Simon Andressön knew much of Bentein’s doings in Oslo; and he told of them. Bentein had been clerk to the Dean of the Church of the Holy Virgin, and he had the name of being a quick-witted youth. There were many women, too, who liked him well—he had roving eyes, and a glib tongue. Some held him a comely man—these were for the most part such women as thought they had a bad bargain in their husbands, and then young maids, the sort that liked well that men should be somewhat free with them. Simon laughed—aye, they understood? Well, Bentein was so sly, he never went too far with that kind of woman; he was all talk with them, and so he got a name for clean-living. But the thing was that King Haakon, as they knew, was a good and pious man himself, and fain would keep order among his men and hold them to a seemly walk and conversation—the young ones at least; the others were apt to be too much for him. And it came about that whatever pranks the youngsters managed to slip out and take part in—drinking bouts, gambling and beer-drinking and such like—the priest of the King’s household always got to hear of, and the mad-caps had to confess and pay scot and suffer hard reproof; aye, two or three of the wildest youths of all were hunted away. But at last it came out it was this fox, Bentein secretarius—unknown to anyone he had been made free of all the beer-houses and worse places still; he confessed the serving-wenches and gave them absolution— Kristin sat at her mother’s side; she tried to eat so that no one should mark how it was with her, though her hand shook so that she spilled the milk porridge at each spoonful, and her tongue felt so thick and dry in her mouth that she could not swallow the morsels of bread. But when Simon began to tell of Bentein, she had to give up making believe to eat; she held on to the bench beneath her—terror and loathing seized her, so that she felt dizzy and sick. It was he who had wanted to—Bentein and Arne, Bentein and Arne—Beside herself with impatience, she waited for them to be finished. She longed to see Arne, Arne’s comely face, to throw herself down beside him and mourn and forget all else. As her mother helped her with her outer wrappings, she kissed her daughter on the cheek. Kristin was so little used to endearments from her mother now, it comforted her much—she laid her head upon Ragnfrid’s shoulder a moment, but she could not weep. When they came out of the courtyard, she saw that others were going with them—Halvdan, Jon from Laugarbru, and Simon and his man. It gave her a pang, she knew not why, that the two strangers should be coming with them.