Birth of the Kingdom

ELEVEN

The only news from N?s during King Sverker’s first two years which pleased the Folkungs and Eriks was that by the second Christmas ale, Archbishop Petrus had eaten himself to death. Otherwise they heard very little, either good or bad. It was as if whatever had to do with the highest power in the realm was no longer of any concern to the Folkungs and Eriks.
Not even when King Sverker sent a crusade to the east did he find any reason to ask for help from the Folkungs and Eriks; instead he allied himself with the Danes and Gotlanders. Of course it was not much of a crusade. The intention was for the Sverkers to be sent by ship to Courland to save the country once again for the true faith and bring home anything of value that they might find. But a southerly storm drove the two hundred vessels with the crusaders north so that they landed in Livonia instead. There they plundered for three days, loaded their spoils of war on board ship, and then went home.
Surely it was of little importance to have missed out on three days of plundering, but the Swedes up in the dark North Woods were especially insulted that they hadn’t been trusted to send a single fylking of troops or a single ship, and that the king and his Danes thought so little of them.
For the Folkungs at Arn?s and Forsvik it was actually an advantage that the new king disdained their services, because it meant that they could spend their time on more useful endeavours. At Arn?s, villages were built inside the walls as wells were dug and the storehouses were completed. At Forsvik Cecilia’s ledgers were finally showing a profit.
This was partially due to the glass from Forsvik that was now being sold in Link?ping and Skara, Str?ngn?s, ?rebro, V?stra Aros and ?stra Aros, and even in Norway. And a considerable number of young men had spent so many years as apprentices that it was now time for them to return home. When they did so, it was their responsibility to equip their own estates and teach their own retainers and archers. They then purchased all of their new weapons from Forsvik. In this way an ever-growing number of the weapons that had been produced for many years without payment in order to arm Arn?s and Bj?lbo now began to provide Forsvik with an income. Unlike the story in the Holy Scriptures, they had endured seven lean years before the fat years had come. But when the tide indeed began to turn, Cecilia at first did her calculations several times, since she thought there must be some mistake. Instead of silver flowing out, it had begun to flow in, and at an increasingly rapid pace.
These last years before the turn of the thirteenth century, which according to some doomsayers and prelates would bring the end of the world, were tranquil times for the Folkungs, but they also involved a good deal of travelling and many wedding ales.
It no longer seemed of any use for them to marry members of the Sverker clan; that was the opinion of Birger Brosa as well as his brothers Magnus and Folke. And because Eskil had finally had his marriage to the treacherous Katarina annulled, and she had been banished to Gudhem convent for the rest of her life, he had to set a good example. With courtship in mind, he went to V?stra Aros and the regions around the town of Sigtuna. There he soon found what he was seeking in the person of Bengta Sigmundsdotter from Sigtuna. Her husband had been killed several years earlier when the Estonians arrived on a plundering expedition. But she had been wise, almost as if she had been able to see into the future. Although she and her husband owned the largest trading house in Sigtuna, she had refused to keep all of the riches they had acquired in the city. Instead, she had ordered them transported north to her parents’ home. In this way she became one of the few residents in Sigtuna to emerge from the fire as a rich woman.
It might well be that she was not so rich that she could provide a dowry worthy of a marriage with Eskil, but it was unlikely there was such a woman anywhere in the realm. And with widows, the clan was not as strict about such matters; nor was a betrothal ale required, since widows made their own decisions regarding marriage. The bridal ale could be celebrated immediately once Eskil and Bengta had come to an agreement.
The bridal couple were fond of each other, and it was everyone’s opinion that they seemed particularly well-matched. For a woman, Bengta was unusually capable of handling business matters, and trade was after all Eskil’s great joy in life. From the first day they met they had already started talking about leaving the business in Sigtuna and moving Bengta’s trading house either to Visby on Gotland or Lübeck. In that way they would strengthen each other’s dealings.
To find a woman from Svealand for young Torgils Eskilsson turned out to be more difficult. But the dowager queen Cecilia Blanca was from there, and after the death of King Knut she could no longer bear to live at N?s even though the new lord, King Sverker, had ingratiatingly told her that she could stay as his guest as long as she liked. Yet that was not the impression that the new king’s contemptuous Danes displayed. Her sons Erik jarl, Jon, Joar, and Knut were to be kept more like prisoners in a gilded cage at N?s, but she herself was allowed to leave. She had pretended to set off for Riseberga cloister, which was a befitting residence for a dowager queen with no power, but at Forsvik she had disembarked from the boat, having decided to go no further. The two Cecilias were soon making plans for young Torgils’ wedding, and they had decided that the daughter of a chief judge would be best, for judges held a very strong position among the Swedes; it would be important to establish ties to that sort of power.
Once the two Cecilias had decided something, that was how it would be. And so during the following summer a great deal of travelling went on between Western G?taland and Svealand. After celebrating his own wedding, Eskil set off with his son Torgils, Arn and his son Magnus M?nesk?ld, and a large retinue to Svealand. On their way north to the betrothal ale in darkest Uppland, they stopped to visit many powerful men who were either members of Eskil’s new clan or were related to Cecilia Blanca. The betrothal ale between Torgils and Ulrika, who was the daughter of Leif, the judge at Norrgarns estate, a day’s journey from ?stra Aros, took place around the feast of Saint Laurentius before the harvesting began in Uppland. The bridal ale was celebrated over five days at Arn?s later in the autumn.
But the women also did much travelling during this tranquil time. They usually met at Ingrid Ylva’s home at Ulv?sa, since it was halfway between Forsvik and Ulfshem. This meant that the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde would have only one day’s journey in order to meet. Ingrid Ylva and Ulvhilde were both Sverker daughters, Cecilia Blanca was of the Svea clan, and Cecilia Rosa was of the P?l clan from Husaby. Hence the four of them could meet without constantly thinking about Eriks or Folkungs, though they had all married into one of these clans. Ingrid Ylva had already given birth to two sons, and she was expecting her third child that summer when the women spent more time alone than with their husbands. Since Ingrid Ylva’s eldest son Birger would soon turn five, the same age as Cecilia Rosa’s daughter Alde, there was much talk about how these two must soon be given booklearning and how it might be arranged for them to learn together. Earlier in the year Ulvhilde had sent her boys to a cleric in Link?ping, but it would not be wise to send young Folkungs to the Sverker stronghold during the evil times that were now upon them.
Finally Cecilia Blanca decided that Birger and Cecilia Rosa’s little Alde could be given schooling at Forsvik if they could persuade the old monk there to spend less time with the swords and horses, which would do him good. Cecilia Blanca also thought that she, as a queen with nothing to occupy her time, might be of use in a way that would arouse no objections if she too participated in teaching the children. They all found this to be such a good idea that they decided the very next day to take the first of Eskil’s boats to Forsvik and speak with the monk themselves.
And so it was that before long Brother Guilbert found himself in an unexpected position in Forsvik’s new great hall. He didn’t require much convincing to agree, partly because it was an occupation pleasing to God to teach young children, and partly because such work would cause less wear on his old body than working with swords and horses. But he grumbled that this was not the task he had been given by Father Guillaume at Varnhem.
Cecilia Blanca dismissed this objection as easily as swatting a fly by saying that what Father Guillaume wanted or did not want when it came to Folkungs and Eriks depended more on the purse of silver than on the spirit.
No matter how much Brother Guilbert may have agreed with such an impudent statement, he went on to say that he also had an agreement with Arn. Then it was Cecilia Rosa’s turn to address him, saying that she and not Arn was the owner of Forsvik.
As if grasping for the last straw, Brother Guilbert said finally that he couldn’t very well promise anything until Arn came back home. He was instantly urged to admit that if Arn had no objections, he would comply.
And with that the stubborn women smiled contentedly and exchanged victorious glances before they began drinking a great deal of wine and talking so much that Brother Guilbert soon withdrew.

When King Sverker’s Danish wife Benedikta died of the fever, there was little cause for sorrow among the Eriks and Folkungs. King Sverker’s only daughter Helena was no threat to the crown.
But their dismay was all the greater when a rumour began to spread that jarl Birger Brosa had fetched his last daughter Ingegerd from Riseberga cloister to marry her to the king. As far as anyone knew, Ingegerd was a healthy woman who looked as if she could give birth to any number of sons. Many said that this was the only foolish thing that Birger Brosa had ever done in his long life, and that black clouds were now gathering over the realm.
After King Sverker’s first cautious years in power he began concocting bolder plans, and it was also obvious that he had decided to ingratiate himself to the Church and the crowd of bishops. This became almost ridiculously clear when he imitated King Knut of Denmark by promulgating a new law completely on his own, without consulting the council or the ting.
King Knut had declared that he was king by the grace of God, so he could make any laws he desired. Naturally King Sverker didn’t dare make such a statement, but he did claim that he now chose to make laws because he had received what he called ‘divine inspiration’.
What exactly he meant by that was obscure, except that of course it had something to do with God. But his action was also futile because the new law had already been in force for many years. It stated that the Church did not have to pay tax to the king.
When it turned out that the ominous rumour was true about how Birger Brosa himself had provided a fertile, child-bearing woman to the Sverker king, the Folkungs decided to hold a clan ting. The meeting would be held at Bj?lbo, since Birger Brosa pleaded old age and poor health. Most people guessed that he would rather be rebuked at home on his own estate, acting as a host rather than as a guest among kinsmen.
He did indeed have to endure many harsh words for this last foolhardy marriage arrangement of his. Those who spoke with him admitted that most previous marriages that the old jarl had arranged had been wise and served the cause of peace, but this time it was just the opposite.
Birger Brosa sat slumped in his high seat and at first did little to defend himself. That had always been his approach in his most powerful days, holding back until the end of a conversation and then summing up what the others had said and sticking the sharp sword of his tongue into the crack he would always discover between quarrelling kinsmen.
This time no such crack was discernible, and he had to start explaining his actions much earlier. As so often before he tried to get the hall to quiet down by speaking in a low voice, but this time he was merely admonished to speak louder. He cautiously raised his voice and said that if a king became a widower at a young age as Sverker had, then he was certainly bound to get himself a new queen. And if that had to happen, wouldn’t it be better if this queen were of the Folkung clan rather than a foreigner?
Such a course of events was by no means certain, said an angry Magnus M?nesk?ld. For if a king became a widower, he might just as easily decide to marry some dowager queen, and an old crone from Denmark would have been more tolerable to everyone than a lively child-bearer, fetched healthy and ready from safekeeping in the convent.
Then Eskil took the floor and said that a blunder that was done could not be undone. Now that the bridal ale had already been celebrated, to attempt to break the betrothal would be an affront that might even lead to war. King Sverker could then say that the oath of allegiance everyone had sworn him was broken. So they would have to keep their promise and pray that Ingegerd gave birth to a long series of daughters before Sverker’s member slackened.
At the mention of the word ‘war,’ several of the younger kinsmen in the hall livened up, and they began murmuring that it might be better to forestall than to be caught napping. They turned to Arn to hear his opinion. So many youths from so many Folkung estates had already been trained at Forsvik or were there even now; everyone was confident that Arn Magnusson would be the leader in the next war.
Arn replied that they were all bound by their oath to King Sverker until he broke his. If Sverker made a Folkung woman his queen, he would certainly not be breaking any oath. So there was no acceptable reason to go to war right now.
Besides, it would be unwise. What would happen if they set off at once for N?s and killed the king? That might mean not only war with Denmark, but Archbishop Absalon in Lund might excommunicate a number of Folkungs. Regicide was punishable by excommunication nowadays. Even an argument over who should be archbishop or who should crown the king could lead to excommunication. Only if King Sverker broke his oath could they go to war against him without encountering such risks.
Arn’s objections were both so unexpected and thought-provoking that the clan ting soon calmed down. Then Birger Brosa tried to recapture some of his former power, saying authoritatively that even if the war might be getting closer there was still plenty of time to wait. They could best use the time to prepare themselves well. He mentioned specifically that more youths should be sent to train at Forsvik, and that more weapons should be ordered from there for every Folkung estate.
There was nothing wrong with the wisdom of these words, and everyone realized that. But it seemed that Birger Brosa’s long hold over the clan ting was broken. And he too seemed aware of that fact as he left the hall first, as was the custom. His hands and his head trembled as though in terror or as if fast approaching his deathbed.

The year of Grace 1202 became the year of death. It was as though the Lord’s angels had come down to burn the dry grass and prepare the ground for entirely new powers. King Sverre of Norway died that year, mourned by as many as rejoiced. That made the alliance of both the Folkungs and the Eriks with Norway weaker and more uncertain.
King Knut of Denmark also died, and his brother Valdemar was crowned, who had been nicknamed ‘the Victor’. He had been given that name with good reason. He had recently conquered both Lübeck and Hamburg, which both paid tribute now to the Danish crown, and he had made several trips with warriors to both Livonia and Courland. Everywhere his armies had marched to victory. He would be a truly formidable foe.
As if God were jesting with the Folkungs, Eriks, and all other people in Western and Eastern G?taland, however, there was no danger that Valdemar the Victor would come north from Sk?ne, pillaging and burning. For King Sverker was the Danes’ man, and his land did not have to be conquered as long as he was king. For him it did not seem vexing that all trade between his lands and Lübeck would be taxed by the Danes in the future. As Eskil Magnusson once muttered between clenched teeth as he sat at his account books, now they were paying a tax on peace.
But the greatest sorrow for the Folkungs came in January of that year when Birger Brosa died. He wasn’t long on his deathbed, and few kinsmen managed to come and say farewell. But more than a thousand Folkungs accompanied the revered jarl on his last journey to Varnhem. They gathered at Bj?lbo and proceeded as a long blue-clad column of warriors across the ice of Lake V?ttern to Sk?vde and on to Varnhem.
From most of the Folkung estates came only the men, since it was a bitterly cold journey. From Arn?s, Forsvik, Bj?lbo, and Ulv?sa came all the family members. Wives and children and some of the elderly, like old Herr Magnus of Arn?s, were transported in sleighs tucked under many pelts from wolves and sheep. And many riders probably wished they were riding in the sleighs, because their chain mail was like ice against their bodies, and every rest stop became more torment than respite.
From Forsvik rode Arn Magnusson first among forty-eight riders. They were the only ones in the funeral procession who didn’t seem bothered by the icy wind, even though they were riding in full armour. They had special combat clothing for winter use and absolutely no iron or steel next to their bodies. Not even their iron-clad feet seemed to suffer from the cold.
King Sverker did not come to Varnhem. There were various opinions about the reason for this. He hadn’t been able to get together a greater retinue than two hundred men, and that would have looked paltry compared with the number of Folkungs who had gathered. And people were often unruly at wakes; in their grief, who could say what would happen if someone in a red mantle let his tongue run away with him so that the first sword was drawn. It was no doubt wise and cautious of King Sverker not to show himself at the burial of the old jarl.
And yet it was hard not to think that the king had shown disdain for Birger Brosa and thus all Folkungs by viewing the jarl’s death only as an occasion for his own clan.
Birger Brosa was laid to rest near the altar, not far from King Knut whom he had served for the cause of peace and the kingdom’s welfare for so many years. His funeral mass was long, especially for those of his kinsmen who could not get a seat inside the church but had to stand outside in the snow for the entire two hours.
But soon three hundred of those who had followed Birger Brosa to Varnhem had to return on a similar errand. Old Herr Magnus of Arn?s had not fared well during the cold journey when his brother was buried. He began coughing and shivering by the first day back at Arn?s, and he was put to bed next to a big log fire on the top floor of the new residence. He never did recover. His kinsmen barely had time to summon the priest from Forshem for extreme unction and the forgiveness of sins before he died, because he kept brushing off all premonitions of the worst. A Folkung should be able to stand a little cold, he assured them time after time. Someone said that those were his last words.
Sorrow lay heavy over Forsvik during the forty days of Lent before Easter. Work continued apace in the millhouse and workshops, of course, but the usual laughter and jokes were no longer heard. It was as though the master’s sorrow had spread to everyone else.
Arn spent less time than normal with the practice sessions for the young noblemen. Fortunately many of them had now become full-grown men and already had several years’ experience training their younger kinsmen. Sune, Sigfrid, and Bengt had all chosen to stay on as instructors at Forsvik rather than return to their own estates.
The fact that there were new instructors for the young men had also made the absence of Brother Guilbert among the riders and at swordplay exercises less noticeable now than at first. He spent most of his time in the little sacristy of the newly-built church, where he taught Alde and Birger Magnusson. Already all the lectionis were held in Latin.
Yet Brother Guilbert’s instruction had not been accepted without question once Cecilia discovered that he had been in the workshops and fashioned two small bows for the children. She found him standing behind the church and urging them to try to hit a small leather ball that he’d hung by a thin cord. To Cecilia he had defended himself by saying that archery was an art that sharpened the mind, and that the children would have great use of that capacity when they eventually had to delve into Aristotle’s logic or grammar. When Cecilia suspiciously went to Arn to ask him about the topic, he agreed much too eagerly with Brother Guilbert’s words, which did nothing to lessen her suspicion.
Cecilia thought that there were great differences between Alde and Birger. Alde would eventually become the mistress of Forsvik or some other estate. No one could know for sure what awaited Birger Magnusson in the future, but as the eldest son in one of the most distinguished Folkung houses and with a mother of royal lineage, it was easy to imagine that archery, horses, and lances would assume great importance in his life. But it did not follow from this that their daughter Alde should be trained in war.
Arn tried to calm Cecilia by telling her that archery was not only for war but also for hunting, and that there were many women who were excellent hunters. No woman should be ashamed that she could singlehandedly bring home a duck or deer she had shot to the table. And as far as Birger was concerned, his schooling for life would change a great deal from the day he turned thirteen and joined the young men’s beginners’ group.
Cecilia contented herself with that explanation until she discovered that Brother Guilbert had also made small wooden swords, which Alde and Birger were using to attack each other with gusto in front of their eagerly gesticulating teacher.
Arn agreed that handling a sword might not be what he most wanted his daughter to learn. But the children’s schooling was not easy, and Brother Guilbert was a very demanding teacher; he knew that from his own experience. And surely it wasn’t wrong to shift now and then from grammar to a little play. A sound mind required a sound body, that was a basic human truth.
There had also been tears and a squabble when Birger got his first horse at the age of seven, and Cecilia forbade Alde to ride before she was at least twelve. Horses were not only for harmless play, and they knew that especially well at Forsvik, where over the years there had been many injuries and cries when young riders fell and hurt themselves, sometimes so badly that they had to spend time in bed. For young men learning to be warriors that was a danger they had to accept. But of course that didn’t apply to Alde.
Arn found himself caught in the middle between a mother and daughter who were equally determined, and both of them were used to wrapping him around their little fingers. But in the matter of when Alde should be given her first horse, only one of them could win, and it was Cecilia.
He tried to console Alde by riding with her in front of him in the saddle, slowly and calmly while they were within sight of Forsvik, and at the dizzying speed that Arabian horses were capable of when they were out of sight. Then Alde would shriek with delight and was appeased for the moment. Although Arn began to suffer from a guilty conscience because he had tempted Alde with such great speed. There was a clear danger that she might try the same thing as soon as she got her own horse, and speed was something one ought to try last, not first, when learning to ride.
At Easter the little wooden church at Forsvik was decorated with dark tapestries made by Suom, depicting Our Saviour’s suffering on Golgotha, His path up the Via Dolorosa, and the Last Supper with His disciples. Arn still had a hard time getting used to a Jerusalem that looked more like Skara, and Jesus’ disciples that looked as though they had been brought from the nearest ting site in Western G?taland. He also had a hard time seeing pictures in God’s house, because he thought that such things disturbed the purity of thought.
Spring arrived late that year which would be remembered as the Year of Death, and the ice around Forsvik and on the river was too thin to walk across but too thick for boats. So Christians had to stay where they were and celebrate the Easter masses themselves at Forsvik. But Brother Guilbert could handle all of the priestly duties, and besides, he had excellent singers to help him; not only Arn but the two Cecilias knew all the hymns by heart. Even though Forsvik’s church didn’t look like much to the outside world, resembling as it did a Norwegian stave church, it was likely that the Easter masses held there in the Year of Death 1202 were sung more beautifully than in all other churches in Western G?taland, except for those at the cloisters.
After they had sung praises to the Lord and the resurrection on the third day, an Easter dinner of lamb was held for all the Christians in the new banquet hall. The clouds of sorrow seemed to disperse, and not only because Lent was over and Our Saviour resurrected. The Saracen method of preparing lamb won the admiration of all.
Now was the first time they could celebrate the fact that Marcus Wachtian had found himself a German wife. Her name was Helga and she was also from Lübeck. When his brother Jacob had his own child and became more unwilling to make long journeys twice a year to the German cities, Marcus had volunteered to take over for him. Naturally he had brought back things that were both pleasurable and useful to Forsvik, everything from huge anvils that they could not cast themselves to sword blanks from somewhere called Passau which were marked with a running wolf. These sword blanks were made of extremely good steel, and they could quickly and easily be forged into finished swords. When Cecilia calculated what it cost to make swords from scratch versus buying them half-finished, she found that the latter method was more economical. She was counting not only the outlay of silver but also the time they could save and use for other smithy work that also brought an income in silver. It was a new way of reckoning, but both the Wachtian brothers and Arn agreed with Cecilia’s view that it was probably better and more feasible.
Of everything that Marcus brought back from Germany, though, Helga was what he prized most highly. And not only because, as he said in jest, he hadn’t been forced to pay Danish toll on her when he brought her home.
It was a good feast, with the first laughter that had been heard in a long time at Forsvik. Arn sat in the high seat between the two Cecilias, with Alde and little Birger below them. Next to the Wachtian brothers and their German wives sat the foreman Gure, who had decided to be baptized as soon as he was freed, and Brother Guilbert. Farther away in the hall at two longtables sat almost sixty young men in Folkung colours, growing louder and louder as the ale was consumed in great quantities.
Then Cecilia ordered wine and glasses to be brought to their house, inviting all the older folks to continue the Easter feast over there, since the noise coming from the young men would not diminish as the evening wore on.
They drank and talked until the small hours, but then Arn excused himself by saying that he needed to get some sleep because he had to get up early to do some heavy work. The others gave him surprised looks, so he explained that early in the morning, just after dawn, there was going to be a strenuous exercise on horseback with all the young men. They had apparently learned how to drink ale like men. Now they also had to learn what it cost in headaches if they had to show up and perform.

It was Alde and Birger who found Brother Guilbert. He was sitting with his quill pen in his hand, calmly leaning back in his sacristy where he had the morning sun, and he looked like he was asleep. But when the children couldn’t wake him they went to Cecilia and complained. Soon there was a great commotion at Forsvik.
When Arn understood what had happened he went without a word to his clothing chamber, taking down the widest of the Templar mantles he could find; he fetched a needle and coarse thread from the workshops and sewed the dead man inside the mantle. He had Brother Guilbert’s most beloved horse saddled, a powerful sorrel stallion of the type they used in practice for the heavy cavalry. Then with no special ceremony he draped the body of his dead friend over the saddle in the great white sack that the mantle formed, with arms and legs hanging down on either side. As the stable workers saddled Abu Anaza, Arn dressed in full armour, not in Folkung colours but in those of the Knights Templar. Around the pommel he hung a water bag of the type only horsemen from Forsvik used, along with a purse of gold. Half an hour after the body had been found, Arn was ready to set off for Varnhem.
Cecilia tried to object that this could not possibly be an honourable and Christian way to take a lifelong friend to the grave. Arn replied curtly and sadly that indeed it was. This was how many a Templar knight returned with a brother’s help. It could just as well have been Brother Guilbert riding this way with him. Nor was it the first time that Arn had brought home a brother in this manner. Brother Guilbert was not any ordinary monk, but a Templar knight who was travelling to the grave as many brothers had done before him and many would do after him.
Cecilia understood that it was clearly useless to object further. Instead she tried to arrange for Arn to have some food to take along on his journey, but he refused it almost with contempt and pointed at his water bag. More was not said before, with bowed head, he rode out from Forsvik, leading the horse carrying Brother Guilbert.
Losing both his father and uncle within such a short time had been as grievous for Arn as for anyone else. And Arn himself had believed that if Death immediately thereafter had sunk his claws into a lifelong friend, the pain would be greater than anyone could stand.
But Arn had not ridden very long in Brother Guilbert’s company before he realized that this grief was both greater and easier to bear. No doubt it was because Brother Guilbert was a Templar knight, one in an endless series of dear brothers whom Arn had lost over a long span of years. In the worst case he had seen their heads stuck on lance-tips in the hands of Syrians or Egyptians howling with the intoxication of victory. The death of a Templar knight was not like that of an ordinary man, because the Knights Templar always lived in Death’s anteroom, always aware that they could be the next ones called. For those of the brothers who were granted the grace to live a long time, without fleeing or compromising their conscience, such as Brother Guilbert but also Arn himself, there was no reason to complain in the slightest. God had now considered that Brother Guilbert’s life’s work was done, so He had called one of His most humble servants home. In the midst of his good work, with his quill pen in hand and having just finished the Latin grammar he had written for children, Brother Guilbert had quietly lowered his hand, blotted the ink one last time, and then died with a peaceful smile on his face. It was a blessing in itself to die like that.
On the other hand there were much more difficult things to try and understand when it came to the path that Brother Guilbert had taken in his earthly life. For more than ten years he had been a Templar knight in the Holy Land, and few fighting brothers lived longer than that. Whatever sins the young Guilbert had behind him when he rode out to his first battle in his white mantle, he had soon atoned for them more than a hundredfold. And yet he was not granted the direct path to Paradise, which was the greatest reward for a Templar knight.
God led him instead to a backwater of the world to become the teacher of a five-year-old Folkung, to raise the lad to be a Templar knight, and then against all sense and reason to work with him again toward utterly different goals twenty years later.
As Arn understood his own path, nothing was inconceivable, since God’s Mother Herself had told him what he should do: build for peace and build a new church that would be consecrated to God’s Grave. This he had also tried to obey as best he could.
He who sees all and hears all, as the Muslims said, must have known what was going on in the heart of the deceitful and bloodthirsty Richard Lionheart when he chose to execute several thousand captives rather than accept the last payment of fifty thousand besants in gold for his hostage. God must have known that this gold would come to Western G?taland, and what would happen to it there. In hindsight one could often follow and understand God’s will.
But now as they were riding toward Varnhem and Brother Guilbert’s grave, the future was still just as hard to discern as always. Brother Guilbert’s service in his earthly life was concluded, and Arn had no doubt that such a good man, who had also served more than ten years in God’s Own army, would have a place in the heavenly kingdom as reward.
What awaited Arn himself, he could not see. Did God really want him to vanquish the Danish king, Valdemar the Victor? Well, then he would try to do so. But he would rather see the armed force he had built prove strong enough to keep war at bay. The best thing that could happen to Arn?s would be that the castle’s strength was so great that no one ever dared besiege it, and not a drop of blood was ever spilled on its walls. The best that could happen to the cavalry he was creating was if it never had to go on the attack.
If he tried to think clearly and coldly past his own wishes, things did not look particularly bright. Right after Birger Brosa’s death, King Sverker had elevated his and Ingegerd’s newborn son Johan to the jarl of the realm before the council at N?s. That honour rightfully belonged to Erik jarl and no one else. What King Sverker’s intention was with his newborn son was not hard for anyone to see. And Erik jarl and his younger brothers were being held at N?s more as captives than as royal foster sons.
Prayer was the only path to clarity and guidance, Arn realized dejectedly. If God willed it, Sverker would fall dead at any moment, and everything would be over without war. If God willed otherwise, the greatest war that had ever ravaged Western G?taland was on its way.
He began to pray, and he rode most of the way to Varnhem in prayer. He stopped for the night in the middle of a forest, made a fire, and placed Brother Guilbert next to him, continuing to pray for clarity.
On the road between Sk?vde and Varnhem where it was no longer wilderness, many people were astonished to see the white-clad knight with God’s emblem, with the lance behind him in the saddle and with his head bowed grimly. He rode past without either looking at anyone or greeting them. The fact that the body he was transporting behind him was dressed in the same foreign mantle as he was also caused astonishment. Thieves could be taken to the ting like this, but never an equal among nobles.
Arn stayed for three days inside Varnhem cloister before the funeral mass and the burial. Brother Guilbert was honoured with a grave site under the transept, not far from the place where Father Henri rested.
When Arn returned to Forsvik almost a week after he had set out, he had a young monk with him who suffered severe riding cramps on Brother Guilbert’s horse. This was Brother Joseph d’Anjou, who would be Alde and Birger’s new tutor.

Death did not soon loosen his grip over Forsvik in that sorrowful year of 1202. Just before All Saints’ Day, foreman Gure’s mother, the weaver Suom, lay dying. Gure and Cecilia kept watch by her bed, but she sternly turned away Brother Joseph until her strength failed and she let herself be persuaded by Cecilia and her son to be baptized and confess her sins before she died. She did not object to the baptism, but it seemed harder for her to confess sins, since it was her opinion that anyone who had lived the greater part of her life as a thrall had not had many opportunities to commit such acts that the gentry reckoned as sins. But finally Brother Joseph spoke with her in private and heard her confession so that he could administer the forgiveness of sins and prepare her for the life after this one.
His face was pale when he emerged, and he told Cecilia that although the confession had sealed his lips, he didn’t know which would be better, if this woman was allowed to take her great secret to the grave or if Cecilia could try to coax it out of her. Such a strange statement, which according to Arn when he heard about it was a violation of the secrecy of confession, naturally left Cecilia no peace. What sort of secret did a woman carry inside who had been a thrall since birth and free only in the last years of her life?
Cecilia made an effort to persuade herself that it was not simple curiosity but the desire for clarity that drove her to start questioning Suom, who was growing steadily weaker. If something was wrong, those who survived her could possibly put it right again; Cecilia certainly owed Suom that favour, she reasoned. Suom had brought much beauty to Forsvik with the ingenuity in her hands. It had brought in silver, and already two of the young weavers were following in Suom’s footsteps. If it were possible to resolve any problems that Suom left behind, then it would be done, Cecilia decided.
But what she finally found out made her hesitant. Now she had inherited a secret that she could not simply carry silently inside her. It was not something that would be easy to tell Arn, particularly since she had been immediately convinced by what she had learned, and she did not want to start the first quarrel with her husband. Because it might come to that, she realized.
She went first to the church and prayed alone at the altar to Our Lady for support in doing what was right and good, and not what was wrong and merely showed selfish concern for the earthly life. She believed that Our Lady showed constant kindness not only to herself but also to Arn, and for that reason she prayed that Arn would control himself and wisely accept the news he would now receive.
Then she went straight to the sword house without walls, where she knew that Arn normally was at this time of day, along with the eldest of the young noblemen. He noticed her at once out of the corner of his eye, although he seemed so intent on his swordplay. He bowed to his young opponent, sheathed his sword, and went over to greet her. It wasn’t hard to see by her expression that she had come with important news, and he took her aside into the barnyard where no one could hear them.
‘Nothing has happened to Alde, has it?’ he asked, and Cecilia shook her head. ‘Is Suom dead, do you want her buried here at Forsvik or somewhere else?’ he went on.
‘I have heard from Suom’s own lips what she confessed to Brother Joseph,’ Cecilia whispered into Arn’s shoulder as if she didn’t really dare look at him.
‘And what might that be?’ he asked, gently pushing her away so that he could look into her eyes.
‘Gure is your brother and Eskil’s; Herr Magnus was the father of all three of you,’ Cecilia hastened to reply, turning her face away as if ashamed to say the truth. For in the same moment she had heard Suom’s account she knew that it was true.
‘Do you think this is true?’ Arn asked softly, without the slightest hint of anger in his voice.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Consider that Gure is six years younger than you. When your father sought solace after your mother Fru Sigrid died, Suom was young and certainly the most beautiful woman at Arn?s. And the resemblance between Gure and you and Eskil is so great that only our knowledge that he was born a thrall has prevented us from seeing it.’
She took a deep breath now that she had said precisely what she knew Our Lady had advised her to say, the truth and nothing else, without evasion.
Arn did not reply. First he nodded pensively to himself, almost in confirmation, and then he turned on his heel and strode off to the church, closing the door behind him. Cecilia felt both relieved and warm inside when she saw how he took the news. She was sure that inside at the altar awaited a wise and gentle Mother of God for one of the sons on whom She had bestowed so much of Her love.
Arn was not gone long. Cecilia sat on the well lid in the centre of the courtyard and waited for him to emerge. He smiled at her and held out his hand. They went together to Suom’s bed, where Brother Joseph and Gure were kneeling and praying for her. Both of them stood up when the master and mistress came in. Without a word Arn went up to Gure and embraced him; Gure was quite embarrassed by this but not as startled as one might expect.
‘Gure!’ said Arn loudly so that Suom could hear him too. ‘From this day you are my brother and Eskil’s, with all the rights and obligations that entails! I only wish that I’d known the truth sooner, because it is not much of an honour to have held my own brother as a thrall, even if it was for a short time.’
‘If a thrall could choose his master, which thralls are seldom granted, then I didn’t choose so badly,’ said Gure shyly, looking at the floor.
They heard a groan from Suom, and Arn went at once to her bed, knelt down and said straight into her ear that she was leaving a great gift behind and that Gure would be elevated to a Folkung at the next ting. She did not reply but only smiled. That smile did not fade, nor did she ever regain consciousness.
Suom was wrapped in a Folkung mantle before she was laid in her grave near the new church. All the Christians at Forsvik drank to her at her funeral ale, and then Gure sat for the first time in the high seat between Arn and Cecilia.
His admission into the Folkung clan went quickly. Only a week after Suom’s death a judge’s ting was called at Askeberga for the northern part of Western G?taland, which meant that all free yeomen there could present their case. In recent years these ting meetings had come to be more esteemed and were attended by many. There was much to discuss, and even though the ting had lost a great deal of its import since the power had shifted to the king’s council, it had become even more important for Eriks and Folkungs, who felt themselves pushed farther and farther away from the king and his councillors at N?s.
Arn rode to the judge’s ting at Askeberga with Gure by his side and a squadron of the eldest young men, including Sigurd who was once called Sigge and Oddvar who was once called Orm.
To induct a man into the clan at the ting, an oath was required from the man who sponsored him and an oath from sixteen men in the clan. A squadron from Forsvik was precisely sixteen men, and even though they were young they were Folkungs. They all stepped forward as one man and gave their oath in a firm voice.
In the presence of the ting Arn then wrapped the Folkung mantle first around his brother Gure and then around Sigurd and Oddvar, who from that day forth did not need to dress differently than the other young warriors at Forsvik.
Eskil was also at the ting. He did not seem as pleased as Arn was about having acquired a new brother, although he consoled himself by the fact that there would be no inheritance from their father Magnus, since it had already been legally divided between himself and Arn.
In this situation it was unthinkable that anyone at the ting would utter a word about those whom Arn had admitted to the clan. If he wished, he could now make the stones in the field into Folkungs, so strongly had the clan’s hopes been pinned on him. For everyone believed that war with the Sverker followers and their Danes was inevitable.

Sune Folkesson’s life had changed so dramatically that it now almost resembled a dream. He wouldn’t have been able to imagine what had happened to him in recent years, even in his best or worst moments. No young Folkung could have felt the same torment in his breast and at the same time such devouring fire.
Two years had now passed since the day Sir Arn had called him over in his own house at Forsvik, carefully closed the door, and told him the astounding news that he was going to be sent off as a traitor. Sune was to forsake Forsvik, to which he had devoted nine years of his life and where he was now one of the three highest commanders under Sir Arn himself, and he was to flee to N?s and seek service with King Sverker.
At first he didn’t believe his ears when he heard these words, which Sir Arn spoke quite calmly and kindly. Soon the situation was made more understandable, but no less surprising.
Since jarl Birger Brosa had died, Sir Arn went on to explain softly, the Folkungs had no information about what was happening with King Sverker. With their confederates, the Eriks, they were also unable to consult, because the leader of the clan, Erik jarl, was being held as a ‘guest’ at N?s and was never expected to escape.
Information was half the victory, or defeat, in war. Perhaps there would indeed be war, because everything indicated that King Sverker sooner or later would break his oath to the council and royal ting. The king had made his son Johan the jarl of the realm when he was but a babe, and it was not difficult to understand that he saw Johan and not Erik jarl as the next king of the realm. He had also joined forces with Valdemar the Victor, who was the most fearful opponent there was in the North. However, King Valdemar was no Saladin, nor was he incapable of being beaten. Hence information was even more important.
Sune Folkesson had better chances than anyone else of taking on this heavy yoke and pretending to be a traitor. His mother was Danish, and he owned neither goods nor gold in the lands of the Goths. So it would be easy to believe that he, as half Danish, would be tempted to seek a more ambitious position than as a simple retainer at a Folkung forest estate.
Sir Arn emphasized that he would have to present himself just like that – as a simple retainer and not as the commander of three squadrons of light cavalry of the sort the Knights Templar employed. Also, when they tested him with sword and lance, he should avoid showing more than necessary of his true skills. That might arouse suspicion and curiosity. He didn’t need to be the best to become a royal retainer at N?s, because it would be sufficiently tempting for the Danes to take in a Folkung with Danish blood.
Worst of all to endure was the fact that this stratagem they had now agreed on must remain a secret, known only to the two of them. Even Sune’s own brothers among the young nobles at Forsvik must believe that he had simply deserted them; they would spit after saying his name if it were ever mentioned.
Why it had to be this way was not easy to accept. But if only Sir Arn and Sune himself knew the secret, that he hadn’t deserted his clan or his brothers and was only a spy at N?s, he could never be betrayed. If the two of them met at N?s they would avoid looking at each other or show mutual contempt.
And they could never meet or exchange words even in deepest secrecy before the day came when Sune had to flee N?s to bring word to Forsvik. And then it would not be about some trifle, but information about where and when a foreign army would invade. He should flee back to his kinsmen when it was a matter of life or death, but not before. During his time at N?s he would naturally take note of everything he saw – how the Danes rode, what sort of lance tips they used, or anything else that might be of value. Such information was important but not reason enough to flee.
Arn would leave a sealed letter with his son Magnus M?nesk?ld in which he told the true story. So if he should be killed while Sune was still on his dangerous mission, the truth would be passed down and remain in the hands of the Folkungs.
Sune must be careful to show restraint before he left Forsvik, and seek support in prayer. He could not take along anything to N?s except his practice weapons. And to none of his brothers could he disclose the secret before he set off. He could easily steal a little purse of silver coins to take along, Sir Arn concluded, handing him the purse.
Sune had been especially quiet after this meeting and spent more time than any of the young nobles in church. In the early hours of one November night he stowed away on a boat among sleepy sailors taking a load of flour and glass to Link?ping. Then he jumped off at Mo and proceeded down the east coast of Lake V?ttern until he found a trout fisherman to take him over to Visings?, paying the man well.
Everything that Sir Arn had surmised about his reception at N?s met their expectations and more. When Sune reported to the leader of the royal guard the next morning the man laughed at him, because he seemed so young and destitute. But when he told them he was a Folkung on his father’s side and Danish on his mother’s, and that he had already served a long time as a guard, they changed their tune. He was told to wait until the marshal himself, a Danish gentleman named Ebbe Sunesson, had time to receive him. Then everything went more smoothly than he could have imagined. Ebbe Sunesson knew his mother well, because she had remarried to a man in the Hvide clan. And the marshal didn’t want to criticize this Danish woman because when she returned to her fatherland she had left a son behind. Who could know how hard it might have been to wrest a son from the hands of the savage Folkungs? They should also keep in mind that if she had succeeded with this, young Sune would have grown up as a Dane. Perhaps they should view it as God’s will that he had now returned to his kinsmen.
But blood was not everything. Sune also had to show that he was skilled enough to be a royal guard.
The tests he found easy, and he had to make an effort to remember Arn’s words about not showing too much or to let his pride run away with his reason. The Danish guards who were ordered to swing their swords at him were easy opponents; a lad of seventeen at Forsvik would have had no trouble defeating them.
The very first day at N?s he’d been given the red Sverker uniform to wear, and it was the most humiliating moment of his life. In the evening he was invited to sit at the king’s table, since it was joyous news that a bold Folkung had joined the king’s guard.
It was on that first evening that his eyes fell upon the king’s daughter Helena with the long, golden hair. And she looked often at him. But after that night he was not allowed to sit at the king’s table; instead his task was to wait on those seated there. Many were the differences between the customs of the Danes and the Goths; the Danes preferred not to have house thralls or freedmen waiting on the king’s table in the evening, but young men whom they called pages. So Sune began his life at N?s not as a guard, which he had expected, but as a person who did the work of house thralls. Naturally he could have asked someone whether this was an affront or not, but that question soon lost all importance because he got to see Helena every evening. Even though he never had a chance to speak to her, their eyes continued to meet in secret understanding.
At the royal table, King Sverker always sat in the high seat along with his new Folkung queen Ingegerd Birgersdotter and Helena. Next to the high seat sat the king’s Danish marshal Ebbe Sunesson, and sometimes the queen brought her little son Johan jarl with her; she always dressed him with a little crown on his head.
She seemed to be well aware that this was a clear insult to the four Erik sons, who all sat in an inferior place at the table. She always spoke loudly of her son Johan as the jarl, while she addressed Erik jarl as Erik Knutsson. It was not hard to see what queen Ingegerd thought about who should be the next king.
Erik jarl and his brothers Jon, Joar, and Knut never showed any joy at the table, since every meal was yet another affront to them. When the king happened to mention them as his dear guests, toasting them and feigning happiness at having them so close, many of the Danes in the hall laughed in a vulgar manner. The Erik sons were captives at N?s and nothing more.
To Sune they showed only hostility and contempt and were unwilling to be served by him; they said they had sensitive noses and the smell of a traitor did not go well with ale and roast meat. They often drank themselves senseless, and sometimes they had to be dragged from the table. King Sverker was more than willing to let this go on, and he was often the one who ordered more ale just as they looked to be finished drinking for the evening.
During the first autumn, winter, and spring it was almost impossible for Sune to get a single good night’s sleep. He lay in a damp, cold stone room with ten other snoring and foul-smelling guards, and tossed and turned in his bunk. The shame of treachery burned inside him, as did the sorrow of seeing the Erik sons drinking their honour under the table and constantly showing him their contempt. But the flame that Helena Sverkersdotter had ignited in him was even more consuming, so that he felt trapped between fire and ice. If he dreamed anything when he finally fell asleep, it was of her face, her long hair, and her lovely eyes. Sleep came as a liberator when he finally was able to succumb to it.
Just before Midsummer Helena celebrated her eighteenth birthday, and there was to be a great banquet at N?s. In her honour there would be Danish and Frankish games, contests with quarter-staff and sword – things that simple Swedes and Goths could not even imagine.
Sune was well aware that he ought to stay away from these festivities, just as Sir Arn had warned him. But then it was announced that the victor of the games would have the honour of being prince for two days and even wear a crown as he sat by young Helena’s side for the rest of the feast. Then Sune could no longer keep his reason stronger than the longing of his heart.
The contest would be held as a Frankish game in which anyone who felt himself called could participate, although at his own risk. The inner courtyard at N?s was cleaned and high wooden bleachers were erected along one wall, where the king and his guests would have a good view of the games.
Sune suffered great anguish when he heard the other guards talking about the games, which most of them intended to enter with horse and battle-club. No guard could win such a contest; that honour would fall to one of the Danish noblemen. But it was a great honour for anyone who made it to the final stages of the competition.
The more the others talked about the contest and how it would proceed, the more impossible it became for Sune to resist the temptation. Finally he dressed himself like the others, grabbed a red shield, a battle-club, and the horse he was most accustomed to riding.
Horns blared and drums thundered as the forty horsemen with shields and clubs rode in a circle before the king and his guests. When an hour or so had passed, only one of them would still be on his horse. As if to egg them all on, the king got to his feet and held up the victor’s crown; all fell silent and the contestants prayed a Pater Noster for themselves. Then a loud horn blast transformed the castle courtyard to a shouting and thundering melee of horses and warriors ferociously hacking at each other. A full dozen men fell to the ground at once.
Sune had cautiously moved toward the outermost circle of horsemen and at first was more concerned about keeping himself away from the swinging clubs than trying to knock someone else out of the saddle. With a horse from Forsvik, he thought, he wouldn’t have had to raise a hand to any of them, but simply ride off until he was the last one left. But his Danish horse was too sluggish for such a simple fight and had to be continually urged forward with a jab from his spurs.
As the guards fell they were dragged off by stable thralls who also tried to catch the loose horses. When half of all the guards had fallen, the Danish nobles concentrated more on one another. They all reckoned that the victor could only be one of them and that any remaining guards would be easier to handle when they had more space and there was less risk of a surprise blow delivered from behind.
So Sune had a very easy time of it for the first half hour. He kept out of the fray and stayed alert, always in motion so he would never be a ready target.
When only ten riders were left, Sune knocked his first man out of the saddle with a blow to his helmet from behind. This brought laughter and a surprised gasp from the onlookers, because it was one of the Danish nobles who fell. But now the others also seemed to have discovered Sune and began to take him seriously, because he was one of the last three guards still in the saddle. Suddenly he was everybody’s prey; they chased him around the courtyard, which was not without risk for his pursuers, since several of them were struck by men lying in wait and riding in the opposite direction.
When only four nobles and Sune remained, it would have been wisest to let himself be vanquished. Yet it seemed that the intention was for the king’s marshal Ebbe Sunesson to win, because no one dared attack him even if the situation was favourable. But Sune’s burning will to sit next to Helena was much stronger than his reason. He had reserved his energy and so far displayed only half the skill of which he was capable. Now the decisive moment was approaching and if he didn’t want to lose he would have to assert himself.
When two of the nobles charged him side by side while Herr Ebbe and the fourth remaining Dane just sat still and watched, Sune knew that he could actually win the game. He rode around once with the two pursuing him. Then he cut across obliquely and stopped his horse abruptly in the middle of the courtyard. The steed reared up and turned in the air so that one of the nobles was knocked off by the horse’s front hooves and the other was struck in the face by Sune’s battle club.
Ebbe Sunesson then surprisingly knocked off the man sitting next to him. The man had both hands on the pommel and was obviously taken completely by surprise. It was as if Herr Ebbe wanted to show that he truly needed no help now that he was going into battle in earnest. Twice he rode back and forth before the king and his guests at a canter, waving his hand and receiving great applause before he turned toward Sune waiting in the middle of the courtyard.
Slowly and sure of victory, Herr Ebbe began to walk his horse toward Sune to decrease the distance before he attacked. Sune decided to try a simple and devastating trick that everyone at Forsvik knew. If his opponent was not prepared for it or underestimated the danger, Sune would win. If he knew the trick or managed to see through it, Sune would be lost.
As if he were afraid of the Danish marshal, Sune let himself be chased twice around the courtyard at high speed until Herr Ebbe, tasting victory, closed from behind and the onlookers roared with excitement. Then Sune stopped short, lowered his head to the horse’s back so that his opponent’s club whistled through the air. At the same time he turned and landed a blow right on the chest of his pursuer. Herr Ebbe flew back a lance length before he slammed into the ground on his back and buttocks.
Sune gathered up his reins and removed his helmet before he rode before King Sverker, his face solemn, and bowed with his right hand pressed to his heart as a sign of loyalty. For a few moments he gazed into Helena’s eyes before he straightened up. If his wits were already clouded, the look he received from Helena did not improve matters.
In a rage Herr Ebbe came hobbling over, yelling that this rogue of a guard had won by luck that was not worthy of a victor. As the second-place contestant he now demanded his right to settle the matter by the sword.
The king at first looked around in confusion because he had never heard of this special rule. But some of the Danes around him nodded gravely, confirming that in cases when the victory was unclear, one could proceed to an unequivocal decision by the sword. King Sverker could do nothing but ask Sune whether he agreed to continue fighting or wished to cede the victory to Herr Ebbe, since it could be dangerous to meet such a swordsman.
As close as Sune was to spending two evenings at Helena’s side, no reason in the world could make him decline the challenge. The king sighed and decreed that the combatants would meet man to man, with sword and shield and helmet within one hour.
Sune had to lead his horse to the stable himself, while guards took care of Ebbe’s mount. When he reached the armoury behind the stables, it was full of guards all talking at once, eager to give him good advice. Most of it seemed to be about watching out for his left foot, because sooner or later Herr Ebbe always swept his sword low toward that vulnerable spot. Others thought it was especially important to watch out for Herr Ebbe when he pretended to lose his balance and halfway turned his back, because then he would strike either at his opponent’s left foot or head when he finished his twisting movement.
In the armoury were several Folkung shields, though they had not been repainted in a long time and the damaged sections had not been repaired. But the temptation was too great when Sune discovered that one of these shields fit him almost as well as his own back at Forsvik. Among the swords he didn’t have to search very long before he found one that suited him, because the Danes did not use Nordic swords as in the lands of the Goths but Frankish or Saxon ones, which were like those at Forsvik.
Sune was the same height as Herr Ebbe, but the onlookers were deceived by the fact that the latter had attended at least a thousand more banquets, so he looked all the more powerful in his armour when they stepped forward and bowed to the king and queen. Sune looked into Helena’s eyes when he raised his gaze.
In the first moments of the contest Sune felt himself turn cold and almost paralysed with fear. There was a mighty weight and strength in Herr Ebbe’s blows, and he attacked with hatred in his eyes as if they were enemies on a battlefield. And their swords were not for practice, but honed sharp. When he realized that it really was death he was facing, he cursed his own pride. For a good while he did not connect with a blow of his own, but had to concentrate on parrying and staying away from Herr Ebbe.
Everything that the guards had told him seemed to be true, for in quick succession he had twice seen his opponent strike at the left foot, and twice how Herr Ebbe seemed to wobble to the side only to spin around and in rage aim for Sune’s head.
The king and his guests did not like what they were seeing, for a feast day should not conclude with blood and death. But honour forbade even the king from interfering in a duel man to man once it had begun.
After the fight had gone on a while, Sune noticed that he was beginning to think more clearly because the attacks were coming more slowly. With his heart in his throat he had done everything he’d practiced since he was a boy without even thinking, merely counting one, two, three to himself and then moving just as he said three to watch the edge of the sword swish above his head or past his left foot. He grew more self-confident, knowing that he was a Forsviker and that what he could do at home in Forsvik he could also do here.
He stopped merely defending himself and went on the attack. Soon he was driving Herr Ebbe back and giving him no quarter to strike either at his foot or his head. Now Sune also had to start thinking about the end. How one could lose a duel of this type was not hard to imagine. But how to win? Should he, who had been entrusted to gather information and who had been warned by Sir Arn not to draw too much attention, actually kill the marshal of the kingdom?
The longer they went at it, the wearier Herr Ebbe grew and the more he gasped. The opportunity to inflict on him a serious wound became ever more frequent. Sune decided not to kill his opponent but to let the fight continue until the other man could fight no more, because it was evident that Herr Ebbe was twice as old and twice as tired.
Some of the Danish nobles had already approached the king and whispered that the fight against all custom had to be stopped before it came to a disastrous end. Ebbe would certainly not grow less exhausted by continuing, and the young Folkung could have killed him already if he had so wished.
But the king didn’t need to intervene. Suddenly Herr Ebbe held up his hand and went over to the king to say that he pardoned the young warrior. Because it would certainly be ill-advised, he said out of breath, if he were forced to kill such a hearty young man who should be serving his king rather than going to an early grave.
Without even the hint of a smile the king nodded pensively at these apparently noble and wise words and waved Sune over. He then asked him whether he could accept victory on these conditions. A bunch of foolish replies flew like swallows through Sune’s head, but he managed to bite his tongue and replied with a bow that it was a great honour to receive this mark of favour from the mightiest swordsman he had ever met or seen.
This was certainly the biggest lie that Sune had uttered since he arrived at N?s. But with only a sliver of wit remaining he tried to make up for his foolhardy behaviour.
And yet it may have been Sune’s foolishness that actually saved the future kingdom. For as events now unfolded one after the other, many lives were saved, although many more were wasted.
For two long evenings Sune was allowed to sit with his crown of victory next to Helena. That time was more than enough for the fire that had merely smoldered within them to flare up into a full blaze.
During these two evenings, when they sat together in full view of everyone and had to behave accordingly, they not only confessed their burning feelings for each other but also made more practical plans. They agreed to meet in private, or as close to private as they dared.
Helena was the daughter of a king, and it was still far from decided what the best marriage would be for her. King Sverker no doubt had his hopes that he could marry her off to the Danish king Valdemar the Victor. But there was not much hope of that, since such a mighty king would probably find a wife in the Frankish or German kingdoms. But as long as Valdemar the Victor remained unmarried, hope was not lost.
In the worst case Helena could marry in her own land for the sake of peace, to some Folkung or even an Erik. As long as no decision had been reached, she was allowed to remain unattended, becoming ever more beautiful. Actually King Sverker should have consigned her to one of his own clan’s cloisters, to Vreta or Gudhem, to better prepare her for the bridal ale with the man he eventually selected. But she was too dear to him. She reminded him of a time when he was happier than now in his position as king. Her mother Benedikta had been a lovely and fair woman, while his new queen Ingegerd was hard and coarse of mouth and as hungry for power as a man. As soon as she bore him a son she had played all sorts of tricks so that she no longer had to take him to her bed. And she constantly nagged him both about petty matters and about intrigues that were dangerous enough to cost them all their lives. Helena was like a beautiful memory and a constant reminder of happier times. That was why he didn’t want to send her to a convent.
But he would have done so in an instant if he knew who she was meeting at night. Now these rendezvous were certainly chaste, for Helena had sworn to God never to let any man enter her bedchamber at night. Her room had once served as the council chamber of the realm, but now it was much too small for the growing royal council. It was situated high up in the eastern tower at N?s, and a wild vine grew on the wall, enabling an eager young man to climb up to the window.
Helena lit two candles in her window as the signal. After his victory in the warrior games Sune had been given command of part of the guards. So it was no problem for him to visit the walls at night, as if he were going to check that all the guards were attending to their duties.
Many were their passionate meetings at her window; he may not have entered her bedchamber but he did enter her heart. He would stay until his arms grew numb from holding onto the wild vine, which took a long time because he was stronger than most and more eager than them all.
They refused to reconcile themselves to the fact that she was the daughter of a king, destined to be married to someone better than a guard. They found it utterly irrelevant that she was a Sverker and he a Folkung, and they promised each other eternal faithfulness after only two weeks when he ventured to lean forward and kiss her for the first time.
Because their love was as hopeless as it was great, Helena also told him things that would have been viewed as treason if anyone had heard. But she had only one person in whom to confide.
So one night in late summer Sune learned that the days of Erik jarl and his brothers were numbered. Queen Ingegerd had demanded their lives for the safety of her own son Johan and his legitimate inheritance of the crown of the realm. Often she had dripped her venom like the Serpent in the king’s ear, and she claimed to have discovered that the Eriks were merely waiting for the right moment to kill him. She was constantly seeing secret signs that a conspiracy was growing at N?s.
Finally King Sverker gave in. The Eriks would be drowned and delivered to Varnhem for burial, and there would be no mark on their bodies from either sword or dagger wounds. The story would be that they were out fishing for trout and that an unexpected autumn storm on Lake V?ttern had blown up and taken their lives.
Sune was doubly filled with sorrow when he heard this news. The lives of the Erik royal brothers may not have been his greatest concern, but the information he had now received was such that he would have to return to Forsvik. That meant being separated from Helena. Otherwise he would have to find a way to warn the Eriks.
At evening meals he often sat right next to Erik jarl and his brothers, although they all refused to talk to him. They treated him as if he were invisible, as a traitor deserved. Loudly so that everyone could hear, Erik jarl had complained more than once that Ebbe Sunesson hadn’t been able to lop off Sune’s head, but it might not be too late.
As if it were a special insult to have to sit near Sune, the Erik brothers took turns. One evening when it was Erik jarl sitting beside him, the moment came that Sune had been waiting for with growing trepidation. Now he could not falter; it had to happen now.
‘The king intends to drown you all and say that the storm took you while fishing. You don’t have much time to flee,’ he said in a low voice but with a smile as he handed a piece of meat to Erik jarl with a polite bow.
‘And why should I believe a traitor like you?’ Erik jarl snorted, but not loudly.
‘Because I am Sir Arn’s man and not the king’s, and because I would be a head shorter if anyone heard these words pass between us,’ replied Sune as he courteously poured the jarl more ale.
‘Where can we flee?’ whispered Erik jarl, suddenly tense and serious.
‘To Forsvik. There is shelter there and riders with Sir Arn,’ said Sune, raising his ale tankard. ‘But you must hurry, you don’t have many nights left.’
Erik jarl nodded gravely and to his brothers’ astonishment raised his ale tankard to Sune.
Two days later the commotion was great when it was discovered that Erik jarl and his brothers had escaped. Nobody knew where and nobody knew how, and it did no good to whip the guards who had been on duty that night.
The suspicious Queen Ingegerd cast long, suspicious looks at Sune. She thought she had seen Sune and Erik jarl having a brief, whispered conversation, contrary to their habits not so long ago. King Sverker thought it impossible that Sune, the brave and faithful warrior, could have warned the Erik brothers. For how could he have known what was going on in the minds of the king, the queen, or the marshal? Which of the three would have betrayed such a plan? Could Ebbe have confided in Sune, when his feelings about the guard were no secret after the ignominious defeat? If not, could he himself or the queen have done such a thing? No, the Eriks had been lucky and that was all. Besides, it was clear as water that they had not had occasion to thrive at N?s.
The king then did the only thing he could do. He promised two marks in pure gold to anyone who could bring him information about where the Eriks were hiding, because they certainly hadn’t been swallowed up by the earth.
It took a year before he learned that all four of them were hiding at an estate in the northern part of Western G?taland, a Folkung estate called ?lgar?s. Then he ordered Ebbe Sunesson to equip a hundred horsemen and bring the four back alive, although just their heads would suffice.
Sune found out that the Eriks had been discovered and were doomed to die. The same night that Sune heard this news, he was thrown into the tower dungeon by order of the queen, who had always suspected him. From the tower dungeons he heard the rattling of stirrups and weapons. It meant that the king’s hundred riders were preparing to leave at dawn, and he cursed himself. He had pursued this game too long, and he lamented the fact that love had brought him not only his own death, but that of the four royal sons. It had also led to despair, which was a great sin. He who despaired dug his own grave. He began to pray to Saint ?rjan, the protector of knights and the noble-minded.
When the night was at its darkest there was a rattle of keys at his cell door, and two men in dark clothes came in and took him gently but silently up the stairs. Helena was waiting for him. They said a hurried and whispered farewell. She was now going to be sent to Vreta cloister, and she wanted him to swear to fetch her from there. He had at first trembled and hesitated at the thought of stealing a maiden from a convent, which was one of the lowest deeds a man could commit. But she assured him that, first, she would not take the vows; she was a king’s daughter and not intended to be a nun. And second, the day she saw blue mantles approaching Vreta she would run to meet them.
He then swore that he and his kinsmen, a squadron in number, in blue mantles and in the middle of the day so that they could be seen from far off, would rescue her from Vreta cloister.
They kissed, weeping, and then she tore herself away with a sigh and hurried off into the darkness.
Down below the castle a small boat awaited. The wind was from the south and should take him to Forsvik in one night.

At dawn Sune was dropped off outside Forsvik clad in tattered, filthy Sverker clothing. His two companions quickly left the harbour and set a course for the north. They would never again set foot at N?s, nor did they need to. Helena with her gold jewellery had paid them more than enough to live a good life elsewhere.
At that early hour there were few people about at Forsvik, but when one of the young nobles on his way out to the privy caught sight of Sune, he at once ran to ring the alarm. A few moments later Sune was surrounded by armed and angry young men cursing him as a traitor. Soon he was dragged, bound hand and foot, over to the big bell that was the gathering place in case of an alarm. There he was forced to his knees while everyone waited for Sir Arn, who came running over half-dressed in chain mail.
When Arn caught sight of Sune he stopped, smiled, and drew his dagger from his belt. There was complete silence as he went over to Sune and cut off the ropes binding his hands and feet. He embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks.
Almost all the young warriors had now gathered, with only a few more running up as they tried to get dressed. Their ire had dissolved and they looked at one another in wonder.
‘Think on the words of the Lord, all you Forsvikers!’ said Arn as he raised his right arm in a command for attention. ‘What you see is not always what you see, and don’t always judge someone by his clothes. This is your true brother Sune Folkesson, who in our service and at the risk of his life has been our informer with Sverker at N?s. It was Sune’s words that saved the life of Erik jarl and his brothers. That was why they came to us and escaped death at the hands of the deceitful king. Everyone who thought evil of Sune should first beg forgiveness from God and then from Sune himself!’
The first to come forward to embrace Sune were Bengt Elinsson and Sigfrid Erlingsson. Then all the others followed in turn.
Arn ordered the bathhouse to be heated up and for new Folkung clothing to be brought there. The red rags that Sune was wearing would be burned. Sune tried to object that he had urgent news and had no time for a bath, but Arn just shook his head with a smile and said that nothing was ever so urgent that a man should not stop to think before rushing off. He understood that it was no small matter that had convinced Sune to leave his service at N?s, since Sune had dared to remain in his perilous mission even after he had rescued Erik jarl and his brothers.
Sune hastened into the bathhouse and was still pulling on his Folkung clothes as he rattled off greetings to everyone on his way to Arn and Cecilia’s house. Inside awaited fresh Saracen morning bread and strong lamb soup. Sir Arn and Fru Cecilia embraced him with tears in their eyes and welcomed him home.
As they ate, Sune quickly told them all the most important news. King Sverker had finally found out that Erik jarl and his brothers were hiding at ?lgar?s, and he was sending a hundred fully armed men to kill them. If it was true that the Erik brothers were at ?lgar?s, there wasn’t much time.
Arn nodded grimly. It was true that on Bengt Elinsson’s advice they had moved the men to ?lgar?s because there were no Sverkers in the vicinity, and because the king would probably search toward Eriksberg in the south rather than in a Folkung village in the north. Erik jarl had also been wise enough when he arrived to tell Arn in private about the warning he had received from Sune. He hadn’t said a word to anyone else about it, but Arn had confirmed that it really was true that Sune had always been a Forsviker, although he dressed in the red mantle at N?s. Erik jarl had also recounted the strange way that Sune had behaved so as not to draw attention to himself. But that was a matter for another conversation, because now in truth they did not have much time.
Three fully armed squadrons, two of light cavalry and one of heavy armoured riders, left Forsvik that morning. At the mustering before their departure, Arn had given a brief speech and said that this was no longer practice. What was now about to happen was what they had been training for. That was why all their practice swords had been exchanged for sharp ones, the arrows were not blunt, and the lances were not fitted with round points but with triple steel points.
Perhaps they would have been more successful if they had ridden from Forsvik with only light cavalry and not with a squadron of heavy armour that delayed the others. In hindsight they could have drawn that conclusion, but hindsight is always the wisest jarl of all fools.
What Sune had to tell about the Danish knights’ horses and weapons had convinced Arn that at least one heavy squadron was necessary, because they were meeting a force that was twice as large as their own.
?lgar?s was ablaze when they arrived; they had seen the smoke and flames from far off. Yet Arn had sternly made them all follow his pace at a calm trot so as not to arrive exhausted to a confrontation with the Danes and Sverkers.
After a slow ride which tried all their patience, they finally came within striking distance, and they could see the redgarbed warriors on their way in through a big breach in the stockade wall of sharpened poles. Now there was no time to lose. Arn positioned the heavy cavalry foremost in order to attack with speed and power, ordering Bengt Elinsson to wait outside the walls with his squadron and clear the entire area of all the red troops.
King Sverker’s men were so excited about entering the stronghold that they discovered too late the noise of the blue-clad riders coming at them in formation with lances lowered. The Folkungs crushed all before them on their way into ?lgar?s.
In a corner of the estate a small group was crowded together with Erik jarl in front. The heavy riders who had led the break-in moved off to the side, and behind them the squadron led by Sigfrid Erlingsson attacked. Most of the fleeing Sverkers and Danes were caught outside the walls by Bengt Elinsson and his squadron of light cavalry. No prisoners were taken. A few of the enemy escaped, among them Ebbe Sunesson.
Erik jarl was the only survivor among his brothers, and he was wounded in more than one place. Everywhere in the estate lay dead Folkungs, young and old alike. Even house thralls and livestock lay slaughtered.
Erik jarl showed his fortitude and honour in the hour of sorrow. He staggered with exhaustion and his face, hands, and one thigh were bleeding, but still gasping he had a brief whispered conversation with Arn. Then he wiped off his bloody sword, called over the three squadron leaders Sune, Sigfrid, and Bengt and their closest men – Sigurd, who was once called Sigge, Oddvar who was once called Orm, and Emund Jonsson, Ulvhilde’s son. He ordered them to kneel and in his capacity as the new king of the Swedes and Goths, he dubbed them knights.
They were the first to be knighted in the new kingdom that was now on its way.