The Templar Knight. Jan Guillou

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СКАЧАТЬ since they had no idea what to say, Cecilia Rosa thought. And because she knew exactly where they were in the continual progression through the Psalter, she knew which songs were coming up in three hours, when it was time for None, the mid-afternoon prayers. And so the lessons began, with Cecilia Rosa singing lead. They repeated each song so many times that their pupils seemed to have them memorized, at least temporarily. And when None was then to be sung inside the church, it was evident that the new girls really could join in with the singing.

      When they came out to the arcade after the songs, the weather was blustery with the chill of autumn. Cecilia Blanca then went to the abbess’s residence, returning at once, clearly pleased, and told them that they’d been given permission to use the chapter hall.

      They sat there for an hour or so, practicing the simplest signs in Gudhem’s silent language, and the inexperienced teachers soon noticed that this was an art that they had to teach in small portions, and that it was no use continuing for too long at a time. After half the work shift before Sext, the midday prayers, they went straight across the arcade to the weaving rooms, where surly lay-sisters reluctantly moved aside. There both Cecilias began chattering away as they explained about the weaving and began to giggle. Then they joked that they were both trying to talk at once so that all six of them for the first time had something to giggle about together.

      It turned out that one of the new girls, the youngest and smallest, a maiden with coal-black hair named Ulvhilde Emundsdotter, was already very adept at the art of weaving. She had said nothing to anyone before, or perhaps no one had bothered to listen to her since she had arrived at Gudhem. Now she began with growing fervour to tell them that there was a way to blend linen and wool that would produce a cloth that was both warm and supple. This fabric was ideal for mantles for both men and women. And they all belonged to families in which there was great need of mantles for both religious and worldly occasions.

      Then the conversation abruptly stopped short because they still felt embarrassed in one another’s company: two from the clans of the blue mantles and four from the clans of the red and black mantles. But a seed had been sown.

      A short time later Cecilia Rosa discovered that little Ulvhilde seemed to be tagging after her, not in a hostile way as if she wanted to spy on her, but shyly, as if she had something she wanted to say. The Cecilias had now divided up their time as teachers, with Rosa taking care of the singing and Blanca the weaving, and then they were all together during the lessons in sign language. Cecilia Rosa soon found an occasion to conclude the singing a bit earlier than usual. She frankly asked Ulvhilde to sit down for a moment and tell her what it was that she so obviously wanted to discuss. The other girls stole out cautiously and closed the door to the chapter hall so quietly behind them that Cecilia Rosa had the feeling they already knew what was on Ulvhilde’s mind.

      ‘So, now that we’re alone,’ she began, sounding almost as authoritative as an abbess, but was instantly embarrassed and caught herself. ‘I mean…I’ve sensed that there’s something you want to talk about in private. Am I right about this?’

      ‘Yes, dear Cecilia Rosa, you are completely right,’ replied Ulvhilde, looking all at once as if she were making a brave attempt to hold back the tears.

      ‘My dear little friend, what is it?’ Cecilia Rosa asked uncertainly.

      But the answer was not forthcoming. They sat together for a while, neither of them daring to be first to break the silence, although by now Cecilia Rosa had begun to have her suspicions.

      ‘The thing is, Emund Ulvbane was my father, blessed be his soul,’ whispered Ulvhilde at last, her gaze fixed on the limestone floor.

      ‘I don’t know any Emund Ulvbane,’ said Cecilia Rosa timidly, at once regretting it.

      ‘Yes, you do, Cecilia Rosa; your betrothed Arn Magnusson knew him, and everyone in both Western and Eastern Götaland knows the story. My father lost his hand in that duel.’

      ‘Yes, of course I know about the duel at Axevalla ting,’ Cecilia Rosa admitted in shame. ‘Everyone does, just as you say. But I wasn’t there and had nothing to do with that affair. Arn was not yet betrothed to me. And you weren’t there either. So what do you mean by this? Do you intend for this matter to stand like a fortress wall between us?’

      ‘It’s much worse than that,’ Ulvhilde went on, no longer able to hold back the tears. ‘Knut Eriksson killed my father at Forsvik, even though he had promised that father would be allowed to come for me, my mother, and my brothers. And on the fields of blood…’

      Then Ulvhilde could go no farther, but bent forward sobbing as if the pain had cloven her across her tender waist. Cecilia Rosa at first felt altogether at a loss, but she put her arms around little Ulvhilde, knelt down next to her, and awkwardly stroked her cheeks.

      ‘There, there,’ she consoled her. ‘What you started to tell me must come out, and you may as well do it now. So tell me what happened on the fields of blood, because I know nothing about it.’

      Ulvhilde struggled for a moment, trying to catch her breath between sobs before she was able to utter the words that had to come out.

      ‘On the fields of blood…both my brothers died…killed by the Folkungs…and then they came to our farm where mother…where mother was still in hiding. And they burned her alive with the livestock and servants!’

      It was as if Ulvhilde’s wild grief spread like a coldness between their limbs so that it was now inside Cecilia Rosa as well. They clung to each other without being able to speak. Cecilia Rosa began rocking back and forth as if she were lulling the younger girl to sleep, although now there would be no sleep. And yet something more had to be said.

      ‘Ulvhilde, my little friend,’ Cecilia Rosa whispered hoarsely. ‘Keep in mind that it could have been you in this position and that neither of us is at all to blame. If I can console you then I will try. If you want me to be your friend and support, I will try that too. It’s not easy to live at Gudhem, and you should know that here we need friends more than anything else.’

      The death throes of Fru Helena Stensdotter took a long time. For ten days she lay dying, and during most of that time her mind was utterly clear. It made the matter that much more delicate for Mother Rikissa, who now had to send various messages far and wide.

      It would not do simply to bury Fru Helena as any of Gudhem’s pensioners, because she was of royal lineage, and she had married into both the Sverker and the Erik clans. At a time when the wounds of war had been better healed, a huge retinue should have come to see her to her final rest. But as things now stood, with the fields of blood outside Bjälbo fresh in everyone’s memory, only a small but very resolute group showed up. Almost all the guests arrived several days before her death; they had to spend the time waiting in both the hospitium and other buildings outside the cloister - Folkungs and Eriks in one group, and Sverkers in another.

      Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa were the only novices who were allowed to go outside the walls to sing at the graveside in the churchyard. This was not because of their clan lineage, but because their singing voices were among the loveliest at Gudhem.

      Bishop Bengt had come from Skara to pray over the grave. Standing slightly removed from everyone else he wore his light-blue, gold-embroidered bishop’s vestments, and he seemed able to remain upright only by clutching his staff. On one side stood men from the Sverker and Stenkil clans in red, black, and green mantles. On the other side stood the Eriks in gold and sky-blue, and Folkungs in the same blue but with silver. In two long rows outside the churchyard were all the shields fastened to lances stuck into the ground: the Folkung lion, the three Erik crowns, the black Sverker griffin, and the Stenkil СКАЧАТЬ