The Wreath (Kristin Lavransdatter #1)(86)

She fumbled under his arm, snatched the dagger from the table, and stabbed at the man. The blow didn’t seem to cut much but his clothes. Then she turned the point on herself, and immediately fell sideways into his arms.

Kristin got up and came over to them. Erlend was holding Eline; her head hung back over his arm. The death rattle came almost at once; she had blood in her throat and it was running out of her mouth. She spat out a great quantity and said, “I had intended ... that drink ... for you ... for all the times ... you betrayed me.”

“Go get Aunt Aashild,” said Erlend in a low voice. Kristin stood motionless.

“She’s dying,” said Erlend.

“Then she’ll fare better than we will,” replied Kristin. Erlend looked at her, and the despair in his eyes softened her. She left the room.

“What is it?” asked Fru Aashild when Kristin called her away from the cookhouse.

“We’ve killed Eline Ormsdatter,” said Kristin. “She’s dying.”

Fru Aashild set off at a run. But Eline breathed her last as she stepped through the door.



Fru Aashild had laid out the dead woman on the bench; she wiped the blood from her face and covered it with a linen cloth. Erlend stood leaning against the wall behind the body.

“Do you realize,” said Fru Aashild, “that this was the worst thing that could have happened?”

She had put branches and kindling into the fireplace; now she placed the horn in the middle and blew on it till it flared up.

“Can you trust your men?” she asked.

“Ulv and Haftor, I think I can. I don’t know Jon very well, or the man who came with Eline.”

“You realize,” said Fru Aashild, “that if it comes out that you and Kristin were here together, and that you were alone with Eline when she died, then you might as well have let Kristin drink Eline’s brew. And if there’s any talk of poison, people will remember what I have been accused of in the past. Did she have any kinsmen or friends?”

“No,” said Erlend in a subdued voice. “She had no one but me.”

“Even so,” said Fru Aashild, “it’ll be difficult to cover this up and remove the body without the deepest suspicion falling on you.”

“She must be buried in consecrated ground,” said Erlend, “if it costs me Husaby to do it. What do you say, Kristin?”

Kristin nodded.

Fru Aashild sat in silence. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to find a solution. In the cookhouse sat four men; could Erlend bribe all of them to keep quiet? Could any of them, could Eline’s man, be paid to leave the country? That would always be risky. And at J?rundgaard they knew that Kristin had been here. If Lavrans found out about it, she couldn’t imagine what he might do. They would have to take the body away. The mountain road to the west was unthinkable now; there was the road to Raumsdal or across the mountain to Nidaros or south down the valley. And if the truth came out, it would never be believed—even if it were accepted.

“I have to discuss this with Bj?rn,” she said, standing up and going out.

Bj?rn Gunnars?n listened to his wife’s account without changing expression and without taking his eyes off Erlend.

“Bj?rn,” said Aashild desperately, “someone has to swear that he saw her lay hands on herself.”

The life slowly darkened in Bj?rn’s eyes; he looked at his wife, and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile.

“You mean that someone should be me?”

Fru Aashild clasped her hands and raised them toward him. “Bj?rn, you know what it means for these two....”

“And you think it’s all over for me anyway?” he asked slowly. “Or do you think there’s enough left of the man I once was that I’ll dare to swear falsely to save this boy from going under? I, who was dragged under myself ... all those years ago. Dragged under, I say,” he repeated.

“You say this because I’m old now,” whispered Aashild.

Kristin burst into sobs that cut through the room. Rigid and silent, she had been sitting in the corner near Aashild’s bed. Now she began to weep out loud. It was as if Fru Aashild’s voice had torn open her heart. This voice, heavy with memories of the sweetness of love, seemed to make Kristin fully realize for the first time what the love between her and Erlend had been. The memory of burning, passionate happiness washed over everything else, washed away the cruel despairing hatred from the night before. She felt only her love and her will to survive.

All three of them looked at her. Then Herr Bj?rn went over, put his hand under her chin, and gazed down at her. “Kristin, do you say that she did it herself?”

“Every word you’ve heard is true,” said Kristin firmly. “We threatened her until she did it.”

“She had planned a worse fate for Kristin,” said Aashild.

Herr Bj?rn let go of the girl. He went over to the body, lifted it onto the bed where Eline had slept the night before, and laid it close to the wall with the blankets pulled over it.

“You must send Jon and the man you don’t know back to Husaby with the message that Eline will accompany you to the south. Have them ride off around noon. Tell them that the women are asleep in here; they’ll have to eat in the cookhouse. Then speak to Ulv and Haftor. Has she threatened to do this before? Can you bring witnesses forward if anyone asks about this?”