“I don’t know.”
Simon laughed harshly. “If I had forced you to celebrate a wedding with me, you would never have taken me willingly into your arms, Kristin, my fair one.”
Now her face turned white. She sat with her eyes lowered and did not reply.
He laughed again. “I don’t think you would have embraced me tenderly when I climbed into your bridal bed.”
“I think I would have taken my knife to bed with me,” she whispered in a stifled voice.
“I see you know the ballad about Knut of Borg,” said Simon with a bitter smile. “I haven’t heard that such a thing ever happened, but God only knows whether you might have done it!”
Some time later he went on, “It’s also unheard of among Christian people for married folks to part ways of their own free will, as you two have done, without lawful cause and the consent of the bishop. Aren’t you ashamed? You trampled on everyone, defied everyone in order to be together. When Erlend was in mortal danger, you thought of nothing but how to save him, and he thought much more about you than about his seven sons or his reputation and property. But whenever you can have each other in peace and security, you’re no longer capable of maintaining calm and decency. Discord and discontent reigned between you at Husaby too—I saw it myself, Kristin.
“I tell you, for the sake of your sons, that you must seek reconciliation with your husband. If you are even the slightest bit at fault, then surely it’s easier for you to offer Erlend your hand,” he said in a somewhat gentler tone.
“It’s easier for you than for Erlend Nikulauss?n, sitting up there at Haugen in poverty,” he repeated.
“It’s not easy for me,” she whispered. “I think I’ve shown that I can do something for my children. I’ve struggled and struggled for them. . . .”
“That is true,” said Simon. Then he asked, “Do you remember that day when we met on the road to Nidaros? You were sitting in the grass, nursing Naakkve.”
Kristin nodded.
“Could you have done for that child at your breast what my sister did for her son? Given him away to those who were better able to provide for him?”
Kristin shook her head.
“But ask his father to forget what you may have said to him in anger . . . Do you mean that you’re unable to do that for him and your six other fair sons? To tell your husband that the young lads need him to come home to them, to his own manor?”
“I will do as you ask, Simon,” said Kristin softly. After a moment she continued, “You have used harsh words to tell me this. In the past you’ve also chastised me more sternly than any other man has.”
“Yes, but now I can assure this will be the last time.” His voice had that teasing, merry ring to it that it used to have. “No, don’t weep like that, Kristin. But remember, my sister, that you have made this promise to a dying man.” Once again the old, mirthful glint came into his eyes.
“You know, Kristin . . . it’s happened to me before that I learned you weren’t to be counted on!
“Hush now, my dear,” he implored a little later. He had been lying there listening to her piteous, broken sobs. “You should know that I remember you were also a good and loyal sister. We will remain friends to the end, my Kristin.”
Toward evening he asked them to send for the priest. Sira Eirik came, heard his confession, and gave him the last oil and viaticum. He took leave of his servants and the sons of Erlend, the five who were home; Kristin had sent Naakkve to Kruke. Simon had asked to see Kristin’s children, to bid them farewell.
On that night Kristin again kept vigil over the dying man. Toward morning she dozed off for a moment. She woke up to a strange sound; Simon lay there, moaning softly. It distressed her greatly when she heard this—that he should complain, as quietly and pitifully as a miserable, abandoned child, when he thought no one would hear him. She leaned down and kissed his face many times. She noticed that his breath and his whole body smelled sickly and of death. But when daylight came, she saw that his eyes were lively and clear and steadfast.
She could see that he suffered terrible pain when Jon and Sigurd lifted him up in a sheet while she changed his bed, making it as soft and comfortable as she could. He had refused any food for more than a day, but he was very thirsty.
After she had gotten him settled, he asked her to make the sign of the cross over him, saying, “Now I can’t move my left arm anymore either.”
But whenever we make the sign of the cross over ourselves or over anything that we want to protect with the cross, then we must remember how the cross was made sacred and what it means, and remember that with the suffering and death of the Lord, this symbol was given honor and power.