Текст книги "The Road to Jerusalem"
Автор книги: Jan Guillou
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Chapter 10
Like a stormy wind in the fall, Knut Eriksson, the aspirant to be king, came back from Norway to Western Götaland. First he rode to see his father's brother, Joar Jedvardsson, and celebrated Advent in the church at Eriksberg, offering prayers of thanksgiving for his return. But after that he had many kinsmen to visit and could say if nothing else that he came for the hunt. It had turned into a bitterly cold wolf winter in Western Götaland, when the snow was not too high for horses or plodding thralls but hindered the fleeing wolves. In such a winter the custom was for daring young hunters to ride from one estate to another to hunt for wolves. But besides the hunt there was a good deal to talk about concerning the victory of the Folkungs and the Erik clan at the landsting in Axevalla. And Knut had much to say about this and many ideas that he now wanted to sow to make it easier to reap when the time was ripe.
Knut's first and most important destination on this wolf expedition around the country was Arnäs. By the time he and his men arrived they were expected, since he had sent outriders the day before. Magnus had already sent Svarte and Kol with all the thralls available up to the forests north of Arnäs to encircle wolves where there were good hunting grounds.
They were rollicking, strong young men, and half were Norwegians who now with thundering hooves rode into the castle courtyard to be met immediately by house thralls running out to take their horses. With an agile leap Knut Eriksson was first out of the saddle, and he walked toward his host Magnus with his arms outspread. But the second person he embraced was Arn. He took the young man by the shoulders and shook him like a faithful friend, saying that this was in truth an especially dear meeting, for it was with Arn, and Arn above all, that he shared one of his strongest memories from his childhood. Arn at first didn't understand what that might be, but then Knut with great merriment reminded him of the time when the two of them sneaked into the very longhouse where they now stood to hear the Norse bard that Knut's father, Holy Saint Erik, had brought along. Then both of them had been pissed on by no less than a king and a saint.
Now Arn remembered and said that this was indeed a vivid memory, but it was also an event that was considerably better to remember than it was at the time. They both laughed loudly at this, and it was as if two friends had found each other after many years. With his arm around Arn's shoulder, Knut went into the longhouse as the foremost guest. The two young men had begun talking loudly and both at once, which prompted great amusement since one sounded like a Norseman and the other like a Dane.
It then felt as though God's blessing shone down upon this visit, for things had never been better at Arnäs. Nor had there ever been as much joy in the same place at the same time.
Magnus was now the esteemed father to a son who had vanquished Emund Ulvbane himself in single combat and brought immeasurable honor to his father's house and clan. Eskil felt equally pleased that his once defamed brother had now become the most talked-about man, and that all shadows between father and sons had been thereby chased away. Arn felt as though he, the prodigal son, was only now returning. Erika Joarsdotter was met with deep respect and lovely words from every direction. The oven-roasted venison ribs with Welsh spices and the small wild pigs with honey that she now was able to set forth with the house's best ale and mead aroused such loud cries of admiration and amazement from all the guests that they said "skål" to Magnus time after time to praise his good fortune at having found such a wife. None of the guests gave the least sign that they thought Erika's speech was muddled.
Knut Eriksson could not have received a warmer welcome at this estate, which for the sake of his plans he regarded as the most important in all of Western Götaland at the moment. He too felt great joy and relief at this visit.
When no one could possibly eat any more, though the ale still flowed, the talk turned to what all knew would come under discussion sooner or later, namely the battle at Axevalla landsting.
Arn was embarrassed and laconic on this topic of conversation, saying that he had merely defeated a lout with a useless sword and worse training, and thus there was little to recount. But Knut then asked to see the sword, at least, and whatever the son of a king and the guest of honor requested was done immediately. House thralls quickly returned with the sword, holding it outstretched.
In astonishment Knut drew the blade from its scabbard, at first weighing it in his hand. Then he went out on the floor and gave it a few tentative swings through the air, and it was plain to see that he had held a sword in his hand before. But he found the sword too light and too fragile, just as he had heard from the rumors, and he asked Arn to explain.
Arn objected that swords had little place at a banquet table with tankards of ale. But then he noticed Erika Joarsdotter's rosy, flushed face as she insisted that he show them all and explain, and so he obeyed at once.
He went over to Knut standing in the middle of the floor and asked permission to draw his friend's sword from the scabbard. He then weighed it in his hand.
"You have a heavy and beautifully decorated Norwegian sword, my dearest childhood friend," he said, swinging the sword thoughtfully through the air. "If you strike well then someone's helmet might not withstand it, but look here!"
He raised the sword as if to slam the flat of the blade in the middle of the fireplace, which would have snapped the sword in two. Knut shouted in horror. Arn checked his swing as if surprised, but then he laughed and respectfully handed over Knut's sword with care, saying that he naturally would never have damaged the sword with which a kingdom might be conquered.
But then he took his own sword from Knut, raised it, and slammed the flat of the blade with full force down onto the stone, and nothing happened except everyone heard the resounding ring of steel in the room.
"There you see the difference, my friend Knut," he taunted as he bent his sword at the tip several times. "Our Nordic swords are made of hard iron and can break; they are also heavy to wield. The sword I have is pliable at the top third near the tip; it will not break, and it is easy to swing."
What he said aroused wonder but not suspicion. Knut asked to exchange a few blows with Arn and drew his sword. Arn obediently raised his. As if to make a proper show of it, Arn parried Knut's blows a few times in the air, diminishing the power of the heavy sword with the light sword's flexibility. This enabled Arn to stand still and apparently not exert himself in the least while Knut had to use a great deal of strength for each blow without any effect. Finally Arn abruptly turned his wrist as he parried so that Knut's blow slipped down to the floor and he tumbled after. The Norwegian kinsmen in particular found this highly amusing.
But Knut got up more amazed than angry and went over to Arn to embrace his friend. He said that all the saints must see to it that their swords were always on the same side, for he would never want Arn as his adversary.
To this eloquence, these good words, and the ability to hold one's ale they now all drank together and with great emotion. They all felt that they were kinsmen in more than blood.
A moment later Erika Joarsdotter got up to bid everyone goodnight. Eskil came over to her and offered his praise and thanks as he wished that she might sleep well. He had never done that before, and she felt as if long-frozen ice had finally melted as it does in late spring.
When Arn came to bid her good night she giggled happily and said she doubted whether anyone had ever received so much praise for someone else's cooking. Arn brushed off her remark and said that it was the cooking of the house that the guests had enjoyed, and that both of them had worked hard together to accomplish this. He added with a wink that it ought to remain their secret, for otherwise the rams from the North might once again find him unmanly. With that they parted with great love between stepmother and son.
Eskil now found occasion to make changes in the feast arrangements. Those who still had room for ale and mead could come up to one of his tower rooms over the courtyard; it was cold but soon the house thralls would bring in braziers. Then those who wished to sleep without noise in their ears could do so, and those who wanted to make noise could do that without bothering the mistress.
All the young men chose the tower room. Magnus found it wise to bid them good night.
Up in the tower room it was cold at first before the braziers were brought in, but the cold outside in the courtyard may have contributed as well, for by the time the young men were ready to resume their carousing the mood had changed.
In his cups Knut began to talk disingenuously about how it was actually ill advised that Arn had spared the life of Emund the king-killer. Although in another way it was also good that Arn had acted as he did, Knut hastened to assure them, for Emund was now the butt of eternal ridicule and was called Emund OneHand instead of Ulvbane. But a king-killer did not deserve to live, and as his father's son Knut would have to finish off what Arn had not completed.
Arn blanched at these words and had nothing to say. Nor did he need to, since Eskil jumped into the conversation, but in a way that no one expected.
First Eskil affirmed that he understood full well Knut's intent, and he personally had nothing against it. Yet there was a minor vexation with this plan that as good kinsmen they perhaps could resolve.
He went and fetched a parchment map, rolling it out on one of the tables. Then he brought candles over and asked everyone to come and look. They gathered round him in curiosity.
Eskil first put his finger on Arnäs and followed the river Tidan over to the ting site Askeberga to the east, and then he stopped at Forsvik on the bank of Lake Vättern, which was the main estate of Emund Ulvbane, or One-Hand, he corrected himself.
"Look now and consider this," he said, circling Emund's lands with his finger. "Here Emund now sits at Forsvik, alone in an enemy land and with one hand cut off. That can't give him much joy or feeling of security. From the puppy Boleslav he can expect no help, and it will probably be a long time before Karl Sverkersson shows his snout here in Western Götaland. Look now! If we at Arnäs can buy Emund's lands, then we will own all the land between the lakes of Vänern and Vättern. We will have all roads and all trade in our hands. It would be a great step forward."
Eskil looked as if he thought everyone had understood what he was talking about, but that was not true. Knut replied gloomily that the one matter really had nothing to do with the other.
Then Eskil cloaked his objections in well-chosen phrases, suggesting that perhaps they could take care of this matter first, before they gave the king-killer what was coming to him. Otherwise his property would be passed down within the same enemy clan. But as things now stood, Eskil almost whispered, Emund would probably not oppose the idea of moving to more secure ground, and they might offer him quite a low price for Forsvik. That shouldn't be an excessively difficult negotiation.
Now two of Knut's Norwegian retainers named Geir Erlendsen and Elling the Strong, which he was called not without reason, burst out in thunderous laughter because they had understood the entire plan. Soon everyone in the room was laughing so hard the tears came; all except Arn, who had no idea what was so amusing.
They all merrily drank a skål to Eskil for his brilliant idea and promised as good kinsmen to see to it that this matter was attended to at once in the best way possible.
"Seldom have you, kinsman Eskil, had such a simple proposal to put to anyone," snorted Geir Erlendsen into his ale. "I do believe that Emund One-Hand will find it hard to say no to your offer, even if it's a low price. Then you can confidently leave the rest to us and it may well be that you'll end up getting back a good portion of your silver besides!"
"As sure as I am your leader and your future king, I swear that so shall we honor good kinsmen!" Knut Eriksson declared, and once again they all laughed with boisterous glee. Arn still understood nothing of the business that had just been concluded.
Before the hour grew too late, and since it would be a hard
ride through the snow the next day, the Norwegian kinsman Eyvind Jonsson suggested that it was time to hear the bard tell of ancestors and kinsmen and such sagas that bolstered the spirit. The bard, whose name was Orm Rögnvaldsen, then stepped forward but waited until everyone had refilled their tankards of ale. Then he sat down and made himself comfortable before he began. The West Gothic kinsmen were surely expecting stories of expeditions to the west, since these sagas were the favorites of all men. But what the bard began to recount was an entirely new saga, and it went like this:
It was at Ascension Day and many portents had been seen in the clouds. When Holy Saint Erik on this day took part in the high mass in the Holy Trinity Church on what was called the Lord's Hill in Östra Aros, a message was delivered to him by one of his men. The enemy was approaching the town, according to the message, and preparations must be made without delay to meet the foe with an armed troop. It is said that he replied: "Let me hear this great holy day mass to the end in peace. I trust sincerely in the Lord, and that we in some other place shall solemnly be allowed to hear what remains of His worship service." After these words he commended himself to God, crossed himself, and went out of the church to arm himself and his men. Despite their small number he proceeded bravely with them to meet the enemy.
The enemy joined them in battle, directing most of their forces against the king. When the enemy succeeded in felling the Lord's anointed king to the ground, they gave him wound upon wound. Soon he lay there half dead, but then they did even crueler things and subjected him to scorn and derision. With mocking words Emund Ulvbane, who was Karl Sverkersson's hired man, stepped forward and hacked off his venerable head, without respect and from the front. Then Holy Saint Erik went victorious from war to peace, and blessedly exchanged his earthly realm for the kingdom of Heaven. But at the place where his head fell a clear spring burst forth, and it runs to this day and is called Saint Erik's spring. Its waters have brought about many miracles. So Holy Saint Erik lives today and for all time among us.
When the bard Orm Rögnvaldsen finished his saga there was utter silence, with not even the sound of tankards being pounded on the table to call for more of the same. Instead Knut asked Arn to say a prayer for his father's eternal salvation, and to lend it more power by saying it in church language. Arn did so, but he was still shaken by sorrow and a feeling that resembled anger at what he had heard.
This was what Knut Eriksson had hired the skald Orm to recite at each and every house that they visited. Knut's intention was that no man in the land would be able to escape knowing this story.
The next day they had great success with the wolf hunt at Arnäs and shot eight animals. There was nothing better than wolf pelts in the winter.
That year a great mass was to be held early on Christmas morning at Husaby Church, which was the king's church. But no king would show himself there, for the West Goths had defended themselves against all such. But Judge Karle would be coming to Husaby, as the most distinguished man in Western Götaland. And that was why the Folkungs would be celebrating their early Christmas mass in Husaby and not at their own church in Forshem.
But some days in advance a message came to Arnäs with a pupil sent by the priest in Forshem. He in turn had received an inquiry from the royal priest in Husaby which he himself had provoked by bragging about how good the choir singers were at his masses. Now the question was whether Arn could come a few days early to Husaby to practice with the choir so that the Christmas mass would benefit from his skill. Arn found this to be a Christian proposal that he could not refuse; he put aside his trowel and at once prepared to ride to Husaby. Magnus wanted to send retainers with him since Arn was now a man whose death would secure great renown for anyone who managed to kill him; he was also a man whose death would gladden the followers of the Sverkers. But Arn refused all such protection, declaring that on horseback and in daylight no one would dare attack him, at least not if he was allowed to ride his own miserable monk horse, he added with a laugh.
These days Magnus could also laugh at this matter, since he had realized that he was as wrong about Arn's horse as about his sword. Arn set off at dawn the next day, well armed and well wrapped in wolfskins, with church clothing in his saddlebags. There was a biting cold, but he set a good pace so that both he and Shimal kept warm without sweating, and he reached Husaby church and presbytery by noon. As soon as he had stabled Shimal and drunk a little welcome ale and broken bread with the priest's wife as custom required, he went to the church, which was the largest in Western Götaland after the cathedral in Skara. It had a huge tower on the west side which was built further back in time than anyone could remember.
He was in a very good mood because he liked singing and because the Christmas hymns were those that he believed everyone knew by heart, and besides, Christmas was a happy holy day which made the notes easy to sing, even for those who had not had much practice.
But among the singers in the choir he was not the only one who had received his training from the Cistercians. There was also Cecilia Pålsdotter, who in recent years had taken turns with her sister Katarina in being trained at Gudhem convent near Hornborga Lake.
He heard her voice as soon as he stepped inside the cold church. Her voice hovered clear and pure above all the others, and Arn stopped in amazement to listen. He had never heard anything so beautiful. That was how a boy's soprano could soar forth from a choir, just as he may have sounded as a boy at Vitae Schola. But he probably thought this was even better. There was more fullness and more life in this female soprano.
He had stopped far away from the singers who were rehearsing, and he couldn't see whose heavenly voice it was. Nor did he much care, since he had his eyes fixed on the stone floor so as not to be disturbed by anything as his ears tried to catch every last nuance of the music.
After the choir at the front of the church had sung four of the sixteen verses that Arn knew the hymn contained, the priest leading the singers paused to make a correction and scold someone singing in the second voice. Then Arn went over to greet the priest and bowed a bit timidly to the group of singers.
It was now that he saw her for the first time. It was as though he had seen Birgite from the Limfjord again, but now as a grown woman. The Birgite for whose sake he'd had to do so much penance. She had also caused him to argue with Father Henri about the true nature of love. He saw the same thick red hair in a plait down her back, the same merry brown eyes, and the same pale and lovely face. He must have been gaping at the young woman, because she gave him a teasing smile, apparently used to having young men stare at her. But she didn't know who he was, for the priest hadn't said anything about the fact that he had asked for an extra singer; he had especially refrained from mentioning who the singer might be, since he couldn't be sure that a son of Arnäs would take the trouble to come there just to practice a few carols.
The priest at Husaby was glad, of course, for if Arn was only half as good a singer as the somewhat boorish priest at Forshem boasted, this was going to be an unusually beautiful early Christmas mass. He already had an especially lovely soprano for the first voice. And as he was a priest who was more merry than strict and who welcomed a good jest and surprises if the occasion presented itself, he at once arranged a little practical joke.
He said only that another singer would be joining them from the church at Forshem, which Arn found to be a rather odd introduction, and now they would try the same piece they had just sung but with only two singers in two-part harmony. Then he motioned for Cecilia, who stepped forward with obvious confidence, once again showing her amusement at the staring peasant boy from Forshem.
Arn realized now that she was the one with the beautiful heavenly voice, and this insight made his gaping expression even more sheeplike.
Cecilia now did as the priest had asked, starting to sing the first voice by herself. She sang even louder, mischievously trying to put the singer from Forshem in his place.
But suddenly she then heard . . . no, it was more than hearing, she felt it through her whole body, as the new singer placed his second voice so close to hers, following her as if in a dance. Their voices intertwined, moving into each other, out, and then back, with the same ease as if they had always sung together. And she couldn't help raising her eyes to his. He was already gazing at her, and when their eyes met they both felt as though the Lord's voice had spoken through the other's voice. Then she began to vary her song, making it much more difficult. And he followed her, still in second voice, with the same ease as before; they no longer saw the other singers or the priest standing nearby. Everyone had been struck dumb by the beauty that now streamed out like light beneath the vault of the church, but the two young people saw only each other and they did not stop until all sixteen verses were sung.
It was a lengthy practice session that day but a great deal was accomplished. The Husaby priest was good to them all and in a brighter mood than anyone had ever seen him before. He showed kindness to those he wanted to correct, and soon everyone began to gain in confidence, understanding how all the carols should be sung. They now had the opportunity to hear two singers alone, each taking a separate part, but they also sang as a choir with two lead singers, and as a choir with one soprano voice, one second voice, and even a lone third voice, for Arn would insert a third voice wherever he liked in these simple, happy carols.
So all were in a very good mood when they stopped for supper. Now that Arn and Cecilia had a chance to talk to each other, they fell into lively conversation about where they each had learned to sing. Soon they were both talking at once about Gudhem convent and Vitae Schola and Varnhem. With eyes only for each other they came out onto the church steps where Cecilia's two retainers waited with her cloak and horse. Without staying for the evening meal, they were to accompany her home to Husaby manor for the night, as her father Algot had strictly prescribed.
One of the retainers took a couple of angry steps toward the singer boy, who was walking much too close to the maiden whose virtue he'd been sent to protect. But the second retainer, who had been at Axevalla landsting, took the man by the arm in warning, then pushed past and courteously greeted Herr Arn of Arnäs.
That was when Cecilia Algotsdotter came to an abrupt halt in all her happy chatter about singing at the convent, for she thought she must have heard wrong. This fair youth with the kind eyes could simply not be the man that everyone was talking about over every tankard of ale throughout Western Götaland.
"What is your name, cloister singer?" she asked with doubt in her voice.
"I am Arn Magnusson of Arnäs," Arn replied quickly and realized in the same instant that for the first time in his life he had said his name as it was. "And who might you be?" he added, with his gaze lingering on hers.
"I am Cecilia Algotsdotter of Husaby," she replied shyly, thereby making the same impression upon Arn as he had done upon her when he said his name. Both now understood that it truly was the Lord who had brought them together, just as they both had felt so strongly during the hot, intertwining encounter of their singing voices inside the church.
The early Christmas mass at Husaby church in the year of Grace
1166 would live on in everyone's memory. More beautiful praisesongs to the Lord had never been heard there before, on that everyone could agree. And during this mass it was as though not a single person succumbed to the weariness that usually came over everyone sooner or later from standing so long on the stone floor.
It seemed as though God were speaking even through what they all saw. The young Folkung in his blue mantle and with his blond hair stood beside the red-haired Pålsdotter in her green clan color. And when they sang together with such great joy and power, everyone could see what the Lord intended with these two. If their fathers, who were both present, didn't see it, there would be many at the coming feast at Husaby willing to speak to them about it. They all knew that there was neither silver nor business standing in the way, just as everyone knew that Algot Pålsson was in dire straits. It was as though Christ the Lord were speaking to the assembled congregation when he allowed the heavenly voices of the two young people to spread the joyful message of Christmas: that love is what redeems, love is the power that stands against evil, and love as they now saw and heard it at this Christmas mass was strong and clear.
Certainly Algot Pålsson had seen just as clearly what all the others who stood further back in the church could see. As the king's steward at the royal manor, he stood among the foremost parishioners, next to Judge Karle Eskilsson and Herr Magnus. And what he saw and what everyone else saw certainly did kindle a hope within him. But he knew from much experience that it was not easy to do business with Herr Magnus and his son Eskil. As things now stood, people were talking a great deal about the second son Arn, who was a close friend of Knut Eriksson, about whom it was whispered that he would be the country's next king. So what now looked like a clearly burning hope could turn to ashes as soon as business needed to be transacted. Perhaps the residents of Arnäs had big plans for a much finer match, perhaps they wanted to bind the Erik clan and the Folkungs even closer, perhaps they had thoughts of yet another Norwegian king's daughter. The fact that Cecilia and Arn had dreams that flew high and sang like birds for all to see and hear might not mean a thing when it came to negotiating a proper betrothal.
Algot Pålsson was thus cast between hope and despair as he pondered these possibilities. He also feared the feast, because it would be like burning all his ships on the beach behind him as their forefathers had done in the sagas when no return was possible. For Algot there was now no turning back.
Algot's obligation as steward of the royal estate was to see to it that the king could arrive whenever he liked, with as large a retinue as he wished, to be regaled for as long as he desired. A royal manor had to be ready at any moment to handle a large feast.
If the king himself, Karl Sverkersson, had sent outriders and announced that he and his retinue would be coming to the early Christmas mass in Husaby, as he and other kings had done many times before, everything would have been as it should be. But it also would have been unwise, considering what had happened to the king's father Sverker the Old on the road to the Christmas festivities. And right now Western Götaland was not safe ground for the men of the Sverker clan.
Instead a message had arrived that the Folkungs, with the judge and the men of Arnäs in the vanguard and many retainers, would be celebrating Christmas at Husaby as if the rights of the king were their own. To refuse would have been difficult, especially if Algot gave the only true reason, that this royal estate belonged to Karl Sverkersson and not to the Folkungs. Saying what was true and right would have been a death sentence.
But to say yes, as Algot Pålsson had done, might also be the same as death. Now it was winter and there was much snow, so no royal army would be coming before spring, and perhaps not even then. But if a royal army did come and proved victorious, it would not be easy to explain that the conquered enemy had eaten the king out of house and home at his own royal manor. The only thing Algot Pålsson had left to hope for was that the Folkungs and their kinsmen would be victorious in the spring. Otherwise he probably did not have long to live. He hadn't said a word to his daughter Cecilia about this quandary, and he had no idea whether in that girl's head of hers she would even comprehend what had happened.
But it was a very good feast. Of course, Algot Pålsson did at first feel squeezed tight between the shields when he sat with Judge Karle next to him in the high seat and the three foremost Folkungs from Arnäs seated in the places that followed in rank. It was not that difficult to see what they all thought about boldly eating the king's food as if it were their own. They showed no compunction in joking about the matter, every so often drinking a skål to the king, and each time laughing louder.
Cecilia and Arn had no opportunity to be alone at this feast. They could speak to each other with their eyes, for they sat only a few paces from each other. But this method of talking was the least discreet, since what they said was as clear to the eyes of everyone as bells tolling in the great hall.
