Burial Rites (2 page)

These convicted persons are currently held in custody here in the north, and will be until the time of their execution. Fridrik Sigurdsson has been taken into Thingeyrar by Reverend Jóhann Tómasson, and Sigrídur Gudmundsdóttir was removed to Midhóp. Agnes Magnúsdóttir was to be kept until her execution at Stóra-Borg, but for reasons which I am not at liberty to state, will be moved to a new holding at Kornsá in the valley of Vatnsdalur next month. She is discontented with her current spiritual administrator, and has used one of her few remaining rights to request another priest. She has requested you, Assistant Reverend Thorvardur.

It is with some uncertainty that I approach you for this task. I am aware that your responsibilities have so far been confined to the spiritual education of your parish’s youngest members, which is to say, of undoubted value, but it is of little political import. You may yourself admit that you are too pale in experience to know how to bring this condemned woman to the Lord and His infinite mercy, in which case I would not protest your disinclination. It is a weight that I would hesitate to bestow on the shoulders of experienced clergymen.

Should you, however, accept the responsibility of preparing Agnes Magnúsdóttir for her meeting with our Lord, you will be obliged to visit Kornsá regularly when the weather allows. You must administer God’s word and inspire repentance and an acknowledgement of Justice. Please do not let flattery influence your decision, nor kinship, if any resides between you and the convicted. In all things, Reverend, if you cannot construct your own counsel, seek mine.

I await word of your response. Please provide my messenger with such.

DISTRICT COMMISSIONER

Björn Blöndal

ASSISTANT REVEREND THORVARDUR JÓNSSON WAS
inside the small farmstead adjoined to the church of Breidabólstadur, repairing the hearth with new stones, when he heard his father clear his throat in the doorway.

‘There’s a messenger from Hvammur outside, Tóti. He’s asking for you.’

‘For me?’ In his surprise he let a rock slip out of his hand. It dropped to the packed earth floor, narrowly missing his foot. Reverend Jón sucked his teeth in annoyance, ducked his head under the doorframe and gently pushed Tóti out of the way.

‘Yes, for you. He’s waiting.’

The messenger was a servant, dressed in a worn coat. He gave Tóti a long look before speaking. ‘Reverend Thorvardur Jónsson?’

‘That’s me. Greetings. Well, I’m an Assistant Reverend.’

The servant shrugged. ‘I have a letter for you from the District Commissioner, the Honourable Björn Blöndal.’ He pulled a small slip of paper out from the inside of his coat, and gave it to Tóti. ‘I’ve orders to wait here while you read it.’

The letter was warm and damp from sitting inside the servant’s clothes. Tóti broke the seal and, noting that it had been written that same day, sat on the chopping block outside the doorway and began to read.

When he finished Blöndal’s letter, he looked up and noticed the servant watching him. ‘Well?’ the servant prompted, with a raised eyebrow.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your response for the District Commissioner? I don’t have all day.’

‘May I talk with my father?’

The servant sighed. ‘Go on then.’

He found his father in the badstofa, slowly smoothing the blankets upon his bed.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s from the District Commissioner.’ Tóti offered his father the unfolded letter and waited as he read it, unsure of what to do.

His father’s face was impassive as he folded the letter and handed it back. He didn’t say anything.

‘What should I say?’ Tóti asked, finally.

‘That’s your choice.’

‘I don’t know her.’

‘No.’

‘She’s not in our parish?’

‘No.’

‘Why has she asked for me? I’m only an Assistant Reverend.’

His father turned back to his bed. ‘Perhaps you ought to address that question to her.’

The servant was sitting on the chopping block, cleaning his nails with a knife. ‘Well now. What response am I to give the District Commissioner from the
Assistant
Reverend?’

Tóti replied before he knew his decision. ‘Tell Blöndal that I will meet with Agnes Magnúsdóttir.’

The servant’s eyes widened. ‘Is
that
what this is all about then?’

‘I’m to be her spiritual advisor.’

The servant gaped at him, and then suddenly laughed. ‘Good Lord,’ he muttered. ‘They pick a mouse to tame a cat.’ And with that he mounted his horse and vanished behind the swell of hills, leaving Tóti standing still, holding the letter away from him as though it were about to catch fire.

STEINA JÓNSDÓTTIR WAS PILING DRIED
dung in the yard outside her family’s turf croft when she heard the rapid clop of horses’ hooves. Rubbing mud off her skirts, she stood and peered around the side of the hovel to better see the riding track that ran through the valley. A man in a bright red coat was approaching. She watched him turn towards the farm and, fighting a flicker of panic at the realisation she would have to greet him, retreated back around the croft, where she hurriedly spat on her hands to clean them and wiped her nose on her sleeve. When she returned to the yard, the rider was waiting.

‘Hello, young lady.’ The man looked down at Steina and her filthy skirts with an air of bemusement. ‘I see I have interrupted you at your chores.’ Steina stared as he dismounted, gracefully swinging his leg over his horse. For a large man he landed lightly on his feet. ‘Do you know who I am?’ He looked at her for a glimmer of recognition.

Steina shook her head.

‘I am the District Commissioner, Björn Audunsson Blöndal.’ He gave her a little nod of his head and adjusted his coat, which, Steina noticed, was trimmed with silver buttons.

‘You’re from Hvammur,’ she murmured.

Blöndal smiled patiently. ‘Yes. I am your father’s overseer. I have come to speak with him.’

‘He’s not home.’

Blöndal frowned. ‘And your mother?’

‘They’re visiting folks down south in the valley.’

‘I see.’ He looked fixedly at the young woman, who squirmed and cast her eyes nervously to the fields. A smattering of freckles across her nose and forehead interrupted what was otherwise pale skin. Her eyes were brown and widely set, and there was a large gap between her front teeth. There was something rather ungainly about her, Blöndal decided. He noted the thick crescents of dirt under her fingernails.

‘You’ll have to come back later,’ Steina finally suggested.

Blöndal tensed. ‘May I at least come inside?’

‘Oh. If you want. You can tie your horse there.’ Steina bit her lip while Blöndal wound his reins through a post in the yard, and then she turned and almost ran inside.

Blöndal followed her, stooping under the low entrance to the croft. ‘Will your father return this day?’

‘No,’ was the curt reply.

‘How unfavourable,’ Blöndal complained, stumbling in the dark passageway as Steina led him through to the badstofa. He had grown corpulent since his posting as District Commissioner and was accustomed to the more spacious dwelling provided for him and his family at Hvammur, built from imported wood. The hovels of the peasants and farmers had begun to repel him, with their cramped rooms constructed of turf that issued clouds of dust in the summer, irritating his lungs.

‘Commissioner –’

‘District Commissioner.’

‘I’m sorry, District Commissioner. Mamma and Pabbi, I mean, Margrét and Jón, will return tomorrow. Or the next day. Depending on the weather.’ Steina gestured towards the nearest end of the narrow room, where a grey woollen curtain served as a partition between the badstofa and a tiny parlour. ‘Sit in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll go find my sister.’

Lauga Jónsdóttir, Steina’s younger sister, was weeding the meagre vegetable plot at a little distance from the croft. Bent over her task, she hadn’t seen the District Commissioner arrive, but she heard her sister calling long before she came into sight.

‘Lauga! Where are you? Lauga!’

Lauga rose to her feet and wiped her soiled hands on her apron. She didn’t shout back to her sister, but waited patiently until Steina, running and tripping over her long skirts, spotted her.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ Steina cried, out of breath.

‘What on God’s earth is wrong with you?’

‘The Commissioner is here!’

‘Who?’

‘Blöndal!’

Lauga stared at her sister. ‘District Commissioner Björn Blöndal? Wipe your nose, Steina, you’re snotting.’

‘He’s sitting in the parlour.’

‘Where?’

‘You know, behind the curtain.’

‘You left him there
by himself
?’ Lauga’s eyes grew wide.

Steina grimaced. ‘Please come and talk to him.’

Lauga glared at her sister, then quickly untied her dirty apron and dropped it beside the lovage. ‘I can’t think of what goes through your head sometimes, Steina,’ she muttered, as they walked quickly towards the croft. ‘Leaving a man like Blöndal twiddling his thumbs in our badstofa.’

‘In the parlour.’

‘What difference does it make? I suppose you gave him the servants’ whey to drink, too.’

Steina turned to her sister with a panicked expression. ‘I didn’t give him anything.’

‘Steina!’ Lauga broke into a little trot. ‘He’ll think us peasants!’

Steina watched her sister pick her way through the tussocks of grass. ‘We
are
peasants,’ she mumbled.

Lauga quickly washed her face and hands, and snatched a new apron from Kristín, the family’s workmaid, who had hidden herself in the kitchen at the sound of a stranger’s voice. Lauga found the District Commissioner seated at the little wooden table in the parlour, reading over a slip of paper. Expressing apologies for her sister’s discourteous reception, she offered him a plate of cold, hashed mutton, which he took gladly, albeit with a slightly injured air. She quietly stood aside as he ate, watching his fleshy lips wrap about the meat. Perhaps her Pabbi was to be promoted from District Officer to an even greater title. Perhaps he would receive a uniform, or a stipend from the Danish Crown. There might be new dresses. A new home. More servants.

Blöndal scraped his knife across the plate.

‘Would you like some skyr and cream, District Commissioner?’ she asked, taking the empty dish.

Blöndal waved his hands in front of his chest as if to decline, then paused. ‘Well, all right then. Thank you.’

Lauga blushed and turned to fetch the soft cheese.

‘And I would not object to coffee,’ he called after her as she ducked her head around the curtain.

‘What does he want?’ Steina asked, huddling by the fire in the kitchen. ‘I can’t hear anything except you, clomping up and down the corridor.’

Lauga shoved the dirty plate at her. ‘He hasn’t said anything yet. He wants skyr and coffee.’

Steina exchanged looks with Kristín, who rolled her eyes. ‘We have no coffee,’ Steina said quietly.

‘Yes we do. I saw some in the pantry last week.’

Steina hesitated. ‘I . . . I drank it.’

‘Steina! The coffee isn’t for us! We save it for occasions!’

‘Occasions? The Commissioner never visits.’

‘The
District
Commissioner, Steina!’

‘The servants are coming back from Reykjavík soon. We might have more then.’

‘That’s then. What are we going to do now?’ Exasperated, Lauga pushed Kristín in the direction of the pantry. ‘Skyr and cream! Hurry.’

‘I wanted to know what it tasted like,’ Steina offered.

‘It’s too late. Bring him some fresh milk instead. Bring everything in when it’s ready. Actually no, let Kristín. You look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt with the horses.’ Lauga shot a scathing look at the dung on Steina’s clothes and walked back down the corridor.

Blöndal was waiting for her. ‘Young lady. I suppose you are wondering at my occasioning your family with a visit.’

‘My name is Sigurlaug. Or Lauga, if you like.’

‘Quite. Sigurlaug.’

‘Is it some business of my father’s? He is –’

‘Southbound, yes, I know. Your sister told me, and . . . Oh look, here she is.’

Lauga turned and saw Steina emerging round the side of the partition, carrying the soft cheese, cream and berries in one grimy hand, and the milk in the other. Lauga gave her sister a vexed look as Steina accidentally dragged the edge of the curtain through the skyr. Fortunately the District Commissioner seemed oblivious.

‘Sir,’ Steina mumbled. She set the bowl and cup on the table in front of him, and then gave an awkward curtsey. ‘May it do you good.’

‘Thank you,’ Blöndal replied. He sniffed the skyr appraisingly, then looked up at the two sisters. He smiled thinly. ‘Who is the elder?’

Lauga nudged Steina to prompt her, but she remained silent, gaping at the brilliant red of the man’s coat.

‘I am younger, District Commissioner,’ Lauga said eventually, smiling to show off her dimples. ‘By one year. Steinvör is twenty-one this month.’