“May God curse you!” A brief dry sob racked Erlend’s body.
Simon too had turned pale and then dark red in the face, out of shame for his brother-in-law. He didn’t dare look in Erlend’s direction; he thought he would suffocate from the other’s humiliation.
Kristin stood as if bewitched, still holding her arms protectively around her son. But one thought followed another, in rapid succession.
Erlend had had Simon’s private seal in his possession for a short time during that spring. The brothers-in-law had jointly sold Lavrans’s dock warehouse at Ve?y to the cloister on Holm. Erlend had mentioned that this was probably unlawful, but surely no one would question it. He had shown her the seal and said that Simon should have had a finer one carved. All three brothers had acquired a copy of their father’s seal; only the inscriptions were different. But Gyrd’s was much more finely etched, said Erlend.
Gyrd Darre . . . Erlend had brought her greetings from him after both of his last journeys to the south. She remembered being surprised that Erlend had visited Gyrd at Dyfrin. They had met only once, at Ramborg’s wedding. Ulf Sakses?n was Gyrd Darre’s brother-in-law; Ulf had been part of the plot. . . .
“You were mistaken, Gaute,” said Simon in a low, firm voice.
“Simon!” Unawares, Kristin gripped her husband’s hand. “Keep in mind . . . there are other men than yourself who bear that emblem on their seal.”
“Silence! Will you too—” Erlend tore himself away from his wife with a tormented wail and raced across the courtyard toward the stable. Simon set off after him.
“Erlend . . . Was it my brother?”
“Send for the boys. Follow me home,” Erlend shouted back to his wife.
Simon caught up with him in the stable doorway and grabbed him by the arm. “Erlend, was it Gyrd?”
Erlend didn’t reply; he tried to wrench his arm away. His face looked oddly stubborn and deathly pale.
“Erlend, answer me. Did my brother join you in that plan?”
“Perhaps you too would like to test your sword against mine?” Erlend snarled, and Simon could feel the other man’s body trembling as they struggled.
“You know I wouldn’t.” Simon let go and sank back against the doorframe. “Erlend, in the name of Christ, who suffered death for our sakes: Tell me if it’s true!”
Erlend led Soten out, and Simon had to step aside from the doorway. An attentive servant brought his saddle and bridle. Simon took them and sent the man away. Then Erlend took them from Simon.
“Erlend, surely you can tell me now! You can tell me!” He didn’t know why he was begging as if for his very life. “Erlend, answer me. On the wounds of Christ, I beseech you. Tell me, man!”
“You can keep on thinking what you thought before,” said Erlend in a low and cutting voice.
“Erlend, I didn’t think . . . anything.”
“I know what you thought.” Erlend swung himself into the saddle. Simon grabbed the harness; the horse shifted and pranced uneasily.
“Let go, or I’ll run you down,” said Erlend.
“Then I’ll ask Gyrd. I’ll ride south tomorrow. By God, Erlend, you have to tell me. . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure he will give you an answer,” said Erlend scornfully, spurring the stallion so that Simon had to leap aside. Then Erlend galloped off from the estate.
Halfway up the courtyard Simon met Kristin. She was wearing her cloak. Gaute walked at her side, carrying their clothing sack. Ramborg followed her sister.
The boy glanced up for a moment, frightened and confused. Then he withdrew his gaze. But Kristin fixed her big eyes directly on Simon’s face. They were dark with sorrow and anger.
“Could you truly believe that of Erlend? That he would betray you in such a manner?”
“I didn’t believe anything,” said Simon vehemently. “I thought the boy was just babbling nonsense and foolishness.”
“No, Simon, I don’t want you to come with me,” said Kristin quietly.
He saw that she was unspeakably offended and grieved.
That evening, when Simon was alone with his wife in the main house, as they undressed and their daughters were already asleep in the other bed, Ramborg suddenly asked, “Didn’t you know anything about this, Simon?”
“No. Did you?” he asked tensely.
Ramborg came over and stood in the glow of the candle standing on the table. She was half undressed, in her shift and laced bodice; her hair fell in loose curls around her face.