Kristin Lavransdatter (135 page)

It was the mark of death. . . . She knew that.

She went back and slid her hand under the coverlet. His ankles were swollen all the way up to his calves.

“Do you want me—do you want me to send for Sira Eirik now?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yes, tonight,” replied Simon.

He had to speak of it
before
he confessed and received the last rites. Afterward he must try to turn his thoughts in another direction.

“It’s odd that you should be the one who will probably have to tend to my body,” said Simon. “And I’m afraid I won’t be a particularly handsome corpse.”

Kristin forced back a sob. She moved away to prepare another soothing potion.

But Simon said, “I don’t like these potions of yours, Kristin. They make my thoughts so muddled.”

After a while he asked her to give him a little all the same. “But don’t put so much in it that it will make me drowsy. I have to talk to you about something.”

He took a sip and then lay waiting for the pain to ease enough that he would have the strength to talk to her clearly and calmly.

“Don’t you want us to bring Sira Eirik to you, so he can speak the words that might give you comfort?”

“Yes, soon. But there is something I must say to you first.”

He lay in silence for a while. Then he said, “Tell Erlend Niku laussøn that the words I spoke to him the last time we parted—those words I have regretted every day since. I behaved in a petty and unmanly fashion toward my brother-in-law that night. Give him my greetings and tell him . . . beg him to forgive me.”

Kristin sat with her head bowed. Simon saw that she had turned blood red under her wimple.

“You will give this message to your husband, won’t you?” he asked.

She gave a small nod.

Then Simon went on. “If Erlend doesn’t come to my funeral, you must seek him out, Kristin, and tell him this.”

Kristin sat mutely, her face dark red.

“You wouldn’t refuse to do what I ask of you, now that I’m about to die, would you?” asked Simon Andressøn.

“No,” she whispered. “I will . . . do it.”

“It’s not good for your sons, Kristin, that there is enmity between their father and mother,” Simon continued. “I wonder whether you’ve noticed how much it torments them. It’s hard for those lively boys, knowing that their parents are the subject of gossip in the countryside.”

Kristin replied in a harsh, low voice, “Erlend left our sons—not I. First my sons lost their foothold in the regions where they were born into noble lineage and property. If they now have to bear having gossip spread about them here in the valley, which is my home, I am not to blame.”

Simon lay in silence for a moment. Then he said, “I haven’t forgotten that, Kristin. There is much you have a right to complain about. Erlend has managed poorly for his children. But you must remember, if that plan of his had been carried out, his sons would now be well provided for, and he himself would be among the most powerful knights in the realm. The man who fails in such a venture is called a traitor to his king, but if he succeeds, people speak quite differently. Half of Norway thought as Erlend did back then: that we were poorly served by sharing a king with the Swedes and that the son of Knut Porse was probably made of stronger stuff than that coddled boy, if we could have won over Prince Haakon in his tender years. Many men stood behind Erlend at the time and tugged on the rope along with him; my own brothers did so, and many others who are now called good knights and men with coats of arms. Erlend alone had to fall. And back then, Kristin, your husband showed that he was a splendid and courageous man, even though he may have acted otherwise, both before and since.”

Kristin sat in silence, trembling.

“I think, Kristin, that if this is the reason you’ve said bitter words to your husband, then you must take them back. You should be able to do it, Kristin. Once you held firmly enough to Erlend; you refused to listen to a word of truth about his behavior toward you when he acted in a way I never thought an honorable man would act, much less a highborn gentleman and a chivalrous retainer of the king. Do you remember where I found the two of you in Oslo? You could forgive Erlend for
that
, both at the time and later on.”

Kristin replied quietly, “I had cast my lot with his by then. What would have become of me afterward if I had parted my life from Erlend’s?”

“Look at me, Kristin,” said Simon Darre, “and answer me truthfully. If I had held your father to his promise and chosen to take you as you were . . . If I had told you that I would never remind you of your shame, but I would not release you . . . What would you have done then?”

“I don’t know.”

Simon laughed harshly. “If I had forced you to celebrate a wedding with me, you would never have taken me willingly into your arms, Kristin, my fair one.”

Now her face turned white. She sat with her eyes lowered and did not reply.

He laughed again. “I don’t think you would have embraced me tenderly when I climbed into your bridal bed.”

“I think I would have taken my knife to bed with me,” she whispered in a stifled voice.

“I see you know the ballad about Knut of Borg,” said Simon with a bitter smile. “I haven’t heard that such a thing ever happened, but God only knows whether
you
might have done it!”

Some time later he went on, “It’s also unheard of among Christian people for married folks to part ways of their own free will, as you two have done, without lawful cause and the consent of the bishop. Aren’t you ashamed? You trampled on everyone, defied everyone in order to be together. When Erlend was in mortal danger, you thought of nothing but how to save him, and he thought much more about you than about his seven sons or his reputation and property. But whenever you can have each other in peace and security, you’re no longer capable of maintaining calm and decency. Discord and discontent reigned between you at Husaby too—I saw it myself, Kristin.

“I tell you, for the sake of your sons, that you must seek reconciliation with your husband. If you are even the slightest bit at fault, then surely it’s easier for you to offer Erlend your hand,” he said in a somewhat gentler tone.

“It’s easier for you than for Erlend Nikulaussøn, sitting up there at Haugen in poverty,” he repeated.

“It’s not easy for me,” she whispered. “I think I’ve shown that I can do something for my children. I’ve struggled and struggled for them. . . .”

“That is true,” said Simon. Then he asked, “Do you remember that day when we met on the road to Nidaros? You were sitting in the grass, nursing Naakkve.”

Kristin nodded.

“Could you have done for that child at your breast what my sister did for her son? Given him away to those who were better able to provide for him?”

Kristin shook her head.

“But ask his father to forget what you may have said to him in anger . . . Do you mean that you’re unable to do that for him and your six other fair sons? To tell your husband that the young lads need him to come home to them, to his own manor?”

“I will do as you ask, Simon,” said Kristin softly. After a moment she continued, “You have used harsh words to tell me this. In the past you’ve also chastised me more sternly than any other man has.”

“Yes, but now I can assure this will be the last time.” His voice had that teasing, merry ring to it that it used to have. “No, don’t weep like that, Kristin. But remember, my sister, that you have made this promise to a dying man.” Once again the old, mirthful glint came into his eyes.

“You know, Kristin . . . it’s happened to me before that I learned you weren’t to be counted on!

“Hush now, my dear,” he implored a little later. He had been lying there listening to her piteous, broken sobs. “You should know that I remember you were also a good and loyal sister. We will remain friends to the end, my Kristin.”

Toward evening he asked them to send for the priest. Sira Eirik came, heard his confession, and gave him the last oil and viaticum. He took leave of his servants and the sons of Erlend, the five who were home; Kristin had sent Naakkve to Kruke. Simon had asked to see Kristin’s children, to bid them farewell.

On that night Kristin again kept vigil over the dying man. Toward morning she dozed off for a moment. She woke up to a strange sound; Simon lay there, moaning softly. It distressed her greatly when she heard this—that
he
should complain, as quietly and pitifully as a miserable, abandoned child, when he thought no one would hear him. She leaned down and kissed his face many times. She noticed that his breath and his whole body smelled sickly and of death. But when daylight came, she saw that his eyes were lively and clear and steadfast.

She could see that he suffered terrible pain when Jon and Sigurd lifted him up in a sheet while she changed his bed, making it as soft and comfortable as she could. He had refused any food for more than a day, but he was very thirsty.

After she had gotten him settled, he asked her to make the sign of the cross over him, saying, “Now I can’t move my left arm anymore either.”

But whenever we make the sign of the cross over ourselves or over anything that we want to protect with the cross, then we must remember how the cross was made sacred and what it means, and remember that with the suffering and death of the Lord, this symbol was given honor and power.

Simon remembered that he had once heard this read aloud. He wasn’t used to thinking about much when he made the sign of the cross over his breast or his houses or possessions. He felt ill prepared and not ready to take leave of this earthly home; he had to console himself that he had prepared himself as best he could in the time he had, through confession, and he had been given the last rites. Ramborg . . . But she was so young; perhaps she would be much happier with a different man. His children . . . May God protect them. And Gyrd would look out for their welfare with loyalty and wisdom. And so he would have to put his trust in God, who judges a man not according to his worth but through His mercy.

Later that day Sigrid Andresdatter and Geirmund of Kruke arrived. Simon then asked Kristin to leave and take some rest, now that she had been keeping watch and tending to him for such a long time. “And soon it will be quite vexing to be around me,” he said with a little smile. At that she broke into loud sobs for a moment; then she leaned down and once again kissed his wretched body, which was already starting to decay.

Simon lay in bed quietly. The fever and pain were now much less. He lay there thinking that it couldn’t be much longer before he would be released.

He was surprised that he had spoken to Kristin as he had. It was not what he had intended to say to her. But he had not been able to speak of anything else. There were moments when he felt almost annoyed by this.

But surely the festering would soon reach his heart. A man’s heart is the first thing to come alive in his mother’s womb and the last thing to fall silent. Surely it would soon fall silent inside him.

 

That night his mind rambled. Several times he screamed loudly, and it was terrible to hear. Other times he lay there, laughing softly and saying his own name, or so Kristin thought. But Sigrid, who sat bending over him, whispered to her that he seemed to be talking about a boy, their cousin, who had been his good friend when they were children. Around midnight he grew calm and seemed to sleep. Then Sigrid persuaded Kristin to lie down for a while in the other bed in the room.

She was awakened by a commotion in the room. It was shortly before daybreak, and then she heard that the death struggle had begun. Simon had lost his voice, but he still recognized her; she could tell by his eyes. Then it was as if a piece of steel had broken inside them; they rolled up under his eyelids. But for a moment he lay there, still alive, a rattling sound in his throat. The priest had come, and he said the prayers for the dying. The two women sat next to the bed and the entire household was in the room. Just before midday Simon finally breathed his last.

The next day Gyrd Darre came riding into the courtyard at Formo. He had ridden a horse to exhaustion along the way. Down at Breiden he had learned of his brother’s death, so at first he seemed quite composed. But when his sister, weeping, threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close and began to sob like a child himself.

He told them that Ramborg Lavransdatter was at Dyfrin with a newborn son. When Gaute Erlendssøn brought them the message, she had shrieked at once that she knew this would be the death of Simon. Then she fell to the floor with birth pains. The child was born six weeks early, but they hoped he would live.

A magnificent funeral feast was held in Simon Andressøn’s honor, and he was buried right next to the cross at the Olav Church. People in the parish were pleased that he had chosen his resting place there. The ancient Formo lineage, which had died out with Simon Sæmundssøn on the male side, had been mighty and grand. Astrid Simonsdatter had made a wealthy marriage; her sons had borne the title of knight and sat on the royal Council, but they had seldom come home to their mother’s ancestral manor. When her grandson decided to settle on the estate, people thought it was almost as if the old lineage had been revived. They soon forgot to think of Simon Andressøn as a stranger, and they felt great sorrow that he had died so young, for he was only forty-two winters old.

WEEK AFTER WEEK passed, and Kristin prepared herself in her heart to take the dead man’s message to Erlend. There was no doubt that she would do it, but it seemed to her a difficult task. In the meantime so much had to be done at home on the estates. She went about arguing with herself about postponing it.

At Whitsuntide, Ramborg Lavransdatter arrived at Formo. She had left her children behind at Dyfrin. They were well, she said when Kristin asked about them. The two maidens had wept bitterly and mourned their father. Andres was too young to understand. The youngest, Simon Simonssøn, was thriving, and they hoped he would grow up to be big and strong.