“I have my knights and my royal retainers to support me,” replied Magnus Eirikss?n with a boyish laugh. “What do you say to this, Simon?”
“I think, my Lord . . . it may turn out that this support cannot be counted on, judging by the way the knights and nobles in Denmark and Sweden have dealt with their kings when the people had no power to support the Crown against the nobles. But if Your Grace is considering such a plan, then I would ask you to release me from your service—for then I would rather take my place among the peasants.”
Simon spoke in such a calm and composed manner that the king at first seemed not to understand what he had said. Then he laughed.
“Are you threatening me, Simon Andress?n? Do you want to cast down your gauntlet before me?”
“As you wish, my Lord,” said Simon just as calmly as before, but he took his gloves from his belt and held them in his hand. Then the young Bjarne leaned over and took them.
“These are not proper wedding gloves for Your Grace to buy!” He held up the thick, worn riding gloves and laughed. “If word gets out, my Lord, that you have demanded such gloves, you might receive far too many of them—and for a good price!”
Erling Vidkunss?n gave a shout. With an abrupt movement he seemed to sweep the young king to one side and the three men to the other; he urged them toward the door. “I must speak to the king alone.”
“No, no, I want to talk to Bjarne,” called the king, running after them.
But Sir Erling shoved his son outside along with the others.
For some time they roamed around the castle courtyard and out on the slope—no one said a word. Stig Haakonss?n looked pensive, but held his tongue, as he had all along. Bjarne Erlingss?n walked around with a little, secretive smile on his lips the whole time. After a while Sir Erling’s armsbearer came out and said that his master requested they wait for him at the hostel—their horses stood ready in the courtyard.
And so they waited at the hostel. They avoided discussing what had happened. Finally they fell to talking about their horses and dogs and falcons. By late that evening, Stig and Simon ended up recounting amorous adventures. Stig Haakonss?n had always had a good supply of such tales, but Simon discovered that whenever he began to tell some remembered story, Stig would take over, saying that either the event had happened to him or it had recently occurred somewhere near Mandvik—even though Simon recalled hearing the tale in his childhood, told by servants back home at Dyfrin.
But he laughed and roared along with Stig. Once in a while he felt as if the bench were swaying under him—he was afraid of something but didn’t dare think about what it might be. Bjarne Er lingss?n laughed quietly as he drank wine, gnawed on apples, and fidgeted with his hood; now and then he would tell some little anecdote—and they were always the worst of the lot, but so wily that Stig could not understand them. Bjarne said that he had heard them from the priest at Bj?rgvin.
Finally Sir Erling arrived. His son went to meet him, to take his outer garments. Erling turned angrily to the youth.
“You!” He threw his cape into Bjarne’s arms. Then a trace of a smile, which he refused to acknowledge, flitted across the father’s face. He turned to Simon and said, “Well, now you must be content, Simon Andress?n! You can rest assured that the day is not far off when you will be sitting together in peace and comfort on your neighboring estates—you and Erlend—along with his wife and all their sons.”
Simon’s face had turned a shade more pale as he stood up to thank Sir Erling. He realized what the fear was that he hadn’t dared face. But now there was nothing to be done about it.
About fourteen days later Erlend Nikulauss?n was released. Simon, along with two men and Ulf Haldorss?n, rode out to Akersnes to bring him home.
The trees were already nearly bare, for there had been a strong wind the week before. Frost had set in—the earth rang hard beneath the horses’ hooves, and the fields were pale with rime as the men rode in toward town. It looked like snow; the sky was overcast and the daylight was dreary and a chilly gray.
Simon noticed that Erlend dragged one leg a bit as he came out to the castle courtyard, and his body seemed stiff and clumsy as he mounted his horse. He was also very pale. He had shaved off the beard, and his hair was trimmed and neat; the upper part of his face was now a sallow color, while the lower part was white with bluish stubble. There were deep hollows under his eyes. But he was a handsome figure in the long, dark-blue surcoat and cap, and as he bade farewell to Olav Kyrning and handed out gifts of money to the men who had guarded him and brought him food in prison, he looked like a chieftain who was parting with the servants at a wedding feast.