Hannah Kent - Burial Rites

A scream erupted from my chest and strength left me. I dropped the lamp again, and fell to the floor in the darkness that erupted over us.

Fridrik must have fetched the candle from the corridor. I saw his face shine as he entered the room. Then, we both heard a voice.

‘What was that?’ Fridrik quickly walked over to my side and pulled me to my feet. We were trembling. The sound came again. A groan.

‘Natan?’ I grabbed the candle from Fridrik and lurched towards the bed, holding it close to Natan’s face. I saw his eyelids twitch in the bright flare, and he tried to stir on the bed.

‘What did you do to him?’ Fridrik was as white as a corpse, his pupils so dilated they looked black.

‘The hammer…’ he mumbled.

Natan groaned again, and this time Fridrik bent close, listening.

‘He said “Worm”.’

‘Worm Beck?’

‘Maybe he’s dreaming.’

We stood still, watching Natan for more signs of life. The silence was deadening. Then Natan slowly opened one of his eyes, and looked right at me.

‘Agnes?’ he murmured.

‘I’m here,’ I said. A rush of relief went through me. ‘Natan, I’m here.’

His eye moved from me to Fridrik. Then, he swivelled his head and saw Pétur’s staved-in skull. I saw that he knew what had happened.

‘No,’ he croaked. ‘No, no no no.’

Fridrik stepped backwards from me. I wasn’t going to let him leave.

‘Look what you’ve done!’ I whispered. ‘Look at your work.’

‘I didn’t mean to! Natan, I swear.’ Fridrik began to pant, staring at the bloody hammer by our feet.

Natan cried out again. He was trying to get up from his bed, but screamed when he put weight on his arm. Fridrik had crushed it.

‘You wanted him dead!’ I cried, facing Fridrik. ‘What are you going to do now?’

There was a thump and we both looked down and saw Natan on the ground. He had dragged himself out of the bed with his good arm, but could go no further.

‘Help me lift him,’ I said to Fridrik, setting the candle on the floor, but the boy wouldn’t touch him. I bent down and tried to drag Natan upright, so that he could rest his head against the beam, but he was too heavy, and when I saw the way his skull had swollen, the blood that had poured down his back, I lost all my strength: my limbs turned to water. I cradled his head in my lap and I saw that he would not survive the night.

‘Fridrik,’ Natan was repeating over and over. ‘Fridrik, I will pay you, I will pay you.’

‘He wants to talk to you, Fridrik,’ I said, but Fridrik had turned his face away, and would not look at us. ‘Turn around,’ I screamed. ‘The least you could do is speak to the man you have killed!’

Natan stopped murmuring. I felt his body stiffen, and he looked up at me, his head lolling slightly. ‘Agnes…’

‘Yes, it’s me, Agnes. I’m here, Natan. I’m here.’

His mouth gaped open. I thought he was trying to say something, but all that came out was a gargling. I looked up at Fridrik and he was standing there, his face white-pale and his hair in his eyes and red at one side where the blood had burst and hit him. His eyes were wide and scared.

‘Why is he doing that?’ he asked. Natan was choking, blood spilling out onto his chin, onto my skirt.

‘Why is he doing that?!’ Fridrik screamed. ‘Make him stop!’

I reached over and picked the knife up from the floor. ‘Do it then, finish what you’ve begun!’

Fridrik shook his head. His face was ashen and he stared at me in horror.

‘Do it!’ I said. ‘Will you leave him to slowly die?’

Fridrik kept shaking his head. He flinched as a little stream of blood erupted anew from Natan’s head wound. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t. I can’t.’

Natan looked up at me: his teeth were red from blood. His lips moved silently, and I understood what he was trying to say.

The knife went in easily. It pierced Natan’s shirt with neat rips, sounding like an ill-practised kiss — I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. My fist jerked, until I felt sudden, close warmth over my wrist and realised that his blood covered my hand. The warmth of it was noticeable against the chill of the night. I released the handle, and pushed Natan away from me, looking down at the knife. It stuck out from his belly, and his shirt was dark and wetly puckered around the blade. For a moment we stared at each other. The light from the candle caught the edge of his forehead, his eyelashes, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude — he regarded me clearly. It seemed like forgiveness.

‘Agnes.’ Fridrik was behind me, his hands on his head, the hammer on the floor. ‘Agnes, you’ve killed him.’

I wanted to cry. I wanted to kneel over his body and wail. But there was no time.

I hated Fridrik. He had crumbled, had shrunk to the floor and begun to sob, heaving huge lungfuls of air in a panic that never seemed to cease. Eventually he got up, his breath shuddering, and pulled the knife out of Natan’s belly.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked him. I did not have the energy to scream.

‘That’s my knife,’ Fridrik said. He wiped it on his trousers and began to walk outside.

‘Wait!’ I called.

Fridrik turned and shrugged.

‘You’ll be hanged for this,’ I croaked. Fridrik paused. I saw his fingers clench around the knife’s sticky handle.

‘If I am hanged,’ he said slowly, sniffing back a breath of snot, ‘you will be burnt alive.’

I looked down and saw the blood on my hands. On my neck, soaking my dress. I saw the candle flame flicker in an unseen draught, and wondered at what the room would look like in the grey light of day.

That’s when I remembered the whale fat that Natan had bought at Hindisvík.

22nd of December 1829

Promemoria: To Björn Blöndal, District Commissioner of Húnavatn

Here I am presenting to Your Honour the following:

1. The original copy of the Supreme Court’s ruling from the 25th of June of this year in the case and prosecution against Fridrik Sigurdsson, Agnes Magnúsdóttir and Sigrídur Gudmundsdóttir from Húnavatn District for murder, arson and theft, among other crimes. The Supreme Court sentence arrived here on the 20th of this month with an extra mail delivery from Reykjavík.

2. Confirmed copy of His Majesty the King’s letter: To the District Governor on the 26th of August, in regard to Sigrídur Gudmundsdóttir, the aforementioned is by the King’s grace and mercy pardoned from the punishment of death as sentenced by the aforementioned Supreme Court in Copenhagen. She will instead, by His Majesty the King’s decree, be moved to Copenhagen to work in a prison for the term of her natural life under strict surveillance. It has also been decided that the Supreme Court’s sentencing in regards to the convicts Fridrik Sigurdsson and Agnes Magnúsdóttir will stand.

3. Confirmed copy of the document from the Royal Secretarial Office of Denmark to the District Governor from the 29th of August concerning this case, where the Secretary to the Royal Sovereign has published the opinion that it would be best for the penalty to be fulfilled where the crime was committed, or as close to it as possible, and only then if it will not cause riot or unpredictable events. The District Governor must be in absolute agreeance with this.

4. The sanction, which has been made ready today, for Gudmundur Ketilsson, the farmer at Illugastadir, to execute the convicts Fridrik Sigurdsson and Agnes Magnúsdóttir according to the Supreme Court ruling, which, according to the secretarial letters, I must now request you, Your Honour, to manage in a proper manner. Your Honour must ensure that the death sentences, in consideration of the changes that are outlined in the aforementioned Royal letter from His Majesty the King, are carried out in a legal manner and fulfilled without delay. Your Honour is requested to send confirmation when the death sentences have been fulfilled. My most Honourable Sir, as the local District Commissioner you are trusted to prepare and execute the convicts in a proper manner, and to arrange all things according to the intricacies of this situation. However, I must insist that you heed the following details: