Erlend went over and drew back the bolt. Simon stepped inside, holding a drawn sword in his hand, but he stuck it back into its scabbard at once.
For a moment the three of them stood there without saying a word. Kristin was shaking, and yet in those first few moments she felt an oddly sweet excitement—deep inside her something rose up, sensing this fight between two men—and she exhaled slowly: here was the culmination to those endless months of silent waiting and longing and fear. She looked from one man to the other, their faces pale, their eyes shining; then her excitement collapsed into an unfathomable, freezing despair. There was more cold contempt than indignation or jealousy in Simon Darre’s eyes, and she saw that Erlend, behind his obstinate expression, was burning with shame. It dawned on her how other men would judge him—he who had allowed her to come to him in such a place—and she realized that it was as if he had been struck in the face; she knew that he was burning to pull out his sword and fall upon Simon.
“Why have you come here, Simon?” she shouted loudly, sounding frightened.
Both men turned toward her.
“To take you home,” said Simon. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You no longer have any right to command Kristin Lavransdatter,” said Erlend furiously. “She is mine now.”
“No doubt she is,” said Simon coarsely. “And what a lovely bridal house you’ve brought her to.” He stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he regained control over his voice and continued calmly, “But as things stand right now, I’m still her betrothed—until her father can come to get her. And until then I intend to defend with both the point and the edge of my sword as much of her honor as can be protected—in the judgment of other people.”
“You don’t need to do that; I can do it myself.” Erlend again turned as red as blood under Simon’s gaze. “Do you think I would allow myself to be threatened by a whelp like you?” he bellowed, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Simon put his hands behind his back.
“I’m not so timid that I’m afraid you’ll think I’m afraid of you,” he said in the same tone as before. “I shall fight you, Erlend Nikulauss?n, you can bet the Devil on that, if you do not ask Kristin’s father for her hand within a reasonable time.”
“I won’t do it at your bidding, Simon Andress?n,” said Erlend angrily; crimson washed over his face again.
“No, do it to right the wrong you have done to so young a wife,” replied Simon, unperturbed. “That will be better for Kristin.”
Kristin screamed shrilly, tormented by Erlend’s pain. She stamped on the floor.
“Go now, Simon, go! What right do you have to meddle in our affairs?”
“I have already told you,” replied Simon. “You’ll have to put up with me until your father has released us from each other.”
Kristin broke down completely.
“Go, go, I’ll come right away. Jesus, why are you tormenting me like this, Simon? You can’t think it’s worth it for you to worry about my affairs.”
“It’s not for your sake I’m doing this,” replied Simon. “Erlend, won’t you tell her that she has to come with me?”
Erlend’s face quivered. He touched her shoulder.
“You have to go now, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will talk about this some other time.”
Kristin rose obediently. She fastened her cloak around her. Her shoes stood next to the bed; she remembered them, but didn’t have the courage to put them on with Simon watching.
Outside the fog had descended again. Kristin rushed along with her head bowed and her hands clutching at her cloak. Her throat was bursting with suppressed sobs; wildly she wished that there was some place she could go to be alone, to weep and weep. The worst, the very worst she still had ahead of her. She had experienced something new that night, and now she was writhing from it—how it felt to see the man she had given herself to humiliated.
Simon was at her elbow as she dashed through the narrow alleys and across the streets and the open squares where the buildings had vanished; they could see nothing but the fog. Once, when she stumbled over something, he gripped her arm and stopped her from falling.
“Don’t run so fast,” he said. “People are staring at us. How you’re trembling,” he said in a gentler tone. Kristin was silent and kept walking.
She slipped on the muck of the road, she was soaking wet, and her feet were ice cold. The hose she wore were made of leather, but quite thin; she could feel them starting to split open, and the mud seeped in to her naked feet.