Finally Erlend broke the silence. For a long time he had been sitting with his chin in his hand, staring into the hearth, where only a tiny flame now flickered, flaring up, dancing a bit, and playing over the charred pieces of wood, which broke apart and collapsed with brittle little sighs. Soon there would be only black coals and glowing embers left of the fire.
Erlend said quite softly, “You have treated me so magnanimously, Simon Darre, that I think few men are your equal. I . . . I haven’t forgotten . . .”
“Silence! You don’t know, Erlend . . . Only God in Heaven knows everything that resides in a man’s mind,” whispered Simon, frightened and distraught.
“That’s true,” said Erlend in the same quiet and somber tone of voice. “We all need Him to judge us . . . with mercy. But a man must judge a man by what he does. And I . . . I . . . May God reward you, brother-in-law!”
Then they sat in dead silence, not daring to move for fear of being shamed.
Suddenly Erlend let his hand fall to his knee. A fiery blue ray of light flashed from the stone on the ring he wore on his right index finger. Simon knew that Kristin had given it to Erlend when he was released from the prison tower.
“But you must remember, Simon,” he said in a low voice, “the old saying: Many a man is given what was intended for another, but no one is given another man’s fate.”
Simon raised his head sharply. Slowly his face flushed blood red; the veins at his temples stood out like dark, twisted cords.
Erlend glanced at him for a moment but quickly withdrew his eyes. Then he too turned crimson. A strangely delicate and girlish blush spread over his tan skin. He sat motionless, embarrassed and confused, with his little, childish mouth open.
Simon stood up abruptly and went over to the bed.
“You’ll want to take the outside edge, I presume.” He tried to speak calmly and with nonchalance, but his voice quavered.
“No, I’ll let you decide,” said Erlend numbly. He got to his feet. “The fire?” he asked, flustered. “Should I cover the ashes?” He began raking the hearth.
“Finish that and then come to bed,” said Simon in the same tone. His heart was pounding so hard that he could barely talk.
In the dark Erlend, soundless as a shadow, slipped under the covers on the outer edge of the bed and lay down, as quiet as a forest creature. Simon thought he would suffocate from having the other man in his bed.
CHAPTER 6
EVERY YEAR DURING Easter week Simon Andress?n held an ale feast for the people of the village. They came to Formo on the third day after mass and stayed until Thursday.
Kristin had never particularly enjoyed these banquets with their bantering and pleasantry. Both Simon and Ramborg seemed to think that the more commotion and noise there was, the better. Simon always invited his guests to bring along their children, their servants, and the children of their servants—as many as could be spared from home. On the first day everything proceeded in a quiet and orderly manner; only the gentry and the elders would converse, while the youth listened and ate and drank, and the little children kept mostly to a different building. But on the second day, from early in the morning on, the host would urge the lively young people and the children to drink and make merry, and before long the teasing would grow so wild and unrestrained that the women and maidens would slip away to the corners and stand there in clusters, giggling and ready to flee. But many of the more high-standing wives would seek out Ramborg’s women’s house, which was already occupied by the mothers who had rescued the youngest children from the tumult of the main building.
One game that was a favorite among the men was pretending to hold a ting. They would read summons documents, present grievances, proclaim new laws and modify old ones, but they always twisted the words around and said them backward. Audun Tor bergss?n could recite King Haakon’s letter to the merchants of Bj?rgvin:1 what they could charge for men’s hose and for leather soles on a woman’s shoes, about the men who made swords and big and small shields. But he would mix up the words until they were all jumbled and sheer babble. This game always ended with the men not having any idea what they were saying. Kristin remembered from her childhood that her father would never allow the jesting to turn to ridicule of anything related to the Church or divine services. But otherwise Lavrans thought it great fun when he and his guests would compete by jumping up on the tables and benches while they merrily shouted all manner of coarse and unseemly nonsense.
Simon was usually most fond of games in which a man was blindfolded and had to search through the ashes for a knife, or two people had to bob for pieces of gingerbread in a big bowl of ale. The other guests would try to make them laugh, and the ale would spray all around. Or they were supposed to use their teeth to dig a ring out of a flour bin. The hall would soon take on the look of a pigsty.