His lips were pale next to his beard; his face was snowy white. The large, straight triangle of his nose seemed to protrude much too far from his hollowed cheeks; his gray-flecked hair lay in lank, sweaty strings, swept back from his high, narrow forehead. At each temple was a large purple mark, as if something had clamped or held him there.
Slowly, with great difficulty, Erlend opened his big pale-blue eyes and attempted to smile when he recognized the men. His voice was odd-sounding and husky. “Sit down, brother-in-law . . .” He turned his head toward the empty bed. “I’ve learned a few new things since we last met. . . .”
Olav Kyrning bent over Erlend and asked him if he wanted anything. When he received no answer—probably because Erlend had no strength to reply—he pulled the cape aside. Erlend was wearing only linen pants and a ragged shirt. The sight of the swollen and discolored limbs shocked and enraged Simon like some indecent horror. He wondered whether Erlend felt the same way—a shadow of a blush passed over his face as Olav gently rubbed his arms and legs with a cloth he had dipped in a basin of water. And when he replaced the cape, Erlend straightened it out with a few small movements of his limbs and by drawing it all the way up to his chin, so that he was completely covered.
“Well,” said Erlend. Now he sounded a bit more like himself, and the smile was stronger on his pale lips. “Next time it will be worse. But I’m not afraid. No one needs to be afraid . . . they won’t get anything out of me . . . not that way.”
Simon could tell that he was speaking the truth. Torture was not going to force a word out of Erlend Nikulauss?n. He could do and say anything in anger and on impulse, but he would never let himself be budged even a hand’s breadth by violence. Simon realized that the shame and indignation he felt on the other man’s behalf was not something Erlend felt himself—instead, he was filled with a stubborn joy at defying his tormenter and a confident faith in his ability to resist. He who had always yielded so pitifully when confronted by a strong will, who might have shown cruelty himself in a moment of fear, now displayed his valor when he, in this cruel situation, sensed an opponent who was weaker than he was.
But Simon snarled through clenched teeth, “Next time . . . will never come! What do you say, Olav?”
Olav shook his head, but Erlend said with a trace of the old impudent boldness in his voice, “If only I could believe that . . . as firmly as you do! But these men will hardly . . . be satisfied with this . . .” He noticed the twitching of Simon’s muscular, heavy face. “No, Simon . . . brother-in-law!” Erlend tried to raise himself up on one elbow; in pain he uttered a stifled moan and then sank back in a faint.
Olav and Simon tended to him. When the fainting spell had passed, Erlend lay still with his eyes open wide; he spoke more somberly.
“Don’t you see . . . how much is at stake . . . for King Magnus? To find out . . . which men he shouldn’t trust . . . farther than he can see them. So much unrest . . . and discontent . . . as we’ve had here . . .”
“Well, if he thinks this will quell the discontent, then—” said Olav Kyrning angrily.
But Erlend said in a soft, clear voice, “I’ve handled this matter in such a way . . . that few will consider it important how I’m treated. I know that myself.”
The two men blushed. Simon hadn’t thought that Erlend understood this—and neither of them had ever referred to Fru Sunniva. Now he exclaimed in despair, “How could you be so foolish and reckless!”
“I can’t understand it either . . . now,” said Erlend honestly. “But—how in hell was I to know that she could read! She seemed so uneducated.”
His eyes closed again; he was about to faint once more. Olav Kyrning murmured that he would get something and left the room. Simon bent over Erlend, who was again lying there with half-open eyes.
“Brother-in-law . . . did . . . did Erling Vidkunss?n support you in this matter?”
Erlend shook his head and smiled. “No, by Jesus. We thought either he wouldn’t have the courage to join us . . . or else he would want to control the whole thing. But don’t ask me, Simon . . . I don’t want to tell . . . anyone. Then I know that I won’t talk . . .”
Suddenly Erlend whispered his wife’s name. Simon bent over him; he expected Erlend to ask him to bring Kristin to him. But he said hastily, as if in a feverish breath, “She mustn’t find out about this, Simon. Tell her the king has sent word that no one is to be allowed to see me. Take her out to Munan—at Skogheim. Do you hear me? These Frenchmen . . . or Moors . . . new friends of our king . . . they won’t stop yet. Get her out of Oslo before the news spreads through town! Simon?”