Burial Rites(48)

‘I am sure you are right,’ Tóti said, looking at the servant busy untying his laces. She glanced at him without smiling.

‘Come, Karitas, leave him alone now,’ Bl?ndal said. ‘Reverend Thorvardur, if you will follow me to my office.’

‘Thank you, Karitas.’

The servant stood up, holding his shoes, and looked at him as though she was about to say something.

‘Karitas. Leave.’

Bl?ndal waited until the woman had stepped out of the room, before gesturing for Tóti to follow him. ‘Down this way, if you please, Reverend. My rooms are in a remote quarter of the building. It keeps the roar of the servants from becoming more than a mild disturbance.’

Tóti followed Bl?ndal down a long corridor, over which more servants and children ran, going into other rooms. Tóti marvelled at the size of the house – it was like no other he had seen.

‘In here please, Reverend.’

Bl?ndal pushed open a door to a light-filled study. The pale blue walls were lined with two solid bookshelves, filled with leather-bound spines. A large writing desk sat in the middle of the room, its surface gleaming in the sunlight that entered through a tiny curtained window near the peak of the gable.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Tóti gasped.

‘Sit down, Reverend,’ Bl?ndal said, pulling out a cushioned chair.

Tóti sat as directed.

‘Here we are then.’ Bl?ndal ran his large hands over the smooth surface of the desk. ‘Shall we begin?’

‘Of course, District Commissioner,’ Tóti said, nervously. The grandeur of the office made him uncomfortable. He had not known that people in the north lived like this.

‘My men said that the condemned was brought to Kornsá without incident.’

‘That’s my understanding, also,’ Tóti said. ‘And I am pleased to report that Agnes has settled into her new custodial holdings at Kornsá.’

‘I see. You call her by her Christian name.’

‘She prefers it, District Commissioner.’

Bl?ndal leaned back in his chair. ‘Continue.’

‘Well, the prisoner has hitherto been included in all aspects of the household’s haymaking,’ Tóti continued. ‘And I have been informed by District Officer Jón Jónsson that she labours with a humble demeanour, as befits her reduced state.’

‘They do not keep her in irons?’

‘It is not usual practice.’

‘I see. And her domestic duties?’

‘She attends them with utmost diligence. The prisoner seems quite content to spend days of ill weather knitting.’

‘Remind them to be wary of supplying her with tools.’

‘They are watchful, District Commissioner.’

‘Good.’ Bl?ndal pushed his chair back and, opening a drawer in his desk, carefully drew out a sheet of light green paper and a penknife. He then turned and picked up a glass jar stuffed with long, white swan feathers from a corner of a bookshelf. ‘I always send the women to collect these,’ Bl?ndal said, momentarily distracted. ‘In late summer. It’s best to get them when the birds moult. No need to pluck them out.’ He offered Tóti the jar holding the clutch of feathers.

‘Oh no, I couldn’t.’ Tóti shook his head.

‘I insist,’ Bl?ndal boomed. ‘A true man is distinguishable from all others by his writing implements.’

‘Thank you.’ Tóti gingerly took a feather.

‘A provider, the swan,’ Bl?ndal said. ‘The skin of the feet makes excellent purses.’

Tóti absently brushed the light edge of the feather against his hand.

‘And the eggs are tolerable. If boiled.’ Bl?ndal neatly swept up the slivers of quill from the desk, and then unscrewed a small bottle of ink. ‘Now, if you will, a brief summation of your religious administrations to the criminal.’

‘Of course.’ Tóti was aware of sweat creeping out on his palms. ‘During the harvest I visited the criminal intermittently, being, as you will understand, occupied with the harvest at Breidabólstadur.’

‘In which ways did you prepare for your communication with the condemned?’

‘I . . . I would be lying if I said that, at first, my responsibility towards her immortal soul did not weigh heavily upon me.’

‘I was worried of as much,’ Bl?ndal said grimly. He made a note on the paper in front of him.

‘I thought that the only recourse to her absolution would be through prayer and admonishment,’ Tóti said. ‘I spent several days in consideration of the verses, psalms, and other literature I thought might bring her to the feet of God.’

‘And what did you select?’

‘Passages from the New Testament.’

‘Which chapters?’

‘Uh . . .’ Tóti was unnerved by the rapidity of Bl?ndal’s questions. ‘John. Corinthians,’ he stammered.

Bl?ndal looked askance at Tóti and continued writing.

‘I tried to talk to her about the importance of prayer. She asked that I leave.’

Bl?ndal smiled. ‘I’m not surprised. She struck me as especially godless during the trial.’

‘Oh no. She seems very well versed in Christian literature.’