Kristin Lavransdatter (119 page)

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 Veøy 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 Saksesøn 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.

 

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 Torbjørg 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 Mjøsa 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 Nikulaussøn 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 Andressøn 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 Saksesøn and Gudmund Andressøn 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.

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 Vidkunssøn had known that the welfare of Gyrd and Gudmund Darre might also be at stake if Erlend Nikulaussøn 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 Bjarkø 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 Haftorssøns and had advised him to seek their help, for it was most likely their friends who would need to be afraid. The Haftorssøns were cousins of Ulf Saksesøn and Helga. The nose is right next to the eyes!