His son Erling . . . He would have been fourteen winters old by now. When Andres one day reached so near the age of a man, he himself would be old and feeble.
Oh, yes, Halfrid . . . You weren’t very happy with me, were you? I’m not entirely without blame that things have gone as they have for me.
Erlend Nikulauss?n might well have had to pay with his life for his impetuousness. And Kristin would now be living as a widow at J?rundgaard.
And he himself might have then regretted that he was a married man. Nothing seemed so foolish anymore that he didn’t think himself capable of it.
The wind had died down, but great wet flakes of springtime snow were still falling when Simon rode out of the alehouse courtyard. And now, toward evening, birds began whistling and warbling in the grove of trees, defying the snowfall.
Just as a gash in the skin can reopen from too sudden a movement, a fleeting memory caused him pain. Not long ago, at his Easter banquet, several guests were standing outside, basking in the midday sun. High above them in the birch tree sat a robin, whistling into the warm blue air. Geirmund came limping around the corner of the house, dragging himself along with his cane, his other hand resting on the shoulder of his oldest son. He looked up, stopped, and imitated the bird. The boy also pursed his lips and whistled. They could mimic nearly all the birdsongs. Kristin was standing a short distance away, with several other women. Her smile had been so charming as she listened.
Now, toward sunset the clouds began to disperse in the west, tumbling golden over the white mountain slopes, filling the passes and small valleys like gray mist. The river gleamed dully like brass; the dark currents, free of ice, rushed around the rocks in the riverbed, and on each rock lay a little white pillow of new snow.
They made slow progress on the weary horses through the heavy snow. It was a milky white night with a full moon, which peeked out from the drifting haze and clouds as Simon rode down the slopes to the Ula River. When he had crossed the bridge and reached the flat expanses of pine forest, through which the winter road passed, the horses began moving faster. They knew they were approaching the stable. Simon patted Digerbein’s steaming wet neck. He was glad this journey would soon be over. Ramborg had probably gone to bed long ago.
At the place where the road turned sharply and emerged from the woods, there stood a small house. He was nearly upon it when he noticed that men on horseback were stopped in front of the door. He heard Erlend’s voice shout, “Then it’s agreed that you’ll come to visit the day after Sunday? Can I tell my wife as much?”
Simon called out a greeting. It would seem much too strange not to stop and continue on in their company, but he told Sigurd to ride on ahead. Then he rode over to join them; it was Naakkve and Gaute. Erlend was just stepping out of the entryway.
They greeted each other again, the three others in a somewhat strained fashion. Simon could see their faces, although not very clearly in the fading light. He thought their expressions seemed uncertain—both tense and begrudging at the same time. So he said at once, “I’ve come from Dyfrin, my brother-in-law.”
“Yes, I heard that you had traveled south.” Erlend stood with his hand on the saddlebow, his eyes downcast. “You’ve made good time,” he added, as if the silence were uncomfortable.
“No, wait a bit,” said Simon to the young boys who were about to ride off. “You should hear this too. It was my brother’s seal that you saw on the letter, Gaute. And I know you must think they showed poor loyalty to your father, both he and the other gentlemen who had affixed their seals on the letter to Prince Haakon, which your father was to carry to Denmark.”
The boy looked down in silence.
Erlend said, “There was one thing you probably didn’t think about, Simon, when you went to see your brother. I paid dearly for the safety of Gyrd and the others who joined me; it cost me all I owned except for my reputation as a loyal man who keeps his word. Now Gyrd Darre must think that I couldn’t save even my reputation.”
Shamefully Simon bowed his head. He hadn’t thought about that.
“You might have told me this, Erlend, when I said that I was going to Dyfrin.”
“You must have seen for yourself that I was so desperate and furious that I was beyond thinking or reasoning when I rode away from your manor.”
“I wasn’t particularly levelheaded myself, Erlend.”
“No, but I thought you might have had time to come to your senses during the long ride. And I couldn’t very well ask you not to talk to your brother without revealing things I had sworn a sacred oath to conceal.”