Текст книги "Birth of the Kingdom"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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But at the banquet that evening, there was no sense of gloom, since there were a thousand things to talk about regarding the construction going on at Arnäs, as well as what Arn was accomplishing at Forsvik. By now both Eskil and Herr Magnus were aware that Forsvik was becoming the other support in the power structure of the Folkungs.

They had been discussing all these plans for the future only a short time when young Torgils reminded them of the promise that he would enter an apprenticeship at Forsvik. Arn replied tersely that as far as he was concerned, Torgils was welcome at any time. Torgils said that he wanted to leave at once. Eskil was clearly not happy with this decision, but he offered no objections.

Before Arn and his party boarded the ship that would take them up Lake Vänern to the reloading area for riverboats, he had a brief private conversation with the physician Yussuf. It was then decided that Yussuf would also accompany all of the Saracens to Forsvik; Ibrahim had already left with the first group of foreigners. For to be left here at Arnäs over the winter and to witness the dreadful gorging on pork, which was part of the Christmas celebrations, was not a welcome reward for a lone Muslim. Arn was fully aware of this, even though he didn’t speak of it aloud. His father Magnus was now in such good condition that he no longer needed daily care. In spite of this, Arn still took his father aside to repeat in a courteous but firm manner everything that Yussuf had told him to do. Each day his father had to make sure to move about, not too much and not too little, but without neglecting a single day. In addition, he was to eat less pork and more salmon and veal, and he should drink wine instead of ale when the Christmas festivities began.

Herr Magnus muttered that he would have been able to think of all this himself. It was a sad but well-known fact that Christmas ale presented a danger to all men of his age.

During the time that Arn was away at Arnäs, Cecilia had grown even more bewildered by the foreigners at Forsvik. At night there was a great deal of commotion evident inside their longhouse, and from the smell of meat roasting and bread baking, it was clear to everyone that constant feasting was going on. They disdained the bread to be found at Forsvik after the great baking that took place every autumn. Instead, they had built from clay their own ovens, which looked like big upside-down wasps’ nests. Every evening they baked their own bread shaped in big flat sheets. They got up late in the morning, and only slowly did they begin their work.

Cecilia could only guess at what this all meant, and she was inclined to think that it was Arn’s absence that had encouraged this sort of idleness from the foreigners. Although this was not true of all of them. The brothers Marcus and Jacob worked just as diligently as always, as did the two English fletchers, John and Athelsten. She had long considered asking Arn about this and other matters that she hadn’t really been able to understand. But the long winter nights seemed far away, in more than one sense. She had imagined that when the north wind whistled around the corners of the house, they would lie close together in front of the fire, and he would tell her about the many wondrous and horrible things in the Holy Land, and answer all her questions.

Ever since the time when they had gone out riding alone and Our Lady had gently shown them again the joyful rights of the flesh which they had once misused but were now fully entitled to, their nights had been so delightful that Cecilia blushed to even think of them. And so there had been very little time for talk of serious matters in their bedchamber.

When Arn returned on the river, it turned out that he had brought not only young Torgils along with him but also more foreigners, including all the stonemasons from Arnäs. They looked so wretched in their tattered clothes, but they seemed to have other and better clothing packed in big bundles. They had broken camp at Arnäs and were going to spend the winter at Forsvik. Cecilia was a bit miffed that she hadn’t been told of this in advance, since she assumed that if this many free men came to Forsvik, they should be treated as guests. She grew almost angry when, with much laughter and shaking of heads, they all declined her attempts to welcome them with salt, ale, and bread. It was truly not the custom in Western Götaland to refuse such a greeting.

She was all the more puzzled on that first night after the new foreigners arrived to hear an ever greater commotion coming from the foreigners’ house. Arn replied curtly to her questions, saying that it was a celebration called Laylat al-Qadr, which meant ‘the power of the night.’ She had then innocently asked what sort of power this meant, and she went cold inside upon hearing that it was a celebration of Muhammed’s first vision.

Arn didn’t even notice her stony reaction. Grumbling sleepily, he had shown a greater interest in the joys of fleshly love than in anything else. And since he had already displayed such an inclination, she couldn’t very well jump out of bed to stamp her foot and say that right now she’d rather have a discussion about Muhammed. Instead, she soon found herself floating into his warm stream, and she forgot all else.

But two or three days later he asked her to put on her finest attire for the evening, since they had been invited to a banquet. She asked where they would be going, but he replied that it was not far and they could easily walk there in their banquet garb. When she cautiously tried to find out whether he was jesting, he showed her his own clothing, which he had laid out on the bed, with the blue wedding mantle underneath.

Just before sundown, the brothers Marcus and Jacob Wachtian appeared, dressed for the banquet, along with Brother Guilbert, wearing his white Cistercian robes. They had come to fetch Arn and his wife for the celebration. Out in the courtyard the smoke from roasting meat was already blending with the aroma of exotic spices.

Cecilia had not been inside the guests’ longhouse since the time when Arn had shown it to her. But that was where they were all now headed, and when she stepped through the door, she could hardly recognize the place. Even more colourful rugs had been spread on the floor, and on the walls hung tapestries with the most fanciful star patterns. Benches had been arranged in a rectangle in the room, with heaps of cushions and pillows behind them. From the ceiling hung burning lamps made of copper and iron and coloured glass, and before the long hearth stood gridirons in which trout from Lake Vättern were being grilled.

The physician Ibrahim, who was dressed in a long coat made of shimmering material and a headdress made of a length of fabric wrapped many times around his head, received the guests at the door. He then led them to the place of honour in the row of benches and cushions closest to the west.

Artfully made copper pitchers were brought forth, along with glasses made at their own glassworks; all of them were lined up along the benches. Cecilia was about to sit down on the bench, but Arn showed her with a laugh that she should kneel down among the cushions behind the long wooden bench. He also whispered to her not to touch either food or drink until someone else did so first.

They were waiting for the sun to set, and gradually the foreigners all took their places, except for a few who tended to the grilled fish, and old Ibrahim, who went out to the courtyard.

Much to her annoyance, Cecilia discovered that Brother Guilbert, the Wachtian brothers, and Arn all seemed able to cope with these unfamiliar customs and smells and showed no sign of discomfort. They talked and laughed quietly, speaking the language that Cecilia could now recognize as Frankish.

Arn soon noticed Cecilia’s confusion, and with an apology to the other men, he turned to her and began to explain.

It was a clear and star-strewn night, one of the first nights with frost during this mild autumn, and outside in the courtyard, Ibrahim was now carefully scanning the sky to the northwest. When darkness fell, he would soon catch sight of the slender crescent moon that foretold a new month, and then the celebration called Eid al-Fitr would begin, heralding the end of the month of fasting.

Cecilia was about to object that the fasting month was in the spring, not in October, but she stopped herself when she realized this was not in truth the time for a conversation about church customs.

Ibrahim came in from the courtyard and made an announcement in his incomprehensible foreign tongue. Everyone in the room immediately said a short prayer. Arn then grabbed the tin-plated copper pitcher sitting on the table in front of him and poured a glass, which he handed to Cecilia. Then he poured some for Brother Guilbert and the Wachtian brothers. Everyone else at the table did the same, raising their glasses and drinking greedily before pouring another. Cecilia, who had been slower and more hesitant about raising the glass to her lips began coughing when she found that there was only water in the glass and not wine, as she had thought.

The meal consisted of roast mutton, goose, and trout, along with other small dishes that Cecilia didn’t recognize; all of the food was served on large, round wooden platters. Strange-looking instruments were played, and someone began singing a song; others quickly joined in.

Arn broke off a piece of the soft flat bread and showed Cecilia how to dip it into the meat sauce surrounding the mutton. When she did so, her mouth filled with a spicy taste that at first made her hesitate. After a moment she found it palatable, and after a few more minutes, she found it to be utterly delicious. The mutton was the most tender she had ever eaten, and the trout tasted entirely different, spiced with something that reminded her of cumin.

Arn amused himself by taking tidbits from various platters and putting them in Cecilia’s mouth, as if she were a child. When she tried to resist, he laughed and said it was merely a chivalrous way for a man to show affection for his wife or close friend.

At first all the foreigners ate quickly and voraciously. But after they seemed to have sated the worst of their hunger, most of the men leaned back on the cushions and ate more slowly. With their eyes half-closed, they seemed to be enjoying the melancholy music played by two men on stringed instruments that resembled those played by the Frankish minstrels at the wedding at Arnäs.

It didn’t take long before Cecilia also leaned back against the comfortable cushions which several men, bowing politely, had brought to support her back. She no longer felt so nervous, and she slowly partook of all the delicacies, merely raising an eyebrow when she noticed how much of the estate’s honey had been used for the sweet that was served after the meat and fish. The dessert was small pieces of bread with shredded carrots and filled with hazelnuts, drenched in honey. All the foreign aromas and smells were somehow soothing and made her feel sleepy; she even began to take pleasure in the music, although it had sounded off-key at first. She started imagining herself in foreign lands. What made this banquet so different from those she was used to was the fact that everyone became more and more quiet as the evening wore on, just as the songs played on the stringed instruments became more yearning and sorrowful. No one started brawling, and no one vomited. She brooded a bit over these foreign ways, until she recalled that it was water they were drinking and not ale or wine. She dozed and dreamed more and more about this foreign world until Arn took her arm and whispered that it would be good manners for the two guests of honour to leave the banquet first instead of last.

He led her over to the door leading to the house lavatorium.There he took her hand, bowed, and said something in the foreign tongue that made all the men in the room stand up and bow deeply in reply.

The night air was cold and frosty, and it revived her at once, as if breaking a spell. She thought that this was going to be the first of the winter nights when Arn explained all the foreign customs to her.

When he blew some life into the fire and they crawled into their big bed, she fluffed up their pillows so that they could sit side by side and look into the flames. Then she asked him to begin his account; the first thing she wanted to know was how it was possible that they had come to welcome the worst enemies of Christendom as guests in a Christian home.

At first sounding a bit reluctant, he told her that these Muslims, as the followers of Muhammed were called, had worked for the Christians in the Holy Land. They would have been killed by their own kind if they hadn’t fled with him to the North. The same was true for the Wachtian brothers, who were Christians from the Holy Land. Their workshop and their trade had been on Al Hammediyah, which was the biggest business district in Damascus. So the question of who was a friend and who was an enemy in the Holy Land was not solely determined by a person’s faith.

Cecilia found this incomprehensible, even though she offered only cautious objections.

Then he began his story, which would continue for many winter nights.

In the Holy Land there were great men whose eminence far exceeded that of all others. Arn was thinking in particular about two of them; the first was a Christian named Raymond of Tripoli, and some night he would tell Cecilia about him. But it was more important to speak of the other, for he was a Muslim and his name was Yussuf Ibn Ayyub Salah ad-Din. For the sake of simplicity, the Christians called him simply Saladin.

When Arn said the name of the worst enemy of Christendom, Cecilia involuntarily gasped. She had heard thousands of oaths, reeking of brimstone, pronounced over that name by nuns and priests.

Yet Saladin was his friend, Arn went on, undaunted by her expression of alarm. And their friendship had followed such a course over the years that not even the greatest of skeptics would see anything but God’s hand behind it.

It all started when Arn unintentionally saved Saladin’s life; upon closer examination, that could not have happened without God’s hand. Because why else would a Templar knight, one of God’s most devoted warriors and defenders of His Tomb, be the one to save the man who in the end would crush the Christians to the ground?

After that they had met as foes on the battlefield, and Arn had triumphed. But a short time later, Arn’s life ended up in Saladin’s hands when the Muslim arrived with an invincible army at the fortress in Gaza where Arn was fortress master among the Templars. And Saladin had, in turn, saved Arn’s life.

Saladin had spared his life because of their friendship, and that was how he had become Saladin’s prisoner and negotiator.

That was during his last days in the Holy Land, when Jerusalem was already lost, as were most of the Christian cities. And Arn was Saladin’s prisoner but also occasionally his messenger and negotiator, as one of the worst villains that had ever set foot on the ground of the Holy Land arrived with an army to meet Saladin on the battlefield and recapture the Holy City of Jerusalem. This man, whose name was Richard Lionheart, a name that would live on in eternal infamy, had amused himself during the negotiations by beheading three thousand prisoners rather than accepting the last of the ransom that he had demanded for them, and rather than receiving back the True Cross for Christendom.

At that sorrowful moment Arn and Saladin had parted ways for all eternity, and Arn had received as a farewell gift fifty thousand besants in gold, which Richard had refused in favour of sating his thirst for blood.

And so it was that Arn could now afford to pay for the building going on at Arnäs as well as for the new church at Forsvik and everything else that was being constructed there.

And this was just a short version of the story, said Arn. Many winter nights would be required to give a fuller account. And it might take the rest of his life to understand the meaning behind everything that had happened.

There he stopped and got up to put more wood on the fire. It was then he discovered that Cecilia had fallen asleep.

NINE

Filled with a sense of foreboding, Arn rode at the front of the groom’s procession as it entered Linköping. From the bishop’s stronghold to the cathedral three red Sverker banners waved, as if taunting the guests. And among the spectators watching with hostility, only red mantles were visible; there was not a blue one in sight. And not a single rowan bough was tossed toward the bridegroom to wish him well.

It was like riding into an ambush. If Sune Sik and his kinsmen wanted to turn this wedding into a blood feud, they would be able to kill all the foremost Folkungs except for the aged Herr Magnus of Arnäs, who had been forced to forgo this ride through the chill of autumn because of his health.

As they neared the cathedral they could hear the distant shouts greeting the bride’s procession with much greater warmth. Birger Brosa was leading the way, as the one who had fetched the bride.

Even Erik jarl was riding in the groom’s procession alongside his friend Magnus Månesköld, who had his mother Cecilia on the other side of him; his paternal uncle, councillor Eskil, rode behind him. All the powerful Folkungs and King Knut’s eldest son as well were putting their lives at risk. If the Sverkers truly wanted to take back the crown by force, this was the time to do it.

But the Folkungs had not come to the enemy’s city unprepared like lambs to the slaughter. From Bjälbo came a hundred retainers and kinsmen fully armed. They had drawn lots so that half of the men swore not to drink even one tankard of ale during the first day and night. Those who won the draw had sworn to remain sober on the second day and night. The Folkungs were not about to be slaughtered either by surprise or by fire.

Yet it was for Cecilia that Arn felt the greatest concern. He could easily ride through hordes of Nordic peasant soldiers or use his sword to slash his way through the ranks of retainers. But the question that he hardly dared even consider was whether his foremost duty was to stay by Cecilia’s side or to save himself so that the Folkungs would not be robbed of all defenders and avengers when the subsequent war began.

When the first arrows were shot, it was Arn’s duty to ride away to save himself. His loyalty to the Folkungs demanded this. There was no better man to lead their avenging army to victory, and he couldn’t possibly deny this fact either to his own conscience or to anyone else.

Nevertheless he decided to break with the laws of honour if the worst should happen. He would not leave Linköping alive without Cecilia. She was riding a good horse, and her new gown allowed her to sit astride the saddle with solid support in both stirrups. She was also an excellent horsewoman. At the sight of a single glinting weapon anywhere, he would immediately ride up alongside and clear the way for her.

These were his thoughts as they approached the cathedral where the bridal procession was coming from the other direction, and his expression was more harsh and sombre than would be expected of a bridegroom’s father. People whispered and pointed at him, and he suspected that in their opinion, he was the one among the enemies wearing the blue mantles who ought to be felled first.

Outside the cathedral they dismounted. Stable thralls came running to hold the reins of their horses. Arn surveyed the area with suspicion, casting a glance up at the walls of the bishop’s stronghold when he went to fetch Magnus, who was suffering terribly after the bachelors’ evening at Bjälbo that had been almost as good as the one at Arnäs. Even better, according to Magnus, since this time he didn’t have to compete against old men and monks. Hence in the last games of his youth he had salvaged the victor’s crown that had been denied him at Arnäs.

The gift for the bride was a heavy necklace made of gold with red stones. Erik jarl brought it to Arn, who accepted it and then handed it to his son Magnus. With much fumbling the groom fastened the necklace around Ingrid Ylva’s neck, over the red mantle that she wore.

Then Sune Sik himself brought forward the gift for the groom, a Frankish sword with a sheath adorned with gold and silver; the hilt was strewn with gemstones. A sword that was more suitable for a banquet than a battle, Arn thought to himself as Ingrid Ylva fastened the sword at Magnus’s waist.

The bishop blessed the bridal couple, and both the bride and groom kissed his ring. After that everyone who could find room inside went into the cathedral for mass, which was kept brief since the wedding guests were thinking more of the feast than of heavenly joys. During the mass many men wearing red mantles cast angry glances at Arn because he kept his sword at his side even though everyone else had left their weapons outdoors.

There was no hint of danger or treachery on the road between the bishop’s estate and the cathedral or onward across the bridge to the Stång royal estate where the wedding banquet was to be held.

The royal estate was old and drafty, but it was still the finest building in all of Linköping. No doubt Sune Sik lived in far better quarters, but it was just as certain that he wanted to show that when he was the host, it was as the king’s brother at a royal estate. Here in Linköping all Sverkers regarded the royal estates as their private property.

Two rows of heavy wooden pillars supported the roof of the hall, and they had all been painted red, as if to conceal the ungodly images, still faintly visible, that had been carved into the wood. Crosses and images of Christ hung like incantations between iron brackets that held tarred torches out from the walls.

Arn and Cecilia were expecting a rather gloomy evening like the previous one they had spent at Bjälbo. Yet as soon as they took their seats, both Birger Brosa and the bride’s father, Sune Sik, showed that it was their intention to make it a good evening among friends, even at the high seat. It was impossible to know what had made them change their behaviour so dramatically. Cecilia tried to find out from Valevaks, who was Sune Sik’s wife and the bride’s mother, but she learned very little, since the woman spoke more Polish than Norse.

The bishop, who was seated far from Arn and Cecilia on the other side of Sune Sik, also seemed to want to show his goodwill and friendship. As soon as he had drunk a toast with Birger Brosa and Sune Sik, he turned to the groom’s parents. There was no wine at this banquet, and although Arn and Cecilia had determined to leave the ale placed in front of them untouched, they were soon shamed into drinking it because of the unexpected friendliness streaming toward them from all directions.

Birger Brosa surprised Arn more than once by praising him as a close kinsman and friend to Sune Sik, and the jarl spoke so loudly that Arn couldn’t avoid hearing.

Something had happened to change the game, but at the moment the only thing to do was to remain courteous and wait until the next day to find out what was going on.

Escorting the couple to bed began earlier than anticipated, since there were so many guests in the hall who wanted to have this custom out of the way; then they could breathe more easily. When Sverkers and Folkungs became united in blood through Magnus Månesköld and Ingrid Ylva, the risk of fire, treachery, and murder would be over.

The bridal chamber was in a separate house near the river Stångån, and it was guarded by as many retainers wearing blue mantles as wore red. The only difference was that those in blue were able to stand upright without difficulty because not a drop of ale had passed their lips.

After the ring dance in the hall, the bride was escorted out by her kinsmen. Those who remained inside suddenly fell silent, as if listening for the clang of weapons and shrill screams. But everything seemed calm outside.

Then it was time for the truly decisive moment when Magnus Månesköld and his Folkung kinsmen were to leave the hall.

With his right hand Arn pulled Cecilia close to his side as he cautiously loosened his sword. Then they walked out between the rows of dazzling torches. They didn’t speak to each other, but both bowed their heads in prayer, asking for mercy.

Yet nothing untoward happened. Soon they were standing next to the bridal bed on which Magnus and Ingrid Ylva lay in their white linen shifts, looking merry and holding hands. The bishop said a brief prayer over them, and Birger Brosa and Sune Sik pulled the bridal coverlet over the beautiful, dark-haired Ingrid Ylva and the vigorous, red-haired Magnus Månesköld.

Everyone in the room secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and Sune Sik immediately went over to Arn and held out both hands, thanking God for this reconciliation that had now taken place and swearing that there was no longer any blood between them. For they were now both fathers-in-law to the other’s offspring, and blood united them instead of separating them.

When the witnesses emerged from the bedchamber and stepped out into the courtyard, they were greeted with cheers of relief and joy, since this wedding had led to peace and reconciliation.

Now it would be easier to liven up the mood inside the hall. And such was the case as soon as the guests in the high seat returned to their places. Arn recalled that only once before in his life had he been sick from too much ale, and that time he had promised himself never to repeat such foolishness. To his embarrassment, Birger Brosa and Sune Sik quickly drank him under the table, as if they had both joined in some malicious drinking pact against him.

Cecilia displayed no pity for his miserable condition the next morning. On the contrary, she had a great deal to say about the recklessness of a swordsman who drank as much ale as some ordinary, rough retainer. Arn defended himself by saying that he’d felt such great relief the moment he saw the coverlet drawn over Magnus and Ingrid Ylva that the ale had more easily seeped in as his wits left him, because he no longer needed to think clearly.

But over the two following feast days, Arn was very cautious about the amount of ale he drank, and Sune Sik had also procured wine for him and Cecilia; no one ever drank wine in such manly quantities as ale.

Ingrid Ylva had received the Ulvåsa estate as a morning gift from the Folkungs, and after the three feast days in Linköping jarl Birger Brosa rode at the head of the bridal procession to Ulvåsa, located on a promontory on the shores of Lake Boren.

Since Boren was connected to Lake Vättern, Arn and Cecilia would now be practically neighbours to Magnus and Ingrid Ylva. It was only a day’s journey by boat between the two estates in the summertime and an even shorter journey by sleigh in the winter. Cecilia and Ingrid Ylva had already found it easy to talk to each other since Ingrid Ylva had spent many years at Vreta cloister, and they quickly reached agreement about many things having to do with visiting each other and the important holidays. Their husbands had very little to say about these matters.

The visit to Ulvåsa would be brief so that the young people, as soon as honour deemed it possible, would not have the burden of taking care of older kinsmen. After that the intention was for Arn and Cecilia to travel together with Eskil on one of his boats, first to Forsvik. From there Eskil would continue on to Arnäs.

But as they prepared to depart from Ulvåsa on the second feast day, Birger Brosa came to Arn, hemming and hawing, to say that he would like Arn to accompany him back to Bjälbo so that the two of them might have a talk.

If the jarl made a request, it could not be refused. Arn had no idea why Birger Brosa wanted to have this conversation, but he had no trouble explaining to Cecilia and Eskil that he would have to travel by a different route. They both assented without asking any questions. And Eskil chivalrously vowed that with his own life he would protect the life and safety of this Folkung woman. Arn laughed that this was so much easier to promise now that peace had been secured.

When Birger Brosa and his retinue made ready to ride back to Bjälbo, Arn apologized and said that he would have to follow somewhat later, as he wanted to take advantage of the moment to speak privately with his son Magnus. Birger Brosa couldn’t very well object to this, but he frowned and muttered that it was a short journey to Bjälbo. He had no intention of waiting for his kinsman, since his time was precious. Arn promised not to keep his uncle waiting at Bjälbo; in fact, they would probably arrive at the same time.

‘Then you’ll certainly need a good horse!’ snorted Birger Brosa and set off at a slow gallop with his retainers lagging behind in surprise.

‘I’ll be all right with myhorse, dear uncle,’ whispered Arn after the retreating jarl.

It seemed most likely that Ingrid Ylva and Magnus thought they had spent enough time in the company of their kinsmen; they were already behaving with affection toward one another. Yet Magnus could not say no to his father’s request for a short ride and conversation, just the two of them.

Ulvåsa stood in a beautiful location on the promontory, with water glittering all around and fertile fields tended by both the house thralls from the estate and people from the nearby village of Hamra, which now was also owned by Ingrid Ylva. The farm buildings were of the older type and would not be comfortable in the winter. Arn said nothing of this, although he was thinking that next spring he would send builders from Forsvik to repair the living quarters for both the house servants and thralls. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it; right now there were more important things to discuss.