Birth of the Kingdom. Jan Guillou

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      And when Herr Eskil kept on saying that they now had to thank Our Lady, because a Templar knight of the Lord had returned after many years in the Holy Land, everyone in the hall fell silent. Young Sune Folkesson wished that the earth would open beneath him and swallow him up. Herr Eskil noticed everyone’s disquiet. He took a firm grip on his tankard and raised it to his brother Arn. Everyone drank in silence.

      All further talk turned to stone after this toast, and everyone’s gaze was directed at Arn, who had no idea how to act and looked down at the table.

      Eskil was not slow in exploiting the situation, since he already had adopted Arn’s rule that it was better to say what was unpleasant or momentous sooner rather than later. He got to his feet, raised his hand quite unnecessarily for silence, and then spoke briefly.

      ‘Arn, my brother, is the new master of Forsvik and all its lands, all the fishing waters and forests, as well as all servants. But you will not be left bereft, kinsmen Erling and Ellen, because I offer you a chance to move to Hönsäter on Kinnekulle, which is a better place than this one. Your leasehold will thus be the same as it was for Forsvik, although the lands at Hönsäter have a greater yield. In the presence of witnesses I now offer you this sack of soil from Hönsäter.’

      With that he pulled out two leather pouches, fumbling a bit as he hid one of them and then placed the other in the hands of both Erling and Ellen, first showing them how to hold out four hands to accept a gift meant equally for the two of them.

      Erling and Ellen sat there a while, their cheeks red. It was as though a miracle had befallen them. But Erling quickly recovered and had livelier thoughts, calling for more ale.

      Young Sune Folkesson now thought he had been sitting long enough with his eyes lowered in an unmanly fashion. If he had stepped in cow dung, the situation would not be improved by sitting and pretending nothing had happened, he reasoned. So he stood up and walked resolutely around the table to the high seat, where he sank to his knees before Sir Arn.

      His foster father Erling rose halfway to his feet to shoo him off, but was stopped when Arn raised his hand in warning.

      ‘Well?’ Arn said kindly to the youth on his knees. ‘What do you have to tell me this time, kinsman?’

      ‘That I can do naught but regret my ignorant words to you, sir. But I didn’t know who you were; I thought you were a retain—’

      There young Sune almost bit off his tongue, when too late he realized that instead of smoothing things over he was now making them worse. Imagine, calling Arn Magnusson a retainer!

      ‘You said nothing ignorant, kinsman,’ Arn replied gravely. ‘What you said about knights was not wrong, although possibly somewhat too brief. But remember that you are a Folkung speaking to another Folkung, so stand up and look me in the eye!’

      Sune at once did as he was told, and when he saw the scarred face of the warrior at close range he was amazed that Sir Arn’s eyes were so gentle.

      ‘You said that you wanted to be a knight. Do you stand by your word?’ Arn asked.

      ‘Yes, Sir Arn, that dream is dearer to me than life itself!’ said Sune Folkesson with such emotion that Arn had a hard time keeping a straight face.

      ‘Well then,’ said Arn, passing his hand over his eyes, ‘in that case I’m afraid that you’ll be a knight with much too short a life, and we have little use for such men. But here is my offer to you. Stay here at Forsvik with me as your new foster father and teacher, and I shall turn you into a knight. That offer also applies to your foster brother Sigfrid. I will speak to your father about this. Sleep on it overnight. Pray to Our Lady, or Saint Örjan, for guidance, and give me your answer in the morning.’

      ‘I can give you my answer right now, Sir Arn!’ young Sune Folkesson declared.

      But Arn raised his index finger in warning.

      ‘I told you to answer tomorrow after spending a night in prayer, yet you do not listen. To obey and to pray are the first things someone who wants to be a knight must learn.’

      Arn gave the youth a look of feigned sternness, and he bowed at once and moved backward, bowing once more before he turned and rushed like an arrow back to his brothers at the end of the table. With a smile Arn saw out of the corner of his eye how they began talking excitedly.

      Our Lady was indeed helping him in everything she had told him to do, he thought. He had already recruited his first two disciples.

      He prayed that Our Lady would also stand by him at the greatest of all moments, which was now inconceivably near at hand, less than a night and a day away.

      

      In the middle of the king’s island of Visingsö, only a stone’s throw from the horse path between the castle of Näs in the south and the boat harbours in the north, the loveliest of lilies grew, both blue and yellow, like the colours of the Erik clan. Only Queen Cecilia Blanca was allowed to harvest this gift of God, under strict penalty of whipping or worse for anyone who dared take any for himself.

      The queen was now riding there with her dearest friend in life, Cecilia Rosa, as she was always called in the king’s castle rather than Cecilia Algotsdotter. At some distance behind them rode two castle maidservants. They needed no retainers with them since there had been peace in the kingdom longer than anyone cared to remember, and there were only the king’s people on Visingsö.

      But neither of the dear friends was particularly interested in lilies on this summer day. As both of them knew more about the struggle for power than most men in the kingdom did, they had important questions to discuss. What the two of them decided could determine whether there would be war or peace in the kingdom. They had that power, and they both knew it. The next day, when the archbishop arrived with his episcopal retinue to meet with the king’s council, the decision would be announced.

      The women dismounted next to the road some distance from the field of lilies, tied their horses, and sat down on some flat slabs of stone with heathen runic inscriptions that had been dragged out there to serve as the queen’s resting place. Cecilia Blanca waved away the two castle maidens and pointed sternly over towards the lilies.

      For the longest time, Cecilia Rosa had held off the jarl’s importunate and, in recent years, more and more brusque demands. Birger Brosa wanted her to take her vows and enter his convent at Riseberga to become abbess. The moment she took the vows, he assured her, she would become the one who ruled Riseberga, both in spiritual and business matters.

      The bishops would agree, and the new abbé at Varnhem, Father Guillaume, who now held authority over Riseberga, would quickly accede. Father Guillaume was a man who allowed himself to see the will of God if at the same time he saw gold and new green forests.

      That was how things now stood. If she took her vows she would become abbess of Riseberga at once. But the jarl’s intentions were in truth not of the pious sort. It was a matter of power, and it was a matter of war or peace. With ever greater obstinacy in recent years, Birger Brosa had harped on his idea that an abbess’s oath was just as good as another abbess’s confession and testament.

      The evil Mother Rikissa, who for so many years had tormented both Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa at Gudhem, had borne false witness on her deathbed. In her confession she had sworn that Cecilia Blanca had taken the vows during one of her last years at Gudhem.

      If true, it СКАЧАТЬ