Johanna sank into a brief silence, took another sip of water, and then continued without looking at the policemen: “The strange thing is that I continued studying medicine. Bryngeir was right about one thing. It was easy for me to learn this profession, and one of the ways I found for clearing my mind was to totally immerse myself in my studies. But I was no longer studying to be a brain surgeon and studied psychiatry instead.”
Johanna was quiet again and stooped over the table. Finally she continued: “A few years after I broke up with Bryngeir, my father applied for a post at the university. When they decided to give him the job and notified him, the devil spotted yet one more opportunity. Bryngeir had been kicked out of university early on and fancied himself as some kind of journalist. I had, of course, told him everything about my father when we lived together, and he wrote a very twisted article about Dad’s abrupt departure from the Arnamagn?an Institute. It was then felt that it was undesirable for an old Nazi sympathizer to be teaching at the university, and the offer of the post was withdrawn. My father saw the last opportunity of a lifetime vanish into thin air. He drank relentlessly for half a year and eventually ended up in an asylum for the chronically medically ill.”
Johanna signaled that her story was over.
“But what’s a psychiatrist doing working as a local doctor all the way out here?” Lukas asked.
“By the time I’d finished my postgrad, my father had been diagnosed with incurable cancer. I wanted to nurse him myself, but also had to work to cover our living expenses. I therefore decided to apply for the first easygoing local doctor post that became available. By sheer coincidence it happened to be here in Flatey, and that suited us down to the ground. I’d never been here before and never imagined that this place would somehow be connected to my life through the Flatey Book. We’ve been comfortable here. I’m good at my job, and I was able to give my father the medication that kept him in a reasonable mental balance. As the cancer spread, he also had to follow a precise palliative treatment. He welcomed death in the end.”
“How did you react when you met Bryngeir here?”
“I didn’t meet him and had no idea that he was here until District Officer Grimur asked me to come to the churchyard to examine the body. I was quite surprised.”
“Quite surprised?”
“Yes. Bryngeir had always been fascinated by this ancient tradition of carving blood eagles on the backs of one’s enemies. I thought it was an odd coincidence to see him in that state.”
“So you were familiar with wounds of this kind?”
“I’d never seen them before, but the descriptions in the Flatey Book stood out in my memory. It was pretty clear what had happened.”
“A witness claims that Bryngeir intended to visit you the night before he was murdered.”
“He didn’t. I actually wasn’t at home, so I don’t know if he tried to get into the house.”
“Where were you that night?”
“I went out for a walk and went to the library to read.”
“Did you meet anyone there?”
“Kjartan came by.”
“How long were you in there?”
“Quite a long time. Until the early hours of the morning, actually.”
“That long? What were you both doing?”
“I told Kjartan about the Flatey Book.”
Grimur stuck his head into the classroom.
“Sorry, Thorolfur, but I can’t find the magistrate’s envoy.”
“You can’t find the magistrate’s envoy?” Thorolfur snapped in a temper.
“No, he seems to have vanished,” Grimur answered, bewildered. “I’ve been to most of the houses and sent messages to the others.”
“Did you go into the doctor’s house?” Thorolfur asked.
“Yes, but there was no one there.”
Thorolfur turned to Johanna. “Do you know anything about Kjartan?”
“Yes, he visited me this morning and I invited him to take a hot bath. There’s a bathtub in the house, the only one on the island. He then had a lie-down. This whole case has become a bit too much for him and he had problems sleeping. He managed to fall asleep, and he was still asleep when Hogni collected me earlier. I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up. He must have woken up and gone somewhere.”
Thorolfur eyed her with suspicion. “I hope you haven’t done anything to him.”
She suddenly stood up. “Is this how this is going to continue? Do you think I tied him to a pole, maybe, and ripped out his intestines or something like that?”
She marched to the door.
Thorolfur signaled Lukas to follow her and then looked at Grimur. “What did she mean?”
Grimur shrugged. “She might be referring to the killing of Asbjorn Prudi.”
“The killing of who?”
“It’s in the Flatey Book.”
“That bloody book again? How is this murder described?”
Grimur thought about it. “I don’t know the whole book off by heart like my friend Sigurbjorn does, but let me see. I browsed through it not so long ago. Asbjorn, Virfill’s good son, ended up in the hands of Brusi the giant. Brusi opened Asbjorn’s belly, grabbed his intestines, and tied them to an iron pole. Then he led Asbjorn in circles around the pole until all his guts were wrapped around it. While this was going on, Asbjorn recited many long poems. Finally he died with great honor and valiance. Later Ormur Storolfsson killed Brusi the giant and carved a blood eagle on his back, but you know all about that now.”
Grimur ended his speech and shrugged again. Thorolfur shook his head. “I just hope the magistrate’s envoy still has all his intestines inside him.”
Question thirty-four: The most mutilated but healed. Second letter. Following the death of holy King Olaf, there were many stories of miracles that were attributed to him being invoked, and the priests who wrote the Flatey Book conscientiously collected them. The most mutilated man was Richard the priest. Einar and his servant broke his legs and dragged him into the woods. Then they wrapped some rope around his head and tightly tied his head and torso to a board. Einar then took a wedge and placed it on the priest’s eye, and the servant who stood beside him struck upon it with an axe, causing the eye to fly out of its socket and land on the board. He then placed a pin on the other eye and struck it so that the wedge sprang off the eyeballs and tore the eyelid loose. They then opened his mouth, grabbed his tongue, and sliced it off, and then untied his hands and head. As soon as the priest regained consciousness, he slipped the eyeballs back into their place under the eyelids and pressed them with both hands as hard as he could. The men then asked the priest if he could talk. The priest made a noise and attempted to speak. Then Einar said to his brother, “If he recovers and the stump of his tongue starts to grow, I’m afraid he will get his speech back again.” Thereupon they seized the stump with a pair of tongs, drew it out, cut it twice, and the third time to the very roots, and left him lying there half dead. It had taken a lot of power to heal those wounds, but thanks to the intercession of the good King Olaf, the priest was restored to full health, even though he had been so badly mutilated. The answer is “Richard the priest,” and the second letter is i.