Kristin Lavransdatter Part 62

The new master of Sundbu was not well liked, even though no one had anything specific to say against Sigurd himself. But he was from Egde, and his father, Erlend Eldjarn, had quarreled with everyone in this part of the land with whom he had had any dealings. Kristin and Ramborg had never met this cousin of theirs. Simon had known Sir Sigurd in Raumarike; he was the close kinsman of the Haftorssns, and they in turn were close kinsmen of Gyrd Darre's wife. But as complicated as matters now were, Simon avoided meeting Sir Sigurd as much as possible. He never had any desire to go to Sundbu anymore. The Trondssns had been his dear friends, and Ramborg and the wives of Ivar and Borgar used to visit each other every year. Sir Sigurd Erlendssn was also much older than Simon Andressn; he was a man of almost sixty.

Things had become so tangled up because Erlend and Kristin were now living at Jrundgaard that although the marriage of their overseer could not be called important news, Simon Darre thought it was enough to make the situation even more vexed. Usually he would not have troubled his young wife if he was having any difficulties or setbacks. But this time he couldn't help discussing these matters a bit with Ramborg. He was both surprised and pleased when he saw how sensibly she spoke about them and how admirably she tried to do all that she could to help.

She went to see her sister at Jrundgaard much more often than she had before, and she gave up her sullen demeanor with Erlend. On Christmas Day, when they met on the church hill after the ma.s.s, Ramborg kissed not only Kristin but her brother-in-law as well. In the past she had always fiercely mocked these foreign customs of his: the fact that he used to kiss his mother-in-law in greeting and the like.

It suddenly occurred to Simon when he saw Ramborg put her arms around Erlend's neck that he might do the same with his wife's sister. But then he realized that he couldn't do it after all. He had never been in the habit of kissing the wives of his kinsmen; his mother and sisters had laughed at him when he suggested trying it when he came home after he had been at court, in service as a page.

For the Christmas banquet at Formo, Ramborg seated Ulf Hal dorssn's young wife in a place of honor, showing both of them such respect as was seemly toward a newly married couple. And she went to Jrundgaard to be with Jardtrud when she gave birth.

That took place a month after Christmas-two months too soon, and the boy was stillborn. Then Jardtrud flew into a fury. If she had known that things might go this way, she would never have married Ulf. But now it was done and could not be helped.

What Ulf Haldorssn thought about the matter, no one knew. He didn't say a word.

During the week before Mid-Lent, Erlend Nikulaussn and Simon Andressn rode south together to Kvam. Several years before Lavrans died, he and a few other farmers had purchased a small estate in the village there. Now the original owners of the manor wanted to buy it back, but it was rather unclear how things had been handled in the past as far as offering the land to the heirs,2 or whether the kinsmen of the sellers had claimed their rights in lawful fas.h.i.+on. When Lavrans's estate had been settled after his death, his share in this farm had been excluded, along with several other small properties that might involve legal proceedings over proof of owners.h.i.+p. The two sisters then divided up the income from them. That was why both of Lavrans's sons-in-law were now appearing on behalf of their wives. or whether the kinsmen of the sellers had claimed their rights in lawful fas.h.i.+on. When Lavrans's estate had been settled after his death, his share in this farm had been excluded, along with several other small properties that might involve legal proceedings over proof of owners.h.i.+p. The two sisters then divided up the income from them. That was why both of Lavrans's sons-in-law were now appearing on behalf of their wives.

A good number of people had gathered, and because the tenant's wife and children lay sick in bed in the main house, the men had to make do with meeting in an old outbuilding on the farm. It was drafty and in terrible disrepair; everyone kept on his fur cape. Each man placed his weapons within reach and kept his sword on his belt; no one had a desire to stay any longer than necessary. But they would at least have a bite to eat before they parted, and so at the time of midafternoon prayers, when the discussion was over, the men took out their bags of provisions and sat down to eat, with the packets lying next to them on the benches or in front of them on the floor. There was no table in the building.

The parish priest of Kvam had sent his son, Holmgeir Moi sessn, in his stead. He was a devious and untrustworthy young man, whom few people liked. But his father was greatly admired, and his mother had belonged to a respected family. Holmgeir was a tall and strong fellow, hot-blooded and quick to turn on people, so no one wished to quarrel with the priest's son. There were also many who thought him an able and witty speaker.

Simon hardly knew him and didn't like his looks. He had a long, narrow face with pale freckles and a thin upper lip, which made his big yellow front teeth gleam like a rat's. But Sira Moises had been Lavrans's good friend, and for a time the son had been raised at Jrundgaard, partly as a servant and partly as a foster son, until his father had acknowledged him as his own.3 For this reason Simon was always friendly when he met Holmgeir Moi sessn. For this reason Simon was always friendly when he met Holmgeir Moi sessn.

Now Holmgeir had rolled a stump over to the hearth and was sitting there, sticking slices of meat-roasted thrush with pieces of bacon-on his dagger and heating them in the fire. He had been ill and had been granted fourteen days' indulgence, he told the others, who were chewing on bread and frozen fish as the fragrant smell of Holmgeir's meat rose up to their noses.

Simon was in a bad humor-not truly angry but slightly dejected and embarra.s.sed. The whole property matter was difficult to sort out, and the doc.u.ments he had received from his father-in-law were very unclear; and yet when he left home, he thought that he understood them. He had compared them with other doc.u.ments, but now when he heard the statements of the witnesses and saw the other evidence that was put forth, he realized that his view of the matter wouldn't hold up. But none of the other men had any better grasp of it-particularly not the sheriff's envoy, who was also present. It was suggested that the case would have to be brought up before a ting. ting. Then Erlend suddenly spoke and asked to see the doc.u.ments. Then Erlend suddenly spoke and asked to see the doc.u.ments.

Up to that moment he had sat and listened, almost as if he had no interest in the matter. Now he seemed to wake up. He carefully read through all the doc.u.ments, a few of them several times. Then he explained the situation, clearly and briefly: Such and such were the provisions of the lawbooks, and in such a way they could be interpreted. The vague and clumsy phrases in the doc.u.ments had to mean either this or that. If the case were brought before a ting ting, it would be decided in either this or that manner. Then he proposed a solution with which the original owners might be satisfied but which was not entirely to the detriment of the present owners.

Erlend stood up as he spoke, with his left hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his right hand carelessly holding the stack of doc.u.ments. He acted as if he were the one in charge of the meeting, although Simon could see that he wasn't aware of this himself. He was used to standing up and speaking in this manner when he used to hold sheriff tings tings in his county. When he turned to one of the others to ask if something was so and if the man understood what he was explaining, he spoke as if he were interrogating a witness-not without courtesy and yet as if it were his place to ask the questions and the other man's place to answer. When he was done speaking, he handed the doc.u.ments to the envoy as if the man could be his servant and sat down. While the others discussed the matter and Simon also stated his opinion, Erlend listened, but in such a fas.h.i.+on as if he had no stake in the case. His replies were curt, clear, and instructive if anyone happened to address him, but all the while he sc.r.a.ped his fingernail on some grease spots that had appeared on his tunic, straightened his belt, picked up his gloves, and seemed to be waiting rather impatiently for the conversation to come to an end. in his county. When he turned to one of the others to ask if something was so and if the man understood what he was explaining, he spoke as if he were interrogating a witness-not without courtesy and yet as if it were his place to ask the questions and the other man's place to answer. When he was done speaking, he handed the doc.u.ments to the envoy as if the man could be his servant and sat down. While the others discussed the matter and Simon also stated his opinion, Erlend listened, but in such a fas.h.i.+on as if he had no stake in the case. His replies were curt, clear, and instructive if anyone happened to address him, but all the while he sc.r.a.ped his fingernail on some grease spots that had appeared on his tunic, straightened his belt, picked up his gloves, and seemed to be waiting rather impatiently for the conversation to come to an end.

The others agreed to the arrangement that Erlend had proposed, and it was one that Simon could be tolerably satisfied with; he would have been unlikely to win anything more from a court case.

But he had fallen into a bad mood. He knew full well that it was childish of him to be cross because his brother-in-law had understood the matter while he had not. It was reasonable that Erlend should be better able to interpret the word of law and decipher confusing doc.u.ments, since for years it had been his role to explain the statutes to people and settle disputes. But it had come upon Simon quite unexpectedly. The night before at Jrundgaard, when he talked to Erlend and Kristin about the meeting, Erlend hadn't mentioned any opinion; he seemed to listen with only half an ear. Yes, it was clear that Erlend would be better versed in the law than ordinary farmers, but it was as if the law were no concern of his as he sat there and counseled the others with friendly indifference. Simon had a vague feeling that in some way Erlend had never respected the law as a guide in his own life.

It was also strange that he could stand up in that manner, completely untroubled. He had to be aware that this made the others think about who and what he had been and what his situation now was. Simon could feel the others thinking about this; some probably resented this man, who never seemed to care what other people thought of him. But no one said anything. When the blue-frozen clerk who had come with the envoy sat down and put the writing board on his lap, he addressed all his questions to Erlend, and Erlend spelled things out for him as he sat holding a few pieces of straw, which he had picked up from the floor, twining them around his long tan fingers and weaving them into a ring. When the clerk was finished, he handed the calfskin to Erlend, who tossed the straw ring into the hearth, took the letter, and read it half aloud: " 'To all men who see or hear this doc.u.ment, greetings from G.o.d and from Simon Andressn of Formo, Erlend Nikulaussn of Jrundgaard, Vidar Steinssn of Klaufastad, Ingemund and Toralde Bjrnssn, Bjrn Ingemundssn of Lundar, Alf Einarssn, Holmgeir Moisessn . . .'

"Do you have the wax ready?" he asked the clerk, who was blowing on his frozen fingers. " 'Let it be known that in the year of our Lord, one thousand three hundred and thirty-eight winters, on the Friday before Mid-Lent Sunday, we met at Granheim in the parish of Kvam . . .'

"We can take the chest that's standing in the alcove, Alf, and use it as a table." Erlend turned to the envoy as he gave the doc.u.ment back to the scribe.

Simon remembered how Erlend had been when he was in the company of his peers up north. Easy and confident enough; he wasn't lacking in that regard. Impetuous and rash in his speech, but always with something slightly ingratiating about his manner. He was not in the least indifferent to what others thought of him if he considered them his peers or kinsmen. On the contrary, he had doubtless put great effort into winning their approval.

With an oddly fierce sense of bitterness, Simon suddenly felt allied with these farmers from here in the valley-men whom Erlend respected so little that he didn't even wonder what they might think of him. He had done it for Erlend's sake. For his sake Simon had parted with the circles of the gentry and well-to-do. It was all very well to be the rich farmer of Formo, but he couldn't forget that he had turned his back on his peers, kinsmen, and the friends of his youth. Because he had a.s.sumed the role of a supplicant among them, he no longer had the strength to meet them, hardly had the strength to think of it at all. For this brother-in-law of his he had as good as denied his king and departed from the ranks of royal retainers. He had revealed to Erlend something that he found more bitter than death to recall whenever it entered his thoughts. And yet Erlend behaved toward him as if he had understood nothing and remembered nothing. It didn't seem to trouble the fellow at all that he had wreaked havoc with another man's life.

At that moment Erlend said to him, "We should see about leaving, Simon, if we want to make it back home tonight. I'll go out and see to the horses."

Simon looked up, feeling a strange ill will at the sight of the other man's tall, handsome figure. Under the hood of his cape Erlend wore a small black silk cap that fit snugly to his head and was tied under his chin. His lean dark face with the big pale blue eyes sunk deep in the shadow of his brow looked even younger and more refined under that cap.

"And pack up my bag in the meantime," he said from the door as he went out.

The other men had continued to talk about the case. It was quite peculiar, said one of them, that Lavrans hadn't been able to arrange things better; the man usually knew what he was doing. He was the most experienced of farmers in all matters regarding the purchase and sale of land.

"It's probably my father who is to blame," said Holmgeir, the priest's son. "He said as much this morning. If he had listened to Lavrans back then, everything would have been plain and clear. But you know how Lavrans was. . . . Toward priests he was always as amenable and submissive as a lamb."

Even so, Lavrans of Jrundgaard had always guarded his own welfare, said someone else.

"Yes, and no doubt he thought he was doing so when he followed the priest's advice," said Holmgeir, laughing. "That can be the wise thing to do, even with earthly matters-as long as you're not eyeing the same patch that the Church has set its sights on."

Lavrans had been a strangely pious man, thought Vidar. He had never spared either property or livestock with regard to the Church or the poor.

"No," said Holmgeir thoughtfully. "Well, if I'd been such a rich man, I too might have had a mind to pay out sums for the peace of my soul. But I wouldn't have given away my goods with both hands, the way he did, and then walk around with red eyes and white cheeks every time I'd been to see the priest to confess my sins. And Lavrans went to confession every month."

"Tears of remorse are the fair gifts of grace from the Holy Spirit, Holmgeir," said old Ingemund Bjrnssn. "Blessed is he who can weep for his sins here in this world; all the easier it will be for him to enter the other. . . ."

"Then Lavrans must have been in Heaven long ago," said Holmgeir, "considering the way he fasted and disciplined his flesh. I've heard that on Good Friday he would lock himself in the loft above the storeroom and lash himself with a whip."

"Hold your tongue," said Simon Andressn, trembling with bitterness; his face was blood red. Whether Holmgeir's remark was true or not, he didn't know. But when he was cleaning up his father-in-law's belongings, he had found a small, oblong wooden box in the bottom of his book chest, and inside lay a silk whip that the cloisters called a flagellum. The braided strips of leather bore dark spots, which might have been blood. Simon had burned it, with a feeling of sad reverence. He realized that he had come upon something in the other man's life that Lavrans had never wanted a living soul to see.

"I don't think he would talk about such things to his servants, in any case," said Simon when he trusted himself to speak.

"No, it's just something that people have made up," replied Holmgeir. "Surely he didn't have such sins to repent that he would need to-" The man gave a little sneer. "If I had lived as blameless and Christian a life as Lavrans Bjrgulfsn, and been married to a mournful woman like Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter, I think I would have wept for the sins that I hadn't hadn't committed-" committed-"

Simon leaped up and struck Holmgeir in the mouth so the man tumbled back toward the hearth. His dagger fell to the floor, and in the next instant he grabbed it and tried to stab the other man. Simon s.h.i.+elded himself with his arm holding his cape as he seized Holmgeir's wrist with his other hand and tried to wrest the dagger away. In the meantime the priest's son aimed a number of blows at his face. Simon then gripped him by both arms, but the young man sank his teeth into Simon's hand.

"You dare to bite me, you dog!" Simon let go, took several steps back, and pulled his sword from its sheath. He fell upon Holmgeir so that his young body arched back, with a few inches of steel buried in his chest. A moment later Holmgeir's body slipped from the sword point and fell heavily, halfway in the hearth fire.

Simon flung his sword away and was about to lift Holmgeir out of the blaze when he saw Vidar's axe raised to strike right above his head. He ducked and lunged to the side, seized hold of his sword again, and just managed to fend off the blade of the envoy, Alf Einarssn; he whirled around and again had to s.h.i.+eld himself from Vidar's axe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw behind him that the Bjrnssns and Bjrn of Lunde were aiming spears at him from the other side of the hearth. He then drove Alf in front of him over to the opposite wall but sensed that Vidar was coming for him from behind. Vidar had dragged Holmgeir out of the fire; they were cousins, those two. And the louts from Lunde were approaching from around the hearth. He stood exposed on all sides, and in the midst of it all, even though he had more than enough to do to save his life, he felt a vague, unhappy sense of surprise that the men were all against him.

At the next moment Erlend's sword flashed between the Lunde men and Simon. Toralde reeled aside and fell against the wall. Quick as lightning, Erlend s.h.i.+fted his sword to his left hand and struck Alf's weapon away so that it slid with a clatter across the floor, while with his right hand he grabbed the shaft of Bjrn's spear and pressed it downward.

"Get outside," he told Simon, breathing hard and s.h.i.+elding his brother-in-law from Vidar. Simon ground his teeth together and raced across the room toward Bjrn and Ingemund. Erlend was at his side, screaming over the tumult and clanging of swords: "Get outside! Do you hear me, you fool? Head for the door-we have to get out!"

When Simon realized that Erlend meant for both of them to go out, he began moving backward, still fighting, toward the door. They ran through the entryway, and then they were out in the courtyard, Simon a few steps farther away from the building, and Erlend right in front of the door with his sword half raised and his face turned toward those who were swarming after them.

For a moment Simon felt blinded; the winter day was so dazzling bright and clear. Under the blue sky the mountains arched white-gold in the last rays of the sun; the forest was weighted down with snow and frost. The expanse of fields glittered and gleamed like gemstones.

He heard Erlend say, "It will not make amends for the misfortune if more deaths occur. We should use our wits, good sirs, so there is no more bloodshed. Things are bad enough as they are, with my brother-in-law having slain a man."

Simon stepped to Erlend's side.

"You killed my cousin without cause, Simon Andressn," said Vidar of Klaufastad, who was standing in front of the others in the doorway.

"It was not entirely without cause that he fell. But you know, Vidar, that I won't refuse to pay the penance for this misfortune I've brought upon you. All of you know where you can find me at home."

Erlend talked a little more to the farmers. "Alf, how did it happen?" He went indoors with the other men.

Simon stayed where he was, feeling strangely numb. Erlend came back after a moment. "Let's go now," he said as he headed for the stable.

"Is he dead?" asked Simon.

"Yes. And Alf and Toralde and Vidar all have wounds, but none is serious. Holmgeir's hair was singed off the back of his head." Erlend had spoken in a somber voice, but now he abruptly burst out laughing. "Now it certainly smells like a d.a.m.n roasted thrush in there, you'd better believe me! How the Devil could all of you get into such a quarrel in such a short time?" he asked in astonishment. it certainly smells like a d.a.m.n roasted thrush in there, you'd better believe me! How the Devil could all of you get into such a quarrel in such a short time?" he asked in astonishment.

A half-grown boy was holding their horses. Neither of the men had brought his own servant along on this journey.

Both were still carrying their swords. Erlend picked up a handful of hay and wiped the blood from his. Simon did the same. When he had rubbed off the worst of it, he stuck his sword back in its sheath. Erlend cleaned his sword very thoroughly and then polished it with the hem of his cape. Then he made several playful little thrusts into the air and smiled, fleetingly, as if at a memory. He tossed the sword high up, caught it by the hilt, and stuck it back in its sheath.

"Your wounds . . . We should go up to the house, and I'll bandage them for you."

Simon said they were nothing. "But you're bleeding too, Erlend!"

"It's nothing dangerous, and my skin heals fast. I've noticed that heavyset people always take longer to heal. And with this cold . . . and we have such a long way to ride."

Erlend got some salve and cloths from the tenant farmer and carefully tended to the other man's wounds. Simon had two flesh wounds right next to each other on the left side of his chest; they bled a great deal at first, but they weren't serious. Erlend had been slashed on the thigh by Bjrn's spear. That would make it painful to ride, said Simon, but his brother-in-law laughed. It had barely made a scratch through his leather hose. He dabbed at it a bit and then wrapped it tightly against the frost.

It was bitterly cold. Before they reached the bottom of the hill on which the farm stood, their horses were covered with rime and the fur trim on the men's hoods had turned white.

"Brrr." Erlend s.h.i.+vered. "If only we were home! We'll have to ride over to the manor down here and report the slaying."

"Is that necessary?" asked Simon. "I spoke to Vidar and the others after all . . ."

"It would be better if you did so," said Erlend. "You should report the news yourself. Don't let them have anything to hold against you."

The sun had slipped behind the ridge now; the evening was a pale grayish blue but still light. They rode along a creek, beneath the branches of birch trees that were even more s.h.a.ggy with frost than the rest of the forest. There was a stink of raw, icy fog in the air, which could make a man's breath stick in his throat. Erlend grumbled impatiently about the long period of cold they had had and about the chill ride that lay before them.

"You're not getting frostbite on your face, are you, brother-in-law?" He peered anxiously under Simon's hood. Simon rubbed his hand over his face; it wasn't frostbitten, but he had grown quite pale as he rode. It didn't suit him, because his large, portly face was weather-beaten and ruddy, and the paleness appeared in gray blotches, which made his complexion look unclean.

"Have you ever seen a man spreading manure with his sword the way Alf did?" asked Erlend. He burst out laughing at the memory and leaned forward in his saddle to imitate the gesture. "What a splendid envoy he is! You should have seen Ulf playing with his sword, Simon-Jesus, Maria!"

Playing . . . Well, now he'd seen Erlend Nikulaussn playing at that game. Over and over again he saw himself and the other men tumbling around the hearth, the way farmers chop wood or toss hay. And Erlend's slender, lightning-swift figure among them, his gaze alert and his wrist steady as he danced with them, quick-witted and an expert swordsman.

More than twenty years ago he himself had been considered one of the foremost swordsmen among the youth of the royal retainers, when they practiced out on the green. But since then he hadn't had much opportunity to use his knightly skills.

And here he was now, riding along and feeling sick at heart because he had killed a man. He kept seeing Holmgeir's body as it fell from his sword and sank into the fire; he heard the man's abrupt, strangled death cry in his ears and saw, again and again, images of the brief, furious battle that followed. He felt dejected, pained, and confused; they had turned on him suddenly, all those men with whom he had sat and felt a sense of belonging. And then Erlend had come to his aid.

He had never thought himself a coward. He had hunted down six bears during the years he had lived at Formo, and twice he had put his life at risk in the most reckless manner. With only the thin trunk of a pine tree between him and a raging, wounded female, with no other weapon than his spearpoint on a shaft a scant hand's breadth long . . . The tenseness of the game had not disturbed his steadiness of thought, action, or instinct. But now, in that outbuilding . . . he didn't know if he had been afraid, but he certainly had been confused, unable to think clearly.

When he was back home after the bear hunt, with his clothes thrown on haphazardly, with his arm in a sling, feverish, his shoulder stiff and torn, he had merely felt an overwhelming joy. Things might have gone worse; how much worse, he didn't dwell on. But now he kept thinking about it, ceaselessly: how everything might have ended if Erlend hadn't come to his aid just in time. He hadn't been afraid, but he had such a peculiar feeling. It was the expressions on the faces of the other men . . . and Holmgeir's dying body.

He had never killed a man before.

Except for the Swedish horseman he had felled . . . It was during the year when King Haakon led an incursion into Sweden to avenge the murder of the dukes.4 Simon had been sent out on a scouting mission; he had taken along three men, and he was to be their chieftain. How bold and c.o.c.ky he was. Simon remembered that his sword had gotten stuck in the steel helmet of the horseman so that he had to pry and wriggle it loose. There was a nick in the blade when he looked at it the next morning. He had always thought about that incident with pride, and there had been eight Swedes. He had gotten a taste of war at any rate, and that wasn't the lot of everyone who joined the king's men that year. When daylight came, he saw that blood and brains had splattered over his coat of mail; he tried to look modest and not boastful as he washed it off. Simon had been sent out on a scouting mission; he had taken along three men, and he was to be their chieftain. How bold and c.o.c.ky he was. Simon remembered that his sword had gotten stuck in the steel helmet of the horseman so that he had to pry and wriggle it loose. There was a nick in the blade when he looked at it the next morning. He had always thought about that incident with pride, and there had been eight Swedes. He had gotten a taste of war at any rate, and that wasn't the lot of everyone who joined the king's men that year. When daylight came, he saw that blood and brains had splattered over his coat of mail; he tried to look modest and not boastful as he washed it off.

But it did no good to think about that poor devil of a horseman now. No, that was not the same thing. He couldn't get rid of a terrible feeling of remorse about Holmgeir Moisessn.

There was also the fact that he owed Erlend his life. He didn't yet know what import this would have, but he felt as if everything would be different, now that he and Erlend were even.

In that way they were even at least.

The brothers-in-law had been riding in near silence. Once Erlend said, "It was foolish of you, Simon, not to think of getting out right from the start."

"Why is that?" asked Simon rather brusquely. "Because you were outside?"

"No . . ." There was the hint of a smile in Erlend's voice. "Well, because of that too. I hadn't thought about that. But through that narrow door they couldn't follow you more than one at a time. And it's always astounding how quickly people regain their senses when they come out under the open sky. It seems to me a miracle that there weren't more deaths."

A few times Erlend inquired about his brother-in-law's wounds. Simon said he hardly noticed them, even though they were throbbing terribly.

They reached Formo late that evening, and Erlend went inside with his brother-in-law. He had advised Simon to send the sheriff a report of the incident the very next day in order to arrange for a letter of reprieve5 as soon as possible. Erlend would gladly compose the letter for Simon that night since the wounds on his chest would no doubt hamper his writing hand. "And tomorrow you must keep to your bed; you may have a little wound fever." as soon as possible. Erlend would gladly compose the letter for Simon that night since the wounds on his chest would no doubt hamper his writing hand. "And tomorrow you must keep to your bed; you may have a little wound fever."

Ramborg and Arngjerd were waiting up for them. Because of the cold, they had settled on the bench on the warm side of the hearth, tucking their legs underneath them. A board game lay between them; they looked like a couple of children.

Simon had barely uttered a few words about what had happened before his young wife flew to his side and threw her arms around his neck. She pulled his face down to hers and pressed her cheek against his. And she crushed Erlend's hands so tightly that he laughingly said he had never thought Ramborg could have such strong fingers.

She begged her husband to spend the night in the main house so that she could keep watch over him. She implored him, almost in tears, until Erlend offered to stay and sleep with Simon if she would send a man north to Jrundgaard to take word. It was too late for him to ride home anyway, "and a shame for Kristin to sit up so late in this cold. She waits up for me too; you're both good wives, you daughters of Lavrans."

While the men ate and drank, Ramborg sat close to her husband. Simon patted her arm and hand; he was both a little embarra.s.sed and greatly touched that she showed so much concern and love for him. Simon was sleeping in the Saemund house during Lent, and when the men went over there, Ramborg went with them and put a large kettle of honey-ale to warm near the hearthstone.

The Saemund house was an ancient little hearth building, warm and snug; the timbers were so roughly hewn that there were only four beams to each wall. Right now it was cold, but Simon threw a great armful of resinous pine onto the fire and chased his dog up into the bed. The animal could lie there and warm it up for them. They pulled the log chair and the high-backed bench all the way up to the hearth and made themselves comfortable, for they were frozen to the bone after their ride, and the meal in the main house had only partially thawed them.

Erlend wrote the letter for Simon. Then they proceeded to undress. Simon's wound began to bleed again when he moved his arms too much, so his brother-in-law helped him pull the outer tunic over his head and take off his boots. Erlend limped a bit from his wounded leg; it was stiff and tender after the ride, he said, but it was nothing. Then they sat down near the fire again, half dressed. The room had grown pleasantly warm, and there was still plenty of ale in the kettle.

"I can see that you're taking this much too hard," Erlend said once. They had been dozing and staring into the fire. "He was no great loss to the world, that Holmgeir."

"That's not what Sira Moises will think," said Simon quietly. "He's an old man and a good priest."

Erlend nodded somberly.

"It's a bad thing to have made enemies with such a man. Especially since he lives so near. And you know that I often have business in that parish."

"Yes, well . . . This kind of thing can happen so easily-to any of us. They'll probably sentence you to a fine of ten or twelve marks of gold. And you know that Bishop Halvard is a stern master when he has to hear the confession of an a.s.sailant, and the boy's father is one of his priests. But you'll get through whatever is required."

Simon did not reply.

Erlend continued. "No doubt I'll have to pay fines for the injuries." He smiled to himself. "And I own no other piece of Norwegian land than the farm at Dovre."