Текст книги "The Road to Jerusalem"
Автор книги: Jan Guillou
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Gunnar, who was the one who should have spoken for them, was too embarrassed. So Gunvor immediately took over the responsibility of explaining, and Gunnar gave no sign of objecting. She told Father Henri how she had so devoutly placed her last remaining hope in the hands of Our Lady, how she was saved when a little monk boy was sent to her, and how because of that she and the one she loved most in life would be able to live together for all their days on earth.
At first the prior listened very attentively, interjecting a question or two about things that Gunvor did not realize were important. Soon the face of the venerable old man shone as if with a joy that radiated from within. Then he summoned a gigantic monk who emerged covered in soot and sweat. He examined the horses with grunts, sometimes approving and sometimes cross, and then he explained something to the prior in a completely incomprehensible language.
"The Lord be praised for your wondrous gift," said Father Henri, and now they all listened tensely because the huge monk went over to the mare and took her by the halter, speaking kindly to her, while he didn't seem at all interested in the stately stallion.
"Your sacrifice is great, your willingness to give us the most costly of your possessions is worthy of much respect," Father Henri went on. "But we can accept only the mare, and that is because the stallion cannot do us any service. But you mustn't take it as any disrespect. The intent of your gift has already been received, and perhaps the Mother of God took mercy on you and thought that you had offered too much. And so I beg you to keep the stallion."
As they hesitated at how to reply, Father Henri gave a little sign to Brother Guilbert, who bowed like a gentleman to them all and then led the mare in through the wooden gate, closing it behind him. Gunnar was very pleased, because he had been most reluctant to part with the stallion. But since the mare had always been a bit tricky to handle he was also surprised that the foreign monk was able to take her by the bridle just like that and lead her away through a narrow gate without her protesting in the least. He assumed that monks wouldn't know very much about horses.
When Father Henri observed that the generous and grateful guests accepted his partial refusal of their gift, he settled in his chair with pleasure and asked out of courtesy whether there was any favor he might do for them, some form of intercession perhaps?
Then Gunvor, blushing, asked if she might be allowed to thank the young monk in person, and she immediately apologized for her bold request but added that her betrothed was agreed with her in this matter.
Perhaps she had expected that the old monk would scowl and find her question unseemly. But to her relief his face instantly lit up and he thought that it was an excellent suggestion. Then he jumped up as if he were a young man, turned to hurry off, but thought of something and stopped short.
"But you must meet him alone," he said to the couple, smiling very broadly so that they could see a big gap between his lower teeth. "The young man would be unnecessarily timid if his prior were hovering over his shoulder. He isn't used to receiving thanks. But don't worry, he is one of you and will understand everything you say."
Father Henri blessed his guests as he departed, humming softly as he strode quickly like quite a young man through the oaken door.
They sat for a moment, talking about how they should interpret this response, but could find no explanation. In any case it did not seem unfitting for a young monk to be alone with guests, not even female ones, though it would have seemed improper for Gunvor and Gunnar to travel alone to Varnhem.
When Arn, freshly washed and timid, came to meet them, Gunvor fell to her knees before him and took his hands, which she could do because her betrothed and mother Birgite and sister Kristina were standing nearby. With an outpouring of words she let her gratitude flow over Arn.
But as she spoke she realized that the hands she was holding were in truth not those of a little boy. His hands were rough and as hard as stone; it was like taking hold of her father's hands, or a smith's. But when she looked up at Arn's bright visage it was as though his childlike and kind face did not belong with such hands. It occurred to her that Our Lady had perhaps not sent her a young monk at all, for these hands did not belong to a weak boy.
Arn stood blushing and didn't know how to deal with the situation. On the one hand, he had to respect the young woman's genuine gratitude. On the other hand, he probably thought that she was directing her thanks in the wrong direction. He carefully pulled his hands free of hers as soon as he dared and asked her to get up. He blessed her words of thanks and reminded her that they should be directed instead higher up. Gunvor agreed at once, assuring him that this she would do for as long as she lived.
Then Arn took the others by the hand, and they all felt and understood the same thing as Gunvor had when they clasped his calloused hands. They all sat for a while in embarrassed silence.
Then Gunnar felt that he had to say something before it was too late, for if he did not say something now he would regret it for the rest of his life. It was also a man's way of showing courage and honor to speak bluntly of what he was thinking.
And Gunnar began to explain, at first in a somewhat abrupt and stumbling fashion, that he and Gunvor for many years had loved each other in secret. They had constantly prayed to God for a miracle that might bring them together, despite the fact that there was no indication of such a possibility and even though both their fathers brushed aside their dreams as childish whims. But Gunnar had felt that he couldn't live without his Gunvor. And she had felt the same. On the day she was led away to the wedding ale, he had not wanted to go on living. And she had not wanted to live either. It may have been Our Lady who finally took pity on them, but it was Arn who had acted in her service and carried out her will.
Hearing the words of this simple man who was sincerely trying to express the meaning of Grace in his coarse language, Arn felt both respect and gratitude. It was as though what he had already become reconciled with—his conviction that Father Henri's absolution was correct—had served as the scaffolding and the framework of a house but not a finished house. Yet with the gift of love that these simple peasants had received and for which they had now so fervently thanked him, God's humblest instrument, it felt as if the house suddenly stood there finished with the walls and the half-timbering and all the windows in place.
"Gunnar, my friend," he said, rejoicing inside, "what you have said to me will stay with me forever, of that you can be sure. But all I can give the two of you in thanks are words from the Holy Scriptures, and do not think ill of that before you have heard what words they are. For it was your love that conquered all, and the Mother of God saw your love and then showed you mercy. So hear now the following words of the Lord and let these words forever live in your home and in your hearts:
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
He had read the text in their own language so that they would understand. He had to repeat it several times to impress it upon their memory, and he told them where in the Holy Scriptures these words of God were found: The Song of Songs 8:6–7.
When they parted, Gunvor took his hand again and then asked his name. Arn tried for the first time to use his name, the name that belonged to the other world, Arn Magnusson of Arnäs. But he could not do it; he felt arrogant. He told them merely that his name was Arn.
Gunnar rode off with his betrothed sitting in the saddle in front of him and with his arms around her waist, for as things now stood they still had the strong stallion and there was no reason to walk. He breathed in great gulps of autumn air and he thought it had never smelled freer or more lovely. He rode with his wife-to-be in his arms, feeling the warmth of her body and her pounding heart against his forearm. Together they repeated over and over God's own words about their victorious love.
Darkness fell rapidly that day, and the weather changed to storm. It was impossible to have a conversation outdoors, and they had been told that they could have the parlatorium next to the chapter hall to themselves. As Arn, his cloak flapping in the wind, hurried along the arcade to the meeting, he prayed that Gunvor and Gunnar might be well protected on their way home in the first storm of autumn, protected by more than the love that warmed them. Although he also thought that their love was probably strong enough to protect them against all winds, the winds of life as well as the storm that was on its way.
Brother Guilbert was already waiting in the parlatorium, thoroughly scrubbed and with his hair still wet, when Arn came in. The three candles that were lit flickered a little as he quickly opened and closed the door. They first said Pater Noster together and then a silent prayer for themselves as they faced what now had to be told.
When Brother Guilbert finally looked up after his prayers, his gaze was filled with love for his disciple, but also with an unfamiliar sadness that Arn had glimpsed only a few times before.
"As a brother in this order, my name is Guilbert de Beaune, as you well know," Brother Guilbert slowly began. "But that was also my name in another order which is closely akin to ours; one could call it our armed sister order, which also has the same spiritual father as we do, and you know who that is."
"Holy Saint Bernard de Clairvaux," said Arn, clasping his hands in front of him on the heavy oak table and bowing his head to show that now he would listen without saying anything himself.
"True, he and none other," Brother Guilbert went on, taking a deep breath. "He was also the one who created the Holy Army of God, the Order of the Knights Templar, in which I fought for God's cause for twelve long years. I was a soldier in Outremer for twelve years, and I have faced more than a thousand men in battle—good men and bad, courageous and cowardly, skilled and untrained—and none has ever defeated me. As you quite well realize, there is a theological side to this matter too; it is not merely a matter of knowing how to use your hands and feet. But I'll skip over that aspect for now. The fact is that I never met my match with sword or lance, not even on horseback, and I say this not to boast, because you know that none of us in the cloister would do that. I say it because it's true, and so that you will understand from whom you have learned the art of using the sword, lance, shield, bow, and perhaps most important of all, the horse. Before I go on I have to ask you a question out of sheer curiosity. Did this really never occur to you?"
"No-o," said Arn uncertainly, at the same time bewildered that for all these years and as long as he could remember he had crossed swords with a divinely blessed master. "No, at least not at first, because it was just you and I. But afterwards when I thought about the men who tried to kill me, and the childish and clumsy way they handled their swords, then I began to wonder about things. There was all the difference in the world between them and you, dear Brother Guilbert."
"Well, let's stop there and talk a bit about that. It's not dangerous; in fact I think it's good for you," Brother Guilbert continued as if changing the subject, having said what he wanted to say. "If I understood all this correctly, a man came at you at an angle from behind and took aim at your head, is that right?"
"Yes, I think so," said Arn, squirming a bit. He didn't like the turn the conversation was taking.
"You ducked, of course, and changed your sword to your other hand at the same time. The man facing you dropped his guard because he wasn't looking at your sword but at your head, which he thought would fall to the ground. You saw the opening and struck at once. But at the same time you instinctively knew that you should turn around fast and step to the side so you wouldn't have the second man on you again. And so you did. The second man managed to raise his sword but now had to shift his weight to the other foot, and you saw the opening at his midriff between his elbow and his bent knee and struck again. That's how it happened, all faster than you or anyone else could imagine. Am I right?"
Brother Guilbert had spoken with his eyes closed, concentrating hard, as if he were picturing it all again in his mind's eye.
"Yes, that's exactly right," replied Arn, shamefaced. "But I—"
"Stop!" Brother Guilbert interrupted, holding up his hand. "Don't apologize any more for what you did; you already have been given absolution. But now, back to what Father Henri ordered me to explain to you. It wouldn't have made any difference if there had been three or four of those peasant louts, you could have killed them all. I honestly don't think that your equal with a sword exists out there, at least not in this country. But imagine if you and I were really to fight to the death. What do you think would happen then?"
"Before I had a chance to blink twice you would strike me down . . . or maybe before I could blink three times," replied Arn in bewilderment. He couldn't imagine such an unlikely scenario.
"Not at all!" snorted Brother Guilbert. "Of course I don't mean that we should practice, which is what we've always done with me giving the commands and you obeying them. But what if you could think for yourself and were forced to do it, how would you attack me?"
"I can't think such sinful thoughts. I would never be able to raise a weapon in malice against the one I love," said Arn in shame, as if that thought had just occurred to him.
"I'm ordering you to think of this; we're dealing with theory, and that's nothing to balk at. So, how would you attack me in theory?"
"I probably wouldn't go straight for you," Arn began hesitantly, thinking a moment before he obediently continued wrestling with the problem. "If I went straight for you, your strength and reach would quickly prove decisive. I would have to keep my distance, circle around you, wait and wait until—"
"Yes?" said Brother Guilbert with a little smile. "Until what? "
"Until . . . an opportunity arose, until you moved so much that your weight and strength were no longer to your advantage. But I would never—"
"That's how it is when you're allowed to think for yourself!" Brother Guilbert interrupted him. "And moving on to more important matters; Father Henri's idea never to tell you who you were is easy to understand, from a logical standpoint, isn't it? We had to prevent at all costs a boy from becoming conceited, we had to protect him from all pride, especially when it concerned matters that here in the cloister are counted as base things, though that was hardly the case where I was before I came here. I trained many brothers during my life in Outremer; that's all we did when there was no war. But I've seen few men who possess your God-given gifts when it comes to dexterity with weapons, and you have two secrets that make you very strong. I believe you know what one of them is, don't you?"
"I can change from my right to my left hand," Arn answered in a low voice, looking down at the table before him. It was as if he were ashamed without understanding why.
"Precisely," said Brother Guilbert. "And now I'm going to tell you what your other secret is. You're not a tall man like myself. More than half the men you may encounter with a sword out there will look bigger and stronger. But all your life you have trained to fight someone who is bigger, and that's what you do best. So never fear the man who looks big, rather fear the one who is your own size or smaller. There is one more important thing. The danger of pride, which worried Father Henri so much, truly exists, although perhaps not in the way he had imagined. I have seen many men die simply because they were vain. In the midst of a battle with an inferior opponent, or perhaps someone who merely looked smaller, they came to admire their own prowess too much. God knows I have seen men die with a vain smile still on their lips. Remember this and remember it well! For although all your countrymen out there might be inferior to you in practice, which I do believe, almost any one of them could wound you or kill you the moment you are struck by pride. It's as if God's punishment somehow strikes more quickly the one who sins with weapon in hand. It is the same with anger or greed. I tell you this, and you must never forget it: the art you have been taught within these sacred walls is a blessed art. If you raise your sword in sin, you will bring down God's punishment upon you. For the third time, never forget this. Amen."
When Brother Guilbert had finished his explanation they sat in silence for a while. Arn fixed his gaze absently on one of the three flickering candle flames, while Brother Guilbert surreptitiously observed him. They seemed to be sitting there waiting each other out; neither wanted to speak first, afraid that the other might want to talk about something else.
"Perhaps you're wondering which sin it was that drove me from the Knights Templar to the Cistercians?" Brother Guilbert asked him at last.
"Yes, that's clearly what I'd like to know," said Arn. "But I can't imagine you as a great sinner, dear Brother Guilbert. It simply doesn't add up."
"No doubt that's because you can't imagine the world out there, for the world is full of sin and temptations; it's a quagmire, it's a field with many pitfalls. My sin was simony, the worst sin in the rules of the Templar knights. Do you even know what that is?"
"No," replied Arn truthfully, though he was also astonished. He had heard a thousand sins spoken of, large and small, but never this "simony."
"It means to take money for carrying out services on behalf of the Lord," said Brother Guilbert with a sigh. "In our order we certainly did administer large sums of money back and forth, and sometimes it could be difficult to see what was sin and what was not. But I won't make excuses for myself; I confessed my sin and I'm doing penance for it even today. It was not granted to me to die blessed for God's cause with sword in hand. So it goes. But if it weren't for my sin which led me to this peaceful order, you never would have met me. Then you would have been a completely different man than you are today. You should also think about this, since God has a plan for everything that happens."
"I promise not to fail you, not to disappoint you, my dear brother," said Arn quickly and with feeling.
"Hmm," said Brother Guilbert, leaning forward to gaze with amusement into Arn's childishly open face and his wide eyes. "You should probably wait a bit before making promises, because you will be required to make more sooner than you think. But for now our conversation is done. Tonight you must spend the hours between midnight mass and morning mass in our church. Seek God in your heart during this stormy night; this command comes from Father Henri. Now hurry to sleep a few hours, and perhaps we'll see each other at midnight mass."
"As you command so shall I obey," muttered Arn and stood up, bowing to his teacher, and went to his sleeping cell, where he set his mind to wake up for midnight mass and not oversleep. Then he fell asleep at once.
Brother Guilbert remained sitting by the flickering candle flames for a while, lost in thought. Then he blew out the candles and strode off to the smithy, which two of the lay brothers had kept going during his talk with Arn. He was not quite finished; he would now use the last of the secret oils he had brought back from Outremer, and there were also details to plan for the ornamentation.
After midnight mass Arn was left alone in the church at Varnhem, and he spent the first hours on his knees at his mother's grave before the altar. For such long prayer sessions he was allowed to kneel on soft cushions that could be brought from the sacristy.
He was in such a daze that he no longer felt that he knew himself. It was as though he were two persons. One was familiar: he was lay brother Arn who belonged more to Vitae Schola than to Varnhem. The other was Arn Magnusson of Arnäs, who was more of a cipher than a real person. On this stormy night he prayed for God's guidance to find what was good in these two, and he prayed to Saint Bernard to show him the way in life so that he would not stumble amid all the sin that seemed to fill the world out there. Finally he prayed for guidance to avoid the sin of pride above all others.
It was not his own belief that pride should be the foremost sin he must try to avoid—he honestly felt himself free of that particular sin. Yet he knew that this was the sin that Father Henri and Brother Guilbert feared so much that they had kept secrets from him.
In his prayers Arn made the storm outside cease and time come to a stop. Or rather, when he entered into prayer with his whole spirit, time no longer existed. So dawn came quickly, and with the dawn the storm abated.
To his surprise the whole choir came in and took up position behind the altar; some of the choir singers gave him kindly winks. He guessed that it was going to be a farewell mass of the type that was held whenever a brother who was much more important than himself was about to depart.
But then he heard from the creak of rope and tackle that the big baptismal font by the church door was being lowered, and when he turned around he saw them preparing the holy water for the baptismal font. Now he had absolutely no idea what was about to happen.
Then the choir suddenly began singing the mightiest of all praise-songs to the Lord, the hymn about the eternal kingdom and eternal power. He could feel at once that the singers were approaching their task with the utmost gravity, truly doing their best. He murmured along with certain passages, keeping his eyes closed, and feeling as if he were by turns freezing cold and very hot. His breast became filled with holy light, and he was lifted by the secret power of the song up toward the Lord.
But when Arn looked up during a slow passage he discovered that some of the singers were craning their necks to look toward the baptismal font, naturally without straying in the least from their song. When he turned around he saw a sight that was the strangest and most astonishing he had seen in all his life. There stood Father Henri, blessing a sword that Brother Guilbert was holding out to him. The sword was sprinkled with holy water as if being baptized. It was unheard of: a sword in the house of God!
After the choir had sung all the verses of the mighty hymn "Te Deum," Father Henri and Brother Guilbert walked up to the altar. Brother Guilbert carried the sword in his outstretched hands as if it were an offering or some other blessed object. The sword was carefully placed in the middle of the altar, and Father Henri began saying the Pater Noster and everyone murmured along with the prayer. Then Father Henri turned to Arn and signaled for him to move close to his mother's grave, and when he obeyed, the choir took up a new hymn in French which Arn had never heard before. The singers had not mastered it as well as all the others. But Arn was now so filled with the ineffable that he did not hear the words of the song. His wide eyes instead devoured everything that was taking place before him.
Now the sword was taken from the altar and placed directly over his mother's grave in front of him with the hilt toward the altar and the point of the sword toward Arn. It was a wonderfully beautiful sword with a blade that shone of a white tempered steel that Arn had never seen. The hilt of the sword was shaped so that the gilt guard formed a cross, and on it was engraved a motto that could not be misunderstood: IN HOC SIGNO VINCES, "In this sign shalt thou conquer," that is, only in this sign can one conquer, Arn realized immediately.
The hilt of the sword was shaped perfectly to fit Arn's hands. He grasped the hilt and felt how it lay in his hand like a part of himself. The gilding shone from being newly applied. In strong sunlight he would have a more steady feel for his parrying blows from the brilliance of the gold; the gilding had nothing to do with wealth or ostentation.
Father Henri and Brother Guilbert then knelt down facing Arn on the other side of his mother's grave, and the church fell silent, as if they all were holding their breath. Father Henri whispered to Brother Guilbert that it was probably best if he handled what came next, since he was more familiar with it. Brother Guilbert gave him a quick, pale smile at this understatement, filled as he was by the strange moment. Then he turned to Arn and looked him in the eye.
"Arn, our beloved brother," he began in French, not in Latin, speaking in a loud voice that resounded beneath the vault of the church, "swear now the following oath which I will administer to you:
I, Arn Magnusson, swear by Jesus Christ
at the Holy Sepulchre and the Temple
that the sword I now receive
shall never be raised in anger
or for the sake of my personal gain.
This sword shall serve God's righteous cause,
the truth, and the honor that is my brother's and my own.
With this faith and in this sign
I shall be victorious.
But should I waver in my faith,
God shall justly smite me to the ground.
Amen.
Arn had to repeat the oath twice in French and then a third time in Latin, as he held the sword with both hands around the blade. Then Father Henri took the sword, kissed it, and held it out as he said a silent prayer with his eyes closed. Then he turned to Arn and said these words.
"Never forget your oath to God, my son. This sword which is now yours for as long as you shall live is a blessed sword which can be wielded only by you or by a Templar knight of the Lord. This sword and others like it are the only swords that are allowed inside the house of God, also remember that. And bear your sword without wavering in your love for God and without betraying the honor that accompanies this sword."
With hands that were slightly trembling, Father Henri then handed the sword to Arn, who seemed to hesitate before he finally accepted it. It looked as though he was afraid that the sword might burn him.
But when he held it in his hands, the choir took up a new and jubilant hymn which he did not know, and it too was in French.
Arn set off that very day. But this time his departure from Varnhem was better prepared than his first journey, which had quickly ended in misfortune. The horse he now rode was the stallion Shimal, who had already served in breeding for the year and need not come back until it was time again. Arn had donned clothing made of gray and red fabric, like a man of the base world. He could not even remember the time as a child when he had worn attire other than that of a lay brother. And they had cut his hair so that it now was short but even around his head and there was no trace of the tonsure.
Brother Rugiero had prepared a heavy knapsack, and no one was going to trick him into losing it as soon as he left the walls, not this time. It also contained a good selection of plants that had to be kept moist in their leather sacks, along with seeds and fruit pits.
By his side hung the mighty sword in a simple leather scabbard, the sword that felt so light in his hand, as if it became a living part of himself when he swung it. The sword was so perfectly balanced that he could easily have stood upright and cleaned his toenails with it, not even holding it in both hands.
With a few words of thinly disguised pride Brother Guilbert had told him everything about such swords and what differentiated them from ordinary swords. Well, perhaps not everything, he added modestly. But the rest Arn would soon discover for himself.
Arn had taken a lengthy and emotional leave of them all. He was utterly filled with their love for him, which he had never really understood until that last mass when he saw and heard the great solemnity of the singers, offering him the most beautiful farewell they could give him.
Finally, out in the receptorium he was alone with Father Henri and Brother Guilbert. Father Henri nodded silently for him to mount his horse, and Arn swung up into the saddle of the impatiently prancing Shimal.
"There is one last thing you should think about now as you venture out into the other world better equipped than last time," said Father Henri, stopping because he seemed briefly overcome by his emotions. "You carry a mighty sword at your side, as you already know. But remember also the words of Saint Bernard: 'See, God's warriors, what are your weapons? Are they not foremost your shield of faith, your helmet of salvation, and your chain mail of gentleness?' "
"Yes, father, I swear never to forget that," replied Arn, looking Father Henri in the eye without blinking.
"Au revoir, mon petit chevalier Perceval," Brother Guilbert then said, and gave the impatient stallion a hard slap so that he galloped off at once with thundering hooves, heading out through the narrow stone passage to the world outside.
"That was a bit incautious of you. What if he'd fallen off the horse?" muttered Father Henri sadly.
