Halfway up the courtyard Simon met Kristin. She was wearing her cloak. Gaute walked at her side, carrying their clothing sack. Ramborg followed her sister.
The boy glanced up for a moment, frightened and confused. Then he withdrew his gaze. But Kristin fixed her big eyes directly on Simon’s face. They were dark with sorrow and anger.
“Could you truly believe that of Erlend? That he would betray you in such a manner?”
“I didn’t believe anything,” said Simon vehemently. “I thought the boy was just babbling nonsense and foolishness.”
“No, Simon, I don’t want you to come with me,” said Kristin quietly.
He saw that she was unspeakably offended and grieved.
That evening, when Simon was alone with his wife in the main house, as they undressed and their daughters were already asleep in the other bed, Ramborg suddenly asked, “Didn’t you know anything about this, Simon?”
“No. Did you?” he asked tensely.
Ramborg came over and stood in the glow of the candle standing on the table. She was half undressed, in her shift and laced bodice; her hair fell in loose curls around her face.
“I didn’t know, but I had a feeling. . . . Helga was so strange . . .” Her features twisted into an odd sort of smile, and she looked as if she were freezing. “She talked about how new times would be coming to Norway. The great chieftains would acquire the same rights here as in other lands.” Ramborg gave a crooked, almost contorted smile. “They would be called knights and barons again.
“Later, when I saw that you took up their affairs with such zeal, and you were away from home almost a whole year . . . and didn’t even feel that you could come north to be with me at Ringheim when I was staying on a stranger’s estate, about to give birth to your child . . . I thought perhaps you knew that it concerned others than Erlend.”
“Ha! Knights and barons!” Simon gave an angry laugh.
“Then was it merely for Kristin’s sake that you did it?”
He saw that her face was pale, as if from frostbite; it was impossible to pretend that he didn’t understand what she meant. Out of spite and despair, he exclaimed, “Yes.”
Then he thought that she must have gone mad, and he was mad too. Erlend was mad; they had all lost their wits that day. But now there had to be an end to it.
“I did it for your sister’s sake, yes,” he said soberly. “And for the sake of the children who had no other man closer in family or kinship to protect them. And for Erlend’s sake, since we should be as loyal to each other as brothers. So don’t start behaving foolishly, for I’ve seen more than enough of that here on the estate to day,” he bellowed, and flung the shoe he had just taken off against the wall.
Ramborg went over and picked it up; she looked at the timber it had struck.
“It’s shameful that Torbj?rg didn’t think of it herself, to wash off the soot in here before the feast. I forgot to mention it to her.” She wiped off the shoe. It was Simon’s best, with a long toe and red heel. She picked up its mate and put both of them into his clothes chest. But Simon noticed that her hands were shaking badly as she did so.
Then he went over and took her in his arms. She twined her thin arms around her husband as she trembled with stifled sobs and whispered to him that she was so tired.
Seven days later Simon and his servant rode through Kvam, heading north. They fought their way through a blizzard of great wet snowflakes. At midday they arrived at the small farm on the public road where there was an alehouse.
The proprietress came out and invited Simon to come into their home; only commoners were shown into the tavern. She shook out his outer garment and hung it up to dry on the wall peg near the hearth as she talked. Such awful weather . . . hard on the horses . . . and he must have had to ride the whole way around . . . it wasn’t possible to go across Lake Mj?sa now, was it?
“Oh yes, if a man was sick enough of his life . . .”
The woman and her children standing nearby all laughed agreeably. The older ones went about their chores, bringing in wood and ale, while the younger ones huddled together near the door. They usually received a few penninger from Simon, the master of Formo, whenever he stayed there, and if he was bringing home treats for his own children from Hamar, he would often give them a tidbit too. But today he didn’t seem to notice them.
He sat on the bench, leaning forward, with his hands hanging over his knees, staring into the hearth fire, and replied with a word or two to the woman’s incessant chatter. Then she mentioned that Erlend Nikulauss?n happened to be at Granheim. It was the day on which the ancestral owners were to place the first payment in the hands of the former owners. Should she send one of the children over to his brother-in-law with a message so that they could ride home together?
No, said Simon. She could give him a little food, and then he would lie down and sleep for a while.
He would see Erlend in good time. What he had to say he wanted to say in front of Gaute. But he would prefer not to speak of the matter more than once.
His servant, Sigurd, had sought refuge in the cookhouse while the woman prepared the food. Yes, it had been a wearisome journey, and his master had been like an angry bull almost the whole way. Normally Simon Andress?n liked to hear whatever news from his home district his servants could glean while they were at Dyfrin. He usually had one or more people from Raumerike in his service. Folks would come to him to ask for work whenever he was home, for he was known as a well-liked and generous man who was merry and not high-handed with his servants. But on this journey about the only answer that he, Sigurd, had received from his master was “Keep silent!”
He had apparently had a great quarrel with his brothers; he hadn’t even stayed the night at Dyfrin. They had taken lodgings on a tenant farm farther out in the countryside. Sir Gyrd—yes, for he could tell her that the king had made his master’s brother a knight at Christmastime—well, Sir Gyrd had come out to the courtyard and warmly entreated Simon to stay, but Simon had given his brother a curt reply. And they had roared and bellowed and shouted, all those gentlemen up in the high loft—Sir Ulf Sakses?n and Gudmund Andress?n had been on the estate as well—so that everyone was terribly frightened. God only knew what it was that had made them foes.
Simon came past the cookhouse, paused for a moment, and peered inside. Sigurd announced quickly that he would get an awl and a strap to make proper repairs to the harness that had been torn in the morning.
“Do they have those kinds of things in the cookhouse on this farm?” Simon flung over his shoulder as he left. Sigurd shook his head and nodded to the woman when Simon had disappeared from sight.
Simon pushed his plate aside but stayed seated. He was so tired that he could hardly even get up. At last he got to his feet and threw himself onto the bed, still wearing his boots and spurs, but then thought better of it. It was a good, clean bed for the house of a commoner. He sat up and pulled off his boots. Stiff and worn out as he was, surely he would be able to sleep now. He was soaked through and freezing, but his face burned after the long ride in the storm.
He crawled under the coverlet, twisting and turning the pillows; they smelled so strangely of fish. Then he stretched out, half reclining, propped up on one elbow.