No. It was too terrible for any man to do. Not even for Kristin’s sake could he do that. They stood up together, bowed to the altar, and walked back through the church. Simon’s spurs rang faintly with every step he took on the flagstone floor. They had still not said a word to each other since leaving the manor, and Simon had no idea what might happen next.
He locked the church door, and Erling Vidkunss?n walked on ahead across the cemetery. Under the little roof of the churchyard gate, he stopped. Simon joined him, and they stood there for a while before heading back out into the pouring rain.
Erling spoke calmly and evenly, but Simon sensed the stifled, boundless rage that was menacing deep inside the other man; he didn’t dare look up.
“In the name of the Devil, Simon Andress?n! What do you mean by . . . referring to . . . that?”
Simon couldn’t say a word.
“If you think you can threaten me so that I’ll do what you want because you’ve heard some false rumors about events that supposedly occurred, back when you were hardly weaned from your mother’s breast . . .” His fury was snarling closer to the surface now.
Simon shook his head. “I thought, sir, that if you remembered the woman who was better than the purest gold, then you might have pity for Erlend’s wife and children.”
Sir Erling looked at him. He didn’t reply but began to scrape moss and lichen off the stones of the churchyard wall. Simon swallowed and then moistened his lips with his tongue.
“I hardly know what I was thinking, Erling. Perhaps if you remembered the woman who endured all those terrible years, with no solace or help except from God alone, then you might want to help many other people—because you can! Since you couldn’t help her . . . Have you ever regretted riding away from Mandvik on that day and leaving Halfrid behind in the hands of Sir Finn?”
“But I didn’t do that!” Erling’s voice was now scathing. “Because I know that she never . . . but I don’t think you can understand that! For if you fully understood for a single moment how proud she was, that woman who became your wife . . .” He laughed angrily. “Then you would never have done this. I don’t know how much you know—but I’ll gladly tell you this: Haakon was ill at the time, and so they sent me to bring her home to her kinsmen. She and Elin had grown up together like sisters; they were almost the same age, although Elin was her father’s sister. We had . . . it so happened that whenever she came home from Mandvik, we were forced to meet quite often. We would sit and talk, sometimes all night long, on the gallery to the Lindorm chamber. Every word that was spoken she and I can both defend before God on Judgment Day. Then maybe He can tell us why it had to be so.
“And yet God rewarded her piety in the end. He gave her a good husband as consolation for the one she had had before. Such a young whelp you were . . . lying with her serving maids on her own estate . . . and making her raise your bastard children.” He flung far away the ball of moss he had crushed in his hand.
Simon stood motionless and mute. Erling scraped off another patch of moss and tossed it aside.
“I did what she asked me to do. Have you heard enough? There was no other way. Wherever else we might have met in the world, we would have had . . . we would have had . . . Adultery is not a nice word. The shame of blood is much worse.”
Simon gave a stiff little nod. He could see that it would be laughable to say what he was thinking. Erling Vidkunss?n had been in his early twenties, handsome and refined; Halfrid had loved him so much that she would have gladly kissed his footprints in the dewy grass of the courtyard on that spring morning. Her husband was an aging, portly, loathsome farmer. What about Kristin? It would never occur to her now to think there was any danger to anyone’s salvation if she lived together with her brother-in-law on the same estate for twenty years. That was something Simon had learned well enough by now.
Then he said quietly, almost meekly, “Halfrid didn’t want the innocent child her maid had conceived with her husband to suffer in this world. She was the one who begged me to do right by her as best I could. Oh, Erling Vidkunss?n—for the sake of Erlend’s poor wife . . . She’s grieving herself to death. I didn’t think I could leave any stone unturned while I searched for help for her and all her children.”
Erling stood leaning against the gatepost. His face was just as calm as always, and his voice was courteous and cool when he spoke again.
“I liked her, Kristin Lavransdatter, the few times I’ve met her. She’s a beautiful and dignified woman. And as I’ve told you many times now, Simon Andress?n, I’m certain you’ll win support if you follow my advice. But I don’t fully understand what you mean by this . . . strange notion. You can’t mean that because I had to let my uncle decide my marriage, underaged as I was back then, and the maiden I loved most was already betrothed when we met . . . And Erlend’s wife is not as innocent as you say. Yes, you’re married to her sister, that’s true; but you are the one, not I, who has caused us to have this . . . strange conversation . . . and so you’ll have to tolerate that I mention this. I remember there was plenty of talk about it when Erlend married her; it was against Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n’s will and advice that the marriage was arranged, but the maiden thought more of having her own way than of obeying her father or guarding her honor. Yes, she might well be a good woman all the same—but she was allowed to marry Erlend, and no doubt they’ve had their share of joy and pleasure. I don’t think Lavrans ever had much joy from that son-in-law; he had chosen another man for his daughter. When she met Erlend she was already betrothed, that much I know.” He suddenly fell silent, glanced at Simon for a moment, and then turned his face away in embarrassment.