Simon leaned over the table and rested his head on his arms. If only they would think he was so drunk that he’d fallen asleep—he just wanted to be left alone.
Nothing was any different than he’d expected—or at least ought to have expected. She wasn’t either. Here she sat, the only woman among all these men, as gentle and modest, comfortable and confident as ever. That’s how she had been back then—when she betrayed him—shameless or innocent, he wasn’t sure. Oh, no, that wasn’t true either . . . she hadn’t been confident at all, she hadn’t been shameless—she hadn’t been calm behind that calm demeanor. But the man had bewitched her; for Erlend’s sake she would gladly walk on searing stones—and she had trampled on Simon as if she thought he was nothing more than a cold stone.
And here he lay, thinking foolishness. She had wanted to have her way and thought of nothing else. Let them have their joy—it made no difference to him. He didn’t care if they produced seven more sons; then there would be fourteen to divide up the inheritance from Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n’s estate. It didn’t look as if he would have to worry about his own children; Ramborg wasn’t as quick to give birth as her sister. And one day his descendants would be left with power and wealth after his death. But it made no difference to him—not this evening. He wanted to keep on drinking, but he knew that tonight God’s gifts would have no hold on him. And then he would have to lift his head and perhaps be pulled into the conversation.
“Well, you probably think you would have made a good regent, don’t you?” said Munan scornfully.
“No, you should know that we intended that position for you,” laughed Erlend.
“In God’s name, watch your tongue, man.”
The others laughed.
Erlend came over and touched Simon’s shoulder.
“Are you sleeping, brother-in-law?” Simon looked up. Erlend was standing before him with a goblet in his hand. “Drink with me, Simon. To you I owe the most gratitude for saving my life—which is dear to me, even such as it is, my man! You stood by me like a brother. If you hadn’t been my brother-in-law, I would have surely lost my head. Then you could have had my widow. . . .”
Simon leaped to his feet. For a moment they stood there staring at each other. Erlend grew sober and pale; his lips parted in a gasp.
Simon knocked the goblet out of the other man’s hand with his fist; the mead spilled out. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
Erlend stayed where he was. He wiped his hand and wrist on the fabric of his surcoat without realizing that he was doing so, then looked around—the others hadn’t noticed. With his foot he pushed the goblet under the bench, then stood there a moment before following after his brother-in-law.
Simon Darre was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Jon Daalk was leading his horses from the stable. He didn’t move when Erlend came down to stand beside him.
“Simon! Simon . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was saying!”
“Now you do.”
Simon’s voice was toneless. He stood stock-still, without looking at the other man.
Erlend glanced around him helplessly. A pale sliver of the moon shone through the veil of clouds; small, hard bits of snow were falling. Erlend shivered in the cold.
“Where . . . where are you going?” he asked uncertainly, looking at the servant and horses.
“To find myself another inn,” said Simon curtly. “You know full well that I can’t stay here.”
“Simon!” Erlend exclaimed. “Oh, I don’t know what I would give to have those words unsaid!”
“As would I,” replied the other man in the same voice.
The door to the loft opened. Kristin stepped out onto the gallery with a lantern in her hand; she leaned over and shone the light on them.
“Is that where you are?” she asked in her clear voice. “What are you doing outdoors?”
“I thought I should see to my horses—as it’s the custom for polite people to say,” replied Simon, laughing up at her.
“But . . . you’ve taken your horses out!” she said merrily.
“Yes, a man can do strange things when he’s been drinking,” said Simon in the same manner as before.
“Well, come back up here now!” she called, her voice bright and joyful.
“Yes. At once.” She went inside, and Simon shouted to Jon to put the horses back in the stable. Then he turned to Erlend, who was standing there, his expression and demeanor oddly numb. “I’ll come inside in a few minutes. We must try to pretend it was never said, Erlend—for the sake of our wives. But this much you might realize: that you were the last man on earth I wanted . . . to know about . . . this. And don’t forget that I’m not as forgetful as you are!”