Kristin Lavransdatter Part 7

"Lie down now," he told her. "You don't know what you're saying, my poor child. Now you must try to sleep."

But Kristin lay there, feeling the pain in her burned hand; bitterness and despair over her fate raged in her heart. Things could not have gone worse for her if she had been the most sinful of women; everyone would believe . . . No, she couldn't, she couldn't stand to stay here in the village. Horror after horror appeared before her. When her mother found out about this . . . And now there was blood between them and their parish priest, hostility among all those around her who had been friends her whole life. But the most extreme and oppressive fears seized her whenever she thought of Simon-the way he had picked her up and carried her off and spoken for her at home and acted as if she were his property. Her father and mother had yielded to him as if she already belonged more to him than to them.

Then she remembered Arne's face, cold and hideous. She remembered that she had seen an open grave waiting for a body the last time she came out of church. The chopped-up lumps of earth lay on the snow, hard and cold and gray as iron-that was where she had brought Arne.

Suddenly she thought about a summer night many years before. She was standing on the loft gallery at Finsbrekken, the same loft where she had been struck down this evening. Arne was playing ball with some boys down in the courtyard, and the ball came sailing up to her on the gallery. She held it behind her back and refused to give it up when Arne came to retrieve it. Then he tried to take it from her by force, and they had fought over it on the gallery, then inside the loft among the chests. The leather sacks full of clothes that were hanging there knocked them on the head when they ran into them during the chase. They had fought and tumbled over that ball.

And now she finally seemed to realize that he was dead and gone, and that she would never see his brave, handsome face or feel his warm hands again. She had been so childish and heartless that it had never occurred to her how he would feel about losing her. She wept in despair and thought she deserved her own unhappiness. But then she started thinking again about everything that still awaited her, and she wept because she thought the punishment that would befall her was too severe.

Simon was the one who told Ragnfrid about what had happened at the vigil at Brekken the night before. He made no more of the matter than was necessary. But Kristin was so dazed from grief and a sleepless night that she felt a purely unreasonable bitterness toward him, because he could speak of it as if it were not so terrible after all. She also felt a great displeasure at the way her parents let Simon act as if he were the master of the house.

"So you don't think anything of it, Simon?" asked Ragnfrid anxiously.

"No," replied Simon. "And I don't think anyone else will either; they know you and her and they know this Bentein. But there's not much to talk about in this remote village; it's perfectly reasonable for people to help themselves to this juicy tidbit. Now we'll have to teach them that Kristin's reputation is too rich a diet for the peasants around here. But it's too bad that she was so frightened by his coa.r.s.eness that she didn't come to you at once, or go to Sira Eirik himself. I think that wh.o.r.ehouse priest would have gladly testified that he had meant no more than some innocent teasing if you had spoken to him, Lavrans."

Both parents agreed that Simon was right. But Kristin gave a shriek and stamped her foot.

"But he knocked me to the ground. I hardly know what he did to me. I was out of my senses; I no longer remember a thing. For all I know, it might be as Inga says. I haven't been well or happy for a single day since. . . ."

Ragnfrid gave a cry and pressed her hands together; Lavrans leaped to his feet. Even Simon's face changed expression; he gave Kristin a sharp look, went over to her, and put his hand under her chin. Then he laughed.

"G.o.d bless you, Kristin. You would have remembered it if he had done you any harm. It's no wonder she's been feeling melancholy and unwell since that unlucky evening when she was given such a fright-she who has never met with anything but kindness and goodwill before," he said to the others. "Anyone can see from her eyes, which bear no ill intent and would rather believe in good than evil, that she is a maiden and not a woman."

Kristin looked up into the small, steady eyes of her betrothed. She raised her arms halfway up; she wanted to place them around his neck.

Then Simon went on. "You mustn't think, Kristin, that you won't forget all about this. I don't intend for us to settle at Formo right away and never allow you to leave this valley. 'No one has the same color of hair or temperament in the rain as in the sun,' said old King Sverre when they accused his 'Birch-Leg' followers2 of growing arrogant with success." of growing arrogant with success."

Lavrans and Ragnfrid smiled. It amused them to hear the young man speak as if he were a wise old bishop.

Simon continued. "It would not be proper for me to admonish you, the man who is to be my father-in-law, but perhaps I might say this much: we were dealt with more strictly, my siblings and I. We were not allowed to move so freely among the servants as I see it is Kristin's custom. My mother used to say that if you play with the cottager's children, in the long run you'll end up with lice in your hair; and there is some truth to that."

Lavrans and Ragnfrid said nothing to this. But Kristin turned away, and the desire she had felt for a moment to put her arms around Simon Darre's neck had vanished completely.

Around midday Lavrans and Simon put on their skis and went off to tend to several traps up on the ridge. Outdoors it was now beautiful weather, sunny and not nearly as bitter cold. Both men were relieved to slip away from all the sorrow and tears at home, so they skied a great distance, all the way up to the bare rock.

They lay in the sun under a steep cliff and drank and ate. Then Lavrans talked a little about Arne; he had been very fond of the boy. Simon joined in, praising the dead man, and said that he didn't find it strange that Kristin should grieve for her foster brother. Then Lavrans mentioned that perhaps they should not pressure her so much, but give her a little more time to regain her composure before they celebrated the betrothal ale. She had said that she would like to go to a cloister for a while.

Simon sat up suddenly and gave a long whistle.

"You don't care for the idea?" asked Lavrans.

"Oh, yes, yes," replied the other man hastily. "This seems to be the best counsel, dear father-in-law. Send her to the sisters in Oslo for a year; then she'll learn how people talk about each other out in the world. I happen to know a little about several of the maidens who are there," he said and laughed. "They wouldn't lie down and die of grief over two mad boys tearing each other apart for their sake. Not that I would want such a maiden for my wife, but I don't think it would do Kristin any harm to meet some new people."

Lavrans put the rest of the food in the knapsack and said, without looking at the young man, "You are fond of Kristin, I think."

Simon laughed a little but did not look at Lavrans.

"You must know that I have great affection for her-and for you, as well," Simon said brusquely, and then he stood up and put on his skis. "I have never met any maiden I would rather marry."

Right before Easter, while it was still possible to drive a sleigh down the valley and across Lake Mjsa, Kristin made her second journey to the south. Simon came to escort her to the cloister. So this time she traveled with her father and her betrothed, sitting in the sleigh, wrapped in furs. And accompanying them were servants and sleighs full of her chests of clothing and gifts of food and furs for the abbess and the sisters of Nonneseter.

PART II.

THE WREATH.

CHAPTER 1.

EARLY ONE SUNDAY morning at the end of April, Aasmund Bjrg ulfsn's church boat glided past the point on the island of Hoved as the bells rang in the cloister church, and bells from the town chimed their reply out across the bay, sounding louder, then fainter as the wind carried the notes.

The sky was clear and pale blue, with light fluted clouds drifting across it, and the sun was glinting restlessly on the rippling water. It seemed quite springlike along the sh.o.r.e; the fields were almost bare of snow, and there were bluish shadows and a yellowish sheen on the leafy thickets. But snow was visible in the spruce forest atop the ridges framing the settlements of Aker, and to the west, on the distant blue mountains beyond the fjord, many streaks of white still gleamed.

Kristin was standing in the bow of the boat with her father and Gyrid, Aasmund's wife. She turned her gaze toward the town, with all of its light-colored churches and stone buildings rising up above the mult.i.tudes of grayish-brown wooden houses and the bare crowns of the trees. The wind ruffled the edges of her cloak and tousled her hair beneath her hood.

They had let the livestock out to pasture at Skog the day before, and Kristin had suddenly felt such a homesickness for Jrundgaard. It would be a long time before they could let out the cattle back home. She felt a tender and sympathetic longing for the winter-gaunt cattle in the dark stalls; they would have to wait and endure for many days yet. She missed everyone so-her mother, Ulvhild, who had slept in her arms every night for all these years, little Ramborg. She longed for all the people back home and for the horses and dogs; for Kortelin, whom Ulvhild would take care of while she was gone; and for her father's hawks, sitting on their perches with hoods over their heads. Next to them hung the gloves made of horsehide, which had to be worn when handling them, and the ivory sticks used to scratch them.

All the terrible events of the winter now seemed so far away, and she only remembered her home as it had been before. They had also told her that no one in the village thought ill of her. Nor did Sira Eirik; he was angry and aggrieved by what Bentein had done. Bentein had escaped from Hamar, and it was said that he had run off to Sweden. So things had not been as unpleasant between her family and the people of the neighboring farm as Kristin had feared.

On their way south they had stayed at Simon's home, and she had met his mother and siblings; Sir Andres was still in Sweden. She had not felt at ease there, and her dislike of the family at Dyfrin was all the greater because she knew of no reasonable explanation for it. During the entire journey she had told herself that they had no reason to be haughty or to consider themselves better than her ancestors-no one had ever heard of Reidar Darre, the Birch-Leg, until King Sverre found the widow of the baron at Dyfrin for him to wed.

But they turned out not to be haughty at all, and Simon even spoke of his ancestor one evening. "I have now found out for certain that he was supposed to have been a comb maker-so you will truly be joining a royal lineage, Kristin," he said.

"Guard your tongue, my boy," said his mother, but they all laughed.

Kristin felt so oddly distressed when she thought of her father. He laughed a great deal whenever Simon gave him the least reason to do so. The thought occurred to her that perhaps her father would have liked to laugh more often in his life. But she didn't like it that he was so fond of Simon.

During Easter they were all at Skog. Kristin noticed that her Uncle Aasmund was a stern master toward his tenants and servants. She met a few people who asked after her mother and who spoke affectionately of Lavrans; they had enjoyed better days when he was living there. Aasmund's mother, who was Lavrans's stepmother, lived on the farm in her own house. She was not particularly old, but she was sickly and feeble. Lavrans seldom spoke of her at home. Once when Kristin asked her father whether he had had a quarrelsome stepmother, he had replied, "She has never done much for me, good or bad."

Kristin reached for her father's hand, and he squeezed hers in return.

"I know you'll be happy with the worthy sisters, my daughter. There you'll have other things to think about than yearning for us back home."

They sailed so close to the town that the smell of tar and salt fish drifted out to them from the docks. Gyrid pointed out the churches and farms and roads that stretched upward from the water's edge. Kristin recognized nothing from the last time she had been there except for the ponderous towers of Halvard's Cathedral. They sailed west, around the entire town, and then put in at the nuns' dock.

Kristin walked between her father and her uncle past a cl.u.s.ter of warehouses and then reached the road, which led uphill past the fields. Gyrid followed after them, escorted by Simon. The servants stayed behind to help several men from the cloister load the trunks onto a cart.

The convent Nonneseter and all of Leiran lay inside the town's boundaries, but there were only a few houses cl.u.s.tered here and there along the road. The larks were chirping overhead in the pale blue sky, and tiny yellow Michaelmas daisies teemed on the sallow dirt hills, but along the fences the roots of the gra.s.s were green.

As they went through the gate and entered the colonnade, all the nuns came walking toward them in a procession from church, with music and song streaming after them from the open doorway.

Kristin stared uneasily at the many black-clad women with white wimples framing their faces. She sank into a curtsey, and the men bowed with their hats pressed to their chests. Following the nuns came a group of young maidens-some of them were children-wearing dresses of undyed homespun, with black-and-white belts made of twisted cord around their waists. Their hair was pulled back from their faces and braided tightly with the same kind of black-and-white cord. Kristin unconsciously put on a haughty expression for the young maidens because she felt shy, and she was afraid that they would think she looked unrefined and foolish.

The convent was so magnificent that she was completely overwhelmed. All the buildings surrounding the inner courtyard were made of gray stone. On the north side the long wall of the church loomed above the other buildings; it had a two-tiered roof and a tower at the west end. The surface of the courtyard was paved with flagstones, and the entire area was enclosed by a covered arcade supported by stately pillars. In the center of the square stood a stone statue of Mater Misericordiae Mater Misericordiae, spreading her cloak over a group of kneeling people.

A lay sister came forward and asked them to follow her to the parlatory, the abbess's reception room. Abbess Groa Guttormsdatter was a tall, stout old woman. She would have been good-looking if she hadn't had so many stubbly hairs around her mouth. Her voice was deep and made her sound like a man. But she had a pleasant manner, and she reminded Lavrans that she had known his parents, and then asked after his wife and their other children. At last she turned kindly to Kristin.

"I have heard good things of you, and you seem to be clever and well brought up, so I do not think you will give us any reason for displeasure. I have heard that you are promised to that n.o.ble and good man, Simon Andressn, whom I see before me. We think it wise of your father and your betrothed to send you here to the Virgin Mary's house for a time, so that you can learn to obey and to serve before you are charged with giving orders and commands. I want to impress on you now that you should learn to find joy in prayer and the divine services so that in all your actions you will be in the habit of remembering your Creator, the Lord's gentle Mother, and all the saints who have given us the best examples of strength, rect.i.tude, fidelity, and all the virtues that you ought to demonstrate if you are to manage property and servants and raise children. You will also learn in this house that one must pay close attention to time, because here each hour has a specific purpose and ch.o.r.e. Many young maidens and wives are much too fond of lying in bed late in the morning, and of lingering at the table in the evening, carrying on useless conversation. But you do not look as if you were that kind. Yet you can learn a great deal from this year that will benefit you both here and in that other home."

Kristin curtseyed and kissed her hand. Then Fru Groa told Kristin to follow an execeptionally fat old nun, whom she called Sister Potentia, over to the nuns' refectory. She invited the men and Fru Gyrid to dine with her in a different room.

The refectory was a beautiful hall. It had a stone floor and arched windows with gla.s.s panes. A doorway led into another room, and Kristin could see that this room too must have gla.s.s windowpanes, because the sun was shining inside.

The sisters had already sat down and were waiting for the food. The older nuns were sitting on a stone bench covered with cushions along the wall under the windows. The younger sisters and the bareheaded maidens wearing light homespun dresses sat on a wooden bench in front of the table. Tables had also been set in the adjoining room, which was intended for the most distinguished of the corrodians1 and the lay servants; there were several old men among them. These people did not wear cloister garb, but they did wear dark and dignified attire. and the lay servants; there were several old men among them. These people did not wear cloister garb, but they did wear dark and dignified attire.

Sister Potentia showed Kristin to a place on the outer bench while she herself went over to a seat near the abbess's place of honor at the head of the table, which would remain empty today.

Everyone rose, both in the main hall and in the adjoining room, as the sisters said the blessing. Then a young, pretty nun came forward and stepped up to a lectern which had been placed in the doorway between the rooms. And while two of the lay sisters in the main hall and two of the youngest nuns in the other room brought in the food and drink, the nun read in a loud and lovely voice-without pausing or hesitating at a single word-the story of Saint Theodora and Saint Didymus.

From the very first moment, Kristin thought most about showing good table manners, for she noticed that all the sisters and young maidens had such elegant comportment and ate so properly, as if they were at the most magnificent banquet. There was an abundance of the best food and drink, but everyone took only modest portions, using only the tips of their fingers to help themselves from the platters. No one spilled any soup on the tablecloth or on their clothes, and everyone cut up the meat into such tiny pieces that they hardly sullied their lips; they ate so carefully that not a sound could be heard.

Kristin was sweating with fear that she wouldn't be able to act as refined as the others. She also felt uncomfortable in her brightly colored attire among all the women dressed in black and white. She imagined that they were all staring at her. Then, as she was about to eat a piece of fatty mutton breast and was holding it with two fingers pressed against the bone while in her right hand she held the knife, trying to cut easily and neatly, the whole thing slipped away from her. The bread and the meat leaped onto the tablecloth as the knife fell with a clatter to the floor.

The sound was deafening in that quiet room. Kristin blushed red as blood and was about to bend down to pick up the knife, but a lay sister wearing sandals came over, soundlessly, and gathered up the things. But Kristin could eat nothing more. She also noticed that she had cut her finger, and she was afraid of bleeding on the tablecloth, so she sat there with her hand wrapped up in a fold of her dress, thinking that now she was making spots on the lovely light-blue gown that she had been given for her journey to Oslo. And she didn't dare raise her eyes from her lap.

After a while she started to listen more closely to what the nun was reading. When the chieftain could not sway the maiden Theodora's steadfast will-she would neither make sacrifices to false G.o.ds nor let herself be married-he ordered her to be taken to a brothel. Furthermore, he exhorted her along the way to think of her freeborn ancestors and her honorable parents, upon whom an everlasting shame would now fall, and he promised that she would be allowed to live in peace and remain a maiden if she would agree to serve a pagan G.o.ddess, whom they called Diana.

Theodora replied, unafraid, "Chast.i.ty is like a lamp, but love for G.o.d is the flame. If I were to serve the devil-woman whom you call Diana, then my chast.i.ty would be worth no more than a rusty lamp without fire or oil. You call me freeborn, but we are all born thralls, since our first parents sold us to the Devil. Christ has redeemed me, and I am obliged to serve him, so I cannot marry his enemies. He will protect his dove, but if he would cause you to break my body, which is the temple of his Holy Spirit, then it shall not be reckoned to my shame, as long as I do not consent to betray his property in enemy hands."

Kristin's heart began to pound, because this reminded her in a certain way of her encounter with Bentein. It struck her that perhaps this was her sin, that she had not for a moment thought of G.o.d or prayed for His help. Then Sister Cecilia read about Saint Didymus. He was a Christian knight, but he had kept his Christianity secret from all except a few friends. He went to the house where the maiden was confined. He gave money to the woman who owned the house, and then he was allowed to go to Theodora. She fled to a corner like a frightened rabbit, but Didymus greeted her as a sister and the bride of his Lord and said that he had come to save her. Then he talked to her for a while, saying: "Shouldn't a brother risk his own life for his sister's honor?" And finally she did as he asked; she exchanged clothes with him and allowed herself to be strapped into his coat of mail. He pulled the helmet down over her eyes and drew the cape closed under her chin, and then he told her to go out with her face hidden, like a youth who was ashamed to be in such a place.

Kristin thought about Arne and had the greatest difficulty in holding back her sobs. She stared straight ahead, with tear-filled eyes, as the nun read the end of the story-how Didymus was led off to the gallows and Theodora came rushing down from the mountains, threw herself at the executioner's feet, and begged to be allowed to die in his place. Then those two pious people argued about who would be the first to win the crown, and they were both beheaded on the same day. It was the twenty-eighth day of April in the year A.D. 304, in Antioch, as Saint Ambrosius has written of it.

When they rose from the table, Sister Potentia came over and patted Kristin kindly on the cheek. "Yes, I can imagine that you are longing for your mother." Then Kristin's tears began to fall. But the nun pretended not to notice, and she led Kristin to the dormitory where she was going to live.

It was in one of the stone buildings along the colonnade, a beautiful room with gla.s.s windowpanes and an enormous fireplace at the far end. Along one wall stood six beds and along the other were all of the maidens' chests.

Kristin wished she would be allowed to sleep with one of the little girls, but Sister Potentia called to a plump, fair-haired, fully grown maiden.

"This is Ingebjrg Filippusdatter, who will be your bedmate. The two of you should get acquainted." And then she left.

Ingebjrg took Kristin's hand at once and began to talk. She was not very tall and much too fat, especially in her face; her eyes were tiny because her cheeks were so fat. But her complexion was pure, pink and white, and her hair was yellow like gold and so curly that her thick braids twisted and turned like ropes, and little locks were constantly slipping out from under her headband.

She immediately began asking Kristin about all sorts of things but never waited for an answer. Instead, she talked about herself and reeled off all her ancestors in all the branches; they were grand and enormously wealthy people. Ingebjrg was also betrothed, to a rich and powerful man, Einar Einarssn of Agan;aes-but he was much too old and had twice been widowed. It was her greatest sorrow, she said. But Kristin couldn't see that she was taking it particularly hard. Then Ingebjrg talked a little about Simon Darre-it was strange how carefully she had studied him during that brief moment when they pa.s.sed each other in the arcade. Then Ingebjrg wanted to look in Kristin's chest, but first she opened her own and showed Kristin all of her gowns. As they were rummaging in the chests, Sister Cecilia came in. She reproached them and told them that was not a proper activity on a Sunday. And then Kristin felt downhearted again. She had never been reprimanded by anyone except her own mother, and it felt odd to be scolded by strangers.

Ingebjrg was completely unperturbed.

That night, after they had gone to bed, Ingebjrg lay there talking, right up until Kristin fell asleep. Two elderly lay sisters slept in a corner of the room. They were supposed to see to it that the maidens did not remove their shifts at night-for it was against the rules for the girls to undress completely-and that they got up in time for matins at the church. But otherwise they didn't concern themselves with keeping order in the dormitory, and they pretended not to notice when the maidens lay in bed talking or eating treats they had hidden in their chests.

When Kristin awoke the next morning, Ingebjrg was already in the middle of a long story, and Kristin wondered whether she had been talking all night.

CHAPTER 2.

THE FOREIGN MERCHANTS who spent the summer trading in Oslo arrived in the city in the spring, around Holy Cross Day, which was ten days before the Vigil of Saint Halvard. For that celebration, people came in throngs from all the villages from Lake Mjsa to the Swedish border, so the town was teeming with people during the first weeks of May. It was best to buy goods from the foreigners during that time, before they had sold too many of their wares.

Sister Potentia was in charge of the shopping at Nonneseter, and on the day before the Vigil of Saint Halvard she had promised Ingebjrg and Kristin that they could go along with her into town. But around noon some of Sister Potentia's kinsmen came to the convent to visit her; she would not be able to go out that day. Then Ingebjrg managed to beg permission for them to go alone, although this was against the rules. As an escort, an old farmer who received a corrody from the cloister was sent along with them. His name was Haakon.

By this time, Kristin had been at Nonneseter for three weeks, and in all that time she had not once set foot outside the convent's courtyards and gardens. She was astonished to see how springlike it had become outside. The small groves of leafy trees out in the fields were shiny green, and the wood anemones were growing as thick as a carpet beneath the l.u.s.trous tree trunks. Bright fair-weather clouds came sailing above the islands in the fjord, and the water looked fresh and blue, rippled by small gusts of spring wind.

Ingebjrg skipped along, snapping off cl.u.s.ters of leaves from the trees and smelling them, turning to stare at the people they pa.s.sed, but Haakon reproached her. Was that the proper way for a n.o.ble maiden to act, and one who was wearing convent attire, at that? The maidens had to take each other by the hand and walk along behind him, quietly and decorously; but Ingebjrg let her eyes wander and her mouth chatter all the same, since Haakon was slightly deaf. Kristin now wore the garb of a young sister: an undyed, pale-gray homespun dress, a woolen belt and headband, and a simple dark-blue cloak with the hood pulled forward so that her braided hair was completely hidden. Haakon strode along in front of them with a big bra.s.s-k.n.o.bbed stick in his hand. He was dressed in a long black coat, with an Agnus Dei Agnus Dei made of lead hanging on his chest and a picture of Saint Christopher on his hat. His white hair and beard were so well-brushed that they glinted like silver in the sun. made of lead hanging on his chest and a picture of Saint Christopher on his hat. His white hair and beard were so well-brushed that they glinted like silver in the sun.

The upper part of the town, from the nuns' creek and down toward the bishop's citadel, was a quiet neighborhood. There were no market stalls or hostelries, only farms belonging mostly to gentry from the outlying villages. The buildings faced the street with dark and windowless timbered gables. But on this day, the lane was already crowded up there, and servants were hanging over the farm fences, talking to the people walking past.

As they came out near the bishop's citadel, they joined a great throng at the marketplace in front of Halvard's Cathedral and Olav's cloister. Booths had been set up on the gra.s.sy slope and there were strolling players who were making trained dogs jump through barrel hoops. But Haakon wouldn't let the maidens stop to watch, nor would he allow Kristin to enter the church; he said it would be more fun for her to see it on the great festival day itself.

On the road in front of Clement's Church, Haakon took them both by the hand, for here the crowd was even bigger, with people coming in from the wharves or from the lanes between the townyards. 1 1 The girls were going to Miklegaard, where the shoemakers worked. Ingebjrg thought the dresses that Kristin had brought from home were pretty and nice, but she said that the footwear Kristin had with her from the village could not be worn on fine occasions. And when Kristin saw the foreign-made shoes, of which Ingebjrg had many pairs, she thought she could not rest until she had bought some for herself. The girls were going to Miklegaard, where the shoemakers worked. Ingebjrg thought the dresses that Kristin had brought from home were pretty and nice, but she said that the footwear Kristin had with her from the village could not be worn on fine occasions. And when Kristin saw the foreign-made shoes, of which Ingebjrg had many pairs, she thought she could not rest until she had bought some for herself.

Miklegaard was one of the largest townyards in Oslo. It extended all the way from the wharves up toward Shoemaker Lane, with more than forty buildings surrounding two big courtyards. Now booths with homespun canopies had also been set up in the courtyards, and above the tents towered a statue of Saint Crispin. There was a great crush of people shopping. Women were running back and forth to the cookhouses with pots and buckets, children were getting tangled up in people's feet, horses were being led in and out of the stables, and servants were carrying loads in and out of the storage sheds. Up on the galleries of the lofts where the finest wares were sold, the shoemakers and hawkers in the booths called to the maidens below, dangling toward them small, colorful, gold-st.i.tched shoes.

But Ingebjrg headed for the loft where Shoemaker Didrek had his workshop; he was German but had a Norwegian wife and owned a building in Miklegaard.

The old man was conducting business with a gentleman wearing a traveling cape and a sword at his belt, but Ingebjrg stepped forward boldly, bowed, and said, "Good sir, won't you allow us to speak with Didrek first? We must be back home at our convent before vespers, and you perhaps have more time?"

The gentleman greeted her and stepped aside. Didrek gave Inge bjrg a poke with his elbow and asked her with a laugh whether they were dancing so much at the cloister that she had already worn out all the shoes she had bought the year before. Ingebjrg gave him a poke back and said that they were hardly used at all, good heavens, but here was another maiden-and she pulled Kristin over to him. Then Didrek and his apprentice brought a chest out to the gallery, and he started taking out the shoes, each pair more beautiful than the last. Kristin sat down on a box and he tried the shoes on her feet. There were white shoes, and brown and red and green and blue shoes; shoes with painted heels made of wood, and shoes with no heels at all; shoes with buckles, shoes with silken ties, and shoes made from two or three different colored leathers. Kristin almost thought she liked them all. But they were so expensive that she was shocked-not a single pair cost less than a cow back home. Her father had given her a purse with one mark of silver counted out in coins when he left; this was to be her spending money, and Kristin had thought it a great sum. But she could see that Ingebjrg didn't think she could buy much with it at all.

Ingebjrg also had to try on shoes, just for fun. It didn't cost anything, said Didrek with a laugh. She bought a pair of leaf-green shoes with red heels, but she had to take them on credit; Didrek knew her, after all, as well as her family.

But Kristin could see that Didrek did not much care for this, and he was also dismayed because the tall gentleman in the traveling cape had left the loft; they had spent a long time trying on shoes. So Kristin chose a pair of shoes without heels made of thin, blue-violet leather; they were st.i.tched with silver and rose-colored stones. But she didn't like the green silk straps. Then Didrek said that he could change them, and he took them along to a room at the back of the loft. There he had boxes of silk ribbons and small silver buckles-things which shoemakers were actually not allowed to sell, and many of the ribbons were too wide and the buckles too big for shoes anyway.

Both Kristin and Ingebjrg had to buy a few of these odds and ends, and by the time they had drunk a little sweet wine with Didrek and he had wrapped up their purchases in a homespun cloth, it had grown quite late, and Kristin's purse had grown much lighter.