A good number of people had gathered, and because the tenant’s wife and children lay sick in bed in the main house, the men had to make do with meeting in an old outbuilding on the farm. It was drafty and in terrible disrepair; everyone kept on his fur cape. Each man placed his weapons within reach and kept his sword on his belt; no one had a desire to stay any longer than necessary. But they would at least have a bite to eat before they parted, and so at the time of midafternoon prayers, when the discussion was over, the men took out their bags of provisions and sat down to eat, with the packets lying next to them on the benches or in front of them on the floor. There was no table in the building.
The parish priest of Kvam had sent his son, Holmgeir Moi sess?n, in his stead. He was a devious and untrustworthy young man, whom few people liked. But his father was greatly admired, and his mother had belonged to a respected family. Holmgeir was a tall and strong fellow, hot-blooded and quick to turn on people, so no one wished to quarrel with the priest’s son. There were also many who thought him an able and witty speaker.
Simon hardly knew him and didn’t like his looks. He had a long, narrow face with pale freckles and a thin upper lip, which made his big yellow front teeth gleam like a rat’s. But Sira Moises had been Lavrans’s good friend, and for a time the son had been raised at J?rundgaard, partly as a servant and partly as a foster son, until his father had acknowledged him as his own.3 For this reason Simon was always friendly when he met Holmgeir Moi sess?n.
Now Holmgeir had rolled a stump over to the hearth and was sitting there, sticking slices of meat—roasted thrush with pieces of bacon—on his dagger and heating them in the fire. He had been ill and had been granted fourteen days’ indulgence, he told the others, who were chewing on bread and frozen fish as the fragrant smell of Holmgeir’s meat rose up to their noses.
Simon was in a bad humor—not truly angry but slightly dejected and embarrassed. The whole property matter was difficult to sort out, and the documents he had received from his father-in-law were very unclear; and yet when he left home, he thought that he understood them. He had compared them with other documents, but now when he heard the statements of the witnesses and saw the other evidence that was put forth, he realized that his view of the matter wouldn’t hold up. But none of the other men had any better grasp of it—particularly not the sheriff’s envoy, who was also present. It was suggested that the case would have to be brought up before a ting. Then Erlend suddenly spoke and asked to see the documents.
Up to that moment he had sat and listened, almost as if he had no interest in the matter. Now he seemed to wake up. He carefully read through all the documents, a few of them several times. Then he explained the situation, clearly and briefly: Such and such were the provisions of the lawbooks, and in such a way they could be interpreted. The vague and clumsy phrases in the documents had to mean either this or that. If the case were brought before a ting, it would be decided in either this or that manner. Then he proposed a solution with which the original owners might be satisfied but which was not entirely to the detriment of the present owners.
Erlend stood up as he spoke, with his left hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his right hand carelessly holding the stack of documents. He acted as if he were the one in charge of the meeting, although Simon could see that he wasn’t aware of this himself. He was used to standing up and speaking in this manner when he used to hold sheriff tings in his county. When he turned to one of the others to ask if something was so and if the man understood what he was explaining, he spoke as if he were interrogating a witness—not without courtesy and yet as if it were his place to ask the questions and the other man’s place to answer. When he was done speaking, he handed the documents to the envoy as if the man could be his servant and sat down. While the others discussed the matter and Simon also stated his opinion, Erlend listened, but in such a fashion as if he had no stake in the case. His replies were curt, clear, and instructive if anyone happened to address him, but all the while he scraped his fingernail on some grease spots that had appeared on his tunic, straightened his belt, picked up his gloves, and seemed to be waiting rather impatiently for the conversation to come to an end.
The others agreed to the arrangement that Erlend had proposed, and it was one that Simon could be tolerably satisfied with; he would have been unlikely to win anything more from a court case.
But he had fallen into a bad mood. He knew full well that it was childish of him to be cross because his brother-in-law had understood the matter while he had not. It was reasonable that Erlend should be better able to interpret the word of law and decipher confusing documents, since for years it had been his role to explain the statutes to people and settle disputes. But it had come upon Simon quite unexpectedly. The night before at J?rundgaard, when he talked to Erlend and Kristin about the meeting, Erlend hadn’t mentioned any opinion; he seemed to listen with only half an ear. Yes, it was clear that Erlend would be better versed in the law than ordinary farmers, but it was as if the law were no concern of his as he sat there and counseled the others with friendly indifference. Simon had a vague feeling that in some way Erlend had never respected the law as a guide in his own life.