In the middle of the summer, after the inheritance had been settled, 1 Simon turned over Mandvik to Stig Haakonss?n, Halfrid’s cousin. He left for Dyfrin and stayed there all winter.
Old Sir Andres lay in bed, suffering from dropsy and numerous ailments and pains; he was approaching the end now, and he complained a great deal. Life had not been so easy for him in the long run, either. Things had not gone as he had wished and expected for his handsome and promising children. Simon sat with his father and tried hard to adopt the calm and lighthearted tone from the past, but the old man moaned incessantly. Helga Saksesdatter, whom Gyrd had married, was so refined that there was no end to the unreasonable demands she could dream up—Gyrd didn’t even dare belch in his own manor without asking his wife for permission. And then there was Torgrim, who was always whining about his stomach. Sir Andres would never have given his daughter to Torgrim if he had known the man was so loathsome that he was incapable of either living or dying. Astrid would have no joy from her youth or her wealth as long as her husband was alive. Sigrid wandered around the estate, broken and grieving—all smiles and merriment had deserted her, that good daughter of his. And she had borne that child, while Simon had none. Sir Andres wept, miserable and old and ill. Gudmund had refused all of the marriages suggested by his father, who had grown so old and frail that he had let the boy wear him down.
But the misfortunes had begun when Simon and that foolish maiden had defied their parents. And Lavrans was to blame—as bold a man as he was among men, his knees buckled before his womenfolk. No doubt the girl had sobbed and screamed, and he at once relented and sent word to that gilded whoremaster from Tr?ndelag who couldn’t even wait until he and his bride were married. But if Lavrans had been master of his house, then he, Andres Darre, would have shown that he could teach a beardless whelp sensible behavior. Kristin Lavransdatter—she certainly had children enough. A healthy, squirming son every eleventh month, he had heard.
“It’s going to be costly, Father,” said Simon, laughing. “Their inheritance will be divided up many times.” He picked up Arngjerd and set her on his lap. She had just come toddling into the room.
“Well, that one there won’t cause your inheritance to be divided up into too many parts after you—whoever does inherit it,” said Sir Andres crossly. He was fond of his son’s daughter in his own way, but it infuriated him that Simon had a bastard child. “Have you thought of marrying anew, Simon?”
“You must let Halfrid grow cold in her grave first, Father,” said Simon, stroking the child’s pale hair. “I’ll probably marry again, but there’s no reason to make haste.”
Then he picked up his crossbow and skis and set off for the forest to find some respite. With his dogs at his side he tracked elk through the mountain pass and shot wood grouse in the treetops. At night he slept in the forest hut belonging to Dyfrin, thinking that it felt good to be alone.
There was the sound of skis scraping outside in the pass; the dogs leaped up, and other dogs responded from outdoors. Simon threw open the door to the moon-blue night, and Gyrd came in, slender and tall, handsome and silent. He now looked younger than Simon, who had always been rather stout and had grown a good deal heavier during those years at Mandvik.
The brothers sat with the sack of provisions between them, eating and drinking and staring into the hearth.
“I suppose you know,” said Gyrd, “that Torgrim will make a great deal of noise and ruckus when Father is gone. And he has won Gudmund’s support. And Helga’s. They will not grant Sigrid the full rights of a sister with us.”
“I realize that. But she must be given her share as a sister; you and I should be able to force them to agree, brother.”
“It would be best if Father himself saw to this matter before he dies,” said Gyrd.
“No, let Father die in peace,” replied Simon. “You and I will manage to protect our sister, so they don’t rob her because she has suffered such misfortune.”
So the heirs of Sir Andres Darre parted in bitter enmity after his death. Gyrd was the only one Simon said farewell to when he left home, and now he knew that Gyrd wouldn’t have many pleasant days with that wife of his. Sigrid moved to Formo with Simon; she would keep house for him, and he in turn would manage her properties.
He rode into his own estate on a grayish-blue day as the snow was melting, when the alder trees along the Laag River were brown with buds. As he was about to cross the threshold of the main house with Arngjerd in his arms, Sigrid Andresdatter asked, “Why are you smiling like that, Simon?”
“Was I smiling?”
He had been thinking that this was a different kind of homecoming than what he had once dreamed of—when he would one day settle down here on his grandmother’s estate. A seduced sister and a paramour’s child—these were now his companions.
During that first summer he saw little of the people at J?rundgaard; he diligently avoided them.
But on the Sunday after the Feast of the Birth of Mary in the fall, he happened to be standing next to Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n in church, and so the two of them had to give each other the traditional kiss after Sira Eirik had prayed for the peace of the Holy Church to be bountiful among them. And when Simon felt the older man’s thin, dry lips on his cheek and heard him whisper the prayer of peace, he was strangely moved. He realized that Lavrans meant more by this than if he were simply obeying the ritual of the Church.
He hastened outside after the mass was done, but over by the horses he again ran into Lavrans, who invited him to come to J?rundgaard for dinner. Simon replied that his daughter was sick and that his sister was sitting with her. Lavrans then prayed that God might heal the child and shook his hand in farewell.
Several days later they had been working hard at Formo to bring in the harvest because the weather looked threatening. Most of the grain had been brought in by evening, when the first showers opened up. Simon ran across the courtyard in the downpour; great bands of bright sunshine broke through the clouds and lit up the main building and the mountain wall beyond. Then he caught sight of a little maiden standing in front of the door in the rain and the sunlight. She had his favorite dog with her. The dog pulled loose and leaped at Simon, dragging along a woven woman’s belt, which was tied to his collar.
He saw that the girl came from highborn family. She was bareheaded and wore no cloak, but her wine-red dress was made from foreign cloth, and it was embroidered across the breast and fastened with a gilded brooch. A silken cord held her rain-dark hair back from her brow. The girl had a lively little face with a broad forehead, a sharp chin, and big, shining eyes. Her cheeks were flaming red, as if she had been running hard.
Simon knew who the maiden must be and greeted her by name: Ramborg.
“What might be the reason for you honoring us with this visit?”
It was the dog, she told Simon, as she followed him into the house and out of the rain. The dog had gotten into the habit of running off to J?rundgaard; now she was bringing him back. Oh yes, she knew it was his dog; she had seen the animal running alongside when he rode.