Róslín was taken aback. ‘Margrét?’
‘It’s just that . . .’ Margrét hesitated and turned around, looking towards the entrance of the croft. ‘Nothing is simple,’ she finally muttered.
‘You don’t believe they deserved to die?’
Margrét snorted. ‘Of course not.’
Róslín regarded her cautiously. ‘You do know she’s guilty, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I know she’s guilty.’
‘Good. Then let me tell you, you’d be well advised to watch your back around . . . What was her name again?’
‘Agnes,’ Margrét replied, softly. ‘You know that, Róslín.’
‘Yes, Agnes Magnúsdóttir, that’s the one. Be careful. I know there’s not much you can do, but ask the District Commissioner for a guard to watch her. Keep her hands tied! Folk are saying that Agnes is the worst of the three convicted. The boy, Fridrik, was under her sway, and she forced the other girl to keep watch, and tied her to the doorpost to make sure she wouldn’t escape!’ Róslín took a step forward and brought her face close to Margrét’s. ‘I’ve heard that it was she who stabbed Natan eighteen times. Over and over again!’
‘Eighteen times, is that so?’ Margrét murmured. She desperately wished Sn?bj?rn would come back to collect his wife.
‘In the stomach and throat.’ Róslín’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘And – oh, the Lord bless us – even in the face! I heard she plunged the knife into his eye socket. Pierced it like an egg yolk!’ Róslín grasped Margrét tightly on the shoulder. ‘If I were you I wouldn’t sleep a wink with her in the same room! I’d rather sleep in the cowshed than risk it. Oh, Margrét, I can’t believe the rumours are true! Murderers on our doorsteps! This parish has gone to the dogs. Worse than the things you hear about Reykjavík. And her, just now, standing in the very spot where my daughters play. It gives me the shivers. See, look at my arms – I am covered in gooseflesh! My poor Margrét, however shall you cope?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Margrét said briskly, bending down to pick up the plate of rye bread.
‘But will you? And where is Jón to protect you?’
‘At Hvammur, with Bl?ndal. Like I said.’
‘Margrét!’ Róslín threw her hands into the air. ‘It is wickedness for Bl?ndal to have you and the girls alone with this woman! I tell you what, I shall stay with you.’
‘You will do no such thing, Róslín,’ Margrét said firmly, ‘but thank you for your concern. Now, I hate to set you on your way, but the sheep will not milk themselves.’
‘Shall I help you?’ Róslín asked. ‘Here, let me take that bread and carry it inside for you.’
‘Goodbye, Róslín.’
‘Perhaps if I were to see her, I could gauge your danger. Our danger! What’s to stop her from sneaking about at night?’
Margrét took Róslín by the elbow and turned her in the direction she had come from. ‘Thank you for your visit, Róslín, and thank you for the rye bread. Watch your step, there.’
‘But –’
‘Goodbye, Róslín.’
Róslín cast a backward glance towards the croft, then attempted a smile and trudged heavily back down the slope towards Gilsstadir. Her little girls tottered after her. Margrét stood, gripping the plate of rye bread in front of her, and watched them leave, until they were nothing more than specks in the distance, then she squatted and coughed until her tongue was slippery. She spat wetly upon the grass. Then she slowly stood up, turned and walked back towards the croft.
WHEN I COME INTO THE badstofa I see that the officer who was sleeping is gone. He must have joined his friends; I can hear men talking in a mixture of Danish and Icelandic outside the window. They must not have seen the farm mistress push me back inside. The two sleeping daughters have gone also. I’m alone.