His thoughts began circling again. He had been thinking and thinking these past few days, the way an animal plods around a tether.
Even if Erling Vidkunss?n had known that the welfare of Gyrd and Gudmund Darre might also be at stake if Erlend Nikulauss?n had been broken and talked . . . well, that didn’t make it any worse that Simon had seized upon all means to win the help of the Bjark? knight. Quite the opposite. Surely a man was obligated to stand by his own brothers, even to the death if need be. But he still wished that he knew whether Erling had known about it. Simon weighed the matter for and against. Erling couldn’t possibly have been entirely ignorant that a rebellion was brewing. But what exactly had he known? Gyrd and Ulf, at any rate, didn’t seem to know whether the man was aware of their complicity. But Simon remembered that Erling had mentioned the Haftorss?ns and had advised him to seek their help, for it was most likely their friends who would need to be afraid. The Haftorss?ns were cousins of Ulf Sakses?n and Helga. The nose is right next to the eyes!
But even if Erling Vidkunss?n believed that he was also thinking of his own brothers, surely that didn’t make what he had done any worse. And Erling might have realized that he knew nothing about his brothers’ peril. Besides, he had said himself that . . . He remembered he had told Stig that he didn’t think they could torture Erlend into talking.
They might still have reason to fear Erlend’s tongue. He had kept silent through the torture and imprisonment, but he was the kind of man who might let it slip out afterward through some chance remark. It would be just like him.
And yet . . . Simon thought this was the one thing he could be certain that Erlend would never do. He was as silent as a rock every time the conversation touched on the matter, precisely because he was afraid of being lured into some slip of the tongue. Simon understood that Erlend had a fierce, almost childish terror of breaching a promise. Childish because the fact that he had given away the whole plan to his lover clearly did not seem to Erlend to have tarnished his honor in any significant way. He apparently thought that such could happen to the best of men. As long as he himself held his tongue, he considered his shield unblemished and his promise unbroken. And Simon had noticed that Erlend was sensitive about his honor, as far as his own understanding of honor and reputation went. He had nearly lost his wits from desperation and anger at the mere thought that any of his fellow conspirators might be exposed—even now, so much later and in such a manner that it couldn’t possibly make any difference to the men whom he had protected with his life, as well as with his honor and his property. All because of a child talking to the closest kinsman of these men.
Erlend wanted to handle it in such a way that if things went wrong, he would be the one to pay the price for all of them. That’s what he had vowed on the crucifix to every man who had joined him in the plot. But to think that grown-up, sensible men would put their faith in such an oath, when it was not entirely within Erlend’s control . . . Now that Simon had learned everything about the plan, he thought it was the greatest foolishness he had ever heard. Erlend had been willing to let his body be torn apart, limb from limb, in order to keep his sworn oath. All the while the secret lay in the hands of a ten-year-old boy; Erlend himself had seen to that. And it was evidently no thanks to him that Sunniva Olavsdatter didn’t know more than she did. Could anyone ever make sense of such a man?
If, for a moment, he had believed . . . well, what Erlend and his wife thought he had believed. . . . God only knew how close to the truth such a thought was when Gaute started talking about seeing his seal on the treasonous letter. The two of them might remember that he knew a few things about Erlend Nikulauss?n so that he, more than most other men, had little reason to believe the best of that gentleman. But they had probably forgotten long ago how he had once come upon them and witnessed the depths of their shamelessness.
So there was little reason for him to lie here, berating himself like a dog because he had wrongly accused Erlend in his mind. God knew it was not because he wanted to think ill of his brother-in-law; it only made him unhappy to have such thoughts. He was fully aware that it was a wildly foolish notion; he would have realized at once, even without Kristin’s words, that things couldn’t have happened that way. As quickly as the suspicion occurred to him—that Erlend might have misused his seal—he had dismissed it. No, Erlend couldn’t possibly have done that. Erlend had never in his life committed a dishonorable act that had been thought out in advance or with some specific purpose in mind.
Simon tossed and turned in bed, moaning. They had made him half mad with all this madness. He felt so tormented when he thought about how Gaute had gone around for years, believing this of him. But it was unreasonable for him to take it so hard. Even though he was fond of the boy, fond of all of Kristin’s sons, they were still hardly more than children. Did he need to be so concerned about how they might judge him?
To think he could be so furious with rage when he thought about the men who had placed their hands on the hilt of Erlend’s sword and sworn to follow their chieftain. If they were such sheep to allow themselves to be dazzled by Erlend’s persuasive and bold manner and to believe that he was a suitable chieftain, then it was only to be expected that they would behave like frightened sheep when the whole venture went awry. And yet he felt dazed when he thought about what he had learned at Dyfrin: that so many men had dared entrust the peace of the land and their own welfare into Erlend’s hands. Even Haftor Olavss?n and Borgar Trondss?n! But not one of them had the courage to step forward and demand of the king that Erlend should be granted an honorable reconciliation and a reprieve for his ancestral estates. There were so many of them that if they had joined forces, it could easily have been accomplished. Apparently there was less wisdom and courage among the noblemen of Norway than he had thought.
Simon was also angry because he had been entirely kept out of these plans. Not that they would have been able to enlist him in such a foolhardy enterprise. But that both Erlend and Gyrd had gone behind his back and concealed everything . . . Surely he was just as good a nobleman as any of the others, and not without some influence in the regions where people knew him.
In some ways he agreed with Gyrd. Considering the manner in which Erlend had squandered his position as chieftain, the man couldn’t reasonably demand that his fellow conspirators should step forward and declare their allegiance with him. Simon knew that if he had found Gyrd alone, he would not have ended up parting with his brothers in such a fashion. But there sat that knight, Sir Ulf, stretching out his long legs in front of him and talking about Erlend’s lack of sense—after it was all over! And then Gudmund spoke up. In the past neither Gyrd nor Simon had let their younger brother take a position against them. But ever since he had married the priest’s paramour, who then became his own paramour, the boy had grown so swaggering and cocky and independent. Simon had sat there glaring fiercely at Gudmund. He spoke so arrogantly and his round, red face looked so much like a child’s backside that Simon’s hands itched to give it a swat. In the end he hardly knew what he was saying to the three men.