Kristin Lavransdatter Part 31

At times she would lie there thinking about food for all these women. She fervently wanted them to see that she kept good order in her house. She had asked Torbjrg, the cook, to put whey in the water for boiling the fresh fish. If only Gunnulf wouldn't regard this as breaking the fast. Sira Eirik had said that it wasn't, for whey was not milk, and the fish broth would be thrown out. They mustn't be allowed to taste the dried fish that Erlend had brought home in the fall, spoiled and full of mites that it was.

Blessed Virgin Mary-will it be long before you help me? Oh, how it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. . . .

She was trying to hold out a little longer, before she gave in and screamed.

Audfinna sat next to the hearth and tended the pots of water. Kristin wished that she dared ask her to come over and hold her hand. There was nothing she wouldn't give to hold on to a familiar and kind hand right now. But she was ashamed to ask for it.

The next morning a bewildered silence hovered over Husaby. It was the day before the Feast of the Annunciation and the farm work was supposed to be finished by mid-afternoon prayers, but the men were distracted and somber, and the frightened maids were careless with their ch.o.r.es. The servants had grown fond of their young mistress, and it was said that things were not going well for her.

Erlend stood outside in the courtyard, talking to his smith. He tried to keep his thoughts on what the man was saying. Then Fru Gunna came rushing over to him.

"There's no progress with your wife, Erlend-we've tried everything we know. You must come. It might help if she sits on your lap. Go in and change into a short tunic. But be quick; she's suffering greatly, your poor young wife!"

Erlend had turned blood-red. He remembered he had heard that if a woman was having trouble delivering a child she had conceived in secrecy, then it might help if she were placed on her husband's knee.

Kristin was lying on the floor under several blankets; two women were sitting with her. The moment that Erlend came in, he saw her body convulse and she buried her head in the lap of one of the women, rocking it from side to side. But she didn't utter a single whimper.

When the pain had pa.s.sed, she looked up with wild, frightened eyes, her cracked, brown lips gasping. All trace of youth and beauty had vanished from the swollen, flushed red face. Even her hair was matted together with bits of straw and wool from the fur of a filthy hide. She looked at Erlend as if she didn't immediately recognize him. But when she realized why the women had sent for him, she shook her head vigorously.

"It's not the custom where I come from . . . for men to be present when a woman is giving birth."

"It's sometimes done here in the north," said Erlend quietly. "If it can lessen the pain a little for you, my Kristin, then you must-"

"Oh!" When he knelt beside her she threw her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him. Hunched over and shaking, she fought her way through the pain without a murmur.

"May I have a few words with my husband alone?" she said when it was over, her breathing rapid and harsh. The women withdrew.

"Was it when she was suffering the agony of childbirth that you promised her what she told me-that you would marry her when she was widowed . . . that night when Orm was born?" whispered Kristin.

Erlend gasped for air, as if he had been struck deep in the heart. Then he vehemently shook his head.

"I was at the castle that night; my men and I had guard duty. It was when I came back to our hostel in the morning and they put the boy in my arms. . . . Have you been lying here thinking about this, Kristin?"

"Yes." Again she clung to him as the waves of pain washed over her. Erlend wiped away the sweat that poured down her face.

"Now you know," he said, when she lay quiet once more. "Don't you want me to stay with you, as Fru Gunna says?"

But Kristin shook her head. And finally the women had to let Erlend go.

But then it seemed as if her power to endure was broken. She screamed in wild terror of the pain that she could feel approaching, and begged pitifully for help. And yet when the women talked of bringing her husband back, she screamed "No!" She would rather be tortured to death.

Gunnulf and the cleric who was with him walked over to the church to attend evensong. Everyone on the estate went along who was not tending to the woman giving birth. But Erlend slipped out of the church before the service was over and walked south toward the buildings.

In the west, above the ridges on the other side of the valley, the sky was a yellowish-red. The twilight of the spring evening was about to descend, clear and bright and mild. A few stars appeared, white in the light sky. A little wisp of fog drifted over the bare woods down by the lake, and there were brown patches where the fields lay open to the sun. The smell of earth and thawing snow filled the air.

The little house was at the westernmost edge of the courtyard, facing the hollow of the valley. Erlend went over and stood for a moment behind the wall. The timbers were still warm from the sun as he leaned against them. Oh, how she screamed. . . . He had once heard a heifer shrieking in the grip of a bear -that was up at their mountain pasture, and he was only a half-grown boy. He and Arnbjrn, the shepherd boy, were running south through the forest. He remembered the s.h.a.ggy creature that stood up and became a bear with a red, fiery maw. The bear broke Arnbjrn's spear in half with its paw. Then the servant threw Erlend's spear, as he stood there paralyzed with terror. The heifer lay there still alive, but its udder and thigh had been gnawed away.

My Kristin, oh, my Kristin. Lord, for the sake of Your blessed Mother, have mercy. He rushed back to the church.

The maids came into the hall with the evening meal. They didn't set up the table, but placed the food near the hearth. The men took bread and fish over to the benches, sat down in their places, not speaking and eating little; no one seemed to have an appet.i.te. No one came to clear away the dishes after the meal, and none of the men got up to go to bed. They stayed sitting there, staring into the hearth fire, without talking.

Erlend had hidden himself in a corner near the bed; he couldn't bear to have anyone see his face.

Master Gunnulf had lit a small oil lamp and set it on the arm of the high seat. He sat on the bench with a book in his hands, his lips moving gently, soundless and unceasing.

At one point Ulf Haldorssn stood up, walked forward to the hearth, and picked up a piece of soft bread; he rummaged around among the pieces of firewood and selected one. Then he went over to the corner near the doorway where old man Aan was sitting. The two of them fiddled with the bread, hidden behind Ulf's cape. Aan whittled and cut the piece of wood. The men cast a glance in their direction now and then. In a little while Ulf and Aan got up and left the hall.

Gunnulf watched them go, but said nothing. He took up his prayers once more.

Once a young boy toppled off the bench, falling to the floor in his sleep. He got up and looked around in bewilderment. Then he sighed softly and sat down again.

Ulf Haldorssn and Aan quietly came back in and returned to the places where they had sat before. The men looked at them, but no one said a word.

Suddenly Erlend jumped up. He strode across the floor toward his servants. He was hollow-eyed, and his face was as gray as clay.

"Doesn't anyone know what to do?" he asked. "You, Aan," he whispered.

"It didn't help," replied Ulf, his voice equally quiet.

"It could be that she's not meant to keep this child," said Aan, wiping his nose. "Then neither sacrifices nor runes can help. It's a shame for you, Erlend, that you should lose this good wife so soon."

"Oh, don't talk as if she were already dead," implored Erlend, broken and in despair. He went back to his corner and threw himself down on the enclosed bed with his head near the footboard.

Later a man went outside and then came back in.

"The moon is up," he said. "It will soon be morning."

A few minutes later Fru Gunna came into the hall. She sank down onto the beggar's bench near the door. Her gray hair was disheveled, her wimple had slid back onto her shoulders.

The men stood up and slowly moved over to her.

"One of you must come and hold her," she said, weeping. "We have no more strength. You must go to her, Gunnulf. There's no telling how this will end."

Gunnulf stood up and tucked his prayer book inside his belt pouch.

"You must come too, Erlend," said the woman.

A raw and broken howl met him in the doorway. Erlend stopped and shivered. He caught a glimpse of Kristin's contorted, unrecognizable face among the sobbing women. She was on her knees, and they were supporting her.

Over by the door several servant women were kneeling at the benches; they were praying loudly and steadily. He threw himself down next to them and hid his head in his arms. She screamed and screamed, and each time he felt himself freeze with incredulous horror. It couldn't possibly be like this.

He ventured a glance in her direction. Now Gunnulf was sitting on a stool in front of her and holding her under the arms. Fru Gunna was kneeling at her side, with her arms around Kristin's waist, but Kristin was fighting her, frightened to death, and trying to push the other woman away.

"Oh no, oh no, let me go-I can't do it-G.o.d, G.o.d, help me . . ."

"G.o.d will help you soon, Kristin," said the priest each time. A woman held a basin of water, and after each wave of pain he would take a wet cloth and wipe the sick woman's face-along the roots of her hair and in between her lips, from which saliva was dripping.

Then she would rest her head in Gunnulf's arms and doze off for a moment, but the torment would instantly tear her out of her sleep again. And the priest continued to say, "Now, Kristin, you will have help soon."

No one had any idea what time of night it was anymore. The dawn was already a gray glare in the smoke vent.

Then, after a long, mad howl of terror, everything fell silent. Erlend heard the women rushing around; he didn't want to look up. Then he heard someone weeping loudly and he cringed again, not wanting to know.

Then Kristin shrieked once more-a piercing, wild cry of lament that didn't sound like the insane, inhuman animal cries of before. Erlend leaped up.

Gunnulf was bending down and holding on to Kristin, who was still on her knees. She was staring with deathly horror at something that Fru Gunna was holding in a sheepskin. The raw and dark red shape looked like nothing more than the entrails from a slaughtered beast.

The priest pulled her close.

"Dear Kristin-you have given birth to as fine and handsome a son as any mother should thank G.o.d for-and he's breathing!" said Gunnulf fiercely to the weeping women. "He's breathing-G.o.d would not be so harsh as not to hear us."

And as the priest spoke, it happened. Through the exhausted, confused mind of the mother tumbled, hazily recalled, the sight of a bud she had seen in the cloister garden-something from which red, crinkled wisps of silk emerged and spread out to become a flower.

The shapeless lump moved-it whimpered. It stretched out and became a very tiny, wine-red infant in human form. It had arms and legs and hands and feet with fully formed fingers and toes. It flailed and hissed a bit.

"So tiny, so tiny, so tiny he is," she cried in a thin, broken voice and then burst into laughing sobs. The women around her began to laugh and wipe their tears, and Gunnulf gave Kristin into their arms.

"Roll him in a trencher so he can scream better," said the priest as he followed the women carrying the newborn son over to the hearth.

When Kristin awoke from a long faint, she was lying in bed. Someone had removed the dreadful, sweat-soaked garments, and a feeling of warmth and healing was blessedly streaming through her body. They had placed small pouches of warm nettle porridge on her and wrapped her in hot blankets and furs.

Someone hushed her when she tried to speak. It was quite still in the room. But through the silence came a voice that she couldn't quite recognize.

"Nikulaus, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost . . ."

There was the sound of water trickling.

Kristin propped herself up on her elbow to take a look. Over by the hearth stood a priest in white garb, and Ulf Haldorssn was lifting a kicking, red, naked child out of the large bra.s.s basin; he handed him to the G.o.dmother, and then took the lit taper.

She had given birth to a child, and he was screaming so loudly that the priest's words were almost drowned out. But she was so tired. She felt numb and wanted to sleep.

Then she heard Erlend's voice; he spoke quickly and with alarm.

"His head-he has such a strange head."

"He's swollen up," said the woman calmly. "And it's no wonder-he had to fight hard for his life, this boy."

Kristin shouted something. She felt as if she were suddenly awake, to the very depths of her heart. This was her son, and he had fought for his life, just as she had.

Gunnulf turned around at once and laughed; he seized the tiny white bundle from Fru Gunna's lap and carried it over to the bed. He placed the boy in his mother's arms. Weak with tenderness and joy she rubbed her face against the little bit of red, silky-soft face visible among the linen wrappings.

She glanced up at Erlend. Once before she had seen his face look this haggard and gray-she couldn't remember when, her head felt so dizzy and strange, but she knew that it was good she had no memory of it. And it was good to see him standing there with his brother; the priest had his hand on Erlend's shoulder. An immeasurable sense of peace and well-being came over her as she looked at the tall man wearing alb and stole; the round, lean face beneath the black fringe of hair was strong, but his smile was pleasant and kind.

Erlend drove his dagger deep into the wall timber behind the mother and child.

"That's not necessary now," said the priest with a laugh. "The boy has been baptized, after all."

Kristin suddenly remembered something that Brother Edvin once said. A newly baptized child was just as holy as the holy angels in heaven. The sins of the parents were washed from the child, and he had not yet committed any sins of his own. Fearful and cautious, she kissed the little face.

Fru Gunna came over to them. She was worn out and exhausted and angry at the father, who had not had the sense to offer a single word of thanks to all the women who had helped. And the priest had taken the child from her and carried him over to his mother. She should have done that, both because she had delivered the woman and because she was the G.o.dmother of the boy.

"You haven't yet greeted your son, Erlend, or held him in your arms," she said crossly.

Erlend lifted the swaddled infant from the mother's arms-for a moment he lay his face close.

"I don't think I'm going to be properly fond of you, Naakkve, until I forget what terrible suffering you caused your mother," he said, and then gave the boy back to Kristin.

"By all means give him the blame for that," said the old woman, annoyed. Master Gunnulf laughed, and then Fru Gunna laughed with him. She wanted to take the child and put him in his cradle, but Kristin begged to keep him with her for a while. A moment later she fell asleep with her son beside her-vaguely noticing that Erlend touched her, cautiously, as if he were afraid to hurt her, and then she was sound asleep again.

CHAPTER 5.

IN THE MORNING of the tenth day after the child's birth, Master Gunnulf said to his brother when they were alone in the hall, "It's about time now, Erlend, for you to send word to your wife's kinsmen about how things are with her."

"I don't think there's any haste with that," replied Erlend. "I doubt they will be overly glad at Jrundgaard when they hear that there's already a son here on the manor."

"Don't you think Kristin's mother would have realized last fall that her daughter was unwell?" Gunnulf asked. "She must be worried by now."

Erlend didn't say a word in reply.

But later in the day, as Gunnulf was sitting in the little house and talking to Kristin, Erlend came in. He was wearing a fur cap on his head, a short, thick homespun coat, long pants, and furry boots. He bent down to his wife and patted her cheek.

"So, dear Kristin-do you have any greetings you wish to send to Jrundgaard? I'm heading there now to bring word of our son."