Burial Rites(51)

‘Fridrik Sigurdsson was a boy raised in a household careless with morality and Christian teaching, Reverend. Slothfulness, greed, and rude, callow inclinations bred in him a weak spirit, and a longing for worldy gain. After recording his confession, I was of the unwavering opinion that his was an intransigent character. His appearance excited in me strong suspicions of that order – he is freckle-faced and – I beg your pardon, Reverend – red-headed, a sign of a treacherous nature. When I set him in custody with Birni Olsen at Thingeyrar I had little hope for his reformation. However, Reverend Jóhann and Olsen fortunately possessed more hope for the boy than I entertained, and set to work upon his soul with the religious fervour that makes both men so necessary to this community. Reverend Jóhann confided to me that, through the combination of prayer, daily religious reprehension, and the good, moral example set by Olsen and his family, Fridrik has come to repent of his crime and see the error of his ways. He talks openly and honestly of his misdeeds and acknowledges that his impending execution is right given the horrific nature of the crime committed by his hands. He recognises it as “God’s justice”. Now, what do you say to this?’

Tóti swallowed. ‘I commend both Reverend Jóhann and Herr Birni Olsen for their achievement.’

‘As do I,’ Bl?ndal said. ‘Does Agnes Magnúsdóttir repent of her crime in a similar manner?’

Tóti hesitated. ‘She does not speak of it.’

‘And that is because she is reticent, secretive and guilty.’

Tóti was silent for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to run from the room and join the rest of the household of Hvammur, whose chatter slipped under the door of Bl?ndal’s office.

‘I am not a cruel man, Assistant Reverend Thorvardur. But I am God-fearing, and it is apparent to me that this District is overrun with criminals of the worst kind. Thieves, thugs, and now murderers. During the years that have passed since my appointment as District Commissioner, I have seen the moral boundaries that have kept the people here safe from depravity and vice disintegrate. It is a political and spiritual embarrassment, and it is my responsibility to see to it that the criminals in this District, who have gone so long unpunished, are given their justice in the eyes of their peers.’

Tóti nodded, and slowly picked up the swan feather. The down near its base clung to his damp fingers. ‘You mean to make an example of her,’ he said quietly.

‘I mean to deliver God’s justice here on earth,’ Bl?ndal said, frowning. ‘I mean to honour the authorities who have appointed me by fulfilling my duty as lawkeeper.’

Tóti hesitated. ‘I hear that you have appointed Gudmundur Ketilsson as executioner,’ he said.

Bl?ndal sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve never known tongues to wag faster than they do in this valley.’

‘Is it true that you’ve asked the brother of the murdered man?’

‘I do not have to explain my decisions to you, Reverend. I am not accountable to parish priests. I am accountable to Denmark. To the King.’

‘I did not say I disapproved.’

‘Your opinion is writ large upon your face, Reverend.’ Bl?ndal picked up his pen again. ‘But we are not here to discuss my performance. We are here to discuss yours, and I must say that I am disappointed with it.’

‘What will you have me do?’

‘Return to God’s word. Forget Agnes’s. She has nothing that you need to hear, unless it is a confession.’

Reverend Tóti left Bj?rn Bl?ndal’s study with a pounding head. He could not stop thinking of Agnes’s pale face, her low voice in the dark, and the image of red-headed Fridrik, raising a hammer above a sleeping man. Had she been lying to him? He fought off a compulsion to cross himself in the corridor, in front of the busy huddle of female servants lugging pails of milk and pots of waste. He pulled on his shoes against the wall.

It was a relief to be outside. It had grown cloudy and dim, but the cold air, and the strong smell of fish drying on racks near the cowshed, seemed sympathetic to his confusion. He thought of Bl?ndal’s greasy finger against his throat. The crunch of bone. Natan Ketilsson begging for his life. He wanted to be sick.

‘Reverend!’ Someone was calling him. He turned around and saw Karitas, Bl?ndal’s servant, running hurriedly after him. ‘You left your coat, sir.’

Tóti smiled and extended an arm to take the garment, but the woman did not let go of it. She pulled Tóti closer and whispered to him, looking at the ground.

‘I need to speak with you.’

Tóti was surprised. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Shh,’ hissed the woman. She glanced over to the servant men gutting the fish on the stone. ‘Come with me. To the stable.’

Tóti nodded and, taking his coat, stumbled towards the large cowshed. It was dark inside, and smelt strongly of manure, although the stalls had already been cleaned. It was empty – all the animals had been taken out to pasture.

He turned around and saw Karitas silhouetted against the open doorway.

‘I don’t mean to be secretive, but . . .’ She stepped closer, and Tóti saw that she was distressed.

‘I didn’t mean to grab at you like that, but I didn’t think I’d have another opportunity.’ Karitas gestured towards a milking stool and Tóti sat down.