Free Burial Rites by Hannah Kent

is called Agnes Magnúsdóttir. She is one of the servants convicted of murdering Natan Ketilsson and Pétur Jónsson, and has been placed in custody with us until the date of her execution.’ Margrét folded her arms firmly over her chest and looked down at Róslín defiantly.
    Róslín exclaimed, and set the bread on the ground so that she could better demonstrate her horror.
    ‘Agnes! As in Agnes and Fridrik? Natan Ketilsson’s murderers!’ She brought her hands to her flushed cheeks and stared at Margrét, wide-eyed. ‘But, Margrét! This is the very reason I came! Ósk Jóhannsdóttir said she had spoken with Soffia Jónsdóttir, whose brother Jóhann is a farmhand at Hvammur, and she said that Blöndal had decided to take Agnes from Stóra-Borg, because they couldn’t risk such an important family being slaughtered –’
    Róslín stopped, realising her mistake. Margrét pursed her lips and glared at her.
    ‘Oh, Margrét, I didn’t mean . . .’ Her round cheeks reddened.
    ‘Yes, Róslín. It’s true that Blöndal has placed the murderess with us, and that neither I, nor Jón, had any say in the matter. But the reasons for his decision are known only to Blöndal himself.’
    Róslín nodded her head emphatically. ‘Of course. Ósk is a terrible gossip.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Róslín kept nodding her head, then stepped forward and placed a hand on Margrét’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry for you, Margrét.’
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘Why, for having to keep a murderess under your family’s roof! For being forced to look at her hideous face every day! For the fear it must inspire in you, for your own good self and your husband and poor daughters!’
    Margrét sniffed. ‘Her face is not so hideous,’ she said, but Róslín wasn’t listening.
    ‘I actually know quite a lot about the case, Margrét, and let me warn you, I have heard fiendish things about the wicked three who robbed the good Natan Ketilsson and Pétur Jónsson of their lives!’
    ‘Good is not a word I think many would choose for Natan and Pétur.’
    ‘Oh! But they were good! They made mistakes, of course –’
    ‘Pétur slit the throats of thirty sheep, Róslín. He was a thief.’
    ‘But they were noble Icelanders all the same. Oh, and to think of Natan’s family! His brother Gudmundur, and his wife and all their little children. They’ve gone to Illugastadir, you know, to mend the croft and Natan’s workshop.’
    ‘Róslín, if I have heard rightly, Natan spent more of his time in the beds of married women than in his Illugastadir workshop!’
    Róslín was taken aback. ‘Margrét?’
    ‘It’s just that . . .’ Margrét hesitated and turned around, looking towards the entrance of the croft. ‘Nothing is simple,’ she finally muttered.
    ‘You don’t believe they deserved to die?’
    Margrét snorted. ‘Of course not.’
    Róslín regarded her cautiously. ‘You do know she’s guilty, don’t you?’
    ‘Yes, I know she’s guilty.’
    ‘Good. Then let me tell you, you’d be well advised to watch your back around . . . What was her name again?’
    ‘Agnes,’ Margrét replied, softly. ‘You know that, Róslín.’
    ‘Yes, Agnes Magnúsdóttir, that’s the one. Be careful. I know there’s not much you can do, but ask the District Commissioner for a guard to watch her. Keep her hands tied! Folk are saying that Agnes is the worst of the three convicted. The boy, Fridrik, was under her sway, and she forced the other girl to keep watch, and tied her to the doorpost to make sure she wouldn’t escape!’ Róslín took a step forward and brought her face close to Margrét’s. ‘I’ve heard that it was she who stabbed Natan eighteen times. Over and over again!’
    ‘Eighteen times, is that so?’ Margrét murmured. She desperately wished Snæbjörn would come back to collect his wife.
    ‘In the stomach and throat.’ Róslín’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘And – oh, the Lord bless us – even in the face! I