Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

Fridrik stared down at the table.

Dagbjartur paused a moment and then said, “It looks as if no one knew about the professor’s trip.”

“Oh really? Not that there’s anything strange about that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The professor didn’t have any family, and when I knew him best, he was used to taking summer vacations alone. He never let anyone know about them and just wandered around Europe, following his personal whims. He’d always have lots of fun stories to tell when he came back to Copenhagen, though. He felt he could establish better contact with the locals if he traveled alone.”

Fridrik stood up and walked to the bookshelves.

“The priest in Flatey claims he avoided his acquaintances in Iceland because of some controversy over a manuscript. Do you reckon that’s true?” Dagbjartur asked.

Fridrik smiled numbly. “Oh yeah? Is that what it was? He was certainly adamantly opposed to most of his Icelandic colleagues on the issue, but I can’t think of anyone who would have tried to make him pay for it in any way, although I’m sure he would have been the toughest opponent to dissuade. He cared more about those manuscripts than any human being. And he knew all the arguments and legal loopholes to prevent them from being handed over.”

As Fridrik spoke, he took a folder off the shelf, opened it, found a typed sheet, and said, “I’ve been collecting material on this manuscript issue. Here’s a thesis by Gaston Lund that I translated. Listen to this extract: ‘The international research that is being conducted on the basis of these manuscripts would be hindered if the collection were to be dispersed. The results of the studies that are being made in Copenhagen are published in all the major European languages, whereas in Reykjavik the results would only be published in modern Icelandic. The humanities departments of the University of Copenhagen would unanimously oppose any handing over of the manuscripts.’”

Fridrik slipped the sheet back into the folder and put it back in its place. Then he took out a photo album and placed in on the table beside the chess board.

“So didn’t Gaston Lund have any enemies in this country then?” Dagbjartur asked.

“Some of our fellow countrymen might have let a few insults fly when he vented his opinions at meetings. Lund could also be rash and excitable, but it was never serious enough not to able to be solved with a good glass of schnapps. But I think I know the reason why he wanted to travel incognito.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The first time Gaston Lund came here was in 1926 or 1927. He was a member of what was considered to be a very gifted group of young Danish scholars. The story goes that Lund became intimately acquainted with a pretty local girl somewhere down south and got her pregnant. The fact that he refused to have anything to do with the child says a lot about his lower nature. He didn’t come back until he accompanied King Christian the tenth of Denmark on his official visit in 1936. The mother of the child planned to introduce him to his son, but Lund reacted badly to this reunion and washed his hands of them. The Icelanders in Copenhagen heard the story and weren’t impressed. But personally I think his behavior was just something that was beyond his control. The whole concept of taking on a father’s role was so overwhelming to him that he couldn’t cope. He always treated women with great suspicion after that. I think he didn’t dare go to Iceland because he was scared of bumping into the mother of his child. And now when he finally came back again, he tried to keep a low profile in this clumsy manner.”

“Did he ever receive any threats from this woman?”

“No, definitely not. But he was so deeply intimidated by her that he didn’t dare to come here for decades.”

“Do you know her name?”

“No. I heard this story as a piece of gossip and never asked for any further details.”

“And could you write me out a list of all the Icelanders that you know he knew personally?”

“I can do that, yes,” said Fridrik, skimming through the album. “Here’s a picture I took of Gaston Lund. On a short trip to Sweden.”

Dagbjartur saw the proud figure of a man standing in front of a group of people.

Fridrik said, “If you’re interested in the professor’s other faults, I could tell you that he was incredibly domineering. He often took over on those trips, uninvited, and that could be tiring. To people who didn’t know him, it came across as brashness and arrogance. He could also be quite vain and full of himself and his position. In most of his traits, he was unlike any of the Danes I’ve ever known. They’re normally gentler and more easygoing than Professor Lund was.”

“Could I borrow that picture?” Dagbjartur asked.

Fridrik carefully removed it from the photo album and handed it to Dagbjartur, who stuck it into his notebook.

“They say in Flatey that Gaston Lund traveled there to try his hand at some riddle connected to the Flatey Book. Are you familiar with that story?” Dagbjartur asked.

Fridrik smiled. “Aenigma Flateyensis. It would have given Professor Lund a great deal of prestige to be able to solve that enigma. He would have been quite happy to have that feather in his cap.”

“What kind of an enigma is it?” Dagbjartur asked.

“It’s just a few questions about the sagas contained in the Flatey Book, but I’m not the best man to tell you that story. Arni Sakarias, the poet and historian, is the man you need to talk to about that.”

Question five: King Magnus’s men. Second letter. King Sverrir Sigurdsson reigned in Norway from 1177 to 1202, and his men were the valiant Birkibeins. It had previously been considered shameful to be called a Birkibein, but following the fall of Earl Erling it was deemed an honor. There were then constant conflicts between King Magnus and his men. It happened that an old beggar woman died and left behind her a cowled garment, or a hekla, as it was called. A large quantity of silver was found stitched up inside it. When King Magnus’s men heard about this, they took and burned the garment, sharing the silver between them. This became known to the Birkibeins, who from that point onwards called them the Heklaufs, and the second letter is e.

T he Flatey library stands at the top of the island, just a few yards beyond the church. Kjartan contemplated the building when he reached the gate of the low fence. It was a tiny little building, even smaller than it looked from down below in the village. Once he had let himself in with the key, he discovered a single narrow room lined with bookshelves. Grimur had told Kjartan that the lion’s share of the library’s collection-old parchment manuscripts, diaries, and files-had long ago been transferred south to Reykjavik where they were preserved in the national library. What remained was old popular literature that was borrowed and read by the parishioners. Kjartan glanced at the spines of various books and dipped into some of them. Titles included The Treasure by Selma Lagerlof, The Ship Sails by Nordal Grieg, and Anna of Heidarkot by Elinborg Larusdottir. Not exactly the most contemporary of selections.

There was no mystery as to where the Munksgaard edition of the Flatey Book was kept. Wedged between two windows against the northern wall, there was a low table covered with a pane of glass, and in a drawer underneath it there was a large open book. Kjartan looked at the pages through the glass. These were black-and-white photographs of the original pages of the manuscript in the same scale. The lettering was clear and distinguishable, but Kjartan was unable to read it. He opened the drawer and turned the pages. At the front he found some old handwritten sheets that he could read. On the top of the first page the words Aenigma Flateyensis had been written, and below that there was a poem: