Kristin Lavransdatter Part 6

"Oh, tomorrow you won't be so stupid," said Bentein, tripping her with his leg so that she fell to her knees in the mud of the road. Then he pressed his hand over her mouth.

And yet Kristin still did not think to scream. Now she finally realized what he intended to do to her, but rage overcame her with such fury and violence that she hardly felt any fear. She snarled like an animal in battle and fought against this man who was holding her down so that the ice-cold snow water soaked through her clothing and reached her burning hot flesh.

"Tomorrow you'll know enough to keep quiet," said Bentein. "And if it can't be concealed, you can always blame Arne; people will sooner believe that. . . ."

He had put a finger in her mouth, so she bit him with all her might, and Bentein screamed and loosened his grip. As quick as lightning Kristin pulled one hand free and shoved it into his face, pressing her thumb as hard as she could into his eye. He bellowed and got up on one knee. She wriggled free like a cat, pushed the priest so that he fell onto his back, and then ran off down the road as the mud spurted up behind her with every step.

She ran and ran without looking back. She heard Bentein coming after her, and she raced off with her heart pounding in her throat, as she moaned softly and peered ahead-would she never reach Laugarbru? At last Kristin came to the part of the road where it pa.s.sed through the fields. She saw buildings cl.u.s.tered on the hillside, and suddenly realized that she didn't dare go to her mother-not the way she looked, covered with mud and withered leaves from head to toe, her clothing torn.

She could feel Bentein coming closer. She bent down and picked up two big rocks, and when he was near enough she threw them; one of them struck him so hard that it knocked him down. Then she started running again and didn't stop until she stood on the bridge.

Trembling, she stood there holding on to the railing; everything went black and she was afraid that she would sink into unconsciousness-but then she thought about Bentein. What if he came and found her like that? Shaking with shame and bitterness, she kept on going, but her legs could hardly bear her, and now she felt how her face stung from the scratches of his fingernails, and she had hurt both her back and her arms. Tears came, hot as fire.

She wished Bentein would be dead from the rock she had thrown; she wished she had gone back and put an end to him, that she had taken out her knife, but she noticed that she must have lost it.

Then she realized again that she dared not be seen like this at home; it occurred to her that she could go to Romundgaard. She would complain to Sira Eirik.

But the priest had not yet returned from Jrundgaard. In the cookhouse she found Gunhild, Bentein's mother. The woman was alone, and then Kristin told her how her son had behaved toward her. But she didn't mention that she had gone out to meet Arne. When she realized that Gunhild thought she had been at Laugarbru, she didn't dissuade her.

Gunhild said very little but cried a great deal as she washed Kristin's clothing and mended the worst rips. And the young girl was so distressed that she didn't notice the glances Gunhild cast at her in secret.

As Kristin was leaving, Gunhild put on her own cloak and followed her out the door, but then headed toward the stable. Kristin asked her where she was going.

"Surely I should be allowed to ride over and tend to my son," said the woman, "to see if you've killed him with that rock or what's happened to him."

Kristin had nothing to say in reply, so she simply told Gunhild to make sure that Bentein left the village as soon as possible; she never wanted to lay eyes on him again. "Or I'll speak of this to Lavrans, and then you can well imagine what will happen."

Bentein headed south hardly more than a week later; he carried letters to the Bishop of Hamar from Sira Eirik, asking the bishop if he could find some occupation for Bentein or give him some a.s.sistance.

CHAPTER 7.

ONE DAY during the Christmas season, Simon Andressn arrived at Jrundgaard on horseback, quite unexpected. He apologized for coming in this manner, uninvited and alone, without kinsmen, but Sir Andres was in Sweden on business for the king. He himself had been at home at Dyfrin for some time, but there he had only the company of his younger sisters and his mother, who was ill in bed, and the days had grown so dreary for him; he suddenly felt such an urge to come and see them.

Ragnfrid and Lavrans thanked him warmly for making the long journey at the height of winter. The more they saw of Simon, the more they liked him. He was well acquainted with everything that had been agreed upon between Andres and Lavrans, and it was now decided that the betrothal ale for the young couple would be celebrated before the beginning of Lent, if Sir Andres returned home before then-otherwise, at Easter.

Kristin was quiet and shy when she was with her betrothed; she found little to talk about with him. One evening when everyone had been sitting and drinking, Simon asked her to go outside with him to get some fresh air. As they stood on the gallery in front of the loft room, he put his arm around her waist and kissed her. After that, he did it often whenever they were alone. She wasn't pleased by this, but she allowed him to do it because she knew there was no escape from the betrothal. Now she thought of her marriage as something she had to do, but not something that she looked forward to. And yet she liked Simon well enough, especially when he was talking to the others and did not touch her or speak to her.

She had been so unhappy the entire autumn. It did no good to tell herself that Bentein had done her no harm; she felt herself defiled just the same.

Nothing could be as it had been before, now that a man had dared to do such a thing to her. She lay awake at night, burning with shame, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. She remembered Bentein's body against hers when she fought with him, and his hot ale-breath. She was forced to think about what might have happened, and she was reminded, as a shudder rippled through her flesh, of what he had said: that if it could not be concealed, then Arne would be blamed. Images raced through her head of everything that would have followed if she had ended up in such misfortune and then people had found out about her meeting with Arne. And what if her mother and father had believed such a thing of Arne? And Arne himself . . . She saw him as he had looked on that last evening, and she felt as if she were sinking down before him in shame simply because she might might have dragged him down along with her into sorrow and disgrace. And her dreams were so vile. She had heard about the desires and temptations of the flesh in church and in the Holy Scriptures, but it had meant nothing to her. Now it had become clear that she herself and everyone else had a sinful, fleshly body encompa.s.sing the soul, biting into it with harsh bands. have dragged him down along with her into sorrow and disgrace. And her dreams were so vile. She had heard about the desires and temptations of the flesh in church and in the Holy Scriptures, but it had meant nothing to her. Now it had become clear that she herself and everyone else had a sinful, fleshly body encompa.s.sing the soul, biting into it with harsh bands.

Then she imagined how she might have killed Bentein or blinded him. That was the only consolation she could find-to indulge in dreams of revenge against that hideous dark figure who was always haunting her thoughts. But it never helped for long; she would lie next to Ulvhild at night and weep about everything that had been visited upon her by violence. In her mind, Bentein had managed to breach her maidenhood all the same.

On the first workday after the Christmas season, all the women of Jrundgaard were busy in the cookhouse. Ragnfrid and Kristin had also spent most of the day there. Late in the evening, while some of the women were cleaning up after the baking and others were preparing the evening meal, the milkmaid came rushing in, screaming as she threw up her hands.

"Jesus, Jesus-has anyone ever heard more dreadful news! They're carrying Arne Gyrdsn home in a sleigh-G.o.d help Gyrd and Inga in their misery."

In came a man who lived in a house a short way down the road, and with him was Halvdan. They were the ones who had met the funeral procession.

The women crowded around them. On the very outskirts of the circle stood Kristin, pale and trembling. Halvdan, Lavrans's own servant who had known Arne since he was a boy, sobbed loudly as he spoke.

It was Bentein Prestesn who had killed Arne. On New Year's Eve the bishop's men were sitting in the men's house drinking, when Bentein came in. He had become a scribe for a priest, a Corpus Christi prebendary.1 At first the men didn't want to let Bentein in, but he reminded Arne that they were from the same village. So Arne allowed him to sit with him, and they both began to drink. But then they came to blows, and Arne fought so fiercely that Bentein seized a knife from the table and stabbed Arne in the throat and then several times in the chest. Arne died almost at once. At first the men didn't want to let Bentein in, but he reminded Arne that they were from the same village. So Arne allowed him to sit with him, and they both began to drink. But then they came to blows, and Arne fought so fiercely that Bentein seized a knife from the table and stabbed Arne in the throat and then several times in the chest. Arne died almost at once.

The bishop took this misfortune greatly to heart; he personally saw to it that the body was properly tended to, and he had his own men accompany it on the long journey home. He had Bentein thrown in irons and excommunicated from the Church, and if he had not already been hanged, then he soon would be.

Halvdan had to tell the story several times as more people crowded into the room. Lavrans and Simon also came over to the cookhouse when they noticed all the noise and commotion in the courtyard. Lavrans was much distressed; he ordered his horse to be saddled, for he wanted to ride over to Brekken at once. As he was about to leave, his eyes fell on Kristin's white face.

"Perhaps you would like to go with me?" he asked. Kristin hesitated for a moment, shuddering, but then she nodded, for she didn't dare utter a word.

"Isn't it too cold for her?" said Ragnfrid. "Tomorrow they will hold the wake, and then we'll all go."

Lavrans looked at his wife; he also glanced at Simon's face, and then he went over and put his arm around Kristin's shoulder.

"You must remember that she's his foster sister," he said. "Perhaps she would like to help Inga attend to the body."

And even though Kristin's heart was gripped with fear and despair, she felt a warm surge of grat.i.tude toward her father for his words.

Then Ragnfrid wanted them to eat the evening porridge before they left, if Kristin would be going along. She also wanted to send gifts to Inga-a new linen sheet, candles, and freshly baked bread. She asked them to tell Inga that she would come to help them prepare for the burial.

Little was eaten but much was said in the room while the food stood on the table. One person reminded the other about the trials that G.o.d had visited upon Gyrd and Inga. Their farm had been destroyed by a rock slide and flood, and many of their older children had died, so all of Arne's siblings were still quite young. But fortune had been with them for several years now, ever since the bishop had appointed Gyrd of Finsbrekken as his envoy, and the children they had been blessed to keep were good-looking and full of promise. But Inga had loved Arne more dearly than all the rest.

People felt sorry for Sira Eirik too. The priest was loved and respected, and the people in the village were proud of him; he was well educated and capable, and in all his years with the Church he had not missed a single holy day or ma.s.s or service that he was obliged to observe. In his youth he had been a soldier under Count Alv of Tornberg, but he had brought trouble on himself by killing a man of exceedingly high birth, and so he had turned to the Bishop of Oslo. When the bishop realized how quick Eirik was to acquire book learning, he had accepted him into the priesthood. And if not for the fact that he still had enemies because of that killing in the past, Sira Eirik would probably never have stayed at that little church. It's true that he was quite avaricious, both for his own purse and for his church. But the church was, after all, quite attractively furnished with vessels and draperies and books, and he did have those children-but he had never had anything but trouble and sorrow from his family. In the countryside people thought it unreasonable to expect priests to live like monks, since they had to have women servants on their farms and might well be in need of a woman to look after things for them when they had to make such long and arduous journeys through the parish in all kinds of weather. People also remembered that it was not so long ago that priests in Norway had been married men. So no one blamed Sira Eirik for having three children by the housekeeper who was with him when he was young. On this evening, however, they said that it looked as if G.o.d wanted to punish Eirik for taking a mistress, since his children and grandchildren had caused him so much grief. And some people said that there was good reason for priests not to have wives or children-for enmity and indignation were bound to arise between the priest and the people of Finsbrekken. Until now they had been the best of friends.

Simon Andressn was quite familiar with Bentein's conduct in Oslo, and he told the others about it. Bentein had become a scribe for the provost of the Maria Church and was considered a clever fellow. And there were plenty of women who were quite fond of him; he had those eyes and a quick tongue. Some thought him a handsome man-mostly women who felt they had been cheated by their husbands, or young maidens who enjoyed having men act freely toward them. Simon laughed; they knew what he meant, didn't they? Well, Bentein was so shrewd that he didn't get too close to those kinds of women; with them he exchanged only words, and he won a reputation for leading a pure life.

It so happened that King Haakon, who was a pious and decent man himself, wanted his men to maintain disciplined and proper behavior-at least the younger men. The others he had little control over. But the king's priest always heard about whatever pranks the young men managed to sneak out and take part in-drunken feasts, gambling, ale-drinking, and the like. And then the rascals had to confess and repent, and they received harsh punishment; yes, two or three of the wildest boys were even sent away. But at last it came to light that it was that fox, Bentein secretarius secretarius, who had been secretly frequenting all of the ale houses and establishments that were even worse; he had actually listened to the confessions of wh.o.r.es and had given them absolution.

Kristin was sitting next to her mother. She tried to eat so that no one would notice how things stood with her, but her hand shook so badly that she spilled some of the porridge with every spoonful, and her tongue felt so thick and dry in her mouth that she could hardly swallow the bread. But when Simon began to talk about Bentein she had to give up all pretense of eating. She gripped the edge of the bench with her hands; terror and loathing took such a hold on her that she felt dizzy and filled with nausea. He was the one who had tried to . . . Bentein and Arne, Bentein and Arne . . . Sick with impatience she waited for the others to finish. She longed to see Arne, Arne's handsome face, to fall to her knees and grieve, forgetting everything else.

When Ragnfrid helped Kristin into her outer garments, she kissed her daughter on the cheek. Kristin was unaccustomed to receiving any kind of caress from her mother, and it felt so good. She rested her head on Ragnfrid's shoulder for a moment, but she could not cry.

When she came out to the courtyard, she saw that there were more people coming with them-Halvdan, Jon of Laugarbru, and Simon and his servant. She felt unreasonably anguished that the two strangers would be going along.

It was a biting cold night; the snow creaked underfoot, and the stars glittered, as dense as frost, in the black sky. After they had gone a short distance, they heard howls and shouts and furious hoofbeats south of the meadows. A little farther along the road the whole pack of riders came storming up behind them and then raced on past. The sound of ringing metal and vapor from the steaming, frost-covered bodies of the horses rose up before Lavrans and his party as they moved out of the way into the snow. Halvdan shouted at the wild throng-it was the youths from the farms south of the village. They were still celebrating Christmas and were out trying their horses. Those who were too drunk to take notice raced on ahead, thundering and bellowing as they hammered on their shields. But a few of them understood the news that Halvdan had yelled after them; they dropped away from the group, fell silent, and joined Lavrans's party as they whispered to the men in the back of the procession.

They continued on until they could see Finsbrekken on the slope alongside the Sil River. There was a light between the buildings; in the middle of the courtyard the servants had set pine torches in a mound of snow, and the firelight gleamed red across the white hillock, but the dark houses looked as if they were streaked with clotted blood. One of Arne's little sisters was standing outside, stamping her feet, with her arms crossed under her cloak. Kristin kissed the tear-stained face of the freezing child. Her heart was as heavy as stone, and she felt as if there was lead in her limbs as she climbed the stairs to the loft where they had laid him out.

The sound of hymns and the radiance of many lighted candles filled the doorway. In the center of the loft stood the coffin Arne had been brought home in, covered with a sheet. Boards had been placed over trestles and the coffin had been lifted on top. At its head stood a young priest with a book in his hands, singing. All around him people were kneeling with their faces hidden in their thick capes.

Lavrans lit his candle from one of the candles in the room, set it firmly on the board of the bier, and knelt down. Kristin was about to do the same, but she couldn't get her candle to stand; then Simon stepped over to help her. As long as the priest prayed, everyone remained on their knees, repeating his words in a whisper, so that the steam hovered around their mouths. It was ice-cold in the loft.

When the priest closed his book, the people rose; many had already gathered in the death chamber. Lavrans went over to Inga. She was staring at Kristin and seemed not to hear Lavrans's words; she stood there with the gifts he had given her, holding them as if unaware that she had anything in her hands.

"So you have come too, Kristin," she said in an odd, strained tone of voice. "Perhaps you would like to see my son, the way he has come back to me?"

She moved a few candles aside, grabbed Kristin's arm with a trembling hand, and with the other she tore the cloth from the dead man's face.

It was grayish-yellow like mud, and his lips were the color of lead; they were slightly parted so that the even, narrow, bone-white teeth seemed to offer a mocking smile. Beneath the long eyelashes could be seen a glimpse of his glazed eyes, and there were several bluish-black spots high on his cheeks that were either bruises from the fight or the marks of a corpse.

"Perhaps you would like to kiss him?" asked Inga in the same tone of voice, and Kristin obediently leaned forward and pressed her lips to the dead man's cheek. It was clammy, as if from dew, and she thought she could faintly smell the stench of the corpse; he had no doubt begun to thaw out in the heat from all the candles.

Kristin remained leaning there, with her hands on the bier, for she did not have the strength to stand up. Inga pulled aside more of the shroud so the gash from the knife wound across his collar-bone was visible.

Then she turned to the people and said in a quavering voice, "I see that it's a lie, what people say, that a dead man's wounds will bleed if he's touched by the one who caused his death. He's colder now, my boy, and not as handsome as when you last met him down on the road. You don't care to kiss him now, I see-but I've heard that you didn't refuse his lips back then."

"Inga," said Lavrans, stepping forward, "have you lost your senses? What are you saying?"

"Oh, you're all so grand over there at Jrundgaard-you were much too rich a man, Lavrans Bjrgulfsn, for my son to dare court your daughter with honor. And no doubt Kristin thought she was too good for him too. But she wasn't too good to run after him on the road at night and dally with him in the thickets on the evening he left. Ask her yourself and we'll see if she dares to deny it, as Arne lies here dead-she who has brought this upon us with her loose ways. . . ."

Lavrans did not ask the question; instead he turned to Gyrd.

"You must rein in your wife-she has taken leave of her senses."

But Kristin raised her pale face and looked around in despair.

"I did go out to meet Arne on that last evening, because he asked me to do so. But nothing happened between us that was not proper." And as she seemed to pull herself together and fully realize what was implied, she shouted loudly, "I don't know what you mean, Inga. Are you defaming Arne as he lies here? Never did he try to entice or seduce me."

But Inga laughed loudly.

"Arne? No, not Arne. But Bentein didn't let you play with him that way. Ask Gunhild, Lavrans, who washed the filth off your daughter's back, and ask any man who was in the men's quarters at the bishop's citadel on New Year's Eve when Bentein ridiculed Arne for having let her go and then was made her fool. She let Bentein come under her fur as she walked home, and she tried to play the same game with him-"

Lavrans gripped Inga by the shoulder and pressed his hand against her mouth.

"Get her out of here, Gyrd. It's shameful that you should talk this way before the body of this good boy. But even if all of your children lay here dead, I would not stand and listen to your lies about mine. And you, Gyrd, will have to answer for what this demented woman is saying."

Gyrd took hold of his wife to lead her away, but he said to Lavrans, "It's true that Arne and Bentein were talking about Kristin when my son lost his life. It's understandable that you may not have heard it, but there has been talk here in the village this fall. . . ."

Simon slammed his sword into the nearest clothes chest.

"No, good folks, now you will have to find something other than my betrothed to talk about in this death chamber. Priest, can't you harness these people so that everything proceeds according to custom?"

The priest-Kristin now saw that he was the youngest son from Ulvsvold who had been home for Christmas-opened his book and took up his position next to the bier. But Lavrans shouted that those who had spoken of his daughter, whoever they might be, would have to eat their words.

And then Inga screamed, "Go ahead and take my life, Lavrans, just as she has taken all my solace and joy-and celebrate her marriage to this son of a knight, and yet everyone will know that she was married to Bentein on the road. Here-" And she threw the sheet that Lavrans had given her across the bier to Kristin. "I don't need Ragnfrid's linen to wrap around Arne for burial. Make yourself a kerchief out of it, or keep it to swaddle your wayside b.a.s.t.a.r.d-and go over to help Gunhild mourn for the hanged man."

Lavrans, Gyrd, and the priest all seized hold of Inga. Simon tried to lift up Kristin, who was lying across the bier. But she vehemently shook off his hand, and then, still on her knees, she straightened up and shouted loudly, "May G.o.d my Savior help me, that is a lie!"

She put out her hand and held it over the nearest candle on the bier.

It looked as if the flame wavered and moved aside. Kristin felt everyone's eyes upon her-for a very long time, it seemed. Then she suddenly noticed a searing pain in her palm, and with a piercing shriek she collapsed onto the floor.

She thought she had fainted, but she could feel Simon and the priest lifting her up. Inga screamed something. She saw her father's horrified face and heard the priest shout that no one should consider it a true trial-this was not the way to ask G.o.d to bear witness-and then Simon carried Kristin out of the loft and down the stairs. Simon's servant ran to the stable and a moment later Kristin, still only half conscious, was sitting on the front of Simon's saddle, wrapped in his cape, as he rode down toward the village as fast as his horse could carry them.

They had almost reached Jrundgaard when Lavrans overtook them. The rest of their entourage came thundering along the road far behind.

"Say nothing to your mother," said Simon as he set Kristin down next to the door. "We've heard far too much senseless talk tonight; it's no wonder that you fainted in the end."

Ragnfrid was lying awake when they came in and she asked how things had gone at the vigil. Simon spoke for all of them. Yes, there were many candles and many people. Yes, a priest was there-Tormod of Ulvsvold. Of Sira Eirik, he heard that he had ridden south to Hamar that very evening, so they would avoid any difficulty at the burial.

"We must have a ma.s.s said for the boy," said Ragnfrid. "May G.o.d give Inga strength. She has been sorely tried, that good, capable woman."

Lavrans fell in with the tone that Simon had set, and in a little while Simon said that now they must all go to bed-"For Kristin is both tired and sad."

Some time later, when Ragnfrid had fallen asleep, Lavrans threw on some clothes and went over to sit on the edge of the bed where his daughters were sleeping. In the dark he found Kristin's hand, and then he said gently, "Now you must tell me, child, what is true and what is a lie in all this talk that Inga is spouting."

Sobbing, Kristin told him of everything that had happened on the evening that Arne left for Hamar. Lavrans said little. Then Kristin crawled forward on the bed and threw her arms around his neck, whimpering softly.

"I am to blame for Arne's death-it's true what Inga said. . . ."

"Arne himself asked you to come and meet him," said Lavrans, pulling the covers up around his daughter's bare shoulders. "It was thoughtless of me to allow the two of you to spend so much time together, but I thought the boy had better sense. I won't blame the two of you; I can see that these things are heavy for you to bear. And yet I never imagined that any of my daughters would fall into ill repute here in our village. It will be painful for your mother when she hears this news. But you went to Gunhild instead of coming to me-that was so unwise that I can't understand how you could act so foolishly."

"I don't want to stay here in the village any longer," wept Kristin. "I don't dare look a single person in the eye. And all the sorrow I have caused those at Romundgaard and at Finsbrekken . . ."

"Yes," said Lavrans, "they will have to make sure, both Gyrd and Sira Eirik, that these lies about you are put in the ground along with Arne. Otherwise it is Simon Andressn who can best defend you in this matter." And he patted her in the dark. "Don't you think he handled things well and with good sense?"

"Father," Kristin begged, fearful and fervent, as she clung to him, "send me to the cloister, Father. Yes, listen to me-I've thought about this for a long time. Maybe Ulvhild will get well if I go in her place. Do you remember the shoes that I sewed for her this autumn, the ones with pearls on them? I p.r.i.c.ked my fingers so badly, I bled from the sharp gold thread. I sat and sewed those shoes because I thought it was wrong that I didn't love my sister enough to become a nun and help her. Arne asked me about that once. If I had said yes back then, none of this would have happened."

Lavrans shook his head.