He grew calmer.
“Otherwise I have no reason to begrudge Erlend his release, and you mustn’t think I’m not angry about what you have told us. I think if you follow my advice, you’ll find plenty of men who will support you in this matter. But I don’t think I can help you enough by joining you that I would approach the king uninvited for the sake of this cause.”
Simon got to his feet stiffly and arduously. His face was gray-streaked with fatigue. Stig Haakonss?n came over and put his arm around his shoulders. Now he would have food; he hadn’t wanted any servants in the room before they finished talking. But now he ought to regain his strength with food and drink, and then rest. Simon thanked him, but he wanted to continue on his way shortly, if Stig would lend him a fresh horse, and if he would give his servant, Jon Daalk, lodging for the night. Simon had been forced to ride on ahead of his man the night before because his horse couldn’t keep up with Digerbein. Yes, he had been traveling almost all night; he thought he knew the road to Mandvik so well, but he had lost his way a couple of times.
Stig asked him to stay until the next day; then he would go with him at least part of the way. Well, he might even accompany him as far as Tunsberg.
“There’s no reason for me to stay here any longer. I just want to go over to the church. Since I’m here on the estate, I want to say a prayer at Halfrid’s grave, at least.”
The blood rushed and roared through his exhausted body; the pounding of his heart was deafening. He felt as if he might collapse; he was only half awake. But he heard his own voice saying evenly and calmly, “Won’t you go over there with me, Sir Erling? Of all her kinsmen, I know she was most fond of you.”
He didn’t look at the other man, but he could sense him stiffen. After a moment he heard through the rushing and ringing sound of his own blood the clear and courteous voice of Erling Vidkunss?n.
“I’ll gladly do so, Simon Darre. It’s miserable weather,” he said as he buckled on the belt with his sword and threw a thick cape around his shoulders. Simon stood as still as a rock until the other man was ready. Then they went out the door.
Outside, the autumn rain was pouring down, and the fog was drifting in so thick from the sea that they could barely see more than a couple of horse-lengths into the fields and the yellow leafy groves on either side of the path. It was not far to the church. Simon went to get the key from the chaplain at the parsonage nearby; he was relieved to see that new people had come since the days when he lived there, so he could avoid a long chat.
It was a small stone church with only one altar. Distractedly Simon looked at the same pictures and adornments he had seen so many hundreds of times before as he knelt down a short distance from Erling Vidkunss?n near the white marble gravestone; he said his prayers, crossing himself at the proper times, without fully taking notice.
Simon didn’t understand how he’d been able to do it. But now he was in the thick of it all. What he should say, he wasn’t sure—but no matter how sick with fear and shame he felt, he knew he would attempt it all the same.
He remembered the white, ill face of the aging woman lying in the dim light of the bed, and her lovely, gentle voice on that afternoon when he sat at her bedside and she told him. It was a month before the child was due, and she expected that it would take her life—but she was willing and happy to pay so dearly for their son. That poor boy who now lay under the stone in a little coffin at his mother’s shoulder. No, no man could do what he intended. . . .
But he thought of Kristin’s white face. She knew what had happened, when he returned from Akersnes that day. Pale and calm, she spoke of it and asked him questions; but he had looked into her eyes for one brief moment, and he didn’t dare meet them again. Where she was now or what she was doing, he didn’t know. Whether she was at the hostel or with her husband, or whether they had persuaded her to go out to Skogheim . . . he had left it in the hands of Olav Kyrning and Sira Ingolf. He lacked the strength to do more, and he didn’t think he could waste any time.
Simon didn’t realize that he was hiding his face in his hands. Halfrid . . . it’s not a question of sin or shame, my Halfrid. And yet . . . What she had told her husband—about her sorrow and her love, which had made her stay with that old devil. One day he had even killed the child she carried under her heart, but she stayed because she didn’t want to tempt her beloved friend.
Erling Vidkunss?n was kneeling with no expression on his colorless, finely shaped face. He held his hands in front of his chest, with the palms pressed together; from time to time he would cross himself with a quiet, tender, and graceful gesture, and then put his fingertips together as before.