Oh yes, he could see that her lovely face looked older and more careworn. She had an abundance of fine, little wrinkles under her eyes, and her skin had lost its delicate hue. It had become coarser and tan from the sun, but she was pale under the tan. And yet to him she would surely always be just as beautiful. Her big gray eyes, her fine, calm mouth, her round little chin, and her steady, subdued demeanor were the fairest he knew on earth.
It was a pleasure to see her once again dressed in a manner befitting a highborn woman. The thin little silk wimple covered only half of her golden brown tresses; her braids had been pinned up so they peeked out in front of her ears. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, but that didn’t matter. And she was wearing a magnificent blue surcoat made of velvet and trimmed with marten fur. The bodice was cut so low and the sleeve holes so deep that the garment clung to her breast and shoulders like the narrow straps of a bridle. It looked so lovely. Underneath there was a glimpse of something sand yellow, a gown that fit snugly to her body, all the way up to her throat and down to her wrists. It was held closed with dozens of tiny gilded buttons, which touched him so deeply. God forgive him—all those little golden buttons gave him as much joy as the sight of a flock of angels.
He stood there and felt the strong, steady beat of his own heart. Something had fallen away from him—yes, like chains. Vile, hateful dreams—they were just phantoms of the night. Now he could see the love he felt for her in the light of day, in full sunlight.
“You’re looking at me so strangely, Simon. Why are you smiling like that?”
The man gave a quiet, merry laugh but did not reply. Before them stretched the valley, filled with the golden warmth of the evening sun. Flocks of birds warbled and chirped metallically from the edge of the woods. Then the full, clear voice of the song thrush rang out from somewhere inside the forest. And here she stood, warmed by the sun, radiant in her brilliant finery, having emerged from the dark, cold house and the rough, heavy clothing that smelled of sweat and toil. My Kristin, it’s good to see you this way again.
He took her hand, which lay before him on the railing of the gallery, and lifted it to his face. “The ring you’re wearing is so lovely.” He turned the gold ring on her finger and then put her hand back down. It was reddish and rough now, and he didn’t know how he could ever make amends to it—so fair it had once been, her big, slender hand.
“There’s Arngjerd and Gaute,” said Kristin. “The two of them are quarreling again.”
Their voices could be heard from underneath the loft gallery, shrill and angry. Now the maiden began shouting furiously, “Go ahead and remind me of that. It seems to me a greater honor to be called my father’s bastard daughter than to be the lawful son of yours!”
Kristin spun on her heel and ran down the stairs. Simon followed and heard the sound of two or three slaps. She was standing under the gallery, clutching her son by the shoulder.
The two children had their eyes downcast; they were red-faced, silent, and defiant.
“I see you know how to behave as a guest. You do us such honor, your father and me.”
Gaute stared at the ground. In a low, angry voice he said to his mother, “She said something . . . I don’t want to repeat it.”
Simon put his hand under his daughter’s chin and tilted her face up. Arngjerd turned even brighter red, and her eyes blinked under her father’s gaze.
“Yes,” she said, pulling away from him. “I reminded Gaute that his father was a condemned villain and traitor. But before that he called you . . . He said that you, Father, were the traitor, and that it was thanks to Erlend that you were now sitting here, safe and rich, on your own manor.”
“I thought you were a grown-up maiden by now. Are you going to let childish chatter provoke you so that you forget both your manners and honor among kin?” Angrily he pushed the girl away, turned toward Gaute, and asked calmly, “What do you mean, Gaute, my friend, that I betrayed your father? I’ve noticed before that you’re cross with me. Now tell me: What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean!”
Simon shook his head.
Then the boy shouted, his eyes flashing with bitterness, “The letter they tortured my father on the rack for, trying to make him say who had put their seal on it—I saw that letter myself! I was the one who took it and burned it.”
“Keep silent!” Erlend broke in among them. His face was deathly white, all the way to his lips; his eyes blazed.
“No, Erlend. It’s better that we clear up this matter now. Was my name mentioned in that letter?”
“Keep silent!” Furiously Erlend seized Gaute by the shoulder and chest. “I trusted you. You, my son! It would serve you right if I killed you now.”
Kristin sprang forward, as did Simon. The boy tore himself loose and took refuge with his mother. Beside himself with rage, he screamed furiously as he hid behind Kristin’s arm, “I picked it up and looked at the seals before I burned it, Father! I thought the day might come when I could serve you by doing so. . . .”
“May God curse you!” A brief dry sob racked Erlend’s body.
Simon too had turned pale and then dark red in the face, out of shame for his brother-in-law. He didn’t dare look in Erlend’s direction; he thought he would suffocate from the other’s humiliation.
Kristin stood as if bewitched, still holding her arms protectively around her son. But one thought followed another, in rapid succession.
Erlend had had Simon’s private seal in his possession for a short time during that spring. The brothers-in-law had jointly sold Lavrans’s dock warehouse at Ve?y to the cloister on Holm. Erlend had mentioned that this was probably unlawful, but surely no one would question it. He had shown her the seal and said that Simon should have had a finer one carved. All three brothers had acquired a copy of their father’s seal; only the inscriptions were different. But Gyrd’s was much more finely etched, said Erlend.
Gyrd Darre . . . Erlend had brought her greetings from him after both of his last journeys to the south. She remembered being surprised that Erlend had visited Gyrd at Dyfrin. They had met only once, at Ramborg’s wedding. Ulf Sakses?n was Gyrd Darre’s brother-in-law; Ulf had been part of the plot. . . .
“You were mistaken, Gaute,” said Simon in a low, firm voice.
“Simon!” Unawares, Kristin gripped her husband’s hand. “Keep in mind . . . there are other men than yourself who bear that emblem on their seal.”
“Silence! Will you too—” Erlend tore himself away from his wife with a tormented wail and raced across the courtyard toward the stable. Simon set off after him.
“Erlend . . . Was it my brother?”
“Send for the boys. Follow me home,” Erlend shouted back to his wife.
Simon caught up with him in the stable doorway and grabbed him by the arm. “Erlend, was it Gyrd?”
Erlend didn’t reply; he tried to wrench his arm away. His face looked oddly stubborn and deathly pale.
“Erlend, answer me. Did my brother join you in that plan?”
“Perhaps you too would like to test your sword against mine?” Erlend snarled, and Simon could feel the other man’s body trembling as they struggled.
“You know I wouldn’t.” Simon let go and sank back against the doorframe. “Erlend, in the name of Christ, who suffered death for our sakes: Tell me if it’s true!”
Erlend led Soten out, and Simon had to step aside from the doorway. An attentive servant brought his saddle and bridle. Simon took them and sent the man away. Then Erlend took them from Simon.
“Erlend, surely you can tell me now! You can tell me!” He didn’t know why he was begging as if for his very life. “Erlend, answer me. On the wounds of Christ, I beseech you. Tell me, man!”
“You can keep on thinking what you thought before,” said Erlend in a low and cutting voice.
“Erlend, I didn’t think . . . anything.”
“I know what you thought.” Erlend swung himself into the saddle. Simon grabbed the harness; the horse shifted and pranced uneasily.
“Let go, or I’ll run you down,” said Erlend.
“Then I’ll ask Gyrd. I’ll ride south tomorrow. By God, Erlend, you have to tell me. . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure he will give you an answer,” said Erlend scornfully, spurring the stallion so that Simon had to leap aside. Then Erlend galloped off from the estate.