Birth of the Kingdom. Jan Guillou

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СКАЧАТЬ Saracen knights who were in the lead – and it was no secret to Brother Guilbert that they were Saracens – seemed childishly enchanted at being able to continue their long journey on horseback. This was easy to understand, especially since they were allowed to ride such magnificent steeds. It occurred to Brother Guilbert that now Saint Bernard in his Heaven must be teasing his monk who once had despaired that anyone would ever want to buy Varnhem’s horses, and in his powerlessness had shrieked that he would settle for Saracen buyers at the very least. Now these unexpected Saracens rode along, joking loudly and talking all around him. At the oxen-reins sat men who spoke other languages. Brother Guilbert had still not figured them out – who they were or where they had come from.

      But there was one big problem. What Arn had done was a type of deception which the young and naïve Father Guillaume hadn’t had the wit to see through, blinded as he was by all that gold. Yet a Templar knight was allowed to own no more than a monk in Varnhem cloister. Any Templar knight who was discovered with a single gold coin would immediately have to relinquish his white mantle and leave the Templar order in disgrace.

      Brother Guilbert decided that the unpleasant matter should be broached sooner rather than later, which was how every Templar knight had learned to think. He urged on his dapple grey, rode up alongside Arn at the head of the column, and asked him the question straight out.

      But Arn did not seem to take offence at the troublesome query. He merely smiled and turned his exquisite stallion – which was from Outremer but of a type that Brother Guilbert did not know – and galloped back to one of the last carts in the column. He leaped onto it and began searching for something among the loaded goods.

      He remounted his horse and was back at once with a water-tight leather roll which he handed without a word to Brother Guilbert, who opened it with as much trepidation as curiosity.

      It was a document in three languages, signed by the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Gérard de Ridefort. It said that Arn de Gothia, after twenty years of service as a provisional brother, had now left his position in the Order of the Knights Templar, released from his obligations by the Grand Master himself. But because of all the services he had rendered to the Order, whenever he desired and at his own discretion he had the right to wear the white mantle with the same status he’d enjoyed before he left the Order.

      ‘So you see, my dear Brother Guilbert,’ Arn said, taking the document, rolling it up and inserting it carefully back into the leather sheath, ‘I am a Templar knight and yet not. And to be honest, I can’t see there is any great harm done if someone who has so long served the crimson cross should occasionally seek protection behind it.’

      At first it was not quite clear to Brother Guilbert what Arn meant by that. But after they had ridden for a while, Arn began to talk about his homeward journey, and then his words about taking protection behind the blood-red cross made more sense.

      Arn had bought, taken captive, or employed in his service the men who now rode with him in the column on the roads all over Outremer, where everyone had become everyone else’s foe and where a Saracen who served the Christians was just as much at risk as a Christian who served the Saracens. But putting together a ship’s crew and a group of men who would be of good use when travelling the long way back to Western Götaland had not been the hard part.

      Brother Guilbert studied his friend’s face now and then when he thought Arn wasn’t looking. He found nothing in Arn’s outward appearance that surprised him. Had someone asked him to guess how Arn might look if, against all logic, he survived twenty years as a Templar knight in Outremer, Brother Guilbert would have guessed at something like this: A blond beard that had not yet begun to grey but had nevertheless lost its lustre. All Templar knights wore beards, of course. Short hair as well. White scars on his hands and all over his face, the marks of arrows and swords and perhaps an axe-blow over one eyebrow which made that eye seem a bit stiff. This was more or less the appearance that he would have guessed. The war in Outremer had been no banquet.

      But there was an unease inside Arn that could not be as easily discerned with a mere glance. He had already admitted the day before that he considered his service in the Holy War to be finished, and his reasons were good. But now that Arn was riding the last day’s march toward home and with great wealth besides – which was truly an unusual way for a Templar knight to return – he should have felt happier, exhilarated and full of eager plans. Instead there was a great sense of unease about him, something resembling fear, if that word could be applied to a Templar knight. There was still much to understand and to question.

      ‘Where did you get such a vast amount of gold?’ asked Brother Guilbert resolutely as they rode past Skara without entering the town. He felt that he needed to resume their conversation.

      ‘If I answered that question right now you wouldn’t believe me, dear Guilbert,’ replied Arn, but he looked down at the ground. ‘Or even worse, you would think that I had committed treason. And were you to believe that, however briefly, it would make both of us sad. You must take my word for it. This wealth was not come by unjustly. And I will tell you everything when we have time, for it is not a story that is easily fathomed.’

      ‘I believe you, of course, but don’t ever ask me again to believe you without question,’ Brother Guilbert said bitterly. ‘You and I never lied to each other inside the walls, and outside the walls I take it for granted that we speak to each other as the Templar knights we both once were.’

      ‘That is precisely how I want it to be, and I will never make another request that you take my word for something on faith,’ Arn almost whispered, still with his eyes cast down.

      ‘Well, then I’ll ask you something simpler,’ said Brother Guilbert more cheerfully and in a louder voice. ‘We’re riding toward Arnäs now, your father’s estate, are we not? Well, you’re bringing with you baggage that is not insignificant, including horses from Outremer and a monk you just acquired in Varnhem – no, don’t contradict me! I’m also part of your purchase. I admit that I’m not used to such things, but that’s the way it is. And you have bought other men, possibly after negotiations more difficult than those you pursued with Father Guillaume, but they are going to be used for something, just as I am. Won’t you tell me something about all this? Who are these men in the caravan?’

      ‘Two of the men, those two riding the mares to your left, are physicians from Damascus,’ replied Arn without hesitation. ‘The two sitting on the ox-carts at the rear of the column are deserters from the army of King Richard Lionheart, an archer and a crossbowman. The Norwegian Harald Øysteinsson, who wears the coat of a sergeant of the Knights Templar, served with me, but I’ve already told you that. The two sitting on the ox-carts just behind us are Armenian armourers and craftsmen from Damascus, and most of the rest of the men are builders and sappers from both sides in the war. They are all in my service, except Harald, because in their direst hour I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Does that answer the question you really wanted to ask?’

      ‘Yes, to a great extent,’ replied Brother Guilbert meditatively. ‘You intend to build something great. Will you tell me what it is you want all of us to build?’

      ‘Peace,’ said Arn resolutely.

      Brother Guilbert was so surprised by the answer that for a long while he could not bring himself to ask anything more.

      

      When on the second day of the journey the caravan neared the church in Forshem, summer had returned in all its glory. It was hard to imagine that the whole village had been rocked by storms and foul weather only a few days earlier. Trees and other debris that had fallen across roads and farms had already been removed. Out in the fields the turnip harvest was in full swing.

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