Текст книги "The Road to Jerusalem"
Автор книги: Jan Guillou
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Chapter 3
The winter held Arnäs in an iron grip. All roads to the south had been impassable since the eighth day of Christmas, and even though the ice on Lake Vänern was thick enough to cross, at least with wide-runnered sleighs, right now there was no great reason to take the trouble. What Magnus wanted to sell over there, toward Lödöse, would bring double the price toward the end of winter when supplies began running low in many storehouses. At Arnäs the work went on as usual in the cooperages, the slaughterhouses, and the salting houses, as it did in the women's workshops where they prepared wool and linen and wove both thick cloth and tapestries to the delight of both man and God.
For the boys Eskil and Arn, the hard winter was a wonderful time. Their teacher and lay brother Erlend from Varnhem had returned to the monastery just before Christmastime, and although Paulsmas was rapidly approaching on January 25th, he had still not been able to make his way back through the snow to Arnäs. The days that the boys should have spent sitting with their noses in the Latin text about the philosopher Saint Bernard had now become free, and they spent the time in lively winter games and boys' mischief. What was most fun was to catch mice down in the grain stores and then release them among the thrall women in the cookhouses. Shrieking with laughter, the boys would run off as shrill screams and loud banging and clattering spoke of what was happening to the mice.
Once they sneaked into the armory and took two old-fashioned round shields out to the long slope in front of the barn near the longhouse where the hay was brought in late in the summer. They sat down on the shields and slid like small otters down the whole slope. Their loud, happy laughter attracted attention, and when their father came and saw what they were doing with the equipment of grown men, he flew into a rage and gave them a thrashing that made them run wailing to their mother in the weaving house. But that little trouble soon passed. The thrall Svarte, who had seen the boys' inventiveness, went to the carpenters' workshop, found some suitable boards, and fashioned them with dowels into a toboggan. Then he steamed one end of the board and bent it slowly upward like the front end of sleigh runners, and ran a leather cord through it as reins for the toboggan, and soon the boys were sliding full speed down the snowy slopes with shrieks and laughter once more.
At first Magnus was out of sorts at seeing his sons tumbling about in the snow in happy games with the thralls' children. He didn't think it was seemly. Eskil and Arn were going to grow up to be the owners of thralls, not their playmates. In Sigrid's opinion, however, children were children, and the vagaries of adult life probably wouldn't elude any of them when they got a little older, be they thrall or son of the lord. Besides, now the boys got out of studying Latin.
She smiled in her ambiguous way as she said that. The fact that the boys had to learn Latin was just as obvious to her as it was incomprehensible to Magnus. She believed that it was the language of the future. He thought that only monks and priests needed such knowledge; in Lödöse he could trade with people from afar in everyday language, even if he had to muddle through and repeat things sometimes. Anyway, as soon as the lay brother managed to get through the snow from Varnhem to resume studying with the boys, the games with the thralls would be over.
But the winter refused to release its grip on Arnäs, and Eskil and Arn had never spent a winter that was more fun, since they were able to play even more games with the thrall children. They built a fort in the snow, and took turns defending it while the others attempted to take the fort, each side with the same number of thrall children. Eskil and Arn had little wooden swords in their hands, while the others had to make do with snowballs, since they were thralls and not allowed to bear arms. The result was a few tears and some black-and-blue marks.
They also helped Kol, Svarte's boy who was their own age, to catch live mice for Svarte to use as bait in his ermine traps. Ermine pelts were very valuable; four of them would buy a thrall. When the wolves began to come near Arnäs, Svarte put scraps from the slaughterhouses by an opening in one of the most distant hay-barns, to keep watch for the wolves when the night was moonlit, calm, and quiet.
Foolishly Eskil now claimed, and Arn nodded eagerly in agreement, that their father had said they were allowed to join Svarte during the watch, as long as they kept quiet as mice. Svarte had his doubts, but he didn't dare ask Herr Magnus if it was really true that the master's children would have tried to trick him. When the weather was good, Eskil and Arn took to sneaking out at night with thick sheepskins under their arms to meet Svarte, who had two crossbows loaded. Since Svarte had said too much at home, Kol came out as well. Three boys with sparkling eyes and impatiently pounding hearts sat next to Svarte and waited, trying not to rustle in the hay, as they kept an eye on the white snowfield and the offal heap that was visited every night by foxes.
Finally one night when the moon had already waned to half, but the weather was clear and calm and very cold, the wolves came. Svarte and the boys could hear their cautious steps on the crust of snow long before they could spy them with their eyes. Svarte made excited gestures for the boys to keep absolutely still. In his fervor he drew a hand across his throat to emphasize the serious punishment that would befall them otherwise, and saw at once Eskil and Arn open their eyes wide in surprise. They had never in their lives been threatened by a thrall, not even in jest. But they nodded eagerly and held up their small index and middle fingers pressed together in a sign that they swore not to make the slightest sound.
Svarte moved unbearably slowly as he drew both crossbows without the least rustle, click, or creak. Then he laid one at the ready and cautiously raised the other into position, poised to shoot.
But the wolves were wary. Now they looked like black shadows out there on the snow. It took a while before they came closer, and Svarte had to lower his crossbow so his arms wouldn't tire. Finally the first wolf came forward, nibbled a little meat, and quickly vanished out of shooting range, pursued by the other wolves. Out of sight they could be heard snarling as they fought over the food. Then they calmed down and came forward one by one, and soon they stood there eating, gulping down the meat with growls and muffled gurgling sounds. The boys found the tension almost intolerable and couldn't understand why Svarte was taking so long.
He again motioned them to sit absolutely still, more polite in his gestures this time; then he raised one crossbow and took careful aim. The instant he loosed the shot he reached for the second crossbow, slung it into position, aimed hastily, and shot again. Down in the snow a pitiful whimpering was heard.
As soon as the boys heard Svarte move, they dared to shout with joy, and then they pushed forward, scrambling to get the best view. Below them lay a wolf kicking in the snow. Svarte gazed in silence over their heads. Then he told them that now it wasn't safe for small boys; one of the wolves had limped off, injured. They either had to go home or else stay up here in safety while he went down to check on what had happened. They promised at once to stay where they were.
When Svarte reached the scene of the shooting, he stopped, leaning forward to examine the snow a short distance away. He wasn't worried about the wolf that had now stopped kicking and lay dead. Then he discovered the trail of blood and began heavily trudging off through the deep snow.
The boys sat for a long time listening in silence; they were starting to feel very cold. Finally a howl that turned their marrow to ice was heard in the dark, followed by gurgling growls that sounded like when the wolves were devouring the meat. Eskil, Arn, and Kol now sat pale and quiet and scared, waiting. But then they pricked up their ears and heard, first faintly and then more clearly, Svarte's heavy, plodding footsteps and panting.
"Father is carrying the second wolf on his back, that's why he's walking so heavily," Kol explained with poorly feigned confidence. Eskil and Arn nodded in awe.
By Paulsmas, the winter was half gone, the bear had turned in its den, and just as much snow would fall afterward as before. Magnus had ordered the road cleared down to Forshem church so that he and his immediate family could attend mass for the first time in far too long.
The weather was pleasant, with sunshine and no wind, and the temperature was just warm enough for a few drips to fall from the roof, so the sleigh ride was comfortable on the newly blazed path. Magnus could hear how the boys, well ensconced in their grandfather's huge wolf-skin pelt, were shouting and laughing in the back of the sleigh as it lurched in the tracks. He urged on his two powerful sorrel horses to run faster, because he enjoyed hearing happy little boys squeal. He also allowed himself this diversion because he had a sense of foreboding, although he couldn't say why. But he had left half his retainers back home, something that the men grumbled about because after the long winter months in isolation at Arnäs they would have liked the chance to swagger a bit for whoever was on the church green. It was there their hearts lay, rather than inside the church listening to God's word like Christian folk.
When the sleigh party from Arnäs drove up onto the church green, what Magnus saw reinforced his premonitions. People were standing about in small groups, talking in low voices, and they hadn't mixed together as was the custom; each group stood near their own clan, and many of the men were wearing chain mail underneath their cloaks, garb that was worn only in uneasy times. The church would be full, because all the neighbors from the south and all those from the west and Husaby had come. But from the east there were no other neighbors beside his own stewards, and they stood off by themselves, huddling together as if they had not yet learned how to behave like free men. Normally Magnus would have sought them out and spoken with them about the weather in a loud voice, but now was not the time for such solicitude. When Sigrid and the boys climbed down from the sleigh he left all care of the horses to his house thralls and strode with his family over to the most favor ably disposed neighbors, the Pål clan from Husaby, to find out what had happened.
King Sverker had been assassinated on his way to the morning service on Christmas Day at Tollstad church, and he had already been buried next to his wife Ulvhild in Alvastra. The outlaw who did it was known, King Sverker's own steward and stableman from Husaby. The fellow had already fled, presumably to Denmark.
But the big question was not who had wielded the sword, but who had stood behind it. Some thought that it must be Erik Jedvardsson, who was now up in Östra Aros with the Swedes, and who according to rumor had already been elected king of the Swedes at Mora Stones. Others thought that the instigator had to be sought in Denmark, that it was Magnus Henriksen who was now laying claim to the royal crown.
In Linköping, Karl Sverkersson had proclaimed himself king and called a landsting to confirm the fact. So now the question was who would be elected king of Western Götaland: Karl Sverkersson or Erik Jedvardsson. But the matter would not likely be resolved quietly or peacefully.
When the church bells rang for mass, all gossip ceased and the people streamed into God's house to quell their unrest, console themselves with the Gospel, or cool their excitement with holy song. But some, like Magnus, stood lost in other thoughts, unable to cleanse themselves of all worldly things, as was the intention. Yet it was conceivable that most men of noble lineage and armorial bearings secretly shared Magnus's worry: that this might be the last time they stood as friends beneath the same church roof. Only God could know what the future would bring and which clans would be set against each other. Not since King Sverker took the royal crown, back when Magnus was only a boy, had the Goths been forced to make war against one another. But now that time was not far off.
When the mass was over, Magnus was so deeply lost in thought that he didn't notice it was time to go until Sigrid gave him a light poke in the side. But by then he had decided precisely what he should and should not say.
Lengthy discussions followed amongst the men, while the women and children grew more and more impatient as they waited in the sleighs, freezing. And Magnus chose his words well. He admitted that Erik Jedvardsson had visited Arnäs just before the murder, but he pointed out that Erik's wife Kristina had stirred up a lot of trouble with her dispute over Varnhem. So his clan was both for and against Erik Jedvardsson.
He also admitted that Sigrid had been very close to King Sverker, but that the king did not look upon his own Norwegian mother's clan with tender eyes. So his lineage was both for and against the Sverker clan.
Others took a clearer position, most of them in favor of the Sverker clan, as it turned out, but Magnus did not want to bind himself or point to any of those present as his future enemy. That would be unwise no matter what happened. The enemies that God would give to a man would have to be faced sooner or later with the sword, regardless of what a man said on the spur of the moment in front of the church.
But his expression was dark and gloomy on the way home, and as they were nearing Arnäs he gazed about restlessly, as if he already expected the estate to be under siege, although the snow still protected Arnäs from any assaults by soldiers from the north and east.
When they arrived home Magnus called for more wood to be brought to the forges and he had them fired up. He summoned all the smithy thralls and set them to work at the bellows and anvil to forge arrowheads and spear points, as many as they could make. They had plenty of raw iron at Arnäs, but it was unsuited for making swords.
The very next day Magnus outfitted two heavy sleighs to travel to Lödöse and acquire the provisions that would be necessary for the coming war.
But the winter only slowly loosened its grip over Arnäs, and no news was heard of armies being mobilized in either Eastern Götaland or in Svealand. Magnus fell into a better humor and converted the work in the smithies and carpenters' shops to more everyday purposes. Sigrid had also calmed him with the idea that Arnäs would hardly be the first place the war would strike. If Erik Jedvardsson was now declared king of the Swedes, and Karl Sverkersson king of Eastern Götaland, then those two ought to fight it out amongst themselves. Here in Western Götaland the most important thing was to swear allegiance to the victor afterward.
Magnus half agreed with her. But he thought it equally likely that one of them would turn first to Western Götaland to acquire yet another of the three crowns that Erik Jedvardsson said he wanted to possess. And then a decision would have to be made. Would Erik Jedvardsson be the first to make such a demand? Or would it be Karl Sverkersson? Both possibilities were wide open.
Sigrid believed that in any case they could not affect the situation by sitting at Arnäs and speculating as they drank ale late into the night. Sooner or later everything would be made clear. Then, and only then, would it be time to decide. Magnus was content with that plan for the time being.
But when the icicles had been dripping from the roofs for a week and the ice on the lake had begun to thaw, a misfortune befell Arnäs that was considerably greater than the one that would have occurred if either of the two kings had come to visit and demanded an oath of allegiance.
Eskil and Arn were now more subdued and disciplined since lay brother Erlend had returned to Arnäs just after Blasiusmas on February 3rd. From dawn to dusk they were kept in a corner of the hall in the longhouse, close to the fireplaces, where lay brother Erlend hammered knowledge into their reluctant little minds. Both boys found their work tedious, because the texts Erlend had brought back from Varnhem were few in number and dealt with things that held no interest for little boys or even grown men in Western Götaland. They contained mostly various philosophical dissertations on the elements and physics. Yet the work was not intended merely to teach them philosophy, for they were far too young for that; it was meant to torment them with Latin grammar. Without grammar there was no learning at all; without grammar the world would be closed to all understanding, as Erlend constantly repeated. And with a sigh the boys would once again obediently bend their heads over the texts.
Now it's true that lay brother Erlend did not complain. But he too could have imagined a more important demonstration of his calling from God, or at least a more pleasant task, than trying to pound knowledge into the reluctant minds of small boys. But he would never dream of questioning the orders of Father Henri. And, as he sometimes told himself gloomily, perhaps this assignment was merely a difficult test that he had to endure, or a continued punishment for the sins he had committed in his earthly life before he had heard the call.
But the day of rest was sanctified, even for boys who worked only with Latin. And on the Sabbath the two dashed out after morning prayers and vanished from sight like soaped squirrels. Magnus and Sigrid had agreed to leave them alone, and they preferred not to know what the boys did outside the quiet and meditation that the day of rest required in accordance with God's commandment.
The thrall boy Kol had a tame jackdaw that he carried around on his shoulder wherever he went, and he had promised Eskil and Arn that together they would catch new baby jackdaws as soon as this year's brood was big enough in early summer to pluck baby birds from their nests up in the tower.
Now they had snuck up to see how many nests there were, and if there were already eggs. There were no eggs yet, but they saw that the jackdaws had begun to weave their nests for the year, and that was promising.
Eskil had asked to borrow the jackdaw from Kol and let it sit on his shoulder, and Kol of course agreed, although he pointed out that the bird might be a bit more standoffish with strangers than it was with him.
And just as Kol feared, the jackdaw suddenly left Eskil's shoulder and flew off to perch far out on the parapet. Eskil didn't dare do anything about the matter, because he was afraid of heights. Kol didn't dare do anything because he was afraid of scaring the bird into flying off somewhere between heaven and earth. But Arn crawled cautiously along the parapet to catch hold of the string that was tied around one of the bird's legs. He couldn't reach it and had to climb up into the icy arrow slit, stand on tiptoe, and stretch out his hand as far as he could. When he reached the string and gingerly grabbed it, the jackdaw lifted off with a shriek, and Arn was dragged along as the bird plummeted. To the other terrified boys it seemed an eternity before they heard a dull thump down below as Arn struck the ground.
Soon Arnäs was resounding with shouts and wails as Arn, unconscious, was carefully carried off on a stretcher to the cookhouse. By the time they laid him down, they saw that all hope was gone. Arn lay completely pale and still and he wasn't breathing.
When Sigrid came running from the longhouse, she was at first beside herself, as any mother would have been at the news that a son had fallen and been knocked senseless. But when she saw that it was Arn lying there, she stopped short and fell silent, and her face was filled with doubt. She thought that what she was seeing couldn't be true. Arn couldn't possibly die so young; she had been convinced of that ever since the moment he was born, with the caul of victory.
But lifeless he lay, pale, not breathing.
When Magnus a moment later sank to his knees beside her, he already knew that all hope was gone. In despair he waved everyone out of the room except for lay brother Erlend, since he didn't want to show his tears to thralls and housefolk.
To pray any longer for Arn's life seemed meaningless; rather, Magnus admonished them to pray for forgiveness of the sins that had unquestionably drawn God's punishment upon them. Erlend did not dare venture an opinion in the matter.
With tears streaming down her face, Sigrid appealed to them both not to give up hope but to pray for a miracle. And they silently acquiesced, since miracles could happen, and nothing was certain until they had at least tried to pray for it.
Magnus suggested that they direct their prayers to Our Lady, since she had clearly had the most to do with the birth of the boys.
But Sigrid felt inside that Our Lady, the Mother of God, had probably lost patience with her by now, and she feverishly pondered for a moment before it struck her that the saint who stood closest to Arn had to be the holy Saint Bernard. He was a brandnew saint; no one really knew anything about his powers in the North.
Lay brother Erlend agreed at once with her suggestion and recited one prayer after another before the kneeling parents. When darkness fell, Arn had still shown no sign of life. But they didn't give up, even though Magnus on one occasion mumbled that all hope was gone and that now it was more a matter of accepting God's punishment with sorrow, dignity, and regret.
But Sigrid swore before Saint Bernard and God that if Arn were saved, the boy would be given to do God's holy work among human beings here on earth. And she repeated her promise and made Magnus repeat it for a third time along with her.
Just as Sigrid felt that the last spark of hope was about to be extinguished in her heart as well, the miracle occurred.
Arn raised himself up on one elbow and looked about in confusion as if he had just awakened from a night's sleep instead of returning from the realm of the dead. He whimpered something about having such a pain in his other arm that he couldn't lean on it. But the three adults did not hear him because they were immersed in prayers of thanksgiving, which were no doubt the purest and most sincere prayers they had ever offered to God.
Arn was able to walk, with his mother at his left side, into the warmth of the longhouse, where he was put to bed near the fireplaces by the gable wall. But since he still had pain in his right arm, Sot was summoned and they told her to use only her purest skills and not besmirch the Lord's miracle with any sorcery or impure healing arts. Sot carefully squeezed Arn's arm and examined the places that made him squeal the most, which was not easy because Arn wanted to show how brave he was and not admit to the pain while so many people were watching him, his father among them.
But he didn't fool Sot. She fetched dried nettles and cooked a gruel that she smeared around his arm and wrapped with linen. Then she spoke with Svarte, who went to the carpenters' shop. He worked for a while and came back with two slightly concave pieces of fir that he measured before vanishing again to finish the work as Sot had directed.
When Svarte was done, Sot bound the two splints around Arn's arm with more linen bandages and warned him and Sigrid to keep the arm still, because it was badly sprained. Then she gave the boy a decoction of new dried leaves and the roots of meadow-sweet so that he would sleep without a fever.
Soon Arn was sleeping with a calm expression on his face, as if no misfortune had befallen him and no miracle had occurred. Sigrid and Magnus sat for a long time gazing at their slumbering son, both filled with awe that the Lord God had allowed one of his miracles to occur at their estate.
Their second son Arn had been resurrected from the dead. No one could doubt that. But the question was whether it was because the Lord wanted to show his benevolence toward those who prayed to Him with the same tears as all fathers and mothers would have shed at this most difficult of times. Or whether it was really true, as Sigrid was convinced in her soul, that the Lord had prepared a special task for Arn when he became a man.
No one could know for certain, however, since the Lord's ways often surpass the understanding of human beings. They could only take the miracle at Arnäs to heart and pray with renewed gratitude.
Lay brother Erlend had long felt compelled by his sacred task. He had to record the account of the miracle at Arnäs with great care and include every small detail. Since the death of holy Saint Bernard had occurred only a few years in the past, this might be the first miracle that could be associated with him in Western Götaland, and so it was of great importance. Erlend also thought that he would undoubtedly make Father Henri very happy with this story, and that his industriousness and exactitude in carrying out this task might also shorten his wait to be admitted as a full brother in the Cistercian order. In any case, it couldn't hurt to be the bearer of such marvelous news.
Parchment was not made at Arnäs, but there was thin calfskin which was rubbed smooth on one side and which Herr Magnus sold for the making of clothing. Erlend had been allowed to use remnants of this material for his writing practice with the boys and now there was much more writing and printing and reading going on in the study corner of the hall. Both boys were adept with a writing quill and ink. Mostly they were asked to copy onto calfskin remnants the text that Erlend wrote out in Latin. Then they had to try translating it into rune text on the line below. Herr Magnus had said sternly that if the boys had to print in church language, they might as well learn their forefathers' script at the same time. For future merchants it was not at all a useless art.
During their first writing exercises Erlend had noticed that little Arn, whose right arm was still unusable, wrote, printed, and drew pictures just as well with his left hand. Because the boy was injured Erlend had not worried about this; otherwise it was not a good sign if someone favored using the unclean hand. But when Arn's right hand healed, it turned out that he used it just as much as his left. It was as though it made no difference to him. It seemed to be a matter of mood that dictated which hand he used to pick up the goose quill.
Once Erlend, after much travail, rewriting, and prayers, considered his account to be finished, he was eager to make a trip to Varnhem as soon as possible. He justified his departure by saying that he had obligations at the cloister, something about certain saints requiring the presence of all the lay brothers, and that his absence might provoke a rebuke. Filled with anticipation, he was allowed to ride down to Varnhem on Annunciation Day, the day that the cranes returned to Western Götaland.
The boys did not mourn his leaving. When spring came and
the farmyards, the courtyard of the fortress, and other large areas surrounding the buildings of Arnäs were free of snow, the time of play arrived for all the children. A special game at Arnäs was to swipe a thin band from the cooperage and then run along rolling the hoop and steering it, using a stick to give it more speed. The game had developed into a contest with the children trying to take the hoops from each other, using only the sticks. They would drive the hoops before them between the walls of the fortress courtyard. When someone managed to make the hoop strike the fortress wall, he won the game. This was no easy task, because all the others who didn't have a hoop under their own stick did everything they could to interfere.
Arn, of course, was not one of the oldest boys, but he soon proved to be the one who won this game most often, small as he was. He was as quick as a ferret, and he could also do something that the others couldn't do, and that was to switch back and forth between his hands, changing the direction of the rolling hoop so that all the other boys would suddenly run the wrong way. He could be stopped only if they tripped him or pulled on his kirtle or physically held him back. The older boys grew eager to employ such methods, but Arn's agility also increased. Finally Eskil, who was the only one who would have dared, began stopping him by slapping him in the face if he came close.
Then Arn got tired of the game and went off to sulk by himself.
Magnus found a way to console him. He had a bow and arrows made in the proper size, and then he took Arn aside and began to teach him to shoot. It wasn't long before Eskil came trudging over to them, wanting to shoot too. But to his dismay he found that his younger brother always shot better than he did, and soon another quarrel erupted between the brothers. Magnus of course intervened and decided that if they were going to squabble like this, the boys could shoot only when he was present. In this way their games were suddenly transformed into studies, almost like sitting and printing words or reading incomprehensible texts about the elements and categories of philosophy. And so the pleasure was lost, at least for Eskil, who was always defeated by both his father and little brother.
But what Magnus had witnessed of his sons made him think. Eskil was like all other boys in the way he moved and shot a bow and arrow, just as Magnus had been when he was a boy. But Arn had something inside him that other boys didn't have, an ability that had to be God-given. What might come of it no one could say for sure, but the boy's talent was remarkable.
