Gunnulf did not look at his brother. Blood flushed red across his face.
“You have no right to ask me that, but I will answer you all the same. He who died for us on the cross knows how much I need his mercy. But I tell you, Erlend—if on the whole round disk of this earth he had not one servant who was pure and unmarked by sin, and if in his holy Church there was not a single priest who was more faithful and worthy than I am, miserable betrayer of the Lord that I am, then the Lord’s commandments and laws are what we can learn from this. His Word cannot be defiled by the mouth of an impure priest; it can only burn and consume our own lips—although perhaps you can’t understand this. But you know as well as I, along with every filthy thrall of the Devil that He has bought with His own blood—God’s law cannot be shaken nor His honor diminished. Just as His sun is equally mighty, whether it shines above the barren sea and desolate gray moors or above these fair lands.”
Erlend had hidden his face in his hands. He sat still for a long time, but when he spoke his voice was dry and hard.
“Priest or no priest—since you’re not such a strict adherent of pure living—don’t you see . . . Could you have done that to a woman who had slept in your arms and borne you two children? Could you have done to her what our aunt did to her husband?”
The priest didn’t answer at first. Then he said with some scorn, “You don’t seem to judge Aunt Aashild too harshly.”
“But it can’t be the same for a man as for a woman,” said Erlend. “I remember the last time they were here at Husaby, and Herr Bj?rn was with them. We sat near the hearth, Mother and Aunt Aashild, and Herr Bj?rn played the harp and sang for them. I stood at his knee. Then Uncle Baard called to her—he was in bed, and he wanted her to come to bed too. He used words that were vulgar and shameless. Aunt Aashild stood up and Herr Bj?rn did too. He left the room, but before he did, they looked at each other. Later, when I was old enough to understand, I thought . . . that it might be true after all. I had begged for permission to light the way for Herr Bj?rn over to the loft where he was going to sleep, but I didn’t dare, and I didn’t dare sleep in the hall, either. I ran outside and went to sleep with the men in the servants’ house. By Jesus, Gunnulf—it can’t be the same for a man as it was for Aashild that evening. No, Gunnulf—to kill a woman who . . . unless I caught her with another man . . .”
And yet that was exactly what he had done. But Gunnulf wouldn’t dare mention that to his brother.
Then the priest asked coldly, “Wasn’t it true that Eline had been unfaithful to you?”
“Unfaithful!” Erlend abruptly turned to face his brother, furious. “Do you think I should have blamed her for taking up with Gissur, after I had told her so often that it was over between us?”
Gunnulf bowed his head.
“No. No doubt you’re right,” he said, his voice weary and low.
But having won that small concession, Erlend flared up. He threw back his head and looked at the priest.
“You take so much notice of Kristin, Gunnulf. The way you’ve been hanging about her all spring—almost more than is decent for a brother and a priest. It’s as if you didn’t want her to be mine. If things hadn’t been the way they were with her when you first met, people might even think . . .”
Gunnulf stared at him. Provoked by his brother’s gaze, Erlend jumped to his feet. Gunnulf stood up too. When he continued to stare, Erlend lashed out at him with his fist. The priest grabbed his wrist. He tried to charge at Gunnulf, but his brother stood his ground.
Erlend grew meek at once. “I should have remembered that you’re a priest,” he said softly.
“Well, you have nothing to repent on that account,” said Gunnulf with a little smile. Erlend stood there rubbing his wrist.
“Yes, you always had such devilishly strong hands.”
“This is the way it was when we were boys.” Gunnulf’s voice grew oddly tender and gentle. “I’ve thought about that often during the years I was away from home—about when we were boys. We often fought, but it never lasted long, Erlend.”
“But now,” said the other man sorrowfully, “it can never be the same as when we were boys, Gunnulf.”
“No,” murmured the priest. “I suppose it can’t.”
They stood in silence for a long time. Finally Gunnulf said, “I’m going away now, Erlend. I’ll go down to bid Eiliv farewell, and then I’m leaving. I’m heading over to visit the priest in Orkedal; I won’t go to Nidaros while she is there.” He gave a small smile.
“Gunnulf! I didn’t mean . . . Don’t leave me this way.”
Gunnulf didn’t move. He breathed hard several times and then he said, “There’s one thing I want to tell you, Erlend—since you now know that I know everything about you. Sit down.”
The priest sat down in the same position as before. Erlend stretched out in front of him, lying with one hand propped under his chin and looking up at his brother’s strangely tense and rigid face. Then he smiled.
“What is it, Gunnulf? Are you about to confess to me?”
“Yes,” said his brother softly. But then he fell silent for a long time. Erlend noticed that his lips moved once, and he clasped his hands tighter around his knee.
“What is it?” He gave him a fleeting smile. “It can’t be that you—that some fair woman out there in the southern lands . . .”
“No,” said the priest. His voice had a peculiar gruff tone. “This is not about love. Do you know, Erlend, how it happened that I was promised to the priesthood?”
“Yes. When our brothers died and they thought they were going to lose us too . . .”
“No,” said Gunnulf. “They thought Munan had regained his health, and Gaute was not ill at all; he didn’t die until the next winter. But you lay in bed and were suffocating, and that’s when Mother promised that I would serve Saint Olav if he would save your life.”
“Who told you that?” asked Erlend after a moment.
“Ingrid, my foster mother.”
“Well, I would have been an odd gift to offer to Saint Olav,” said Erlend, with a laugh. “He would have been poorly served by me. But you’ve told me, Gunnulf, that you were pleased even as a boy to be called to the priesthood.”
“Yes,” said the priest. “But it was not always so. I remember the day you left Husaby along with Munan Baards?n to journey to our kinsman, the king, to join his service. Your horse danced beneath you, and your new weapons gleamed and shone. I would never bear weapons. You were handsome, my brother. You were only sixteen winters old, and I had already noticed long ago that women and maidens were fond of you.”
“All that glory was short-lived,” said Erlend. “I learned to cut my nails straight across, to swear on the name of Jesus with every other word, and to resort to my dagger to defend myself when I wielded a sword. Then I was sent north and met her—and was banished with shame from the king’s retinue, and our father closed his door to me.”
“And you left the country with a beautiful woman,” said Gunnulf in the same low voice. “We heard at home that you had become a chief of guards at Earl Jacob’s castle.”
“Well, it wasn’t as grand as it seemed back home,” said Erlend, laughing.
“You and Father were no longer friends. But he had so little regard for me that he didn’t even bother to quarrel with me. Mother loved me, that I know—but she found me less worthy than you. I felt it the most when you left the country. You, brother, were the only one who had any real love for me. And God knows you were my dearest friend on earth. But back when I was young and ignorant, I would sometimes think you had been given so much more than I had. Now I’ve told you, Erlend.”
Erlend lay with his face against the ground.
“Don’t go, Gunnulf,” he begged.
“I must,” said the priest. “Now we’ve told each other far too much. May God and the Virgin Mary grant that we meet again at a better time. Farewell, Erlend.”