Текст книги "Birth of the Kingdom"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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Yet another side of power was that used most effectively by Eskil, Alde’s paternal uncle and the brother of Birger’s paternal grandfather, Arn. Power as strong as that of the sword could be found in trading transactions between various countries and in the flow of wealth that such trade set in motion.

Pure faith guided by conscience, the sword, and gold were the three pillars upon which power rested. Many men felt themselves called to serve one of these aspects of the trinity of power, but few were able to master all three. Yet kings had to possess great knowledge of everything pertaining to this trinity of power, otherwise they would be deposed like King Sverker.

Cecilia was not convinced that these types of conversations were what her daughter needed most, and deep in her heart she thought that it was a great risk, at a place like Forsvik, for a young woman to be raised like a man. The manner in which Alde rode could not described as befitting a fair maiden’s hand, even though she’d been given one of the most gentle of the Arabian fillies on her twelfth birthday. But it had proved impossible to keep her away from the horses.

Since Cecilia was herself an excellent rider, she had at first tried to keep Arn and the young noblemen away from Alde’s horseback lessons, choosing to teach her daughter on her own. But she couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the accounts took much of her time each day. Soon she saw Alde racing with Birger and other young men. It did little good for Cecilia to fret or worry about the matter.

And when the great game drive of the autumn arrived with the first snow for tracking, Alde was one of the hunters positioned at the pass while all of Forsvik’s riders set off in a long horseshoe-shaped loop to drive in the wild game. Already during her second year, Alde shot her first wild boar.

Yet this time was like the harvest of her life, Cecilia realized. Her hair had turned grey, as had Arn’s, and now they were both closer to death than to birth. But it was glorious to be alive when everything was going so well for them, and no evil or danger was in sight, even far in the distance where the heaven and the earth met.

She would remember even the last Christmas before the war as a time of calm and confidence.

They had celebrated the Christmas ale at Arnäs in the big, warm stone hall with log fires; never had life seemed so good. At the dawn church service on Christmas Day at Forshem, Arn could now without embarrassment show his pride at what he had commissioned to be built, even the fact that his own image was depicted above the church door as the one handing the keys of the church to God. Since it had become easier to talk with the bishops after the victory at Lena, many of them had assured Arn that such an image represented neither a sin nor pride. On the contrary, it offered a good example to everyone. For what better deed than to pay for such a beautiful church and please God by consecrating it to His Grave?

The image of the grave was located in the centre aisle, in front of the altar, and it had been adorned with Master Marcellus’s best work. At this last Christmas service before the war, Arn and Cecilia sang the hymns for the mass alone, she providing the first voice, he the second. Their voices may not have been as pure as before, but everyone thought that they could see God’s angels standing before them when they heard their song.

The Danes came in the middle of summer in 1210, two and a half peaceful years after the victory at Lena. Sverker Karlsson was determined to take back his crown, and unfortunately he had persuaded King Valdemar the Victor to give him a new army, which was almost as big as the one wiped out during the winter war.

At first word of the enemy’s arrival in the realm, Arn headed south from Forsvik with three squadrons of light riders to procure information; at the same time requests for help were sent to both Svealand and Norway.

This time it would not go as easily, Arn realized on the second day as he and his horsemen rode along the length of the Danish army. And when he came to the middle where Sverker Karlsson and his bishop Valerius were riding, his heart clenched in pure, cold terror; he hadn’t had that feeling since his first years in the Holy Land. Around Sverker Karlsson rode almost a hundred men in the uniform of the Hospitallers, their red shields and surcoats marked with the white cross.

What would have induced the Hospitallers to ally themselves with Sverker Karlsson or with King Valdemar the Victor? It was not easy to understand, but one thing was sure: a hundred Hospitaller knights was almost the equivalent of a hundred Templar knights, and such a force would have been feared by Saladin himself. No one in the North would be able to defeat it.

Like a Templar knight, each Hospitaller knight would be comparable to ten Danes or five Forsvikers. What astonished Arn the most, once he’d reconciled himself to having to fight against the best knights in the world, was that they were not riding at the head as they normally did. That was how it had always been in the Holy Land. The Hospitallers rode in the vanguard and the Templars took the rear, because these two locations were the most exposed for an army on the march. But here the Hospitallers were riding in the middle, leaving both the supply train in the rear and the Danish knights furthest forward in danger of attack by light cavalry. Arn guessed that the Danes had decided that the protection of Sverker Karlsson’s life was most important in this war. Hence they would rather take losses in the front and rear than risk the life of their pretender to the crown.

This time the Danish army was headed for Falköping, as if they intended to return to Lena to avenge their previous defeat. Because it was the middle of summer and the harvest had not yet been brought in, it was not grain but meat and draft animals that the enemy could plunder for their own provision. And even though the Danish army was least protected at the rear, where all the ox-carts with the supplies were travelling, it would not be wise to attack there until the enemy had passed Falköping.

More important would be to ride back and warn the inhabitants of Falköping and try to get them to hide all the oxen and livestock that otherwise would end up in the maws of the Danes. It took two days to get this done, but when the Danish army arrived, Falköping was emptied of everything that the enemy most would have wanted to plunder.

Arn was more cautious in his command than he had ever been before, and it was almost a week before he did anything but ride back and forth along the enemy’s serpentine column of foot-soldiers and riders. He was awaiting reinforcements from both Bengt Elinsson and Sune Folkesson; when they arrived he not only had more light cavalry but also a squadron of heavy riders. Then he could not afford to wait any longer.

Together with Sir Bengt and Sir Sune he had quickly decided on how the first attack should proceed. But it had to be launched at the right place so they could carry it out at high speed. It was a few more days before the Forsvikers found a high hill with sparse leafy forest where the Danish army would have to pass. There they took up position and waited.

By this time the Danes had become accustomed to seeing constantly in the distance the blue-clad light riders who never seemed to venture into battle. So the first attack did not come merely like lightning from a clear blue sky, but surprised them even more because of its great force. Three squadrons of light cavalry suddenly thundered down from a beech forest to the side and front of the head of the Danish army. As they approached the riders fanned out into a long row and rode in close, each man firing his crossbow and leaving behind a tumult of shrieking horses and Danes howling in pain. If they got close enough they aimed at the enemy’s legs. If they struck home the enemy had one knight less and one more wounded man to drag along. If they missed then they usually killed a horse.

When the last of the light Forsvikers rushed by, the heavy cavalry came in from the side at high speed. Their own horsemen scarcely got away before the knight squadron with lances lowered crashed into the already heavily mangled Danish group in the forefront. Just as quickly as the Forsvikers attacked they were gone, and more than a hundred enemy lay dead or severely wounded.

Two days in a row they repeated essentially the same attack. When the Danes then moved up infantry with shields and bows to protect the front, nothing more happened up there. Instead the Forsvikers assaulted the rear of the army, killing almost all the draft animals and setting fire to large parts of the provisions. Then they dashed away before the knights wearing the white cross on the red field came to the rescue. Arn had strictly ordered his men to avoid any battle with these knights.

When the Danes improved their protection with infantry and archers both in front and in the rear, the attack came instead a third of the way along, where most of the infantry marched in close formation. Arn led the heavy cavalry straight through the Danish army and left a wide swath of fallen and wounded behind, wherever the light Forsvikers rode in with swords drawn.

The war continued in this manner for a week as the Danes slowly advanced toward the same region to the west of Lake Vättern as the previous time. It was hard to know what they now had in mind. In the winter they had the opportunity to cross the ice to Näs, but in the middle of summer? Arn guessed that they intended to entrench themselves at the fortress of Lena, or first take it and then wait for the winter and ice while they were already in place, instead of trudging all the way up from Denmark in the snow. So there was plenty of time, and the important thing was to take action wisely and with patience and not venture too early into a great battle.

Arn left the command of his cavalry forces to Bengt Elinsson and Sune Folkesson and rode up to Bjälbo, where the Swedes and the rest of the Folkungs and Eriks would gather. This time the Eriks had not been trapped in the south, but were able to travel north along the eastern shore of Lake Vättern. King Erik was with his kinsmen.

The war council that was held ended unhappily in Arn’s opinion. Folke jarl, the leader of the Swedes and Folkungs in Eastern Götaland, wanted to engage the Danes as soon as possible; he wanted to have the war over before the harvest. King Erik made a protracted attempt to force through the decision that Arn wanted. He said they should wait as long as possible and let the Forsvikers keep hammering at the Danish army in the meantime. The invading force had already been reduced by a couple of hundred riders and was seriously delayed by the loss of so many draft animals and horses. The Danes were the ones in enemy territory, yet they were the ones who had the stronger army for the time being. And they had the most to gain from a pitched battle fought as early as before harvest time.

But the leader of the Swedes, Yngve the Judge, thought that this was the prattle of weak women and hardly worthy of a king from the clan of Saint Erik. Waiting a long time before a battle would enervate every strong man; better to show vigour and courage when the desire to fight was still fresh.

To Arn’s disappointment, Folke jarl and Magnus Månesköld were both in favour of going to battle as soon as possible in order to save the harvest. Perhaps they had been struck by pride after the fortunate victory at Lena two and a half years before.

Not even Arn’s objection that they should wait for reinforcements from the Norwegians – who this time had sent a message with a promise to come in force to help – would make the thickheaded Swedes show patience. As usual, they would rather die at once.

It was decided that the entire army would be shipped across Lake Vättern as soon as possible so they could head south and meet the Danes near the same blessed place as last time.

With a heavy heart Arn rode to Forsvik to summon every man who could sit on a horse with a weapon, or load carts with meat, weapons, and shields, or send messages that they should all gather near Lena.

To Cecilia’s dismay he took with him the sixteen-year-old Birger Magnusson as his confanonier, the one who would ride next to Arn with their new emblem, a blue banner with the Folkung lion on one half and the three Erik crowns on the other. On his own shield Arn had ordered a red Templar cross to be painted next to the gold Folkung lion, just as Birger Brosa had had a Frankish lily and his son Magnus Månesköld had a half moon. To Cecilia he said that young Birger would be safer as his flag-bearer than anywhere else, for Arn’s obligation this time was not to fight without fear, but to keep himself alive until the battle was won. There were far too many in the kingdom who were eager to die quickly.

For eight days Arn and his Forsvikers succeeded in delaying the final battle by constantly attacking the Danish army. But when there was less than a day’s ride left before reaching the place south of Lena called Gestilren, where Swedes, Folkungs, and Eriks and the newly arrived Norwegians under Harald Øysteinsson awaited, Arn decided that there was no point in being cautious any longer. Now the Forsvikers needed to start attacking the group of Hospitaller knights in the centre of the enemy army; they had assiduously avoided doing so until now. It could not be done without significant losses on their part, but the Forsvikers were the only ones who had the slightest chance against the Hospitallers. Now that the final battle was approaching, although foolishly early, every Forsviker had to do his part.

Arn had put himself at risk by issuing this command. Because how could he keep himself in safety when they were going into battle? He changed over to heavy armour with a new horse and decided that he would lead two squadrons straight in among the red surcoats after the light cavalry had attacked with their crossbows.

The Forsvikers were in a good position inside a forest on a hill, and they prayed as they waited. It was tense and quiet among them; the only sound was an occasional snort of a horse or clinking of a stirrup. Down below, looking through the beech trunks, they could see the Danish army struggling forward with the sun in their eyes, unconcerned and chatting as though they had gratefully relaxed after being left in peace for two whole days. For Arn had been very precise about selecting the right place and angle of sunlight for the attack.

He prayed to God for forgiveness because he was now going into battle against his own brothers the Hospitallers. He tried to excuse himself by saying that there was no other choice when they came as foes to seize his kingdom and kill those near and dear to him. For once Arn did not pray for his own life, since he found it presumptuous just before an attack on his dear Christian brothers. Then he sent off Sir Bengt and Sir Sune in a wide arc down the hill so that they would come in at an angle with the sun at their backs. He hoped they would kick up so much dust from the dry ground that the enemy would not know before it was too late what was happening on the other side as fast blue-clad riders descended upon the army.

Deus vult, he thought involuntarily as he raised his arm and ordered all the men forward at an easy trot. When they emerged from the woods they took up formation so that they rode close together without leaving the slightest gap, riding knee to knee. Then they sped up to a brisk trot.

Arn kept his eye on the last of the light Forsvikers riding down below who were causing an astonishing commotion and great fear among the Hospitallers. They did not even change formation into their normal defence.

Then he yelled his signal to charge, which was repeated by all those near him, and in the next moment they were all thundering forward with lances lowered straight in among the red-and-white-clad knights, who fell without resisting, hardly managing to defend themselves at all. The Forsvikers came out on the other side without having lost a single man, and when Arn saw this he turned his entire force and charged back through the red knights at full force. After that the chaos was too great to perform a third attack.

They were missing only two men when they regrouped by the waiting light squadrons. Arn observed the great confusion that prevailed in that part of the army which had seemed to him invincible. Almost a hundred Hospitaller knights had now been killed or wounded. What he saw was impossible, and his mind stood still for a moment. If the Forsvikers with a single attack had vanquished so many Hospitaller knights, it was a miracle from God. But he didn’t believe that God would smite His own most faithful fighters with such a punishment, nor did he believe that God was constantly intervening in the petty struggles of humanity here on earth.

The Danes had employed a stratagem of war, he realized. They had falsely dressed themselves in red surcoats with a white cross so they would look like Hospitallers and thus sent fear into the hearts of the enemy. And they had almost succeeded.

Without a word Arn left his bloody lance with the closest man, took his confanonierBirger Magnusson with him, and rode down towards the Danes. He stopped an arrow-shot away and held up both hands in the sign that he wanted to parley. At once six men dressed in red and white rode up to him.

At first he addressed them politely in Frankish, of which they understood not a word. Then he switched to their own language and asked that the two bodies they had left behind be delivered to them, since they were dear kinsmen who had fallen. The Danes replied that this could not be done without something in return. Arn said that for his part he considered that honour demanded that both sides conduct such business without gain. Then the Danes relented. He asked them about their clothing, and they explained that it had been given to them by God during a crusade in the east, and that the white cross on the red field was now the emblem of the kingdom of Denmark.

At Gestilren there were several high hills, and there Arn had positioned both his heavy cavalry and his longbowmen, since he didn’t believe it would work again to keep all his longbows at the same place; few Danes would ride into that trap for a second time. Down on the plain stood the entire Folkung heavy cavalry under the leadership of Folke jarl and Magnus Månesköld, and behind them all the crossbowmen, who in turn blocked the way of the already impatient Swedes. Farthest back stood five hundred Norwegian archers that Harald Øysteinsson had brought from his home region.

It was an absurd arrangement with everyone standing in everyone else’s way. But as if by God’s Providence it was now close to dusk, and the battle would have to wait until the next day. They had the night before them to alter things, in the event it was possible to make the Swedes and the stubborn high-born kinsmen understand that the positioning of the troops in the new type of warfare was more important than courage in the breast.

It was a long night with much argument and troublesome moving about in the dark. But the next morning at dawn, as the Danish army began to be visible through the mist, they were at least better arrayed than the night before.

Arn sat on his horse next to King Erik atop the highest hill along with the entire heavy section of the Forsviker cavalry and two squadrons of light cavalry to protect the king or remove him from danger. For Arn and his heavy riders there was only one task. They had to kill Sverker Karlsson.

Sune Folkesson, who was the one person in the world who most wanted to take the life of the former King Sverker, had requested to ride heavy and next to Arn, who was his master and teacher. Arn could not refuse him this request; he had attempted to put together this group containing only the best and the eldest of the Forsvikers.

From up on their hill they could look out over the entire battlefield. If the Danes sent off their cavalry toward the Eastern Goths and the Swedish foot-soldiers, this time they would have the black clouds of arrows from the longbows falling on them from each side. The Eastern Goths themselves would not attack before they saw a blue flag raised from the king’s position. That was what they had finally agreed on.

The battle looked to be starting well. The Danes had discovered that this time too they were superior in the number of heavy horsemen. If they could break through the lines of the Eastern Goths, they would have a clear field to mow down all the foot-soldiers from Svealand.

The temptation was too much for them, and they made ready to attack in just that manner. Arn bowed his head and thanked God.

But when the Danes came in their attack, Folke jarl and Magnus Månesköld did not wait for the blue signal from up on the king’s hill, but went on the attack themselves. So the first wave of Folkungs rode into the same rain of arrows as the enemy. The middle of the battlefield was transformed in a few moments to a mass of the dying and wounded. Then the Swedes could hold back no longer but began running toward the battle so that they arrived gasping and worn out. From up on his hill Arn and King Erik watched powerlessly as everything was about to slip out of their hands. There was a moment of salvation from Harald Øysteinsson and his Norwegians, who on the other side of the valley began to run up the line of battle to get into position so that they would be sure that their arrows fell only among the Danes.

The entire Forsviker light cavalry stood outside the battle, because the plan had been for them to attack to the rear of the Danes. But there they had a much too large and concerted force against them, since the Danish army had not advanced far enough into the trap. Arn sent riders to bring the Forsvikers as quickly as possible to the middle of the battle with the command to attack at will.

Everything was about to be lost. For in a protracted, unorganized battle, the side with the most men would win. Arn said farewell to King Erik, left Birger Magnusson with the double Folkung and Erik flag on the hill with the king, and led all his heavy cavalry in a wide arc upwards and back.

They reached a position where they could see where Sverker Karlsson and his massed standards were located, at a safe distance from the battle itself. There was no longer any reason to wait, and any hesitation would only serve to allow the enemy more time to prepare.

They rode out of the woods in disarray, but quickly fell into formation in a line as they trotted forward toward the heart of the enemy. They sped up to a full gallop and lowered their lances when they had only a few breaths left before they engaged. Next to Arn rode Sune Folkesson; they had both spied Sverker Karlsson’s emblem, the black griffin with the golden crown, and headed straight for it.

The Forsvikers smashed straight through the first lines of Sverker’s defenders, but by then most had lost both their speed and their lance, or had broken it and had to draw their swords or war hammers and start hacking their way toward Sverker. They made slower and slower progress, and several of them fell on the way.

But it was too late to turn back. Arn fought his way forward in a frenzy, discovering that his sword had grown heavier in recent years. Then he flung away his shield, shifted his sword to his left hand, and pulled out his long war hammer with his right. He killed four men with his war hammer and two with his sword before he reached Sverker. At the same time Sverker was parrying blows from Sune Folkesson, thus exposing the back of his neck to Arn, who swiftly slew him with his war hammer.

As Sverker fell from his horse there was a sudden silence among the Danes and Sverkers who were still in the saddle. The battle ceased, and everyone looked around. Half of all the Forsvikers had fallen, but still they were more numerous than the Danes, who were slowly rallying around Archbishop Valerius and his emblem.

Only now did Arn discover that he was bleeding in several places, and that he had a broken lance-tip sticking into his waist on the left side. He felt no pain but pulled out the lance and tossed it to the ground. Then he lowered his head for a moment to catch his breath. He calmly got down from his horse, went over to the dead Sverker and hacked off his head. Picking up a lance he slipped Sverker’s head and shield with the royal emblem onto it, before with some effort remounting his horse. Sir Sune fetched Arn’s shield and handed it to him. The Danes around Archbishop Valerius had stopped fighting, nor did Arn have any intention of continuing the battle with them.

With the remainder of his heavy Forsvikers he then rode slowly back to the battle itself, with Sverker’s head and shield raised up before him on the lance. He stopped a short distance from the fighting and waited until the first shouts of victorious intoxication mixed with cries of horror began to stream toward him. The battle stopped at once.

During the stillness and silence that descended on the battlefield, Harald Øysteinsson’s Norwegian archers were able to come closer, as did all the crossbowmen from the Folkung side who had not yet accomplished much. The light Forsviker cavalry which seemed to have suffered few losses quickly gathered into new battle groups of four or by squadron.

If the battle were now to continue, it would be just as bloody as the last time.

Then King Erik rode down from his hill, surrounded by Forsviker riders, and headed out to the middle of the battlefield. There he proclaimed in a loud voice that he would pardon all those who now surrendered.

It took only a few hours to reach an agreement. Some of Sverker’s kinsmen, those among his standard-bearers who were still alive, were given a royal letter of safe passage to take his body for burial to the Sverker clan’s church at Alvastra cloister. The Danish army was permitted to stay long enough to bury their dead before they returned home. It was late July, and the heat made it essential to take care of all such tasks quickly.

The victory was great but very costly. Among the Folkungs who could not hold themselves back from attacking too early, almost all were dead, and half of them had fallen to arrows that came from their own side. Many Folkungs died at Gestilren, including Magnus Månesköld and Folke jarl. Only half of the Swedes who had come to the battle returned home.

But King Erik’s realm was saved, and he decided that the new kingdom’s emblem for all time and eternity would be the three Erik crowns and the Folkung lion.

Vreta cloister had been built on a hill out on the plain of Eastern Götaland, with an unobstructed view in all directions. Everyone at the cloister, including Abbess Cecilia Blanca, who was King Sverker’s sister, the nuns, the lay sisters, the novices, and the twenty Sverker retainers who were sent as protection, knew that the war would be decided soon. More than one of the cloister’s residents sought a reason to go up in the bell tower or onto the walls to gaze out over the wide plain where the grain which would soon be ripe was waving as far as the eye could see. Helena Sverkersdotter was the most anxious of them all, and she was the one who saw them first.

In the distance a group of riders was approaching with the blue mantles fluttering behind them like sails. There were sixteen men and they rode faster than anyone was used to seeing, despite coming from far away. For Vreta was truly no Folkung region.

The twenty Sverker retainers did what they had sworn to do, riding in full armour toward the sixteen Folkungs, and they were slain to the last man.

When the brief battle was over the Folkungs walked their horses toward the cloister, where all the gates had been closed and where many terrified eyes watched them from the walls.

A small side door was opened and out ran the maiden Helena towards the foremost of the Folkungs, whose horse stood a few paces in front of the others. Sir Sune was bleeding from several wounds, because he had come straight from Gestilren. But he felt absolutely no pain.

When the maiden Helena, gasping and stumbling, reached Sir Sune, he unfurled a blue mantle to wrap around her.

Then he lifted her up in the saddle before him and all the Folkungs rode off without haste, for it was a long way to Sir Sune’s fortress of Älgarås.

There she bore him four daughters, and the song of Sune and Helena and the cloister abduction at Vreta lived on forever.

Arn Magnusson’s wound in the side which he had received from the lance of an unknown warrior was the death of him. If his physician friends Ibrahim and Yussuf had still been at Forsvik, where he was taken, he might have lived.

He died slowly, and Cecilia sat with him during the days and nights as his life ebbed away. Alde sat at his bedside almost as often.

What troubled him about death was not the pain, because he’d had much worse pain from other wounds. But he said that he would miss all the days of peace and quiet that now awaited everyone. He could have sat under Cecilia’s apple trees and among her red and white roses with her hand in his and watched Alde find her happiness, which she herself would be allowed to determine.

No Swedish judge’s son would be chosen for her unless she wanted him. On that her mother and father were agreed without even needing to discuss the matter, since they were both unusual people who believed strongly in love.

Young Birger Magnusson came to say farewell to his grandfather who had taught him everything about war and power. His face was red with weeping at losing within such a short time both his father and grandfather, but there was more talk about the future than about sorrow. Arn made Birger promise never to rule the land from such a remote location as Näs, but to build a new city where Lake Mälaren ran out into the Eastern Sea. That would require most of all the support of the Swedes, and if no one else offered to help, then they could simply call the new kingdom Svea Rige, or Sweden.