Текст книги "Birth of the Kingdom"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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‘So your loyalty is first to the Kingdom of God and then to your clan?’ the archbishop asked quickly but with a cunning expression.

‘Such dualism is a purely false conception of the difference between the spiritual and the temporal; nothing can ever take precedence over the laws of Our Heavenly Father,’ Arn replied evasively, a bit surprised by the foolishness of the question.

‘You express yourself with admirable eloquence, Arn de Gothia,’ the archbishop commended him. At the same time he listened to something that Stenar of Växjö was whispering to him and nodded in confirmation.

‘This conversation has been prolonged by a pleasant tone as well as unexpected content,’ the archbishop went on. ‘But time is hastening past, and we have souls waiting outside. We need to come to the point. Your time of penance was imposed on you because you sinned in the flesh with your betrothed, Cecilia Algotsdotter. Is that true?’

‘That is true,’ said Arn. ‘And I served this time of penance with sincerity and honour until my last day in the army of the Lord in the Holy Land. I do not wish to imply, of course, that I was a man free of sin, but merely that the sin which brought about my penance has undergone purification.’

‘That is our opinion as well,’ said the archbishop, sounding a bit strained. ‘But your love for this Cecilia kept you alive and strong during all these years, just as her love for you burned with the same clear flame?’

‘She has always been in my daily prayers to the Holy Virgin, Your Eminence,’ Arn replied cautiously, surprised that his innermost secrets were known to this somewhat rustic and unpolished archbishop.

‘And every day you prayed to the Holy Virgin that She might protect you, your beloved Cecilia, and your child who was born as a result of your sinful relations?’ the archbishop went on.

‘That is true,’ said Arn. ‘As I with my simple powers of comprehension understand it, the Holy Virgin has listened to my prayers. She has delivered me unharmed from the field of battle back to my beloved just as I had sworn to attempt if it were not granted me as a Templar knight to die for my salvation.’

‘Every day for twenty years you could have died and entered into Paradise; that is the special prerogative of the Knights Templar. And yet you were led unscathed back to your homeland. Would not that be proof of the divine grace that has been granted to you and Cecilia Algotsdotter?’ the archbishop asked.

‘Earthly love between man and woman certainly has its place among human beings in their life on earth, as the Holy Scriptures tell us time and again. In no way does it conflict with the love of God,’ Arn replied evasively, now discerning the intention behind the turn the discussion had taken.

‘Indeed, that is also my view,’ said the archbishop, sounding pleased. ‘In this somewhat barbaric part of God’s realm on earth, in this Ultima Thule, humans do tend to ignore this miracle of the Lord. Here the holy sacrament of marriage, ordained by God, is entered into for entirely different reasons than love, is it not?’

‘We undoubtedly do have such a tradition,’ Arn admitted. ‘However, it is my conviction and belief that Cecilia Algotsdotter and I were granted this grace by a miracle of love. I am also certain that the Holy Virgin allowed Her countenance to shine down upon us in order to show us something.’

‘Faith, hope, and charity,’ muttered the archbishop thoughtfully. ‘He who never wavers in his faith, he who never gives up hope in the benevolence of the Holy Virgin, shall be rewarded. In my opinion this is what She wants to show us all. Is that not your view as well, Arn de Gothia?’

‘Far be it from me to interpret otherwise than Your Eminence this wondrous thing that has befallen us,’ admitted Arn, now even more amazed by the archbishop’s knowledge and the good will he radiated.

‘Then in our opinion,’ drawled the archbishop with a look at Bishop Stenar, who nodded in agreement, ‘it would be a grave sin to oppose the high will that God’s Mother and thereby God have shown us in this matter. Come, my son, let me bless you!’

Arn once again stepped forward and knelt down before the archbishop, who motioned to one of his chaplains to bring a silver bowl of holy water.

‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Virgin I bless you, Arn de Gothia, who have been granted grace, who witnessed a miracle of love for the edification of all in this earthly life. And may the Lord’s countenance shine down upon you, may the Holy Virgin ever after walk by your side, and may you and your beloved Cecilia soon harvest the reward of grace, for which you both, burning with faith, have thirsted so long. Amen!’

During the blessing the archbishop touched Arn’s forehead, shoulders, and heart with the holy water.

Dazed and confused, Arn left the archbishop’s tent and stepped out into the light that now struck him sharply in the eyes, since the sun had sunk low in the west.

On the way back to the castle courtyard, where he felt sure he would find his brother still at the ale tents, he pondered what had just happened.

He did not see the benevolent hand of Our Lady behind it, although it was no doubt in accordance with Her will. He saw instead the will and intentions of human beings, but he didn’t understand how it all had fitted together. Nor did he understand how a simple Nordic bishop could have so much information about the intimate secrets of himself, Cecilia, and Our Lady.

He did not see Cecilia again until the grand council feast in the great hall, where a hundred guests were assembled just after sundown.

On Queen Blanca’s orders, branches of stock were raised at the head of the royal table, which made the women entering the hall whisper and titter happily.

The guests came into the hall in a specific order. The lowlier guests entered first and filled all the seats at the tables located farthest from the king’s table. There could be much grumbling over the seating arrangement, but the king’s ushers assiduously kept track so that nobody could seize a chance to claim a seat that was superior to his station.

Then came the guests who had seats at the king’s table; they always wore the most colourful clothing. All who were seated craned their necks to witness the splendour, or to complain about some neighbour or acquaintance who was unjustly honoured as a guest at the royal table.

Arn was among these guests, as was Harald, who made a point of complaining to his friend that he had not yet been introduced to either the jarl or the king, as if Norwegian kinsmen were not good enough. Arn whispered that there were reasons that had nothing to do with Harald’s honour; discord and rancorous discussion had delayed the introductions.

Next to last came the royal family with golden crowns, and the jarl, also wearing a crown. The king and queen were dressed in the most magnificent, but unfamiliar, clothing that shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow. The whole family wore blue mantles bordered with ermine, even the three princes who walked along chattering to each other as if this were a perfectly ordinary meal.

When the royal family members were seated the archbishop and his retinue entered, and the splendour of their clothing was no less splendid. The archbishop first blessed the royal family, and then he and all the other bishops took their seats.

Arn could see Cecilia seated far away. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be hiding among the castle maidens near her and didn’t dare look in his direction.

When all the seats were filled but the two at the head of the table, the queen stood up, holding two leafy branches high over her head, one of birch and the other of rowan. An expectant murmur of approval at once rose in the hall, and the queen began to walk with the two branches, which she pretended to offer in jest or in earnest to first one, then another, then snatching them back as soon as a hand reached out. Everyone enjoyed this little drama, and speculated wildly about how it would end.

When the queen stopped next to Cecilia Rosa, who blushed and looked down at the table, they understood at least half the truth. Happy shouts and good wishes streamed toward Cecilia as she accepted the birch branch and with head bowed followed the queen to the vacant seat adorned with foliage.

Once again an expectant murmur arose when the queen held the rowan branch high above her head and slowly began walking toward the king’s table. She stopped at Arn’s seat; everyone knew him by reputation even if they had not had a chance to shake his hand, and loud shouts echoed from the stone walls, which were decorated only with banners of the Erik clan, showing golden crowns on a blue field.

Arn hesitated, not knowing what to do. But Queen Blanca whispered to him to hurry up and take the branch and follow her before it was too late. He stood up and followed along.

Queen Blanca led Arn to his beloved Cecilia, and there was such a great roar in the hall that no shout from king or jarl could have been heard.

When Arn, smiling uncertainly with his heart pounding as if before a battle, sat down next to Cecilia, the guests thumped their fists on the tables, raising a great commotion. The moment for the king or the jarl to do something had come and gone with the speed of a bird. The noise died down as the guests went back to their murmured conversations, thinking more about the anticipated meal than about the surprise they had just witnessed.

The jarl sat with his fists clenched, looking as if he were about to stand up, but he was forestalled by the archbishop, who raised both hands for silence. Taking out his white pallium, the holy sign of his high eminence, he slipped it over his back and chest and walked along the table until he reached Cecilia and Arn.

There he stopped and placed his right hand on Cecilia’s shoulder and his left on Arn’s.

‘Behold now the miracle of the Lord and of love!’ he announced in a loud voice, whereupon the whole hall fell silent, because what was happening was something entirely new. ‘This loving couple has in truth received the grace of Our Lady. They are meant to be together, for Our Lady has shown this more clearly than water. Their betrothal ale took place many years ago, so what occurs this evening is merely an affirmation. But when the wedding takes place, I promise that none of lower rank than archbishop shall be the one to read the benediction over you both at the church door. Amen!’

The archbishop walked with slow dignity and a look of satisfaction back to his place. On the way he exchanged a secret smile with the queen but avoided looking the king or the jarl in the eyes. He took off his pallium, sat down, and at once began speaking with the bishop sitting next to him. He acted as though the whole matter had already been decided.

And that was true. A woman could never become an abbess if her promise of betrothal had already been blessed by the archbishop. The sacrament of union between a man and woman was ordained by God, and what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.

The jarl sat there, white with fury under his emblem with the Folkung lion, the only insignia that was allowed in the castle hall besides the three crowns.

Suddenly he stood up, angrily knocking over the ale that had been placed before him, and strode out of the hall.

FOUR

A stern and demanding new master came to Forsvik, the very day after he had sailed off to the king’s Näs. No one had expected him back so soon.

Arn scarcely spoke to Eskil and Ellen when he arrived. He said nothing about what had happened at Näs and why he was returning after only one day. This behaviour made it even more apparent that he was the new master of Forsvik.

The lovely summer repose that prevailed in Western Götaland, when there were only weeks left until the hay had to be harvested, was transformed at once into hard winter work. If timber was to be cut in the forest, it was preferable to do it in the wintertime when sleds could be used and the wood had a ringing dryness when it was felled. But as soon as he’d had something to eat after his unexpected arrival, Arn changed his clothes from lord to thrall by hanging up his chain mail and all the blue finery and putting on the leather clothing of a thrall, even though he still wore his sword. All the servants who could be spared from transferring cargo from the ships on Lake Vättern to the riverboats were ordered to work with him, as well as the five guards and the boys Sune and Sigfrid.

Much about his behaviour was surprising. They were surprised to see Sir Arn working with the axe and draft oxen more than anyone else. It was also unusual that he commanded the five guards at Forsvik to work like thralls, just as he did Sune and Sigfrid, who not only were somewhat young for such hard work, but also Folkung boys who should be learning swordsmanship and good manners rather than thralls’ work.

On the second day, when the amazement at these foreign customs had subsided, to be replaced by sweat and blistered hands, a few people began to grumble. Torben the guard, who was the eldest among his peers at Forsvik, dared to say aloud what everyone else was thinking, that it was shameful for guards to work like thralls.

When Arn heard this he stopped wielding the axe, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stood silent for a long moment.

‘Good,’ he said at last. ‘When the sun has moved less than half an hour, I want to see all you guards fully armed and on horseback out in the barnyard. And make sure you’re not late!’

They put down their tools in surprise and walked muttering toward the farm buildings as Arn finished up felling timber, loaded an ox-cart with two heavy pine logs, and drove them home. He told the servants and Sune and Sigfrid which two trees should be felled next and then stripped of their branches.

So Sune and Sigfrid were among those who were supposed to continue the logging work, but their curiosity was stronger than their will to obey Sir Arn. They waited until almost a half hour had passed, then sneaked down to the farm and up into one of the barns; from there they could peer out a vent hole down onto the barnyard. They would never forget what they saw and heard.

The five retainers were sitting on horseback in a square formation, with Torben foremost as the leader. They were sullenly quiet but also looked as though they were more nervous than they wanted to let on. No one said a word.

Then Sir Arn emerged from the stable on one of his small foreign horses. He rode two times around the barnyard at high speed, keeping a strict eye on the guards before he turned toward Torben and pulled up. He had put on his chain mail but wore no helmet. In one hand he held a white shield with a red cross, which made the two young spies shiver all over, because they knew quite well that this was the sign of the Knights Templar.

Instead of a sword Sir Arn held a heavy pine branch, which he tested by striking it against his naked calf as he watched the guards.

‘All of you found working on construction unworthy of you,’ Arn said at last. ‘You want to do the work of guards, which you find more worthy. And so you shall. Whoever can knock me off my horse will be excused. But anyone I knock off his horse will have to go back to cutting down pine trees!’

He said no more, but his steed began to move to the side, almost as fast as a horse could move forward; when it neared one of the barns it turned, moved obliquely backward and suddenly forward again. To Sune and Sigfrid it looked like magic. They couldn’t see what Arn was doing to make the horse dance like that. No one could ride a horse that way, and yet it was happening before their eyes.

Suddenly Arn attacked with two leaps forward, so fast that the guard who was closest didn’t have time to put up his shield before he was struck so hard in the side with the pine branch that he slumped forward with a groan. Then Arn was suddenly upon him, toppling him to the ground with a single shove. In the next instant he had quickly backed away from Torben, who had come up behind him with his sword drawn and took a wild swing, striking nothing but air.

Before Torben could look around, Arn caught up with him from the rear and pulled him easily out of his saddle. Then he urged his mount forward in two quick leaps between two of the younger guards, who raised their shields in defence.

But instead of continuing forward, Sir Arn’s horse turned suddenly and kicked to the rear so that the guards’ horses shied and reared up, not regaining their composure before Sir Arn had doubled back and struck one of the guards on the helmet with his branch, and the other across his sword arm so that the guard bent forward in the saddle, moaning in pain.

Instead of bothering any more with the two he had struck, Sir Arn sprang toward the fifth guard and raised his branch as if to deal a mighty blow. His opponent in turn raised his shield to parry the blow, only to find the attack coming from the other direction, pushing him from the saddle with such force that he flew off and landed on his back.

Sune and Sigfrid no longer cared about hiding. With wide eyes they leaned so far out the vent hole up in the barn that they almost fell to the ground. Down in the barnyard things were happening so fast that they could hardly keep up, and they whispered to each other excitedly, trying to figure out how everything was done. Sir Arn was dealing with Forsvik’s mighty guards as if they were kittens – anyone could see that.

‘This is a guard’s work at Forsvik,’ said Arn as he sat on his horse, the last man in the saddle, while the others were sitting or lying on the ground, or standing bent over with pain in body and limbs.

‘If you’d like to continue working as guards, then gather up your weapons and get into the saddle again, and we’ll start the game over.’

Arn looked at them for a moment without saying a word. But none of them made a move to remount his horse. Arn nodded as though what he saw confirmed what he had believed.

‘Then you can all go back to working in the woods. For two or three days, until Herr Eskil and my friend Harald arrive, we will work on the logging. Those of you who do good work will then be able to choose to join the guard at Arnäs or stay here at Forsvik. Anyone who chooses to stay here will be employed as a guard, but will not be as easy to beat as all of you were today.’

Arn turned his horse without a word and rode it straight into the stable. Sune and Sigfrid sneaked down from their vantage point and dashed back to the logging area without being discovered. They talked breathlessly about what they had seen. They knew that Sir Arn had given them a glimpse into a knight’s world. The sight was like a wondrous dream, for what young Folkung wouldn’t give several years of his life to be able to do even half of what they had just witnessed a real Templar knight do.

Neither of them let on when Arn and the five bruised and silent guards came back to the work site in work clothes. The two boys now made an effort to do their very best, and they forced themselves not to ask any questions about what had happened in the barnyard.

When the two young Folkungs went to bed late that evening in their own wooden bunks up in one of the big ash trees outside the barnyard, they had a hard time sleeping despite their weary, aching bodies. Time after time they tried to describe what they had seen that afternoon. A horse that moved like a bird, just as fast and just as unpredictably, a horse that obeyed its rider as if it could be guided by thought alone and not by knees, reins, and spurs. And a rider who seemed to be one with his horse, so that the combination was like an animal from the sagas. If Sir Arn had been holding a sword in his hand instead of a tree branch, he could have killed the five guards as easily as killing a freshly caught trout. It was a terrible thought. Especially for someone who was merely a simple guard.

But it was a delightful, dreamlike thought for anyone who hoped to be taught by Sir Arn and become a knight. Sune and Sigfrid did not lack for dreams as weariness finally vanquished their excitement.

After three days of heavy toil a large quantity of pine logs was stacked up outside the barnyard at Forsvik. Nobody knew what was going to be built with all this lumber, nor had anyone dared asked the taciturn Sir Arn, who worked harder than any of them.

But on the third day Herr Eskil and Harald the Norwegian returned from the king’s Näs, and the five retainers at Forsvik were then relieved of the manual labour. Arn told them that those who wanted to enter new service at Arnäs should prepare to depart that day. Those who would rather stay in his service at Forsvik to continue learning the art of war should speak up. Not one of them chose to stay at Forsvik.

There was a great commotion at the estate, because many would now have to move, travelling on riverboats to Arnäs and Kinnekulle. Erling and Ellen, who with their sons and closest servants would be leaving Forsvik for a much better estate, tried one last time to have a serious talk with their son Sigfrid and foster-son Sune about whether they really wanted to be separated from their parents at such a tender age. Erling scowled when he heard how they had both been put to work like thralls, and it shocked him that this affront seemed to have reinforced the boys’ desire to serve Sir Arn. Yet there was still time for them to change their minds, since it was decided that both Sune and Sigfrid would accompany their brothers and parents on the river journey. There were apparently many horses that had to be ridden back to Forsvik from Arnäs. Sune and Sigfrid seemed to be looking forward to this task too; they said they had an idea what special sort of horses might be involved.

As soon as the welcome ale was drunk, Herr Eskil and his brother and the Norwegian went off to sit down by the lakeshore. They had made it clear that they were not to be disturbed, so nobody approached them except when Eskil called for more ale.

At first Eskil only half in jest complained about drinking ale with a brother who was both dressed as a thrall and smelled like one. Arn replied that it was one thing if sweat came from indolence and revelry, and quite another if it came from blessed hard work. As far as thrall clothing was concerned, there were few thralls who wore the sword of a Templar knight. But they had much more important things to discuss. Arn told them he’d been working so hard in order not to think about all the things he had not been able to understand on his own.

This was indeed true, for it wasn’t easy to divine what sort of game had been played out at the king’s Näs. But Queen Blanca had clearly had a hand in most of it.

Soon after the council feast she had summoned Arn. Her message was that everything was at stake, and so he was forced to comply.

He met her at sunrise up on the rampart wall that connected the west and the east towers at Näs. They had only a brief discussion because she explained that it would not be good if anyone saw the queen alone up on the ramparts with an unmarried man.

She said quickly what she had to say. Arn must leave Näs at once and take the boat to Forsvik, then wait there several days until the council meeting was over. At present there were many enemies and evil tongues arrayed against him, and it was especially important that there be no hint that Arn and Cecilia Rosa were able to meet in secret. Such gossip could ruin everything. But there would be a wedding, Queen Blanca assured him. And it would take place as soon as the three weeks had passed before Midsummer; during that time weddings were forbidden. Until then, Arn and Cecilia Rosa must not meet. Except possibly at the house of Cecilia Rosa’s parents in Husaby, but only in the presence of many witnesses. Because this would be a wedding that many people thought would lead to war and destruction and should thus be prevented by any means necessary.

Arn told Eskil and Harald how these words from the queen had tormented him. There was no mistaking her gravity, or her wisdom. And yet it was not easy simply to take his leave.

Arn had even tried to object that he’d been promoted to marshal in the king’s council and so could not leave Näs. Queen Blanca laughed heartily at this, telling him not to worry about that. Birger Brosa, in his wrath, had declared that he would not sit on the same council with the promise-breaker Arn Magnusson.

She would explain everything to Eskil, she told him as she hurried off, dismissing any further questions. And so Arn had taken her at her word.

Eskil too had objected that Arn’s presence in the council was unavoidable, but she explained that Arn would never assume the rank of marshal of the realm. Any chance of that had been ruined as soon as the jarl declared that it would take place only over his dead body.

The council meeting had otherwise gone well, and the bishops were not in the least surprised that there was no further talk of a new abbess at Riseberga. They were pleased, however, to learn that the king had donated land and forests worth six gold marks for a new cloister at Julita in Svealand.

It was clear that the queen had been in cahoots with the archbishop. Eskil had no doubt that Arn had been as much in the dark as he was about what was happening behind their backs. What they couldn’t understand was why the queen could do all these things that were so clearly contrary to her own benefit. If Cecilia Rosa really did go to the bridal bed with Arn, the whole idea of her bearing witness against the perjury of the evil Mother Rikissa would be dead. In that case it would be uncertain whether the queen’s own son Erik could inherit the crown. Queen Blanca’s husband and king might well view this as treason.

Yet there was no denying the shrewdness of the two Cecilias. In less than a day they had fooled all the men: the king, the jarl, Eskil, and Arn himself.

But there was a more important matter that was bothering Eskil. He now had the responsibility of arranging the wedding at Arnäs, for there and nowhere else should it be held.

If he arranged this wedding he would make an enemy of Birger Brosa; if not, his own brother would become his foe. It was not a good choice.

When Eskil explained his concern, Arn said, ‘I understand your anguish, but you could never be my enemy no matter what you decide. Naturally the bridal procession would be long and perilous from Cecilia’s Husaby to Forsvik, instead of to Arnäs. But we could arrange it that way.’

‘No!’ said Eskil bluntly. ‘You shall never choose Ingrid Ylva instead of Cecilia as our uncle wished. Nothing shall stop you and Cecilia Rosa. I no longer care why this is so, I just know it is. What must occur shall not take place in secret and shame. It shall take place at Arnäs with pipes and drums and wedding guests lined up three deep!’

When they got beyond this rough spot in the conversation, they soon began talking easily about what would be done in the immediate future. Harald had received a letter with both Birger Brosa’s and King Knut’s seals to take to King Sverre in Norway. The ship down south in Lödöse had to be outfitted and manned, for soon Harald must start his first journey to fetch dried fish, if he wanted to make two trips to Lofoten that summer before the autumn storms arrived with the north wind that made it difficult to sail so far north. But even two trips should produce a good profit, and Harald would not be left without a good share of it.

It was good that Harald needed a crew, said Arn. Because at Arnäs there were five Norwegian retainers who would certainly want to sail with Harald, especially since he was travelling with a royal letter of safe conduct. And here at Forsvik there were five retainers who had lost all desire to continue in Arn’s service. They could replace the five Norwegians at Arnäs as early as tomorrow.

Arn was also going to need some thralls skilled in construction from Arnäs, and he tried to remember the names of the two who had been among the best when he was a boy. Eskil thought hard and recalled that one of them was probably dead; the other, named Gur, was still alive but very old. Yet he still lived at Arnäs with full right to bed and board, even though he could no longer work. His son, named Gure, was just as skilled as his father had once been at masonry and wood construction. There were other thralls who were good builders, although Eskil couldn’t remember their names at the moment.

Half of the foreigners at Arnäs would be moving to Forsvik, Arn went on. Only half of them were good stonemasons, but the others had skills that would be more useful at Forsvik.

After they had disposed of these matters, Eskil had a more difficult question for Arn. It was about Eskil’s only son Torgils.

Naturally Eskil had wanted Torgils to turn out like himself, a man of trade and silver, wealth and cunning. He had pondered this matter long and hard, but he realized that he couldn’t change Torgils. By the age of seventeen the youth was already riding in the king’s retinue, and his reputation was more for his skill with the bow and sword than for any interest in trade, like his father. Instead Torgils was going to take after his uncle Arn. So it was, and nothing could be done about it.

‘And what is it you’d like to tell me about this matter?’ Arn asked.

‘My son Torgils does not yet know that you’ve come back to our realm. He knows all the ballads about you, and there are times when I think he loves the saga about you more than he loves his own father.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. But young men would rather dream about swords than about counting chambers, and we can’t take their dreams away from them. Nor should we, but rather turn their dreams to something good. Now to your question.’

‘Torgils is up at Bjälbo right now with the king’s eldest son Erik and your son Magnus,’ said Eskil. ‘They’re having a feast and competing in archery. That’s why none of them was at Näs—’