“I didn’t know, but I had a feeling. . . . Helga was so strange . . .” Her features twisted into an odd sort of smile, and she looked as if she were freezing. “She talked about how new times would be coming to Norway. The great chieftains would acquire the same rights here as in other lands.” Ramborg gave a crooked, almost contorted smile. “They would be called knights and barons again.
“Later, when I saw that you took up their affairs with such zeal, and you were away from home almost a whole year . . . and didn’t even feel that you could come north to be with me at Ringheim when I was staying on a stranger’s estate, about to give birth to your child . . . I thought perhaps you knew that it concerned others than Erlend.”
“Ha! Knights and barons!” Simon gave an angry laugh.
“Then was it merely for Kristin’s sake that you did it?”
He saw that her face was pale, as if from frostbite; it was impossible to pretend that he didn’t understand what she meant. Out of spite and despair, he exclaimed, “Yes.”
Then he thought that she must have gone mad, and he was mad too. Erlend was mad; they had all lost their wits that day. But now there had to be an end to it.
“I did it for your sister’s sake, yes,” he said soberly. “And for the sake of the children who had no other man closer in family or kinship to protect them. And for Erlend’s sake, since we should be as loyal to each other as brothers. So don’t start behaving foolishly, for I’ve seen more than enough of that here on the estate to day,” he bellowed, and flung the shoe he had just taken off against the wall.
Ramborg went over and picked it up; she looked at the timber it had struck.
“It’s shameful that Torbj?rg didn’t think of it herself, to wash off the soot in here before the feast. I forgot to mention it to her.” She wiped off the shoe. It was Simon’s best, with a long toe and red heel. She picked up its mate and put both of them into his clothes chest. But Simon noticed that her hands were shaking badly as she did so.
Then he went over and took her in his arms. She twined her thin arms around her husband as she trembled with stifled sobs and whispered to him that she was so tired.
Seven days later Simon and his servant rode through Kvam, heading north. They fought their way through a blizzard of great wet snowflakes. At midday they arrived at the small farm on the public road where there was an alehouse.
The proprietress came out and invited Simon to come into their home; only commoners were shown into the tavern. She shook out his outer garment and hung it up to dry on the wall peg near the hearth as she talked. Such awful weather . . . hard on the horses . . . and he must have had to ride the whole way around . . . it wasn’t possible to go across Lake Mj?sa now, was it?
“Oh yes, if a man was sick enough of his life . . .”
The woman and her children standing nearby all laughed agreeably. The older ones went about their chores, bringing in wood and ale, while the younger ones huddled together near the door. They usually received a few penninger from Simon, the master of Formo, whenever he stayed there, and if he was bringing home treats for his own children from Hamar, he would often give them a tidbit too. But today he didn’t seem to notice them.
He sat on the bench, leaning forward, with his hands hanging over his knees, staring into the hearth fire, and replied with a word or two to the woman’s incessant chatter. Then she mentioned that Erlend Nikulauss?n happened to be at Granheim. It was the day on which the ancestral owners were to place the first payment in the hands of the former owners. Should she send one of the children over to his brother-in-law with a message so that they could ride home together?
No, said Simon. She could give him a little food, and then he would lie down and sleep for a while.
He would see Erlend in good time. What he had to say he wanted to say in front of Gaute. But he would prefer not to speak of the matter more than once.
His servant, Sigurd, had sought refuge in the cookhouse while the woman prepared the food. Yes, it had been a wearisome journey, and his master had been like an angry bull almost the whole way. Normally Simon Andress?n liked to hear whatever news from his home district his servants could glean while they were at Dyfrin. He usually had one or more people from Raumerike in his service. Folks would come to him to ask for work whenever he was home, for he was known as a well-liked and generous man who was merry and not high-handed with his servants. But on this journey about the only answer that he, Sigurd, had received from his master was “Keep silent!”