses jostled past each other and people shouted, some of them angry, some of them laughing. Many of them rode in pairs—men with their wives behind them or children in front on the saddle—and young boys leaped up to ride with a friend. They could already see the church banners, the nuns, and the priest far below them.
Sir Munan rode past; Ingebj?rg was sitting in front of him, in his arms. They both shouted and waved.
Then Erlend said, “My men are both here with me. They could take one of the horses and you could have Haftor‘s—if you would prefer that?”
Kristin blushed as she replied, “We’re so far behind the others already, and I don’t see your men, so …” Then she laughed and Erlend smiled.
He leaped into the saddle and helped her up behind him. At home Kristin often sat sideways behind her father after she grew too old to sit astride the horse’s loins. And yet she felt a little shy and uncertain as she placed one of her hands over Erlend’s shoulder ; with the other hand she supported herself against the horse’s back. Slowly they rode down toward the bridge.
After a while Kristin felt that she ought to speak since he did not, and she said, “It was unexpected, sir, to meet you here today.”
“Was it unexpected?” asked Erlend, turning his head around toward her. “Hasn’t Ingebj?rg Filippusdatter brought you my greeting?”
“No,” said Kristin. “I haven’t heard of any greeting. She has never mentioned you since that day when you came to our aid back in May,” she said slyly. She wanted Ingebj?rg’s duplicity to come to light.
Erlend didn’t turn around, but she could hear in his voice that he was smiling when he spoke again.
“And what about the little black-haired one—the novitiate—I can’t remember her name. I even paid her a messenger’s fee to give you my greetings.”
Kristin blushed, but then she had to laugh. “Yes, I suppose I owe it to Helga to tell you that she earned her pay,” she said.
Erlend moved his head slightly, and his neck came close to her hand. Kristin shifted her hand at once to a place farther out on his shoulder. Rather uneasy, she thought that perhaps she had shown greater boldness than was proper, since she had come to this feast after a man had, in a sense, arranged to meet her there.
After a moment Erlend asked, “Will you dance with me tonight, Kristin?”
“I don’t know, sir,” replied the maiden.
“Perhaps you think it might not be proper?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he went on. “It could be that it’s not. But I thought perhaps you might not think it would do any harm if you took my hand tonight. And by the way, it has been eight years since I took part in a dance.”