Текст книги "The Templar Knight"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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“Naturally, we have a war to win first,” Arn added thoughtfully. “And it doesn’t look easy, as you know. But if we die, then the matter is no longer of this world. If we survive, then you will soon be one of us. Arnoldo de Torroja and I myself will conduct the initiation ceremony. So be it. Do you feel happy about this?”

“Yes, lord.”

“I wasn’t very happy when I was in your position. It had to do with the first question.”

Arn had revealed this remarkable admission as if in passing, and Armand didn’t know how to reply, or whether he should say anything at all. They stood for a while looking down at the harbor, where hard work was in progress unloading two lighters that had moored that same day.

“I have decided to make you our confanonierfor the time being,” Arn said as if he’d returned from his reverie about the first question. “I don’t need to explain what a special honor it is to bear the banner of the Temple and the fortress in war; you know that already.”

“But mustn’t a knight…can a sergeant be given that assignment?” Armand stammered, overwhelmed by the news.

“Under normal circumstances it would be a knight, but you would have been a knight by now if the war hadn’t intervened. And I’m the one who decides, no one else. Our confanonierhas not recovered from serious wounds; I visited him in the infirmary and have already spoken with him of this. Now let me hear what you think about the war we’re about to reenter.”

They went in and sat down next to one of the big windows, and Armand tried to tell him what he thought. He presumed it would be a long siege that would be hard to endure but quite possible to win. He did not think they should ride out, 80 knights and 280 sergeants, to meet an army of Mameluke knights on the field. Scarcely 400 men against perhaps 7,000 to 8,000 knights—that would be very brave but also very stupid.

Arn pensively nodded his agreement, but added, almost as if thinking out loud, that if that army bypassed Gaza and headed for Jerusalem itself there would no longer be any question of what was wise, stupid, or brave. Then there would be only one choice. So they would have to hope for a long and bloody siege. Because no matter how such a long battle would end, they would have saved Jerusalem. And there was no greater task for the Knights Templar.

But if Saladin headed straight for Jerusalem, there would be only two choices for them all. Death, or salvation through a miracle of the Lord.

So in spite of all its terrors, they would have to pray for a long siege.

Two days later Armand de Gascogne rode for the first time as the confanonierin a squadron of knights led by the master himself. They rode south along the seacoast in the direction of Al Arish, fifteen knights and a sergeant in tight formation. According to the Bedouin spies, Saladin’s army was on the move but had split in two, with one regiment heading north along the coast and the other inland in a circular movement across the Sinai. It was not easy to grasp what the intention of such a maneuver might be, but the information would have to be verified.

At first they rode close to the seacoast on the west, giving them full view of the beach to the southwest. But since there was a risk that they might end up behind enemy lines without realizing it, Arn soon ordered a change of course. Then they headed east, up toward the more mountainous part of the coast where the caravans passed during the seasons when storms made the coast itself impassable.

Up by the caravan road they altered course again, so that they stayed in the heights above it and had a clear view of the road for a great distance. When they passed a curve where the view along the road was obscured by a protruding cliff, they suddenly made contact with the enemy.

Both parties discovered each other at the same time, and both were equally surprised. Along the road below came an army of knights riding four abreast, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Arn raised his right hand and signaled to regroup in attack position, so that all sixteen knights spread out in a row facing the enemy. He was obeyed at once, but his men also gave him some questioning, nervous looks. Below were at least two thousand Egyptian knights carrying yellow banners, and their yellow uniforms shone like gold in the sun. So they were Mamelukes, an entire army of Mamelukes, the absolutely best knights and soldiers the Saracens had.

When the Templar knights high above them regrouped to attack, the valley soon echoed with commands and the clatter of horses’ hooves as the Egyptians hastily prepared to meet the assault. Their mounted archers were sent to the front rank.

Arn sat silently in his saddle watching the mighty foe. He had no intention of ordering an attack, since it would result in the loss of fifteen knights and a sergeant without much gain from such a sacrifice. But neither did he want to flee.

And the Mamelukes seemed reluctant as well. All they could see from their low vantage point was an enemy force of sixteen, which they could easily defeat. But since the enemy sat there calmly watching their opponents, there had to be more than sixteen of them, and it could be seen from far off that they were the infidels’ most terrifying knights of the red cross. The Mamelukes, who also must have seen Armand holding the commander’s banner, undoubtedly surmised that this was a trap. The sixteen may have been the only ones in sight, but the commander’s banner signified a much larger formation, perhaps 500 to 600 similar knights who were now readying themselves in case the bait of the sixteen knights was taken.

Finding themselves on low ground before an attacking Frankish army of knights was the worst imaginable situation for the Saracens, whether they were Turks or Mamelukes. Soon new orders echoed off the cliffs from the commanders down below, and the Egyptian army began to retreat. At the same time a party of lightly armed scouts fanned out onto the surrounding slopes to locate the enemy’s main force.

Then Arn gave the order for an about face, a new tight formation, and retreat at a walk. Slowly the sixteen knights disappeared out of the field of vision of their apprehensive foes.

As soon as the squadron was safely out of sight, Arn ordered a brisk trot in the direction of Gaza, taking the fastest route.

When they approached the city they saw that all roads were filled with refugees seeking protection and fleeing the plundering marauders. In the distance to the east could be seen several black columns of smoke. Gaza would soon be full of refugees.

War was finally upon them.

Chapter 4

The war had finally ended, but Cecilia Rosa and Cecilia Blanca were now about to learn that an end to fighting was not at all the same thing as good order and peace; the effects of a war did not cease overnight. Even though a war ended when the last men fell on the battlefield, that did not mean instant happiness and serenity, even for the side that had won.

One night during the second month after the battle on the fields of blood outside Bjälbo, when the first autumn storms were lashing at the windows and shingled roof of Gudhem, a group of riders arrived. With great haste the men removed five of the maidens from the Sverker clan who were among the novices. It was whispered that they would be fleeing to relatives in Denmark. A few days later three new maidens belonging to families defeated in the war arrived to seek the serenity of the Gudhem cloister, which was beyond the reach of the victorious Folkungs and Eriks.

With them they brought tidings about what was happening in the outside world. When the last Sverker maiden arrived, everyone at Gudhem found out that King Knut Eriksson, as he was now called, had ridden into Linköping itself with his jarl Birger Brosa to accept the surrender of the town and confirm the peace that now prevailed, in accordance with his terms.

For the two Cecilias this was cause for great joy. Cecilia Blanca’s betrothed was now actually the king. And the uncle of Cecilia Rosa’s beloved Arn was now jarl. All power in the kingdom was now in their hands, at least all worldly power. However, there was still one big black cloud in this bright sky, because they’d had no word whether King Knut had any intention of bringing his betrothed, Cecilia Ulvsdotter, home from Gudhem.

In the world of the men, nothing was ever certain. A betrothal could be broken because a man had lost in war, just as it could be broken if he was victorious. In the men’s struggle for power, anything was possible. The winning clans might now want to bind themselves tighter together through marriage, but it was also possible that they would have the notion of marrying into the losing side so as to seal the peace. This uncertainty consumed Cecilia Blanca, but the situation also meant that she did not assume victory in advance. She directed no harsh words to the unfortunate sisters who belonged to the losing side, and Cecilia Rosa followed her lead.

The behavior of the two Cecilias had a good and healing effect on the emotions prevailing inside Gudhem; Mother Rikissa, who was sometimes wiser than the two Cecilias suspected, viewed this as an opportunity to quell blood that was much too hot. She decided to relax the rules for conversing by the stone benches at the northern end of the arcade. Previously the silence rule had only been relaxed at the reading hours and when reciting the few writings at Gudhem, or during edifying discourses on sin and punishment when the worldly maidens were to be schooled there. But now Mother Rikissa invited Fru Helena Stenkilsdotter several times during the late summer to these discussions in order to learn what she knew about the struggle for power—and she knew a good deal. She knew even more about how women should react to such matters.

Fru Helena was not merely wealthy and of royal lineage. She had lived her life under five or six kings, three husbands, and many wars. What she didn’t know about a woman’s lot was not worth knowing.

Chiefly she impressed on them how important it was for women to learn to stick together to the very last. A woman who chose her adversaries and friends based on the shifting fortunes of men at war would end up alone in life with nothing but enemies. As delightful as it was to belong to the side that was victorious in war, it was equally miserable to be on the losing side. But if a woman lived long enough, as Fru Helena herself had done—and she hoped to God this would also be granted to the maidens now listening to her—then she would experience both sweet victory and the black feeling of defeat many times in her life.

And if women had only had the wit to stick together more steadfastly in this world, how many unnecessary wars could then have been prevented? And if women hated one another without having any sensible reasons for doing so, how much unnecessary death would that not promote?

“For let us play freely with the idea that anything at all might happen, which is often the case,” she said. “We shall imagine that you, Cecilia Blanca Ulvsdotter, will become King Knut’s queen. And we shall imagine that you, Helena Sverkersdotter, in the near future will drink the bridal ale with one of blessed King Sverker’s kinsmen in Denmark. So, which of you two now wants war? Which of you wants peace? What would it mean if you had hated each other ever since the brief years of your youth at Gudhem? What would it mean if instead you were friends ever since that time? I shall tell you: it means the difference between life and death for many of your kinsfolk, and it can mean the difference between war and peace.”

She paused, breathing heavily as she shifted position on her chair and fixed her little red eyes on her young listeners, who were sitting bolt upright, not showing any sign of comprehending. They neither agreed with nor opposed her words. Not even Cecilia Blanca revealed what she was thinking, even though she knew the least that Helena Sverkersdotter would suffer would be three times the number of blows with the scourge that she had dealt out.

“You look like geese, all of you,” Fru Helena went on after a moment. “You think that I’m only preaching the Gospel to you. One must act peaceably; anger and hatred are deadly sins. You must forgive your enemies, as they in turn must forgive you; you must turn the other cheek, and all the other admonitions we try to pound into your small, empty heads here at Gudhem. But it’s not that simple, my young friends and sisters. For you don’t believe that you have any power of your own—you think that all power resides in the hilt of a sword and the point of a lance, but in this you have made a fundamental mistake. That’s why you run across the courtyard like a flock of geese, first in one direction, then the other; first one maiden is your enemy, then someone else. No man in his right wits—and may the Virgin Mary hold her protective hand over you so that you all may wed such men—can refrain from listening to his wife, the mother of his children and the mistress of his home. Girls of your young age might simply believe that this applies only to trivial matters, but it is true in large matters as well as small. You must not go out into the world as silly little geese; you must go out in possession of your own free, strong will, precisely as the Scriptures prescribe, and do something good instead of something evil with that free will. Just as men do, you decide over life and death, peace and war, and it would be a great sin if you shirked that responsibility out there in life.”

Fru Helena signaled that she was tired, and because she looked very ill with her constantly running eyes, two sisters stepped forward to lead her back to her house outside the walls. But a flock of maidens with their thoughts aflame stayed behind, not saying a word and without looking at each other.

A mood of conciliation descended over Gudhem, not least thanks to Fru Helena’s many wise words to the young girls, and as the calm follows the abating storm, Mother Rikissa acted promptly and wisely.

Four maidens from Linköping had come to Gudhem, and only one of them had any previous experience of convent life. They were all mourning fallen kinsmen, and they were all terrified, crying themselves to sleep every night.

But one could make something good come from their pain, as one can make a virtue out of necessity, Mother Rikissa thought. And so she decided two things. First, that for an unspecified period the vow of silence at Gudhem would be lifted, since none of the new girls knew sign language. Second, since the sisters themselves had other more important things to do, Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa would be given special responsibility for the new girls. They would teach them to speak with signs, to obey the rules, to sing and to weave.

Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa were astonished when they were summoned to Mother Rikissa in the chapter hall and given these instructions. And they were filled with ambivalence. For one thing, it permitted them a freedom they could never have imagined inside Gudhem, to determine their own workday and also be able to talk freely without risk. And yet they would be forced to be together with four daughters of the Sverker clan. Cecilia Blanca wanted as little to do with such girls as possible; even though she suspected that her hatred had more to do with their fathers and mothers, it still didn’t feel right, she claimed. Cecilia Rosa begged her to consider how she would have felt if the battle on the field of blood outside Bjälbo had turned out differently. They had to obey; they had no choice.

All six were embarrassed when they met the first time out in the arcade after the midday rest. Singing would be the easiest, since they had no idea what to say, Cecilia Rosa thought. And because she knew exactly where they were in the continual progression through the Psalter, she knew which songs were coming up in three hours, when it was time for none, the mid-afternoon prayers. And so the lessons began, with Cecilia Rosa singing lead. They repeated each song so many times that their pupils seemed to have them memorized, at least temporarily. And when none was then to be sung inside the church, it was evident that the new girls really could join in with the singing.

When they came out to the arcade after the songs, the weather was blustery with the chill of autumn. Cecilia Blanca then went to the abbess’s residence, returning at once, clearly pleased, and told them that they’d been given permission to use the chapter hall.

They sat there for an hour or so, practicing the simplest signs in Gudhem’s silent language, and the inexperienced teachers soon noticed that this was an art that they had to teach in small portions, and that it was no use continuing for too long at a time. After half the work shift before sext, the midday prayers, they went straight across the arcade to the weaving rooms, where surly lay-sisters reluctantly moved aside. There both Cecilias began chattering away as they explained about the weaving and began to giggle. Then they joked that they were both trying to talk at once so that all six of them for the first time had something to giggle about together.

It turned out that one of the new girls, the youngest and smallest, a maiden with coal-black hair named Ulvhilde Emundsdotter, was already very adept at the art of weaving. She had said nothing to anyone before, or perhaps no one had bothered to listen to her since she had arrived at Gudhem. Now she began with growing fervor to tell them that there was a way to blend linen and wool that would produce a cloth that was both warm and supple. This fabric was ideal for mantles for both men and women. And they all belonged to families in which there was great need of mantles for both religious and worldly occasions.

Then the conversation abruptly stopped short because they still felt embarrassed in one another’s company: two from the clans of the blue mantles and four from the clans of the red and black mantles. But a seed had been sown.

A short time later Cecilia Rosa discovered that little Ulvhilde seemed to be tagging after her, not in a hostile way as if she wanted to spy on her, but shyly, as if she had something she wanted to say. The Cecilias had now divided up their time as teachers, with Rosa taking care of the singing and Blanca the weaving, and then they were all together during the lessons in sign language. Cecilia Rosa soon found an occasion to conclude the singing a bit earlier than usual. She frankly asked Ulvhilde to sit down for a moment and tell her what it was that she so obviously wanted to discuss. The other girls stole out cautiously and closed the door to the chapter hall so quietly behind them that Cecilia Rosa had the feeling they already knew what was on Ulvhilde’s mind.

“So, now that we’re alone,” she began, sounding almost as authoritative as an abbess, but was instantly embarrassed and caught herself. “I mean…I’ve sensed that there’s something you want to talk about in private. Am I right about this?”

“Yes, dear Cecilia Rosa, you are completely right,” replied Ulvhilde, looking all at once as if she were making a brave attempt to hold back the tears.

“My dear little friend, what is it?” Cecilia Rosa asked uncertainly.

But the answer was not forthcoming. They sat together for a while, neither of them daring to be first to break the silence, although by now Cecilia Rosa had begun to have her suspicions.

“The thing is, Emund Ulvbane was my father, blessed be his soul,” whispered Ulvhilde at last, her gaze fixed on the limestone floor.

“I don’t know any Emund Ulvbane,” said Cecilia Rosa timidly, at once regretting it.

“Yes, you do, Cecilia Rosa; your betrothed Arn Magnusson knew him, and everyone in both Western and Eastern Götaland knows the story. My father lost his hand in that duel.”

“Yes, of course I know about the duel at Axevalla ting,” Cecilia Rosa admitted in shame. “Everyone does, just as you say. But I wasn’t there and had nothing to do with that affair. Arn was not yet betrothed to me. And you weren’t there either. So what do you mean by this? Do you intend for this matter to stand like a fortress wall between us?”

“It’s much worse than that,” Ulvhilde went on, no longer able to hold back the tears. “Knut Eriksson killed my father at Forsvik, even though he had promised that father would be allowed to come for me, my mother, and my brothers. And on the fields of blood…”

Then Ulvhilde could go no farther, but bent forward sobbing as if the pain had cloven her across her tender waist. Cecilia Rosa at first felt altogether at a loss, but she put her arms around little Ulvhilde, knelt down next to her, and awkwardly stroked her cheeks.

“There, there,” she consoled her. “What you started to tell me must come out, and you may as well do it now. So tell me what happened on the fields of blood, because I know nothing about it.”

Ulvhilde struggled for a moment, trying to catch her breath between sobs before she was able to utter the words that had to come out.

“On the fields of blood…both my brothers died…killed by the Folkungs…and then they came to our farm where mother…where mother was still in hiding. And they burned her alive with the livestock and servants!”

It was as if Ulvhilde’s wild grief spread like a coldness between their limbs so that it was now inside Cecilia Rosa as well. They clung to each other without being able to speak. Cecilia Rosa began rocking back and forth as if she were lulling the younger girl to sleep, although now there would be no sleep. And yet something more had to be said.

“Ulvhilde, my little friend,” Cecilia Rosa whispered hoarsely. “Keep in mind that it could have been you in this position and that neither of us is at all to blame. If I can console you then I will try. If you want me to be your friend and support, I will try that too. It’s not easy to live at Gudhem, and you should know that here we need friends more than anything else.”

The death throes of Fru Helena Stenkilsdotter took a long time. For ten days she lay dying, and during most of that time her mind was utterly clear. It made the matter that much more delicate for Mother Rikissa, who now had to send various messages far and wide.

It would not do simply to bury Fru Helena as any of Gudhem’s pensioners, because she was of royal lineage, and she had married into both the Sverker and the Erik clans. At a time when the wounds of war had been better healed, a huge retinue should have come to see her to her final rest. But as things now stood, with the fields of blood outside Bjälbo fresh in everyone’s memory, only a small but very resolute group showed up. Almost all the guests arrived several days before her death; they had to spend the time waiting in both the hospitiumand other buildings outside the cloister—Folkungs and Eriks in one group, and Sverkers in another.

Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa were the only novices who were allowed to go outside the walls to sing at the graveside in the churchyard. This was not because of their clan lineage, but because their singing voices were among the loveliest at Gudhem.

Bishop Bengt had come from Skara to pray over the grave. Standing slightly removed from everyone else he wore his light-blue, gold-embroidered bishop’s vestments, and he seemed able to remain upright only by clutching his staff. On one side stood men from the Sverker and Stenkil clans in red, black, and green mantles. On the other side stood the Eriks in gold and sky-blue, and Folkungs in the same blue but with silver. In two long rows outside the churchyard were all the shields fastened to lances stuck into the ground: the Folkung lion, the three Erik crowns, the black Sverker griffin, and the Stenkil wolf’s head. Some of the shields still bore clear marks of sword-edges and lance-points, while some of the guests’ mantles bore traces of both battle and blood. Peace had reigned for too short a time for the marks of war to have been washed away in the rain.

The two Cecilias did their utmost during the singing of the hymns, and they had not the slightest thought of attempting any mischief that might cause discord among the clans. Slight as their acquaintance with Fru Helena was before she died, it was more than sufficient for them to like her and feel great respect for her.

When the singing was over and Fru Helena had been consigned to the black earth, there was naturally no question but that the Cecilias, and any of the other sisters, would quickly disappear behind the convent walls. A grave-ale would be drunk in the hospitium, but that was something only for Bishop Bengt, Mother Rikissa, and the worldly guests. They would now have to associate more closely with one another than they had done in the churchyard, where none had shown any desire for fellowship.

When Bishop Bengt and his cathedral dean started off, as if intending to lead the procession toward the hospitiumand the waiting grave-ale, the hostility among the various group was obvious to the worldly guests. The Eriks made the first move to start walking, so they were in the front of the procession. But when the Sverkers discovered that, they hastened to ensure that they would come before the Folkungs. In stifled silence the colorful retinue headed off toward the northern end of Gudhem where the guest quarters stood.

The two Cecilias had hung back to observe the fine clothing and the ritual. When Mother Rikissa noticed them she strode over and gave them a good dressing-down, fuming about things that were unsuitable for the eyes of Christian maidens, and she ordered them to hurry off behind the walls, and to be quick about it.

But Cecilia Blanca then answered her so gently that she surprised even herself, saying that she had seen something that might further the cause of peace and also serve Gudhem. Many of the mantles worn by the guests needed to have the traces of war removed, and that was something which would be easy to arrange inside Gudhem. Just as Mother Rikissa opened her mouth to speak more harsh words, an idea seemed to dawn on her. Instead she turned around and looked at the morose procession of guests shuffling off.

“You know, I think that maybe even a blind hen can find the grain,” she said pensively, but not at all unkindly. And then she shooed off the two Cecilias as if they were geese.

Mother Rikissa had two worries that she kept from everyone else at Gudhem. One involved a great event that would soon take place, inevitable as a new season, and for Cecilia Blanca at least it would mean a tremendous change. The second had to do with Gudhem’s business affairs and was somewhat more difficult to comprehend.

Gudhem was a rich cloister even now in its early days, although less than a lifetime had passed since the church was consecrated as a cloister church and the first sisters moved in. But riches alone could not feed mouths, since the wealth was based on the ownership of land, and this ownership had to be transformed into food and drink, clothing and the construction of buildings. And what the earth produced came to Gudhem from near and far in the form of casks of seed, bales of wool, salted fish, dried fish, flour, oil, and fruit. A portion of all these goods had to be stored for use at Gudhem; a greater portion had to be shipped to various marketplaces, mostly the one in Skara, to be sold and transformed into silver. This silver would then be spent primarily to pay all those from foreign lands who worked on the various buildings of the cloister. All too often the sale of goods took some time, so that the convent’s cache of silver ebbed away. This was a constant source of worry for Mother Rikissa. No matter how she tried to involve herself in the various details of administration, the yconomus, a canon from Skara whom Bishop Bengt viewed as useless in church work but who had a good head for business, always had a rejoinder for her suspicious questions. If the harvests had been good, then it would be difficult to sell very much grain at one time. If the harvests had been poor, then they had to wait to sell until the prices rose a bit. And it was never good to sell everything at once, but rather to spread the sale over the entire year. So in the late autumn when most of the rent payments from tenants came flowing in, all their storehouses were filled to bursting, and toward the end of each summer all these storage places stood empty. The yconomusclaimed that this was the natural order of things.

Mother Rikissa had tried to discuss these problems with Father Henri, who was the abbot of Varnhem and in that capacity her superior. But Father Henri had been unable to give her any particularly good advice. There was a big difference between a cloister populated only by men and a convent with only women, as he explained with a concerned expression. At Varnhem they took in direct payments in silver for the many different sorts of work they did. They had twenty different quarries where they manufactured millstones; they had smithies that fabricated everything from farming tools to swords for noblemen; and they did all their construction work with their own labor force without spending any silver. What Gudhem needed was its own business that could bring in silver directly, Father Henri had told her. But that was easier said than done.

When Mother Rikissa heard Cecilia Blanca talking about the guests’ stained and tattered mantles it had given her an idea, and she would always remember it as being of her own devising. At Gudhem wool was spun and woven; linen was harvested, retted, dried, braked, scutched, combed, spun, and woven—the entire process from the flax plant to finished fabric. And Sister Leonore, who took care of Gudhem’s gardens, knew how to dye fabrics in many different ways. Except for black, this knowledge was never put to use because there was no need for garish worldly colors inside Gudhem.

Thought precedes action just as the dawn precedes the day, and Mother Rikissa now set the new plan in motion. When she returned from the grave-ale in the hospitium, which was as brief as it could be among the victors and the vanquished, she took with her two threadbare and sloppily mended mantles, one red and one blue. She had been careful to acquire a mantle from each side.