Simon fell silent for a moment. At first he thought that Erlend was right. But then it occurred to him: No, Erlend was being quite unreasonable. Was he supposed to submit to having Kristin and the boys think so ill of him? He mentioned this rather vehemently.
“I have never uttered a word about this, kinsman—not to my mother or to my brothers,” said Gaute, turning his handsome, fair face toward his uncle.
“But in the end they found out about it just the same,” replied Simon obstinately. “I thought, after everything that happened on that day at my estate, we needed to clear up the matter. And I don’t understand why it should take your father so unawares. You’re still not much older than a child, my Gaute, and you were so young when you were mixed up in this . . . secret plot.”
“Surely I should be able to trust my own son,” replied Erlend angrily. “And I had no other choice when I needed to save the letter. I either had to give it to Gaute or let the sheriff find it.”
Simon thought it pointless to discuss the matter any further. But he couldn’t resist saying, “I wasn’t happy when I heard what the boy has been thinking of me these past four years. I’ve always been fond of you, Gaute.”
The boy urged his horse forward a few paces and stretched out his hand; Simon saw that his face had darkened, as if he were blushing.
“You must forgive me, Simon!”
Simon clasped the boy’s hand. At times Gaute looked so much like his grandfather that Simon felt strangely moved. He was rather bowlegged and slight in build, but he was an excellent rider, and on the back of a horse he was as handsome a youth as any father could want.
All four of them began riding north; the boys were in front, and when they were beyond earshot, Simon continued.
“You must understand, Erlend . . . I don’t think you can rightfully blame me for seeking out my brother and asking him to tell me the truth about this matter. But I know that you had reason to be angry with me, both you and Kristin. Because as soon as this strange news came out . . .” He fumbled for words. “What Gaute said about my seal . . . I can’t deny that I thought . . . I know both of you believed that I thought . . . what I should have had sense enough to realize was unthinkable. So I can’t deny that you have reason to be angry,” he repeated.
The horses splashed through the slushy snow. It took a moment before Erlend replied, and then his voice sounded gentle and subdued. “I don’t know what else you could have thought. It was almost inevitable that you should believe—”
“Oh, no. I should have known it wasn’t possible,” Simon interrupted, sounding aggrieved. After a moment he asked, “Did you think that I knew about my brothers? That I tried to help you for their sake?”
“No!” said Erlend in surprise. “I realized you couldn’t possibly know. I knew that I hadn’t said anything. And I thought I could safely rely on your brothers not to talk.” He laughed softly. Then he grew somber and said gently, “I knew you did it for the sake of our father-in-law and because you’re a good man.”
Simon rode on in silence for a while.
“I imagine you must have been bitterly angry,” he then said.
“Well . . . when I had time to think about it . . . I didn’t see that there was any other way you could interpret things.”
“What about Kristin?” asked Simon, his voice even lower.
“Kristin!” Erlend laughed again. “You know she won’t stand for anyone censuring me—except for herself. She seems to think she can handle that well enough all alone. It’s the same with our children. God save me if I should chastise them with a single word! But you can rest assured that I’ve brought her around.”
“You have?”
“Yes, well . . . with time I’ll manage to convince her. You know that once Kristin gives it some thought, she’s the sort of person who will remember you’ve shown us such loyal friendship that . . .”
Simon, agitated and distraught, felt his heart trembling. He found it unbearable. The other man seemed to think that they could now dismiss this matter from their minds. In the pale moonlight Erlend’s face looked so genuinely peaceful. Simon’s voice quavered with emotion as he spoke again. “Forgive me, Erlend, but I don’t see how I could have believed—”
“I told you I understand it.” The other broke in rather impatiently. “It seems to me that you couldn’t have thought anything else.”
“If only those two foolish children had never spoken,” said Simon heatedly.