Текст книги "The Road to Jerusalem"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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   "Arn doesn't fall off horses, and that's hardly the thing that threatens him most just now," said Brother Guilbert, shaking his head with a smile at his prior's unfounded concern.

   "By the way, I don't like that nonsense about Perceval and the Holy Grail and such vulgar songs," Father Henri snapped as he turned abruptly and took a few steps toward the oak gate. But as so often happened, he thought of something else he wanted to say and turned halfway around.

   "Perceval this and that, all those things will soon be forgotten like all the other base stories, it's rubbish!"

   "For something that is rubbish, you seem to know these vulgarities rather well yourself, father," Brother Guilbert said with a bold laugh, displaying a merriment he didn't usually show toward his prior.

   Without a doubt both of them were moved by the farewell with Arn, although neither of them wanted to admit it. But Brother Guilbert, unlike Father Henri, was firmly convinced that he would see Arn again. Because unlike his prior, he was also entirely certain of what the task was that God had prepared for young Arn.

Chapter 8

Herr Magnus was in a bad mood as he sat in the longhouse in the middle of a sunny afternoon, drinking too much ale. He was regretting that he was unable to love his second son Arn, whom his wife Sigrid, blessed be her memory, had loved above all else in life.

   Magnus had a hard time admitting, even though he was now forcing himself to do so with the aid of liquor, that he had two grown sons who did not bless his house with the honor that was due their clan. For what good did it do if they had royal blood in their veins, as long as people pointed their fingers and snickered at them both.

   In Eskil's case Magnus had long since accepted how matters stood, because what people still had a hard time trusting was everything that belonged to the future. This included trade and new ways of using the soil and making the silver grow in the coffers; in all this Eskil was very talented and would probably leave an inheritance twice as large as what he would one day receive. Those who reproached Eskil because he was not interested in the more manly virtues were ignorant wretches. They understood nothing of God's will behind human striving in earthly life. With regard to everything that had true meaning Eskil would become a wise and wealthy lord of Arnäs; about that there was no doubt.

   The fact that his eldest son was certainly no man of swordplay was something that Magnus could live with, however, without great disgrace, since it was to the advantage of Arnäs that Eskil would live longer for not using sword and shield.

   But the fact that his second son was also utterly lacking in the manly virtues was worse and made the disgrace much greater. Magnus had heard some of his retainers whispering scornfully about Arn as the nunfrom Varnhem. He had chosen to swallow the affront and pretend that he hadn't heard it rather than draw more attention to what was said. It was bad enough that his retainers seemed to be entirely right in this case, for it was not easy to understand what the monks had done with the little boy– whom Magnus remembered as a lively rascal who had learned to use a bow and arrow when he was very young. There had been lovely prayers said at table since Arn came home, but that added little to the honor of the house.

   The boy had come riding up one beautiful autumn day on a skinny horse that provoked much laughter; even worse, he wore a sword at his side that seemed designed for women, if such a sword could be imagined. It was much too long and too light, with poor smithwork and too bright a sheen. Magnus had soon seen to it that the sword was put away in the tower's armory so as not to prompt malicious laughter toward the innocent boy.

   A father had to love his lawful sons, that was God's inescapable commandment. But the question was how much disappointment and dishonor could gnaw at that love until in the end what he felt could no longer be called love.

   Another question, of course, was whether they could even make a man of the boy; it seemed as though he had been with the monks so long that he had become like one of them. Magnus felt that in a way, which was not entirely to his pleasure, it was like having a priest in the house, as if at the evening meal they could no longer talk freely about what they happened to be thinking but had to watch their words so as not to sound ungodly.

   Nor did Arn drink to any extent. This had been evident at their first meal to welcome him home, which was intended to be a joyful celebration. Just like the account in the Holy Scriptures, Magnus had slaughtered the fatted calf upon the prodigal son's return, although in this instance it was a fatted suckling pig, which was much finer. And they had all dressed up for the feast, Arn wearing some of Eskil's clothes that he had grown out of in recent years, for Eskil had almost degenerated to the state of his great-grandfather Folke the Fat.

   But during the evening no one could fail to notice that this son Arn was not much of a man, since he drank only two tankards of ale the whole evening and picked at the excellent pork like a woman. Even though he did make an effort to seem amenable, he was a bit slow to follow everything that was said, he had a hard time understanding jokes, and he was not quick enough to toss words back to anyone who tried to draw him into the revelry. He seemed to have inherited none of his mother's quick wit or sly tongue.

   Since ale loosened his thoughts the same way it loosened his tongue, Magnus reeled into the abhorrent idea that Arn had become like a woman among the monks. Such stories were told by the ungodly and those of little faith about the unnamable sins of certain monks.

   With his acuity now somewhat muddied Magnus tried to judge whether the fact that Arn seemed more comfortable among women meant that he had succumbed to that particular abomi nation of the monks, or whether his proclivity for getting along better with women actually indicated the opposite.

   It must mean the abomination, he thought at first. Since such fallen men were just like women and so perhaps felt more comfortable with women.

   It must mean the opposite, he corrected himself. For if a man had fallen into an abomination of a similar type, such as fornicating with heifers, wouldn't he seek out heifers more or less in secret? There were plenty of young thrall boys at Arnäs, but considering how everyone was keeping an eye on the irresolute prodigal son, the slightest attempt to assault one of the thrall boys would have led to a storm of gossip. And that would not have escaped the attention of the lord's family.

   No, he was definitely not a catamite. That would have been the worst shame he could have brought down upon his father's house and his clan. In that case he would have to be killed quickly to restore the honor of the house.

   Magnus shouted angrily to his terrified house thralls to bring out more ale; they obeyed wordlessly and swift as the wind.

   After reflecting on his latest conclusions, when after half a tankard he remembered where he was, Magnus began to weep, overwhelmed by emotion. In truth he had thought much too ill of Arn who was his true son, and who was the apple of his dear Sigrid's eye. What did the Lord God actually mean by all this? First Arn was to be given as a little boy to God; all the signs had spoken so clearly that there could be no doubt. And if Arn had remained a man of God for the rest of his life all would have been well, for Magnus certainly was not among those who denied all the good that the monks had accomplished in Western Götaland. On the contrary, he admitted to all and sundry that much of what had made Arnäs a better farm than others was due largely to the monks' knowledge.

   But now Arn, instead of doing God's good work among the monks, had been released to what had once been his home, and he came as half a man and half a monk. What could be the meaning of that? Those who said that the ways of the Lord were often inscrutable had indeed good reason for saying so.

   But even worse perhaps was that the boy persisted in working like a thrall. Only a few days after Arn had returned to Arnäs, he began busily digging, building walls, and hammering everywhere. It hadn't helped matters when Magnus carefully explained to his son that he didn't need to toil that way, since he could use thralls to perform such tasks, and there were plenty of them idle this time of year. Then Arn had merely increased his activity as he ran from one job to the next. It was hard to know what would come of all this, but it would have been unwise for Magnus to stop it before he knew more.

   One thing, however, had won the admiration of all the men, even the most scornful retainers. Arn had examined all the estate's horses, and he had forged a new type of horseshoe with a nail that stuck up from the forward edge of the hoof and prevented the shoe from falling off. These horseshoes were certainly an improvement over the old ones. Magnus had asked both his retainers and the smithy thralls, and they all agreed.

   It was a good thing, because anything that was made better at Arnäs was considered a good thing, and that was the opinion of Magnus as well as Eskil. But what was embarrassing was that his lawful son should be working in the filth and smoke as if he were a thrall, and was not in the least ashamed of it. On the contrary, when Arn said grace at table, which he now did in normal language, he always thanked God for the day's blessed work.

   Eskil had been less of two minds about all of this than his father, saying that knowledge must never be disdained. And the manual skills, which his brother Arn had learned so well from the monks, were something that could be taught to others. If Arn taught the thralls, they would eventually be able to take over the work themselves. But first they would have to be properly trained, and the only one who could do that was Arn. It was wrong to scorn such work if it moved the estate forward. Advances were to the advantage of everyone.

   Perhaps it was so, Magnus consoled himself, that Arn had brought so many new techniques from the monks that Arnäs would be made stronger and richer. Although it was crucial to ensure that the thralls were taught quickly, so that Arn wouldn't have to go about disgracing his clan by continuing to sweat like a thrall.

   Something even better, thought Magnus, now that the ale had made him sentimental, was that Arn had become reconciled with his stepmother Erika Joarsdotter. Magnus didn't know exactly what Arn and his wife Erika did out in the cookhouses, since he never set foot inside, but Erika seemed very pleased and happy about what had evidently taken place. Besides, it was good for Erika that someone in the family treated her well. Eskil had always had a hard time enduring his stepmother, and although Magnus had got her with child several times, since such was expected of him, it was not until the third pregnancy that she had given birth to a son. That son was not going to end up with any monks, by God. He would be taught by the retainers from childhood on, Magnus had decided.

   Erika had a deformity that everyone noticed. She was lovely to look at, but as soon as she opened her mouth anyone could hear that she spoke with a cleft palate, and the sound of her words came more from her nose than her mouth. Less polite people might then burst out laughing, which had caused Erika never to speak when strange men were present. She was equally timid whenever there was a feast and she had to ensure that the guests' women enjoyed the celebration. Magnus had a hard time talking to his wife, and he often thought back to Sigrid, who was the person he had felt closest to of anyone. But he could say this only to himself or to God.

   However, it was not to be ignored that Erika was the niece of a king, that she had royal blood, and that the two daughters and one son to whom she had given birth also had royal blood, and from two separate lineages at that.

An angel had come to Arnäs. Everything he touched instantly became better or more beautiful, and he was the only man Erika Joarsdotter had ever met who spoke to her as if she had the wit of everyone else. He never let on that he found her speech muddled; instead he excused his confusion by saying that he had not yet regained his childhood language, since he had spoken mostly with Danes when he was growing up. And unlike his older brother Eskil, he never gave any sign that Erika was like a stranger who had replaced the boys' mother.

   Quite early, right after dawn when all the other men were still asleep after the welcome feast held in his honor, Arn had come out, sober and freshly washed, to the cookhouses where Erika had just begun the day's long work with her house thralls. He had politely and with kind and considerate words asked her to show him the domains for which she was responsible as mistress of the manor, and they had taken a tour of the storehouses and cookhouses. From all the questions he asked, Erika soon grasped that he knew more than most men about the way meat had to be hung, smoked, and stored and how fish should be cooked. And he seemed not in the least embarrassed by his knowledge.

   It did not take long before he began to change everything, although he was careful to let her accompany him and help make the decisions. He took her by the arm and walked around with her, explaining what could be done at once and what would take more time.

   Arnäs was a village flanked by water on two sides. At the far end of the village close to Lake Vänern stood the castle and the defensive walls where the two arms of the water narrowed and formed a moat. But the drainage from the tanneries and latrines, from the slaughterhouse and brewery, went into both bodies of water, and according to Arn that uncleanliness was the reason that many of the thralls' children had red eyes and pustular lips as well as nasty rashes on their skin. Many of the youngest also died even after surviving the most dangerous period after birth.

   The great transformation would be that in the future they would dump waste only in the eastern arm of water around Arnäs, while the western one would be kept free of refuse. By drawing pictures in the sand, pointing out and describing the whole process, Arn had shown her how they would be able to direct a water flow from the clean side in through the cookhouses and then discharge it into the unclean water. With a constant flow of water through the cookhouses they would save much time in their work, and the cookhouses could be kept clean so that all the food was more palatable. The cookhouses would also be improved by laying brick over the packed dirt floors, at a slight slope so that water would run off into the new drains.

   The most difficult thing to change was the disposal of human waste. According to Arn it was fertilizer as good as livestock manure if it was used for that purpose, although it was a worse pollutant than livestock manure if it got into the food or water. Instead of letting each thrall follow the call of nature wherever it seemed suitable, now they would all be forced to use special latrine pits with crossbars, and anyone caught shitting anywhere else would be sharply reprimanded.

   There was some grumbling among the thralls at these changes, but Erika Joarsdotter showed herself to be a stern mistress, be cause she soon came to trust Arn more than she did anyone else.

   Since she had spent five years as a novice in a convent before she was suddenly fetched by her father to be married off, she was actually familiar with much of what Arn described to her. Perhaps she had thought that God had arranged things differently inside the cloister walls, that this better ordering of things belonged to the higher world, that everything in tra muroswas supposed to be much cleaner than on the outside, as though cleanliness had a spiritual significance. That was why, before Arn arrived and opened her eyes, she had not even imagined that they might have the same orderliness in ordinary life as they did inside the cloister.

   With Arn's arrival Erika Joarsdotter's days at Arnäs had brightened, and her own responsibility as mistress of the manor had become easier to bear. She got up before dawn happier than she ever could have imagined. And when the men in the longhouse soon discovered that some of the food put on the table was different and better than before, they began to give her words of praise, which they had never done before. They especially liked the wonderful smoked ham.

   Arn had brought along some sausages and smoked ham when he came from Varnhem. Even though most of it was consumed during the welcome feast and no one remembered much about the monk food, Erika had asked him how such things were made. Arn was soon busy building a smokehouse out of tarred lumber. When the building was finished he tested it on some pieces of pork; then he showed her the whole process, and soon she and her house thralls could smoke ham so that it seemed to have come straight from a monastery.

   But by then Arn was already working on a brickworks. There was clay suitable for the task on the riverbank above the tannery on the eastern arm of the water, and it took Arn about a week to make his team of thralls understand how they were to shape the clay in wooden forms so that each piece was exactly the same size. He showed them how to bake the clay just as they baked bread, but for a longer time and at a higher heat using a bellows. Soon a new storehouse of brick began to rise next to the cookhouses. Arn took Erika on many tours around the building and up in the scaffolding to describe how they would be able to store ice from Lake Vänern to cool the brick chamber even during the hottest days of summer.

   In her evening prayers Erika constantly thanked God that He had sent them this prodigal son. Although he was not her son, he treated her like his mother, giving her days at Arnäs a light and a meaning that they had not had before. But to God she did not dare say what she thought every day, that Arn had come like an angel to Arnäs.

Eskil was ambivalent about Arn. He didn't really know what to make of this younger brother who suddenly rode into the castle courtyard one day on an ugly horse as if he had returned from the living dead, as miraculously as he had once been sent away, because of some alleged miracle.

   His first feeling had been strong brotherly love, for what Eskil remembered better than anything else in his life was the day when he and his younger brother were torn from each other outside the door of the longhouse. How he had run after the wagon in which Arn was taken away, and how at last he had collapsed sobbing in the wagon tracks, watching Arn in a haze of tears and road dust disappear forever, abducted on the orders of an incomprehensible God.

   When Eskil embraced Arn upon his return to the very place where they once had parted, his first impression was of a skinny, almost undernourished young man, until he felt the bearlike strength in Arn's arms when they were flung around his waist. Arn hugged Eskil so hard that he almost lost his breath. That had certainly been a moment of almost incomprehensible joy.

   But during the big welcome ale on that first evening, Eskil had already begun to feel uncomfortable for his younger brother. Arn didn't seem able to join in the celebration; he almost rudely shoved away his food, he drank ale like a woman, and in other ways he seemed to be a bit slow.

   An uneasiness seemed to settle in the air as father and elder brother drew back from Arn, and he in turn sensed their displeasure and sought instead the company of the thralls and the mistress of the estate. The retainers were the first to make faces, roll their eyes, and mockingly clasp their hands behind Arn's back. It made Eskil want to reprimand them, but he couldn't because he himself shared the feelings that the retainers displayed with their scorn.

   For a time the mood between them was neither light nor dark, and each minded his own business. Neither Magnus nor Eskil bothered to find out what Arn was working on with the thralls and cookhouse at the far southern end of Arnäs, since they seldom went there themselves.

   But some things were impossible to avoid noticing. For new sorts of meat were put on the table, and Eskil found most delicious a smoked ham that was not hard and dry and salty like the winter rations. This ham was so deliciously juicy that his mouth watered just thinking about it. And the other thing that was impossible not to notice was how Mistress Erika had changed, how she began speaking loudly and without embarrassment despite her ugly voice, and how she laughed and giggled at the table when she answered questions about the new things she could now present for both dinner and supper.

   Eskil was a man in favor of changes, just as he came to un derstand that his mother Sigrid had been as well, more so than his father. Changes that were good created wealth; if they were not good, then a different change was made. That's how it was and would remain at Arnäs; that's why their farm was better and bigger and richer than other people's farms where nothing was ever changed.

   For this reason Eskil could soon no longer tolerate remaining uninformed. He told Arn he would like to see what was happening, and Arn immediately expressed how pleased he was, almost elated, and he wanted to jump up in the middle of the meal to show everything to his older brother.

   What Eskil saw when they made their rounds caused him to change his fundamental opinion. Arn was in truth not slow at all; he knew exactly what he was doing. Eskil quickly admitted to himself that he had been unwise to judge him so hastily.

   When they went down to the thralls' quarters everything looked different because all the garbage had been mucked out, the way the cows' stalls were mucked out in the winter. They could walk around without worrying where they set their feet.

   At first Eskil said something in jest that he soon had cause to regret. He remarked that of course things looked better, but perhaps it wasn't much use letting thralls live more like real people.

   Then Arn explained quite seriously that the thralls were healthier now that all the uncleanliness was gone, that more of their children would survive, that healthy thralls were naturally much better than sick ones, just as living thralls were better than dead ones. He said that the contagion from sick thralls could also be spread to people, and thus cleanliness was of benefit to all. Then he explained his plans for the two waterways, how one would be kept clean, and how the latrine pits would replace using anywhere for a toilet, and how the shit could then be used as fertilizer and thereby do good instead of spreading disease.

   The seriousness with which Arn could speak of such base things as the thralls' shit made a twofold impression on Eskil. On one hand his words seemed funny as if they were a joke; on the other Arn seemed so boldly convincing that it made his head spin. Imagine that such simple measures, which even the thralls themselves could maintain, might really result in great improvements. Much would be gained with little work, and without the expenditure of a single silver mark.

   By the time Arn had finished leading him through the cookhouses and the new smokehouse, and explained the concept of the icehouse, Eskil was so taken by these inventions that he had tears in his eyes. For he no longer had any doubt. He was absolutely convinced that his brother, although not a man that dull retainers might respect, had brought a great and blessed knowledge with him from the cloister. And this knowledge would truly allow Arnäs to take great new steps forward. For it was indisputable that everything had actually stood still for many years. Things at Arnäs were better than at other farms, yet there had still been little progress.

   Eskil threw his arms around Arn, asking at once for forgiveness for failing to understand that his own brother really was his brother and his equal. Arn then had to console both Eskil and himself, because they showed great emotion. The house thralls who stood nearby stared at them in astonishment.

   When Eskil noticed this he straightened up and gave the house thralls a stern look; they immediately slunk off and then Eskil suggested that Arn accompany him to the accounting chamber in the tower and share a tankard or two of ale.

   Arn was about to say something about having too much work awaiting him, and that only at the end of the workday should a man enjoy the fruits of what he had accomplished by the sweat of his brow. But he quickly changed his mind when he realized that he shouldn't impose rules from his former life on the time he spent together with his own brother. After all, it was this very acknowledgment that he had been waiting for, including it in so many of his prayers. He had sensed the coolness and apprehension from both his father and his brother, and he had grieved over it. But he had also hoped that they would soon understand what he was doing, and that what he did was good. So it wouldn't be a sin to drink ale with his own brother, even if it was the middle of the afternoon.

Herr Magnus sought an excuse not to take Arn along when he had to travel north to negotiate an inheritance in the clan in Norway. Occasionally it could be difficult enough to take Eskil to visit the Norwegian kinfolk, since Norwegian feasts often devolved into all sorts of swordplay when their strong ale took effect. Anyone who was not quick or dexterous or old enough to say no to young men's games would risk coming to serious injury among the Norsemen.

   Despite this danger he wanted to have Eskil with him, because the business deals they had to do were difficult and unusual. Even after a great deal of ale Eskil was quite able to calculate in his head the value of all sorts of goods and say what it corresponded to in silver. The two of them had discussed the matter at length, deciding that it would be wisest to sell the Norwegian inheritance.

   While it was a man's honor to retain his inheritance and not let it pass to some other clan, the advantages of owning a farm next to the great fjord were small unless one intended to live there. If they sold the property they would acquire more silver, which could be spent on something better. As things now stood, since Arn had come home, they had to look toward the future when perhaps even he must have something to inherit. So it would be better to buy new property within a safe distance from Arnäs or in a province neighboring to the Erik clan south of Skara. Or why not buy from the Pål clan near Husaby? Each of these possibilities would be safer, at least for Arn's sake, than sending him to the Norsemen who were so quick to the sword.

   In the meantime a simple solution had been found to the dilemma of how to tell Arn that he must cancel his journey to Norway without hurting his feelings. It was the time of autumn when Svarte and his thrall-son Kol went out to hunt deer and wild boars. They had already brought home a good amount of game. Arn and Erika had plenty to do in the new smokehouse, since Arn had said that he was sure the wild game would be better smoked than salted and dried. But just before the journey to Norway, and the difficult, imminent conversation between Magnus and Arn about how unwise it would be for an inexperienced son to visit the Norwegians, Arn himself made a request. He wanted to accompany Svarte and Kol on their hunting trips and learn something about hunting.

   Magnus was doubly glad at this request, for now he could avoid the whole embarrassing explanation about the Norwegian kinsmen and their swords and halberds after the ale. Besides, this was the first time that Arn had shown any interest in learning something that was part of the chivalrous life. A good hunter enjoyed great respect, even if he was a thrall.

   But Magnus had little hope that Arn, who for better or worse was still a half monk, would be able to learn anything about the challenging but manly art of the hunt.

   Svarte shared this view, but he was obliged to obey. When he heard that he would have to take along the other half-man of a son, he knew at once how things would go. Once, two years before, he had been forced to do the same with the lord's eldest son, Eskil, who at least had not yet grown as round as a cask of ale. Yet he was intolerable trouble, and because of him the hunt brought in almost nothing. It was not easy to take along the master's son, who had to decide about everything but understood nothing.

   But Svarte was less sure of this second son Arn than he was of Herr Eskil, who was at least very like his father. The other thralls had talked a lot about Arn, describing him in several ways as a competent man who could do all the things that the rest of the master's family could not do, and he had a kind nature besides. He had never raised his hand to anyone, had never ordered anyone whipped, and had not even spoken in harsh words.

   Svarte sensed that this peculiarity had more to do with the odd religion of the master's family than with what the retainers and others gossiped about. For the family's belief in the gods was incomprehensible in many respects. Their gods were so numerous that no one could keep them straight, and they were always chastising people even when they hadn't done anything special; as though the punishments were mostly for what people thought. As if the gods could hear what a person was thinking!

   As far as this Arn was concerned, Svarte remembered quite well the day the boy went up in the high tower after a jackdaw and fell. The boy lost his breath for a while before he revived, but by then the master's family had prayed and pleaded to their gods and promised everything possible or impossible. The whole episode ended with their sending away the boy as punishment for themselves, or was it punishment for the boy? It was hard to know which it was, since one solution was just as difficult to understand as the other.