Текст книги "The Templar Knight"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

In the sudden silence that descended upon both Ulvhilde and Mother Rikissa, Cecilia Rosa quickly pulled Ulvhilde out the door of Mother Rikissa’s rooms without even a word of farewell. They hurried the short distance down the arcade and right out through the big gate.

Panting as if they had run a race, they stopped outside beneath the stone image showing Adam and Eve as they were cast out of Paradise.

“I warned you over and over again, I told you how the serpent could turn herself into a lamb,” Cecilia Rosa said at last.

“I…felt…so…sorry for her!” Ulvhilde sobbed.

“Maybe you shouldfeel sorry for her, but it doesn’t diminish her evil. What did you tell her? You didn’t confess about…?” Cecilia Rosa asked cautiously, greatly concerned.

“She got me to cry over her misfortune, she got me to forgive her,” Ulvhilde whispered.

“And then you were supposed to confess!”

“Yes, then she wanted to hear my confession, but you appeared as if sent by Our Lady. Forgive me, my dearest, but I was very close to committing a great stupidity,” Ulvhilde said, shamefaced and with her eyes on the ground.

“I think you’re right; I think Our Lady, in her mercy, sent me at exactly the right moment. The mantle you now wear would have been ripped from you at once and you would have withered away inside Gudhem forever if you told her the truth about Sister Leonore. Let us pray and thank Our Lady!”

They both dropped to their knees outside the gate of the cloister Ulvhilde had now left for the very last time. Ulvhilde had to stop herself from asking any questions, for only now did she truly come to her senses and begin to understand what a treasure Cecilia Rosa had draped over her shoulders. They prayed for a long time, offering words of deep and sincere thanksgiving to the Virgin Mary for the forgiveness of their sins—the sins that had almost cast them both into perdition and might have pulled the queen down with them. For the rest of their lives they would be convinced that the Virgin Mary had sent a miraculous salvation at the last moment. The witch had truly cast a spell over Ulvhilde, who had come close to putting her head in the noose.

Then they stood up and embraced and kissed each other. Ulvhilde now had her wits about her and began caressing the soft red garment, wondering what it could mean.

Cecilia Rosa then explained that it was time for Ulvhilde to journey home. The mantle was a gift from either the jarl or the queen, but it certainly was not Ulvhilde’s only possession, for Ulfshem was now hers, free and clear.

As they walked in reverent silence the short distance to the hospitiumwhere their benefactors waited, Ulvhilde tried with all her might to understand what had just happened.

A moment ago she had not owned more than the clothes on her back, and strictly speaking not even those. The clothes she had once worn when she arrived at Gudhem were a child’s clothing, long since outgrown and by now discarded or sold. She had not needed to fetch a single possession before she walked out the gate of Gudhem.

It was impossible to comprehend this sudden leap to the precious red mantle and becoming the mistress of Ulfshem. She needed more time to ponder it.

Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde both looked pale but no more distressed than their benefactors might have expected when they both entered the banquet hall in the hospitium, where roast-turners and ale-fetchers had already begun their work. But the jarl, who had jumped up roguishly to receive the new mistress of Ulfshem with a deep, courtly bow, saw at once that something was amiss.

Hence the feast began strangely since Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde had to report about Mother Rikissa’s last enraged attempt to bring misfortune down on their heads. The jarl now heard for the first time the story of how the three conspirators had assisted the runaway monk and nun. At first he grew pensive because he understood quite well, without being very knowledgeable about the rules of the church, that in life the happiness and welfare of everyone hung by a fragile thread. However, it was his firm conviction that the danger was now past. He reminded them that there were only four people in the whole country who knew the truth about the runaways from the cloister. The queen and Cecilia Rosa would certainly guard the secret well. As would Ulvhilde, especially if she married into the Folkung clan—there the two Cecilias gave him a stern look—especially, he quickly altered his statement, because she would be concerned about the peace and happiness of her friends. And for his own part, he added with a broad grin, he had no intention of casting the country into ferment and war just for the sake of a runaway monk.

For that had been Rikissa’s intention, he explained, instantly turning more serious. For her it was about more than taking revenge on two maidens who displeased her. She was the one, after all, who had almost succeeded in having Arn Magnusson excommunicated. Her actions had caused much trouble for Knut Eriksson, who at that time was not yet acclaimed king by everyone. If Rikissa, as she now intended, had managed to get Queen Cecilia Blanca excommunicated for the escape from the cloister—since she had aided the crime by financing it—her sons could not inherit the crown, and then war would be inevitable. That was the way Rikissa thought. Had she succeeded she certainly would have dredged up good reasons to rejoice for the rest of her earthly life, and on her way to Hell, where her path would undoubtedly lead in the end.

But now there was even more reason to celebrate, he went on in a merrier mood. And he raised his tankard to all three of them in a very courtly manner.

Slowly but surely they all grew more lively as they ate and drank, joking about Cecilia Rosa’s and Ulvhilde’s usual meager fare, which had kept them young and fresh; the ample food of freedom and wealth probably had a worse effect on anyone who wanted to live a long time. They gorged on veal and lamb and even sampled some wine, but drank mostly ale, of which there was an inexhaustible supply.

As could be expected, the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde gave up long before Birger Brosa, who like many Folkungs was known for his hearty appetite. His grandfather had been Folke the Fat, after all, the mighty jarl.

In fact, Birger Brosa stopped eating his meat, his sweetened turnips, and beans earlier than he would have done in the company of men. Eventually he found it strange to continue eating while the other three looked at him with growing impatience. After all, it was over tankards of ale after the meal that they could usually talk most comfortably, at least until they were too drunk. And Birger Brosa had several matters he wanted to discuss.

When he noticed that the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde had begun using their silent language and giggling at him, he pushed away his plate. Then he filled his tankard, stuck his knife in his belt, and wiped his mouth. Pulling one leg up under him, he set his tankard on his knee as was his habit. He had more to tell that would probably be considered important, he declared solemnly, taking another large gulp as he waited for the silence he knew would ensue.

It had been a great nuisance that the Sverkers held most of the cloisters, and until now all the convents in the country, he began. Such an arrangement could not be allowed to stand; therefore he had endowed a new convent that would soon be consecrated. It was called Riseberga and was situated in the forest of Nordanskog northeast of Arnäs, in darkest Svealand. But they shouldn’t worry too much about that, he quickly added when he saw his listeners grimace at the word Svealand. Now they were on their way to becoming a unified kingdom under King Knut. The important thing for the clans was to act together, marry each other, and if necessary go into cloisters together rather than attempt to wage war with each other. The latter course had been tried since time immemorial without success.

Riseberga convent would soon be open, but two things were still lacking. One was an abbess of either the Erik or Folkung clan, and at the moment they were searching through the nuns of the land high and low to find someone suitable. If that proved unsuccessful, they would have to take a novice, but it was preferable for the abbess to be a nun who had already taken her vows, someone who was well versed in everything that needed to be done in a convent.

The second thing they needed was a good yconomus. Birger Brosa had heard from many quarters that Gudhem managed its business affairs better than all the convents in the land, and the one who took care of these affairs was not a man, however difficult that might be to believe.

Here he was interrupted by the two Cecilias, both sounding resentful. One thought that she had informed her jarl of this long ago, and one thought that the yconomusthey’d had previously at Gudhem may indeed have been a man but he was a fool.

Feigning alarm, Birger Brosa retreated behind his ale tankard before explaining with charming merriment that he was well aware of the situation; he simply liked to jest. But back to serious matters, he wanted Cecilia Rosa to take on the position as yconomusat Riseberga cloister.

Yconoma, Cecilia Rosa corrected him, pretending her feelings were hurt.

The only problem, Birger Brosa went on, was that it would take time before he could get Cecilia Rosa out of Gudhem and arrange for her to be driven up to Riseberga. A letter had to be signed and sealed by the archbishop, and other details had to be arranged. Meanwhile Cecilia Rosa would be alone with Rikissa at Gudhem, without friends or witnesses, and that thought did not sit easy with them.

Cecilia Rosa agreed with his assessment. If Mother Rikissa understood that she would soon be forced to take care of Gudhem’s affairs on her own, she might resort to any manner of conniving. There was no limit to that woman’s evil.

But if the abbess didn’t know what was in the works, then her desire to keep the cloister’s affairs in order would probably be stronger than to try new tricks with the horsehair, confessions, and feigned weeping. Especially so soon after the failed attempt she had just made. Right now she was probably in bed, without the horsehair, to be sure, gnashing her teeth with hatred.

Ulvhilde was convinced that Mother Rikissa actually used witchcraft, that she could rob a person of her will and make her confess to anything at all, as if it were God’s intention and not the Devil’s. Against such sorcery there was no protection; Ulvhilde had found that out herself when despite everything she had been close to yielding to Mother Rikissa’s evil persuasion.

Cecilia Blanca interrupted her to say that this was something that could be easily resolved. What Cecilia Rosa should do was to wait a few days, then seek out Rikissa alone and pretend to forgive her. She should pray with the abbess a few times and thank God that He had forgiven His sinful Rikissa.

Naturally that would be to lie and dissemble before God. But God must be wise enough to see the necessity of this sacrifice. Cecilia Rosa could later pray for grace once she was alone with God up in Riseberga.

Furthermore, Cecilia Blanca went on, Birger Brosa must keep secret his plans for bringing an yconomato Riseberga; even better, she should get someone else to spread false rumors about the matter. Anything at all was permissible in the fight with the Devil.

The result of such carefully planned smoke screens would be that one day a convoy would come and fetch Cecilia Rosa with no advance notice whatsoever. Cecilia Rosa must then walk straight out through the gate, just as she herself and Ulvhilde had done, without even saying goodbye. And the witch would be left helpless to intervene.

They all found Cecilia Blanca’s suggestions to be wise. And so it was decided. Surely that was also God’s will. For why should He want to punish Cecilia Rosa more, and why should He want to help Rikissa in her evil?

It wasn’t God who helped Mother Rikissa, it was someone else, Cecilia Rosa said pensively. But she would pray to Our Lady for protection every night. Since Our Lady had protected both her and her beloved Arn for so many years, surely She would continue to do so now.

When young Ulvhilde Emundsdotter rode out from Gudhem to her new life in freedom, it was just before Olsmas. That was the time between the old and the new harvests, so barns and storehouses were empty but hay-making was in full swing.

She rode together with the queen, at the head of the procession and just behind the jarl and the riders who carried flags with the Folkung lion and the three crowns. Behind the queen and Ulvhilde followed a strong contingent of more than thirty men on horseback who mostly wore blue, even though Ulvhilde was not alone with her red mantle.

Wherever the retinue passed on the road to Skara, all work stopped in the fields and men and women would come over to the side of the road, kneel down, and pray God to preserve the peace, the jarl, and Queen Cecilia Blanca.

Ulvhilde had not been on a horse since she was a child. Even though it was said that riding was something that anyone could do, because it was God’s plan that the animals should serve humanity, she soon found that riding was not the most pleasant way to travel for the one who was in the saddle. The whole time she had to keep squirming to try and change position; the blood would stop flowing in her leg or her knee chafed against the saddle. As a child she had ridden in a normal saddle with one leg on each side of the horse, but now she and Cecilia Blanca rode as was proper for highborn women with both legs on the same side of the horse. It was both more difficult and more painful.

And yet the nuisance of the saddle was a minor annoyance that was mostly blocked by all her other senses. The air was cool and delightful to breathe, and Ulvhilde kept filling her lungs and holding her breath, as if she didn’t want to exhale the sensation of freedom.

They rode across fields and through oak forests, past many rivers and glittering streams, until they came up onto Billingen Mountain. There the forest grew denser and the ranks of soldiers were rearranged so that half of the men rode on ahead, in front of the jarl and the queen. There was nothing to worry about, Cecilia Blanca explained to Ulvhilde. There had been peace in the land for a long time, but men always liked to behave as though they were expecting to have to draw their swords.

The forest did not look very threatening in Ulvhilde’s eyes; it was mostly tall oaks and beeches, and the light filtered down in shimmering colors through the high crowns of the trees. They saw some deer in the distance, moving cautiously away among the trees.

Ulvhilde never could have imagined that the world outside would be so beautiful and inviting. She was twenty-two years old now, a woman in the prime of life who long ago should have had children—something that she had believed she would never have the chance to do, since she had viewed her life as staying in the convent until the end of the road.

She had a feeling that the happiness she felt right now could not last, that freedom would have other aspects that would prove more difficult and challenging. But when she rode out on these first days with her back to Gudhem, knowing she would never have to return, she pushed aside everything but the joy she felt. It seemed almost too much for her heart; sometimes it even hurt when she took a deep breath. She felt intoxicated with freedom, and nothing else really mattered just now.

They stopped for the night in Skara and slept in the royal castle. The jarl had something to take care of among the grim men who were waiting for him, and Queen Cecilia Blanca arranged for the women at the castle to bring new clothes to Ulvhilde. They bathed her, combed and brushed her hair, and dressed her in the softest green gown with a silver sash.

Ending up on the floor of the chamber where they were busy with this task was a sad little heap of undyed and brown woolen clothes, the garments that Ulvhilde had worn for as long as she could remember. One of the castle women took the clothes away to be burned.

Ulvhilde would always remember that moment when she saw her cloister clothes being carried out at arm’s length, shabby and reeking and intended for the fire, not even good enough to be sold or given to the poor. Only then did she understand that she was not living in a dream, that she really was the person she saw in the highly polished mirror that one of the castle women, giggling and laughing, held up to her while another woman draped the red mantle over her shoulders in a particularly artful way.

The person she saw in the mirror had to be herself, since the mirror image did everything she did: raised an arm, straightened the silver clip in her hair, or fingered the soft mantle with the warm, bloodred color. And yet it was not herself, because like Cecilia Rosa she had been marked by the simplicity of cloister life. Ulvhilde could suddenly envision her friend back at Gudhem with the same clarity with which she could see herself in the mirror.

Then a shadow fell across her great joy for the first time. It felt unfair to be happy about so much and to be so selfish when Cecilia Rosa had been left alone with the witch at Gudhem, and she still had long years ahead of her in that place.

During the banquet that evening Ulvhilde was sometimes so happy that despite feeling out of place and shy she laughed loudly at the coarse jests of the minstrels and men of the retinue. Yet sometimes she was so sad at the thought of her dearest friend that the queen had to console her. The queen struck a deep chord with Ulvhilde when she said that the most difficult part of their journey was now at an end. Once they had been three young friends at Gudhem, and for a long time it seemed as if they had all been forsaken by everyone else. But they had stuck together, they had never betrayed their friendship, and they had endured.

Now two of them were free, and they should be happy about that rather than grieving for the third friend. Cecilia Rosa would also be free one day; that time was no longer so far off. And the feeling of friendship that Ulvhilde and Cecilia Blanca had for Cecilia Rosa would never fade, would it? The three of them still had half of their lives to enjoy their liberty.

Cecilia Blanca did not choose to mention Ulvhilde’s beauty in her words of consolation or joy. The queen wisely thought that at present such things were outside Ulvhilde’s realm of comprehension, given her cloister soul.

In time Ulvhilde would finally begin to understand that she had been transformed as if overnight from a cloister maiden about whom no one cared in the least to one of the most desired maidens in the kingdom. She was beautiful and rich and a friend of the queen. Ulfshem was no paltry estate, and Ulvhilde would soon rule over it single-handedly, without a surly father or argumentative kinsmen trying to maneuver her into one bridal bed or another. Ulvhilde was a much freer woman than she could ever imagine.

The next day they continued to the shore of Lake Vättern, where a small black boat that had been given the odd name of The Serpentawaited them. The boatswains were tall and blond, and from their language it was apparent that they were all Norwegians. They were among the king’s personal retainers because, as was well known, King Knut had mainly Norsemen guarding his life out in the castle at Näs. Some of these Norsemen were friends from the king’s long exile as a child; others had arrived in later years when the kinsmen of both the Folkungs and Eriks in Norway had found many reasons to flee their country. Norway had been severely ravaged by the war for the king’s crown, the same as had occurred in Western Götaland, Eastern Götaland, and Svealand for more than a hundred years.

It was an unusually warm summer evening with no breeze at all when the entourage arrived at the royal boat harbor on Lake Vättern. There the jarl and the queen, along with Ulvhilde, separated from the mounted retinue that would return to Skara. They climbed down into the small black boat to be rowed across the still water all the way to the castle of Näs on the island of Visingsö. It was so far away that it could not even be seen in the distance.

The jarl sat alone in the bow because he had some things to think about and said he wanted to be left in peace. The queen and Ulvhilde sat in the stern next to the helmsman, who seemed to be the chief of the Norsemen.

Ulvhilde’s heart pounded as the boat set sail, and the huge Norsemen expertly propelled their oars through the placid water. She couldn’t remember ever being in a boat as a child, although it must have occurred. She sat spellbound, following the eddies of the oars in the dark water and breathing in the smell of tar, leather, and sweat. From the shore they were leaving behind came the song of a nightingale that could be heard far out over the water; oars and leather creaked, and ripples formed at the stern of the boat with each powerful stroke of the oars as the eight Norsemen rowed, making it seem effortless.

Ulvhilde was a little scared and took Cecilia Blanca’s hand. When they were some distance out, which did not take long, she pictured herself riding in a tiny hazelnut shell over a vast black abyss.

After a while she nervously asked Cecilia Blanca if there was any chance of getting lost on such a great body of water. Cecilia Blanca had no chance to reply before the helmsman behind them, who had heard her question, repeated it loudly to his eight oarsmen. They all laughed so heartily that two of them doubled over. It was a while before their merriment subsided.

“We Norsemen have sailed on bigger seas than Lake Vättern,” an oarsman then explained to Ulvhilde. “And one thing I can promise you, we will not get lost on little Vättern, which is only a small lake. That would hardly be fitting for us Norsemen.”

In the twilight when it began to grow cool, Cecilia Blanca and Ulvhilde wrapped their mantles tighter as they approached the castle that stood at the southern tip of Visingsö. Steep slopes extended straight up toward the castle’s two ominous towers and the high wall between them. On one of the towers was a large flag with gold on it, which Ulvhilde guessed must be the three crowns.

She was frightened by the dark menace of the fortress but also by the thought that she would soon stand before her father’s killer, King Knut. She had not given that matter any thought until now, as if she wanted to cling as long as possible to what was good about her newfound freedom. She would gladly have refrained from meeting King Knut at all, but she realized that it was too late as the boat pushed up onto the shore with a mighty lurch and everyone prepared to climb out.

As if Cecilia Blanca had read her friend’s thoughts she then gave Ulvhilde’s hand a little squeeze and whispered that there was no cause to worry.

The king himself had come down to the beach to receive his queen and his jarl along with, as he only now seemed to remember, his young Sverker guest.

He first greeted his jarl and his queen with all the courtliness that could be desired. Then he turned to Ulvhilde and looked thoughtfully at the young woman. Full of trepidation and shyness she lowered her gaze. What he saw, however, was instantly to his liking, which surprised everyone except his wife. He took a step toward Ulvhilde, placed his hand under her chin to tip up her face, and looked at her with an expression that was far removed from hatred. It was clear to everyone that he was pleased by what he saw.

But his words of greeting to Ulvhilde surprised even Birger Brosa.

“We bid you welcome to our castle, Ulvhilde Emundsdotter. What was once between us and your father is now buried, because that was war and now we have peace. So you should know that it is a joy for us to greet you as the mistress of Ulfshem. You are safe among friends here as our guest.”

His gaze lingered on Ulvhilde before he suddenly offered her his arm and then took the queen under his other arm. He then escorted them both past all the others up toward the castle.

Ulvhilde’s time at Näs was brief, but for her it felt long because there were a thousand details she had to learn regarding matters about which she had not the slightest knowledge. Eating was not just eating, but a pastime as full of rules as at Gudhem, although these new rules called for the opposite sort of behavior. The same was true of speaking and greeting people. At Gudhem Ulvhilde had learned never to speak unless spoken to and always to be the first to greet someone. Here at Näs it was just the opposite, except when it came to the king, the queen, and the jarl. So there was much embarrassment associated with such seemingly trivial things. Ulvhilde created a stir the first days when she offered a friendly greeting to stable boys and roast-turners as well as the queen’s chambermaids before they greeted her. Even more difficult was learning to be first to speak, since it seemed to be an ingrained habit to wait with bowed head until she was addressed.

Freedom was not merely something that existed like air and water. It was something one had to learn.

During this time Cecilia Blanca often thought of a swallow she had found as a girl at home in the courtyard of her father’s farm. The swallow lay on the ground chirping pitifully when Cecilia Blanca picked it up, but quieting down when she warmed it between her cupped hands. She placed the swallow in a birchbark box which she lined with the softest wool, and for two nights she slept with the little bird beside her. On the second morning she got up early, carried the bird out to the courtyard and flung it straight up in the air. With a sharp cry to greet its newfound freedom the bird instantly flew high up toward the sky and disappeared. She had never understood why she knew how to make the bird fly again, she had simply sensed it was the right thing to do.

In a similar manner she now looked at Ulvhilde, who unlike herself and Cecilia Rosa had come to Gudhem as a child rather than a maiden; she couldn’t have been older than eleven. So all the rules of the evil convent world had permeated her mind so completely, that out in the free world she was as helpless as the swallow on the ground. She didn’t even understand that she was beautiful. Ulvhilde belonged to the side of the Sverker clan of which Kol and Boleslav were chieftains; women and maidens on that side of the clan often looked like Ulvhilde, with black hair and brown eyes, slightly slanted. But Ulvhilde was unaware of her own beauty.

Cecilia Blanca had not mentioned the current situation at Ulfshem, whence she would soon accompany Ulvhilde despite the fact that the king grumbled about the journey. But leaving Ulvhilde alone in the clutches of a Folkung who was going to be evicted along with his two lustful sons was out of the question. She knew the two men slightly. The older son was named Folke, and he was of such a hot temper that it would undoubtedly shorten his life; his tongue could prove the bane of his existence. The younger son’s name was Jon, and he had gone to school with his kinsman Torgny Lagman. He was soft-spoken in a way that indicated things hadn’t been easy for him as the younger brother of a future soldier. Folke, as brothers will do, had practiced much of his fighting skills on his younger and weaker brother.

Cecilia Blanca pondered what would happen to a woman who was as beautiful and rich as Ulvhilde, and yet so innocent, when she landed among men who wanted to possess her for more than two reasons. Wouldn’t it be like releasing a lamb to the wolves at Ulfshem?

Cautiously the queen attempted to speak with Ulvhilde about what she might expect. She insisted that they ride together every day, for no matter how much Ulvhilde complained of her sore buttocks, she had to be able to ride a horse. During their rides Cecilia Blanca tried to revive the conversations the three of them had had at Gudhem when they occasionally touched on the love that Cecilia Rosa felt for her Arn, or when they had made plans to rescue Sister Leonore and the monk Lucien. But it was as if Ulvhilde shrunk from such conversations in fright, pretending to be more interested in saddles and the various gaits of horses than in love and men.

She seemed more receptive when together they spent an enjoyable time each day with Cecilia Blanca’s two sons, who were now five and three years old. The love between mother and child seemed to interest Ulvhilde considerably more than that between man and woman, although of course the first could not exist without the latter.

Just after Larsmas, when the hay-making was over in both Western and Eastern Götaland, Cecilia Blanca and Ulvhilde rode up to Ulfshem with some retainers. They sailed with the Norsemen up to Alvastra, and from there they rode along the great highway toward Bjälbo and further toward Linköping, where they would find Ulfshem halfway in between.

Ulvhilde had grown more accustomed to the saddle and didn’t complain much, although it was a two-day ride. The closer they came to Ulfshem, the more silent and self-conscious she seemed to become.

When they spied the estate Ulvhilde recognized it at once, since the new buildings had been built exactly where the old ones had stood and were of similar design. The huge ash trees on the property were the same as during her childhood, but many other things seemed smaller than she remembered.

They were expected, of course, because a queen did not pay a visit without sending word in advance. When their retinue came within sight there was suddenly a great deal of activity at Ulfshem; servants, guards, and slaves lined up in the courtyard to receive and greet them, bringing out the first bread to break with the guests before they came inside.

Cecilia Blanca was a sharp-eyed woman. She saw at once what most people would have seen sooner or later, with the possible exception of the innocent Ulvhilde. Herr Sigurd Folkesson and his two sons Folke and Jon, who stood beside him, seemed to Cecilia Blanca’s eyes to transform the closer she and Ulvhilde came to the courtyard.