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 Nikulaussøn, 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.
Simon remembered that he had once heard this read aloud. He wasn’t used to thinking about much when he made the sign of the cross over his breast or his houses or possessions. He felt ill prepared and not ready to take leave of this earthly home; he had to console himself that he had prepared himself as best he could in the time he had, through confession, and he had been given the last rites. Ramborg . . . But she was so young; perhaps she would be much happier with a different man. His children . . . May God protect them. And Gyrd would look out for their welfare with loyalty and wisdom. And so he would have to put his trust in God, who judges a man not according to his worth but through His mercy.
Later that day Sigrid Andresdatter and Geirmund of Kruke arrived. Simon then asked Kristin to leave and take some rest, now that she had been keeping watch and tending to him for such a long time. “And soon it will be quite vexing to be around me,” he said with a little smile. At that she broke into loud sobs for a moment; then she leaned down and once again kissed his wretched body, which was already starting to decay.
Simon lay in bed quietly. The fever and pain were now much less. He lay there thinking that it couldn’t be much longer before he would be released.
He was surprised that he had spoken to Kristin as he had. It was not what he had intended to say to her. But he had not been able to speak of anything else. There were moments when he felt almost annoyed by this.
But surely the festering would soon reach his heart. A man’s heart is the first thing to come alive in his mother’s womb and the last thing to fall silent. Surely it would soon fall silent inside him.
That night his mind rambled. Several times he screamed loudly, and it was terrible to hear. Other times he lay there, laughing softly and saying his own name, or so Kristin thought. But Sigrid, who sat bending over him, whispered to her that he seemed to be talking about a boy, their cousin, who had been his good friend when they were children. Around midnight he grew calm and seemed to sleep. Then Sigrid persuaded Kristin to lie down for a while in the other bed in the room.
She was awakened by a commotion in the room. It was shortly before daybreak, and then she heard that the death struggle had begun. Simon had lost his voice, but he still recognized her; she could tell by his eyes. Then it was as if a piece of steel had broken inside them; they rolled up under his eyelids. But for a moment he lay there, still alive, a rattling sound in his throat. The priest had come, and he said the prayers for the dying. The two women sat next to the bed and the entire household was in the room. Just before midday Simon finally breathed his last.
The next day Gyrd Darre came riding into the courtyard at Formo. He had ridden a horse to exhaustion along the way. Down at Breiden he had learned of his brother’s death, so at first he seemed quite composed. But when his sister, weeping, threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close and began to sob like a child himself.
He told them that Ramborg Lavransdatter was at Dyfrin with a newborn son. When Gaute Erlendssøn brought them the message, she had shrieked at once that she knew this would be the death of Simon. Then she fell to the floor with birth pains. The child was born six weeks early, but they hoped he would live.
A magnificent funeral feast was held in Simon Andressøn’s honor, and he was buried right next to the cross at the Olav Church. People in the parish were pleased that he had chosen his resting place there. The ancient Formo lineage, which had died out with Simon Saemundssøn on the male side, had been mighty and grand. Astrid Simonsdatter had made a we
althy marriage; her sons had borne the title of knight and sat on the royal Council, but they had seldom come home to their mother’s ancestral manor. When her grandson decided to settle on the estate, people thought it was almost as if the old lineage had been revived. They soon forgot to think of Simon Andressøn as a stranger, and they felt great sorrow that he had died so young, for he was only forty-two winters old.
CHAPTER 5
WEEK AFTER WEEK passed, and Kristin prepared herself in her heart to take the dead man’s message to Erlend. There was no doubt that she would do it, but it seemed to her a difficult task. In the meantime so much had to be done at home on the estates. She went about arguing with herself about postponing it.
At Whitsuntide, Ramborg Lavransdatter arrived at Formo. She had left her children behind at Dyfrin. They were well, she said when Kristin asked about them. The two maidens had wept bitterly and mourned their father. Andres was too young to understand. The youngest, Simon Simonssøn, was thriving, and they hoped he would grow up to be big and strong.
Ramborg went to church to visit her husband’s grave a couple of times; otherwise she never left her manor. But Kristin went south to see her as often as she could. She now sincerely wished that she had known her sister better. The widow looked like such a child in her mourning garb. Her body seemed fragile and only half grown in the heavy, dark blue gown; the little triangle of her face was yellow and thin, framed by the linen bands beneath the black woolen veil, which fell in stiff folds from the crown of her head almost to the hem of her skirts. And she had dark circles under her big eyes, the coal-black pupils wide and always staring.
During the hay harvest there was a week’s time when Kristin couldn’t get away to see her sister. From the harvesters she heard that a guest was visiting Ramborg at Formo: Jammaelt Hal vardssøn. Kristin remembered that Simon had mentioned this man; he owned an exceedingly large estate not far from Dyfrin, and he and Simon had been friends since childhood.
A week into the harvest the rains came. Then Kristin rode over to see her sister. Kristin sat talking about the terrible weather and about the hay and then asked how things were going at Formo.
All of a sudden Ramborg said, “Jon will have to manage things here; I’m heading south in a few days, Kristin.”
“Yes, you must be longing for your children, poor dear,” said Kristin.
Ramborg stood up and paced the floor.
“I’m going to tell you something that will surprise you,” the young woman said after a moment. “You and your sons will soon be invited to a betrothal feast at Dyfrin. I said yes to Jammaelt before he left here, and Gyrd will hold the wedding.”
Kristin sat without saying a word. Her sister stood staring at her, pale and dark-eyed.
Finally the older sister spoke, “I see that you won’t be left a widow for very long after Simon’s death. I thought you mourned him so grievously. But you can make your own decisions now.”
Ramborg did not reply. After a moment Kristin asked, “Does Gyrd Darre know that you intend to marry again so soon?”
“Yes.” Ramborg began pacing again. “Helga advises me to do so. Jammaelt is rich.” She laughed. “And Gyrd is such a clever man that he must have seen long ago that our life was so wretched together, Simon’s and mine.”
“What are you saying! No one else has ever noticed that your life together was wretched,” Kristin said after a pause. “I don’t think anyone has ever seen anything but friendship and goodwill between the two of you. Simon indulged you in every way, gave you everything you wished for, always kept in mind your youth, and took care that you should enjoy it and be spared toil and travail. He loved his children and showed you every day that he was grateful to you for giving birth to the two of them.”
Ramborg smiled scornfully.
Kristin continued fiercely, “If you have any cause to think that your life wasn’t good together, then surely Simon is not to blame.”
“No,” said Ramborg. “I will bear the blame—if you do not dare.”
Kristin sat there, dumbfounded.
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying, sister,” she replied at last.
“Yes, I do,” said Ramborg. “But I can believe that you might not know. You’ve had so little thought for Simon that I’m convinced this may be new to you. You considered him good enough to turn to whenever you needed a helper who would gladly have carried red-hot iron for your sake. But never did you give any thought to Simon Andressøn or ask what it might have cost him. I was allowed to enjoy my youth, yes. With joy and gentleness Simon would lift me up into the saddle and send me off to feasts and merriment; with equal joy and gentleness he would welcome me when I came back home. He would pat me the way he patted his dog or his horse. He never missed me while I was gone.”
Kristin was on her feet; she stood quietly next to the table. Ramborg was wringing her hands so the knuckles cracked, pacing back and forth in the room.
“Jammaelt . . .” she said in a calmer voice. I’ve known for years how he thought of me. I saw it even while his wife was still alive. Not that he ever gave himself away in word or deed—you mustn’t think that! He grieved for Simon too and came to me often to console me—that much is true. It was Helga who said to both of us that now it would be fitting if we . . .
“And I don’t know what I should wait for. I will never find more consolation or any less than I feel right now. I want to try living with a man who has been silently thinking of me for years on end. I know all too well what it feels like to live with a man who is silently thinking about someone else.”
Kristin didn’t move. Ramborg stopped in front of her, with her eyes flashing. “You know what I say is true!”
Kristin left the room without a word, her head bowed. As she stood in the rain outside in the courtyard, waiting for the servant to bring her horse, Ramborg appeared in the doorway. She stared at her sister with dark and hateful eyes.
Not until the next day did Kristin remember what she had promised Simon if Ramborg should marry again. She rode back to Formo. This was not an easy thing for her to do. And the worst of it was that she knew there was nothing she could say that would give her sister any help or solace. This marriage to Jammaelt of AElin seemed to her a rash decision when Ramborg was in such a state of mind. But Kristin realized that it would do no good for her to object.
Ramborg was sullen and morose and answered her sister curtly. Under no circumstances would she allow her stepdaughter to go to Jørundgaard. “Things at your estate are not such that I would think it advisable to send a young maiden over there.” Kristin replied meekly that Ramborg might be right about that, but she had promised Simon to make the offer.
“If Simon, in his feverish daze, didn’t realize that he was offending me when he made this request of you, then surely you should realize that you offend me by mentioning it,” said Ramborg, and Kristin had to return home without accomplishing her goal.
The next morning promised good weather. But when her sons came in for breakfast, Kristin told them they would have to bring in the hay without her. She had a mind to set off on a journey, and she might be gone several days.
“I’m thinking of going north to Dovre to find your father,” she said. “I intend to ask him to forget the discord that has existed between the two of us, to ask him when he will come home to us.”
Her sons blushed; they didn’t dare look up, but she could tell they were glad. She pulled Munan into her arms and bent her face down to look at him. “You probably don’t even remember your father, do you, little one?”
The boy nodded mutely with sparkling eyes. One by one the other sons cast a glance at their mother. Her face looked younger and more beautiful than they had seen it in many years.
She came out to the courtyard some time later, dressed for travel in her church attire: a black woolen gown trimmed with blue and silver at the neck and sleeves and a black, sleeveless hooded cloak since it was high summer. Naakkve and Gaute had saddled her horse as well as th
eir own; they wanted to go with their mother. She didn’t voice any objections. But she said little to her sons as they rode north across Rost Gorge and up toward Dovre. For the most part she was silent and preoccupied; if she spoke to the young lads, it was about other things, not about where they were going.
When they had gone so far that they could look up the slope and glimpse the rooftops of Haugen against the horizon, she asked the boys to turn back.
“You know full well that your father and I have much to talk about, and we would rather discuss things while we’re alone.”
The brothers nodded; they said goodbye to their mother and turned their horses around.
The wind from the mountains blew cool and fresh against her hot cheeks as she came over the last sharp rise. The sun gilded the small gray buildings, which cast long shadows across the courtyard. The grain was just about to form ears up there; it stood so lovely in the small fields, glistening and swaying in the wind. Tall crimson fireweed in bloom fluttered from all the heaps of stones and up on the crags; here and there the hay had been piled up in stacks. But there wasn’t a trace of life on the farm—not even a dog to greet her or give warning.
Kristin unsaddled her horse and led it over to the water trough. She didn’t want to let it roam loose, so she took it over to the stable. The sun shone through a big hole in the roof; the sod hung in strips between the beams. And there was no sign that a horse had stood there for quite some time. Kristin tended to the animal and then went back out to the courtyard.
She looked in the cowshed. It was dark and desolate; she could tell by the smell that it must have stood empty for a long time.
Several animal hides were stretched out to dry on the wall of the house; a swarm of blue flies buzzed up into the air as she approached. Near the north gable, earth had been piled up and sod spread over it, so the timbers were completely hidden. He must have done that to keep in the heat.
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