“It is so,” answered Kristin faintly.
“Methinks I know his name too,” said Simon, in a harder tone. “It is Erlend Nikulaussön of Husaby?”
After a while Kristin asked in a low voice:
“It has come to your ears then?”
Simon was a little slow in answering.
“You can scarce think I could be so dull as not to see somewhat when we were together at Yule? I could say naught then, for my father and mother were with us. But this it is that has brought me hither alone this time. I know not whether it be wise of me to touch upon it—but methought we must talk of these things before we are given to one another.
“But so it is now, that when I came hither yesterday—I met my kinsman Master Öistein. And he spoke of you. He said you two had passed across the churchyard of St. Clement’s one evening, and with you was a woman they call Brynhild Fluga. I swore a great oath that he must have seen amiss! And if you say it is untrue, I shall believe your word.”
“The priest saw aright,” answered Kristin defiantly. “You foreswore yourself, Simon.”
He sat a little ere he asked:
“Know you who this Brynhild Fluga is, Kristin?” As she shook her head, he said: “Munan Baardsön set her up in a house here in the town, when he wedded—she carries on unlawful dealings in wine—and other things—”