Текст книги "The Templar Knight"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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All the new work that would now have to be done brought a change for the better to Gudhem, just as Mother Rikissa had hoped. Apart from her worries about obtaining silver, she was in a race against time with another concern that she had not confided in anyone. She had to make the girls cease their hostility toward one another.

The maidens would be given the greatest responsibility for the new work, and this suited Mother Rikissa’s new hidden agenda all the better. Now, in early autumn, the lay sisters needed to devote all their attention to the harvesting work. Besides, the lay sisters all came from families that never dressed in clan colors to go to church or to market or to bridal ales. Lay sisters—lay-sisters, whom Mother Rikissa regarded with a contempt she could scarcely conceal—were women from poor families who could not afford to marry off their daughters. So the young women were sent to the convent to work for their own food instead of staying at home with poor peasant fathers and costing more than they could contribute. Lay-sisters had never in their lives been in a noble household so had never seen a Folkung mantle or a Sverker one either. So this new work had to be done entirely by the consecrated sisters and the more or less temporary guests among the novices: the two Cecilias and the Sverker daughters.

It soon turned out, however, that Gudhem had taken on no easy task. Everything had to be tested, and many trials were failures before something good finally emerged. And yet all these early difficulties merely intensified the maidens determination to succeed; they hurried to take up each job in a way that seemed almost indecorous. And when Mother Rikissa went past the weaving workshop, she heard eager words spoken in a tone that hardly seemed proper in a house dedicated to the Mother of God. But Mother Rikissa decided to bide her time, and for now the giggling was permitted. There would be time enough to restore decorum. Until the great event took place it would be unwise of her to treat the girls in a heavy-handed fashion.

Ulvhilde Emundsdotter had persuaded the others to try and weave the fabric she had spoken about, in which wool and linen were mixed. A mantle of pure linen would be too soft, and a mantle of only wool would be too thick and unwieldy and would not drape well over the shoulders and back. So the first task was to produce the cloth. But it wasn’t easy, because if the woolen threads were woven too loosely, too many strands would pull out from the cloth; if the linen thread was woven too tightly, it would bunch up the cloth too much. Through trial and error they would have to find the proper techniques.

Then there were difficulties with Sister Leonore’s various dye samples. Red proved to be the simplest to produce, though the maidens had to be careful to ensure that it was exactly the right shade of red. The red of beet juice was too vividly purple and too bright; the red that came from St. John’s wort was too light and too brown, although it could be mixed with alder to darken it. The correct red color was soon developed using dyes from Sister Leonore’s many clay pots. It proved harder to produce the right blue.

And a dyed piece of cloth had to be marked and dried, since the colors when wet did not look at all the same when dry. Many pieces of cloth, which were useless for any other purpose afterward, were given over to all this testing.

It took a lot of work to produce a single finished mantle. And as if that weren’t enough, there was the matter of how to line the mantles and where the pelts would come from. Winter squirrels, marten, and foxes didn’t grow on trees, after all. So instead of bringing in silver, the new work ended up adding to the cloister’s expenses. The yconomuswas finally ordered by a reluctant Mother Rikissa to go to Skara and buy skins, traveling all the way to Linköping if need be. He whined and complained about the expense. He thought it was risky to lay out silver for something one wasn’t certain could be sold, and in any case it would be a long time before the costs could be recouped as income. Mother Rikissa replied that silver did not multiply on its own at the bottom of a chest; something had to be done with it. But the yconomusargued that doing so could bring losses as soon as gains. At a calmer period for Gudhem Mother Rikissa might have paid more attention to the yconomusand his grumbling. But in view of its current situation, it was important that the girls had no reason to complain, or that the cloister still had silver in its coffers.

The harbinger of the great event at Gudhem was a convoy of oxcarts from Skara. It arrived on a calm, clear autumn day and was taken in hand as something that had been expected, although the cargo consisted of tents and wood, casks of ale and mead, and even some barrels of wine that had been brought up from Varnhem. There were also animal carcasses that had to be hung in cold storage, and a great number of roast-turners and laborers. They began to raise a tent city outside the walls of Gudhem, and their hammer-blows, laughter, and coarse words rang throughout the cloister.

Inside the walls rumors were buzzing like a beehive. Some simply believed that war was coming again, that an army would arrive and claim Gudhem as the enemy’s fortress. Others thought that it was merely the bishops who were holding a meeting and had selected a neutral spot where no one had to bear the entire expense. Mother Rikissa and the nuns, who knew or at least ought to know what it was all about, gave not the slightest hint of anything.

In the vestiarium, which was the new, more formal term for the weaving chamber where the Cecilias and the Sverker daughters now spent most of their time, the idea soon arose that one of them was to be fetched and married off—a thought that inspired both hope and trepidation. It even seemed most probable, since preparations were being made for a feast. They let their imaginations run wild, as if they were no longer enemies at all, picturing which of them would end up with a drooling old man from Skara. That was how the Cecilias taunted the Sverker daughters, who then retaliated with the prospect of a drooling old man from Linköping who had done the king a favor or promised loyalty in return for once again being allowed to creep into the bed-straw with an innocent maiden. The more they spoke of this possibility, the more excited they became, because it would be splendid to have a different life outside the walls, yet terrible was the thought of a drooling old man, whether from Linköping or Skara. What was perceived as both liberation and punishment could just as well befall someone on the red Sverker side as on the blue side. Half in jest each tied a piece of yarn around their right arm, a red one for the Sverker daughters and a blue one for the two Cecilias.

When talk turned to this matter it felt as though a hard hand were squeezing Cecilia Rosa’s heart. She found it hard to breathe and broke out in a cold sweat. She had to leave the room for a few moments, breathing in the chill air in the arcade and panting as if with a cramp. If they decided to marry her off, what could she do about it? She had sworn to remain faithful to her beloved Arn, as he had sworn to her. But what did such promises mean to men who were settling scores after war? Of what significance was her will or her love?

She consoled herself with the fact that she had been sentenced to many years of penance, and that it was the judgment of the Holy Roman Church. No Folkungs or Eriks or other men who had either won or lost in war could change that fact. She calmed down at once, but also found it odd that her lengthy punishment might become a consolation. At least she wouldn’t be married off.

“I will love you forever, Arn. May God’s Holy Mother always hold her protective hand over you wherever you are in the Holy Land and whatever godless enemies you may encounter,” she whispered.

Then she prayed three Ave Marias, and in her own prayers she turned to the Mother of God and begged forgiveness for having let herself be overwhelmed by her worldly love, promising that her love for the Mother of God was greatest of all. Having regained a sense of calm, she then went back inside to the others, and seemed just as usual.

After prandiumand the prayers of thanksgiving the next day, when it was time for rest, a great commotion arose at Gudhem. Messengers came and knocked loudly at the gate, sisters ran back and forth, Mother Rikissa came from the church, wringing her hands in distress, and all the women were summoned to a procession. Soon they were walking slowly, in the order prescribed by the cloister rules, out of the great port underneath Adam and Eve. Singing, they then circled the walls three times before they stopped before the southeast side of Gudhem and lined up with Mother Rikissa in front, behind her the consecrated nuns, and behind them the lay-sisters. But it was strange that the maidens had to stand near the consecrated nuns in a little group by themselves.

In the tent city that had now been raised, men in ordinary brown work clothes made ready by cleaning up all that was untidy. They finished in a great hurry and then fetched poles with furled pennants. All the worldly men lined up, and soon only whispers were heard from them.

All the men and women now stood tensely, staring off to the southeast. It was a lovely day, at that time of autumn when all the colors were still bright and had not yet faded in advance of winter. There was a light breeze and only a few clouds in the sky.

The first thing that could be seen to the south was the flashing glint of lance-points in the sunshine. Soon a great host of horsemen came into view, and the colors became apparent, mostly blue. Everyone knew that the Folkungs or Eriks were approaching.

“It’s our men, our colors,” Cecilia Blanca whispered excitedly to Cecilia Rosa standing beside her. Mother Rikissa turned at once and shot her a stern look, raising her finger to her lips to shush her.

The mighty host came ever closer, and now they could see the shields. Those in the vanguard all bore three crowns on a blue field, or Folkung lions against the same background, and all their mantles were blue.

When the retinue came closer they could see that there were red mantles farther back, as well as green and black with gold and other colors that did not belong to any of the more powerful clans.

Now they could see that one of the horsemen in front wore flashing gold around his brow instead of a helmet. No, two of them in front were wearing crowns.

When the column was less than an arrow-shot away it was easy to make out the three riding in front. First came Archbishop Stéphan on a plodding chestnut mare with a large belly. Behind the archbishop to his right rode Knut Eriksson himself on a lively black stallion. His crown was that of a king. And next to him rode Birger Brosa, the jarl, wearing a smaller crown.

Mother Rikissa stood with her back straight, almost defiant. Now the procession was so close that those waiting outside the cloister could speak with the horsemen. Then Mother Rikissa sank to her knees, as she was compelled to do before both the secular and ecclesiastical power. Behind her knelt all the sisters, all the lay-sisters, and finally all the worldly maidens. When all the women were in this position with their eyes on the ground before them, all the men knelt down too. King Knut Eriksson had come to Gudhem on his royal tour of the realm.

The three riders in front stopped only a few paces from Mother Rikissa, who had not yet raised her glance from the ground. Archbishop Stéphan managed to dismount from his horse, muttering in a foreign language about the difficulty of doing so. He straightened his clothing, and stepped up to Mother Rikissa to offer her his right hand. She took it and kissed it humbly, and he gave her leave to rise. Then all were allowed to rise and stood silent.

King Knut now dismounted, though with the ease of a victorious young warrior, raised his right hand, and waited without looking around as a rider from the rear ranks quickly galloped up and handed him a blue mantle with three Erik crowns of gold and a lining of ermine. It was the mantle of a king or queen, like the one he wore himself.

He took the mantle over his left arm and walked slowly, as all the others at Gudhem stood motionless, over to the worldly maidens. He stood behind Cecilia Blanca without a word, raising the mantle high so that all could see it. Then he hung his queen’s mantle over her shoulders and took her by the hand to lead her to the royal tent, where four banners with the three Erik crowns waved. Cecilia Rosa realized that she hadn’t even noticed when these banners were raised.

The two Cecilias were still holding hands, which they had been doing ever since they recognized Knut Eriksson. But as the king began to lead his Cecilia away, their fingers released their grip. Cecilia Blanca, soon to be the new queen of the Swedes and Goths, quickly turned and gave her friend for life a kiss on both cheeks.

The king frowned at this, but his face instantly brightened as he led his betrothed Cecilia to the royal tent. All the others stood still or remained on their horses until the king and his betrothed had entered the tent.

Then a great rattling and din arose as the whole company dismounted and all began leading their horses toward the oat pastures and haycocks the workers had arranged. The archbishop turned to Mother Rikissa, blessed her, and gave her a dismissive sign as if shooing away a fly before he headed for the royal tent.

Mother Rikissa clapped her hands as a sign for all the women under her supervision to return inside the walls without delay. Inside the cloister there was now much talking and commotion, which not even the strictest rules in this world could have prevented. The holy sisters of the Virgin Mary were jabbering away at each other almost as loudly as the worldly maidens.

It was time for singing, and Mother Rikissa sternly tried to restore order and get them all into the church, forcing upon them the dignity and silence required for the singing hour and the prayers. During the hymns she noticed that Cecilia Rosa sang with a rare power. Tears flowed down the cheeks of this young and now dangerous woman. Everything had gone as badly as Mother Rikissa had feared.

Everything had gone as well as Cecilia Rosa had hoped, but also feared. Her dear friend would become queen, that was as clear as water. And for that reason she felt great joy. But now she would be alone, without her dear friend for many hard years to come. And for that reason she felt sorrow. She couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger.

Inside the walls of the cloister the rest of the day passed like any other day, even though it could not be the same. It was a novelty for all the maidens and lay-sisters at Gudhem that the king would come here on his tour of the country and take his rest near the cloister. Mother Rikissa had found it best not to say anything about what she had known for several weeks. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Cecilia Blanca, even though she’d been given a royal greeting to deliver, but it would have made Cecilia Blanca impossible to control and also would have unsettled all the other girls.

The king had made a detour from the anticipated route. After passing Jönköping he and his retinue had headed for Eriksberg, which was the king’s birthplace. It was also the place where his father, who was now more often called Holy Saint Erik, had been born and where the Erik clan had built their church with the most beautiful frescoes in Western Götaland. The king now entered the most pleasant part of the journey for him, the heartland of the Erik clan.

Many travelers came and went, and there was a constant clatter of horses’ hooves. In the vestiariumnot much orderly work was done by Gudhem’s maidens, since they were fantasizing about what the smells and sounds from outside might tell them regarding about was happening. But amid the eager chatter, a distance arose between Cecilia Rosa and the others. Now she was the only one inside Gudhem with a piece of blue yarn around her right arm, alone among the Sverker daughters. It was as if some of the old hostility had come creeping back, mixed with fear or caution since she, even though alone, was the dearest friend of the future queen.

After vespers Mother Rikissa was to attend the banquet outside the walls, so she refrained from following all the others to the refectoriumfor a supper of lentil soup and rye bread. But the prioress had scarcely managed to say grace over the meal in the refectoriumbefore Mother Rikissa returned and spread anxiety all around her. She was livid with barely contained anger. Pressing her lips tight, she ordered Cecilia Rosa to come with her at once. It seemed as though Cecilia Rosa might now be taken for punishment, in the worst case to the carcer.

She got up at once and followed Mother Rikissa with her head bowed, for rather than fear a bright hope had ignited inside her. And just as she hoped, she was not being led to the carcerbut to the gate and then to the hospitium. There merry voices were heard from the banquet in progress. In the tents outside the smithy and stables, many men were drinking ale.

The hospitium, however, was large enough to hold only the most highly honored guests. At the oak table inside the hall sat the king himself and his jarl Birger Brosa, the archbishop and Bishop Bengt from Skara, four other men whom Cecilia Rosa did not recognize, and far down at the short end of the table sat Cecilia Blanca wearing her blue mantle with the three crowns and ermine trim.

When they entered the room Mother Rikissa roughly shoved Cecilia Rosa before her, seizing her by the scruff of the neck to make her curtsey to the dignitaries, as if she wouldn’t have thought to do so herself. Knut Eriksson frowned and gave Mother Rikissa a stern look that she pretended not to notice. Then he raised his right hand so that all talking and whispering ceased in the room at once.

“We welcome you to our banquet here at Gudhem, Cecilia Algotsdotter,” he said with a kind glance at Cecilia Rosa. Then he continued, with a less kind look at Mother Rikissa.

“We welcome you most gladly since your presence here is the wish of our betrothed. Just as we may invite Mother Rikissa if we so choose, our betrothed may invite you.”

With that he gestured toward the place where Cecilia Blanca was sitting, where there was still some room. Mother Rikissa then led Cecilia Rosa with a firm grip to the far end of the table. When she sat down Mother Rikissa angrily tore from her arm the blue piece of yarn, turned away, and went to her place at the other end of the table.

Mother Rikissa’s contemptuous handling of the blue color did not escape the attention of anyone in the hall, so at first there was an embarrassed silence. The two Cecilias held each other’s hand under the table. Everyone could see that the king was incensed by the unwise action of the mother superior.

“If you, Mother Rikissa, feel an aversion to blue yarn, then perhaps you would not feel comfortable sitting here with us this evening,” he said, his tone suspiciously gentle as he pointed to the door leading out.

“We have rules at Gudhem that not even kings can alter, and at Gudhem no maiden may wear clan colors,” replied Mother Rikissa brusquely and without fear. But then jarl Birger Brosa slammed his fist on the table so hard that the ale tankards jumped, and there was a silence like that between a lightning strike and the thunder. Everyone cringed involuntarily when he stood up and pointed at Mother Rikissa.

“Then you should know, Rikissa,” he began in a much quieter voice than anyone in the room expected, “that we Folkungs also have our rules. Cecilia Algotsdotter is a dear friend, and she is betrothed to an even dearer friend of both myself and the king. It is true that she was sentenced to harsh punishment for a sin that many of us have escaped with no punishment at all, but you shall know that in my eyes she is one of us!”

He had raised his voice toward the end of his speech and now he strode with slow, decisive steps down the table and stood directly behind the two Cecilias, giving Mother Rikissa a hard stare as he swept off his mantle and carefully, almost tenderly, draped it around Cecilia Rosa’s shoulders. He gave the king a glance, and the king nodded his approval in return. Then Birger Brosa returned to his place, hoisted his ale tankard and drank several mighty drafts, before he held out the tankard toward the two Cecilias, and then sat down with a loud grumble.

For a long while the conversation flagged. Roast-turners brought in both venison and pork, along with ale and sweet vegetables and white bread, but the guests touched only enough food as was considered polite.

The two Cecilias had no opportunity to talk, although they were bursting with impatience to discuss events. That which was called women’s prattle would not have been appropriate at the table when the mood was so solemn. They bowed their heads demurely, picking cautiously at the food which after such a long time on a cloister diet, they otherwise would have gobbled right up.

For Archbishop Stéphan, the roast-turners had brought in special food, including lamb cooked in cabbage, and unlike all the others at the table he drank wine instead of ale. He had not allowed the dispute between Mother Rikissa and the king’s jarl to interrupt his earthly enjoyments. Now he held up his wine glass and scrutinized the color of the wine before once again putting it to his lips and rolling his eyes.

“It’s like being home in Burgundy again,” he sighed as he set down his glass. “ Mon Dieu!This wine certainly suffered no harm from its long journey. But speaking of journeys…how are the affairs in Lübeck going, Your Majesty?”

Just as Archbishop Stéphan had intended, Knut Eriksson brightened at this question and at once launched into an animated response.

At that very moment Eskil Magnusson, who was Arn’s brother and the nephew of Birger Brosa, was in Lübeck to draw up a trading contract, signed and sealed, with no less than Henrik the Lion of Saxony. As large a portion of the trade from the Gothic lands as could be imagined would now be rerouted to the Eastern Sea and pass between Eastern Götaland and Lübeck. If their own lighters were not sufficient, the Lübeckers would generously make their vessels available. The great new wares that the Lübeckers wanted included dried fish from Norway, which Eskil Magnusson had begun to buy in copious quantities, shipping it from the Norwegian Sea up into Lake Vänern and on via river and lake to Lake Vättern, then out from ports in Eastern Götaland. Iron from Svealand, pelts and salt herring, salmon and butter would soon be shipped the same way, and the goods that the Lübeckers had to offer in return were just as favorable, but best was all the silver that changed hands.

Soon all the men, worldly as well as clerical, were involved in a lively, cheerful conversation about what the new trade route with Lübeck might entail. Their hopes were high, and they were all agreed that trade belonged to new and better times. They also seemed convinced that the wealth that would come from greater trade would also lead to increased concord and peace.

The discussion grew louder, and more ale was brought in with ever-growing haste so that the feast at long last got under way.

The two Cecilias could now begin to talk to each other, since nobody could hear what they were saying at the far end of the table. Cecilia Blanca first reported how long ago Knut Eriksson had sent a message that he would be coming to Gudhem on this day, and that he would be bringing with him a queen’s mantle. So Mother Rikissa had known about it for quite a while, but malicious as she was she had decided to say nothing. That woman’s only true joy was not to love God but to torment her neighbor.

Cecilia Rosa quietly replied, saying that happiness must seem all the greater now that it was here. For it would have been so hard to go on counting the days for over a month in constant worry that something might have changed.

They had no chance to say more because the men’s dreams of all the gold and silver to be made from trading with Lübeck began dominating the room, and Bishop Bengt was careful to turn the conversation to himself. He told them what fear he had felt for his life, but how he had prayed that God might make him brave, and then he resolutely dared to intervene and rescue the two Cecilias from being abducted, and from a convent at that—the worst sort of abduction. His story droned on, nor did he omit a single insignificant detail.

Since the Cecilias couldn’t very well interrupt when a bishop was speaking, especially when he was talking about them—although mostly about himself—they chastely bowed their heads and continued to communicate in sign language under the table.

True that he chased away the boors, but where was the courage in that?Cecilia Rosa signed.

His courage would have been greater if the Sverkers had won on the fields of blood,Cecilia Blanca replied. Neither of them could hold back a giggle.

But King Knut, who was a sharp-eyed man and not yet very drunk, saw this female merriment from the corner of his eye. He turned suddenly to the Cecilias and asked in a loud voice whether this incident did not occur exactly the way Bishop Bengt had related it.

“Yes, absolutely true, it happened just as the bishop tells it,” replied Cecilia Blanca without the slightest hesitation. “Foreign warriors came and demanded with words so coarse that I can’t repeat them here that Cecilia Algotsdotter and I be delivered from the walls of Gudhem at once. Then Bishop Bengt stepped up and admonished them in stern terms and they retreated without doing harm.”

During a brief silence the king and the other men pondered these angelic words from the king’s own betrothed, and the king then promised that this matter would not go unrewarded. Bishop Bengt was quick to point out that he sought no reward for acting in accordance with his conscience and as his duty to the Lord commanded, but if something good might fall to the church then joy would arise among God’s servants, just as in Heaven. Soon the conversation took another turn.

Cecilia Rosa now asked in sign language why the lying bishop was let off the hook so easily. Cecilia Blanca answered that it would have been unwise for a future queen to disgrace one of the kingdom’s bishops before other men. But that did not mean that anything was forgotten, and the king would soon be told the truth, although at a more suitable time. By now they were signing even more excitedly above the table, and they suddenly realized that Mother Rikissa was staring at them with an expression that was anything but loving.

Birger Brosa had also seen something, although he was not one to talk much at a feast; he preferred to watch and listen. He was sitting in his usual way, leaning back slightly with that amused smile that had given him the nickname Brosa—meaning Cheerful—and with his ale tankard lazily propped on one knee. Now he quickly leaned forward and slammed down the tankard with a bang, so that the conversation stopped and all eyes turned to him. They knew that when the jarl did this he had something to say, and when the jarl had something to say everyone listened, even the king.

“It seems fitting to me,” he began with a thoughtful look on his face, “that we might talk a bit about what we could do for Gudhem, now that we are finally gathered here and have heard about Bishop Bengt’s heroic action. Does Rikissa have any suggestion, perhaps?”

All eyes turned to Mother Rikissa, for the jarl was not one to ask a rhetorical question. Mother Rikissa thought carefully before replying.

“Land is always being donated to cloisters,” she said. “Gudhem too has acquired more property as the years go by. But right now what we need at Gudhem are squirrel furs and good wintertime white fox and marten pelts.”

She looked a bit sly when she fell silent, as if she understood quite well what astonishment her answer would arouse.

“Squirrel and marten pelts? It sounds as though you and your sisters have been struck by worldly temptations, but surely things can’t possibly be as bad as that, can they, Rikissa?” asked Birger Brosa in a kindly tone and with a bigger smile than usual.

“Not at all,” Mother Rikissa snorted. “But just as you gentlemen deal in trade, a subject which you have all been boasting of so freely, the servants of the Lord must do so as well. Look at all these soiled and torn mantles that your men are wearing. Here at Gudhem we have begun to make new mantles, better and more beautiful than the ones you had before. And for these mantles we are counting on receiving an honest price. Since we are women, you can’t demand that we cut millstones like the monks at Varnhem.”

Her reply provoked both surprise and amusement. So involved in business matters as all the men had just been feeling, and as men always felt, they could do no less than nod in agreement and attempt to look wise.

“And what sort of colors are possible for these mantles that you and your sisters are sewing?” asked Birger Brosa in a kindly tone that scarcely concealed the cunning of his thoughts.

“My good jarl!” replied Mother Rikissa, feigning equal surprise at the question that Birger Brosa had just posed so innocently. “The mantles that we sew are of course red with a black griffin head…as well as blue with three crowns, or blue with the lion that you yourself, although not at this moment, usually wear on your back…”

After a brief hesitation Birger Brosa began to laugh, and Knut Eriksson joined in, so that in no time all the men around the table were laughing.

“Mother Rikissa! You have a sharp tongue, but we also find you have an amusing way with words,” said Knut Eriksson, taking a swig of ale and wiping his mouth before he went on. “The pelts you asked for shall soon be at Gudhem, we give you our word on that. Was there anything else, while we’re still in a good mood and willing to make new business deals?”