The Wreath (Kristin Lavransdatter #1)(102)
On Friday, in the afternoon, Kristin was standing on the gallery of the high loft, watching the travelers who came riding from the north, past the burned church on the hill. It was Erlend with all his groomsmen. She strained to distinguish him from the others. They were not allowed to see each other; no man could see her until she was led out in the morning, wearing her bridal clothes.
At the place where the road turned toward J?rundgaard, several women pulled away from the group. The men continued on toward Laugarbru, where they would spend the night.
Kristin went downstairs to welcome the guests. She felt so tired after her bath, and her scalp ached terribly; her mother had rinsed her hair in a strong lye solution to give it a bright sheen for the next day.
Fru Aashild Gautesdatter slipped down from her saddle into Lavrans’s arms. How lissome and young she keeps herself, thought Kristin. Her daughter-in-law Katrin, Sir Munan’s wife, almost looked older than she did; she was tall and stout, her eyes and skin colorless. It’s strange, thought Kristin, that she’s ugly and he’s unfaithful, and yet people say that they get on well together. Two of Sir Baard Peters?n’s daughters had also come, one of them married, the other not. They were neither ugly nor beautiful; they looked trustworthy and kind, but seemed quite reserved with strangers. Lavrans thanked them courteously for their willingness to honor this wedding and for making the long journey so late in the fall.
“Erlend was raised by our father when he was a boy,” said the older sister, and she stepped forward to greet Kristin.
Then two young men came trotting briskly into the courtyard. They leaped from their horses and ran laughing toward Kristin, who dashed into the house and hid. They were Trond Gjesling’s young sons, handsome and promising boys. They brought with them the bridal crown from Sundbu in a chest. Trond and his wife wouldn’t come to J?rundgaard until Sunday after the mass.
Kristin had fled to the hearth room, and Fru Aashild had followed. She placed her hands on Kristin’s shoulders and pulled her face down to her own for a kiss.
“I’m glad that I shall see this day,” said Fru Aashild.
She noticed as she held Kristin’s hands how gaunt they had become. She saw that the bride had also grown thin, but her bosom was full. All the lines of her face had become leaner and more delicate than before; in the shadow of her thick, damp hair her temples seemed slightly hollowed. Her cheeks were no longer round, and her fresh complexion had faded. But Kristin’s eyes had grown much larger and darker.
Fru Aashild kissed her again.
“I see you’ve had much to struggle with, Kristin,” she said. “I’ll give you something to drink tonight so you’ll be rested and fresh in the morning.”
Kristin’s lips began to quiver.
“Hush,” said Fru Aashild, patting her hand. “I’m looking forward to dressing you in your finery—no one will ever see a lovelier bride than you shall be tomorrow.”
Lavrans rode over to Laugarbru to dine with his guests who were staying there.
The men could not praise the food enough; a better Friday supper could not be had even in the richest cloister. There was rye-flour porridge, boiled beans, and white bread. And the fish that was served was trout, both salted and fresh, and long strips of dried halibut.
Gradually, as they helped themselves to the ale, the men became more and more boisterous and their teasing of the bridegroom became more and more vulgar. All of Erlend’s groomsmen were much younger than he was; his own peers and friends had all become married men long ago. Now the men joked about the fact that he was so old and would lie in the bridal bed for the first time. Some of Erlend’s older kinsmen, who were still rather sober, were afraid that with each new word uttered the talk might shift to subjects that would be better left untouched. Sir Baard of Hestn?s kept an eye on Lavrans. He was drinking heavily, but it didn’t look as if the ale was making him any happier as he sat there in the high seat; his face grew more and more tense as his gaze grew stonier. But Erlend, who was sitting to the right of his father-in-law, parried the teasing merrily and laughed a good deal; his face was red and his eyes sparkled.
Suddenly Lavrans bellowed, “That wagon, son-in-law—while I think of it, what did you do with the wagon that you borrowed from me this past summer?”
“Wagon?” said Erlend.
“Don’t you remember that you borrowed a wagon from me last summer? God knows it was a good wagon. I’ll probably never see a better one, because I was here myself when it was built on this farm. You promised and you swore, as I can testify before God. And my house servants can verify that you promised you would bring it back to me, but you haven’t kept your word.”
Some of the guests shouted that this was nothing to talk about right now, but Lavrans pounded on the table and swore that he would find out what Erlend had done with his wagon.
“Oh, it’s probably still at the farm on the headland, where we took the boat out to Ve?y,” said Erlend indifferently. “I didn’t think it was so important. You see, Father-in-law, it was a long and arduous journey with the cartload through the valleys, so by the time we reached the fjord, none of my men had a mind to travel the whole way back with the wagon and then over the mountains north to Nidaros. So I thought it could wait for the time being....”
“No, may the Devil seize me right here where I’m sitting if I’ve ever heard the likes of this,” Lavrans interrupted him. “What kind of people do you employ in your household? Is it you or your men who decide where they will or will not go?”