Текст книги "The Templar Knight"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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Chapter 10

When the sun went down on the last day of Cecilia Rosa’s twenty-year penance, she was sitting by one of the fish ponds at Riseberga all by herself. It was a warm evening with no breeze just after Persmas, when the summer was just about to pass its zenith, and when the hay-making would soon begin down in Western Götaland, but not yet up here in Nordanskog.

She had been to mass twice, and she had gone to Holy Communion, filled with the thought that on this day, with the help of Our Lady, she would have completed the time that had seemed never-ending when she was first sentenced. She would finally be free.

But not yet. For when the hour of freedom struck it was as though nothing had changed; there was not the slightest sign that anything was different. Everything was the same as usual, just like on any summer day.

She realized that she may have had childish notions, that Arn, whose hour of freedom must have struck at the same time as hers, would immediately come riding toward her out of nowhere, although he would have a very long journey ahead of him. Those who knew about such things said that it could take a year to travel to or from Jerusalem.

Maybe she had also pushed aside all thoughts of this singular moment of happiness because deep in her heart she knew that it would feel just like this. It was nothing special. She was now thirty-seven years old and owned nothing except the clothes on her back. As far as she knew, her father was sitting at home in Husaby paralyzed by a stroke, impoverished, and utterly dependent on the Folkungs at Arnäs for whatever income he received. She would not bring him much joy by coming home and demanding to be supported.

She had no interest in going to Arnäs. Her sister Katarina was the mistress there, and since it was Katarina’s fault that Cecilia Rosa ended up doing twenty years of penance in the convent, a meeting between the sisters would not be welcomed by either of them.

She could go to Näs on Visingsö to be the guest of Cecilia Blanca, and she would surely also be welcome for a time at Ulfshem with Ulvhilde. But it was one thing for friends to visit each other when they could offer the same hospitality in return. It was another matter to arrive homeless.

As if struck by a sudden bright idea, she tore off the wimple around her head that she had grown used to wearing for twenty long years. In all that time she had been forced to ignore her hair. Now she shook out her tresses and ran her fingers through the tangles so that her hair hung free. According to the rules it was much too long, but she had managed to evade the most recent two of the six haircuts required per year.

She leaned forward and tried to see her reflection in the surface of the pond. But twilight had already fallen and she could barely see her face and the red hair. The image she saw was probably more the way she remembered herself from her youth than the way she actually looked now. As at every other convent, there were no mirrors at Riseberga.

She awkwardly ran her hands over her body the way a free woman had a right to do; she even attempted to run them over her breasts and hips since as of this evening that would no longer be a breach of the rules. But the touch of her hands did not tell her much. She was thirty-seven years old but not yet free; that was the only thing she could say for certain.

Now that she thought about it, even freedom seemed enclosed by both fences and walls. Birger Brosa had decided that she could continue as yconomaat Riseberga as long as she wanted; when she heard him say that it had sounded like a mere pleasantry. But now in the first hour of her freedom, as she tried to examine what that friendly statement had implied, it seemed more likely that she would continue the same work that she had been doing in recent years.

But not in entirely the same way. She decided that she no longer intended to cover her hair with a wimple, and that she no longer needed to sing either lauds or matins or take part in completorium. In this way she would gain a good deal of extra time to work. And starting today she would be able to go to the marketplaces and make purchases herself; that suddenly seemed to her the greatest change of all. She had the right to mix with other people, and she could speak with anyone she cared to address; she was no longer burdened with sin and punishment.

Most of all she wanted to go to Bjälbo to see her son Magnus. But that was a meeting that she had imagined with equal parts longing and trepidation.

In the view of many people, but above all in the eyes of the church, Magnus had been born in sin and shame. Birger Brosa had taken him in as an infant and brought him into the clan as a legitimate heir when approved by the ting. Then he had raised the boy as his own child. But all too many tongues knew how he had been admitted to the clan by the ting, and the gossip had reached Magnus himself, first as furtive hints, then from those who spoke more boldly and in anger.

On the verge of becoming a man, Magnus had begun to realize the truth. Then he took Birger Brosa aside and demanded to be told how things stood. Birger Brosa had seen no other option than to tell him the unvarnished truth. For a time Magnus had gone about like a recluse, sullen and taciturn, as if his secure life as the jarl’s son had been smashed to bits. During that time Birger Brosa decided not to bother the boy, since he thought that things would change soon enough and curiosity would replace disappointment.

And so it was. After a while Magnus sought out his foster father and began to ask the first questions about Arn Magnusson. As Birger Brosa recounted to Cecilia Rosa, he may have exaggerated a bit when he described Arn as the best swordsman ever seen in Western Götaland and an archer with few equals. Birger Brosa excused himself by saying that this was not entirely untrue. The memory still lived on about how young Arn, hardly more than a boy, had vanquished the huge Sverker giant Emund Ulvbane at the tingof all Goths in Axevalla. It had been like the story of David and Goliath in the Holy Scriptures, and yet not the same, because Arn proved to be so much better with a sword than Emund, who lost his hand instead of his life because young Arn chose to spare him.

When Magnus felt himself free to ask older kinsmen about this event, he met many who had actually been present at Axevalla, or at least claimed they had. Yet they could still embellish the story with the most outrageous details.

Since young Magnus at an early age had shown himself to be a much better shot with a bow than other boys, he now suspected that it was because his father was such an excellent archer. He began to practice far more than was necessary, neglecting other aspects of his education. He also went to Birger Brosa and told him that if his father did not come home alive from the Holy Land, then he would not take the surname Birgersson after Birger Brosa. Nor would he choose Arnsson. Instead he would call himself Magnus Månesköld, and he had painted with his own hand a little silver half-moon above the Folkung lion on his shield.

It was Birger Brosa’s opinion that since such a long time had already passed, it would be best if mother and son did not meet until Cecilia Rosa’s penance was completed. It would be better for the boy’s soul to meet his mother as a free woman than as a cloister servant who still had years of penance left to serve. Cecilia had no objection to that proposal. But now the time had come when she was free and no longer a penitent servant. Now she feared this meeting more than she ever would have thought. She began to worry about things that she had never considered before: Was she old and ugly? Were her clothes too plain? If young Magnus had such big dreams about his father, wasn’t there a greater danger that he would be disappointed when he saw his mother?

When the other women at Riseberga—six nuns, three novices, and eight lay-sisters—went to completoriumthat evening, Cecilia Rosa went instead to her bookkeeping chamber. Her first hour of freedom began with work.

That autumn Cecilia organized an expedition down to Gudhem to purchase all sorts of useful and lovely plants that could only travel in the fall so that they wouldn’t die on the way. She also needed many things for sewing and dyeing cloth. All such matters had been worked out long ago at Gudhem, while Riseberga up in Nordanskog was only in the beginning stages of its operation. Because Cecilia Rosa would be bringing a great deal of silver along for payment, Birger Brosa had arranged for her to have armed horsemen accompany her south to Lake Vättern. Then Norwegian seafarers would take her across the water, and Folkung riders would again escort her from the lake to Gudhem.

She too traveled on horseback. Since she had been a good rider at the age of seventeen, it didn’t take her long to regain her previous skill on horseback, although her body did ache.

As she approached Gudhem with her retinue, she stubbornly insisted on riding in front because she was an yconomaand used to making decisions. The armed horsemen were only her escort. But she was surprised at how mixed her feelings were. Gudhem was situated in a beautiful location, and it was lovely to see even at a distance. In the middle of autumn like this, many roses were still blooming along the walls; they were the kind she would try to buy for the beautification of Riseberga, along with other flowering plants.

There was no place on earth she had hated as much as Gudhem; that much was true without a doubt. But what a remarkable difference there was in approaching Mother Rikissa’s realm as a free woman rather than as one who had to obey her every demand.

Cecilia Rosa told herself that she was here strictly for business and to obtain the best for Riseberga. There was no reason to seek out a quarrel with Mother Rikissa or to make a special effort to show the abbess that her power had been broken. As she rode down the last graveled lane toward Gudhem, Cecilia Rosa imagined behaving toward Rikissa as if they were now equals: the abbess from Gudhem and the yconomafrom Riseberga, who were going to transact business to the best of their ability and nothing more. But she did scowl a bit when she recalled Mother Rikissa’s lack of understanding when it came to business dealings.

But nothing came of her imagined encounter with the abbess. Mother Rikissa lay dying, and Bishop Örjan from Växjö had been called to the deathbed to hear her confession and give her extreme unction.

Upon hearing this news, Cecilia Rosa at first considered leaving Gudhem. But the journey had been long and difficult, and life in both Gudhem and Riseberga would go on long after everyone who now lived there was dead. So she changed her mind and took lodging in the hospitium, where she and her companions were welcomed as if they were any other travelers.

Early that evening the bishop, whom she did not know, came to see Cecilia Rosa and asked her to accompany him into the cloister to visit the abbess one last time. Mother Rikissa herself had requested this last favor from Cecilia Rosa.

To refuse the last wish of someone who was dying when it would be so easy to comply was of course out of the question. Reluctantly Cecilia Rosa followed Bishop Örjan to Mother Rikissa’s deathbed. Her reluctance was not on account of death, as she had seen much of that in the convent, where many old women came to live out their last days and then die. Her reluctance was because of the emotions she feared she would discover in her heart when faced with Mother Rikissa’s death. To exult over her death would be a difficult sin to forgive. But what other emotions could she feel for a person who was evil incarnate?

With the bishop lamenting and praying at her side, Cecilia Rosa entered Mother Rikissa’s innermost sanctum. The abbess lay there with the covers pulled up to her chin and with a candle burning on either side of the bed. She was very pale, as if the Grim Reaper were already squeezing her heart with his cold skeletal hand. Her eyes were half shut.

Cecilia Rosa and the bishop fell at once to their knees beside the bed and said the obligatory prayers. When they finished praying, Mother Rikissa opened her eyes a little. Suddenly she stuck a claw-like hand out from under the covers and grabbed Cecilia Rosa by the back of the neck with a strength that was not at all like that of someone who was dying.

“Cecilia Rosa, God has called you here in this hour so that you will forgive me,” she snarled, and her strong grip relaxed a bit around Cecilia Rosa’s neck.

For a brief moment Cecilia Rosa felt the same icy terror that she had always associated with this evil woman. But then she collected herself and removed without undue firmness Mother Rikissa’s hand from her neck.

“What is it that you want me to forgive you, Mother?” she asked, her tone betraying no emotion.

“My sins, and mostly my sins against you,” whispered Mother Rikissa as if she had suddenly lost most of her surprising strength.

“Like when you whipped me for sins that you knew I hadn’t committed? Have you confessed to that evil?” Cecilia Rosa asked coldly.

“Yes, I have confessed these sins to Bishop Örjan who is at your side,” replied Mother Rikissa.

“Like when you tried to kill me by keeping me in the carcerin the wintertime with only a blanket? Did you confess to that too?” Cecilia Rosa went on.

“Yes, I have…confessed to that too,” said Mother Rikissa. But then Cecilia Rosa couldn’t help noticing how Bishop Örjan, still on his knees at her side, made a restless movement. She glanced at him at once and couldn’t avoid seeing his look of surprise.

“You’re not lying to me on your own deathbed after you’ve confessed and received extreme unction, are you, Mother Rikissa?” Cecilia Rosa asked in a soft tone, though she felt as hard as iron inside. In Mother Rikissa’s red glowing eyes she again saw the slitted pupils of the goat.

“I have confessed to all that you have asked me about. Now I want to have your forgiveness and your prayers before my long journey, for my sins are not insignificant,” Mother Rikissa whispered.

“Have you also confessed to trying to kill Cecilia Blanca in the carcerduring the hard winter months?” Cecilia Rosa continued implacably.

“You’re torturing me…show some mercy to me on my deathbed,” Mother Rikissa panted. But she spoke in such a way that Cecilia Rosa had the impression it was all a sham.

“Have you or have you not confessed that you tried to take my life and Cecilia Blanca’s by using the carcer?” Cecilia Rosa asked, because she had no intention of yielding. “Poor sinner that I am, I cannot forgive such sins if I don’t know that they have already been confessed. You understand that, don’t you, Mother?”

“Yes, I have confessed these grave sins to Bishop Örjan,” Mother Rikissa said then, but this time without panting or whispering. Instead some impatience could be heard in her voice.

“That is your dilemma, Mother Rikissa,” said Cecilia Rosa coldly. “Either you’re lying to me now when you say that you have confessed this to Bishop Örjan. And then of course I cannot forgive you. Or else you have actually confessed to these mortal sins, for it is a mortal sin to attempt to take a Christian’s life, even worse if you are in service to God’s Mother. If you have indeed confessed these mortal sins, then Bishop Örjan could not forgive you. And lastly, who am I, a poor sinful penitent under your whip for so many years, to forgive that which even the bishop and God Himself cannot forgive?!”

With these words Cecilia Rosa stood up abruptly as if she knew what was about to happen. Mother Rikissa twisted violently in the bed and once again reached out her hands for Cecilia Rosa as if trying to grab her around the neck. This caused the blanket to fall off her, and a revolting stench spread through the room.

“I damn you, Cecilia Rosa!” shrieked Mother Rikissa, displaying strength that seemed to come out of nowhere. Her red eyes were now wide open, and Cecilia Rosa thought she could clearly see the slitted pupils of the goat.

“I curse you and your indecent liar of a friend Cecilia Blanca. May you both burn in Hell, and may you suffer the punishment of war for your sins, and may your kinsmen die with you in the fire that shall now come!”

With these words Mother Rikissa fell back as though she had lost all strength. Her black hair, which had begun to turn gray, had slipped out from under her wimple. Out of the corner of her mouth ran a narrow stream of blood which looked completely black.

Bishop Örjan then cautiously put his arm around Cecilia Rosa’s shoulders and led her out, closing the door after her. Then he returned to the abbess as if he found it necessary to try to have a few more words with the dying woman before it was too late for her to repent, too late to confess.

Mother Rikissa died that night. The next day she was buried beneath the flagstones in the arcade, and her seal as abbess was broken in two and placed beside her. Cecilia Rosa attended the funeral, although reluctantly. But she didn’t think she had much choice. On the one hand she found it unreasonable to pray for someone so evil and stand there feigning grief with all the others. She could not imagine anything more meaningless than rattling off prayers for the inveterate sinner who had lied during confession on her own deathbed.

On the other hand there was a concern that had to do with the secular life. She had no idea who this Bishop Örjan from Växjö was; she had never even heard that there was a bishop in Växjö. But there had to be a reason why this unknown and insignificant bishop had been called to Mother Rikissa’s deathbed. First, he had to be of the Sverker clan, perhaps closely related to Mother Rikissa. Second, he now had knowledge of Mother Rikissa’s last wishes, and that was surely of some importance. With the last words she uttered in her life, as Cecilia Rosa had heard, Mother Rikissa had threatened to plunge them all into fire and war. What she meant by those words probably only Bishop Örjan knew. So it would undoubtedly be wise to stay close to this Örjan as long as possible, in order to discover if possible at least part of the secret he now held.

The other reason for staying for the funeral was more practical. Cecilia Rosa and her increasingly impatient companions had traveled far so that she could conduct business. It would be best to conclude these matters now and not have to travel back home in the spring.

Bishop Örjan was a tall, thin man with a neck like a crane and a bobbing Adam’s apple. He stammered a bit when he talked. Cecilia Rosa thought she could tell immediately that he was not very bright, although she reproached herself for such a hasty judgment, since a person’s appearance did not necessarily match his inner qualities.

But her preconceived opinion turned out to be correct, for when she innocently suggested that she and some of her companions along with the bishop and some of his companions should drink a grave ale together in the hospitiumbefore they parted, he was quick to find this a very good suggestion.

As the only woman in the hospitium, she naturally led the bishop to the table, and of course he grew more talkative the more he drank. At first he complained that he, as a member of the Sverker clan, had been able to win only the new bishopric in Växjö. All the new promotions of importance in the church were now going to those who were either Folkungs or Eriks or related to them in some way.

With that Cecilia Rosa had learned her first important bit of information.

It wasn’t long before the bishop expressed concern as he enquired whether Cecilia Rosa—who, as far as he knew, had been close to Queen Cecilia Blanca during her time at Gudhem—knew exactly when Cecilia Blanca had taken her convent vows before Mother Rikissa.

With that Cecilia Rosa had acquired her second important piece of information, but now her blood turned to ice.

She tried not to let on, she tried to pour more ale down her throat and giggle a little when she replied, but then she told him the truth: that Cecilia Blanca had never taken any convent vows. On the contrary, the two of them had promised each other never to do so, and they had lived as close friends for many years at Gudhem.

Bishop Örjan then fell silent as he pondered this news for a moment. Then he said that naturally he couldn’t break the confidentiality of the confession, but he could say something about what Mother Rikissa had written in her last will, which he had promised before God to send to the Holy Father in Rome. In that document it said that Queen Cecilia Blanca had taken convent vows at Gudhem.

To hide the fear that now came over Cecilia Rosa, she served Bishop Örjan more ale to give herself time to think. He drank it down in one gulp.

She had now obtained her third important piece of information.

Shouldn’t such a testament be sent to the archbishop as quickly as possible? she then asked as innocently as she could.

No, it shouldn’t. For two reasons. First, the country’s other archbishop Jon had recently been murdered in Sigtuna when the wild folk from across the Eastern Sea had plundered the town, so at the moment there was no archbishop. And if Mother Rikissa’s testament was to go to Rome, then it would be an unnecessary detour for him to take it via Östra Aros. There he would have to wait for a new archbishop, who would surely also be a Folkung, Bishop Örjan muttered crossly. So he now thought he would honor his oath to the dying abbess Rikissa by traveling south and handing over the testament to his Danish kinsman, Bishop Absalon in Lund.

With that Cecilia Rosa had now acquired her fourth important piece of information. At once she poured more ale for the bishop and giggled happily when he put his hand on her thigh, although she was repulsed.

Cecilia Rosa now realized that she knew all she needed to know, because nothing else was of any importance. So she attempted to do what she had quickly realized was a hopeless endeavor: to talk sense into this fool of a bishop.

First she cautiously pointed out that she and Cecilia Blanca had spent more than six years together at Gudhem as the closest and dearest of friends. It was hard to imagine that one of them would have done something as momentous as to take vows without telling the other.

The bishop then made a concerted effort to act dignified and stern while he was drunk, replying that the vows a person took before God, like everything that was said in confession, were to be forever kept secret from the rest of the world.

Cecilia Rosa feigned concern as she objected that the venerable bishop might not know how things were done in a convent. But it so happened that if anyone took the vows, she instantly became a novice. She then had to undergo a year of probation and was immediately separated from all novices and lay-sisters. If Cecilia Blanca truly had taken the vows, then wouldn’t it have been noticed, if only by those within the convent?

To this the bishop slurred some vague reply that much was seen by God alone and that only He could look into the souls of human beings.

Since Cecilia Rosa could make no objection to that observation, she at once changed tactics. She herself had understood through Mother Rikissa’s own words that the abbess had refrained from confessing her mortal sins before she departed this life. Surely a person who lied in such a situation could hardly be expected to tell the truth, especially when it concerned an outlandish assertion that the queen had taken the vows and then given birth to four children in sin. For wasn’t that what this was all about?

Yes, that was indeed what this was about, admitted Bishop Örjan in the middle of a yawn, but then he quickly changed his mind. No, it was all about the sin itself, he hastened to explain. The sin was at the heart of the matter. One couldn’t take into account the fact that the sin in this particular case had certain consequences for the throne of the realm. Then he asked whether Cecilia Rosa might want to accompany him to Denmark. Of course there was some talk that bishops would no longer be able to marry before God, but there were simple solutions for getting around that problem. And he had plenty of silver, the bishop bragged ignorantly, so why not?

By now Cecilia Rosa had all the information she needed, but she also felt sullied and besmirched, as if the bishop had thrown filth on her.

She therefore excused herself by saying that for female reasons that she could not mention she had to withdraw at once. When he then tried to fumble after her she quickly slipped away, since she was not nearly as drunk as he was.

When she at last emerged into the fresh air she vomited. And all night long she prayed, unable to sleep because she knew that her sins were many. Using deception she had seduced a bishop, she had even let him touch her sinfully, and all this she had done in order to fool him into saying what he didn’t want to say.

All this caused her shame. But she felt most ashamed that the touch of this scarcely honorable man had instantly ignited a longing that she had always tried to suppress. He had made her picture once again in her mind the last time Arn had come riding into the courtyard. It seemed an almost unforgivable sin that her pure love could have been inflamed by such an evil man.

The second matter that she had to take care of at Gudhem was much easier than the first. She bought all the plants and sewing materials she needed from a confused prioress who without Cecilia Rosa’s friendly advice would have been cheated badly in these deals. Gudhem was once again a house of the Virgin Mary, and for that reason it was owed the greatest reverence.

But Cecilia Rosa also thought that if she had remained at Gudhem she would be very careful about where she set her feet in the arcade. Mother Rikissa was not in Paradise, after all. Perhaps she was lying in her grave with her malicious red eyes gleaming beneath the flagstones in the arcade. She might be ready to spring up like a wolf and swallow any of those she hated, for hatred had been her strongest force in earthly life.

On her way home to Riseberga, Cecilia Rosa had to stop for a few days, as planned, with Cecilia Blanca at Näs. When she reached the king’s harbor on the shore of Lake Vättern, her impatient companions began muttering as they loaded all the strange items she had brought from Gudhem into the sinister-looking black longboat. The mere sight of the vessel made Cecilia Rosa turn pale. Out on Vättern the waves were high with whitecaps foaming at their tops. The first autumn storm was moving in.

She asked her way among rough sailors who seemed to be Norwegians until she stood before the one who appeared to be their leader. He greeted her courteously and said that his name was Styrbjørn Haraldsson, and that it would be a pleasure for him to sail a woman who was the friend of the queen out to Näs. Cecilia Rosa anxiously asked whether it was advisable to venture out on the water in a storm. He smiled in reply and shook his head, saying that such questions made him long for home, but that his loyalty to King Knut unfortunately prevented his return. Then without another word he took her by the hand and led her out onto the wharf, where his men were about to cast off. They put in place a wide plank for Cecilia Rosa to board the boat, tossed her purchases from Gudhem on deck, and stowed the cargo securely. Then they shoved off with the oars and hoisted the sail.

The wind at once took hold of the rectangular sail, filling it out completely with sudden force. In the next instant the vessel was slung forward so that Cecilia Rosa, who had not managed to sit down, was thrown back into the arms of Styrbjørn. He immediately pressed her down into her place by the tiller and wrapped her up in rough blankets and sheepskins so that only the tip of her nose stuck out.

The storm roared around them and the waves surged against the planking. The longship leaned so much that Cecilia Rosa saw only dark clouds on one side; on the other side she thought she could look straight down into the menacing black waters of the agitated lake. For a moment she felt paralyzed with fear.

None of these strange, burly men seemed the least bothered. They sat leaning against the side of the vessel that rose up toward the sky and seemed now and then to joke with each other as best they could in all the noise. They must know what they are doing, she reasoned desperately. When she glanced back at the man called Styrbjørn she saw that he was standing up with the wind tearing at his long hair, his legs wide apart in a confident stance and a happy grin spreading across his bearded face. He seemed to enjoy sailing.

She still couldn’t help yelling out two questions to him; she wanted to know whether it was dangerous to venture out in a storm, and whether they were sure that someone was holding a protective hand over them all. She had to repeat the questions twice, each time a little louder, although Styrbjørn had leaned down toward her to hear what she was asking.

When Styrbjørn finally grasped what she wanted to know, he first threw back his head and gave a hearty bellow so that the storm once again tore at his long hair and blew it into his face. Then he leaned down and yelled to her that things had been worse earlier in the day when they were rowing againstthe wind to reach the harbor. Now they were sailing withthe wind, and it was like a dance; they would be there within half an hour, no more.

And so it was. Cecilia Rosa saw the castle of Näs approaching at a dizzying speed, and all at once all the Norsemen rose as one man and sat down at the oars while Styrbjørn took down the sail. The men on the left side put their oars in the water first and drew them backward, while the men on the other side dug in their heels and rowed forward. It was as though a giant hand had tossed the whole vessel up into the wind, and it took only ten strokes or so before they came into the lee and the bow of the ship glided up on shore.