EIGHT
A woman of the Folkung clan had been lamentably killed by her own husband and master. This heinous act occurred late one afternoon, and that evening the murderer saw the sun go down for the first time after committing his evil deed.
The name of this wicked man was Svante Sniving of the Ymse clan, and the name of his Folkung wife whom he had killed was Elin Germundsdotter from ?lgar?s. They had only one son, Bengt, who was thirteen years old.
After seeing his mother struck down by his father, young Bengt fled to the estate of his maternal grandfather, Germund Birgersson, at ?lgar?s. That same night, a summons was sent out from there in all directions to the Folkung estates within a day’s ride.
It was daylight when the riders, who were young kinsmen clad in worn blue mantles, reached Forsvik. The unexpected guests were first offered bread, salt, and ale by Cecilia. They quickly quenched their thirst before explaining their errand, saying that they were carrying a Folkung summons for Sir Arn.
Cecilia said that she would quickly go in search of her husband, and she invited her guests to partake of ham and more ale while she was gone. Her heart pounding with alarm, she dashed toward the riding field where she could hear galloping horses. And there she found Arn along with the boys Sune and Sigfrid and the two Saracen horsemen. She waved urgently to Arn, who noticed her presence at once; he broke away from the other riders and raced across the field like the wind. He was riding Abu Anaza.
From a distance he’d already seen her agitation. When he reined in his horse and came to a stop, he dismounted at once and was at her side in one swift motion.
‘A summons has arrived from the Folkungs,’ she replied to his wordless question.
‘A summons from the Folkungs? What does that mean?’ asked Arn, looking puzzled.
‘Two young riders with solemn faces have arrived, saying only that they come bringing a summons,’ she replied. ‘I know no more than you do. Perhaps you should ask those boys over there.’
Since Arn had no better suggestion, he did as Cecilia said and called over all four riders by whistling and uttering two loud shouts. They came at once, at full gallop, reining in their horses a few paces away.
‘A summons has come from the Folkungs. Can either of you tell me what that might mean?’ he asked Sune and Sigfrid.
‘It means that all of us Folkung men at Forsvik must drop whatever we’re doing at once, arm ourselves well, and go with whoever has brought the message,’ replied Sigfrid.
‘No one in our clan can refuse a summons; that would mean eternal disgrace,’ added Sune.
‘But you’re only boys, and taking up arms doesn’t sound like something that should be required of you,’ muttered Arn crossly.
‘We are Folkungs all the same, young though we may be, and the only two of our clan that you have with you here at Forsvik, Sir Arn,’ replied Sune jauntily.
Arn sighed and thought for a moment as he stared at the ground. Then he spoke, apparently delivering orders to the two Saracen horsemen, and pointed at the blue surcoats worn by the boys. The two warriors from the Holy Land immediately bowed their heads as a sign of obedience and galloped off toward the estate.
‘Together let us seek out our kinsmen who have come with this message and find out what they want,’ said Arn. He walked over to Cecilia, pulled her up to sit in the saddle in front of him, and abruptly took off at a thundering speed for the old longhouse. Cecilia alternated between shrieking and laughing during the short ride.
Inside the longhouse the two unknown kinsmen greeted Arn with a courteous bow as he came in. After a brief pause, one of them came over and fell to his knees; with arms outstretched, he held out the summons, which was in the form of a piece of wood with the Folkung lion burned into the surface.
‘We hereby hand you, Sir Arn, your kinsmen’s summons and ask you to follow us with all men that you are able to arm,’ said the young man.
Arn accepted the summons but didn’t know what he was expected to do next. At that moment Sune and Sigfrid arrived, bowed solemnly to the two messengers, and then looked at Arn.
‘I have been away in the Holy Land for many years, and hence I have no idea what you two are requesting of me,’ he said with some embarrassment to the messengers. ‘But if you tell me what this matter concerns, I will do what honour demands.’
‘It has to do with Svante Sniving. He’s a man known for acting all too quickly, especially after drinking a great deal of ale. He beats the thralls and house servants, and even his own son,’ explained the other messenger, who thus far had not spoken.
‘That does not speak well of Svante Sniving,’ replied Arn hesitantly. ‘But tell me what this matter has to do with me.’
‘Yesterday he killed his wife, Elin Germundsdotter, who was of our clan, and he has already seen the sun set once,’ explained the first messenger.
‘A summons was sent out last night to all Folkungs who can reach Ymseborg before sundown tomorrow,’ clarified the other young kinsman.
‘I think I understand now,’ said Arn, nodding. ‘What sort of resistance can we expect from Svante?’
‘That’s hard to know. He has twelve retainers, but we should be fifty men or more by tomorrow. But we must ride no later than tonight; preferably at once,’ replied the first man.
‘We are only three Folkungs here at Forsvik, and two are mere boys. Can I take my retainers along with me?’ asked Arn, and received eager nods in reply.
There was nothing more to ask or discuss. It took less than an hour to load up the pack horses and for Forsvik’s five horsemen to dress for battle. The sun was still high in the sky when they rode off to the northwest.
It was shortly after the Feast of the Birth of the Virgin Mary, and the foliage in the woods gleamed red and gold. The nights had grown darker, which was good for the true believers, since their ninth month, the fasting month of Ramadan, had begun two days earlier. As they started off, Arn fretted about the exception to the Koran’s laws, which stated that fasting need not apply during times of war. Yet this journey could hardly be considered war; as he understood it, they were merely headed to an execution.
He rode up alongside his Muslim companions and asked them candidly for their opinion. But they simply laughed, saying that there was nothing to worry about since it was the very beginning of the fasting month. Also, the weather was pleasantly cool and the sun had come to its senses so that it once again set in the evening. And besides, they were forced to ride at a reduced speed because their two guides were so slow. Arn smiled and nodded in reply, thinking then that it was fortunate the fasting month had not occurred around Midsummer during the past few years. It would have been difficult for the Prophet’s people to refrain from water and food from sunrise to sundown.
They continued riding for a hour after the sun disappeared and darkness descended, finally forcing them to make camp for the night. Ali and Mansour, who now rode with blue shirts on top of their leather-clad steel chain mail, gave no sign that they would have preferred to stop for food and drink as soon as the sun had set.
The next day, when the sun was to go down for the third time since Svante Sniving’s killing of a Folkung woman, five dozen riders had gathered outside Ymseborg. During the night the retainers up on the castle palisades had seen fires burning in all directions as a sign that escape was impossible. The estate’s wooden gate was closed and up above perched four archers, anxiously gazing upon all the blue mantles that had gathered to confer less than a few arrow-shots away.
The leader of the Folkungs was Germund Birgersson, the father of the murdered Elin. At his side sat a grieving and bruised boy wearing a mantle that was half yellow and half black, which were the clan colours of Svante Sniving.
Arn had taken Ali and Mansour along for a short ride around the wooden fortress. They agreed that if required to take the castle, it could no doubt be easily accomplished with fire, but they wouldn’t be able to simply ride through the wooden walls. And besides, Arn now realized that speed was essential, since everything had to be done by sundown.
When he returned to the group he went to talk to Germund Birgersson to find out more about what was planned. As far as he understood, the boy would inherit Ymseborg, so surely it would be unwise to burn it down.
Germund smiled grimly, saying that he didn’t think it would be difficult to force open the gate. All he needed was for Arn, whose reputation had spread widely, also in this district, to help him persuade those who were standing guard. Arn replied that he had nothing against helping in any way he could.
‘Good. You are a man of honour, and any other response would have greatly surprised me,’ grunted Germund Birgersson with satisfaction. With an effort he got to his feet, straightening the mantle around his shoulders. ‘Mount your horse and follow me; we’ll soon take care of this minor hindrance!’
Somewhat puzzled, Arn went over to his horse, cinched the saddle tight, and rode up alongside Germund, who was now headed toward the gate of Ymseborg. None of the other Folkungs went with them.
They rode so close that they could easily have been struck by arrows, but no one chose to shoot at them.
The old Folkung chieftain cast a wily glance at Arn and rode even closer; Arn followed without hesitating, since hesitation is halfway to death.
‘I am Germund Birgersson of the Folkung clan, and I come to Ymseborg for the sake of honour and not for war or plundering. I am mistress Elin’s father, and I have come to demand my right, as have my kinsmen with me,’ said Germund in a loud and clear voice, almost as if he were singing his message.
No one up on the wooden wall replied, but neither did anyone reach out a hand to grab a weapon. Germund waited a moment before continuing.
‘We would prefer not to harm Ymseborg, for the estate shall soon pass in inheritance to the young Bengt, who is our kinsman,’ he went on. ‘Hence this is what I now swear to you. We seek no man’s death other than Svante’s. We will not harm either buildings or thralls, nor house servants, nor any of the retainers; we do not intend to visit any sort of violence upon you once we have finished here. That is our vow if you open this gate in an hour’s time and lay down your weapons. All of you will be in service to young Herr Bengt, or the one we choose to reside here as caretaker in his place. Your life here will continue as it was before. But if you should resist, I swear that not a single retainer among you will come through this alive. At my side is Arn Magnusson, and he makes the same vow to you!’
Then Germund slowly turned his horse around, and Arn followed, his expression grave, although he felt an unseemly mirth trying to force its way up inside him because someone had sworn death and destruction in his name with even asking his permission.
Not an arrow was shot at them; not a single jeer was heard.
‘I have no doubt that we’ll have this matter resolved by nightfall,’ said Germund Birgersson, groaning as he laboriously sank down at his former place in the encampment and reached toward the fire to pull out a piece of pork.
‘What do we do with the bodies when we’re done?’ asked Arn.
‘My daughter’s body I will take with me to ?lgar?s for a Christian burial at the church nearby,’ said Germund. ‘Svante’s body and his head we will stitch inside a cowhide and send to his kinsmen. Then we will choose a caretaker for Ymseborg, to reside here in young Bengt’s place.’
‘What about the boy? It will be a sorrowful time ahead for him, after losing both his mother and father,’ said Arn.
‘That’s true. I shall do my utmost to see to it that young Bengt’s life will be brighter from now on,’ said Germund pensively. ‘As young as he is, he still has the seed of a wastrel in his body. It is not his inclination to work the fields; instead he babbles on about knights and the king’s retainers or service at Arn?s. All youths seem to be dreaming of such things these days.’
‘Yes,’ said Arn, his expression serious as he mused. ‘The young seem to set their sights more easily on swords and lances than on ploughs and flails. But you intend to shake that inclination out of him and turn him into a farmer?’
‘I’m too old for such business,’ muttered Germund crossly at the thought that before the sun set he would have a thirteen-year-old boy foisted upon him, and he would have to try to turn the boy into a man.
Arn excused himself and went to seek out Sune and Sigfrid. He found both boys busy sharpening the tips of their arrows, their faces solemn. He took Sune’s whetstone from him and showed him how the task could be done better as he told the boys about young Bengt’s sorrowful fate. Not only was he without a mother, but he would soon be fatherless too, and then he would be forced to accompany old Germund home to become a farmer, as was the custom a hundred years ago. Perhaps, Arn mused aloud, it might not be such a foolish idea if Sune and Sigfrid stayed close to Bengt during the next few hours, since the three of them were the only retainers who were so young. And it would do no harm to tell Bengt a little about what they were learning at Forsvik.
Arn had a hard time concealing his smile as he abruptly stood up, leaving his two young squires behind.
An hour passed, and all the Folkungs mounted their horses and slowly rode toward the gate of Ymseborg, which opened before them as soon as they were within the distance of an arrow-shot. They rode into the courtyard, lined up their horses, and waited. The place was deserted except for a few thrall children peering out from vents. A couple of maids dashed across the courtyard in alarm, looking for a stray child.
Silence descended over the estate; the only sound was the snorting of the horses and the clattering of stirrups. No one spoke and nothing happened. They waited for a long time.
Finally Germund grew impatient and signalled to ten hale and hearty young men who dismounted, drew their swords, and went inside the longhouse. Soon shouts were heard, followed by a great commotion. A short time later they emerged along with Svante Sniving, whose hands and feet were bound. They forced him to his knees in front of the line of horsemen, where only one yellow and black mantle was visible among all the blue. That was young Bengt, his face expressionless, although the bruises from his father’s fists could be seen from far away.
‘I demand my right as a free yeoman in the land of the Goths and in accordance with the laws of the Goths!’ shouted Svante Sniving, his voice slurred, indicating that he was no less drunk than usual, even though this would be the last time.
‘Whoever kills a Folkung, man or woman, young or old, has no right but to live until the third sundown!’ replied Germund Birgersson from where he sat on his horse.
‘I offer double the man-price and will present my case before the ting!’ Svante Sniving yelled in reply, as if he truly believed in his legal right.
‘We Folkungs never accept a man-price, whether double or threefold, it means nothing to us,’ replied Germund with such contempt in his voice that laughter erupted from some of the stern-faced horsemen.
‘Then I demand my right to God’s judgment in single combat, the right to die as a free yeoman and not like a thrall!’ shouted Svante, still with more fury than fear in his voice.
‘To demand single combat will do you no good,’ snorted Germund Birgersson. ‘Among the kinsmen who have joined me in this matter is Arn Magnusson, here at my side. He would be the one to fight the duel for us. Then you would no doubt die faster than by the executioner’s axe, though your honour would be no greater. Be glad that we don’t hang you like a thrall; think now about the fact that your last honour in life is to die like a man without complaining or pissing!’
Germund Birgersson gave a signal, and several of the young men who had taken Svante Sniving from the longhouse brought forward a chopping block and axe. Germund silently pointed to the man who looked to be the strongest. Without hesitation he picked up the axe and the next moment Svante Sniving’s head rolled out into the courtyard as two men held the twitching body pressed to the ground until the blood stopped gushing from the neck.
During this entire scene Arn kept a watchful eye on young Bengt’s face. A slight flinching was noticeable as Arn heard the sound of the axe strike its blow, but nothing more. Not a tear, not even an attempt to make the sign of the cross.
Arn was not sure whether such a stony response was good or bad. But it was certain that this was a young man who above all hated his father.
The few things that still remained to do were quickly accomplished. Svante Sniving’s body was dragged to the nearby slaughterhouse while another man followed, carrying his head; there both would be stitched inside a cowhide. In the meantime young Bengt dismounted from his horse and slowly walked over to the place where his father’s blood was still trickling quietly in the oblique evening light.
He took off his mantle and dragged it along the ground through the blood.
The Folkungs sat on their horses, their faces expressionless as they watched the young man whose courage and honour were worthy of admiration. Germund Birgersson signalled to Arn to dismount and follow him as he went over to the boy.
Germund approached slowly until he stood behind young Bengt and placed his left hand on the boy’s left shoulder. After a brief glance from Germund, Arn did the same with his right hand. They waited for a moment in silence while young Bengt seemed to gather courage for what he wanted to say. It was not easy, because he clearly wanted to speak in a firm and resolute voice.
‘I, Bengt, son of Svante Sniving and Elin Germundsdotter, in the presence of my kinsmen, now take the name Bengt Elinsson!’ he shouted at last, managing to say the words without any sign of quavering or uncertainty.
‘I, Germund Birgersson, and my kinsman Arn Magnusson,’ replied Germund, ‘take you as one of our clan. You are now a Folkung and a Folkung you shall remain for all eternity. You are always one of us, and we will always be with you.’
In the silence that followed, Germund nodded to Arn to continue. But Arn didn’t know what to do or say until Germund leaned toward him and explained in an angry whisper. Arn then took off his blue mantle and wrapped it around young Bengt, and all of the horsemen drew their swords and pointed first toward the sky and then toward Bengt.
By swearing an oath of blood, Bengt Elinsson had been accepted into the Folkung clan. At Ymseborg, which now belonged to the boy, his maternal grandfather chose two caretakers to manage his inheritance. For Bengt had no desire to stay at Ymseborg for even one more day.
But what he did want was something that his grandfather soon learned as they rode away from the estate. All the Folkungs were then to take their leave at the encampment. With fervent zeal Bengt begged to go to Forsvik with Arn Magnusson, for he had heard from the two other young kinsmen who had come with Arn about all the wonders that were taking place there.
Germund thought that for once it might be best to make a quick decision. Young Bengt truly needed something else to think about, and the sooner the better. To ride to ?lgar?s for the funeral and week of mourning might be what honour demanded, at least of an older man. But a boy who in less than three days had lost both his mother and father could not be treated in the same way as others.
Germund went over to Arn Magnusson, who was speaking in a foreign tongue with his retainers, and he asked outright whether Arn might be able to comply with what the young and newly-fledged Folkung so clearly wished. Arn didn’t seem fazed in the least by this question, and he replied that it could be easily done.
And so it was that the three Folkungs who had left Forsvik in order to avenge the honour of their clan now returned with a fourth.
During the first mild weeks of autumn a sense of order descended upon Forsvik so that not even Cecilia’s stern vigilance noticed anything different. Every day boatloads arrived with winter fodder, which was stored in the barns and haystacks. From Arn?s dried fish from Lofoten began arriving in great quantities, which showed that Harald ?ysteinsson had made a successful second trip with the great ship of the Templar knights.
With the third load of dried fish, new thralls arrived that Arn had requested from Eskil. They included Suom, who was so skilled at weaving, and her son Gure, who was said to be particularly proficient with anything that was to be made of wood. The hunter Kol and his son Svarte also came along.
For many reasons Arn and Cecilia had looked forward to the arrival of these thralls, and they welcomed them almost as if they were guests. Cecilia took Suom by the arm to show her the weaving room that was almost finished while Arn took the three men to the thralls’ quarters to find space for them. But he soon realized that what he could offer them was much too paltry for the coming winter, and thus he ordered Gure to start his work at Forsvik by repairing the worst of the thrall lodgings. And when he was done with that, he should begin building new quarters.
Gure was given a work team of four thralls, whom he was to supervise according to his own wishes. If he needed new tools, he could simply go to the smithies and ask for them.
At first Arn wanted to give Kol and his son Svarte lodgings in the old longhouse. But they said they would rather live in the simplest of hovels, since they were used to keeping to themselves and hunters went out at different hours than workers.
Arn thought he remembered Kol from his youth, but he had to ask several times before this was confirmed. They had hunted together when Arn was seventeen and Kol was apprenticed to his father, who was named Svarte, like Kol’s son. The old Svarte had died by now and was buried near the thralls’ farm at Arn?s. That was why it had been easier to sell Kol and his son to Arn. At Arn?s it was not viewed favourably to leave old and feeble thralls without kin.
After these explanations, Arn refrained from asking any questions about the boy’s mother. He was still not accustomed to the fact that he was the owner of human beings. From the age of five he had lived among monks and Templar knights, for whom the very idea of slavery was an abomination. He promised himself to speak with Cecilia about this matter as soon as possible.
He told Kol that the first thing of importance was to see to it that he and his son had horses and saddles so that they could make a survey of the region and find the best hunting areas. Kol and Svarte, whether morose by nature or dumbstruck with embarrassment, followed Arn over to the horse pastures. There Arn put halters on two horses that he chose for their calm nature rather than for speed and impetuous temperament.
Until the hunters became accustomed to their horses, the animals would be kept in the stable to rest instead of being released into the pastures with the others. Otherwise it would be difficult to catch them again, Arn warned as they led the horses up toward the estate.
Arn was pleased to see that Kol was overjoyed to see these horses, and he spoke eagerly with his son in the thralls’ language as he gestured toward the necks and legs of the steeds. Arn couldn’t resist asking Kol what he was telling his son. He learned that it was just such a horse that Sir Arn himself had once, long ago, brought to Arn?s, and all the servants had thought the animal a miserable beast. Even Kol and his father had foolishly believed the same until they saw Sir Arn ride the horse that was called Kamil or some such name.
‘Shimal,’ Arn corrected him. ‘It means “north” in the language of the land where these horses come from. But tell me, Kol, where do you come from?’
‘I was born at Arn?s,’ replied Kol in a low voice.
‘But what of your father, with whom I also hunted. Where was he from?’
‘From Novgorod on the other side of the Eastern Sea,’ said Kol, sounding sullen.
‘And the other thralls at Arn?s, where do they or their ancestors come from?’ Arn persisted, even though he could see that Kol would have preferred to avoid any further questions on the subject.
‘All of us come from across the sea,’ replied Kol reluctantly. ‘Some of us know this to be true; others merely believe it is so. Some say from the Byzantine Empire, other say Russia or Poland, Estonia or even the Abbasid Caliphate. There are many sagas but little knowledge about this. Some think that our fathers and mothers were once taken captive in war. Others believe that we have always been thralls, but I don’t agree.’
Arn remained silent. He stopped himself from saying at once that Kol and his son would now be free men; he needed to think about the matter first and discuss it with Cecilia. He didn’t ask any more uncomfortable questions, merely told Kol and his son to spend time getting to know the area and not to do any hunting unless the opportunity to shoot some animal happened by chance. But he assumed that right now the important thing was to find out where the hunting would be best.
Without speaking Kol nodded his agreement, and then they parted.
Arn had planned to say something to Cecilia about his concern regarding ownership of thralls during their journey to Bj?lbo, where they were to attend the betrothal ale for their son Magnus and the Sverker daughter Ingrid Ylva.
But Cecilia had apparently also planned to use this journey, in particular the first idle hours on the ship crossing Lake V?ttern, for a conversation that required both time and consideration. As soon as the ship left shore, she spoke at length and without stopping about the old weaver Suom and the almost miraculous skill that this woman possessed in her hands. As Cecilia had requested, Eskil had sent along a heavy bundle of tapestries that Suom had made; previously they had hung on the walls at Arn?s. A number of them Arn had already seen, since Cecilia had adorned the walls of their bedchamber with Suom’s work.
Arn murmured that some of the images were much too strange for his taste, especially the ones that purportedly depicted Jerusalem with streets of gold and Saracens with horns on the foreheads. Such images were not true, and he could attest to this better than most people.
Cecilia seemed a bit offended by his comment and said that the beauty of the images was not simply a matter of truth; it had as much to do with how the colours were put together and the ideas and visions that the pictures conjured up if beautifully done. In this manner the conversation veered a bit from what she had intended to discuss, and they ended up quarrelling.
Arn moved forward to the bow of the ship to see to their horses for a while and to speak to Sune and Sigfrid. The boys had been allowed to come along to tend to the horses even though they no doubt regarded themselves more as Sir Arn’s retainers. When Arn rejoined Cecilia, she spoke at once about the matter she wanted to discuss.
‘I want to free Suom and her son Gure,’ she said quickly, her eyes fixed on the planks at the bottom of the ship.
‘Why? Why Suom and Gure?’ Arn asked with curiosity.
‘Because her work has great value that will produce silver many times the worth of a thrall,’ replied Cecilia at once, without looking at Arn.
‘You can free anyone you like at Forsvik,’ said Arn. ‘Forsvik belongs to you, and therefore all the thralls are yours as well. But I would like to free Kol and his son Svarte.’
‘Why those particular hunters?’ she asked, surprised that the discussion had already moved past the initial hurdle.
‘Let’s say that Kol and his son bring home eight stags during this first winter,’ replied Arn. ‘That will not only make our meals less monotonous, but it’s more than the value of a thrall, and in only one winter. But the same can be said of every thrall. They all bring in more than their own worth.’
‘Is there something else you wish to say?’ asked Cecilia, giving him a searching glance.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter that I have been saving to discuss during this journey—’
‘I thought as much!’ she interrupted him, looking pleased. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth to show that she had no intention of saying more until Arn had finished.
‘God did not create any man or woman to be a thrall; that is how I view it,’ Arn went on. ‘Where in the Holy Scriptures does it say that such should be the case? You and I have both lived in that part of the world, behind walls, where thralldom would be unthinkable. I imagine that we think alike regarding this matter.’
‘Yes, I think we do,’ said Cecilia solemnly. ‘But what I can’t decide is whether I am wrong or whether all of our kinsmen are mistaken. Not even the thralls believe otherwise; they think that God created some of us to be masters and others to be thralls.’
‘Many of the thralls don’t even believe in God,’ remarked Arn. ‘But I have had the same thought that you mention. Am I the one who is wrong? Or am I so much wiser and better than all of our kinsmen? Even Birger Brosa and Eskil?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You and I are in agreement about this matter.’
‘But if we do indeed agree, then what should we do?’ Arn mused. ‘If we were to free all the thralls at Forsvik tomorrow, so that no one was allowed to own thralls anymore, what would happen then?’
At first Cecilia had no answer. She sat for a while, leaning her chin on her hand and pondering the matter. It occurred to her that the easy part was to forswear the sin, but the hard part was to clear up the confusion that might then arise.
‘Wages,’ said Arn at last. ‘We free all of them, let’s say sometime in midwinter so that cold will keep them sensible and they won’t go running off in all directions with their freedom. Then we will institute wages. At the start of each year every thrall, I mean every man and woman, will receive a certain amount of silver coins. Another possibility, which my blessed mother Sigrid employed, was to allow freed men to work new fields and pay a tenant’s fee each year. I suggest that we try to proceed along both these paths.’
‘But so much in wages would mean heavy expenses for us in pure silver,’ sighed Cecilia. ‘And here I was just beginning to see brighter prospects when it comes to our account books.’
‘He who gives alms to the poor performs a deed that pleases God, even when his silver pouch grows lighter,’ said Arn as he brooded. ‘It is the righteous thing to do, and you and I wish to live a righteous life. That alone is reason enough. Another reason is that those tenants that my mother freed from Arn?s worked harder. Without costing us any winter fodder, they increased our wealth. What if freed men always work harder than thralls, what if it would be good business to free them?’
‘In that case, our thrall-owning kinsmen are not merely sinners, but also short-sighted,’ laughed Cecilia. ‘I can see that we both share a certain arrogance in thinking these thoughts, my dear Arn.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Arn. ‘But you and I wish to cleanse ourselves of a sin, so let’s do it! Whether the Lord will reward us or not, it is not our concern. And if we find it costly in terms of silver, then so be it. We can afford it. So let’s try!’
‘Yes, and we’ll wait until midwinter so they don’t go running off like chickens when they are freed,’ said Cecilia with a smile, as if picturing all the tumult that would then occur at Forsvik.
When they reached Bj?lbo, Birger Brosa’s estate, Arn and Cecilia were not as well received as they had hoped. When they rode in among the welcoming fires outside the church, they were received by house thralls who showed them into one of the guest houses, as if they were supposed to share lodgings with their retainers. They had not brought a large retinue with them, just the boys Sune and Sigfrid, who may have pictured themselves as offering protection to their master and mistress, but others saw them merely as boys.
This was one of the few things that Birger Brosa himself mentioned in a brief conversation with Arn. He said that it was not befitting for a Folkung to ride without retainers, especially since the Sverkers at this banquet might take it as an insult.
Ingrid Ylva’s father was also cold in tone and handshake when he greeted Arn. Sune Sik said only a few words about the fact that the blood between them could not be washed away until after the bridal ale.
A grim mood reigned over the high seat since neither Birger Brosa nor his wife Brigida was willing to speak a single kind word to Arn or Cecilia, and the mood spread throughout the hall. As a betrothal feast, this gathering at Bj?lbo was not going to be remembered as festive.
On all three evenings Arn and Cecilia withdrew as early as possible without offending the honour of their host. They barely had a chance to speak to their son Magnus or his future wife Ingrid Ylva, since the betrothal seats, decorated with leafy boughs, were far from the high seat.
They didn’t stay even an hour longer than the three days that custom dictated.
Nor did Arn find the situation much better when they arrived at Ulfshem, the next estate they were to visit and the home of Cecilia’s dear friend Ulvhilde Emundsdotter. It was in a beautiful location between Bj?lbo and Link?ping. There was wine for Arn and Cecilia, who both preferred not to partake of all the ale-drinking, and the meat that was served was tender. But there was a shadow between Arn and Ulvhilde that would not recede, and everyone saw it, although no one said a word.
And Ulvhilde’s husband, Jon, who was more inclined to the law than the sword, had a hard time carrying on any sort of sensible conversation with Arn, since he assumed that Arn was a man who understood nothing but war. Arn constantly felt as if Jon were addressing a halfwit or a child.
For his part, Jon found it difficult to see his young sons Birger and Emund watching Arn with their eyes bright with admiration. In one sense the situation improved, though in another sense it did not, when Arn suggested that the young Sune and Sigfrid join Jon’s sons outdoors rather than be forced to keep the older people company. The boys obediently retreated, but soon the clanging of weapons was heard from out in the courtyard, which didn’t surprise Arn, though it clearly annoyed Jon.
On the second evening, which was to be their last at Ulfshem, Arn and Cecilia, Jon and Ulvhilde were sitting at the long hearth in the great hall. It was as if the two women discovered too late that while they had a thousand things to discuss, their husbands were less pleased with each other’s company. On this evening the conversation also seemed sluggish, and the topics were inoffensive matters that would not lead to anyone’s discomfort.
Arn was fairly certain what lay at the bottom of this dark lake, and at the beginning of the evening he was determined to leave it alone. But when the first few hours had crawled by with dreary talk, too many silences, and not a single laugh, he decided it was more difficult to carry on in this way than to lance the boil.
‘Let’s speak of the matter that lies between us, since it will not get any better if we pretend it’s not there,’ said Arn in the middle of a discussion about the mild autumn they were now enjoying compared to the severe cold of the previous year.
At first there was utter silence so that only the crackling of the fire was heard.
‘You mean my father Emund Ulvbane,’ said Ulvhilde at last. ‘Yes, it would be better to speak of him now rather than later. I was only a child when he was so treacherously killed, and perhaps what I know of the matter is not the whole truth. Cecilia Rosa is my dearest friend, you are her husband, and between us there should be no lies. Tell me what happened!’
‘Your father Emund was King Sverker’s greatest and most loyal warrior,’ began Arn after taking a deep breath. ‘It was said that no man could defeat him. At the ting of all Goths at Axevalla, he offended my father Magnus so deeply that honour demanded a duel between the two, or with the son taking the father’s place, as the law provides. My father has never been a swordsman and could expect a certain death at Emund’s hands. He called for a priest, gave his confession, and said farewell to his kinsmen. But I fought against Emund in my father’s place. I was only seventeen and had no desire to kill anyone. I did all in my power, and twice I offered your father the chance to withdraw from the duel when he was at a disadvantage. But it did no good. In the end I thought the only thing to do was to wound him so badly that he would have to yield, but with his honour still intact. Today I might have managed things better, but at the time I was too young.’
‘So you were not present when Knut Eriksson killed my father at Forsvik?’ asked Ulvhilde after a long silence.
‘No,’ said Arn. ‘My brother Eskil was there, but his only task was to handle the terms of the transaction when we purchased Forsvik from your father. Once the purchase was made and sealed, Eskil rode home to Arn?s. Knut stayed behind for revenge.’
‘For what purpose did he seek revenge upon my father?’ asked Ulvhilde in surprise, as if she had never heard even a whisper about this matter before.
‘It was said that Emund was the one who had chopped off the head of Knut’s father, Saint Erik,’ replied Arn. ‘I do not know if that was true, but Knut was convinced of it. And so he killed Emund in the same manner as his own father had been killed.’
‘And yet Emund could no longer defend himself, since he had only one hand, and you were to blame for that!’ exclaimed Jon, as if to defend Ulvhilde.
‘What you say is true,’ replied Arn in a low voice. ‘But when it comes to blood revenge in our land, I have learned that one hand or two, it makes little difference.’
‘Killings are to be taken up at the ting and should not lead to more killings!’ replied Jon.
‘That may be what the law says,’ admitted Arn, ‘but when it comes to the killing of a king, no laws apply; then it’s the right of the strongest. And you are a Folkung, as I am, so surely you know that the killing of a Folkung is never a matter for the ting.’
‘That sort of justice is no justice at all!’ declared Jon.
No one had anything to say against him in this matter. But after Ulvhilde had sat in silence for a while, she got up and solemnly went over to Arn. She took his sword-hand and pressed it to her lips, kissing it three times. That was the sign of reconciliation, according to ancient custom.
The evening did not get any merrier after that; there was no jesting or loud laughter. But it still felt as if the air had been cleared between them, as when the sun is about to reappear after a thunderstorm on a hot day in late summer.
And with that, Arn’s first visit to Ulfshem did not end as badly as it had begun. And the enticement that he knew Sune and Sigfrid represented for all boys of their age also had its effect. After the visit Ulvhilde and Jon had no peace from their youngest son Emund, who tirelessly nagged them about going to his mother’s ancestral estate of Forsvik. That he didn’t intend to make a similar pilgrimage to his father’s land was as clear as water. He had been infected with the dream of becoming a knight. And in the end his parents promised that he would be allowed to go as soon as he turned thirteen.
Upon returning to Forsvik, Arn and Cecilia found that the estate had by no means suffered because the master and mistress had been gone for ten days. The newly purchased thrall named Gure had found many helping hands among the other thralls to repair their living quarters. And with the smiths, the fletchers, the potters, and the feltmakers the work was proceeding apace and without quarrel. Since it was nearly all foreigners engaged in these tasks, and all the crops had been harvested except for the turnips, there were many thralls available to work with Gure. He was a great asset to Forsvik, and the others were quick to obey his slightest command, as if he were their master and not their equal.
The Wachtian brothers had taken turns making lists of all the new goods that had come in, and they delivered these lists to Cecilia’s accounting chamber so that she simply had to enter the items in her ledger books. The brothers were also eager to take Arn and Cecilia to the millhouse to show them a new tool they had built.
Jacob was the one who always came up with the first designs and ideas. Then Marcus went to the smithy and shaped these ideas into iron and steel.
The question that had long preoccupied them was how the water power might be used for a saw. Since the power consisted of a water wheel that turned axles, it had proved unfeasible to transform the circular motion into the type of back-and-forth motion used when sawing by hand. So then they had asked themselves whether they ought to concentrate on the rotating motion, and in the end they had created a saw that was round. They finally found a way to make the saw blade spin evenly without warping and with a cutting edge that could withstand the heat from the rotation. But then new problems arose. It turned out to be impossible to press a log by hand against the saw blade, since the force was too great. For this reason, they had built a sled that moved along the floor and carried the logs toward the blade. But the floor was uneven; when they solved that problem other difficulties appeared.
Now they thought it was ready, so they called for help from Gure and his work team. And in a very short time, before the childishly delighted Arn, they sawed a log into four boards, like the planking at the bottom of a ship.
When Cecilia asked them what the planks were for, they told her they were meant to be floorboards. Floors for the stone house at Arn?s was what they first planned. But perhaps also for here at Forsvik, since the rough-hewn logs that they were now using were not the best. But that could be decided later on. First it was a matter of putting in a good store of planks so they would dry over the winter and next summer; then they would see if the boards were actually an improvement over the old method. The amount of work hours would be only a tenth if they compared making a floor from these sawed timbers with using hewn limestone.
And this was only the first of many saws they wanted to make. When they dug a canal with new water wheels, they would be able to make more circular saws, both big and small. And the brothers claimed that it would save much time and make it possible to saw more timber than merely for their own needs.
Arn pounded them heartily on the back and said that such new ideas and tools were like gold for the estate, but also for those who had thought of them.
The following week Arn, along with Ali and Mansour, spent every morning teaching the three boys to ride. The afternoons were then devoted to archery and swordsmanship. At first Arn practiced several hours on his own and then with his three young warriors.
He had the smithies make several swords with dull blades that he let the boys wield almost as if they were real swords. Even though the weapons lacked real blades, they felt quite real in the hands of Sune, Sigfrid, and Bengt. Arn tested them until he judged that each boy had a practice sword of the proper heft since the strength of their arms varied. He also had chain mail made for them, which Cecilia found more childish than sensible, since surely no one would expect such young boys to go to war.
A bit offended, Arn had explained that such was not his intention, but he wanted them to become accustomed to moving in this heavy armour. When she insisted that they would soon grow too big for these costly trappings, he assured her that other boys would follow these three in learning the same skills. With time, Forsvik would have armour and practice weapons of every size, suitable for any age between thirteen and a full-grown man.
This gave Cecilia much to ponder. She had taken it for granted that it was out of kindness and Arn’s inability to refuse that these boys had ended up at Forsvik; not because of his own wishes but rather because of their importunate entreaties. As if he were merely doing a favour for his young kinsmen.
But now she envisioned rows of chain mail and swords hanging like saddles in the stable with numbers written above. There was something menacing about the image, mostly because she didn’t truly understand what she saw.
Arn was unaware of the puzzled distress that Cecilia felt, since he was busy brooding over how he should best train such young boys to handle weapons. His first mistake was to allow them to practice with each other after they had been given their chain mail. They set upon each other at once with great ferocity and wildness. Bengt Elinsson, in particular, fought with a fury that was almost frightening to behold, not only because Sune and Sigfrid both had bruises on their arms and legs, but more because of the hatred that Arn thought he could discern in the boy’s heart.
Arn soon altered the sword exercises so that they struck at a post instead of each other. He set logs on end and with an axe made four marks in each post to represent the head, upper arm, knee, and foot of an opponent. Then he showed the boys the most common exercises and pointed to the various spots on his own body that might be injured by too much practice. In that instance, it would be best to stop. It didn’t surprise him that Bengt Elinsson was the one who ignored the initial warnings that his body gave him and instead continued for so long that he made himself sick and reluctantly had to put down his sword and rest for a week.
Sooner or later, of course, they would have to practice fighting each other, but before that time, Arn planned to devise better protection for the head, hands, and cheeks. Pain during practice was fine, since it promoted a necessary respect for the opponent’s sword. But if the young apprentices suffered too much pain and too many wounds, it might lead to fear. Perhaps things would be better when Brother Guilbert came to Forsvik during the winter, Arn thought, consoling himself. For Brother Guilbert had truly made a knight of Arn, and the ability to teach was now considered invaluable at Forsvik.
Thinking about Brother Guilbert also aroused feelings of guilt in Arn. For three months he had left Brother Guilbert to tend to the hard work of assisting the Saracen stonemasons at Arn?s. Yet Arn had not visited them even once, nor had he sent any words of encouragement.
He was ashamed by this sudden insight and set off for Arn?s at once with Abu Anaza, taking the direct route through the woods and across fields. By doing so he arrived by early evening on the same day he had left Forsvik.
When he saw his Saracen brothers toiling with the stone at Arn?s, his eyes filled with tears as he noticed that their clothes hung in rags and sweat glistened on foreheads and bare arms. Even the robe of a lay brother worn by Brother Guilbert had been ripped to shreds by many sharp stone edges and were so filthy with mortar that he too looked more like a thrall than a monk.
No matter how much Arn felt ashamed by his thought-lessness, he couldn’t help riding around the walls to see what had been accomplished. And what he saw matched in every stone and line all his greatest hopes and dreams; in some cases even far exceeding what he had envisioned.
The shortest section of the wall facing Lake V?nern and the harbour was now done, with both corners protected by round towers projecting past the exterior. Above the gaping space of the portal facing the harbour loomed a rectangular tower, and they had finished building twenty paces of the longest part of the wall, the one extending west to east. Accomplishing so much in only a few months and with so few hands would have overwhelmed Saladin himself, thought Arn. This was in truth the beginning of an impregnable fortress.
He was torn from his dreams and brought back to his guilty conscience when the builders discovered his presence. He rode over to meet them, gesturing them forward with both hands. Then he dismounted from his horse and fell to his knees before them. They were all so surprised that none of them said a word.
‘Brothers of the faith!’ he said as he stood up and bowed. ‘Great is the work that you have done, and just as great is my debt to you. Great too has been my neglect, leaving you here as if you were slaves. But I must tell you that I have been working just as hard to see to it that you will be able to endure our hellish Nordic winter. I invite you now to finish this hard work before winter arrives, and two day from now, when you are ready, you will journey with me to the winter quarters where you will rest. The month of fasting will soon be over, and we shall celebrate together; it will be a memorable feast. One more thing I will tell you. I came to see you who are doing the building before I even sought out my kinsmen here at Arn?s!’
When he was done speaking, the Saracens still remained silent, glancing at each other with expressions that showed more surprise than joy upon hearing that their hard work was about to come to such an abrupt halt. Arn went over to Brother Guilbert and embraced him for a long time without saying a word.
‘If you don’t let go of me soon, little brother, you will bring shame upon us both, in the eyes of these believers, as you call them,’ grunted Brother Guilbert at last.
‘Forgive me, brother,’ said Arn. ‘I can only say the same to you as I said to the Saracens, that I have laboured hard and without interruption to ensure a good winter for all of us. I am sorry to see how much all of you have suffered here.’
‘Most of us have doubtless endured worse things than building with stone in cool weather,’ muttered Brother Guilbert. He was not used to seeing the full-grown Arn so easily moved.
‘Perhaps we can leave here in a day’s time instead of two!’ said Arn, his face brightening. ‘What needs to be done in order to secure the building site for the winter?’
‘Not very much,’ replied Brother Guilbert. ‘We’ve tried to arrange the construction with a thought to the coming winter. Or rather, that’s what I have done. These friends of ours have no idea what cold, ice, and frost can do to a structure. We’ve been careful to seal it from the top, but much of the masonry is wet.’
‘What if we use hides to cover the top?’ suggested Arn.
‘Yes, that would probably be best,’ replied Brother Guilbert with a nod. ‘Do you think you could obtain lead in the spring?’
‘Lead?’ repeated Arn, looking puzzled. ‘Yes, but perhaps not in large amounts. What will you need lead for?’
‘The joints at the very top,’ replied Brother Guilbert, taking in a deep breath. ‘Just picture us pouring molten lead from the top and down along every joint that’s exposed to the open air. Does that help you understand what I have in mind?’
‘Yes,’ said Arn, nodding. ‘If we could apply lead to the joints at the very top, then no water would run down…or ice. That’s a good idea. I’ll try to procure the lead that you need. But tell me instead that you are well and that your body doesn’t ache more than it should after labouring so hard and that you forgive me for leaving you here.’
‘I’ll wait with that until I’ve seen my winter quarters and had my first bite of ham, because during the month of fasting, there hasn’t been much of that here,’ said Brother Guilbert with a laugh. And he gave Arn a shake, as had been his custom when he chastised his young apprentice at Varnhem.
‘But surely Ramadan doesn’t apply to you,’ said Arn, opening his eyes wide. ‘Because you haven’t—?’
‘By no means!’ replied Brother Guilbert, cutting off the question before it might sound offensive. ‘But if I am to work with these unbelievers, I’ve found it best to fast along with them. That way there is no chance of any grumbling.’
‘No food between sunrise and sundown?’ mused Arn. ‘And at the same time doing such hard work. How do you manage it?’
‘A man just gets fat from all that eating,’ muttered Brother Guilbert, feigning ill-humour. ‘And we spend the first hours of work pissing away all the water that we’ve drunk. Then we eat like genies as soon as the sun sets. We eat for hours, and it’s fortunate that we don’t wash down all that mutton with wine.’
While Brother Guilbert took the Saracen builders with him to strike camp, Arn rode over to Arn?s and immediately found those he was looking for. Eskil and his son Torgils were sitting in the accounting room of the big tower. His father, Magnus, was up in the highest chamber with the physician Yussuf. They gave Arn a hearty welcome, and all three of his kinsmen began talking at the same time about the new construction work, which they wanted to show him at once. Arn didn’t need any persuading.
They had to climb a bit over the scaffolding to reach the area where the work was being done, since the new walls were almost twice as high as the old ones. Up there they were able to proceed a short distance along the machicolations where all the arrow loops were built so that they were wide on the inside but only a narrow slit on the outside. Anyone could clearly understand the reason for this without any explanations from Arn. A man standing at the arrow slit could aim his bow or cross-bow with a good view in all directions, while anyone standing below on the other side of the moat would have a hard time shooting an arrow through the narrow opening that was visible from the outside.
But there were other things that did require explanations from Arn. The tower located above the great gate facing the lake jutted out from the wall. That was so that archers could shoot from there along the wall if the enemy attempted to raise scaling ladders.
But it would be difficult to raise such ladders around the gate tower here since the walls were twice as thick at the bottom as up near the machicolation. There were two reasons for constructing the walls with that sort of incline, Arn explained. If anyone tried to raise a scaling ladder, they would have to be long and sturdy or they would break in half as soon as the besiegers started to climb up. And the heavier the ladders, the harder it would be to position them quickly and with any degree of surprise.
The other reason for the sloping wall at this particular location near the harbour was that the enemy would encounter a slippier foothold on the ice in the winter. If the enemy tried to use battering rams, he would have to hoist them up, and build a big sort of cradle where the ram could be swung back and forth. Because if he just struck against the slanting base of the wall, he wouldn’t produce much result for all the trouble. But to build scaffolding for battering rams was no simple matter, since such work could not be done without meeting resistance from the defenders up on the walls and in the gate tower.
The entrance from the harbour was high up and in the middle of the tower, creating a small archway. There Arn showed his kinsmen how the gate itself would be constructed, first with a wrought-iron portcullis that could be lowered from inside the tower. That could be accomplished in a few minutes if an attack came quickly and suddenly. Afterwards the drawbridge made of heavy oak would be raised so that it fit securely on the outside of the iron portcullis. The gates were always the weak points of a stronghold; that was why this gate was so high above the ground that it would be difficult to reach it with battering rams and other siege engines. Especially since anyone who attempted such an attack would be exposed to a constant barrage of arrows from the two corner towers. They would also have all sorts of things dumped upon them from the highest battlements of the gate tower.
For the time being it was still possible to walk a short distance from the two corner towers in the direction where the walls would eventually be constructed. Standing up there and looking at the site where the building was due to commence, it was easy to picture how it would look when everything was finished. At that time a mightier fortress would not be found in the entire kingdom.
Arn asked to have as many of the untanned hides as they could find to cover the tops of the walls and the machicolations for the winter. Both his father Magnus and Eskil said at once, and almost reckless in their swift response, that whatever he wanted they would readily agree to, provided it was something within their power to grant. For by now they had both doubtless realized what a new era was dawning with all this construction, a time when no power would be greater than that possessed by the Folkungs. In the midst of this lively and spirited discussion, Herr Magnus happened to mention that Birger Brosa would soon be coming to Arn?s to hold a ting for the clan.
The mood turned gloomy at once. Birger Brosa had specifically commanded that Arn Magnusson not be invited to this ting, since both his father and elder brother could speak on his behalf. There was nothing to be done about this. Birger Brosa was the leader of the Folkungs and the jarl of the realm. Whatever his command, it must be obeyed.
But at the banquet that evening, there was no sense of gloom, since there were a thousand things to talk about regarding the construction going on at Arn?s, as well as what Arn was accomplishing at Forsvik. By now both Eskil and Herr Magnus were aware that Forsvik was becoming the other support in the power structure of the Folkungs.
They had been discussing all these plans for the future only a short time when young Torgils reminded them of the promise that he would enter an apprenticeship at Forsvik. Arn replied tersely that as far as he was concerned, Torgils was welcome at any time. Torgils said that he wanted to leave at once. Eskil was clearly not happy with this decision, but he offered no objections.
Before Arn and his party boarded the ship that would take them up Lake V?nern to the reloading area for riverboats, he had a brief private conversation with the physician Yussuf. It was then decided that Yussuf would also accompany all of the Saracens to Forsvik; Ibrahim had already left with the first group of foreigners. For to be left here at Arn?s over the winter and to witness the dreadful gorging on pork, which was part of the Christmas celebrations, was not a welcome reward for a lone Muslim. Arn was fully aware of this, even though he didn’t speak of it aloud. His father Magnus was now in such good condition that he no longer needed daily care. In spite of this, Arn still took his father aside to repeat in a courteous but firm manner everything that Yussuf had told him to do. Each day his father had to make sure to move about, not too much and not too little, but without neglecting a single day. In addition, he was to eat less pork and more salmon and veal, and he should drink wine instead of ale when the Christmas festivities began.
Herr Magnus muttered that he would have been able to think of all this himself. It was a sad but well-known fact that Christmas ale presented a danger to all men of his age.
During the time that Arn was away at Arn?s, Cecilia had grown even more bewildered by the foreigners at Forsvik. At night there was a great deal of commotion evident inside their longhouse, and from the smell of meat roasting and bread baking, it was clear to everyone that constant feasting was going on. They disdained the bread to be found at Forsvik after the great baking that took place every autumn. Instead, they had built from clay their own ovens, which looked like big upside-down wasps’ nests. Every evening they baked their own bread shaped in big flat sheets. They got up late in the morning, and only slowly did they begin their work.
Cecilia could only guess at what this all meant, and she was inclined to think that it was Arn’s absence that had encouraged this sort of idleness from the foreigners. Although this was not true of all of them. The brothers Marcus and Jacob worked just as diligently as always, as did the two English fletchers, John and Athelsten. She had long considered asking Arn about this and other matters that she hadn’t really been able to understand. But the long winter nights seemed far away, in more than one sense. She had imagined that when the north wind whistled around the corners of the house, they would lie close together in front of the fire, and he would tell her about the many wondrous and horrible things in the Holy Land, and answer all her questions.
Ever since the time when they had gone out riding alone and Our Lady had gently shown them again the joyful rights of the flesh which they had once misused but were now fully entitled to, their nights had been so delightful that Cecilia blushed to even think of them. And so there had been very little time for talk of serious matters in their bedchamber.
When Arn returned on the river, it turned out that he had brought not only young Torgils along with him but also more foreigners, including all the stonemasons from Arn?s. They looked so wretched in their tattered clothes, but they seemed to have other and better clothing packed in big bundles. They had broken camp at Arn?s and were going to spend the winter at Forsvik. Cecilia was a bit miffed that she hadn’t been told of this in advance, since she assumed that if this many free men came to Forsvik, they should be treated as guests. She grew almost angry when, with much laughter and shaking of heads, they all declined her attempts to welcome them with salt, ale, and bread. It was truly not the custom in Western G?taland to refuse such a greeting.
She was all the more puzzled on that first night after the new foreigners arrived to hear an ever greater commotion coming from the foreigners’ house. Arn replied curtly to her questions, saying that it was a celebration called Laylat al-Qadr, which meant ‘the power of the night.’ She had then innocently asked what sort of power this meant, and she went cold inside upon hearing that it was a celebration of Muhammed’s first vision.
Arn didn’t even notice her stony reaction. Grumbling sleepily, he had shown a greater interest in the joys of fleshly love than in anything else. And since he had already displayed such an inclination, she couldn’t very well jump out of bed to stamp her foot and say that right now she’d rather have a discussion about Muhammed. Instead, she soon found herself floating into his warm stream, and she forgot all else.
But two or three days later he asked her to put on her finest attire for the evening, since they had been invited to a banquet. She asked where they would be going, but he replied that it was not far and they could easily walk there in their banquet garb. When she cautiously tried to find out whether he was jesting, he showed her his own clothing, which he had laid out on the bed, with the blue wedding mantle underneath.
Just before sundown, the brothers Marcus and Jacob Wachtian appeared, dressed for the banquet, along with Brother Guilbert, wearing his white Cistercian robes. They had come to fetch Arn and his wife for the celebration. Out in the courtyard the smoke from roasting meat was already blending with the aroma of exotic spices.
Cecilia had not been inside the guests’ longhouse since the time when Arn had shown it to her. But that was where they were all now headed, and when she stepped through the door, she could hardly recognize the place. Even more colourful rugs had been spread on the floor, and on the walls hung tapestries with the most fanciful star patterns. Benches had been arranged in a rectangle in the room, with heaps of cushions and pillows behind them. From the ceiling hung burning lamps made of copper and iron and coloured glass, and before the long hearth stood gridirons in which trout from Lake V?ttern were being grilled.
The physician Ibrahim, who was dressed in a long coat made of shimmering material and a headdress made of a length of fabric wrapped many times around his head, received the guests at the door. He then led them to the place of honour in the row of benches and cushions closest to the west.
Artfully made copper pitchers were brought forth, along with glasses made at their own glassworks; all of them were lined up along the benches. Cecilia was about to sit down on the bench, but Arn showed her with a laugh that she should kneel down among the cushions behind the long wooden bench. He also whispered to her not to touch either food or drink until someone else did so first.
They were waiting for the sun to set, and gradually the foreigners all took their places, except for a few who tended to the grilled fish, and old Ibrahim, who went out to the courtyard.
Much to her annoyance, Cecilia discovered that Brother Guilbert, the Wachtian brothers, and Arn all seemed able to cope with these unfamiliar customs and smells and showed no sign of discomfort. They talked and laughed quietly, speaking the language that Cecilia could now recognize as Frankish.
Arn soon noticed Cecilia’s confusion, and with an apology to the other men, he turned to her and began to explain.
It was a clear and star-strewn night, one of the first nights with frost during this mild autumn, and outside in the courtyard, Ibrahim was now carefully scanning the sky to the northwest. When darkness fell, he would soon catch sight of the slender crescent moon that foretold a new month, and then the celebration called Eid al-Fitr would begin, heralding the end of the month of fasting.
Cecilia was about to object that the fasting month was in the spring, not in October, but she stopped herself when she realized this was not in truth the time for a conversation about church customs.
Ibrahim came in from the courtyard and made an announcement in his incomprehensible foreign tongue. Everyone in the room immediately said a short prayer. Arn then grabbed the tin-plated copper pitcher sitting on the table in front of him and poured a glass, which he handed to Cecilia. Then he poured some for Brother Guilbert and the Wachtian brothers. Everyone else at the table did the same, raising their glasses and drinking greedily before pouring another. Cecilia, who had been slower and more hesitant about raising the glass to her lips began coughing when she found that there was only water in the glass and not wine, as she had thought.
The meal consisted of roast mutton, goose, and trout, along with other small dishes that Cecilia didn’t recognize; all of the food was served on large, round wooden platters. Strange-looking instruments were played, and someone began singing a song; others quickly joined in.
Arn broke off a piece of the soft flat bread and showed Cecilia how to dip it into the meat sauce surrounding the mutton. When she did so, her mouth filled with a spicy taste that at first made her hesitate. After a moment she found it palatable, and after a few more minutes, she found it to be utterly delicious. The mutton was the most tender she had ever eaten, and the trout tasted entirely different, spiced with something that reminded her of cumin.
Arn amused himself by taking tidbits from various platters and putting them in Cecilia’s mouth, as if she were a child. When she tried to resist, he laughed and said it was merely a chivalrous way for a man to show affection for his wife or close friend.
At first all the foreigners ate quickly and voraciously. But after they seemed to have sated the worst of their hunger, most of the men leaned back on the cushions and ate more slowly. With their eyes half-closed, they seemed to be enjoying the melancholy music played by two men on stringed instruments that resembled those played by the Frankish minstrels at the wedding at Arn?s.
It didn’t take long before Cecilia also leaned back against the comfortable cushions which several men, bowing politely, had brought to support her back. She no longer felt so nervous, and she slowly partook of all the delicacies, merely raising an eyebrow when she noticed how much of the estate’s honey had been used for the sweet that was served after the meat and fish. The dessert was small pieces of bread with shredded carrots and filled with hazelnuts, drenched in honey. All the foreign aromas and smells were somehow soothing and made her feel sleepy; she even began to take pleasure in the music, although it had sounded off-key at first. She started imagining herself in foreign lands. What made this banquet so different from those she was used to was the fact that everyone became more and more quiet as the evening wore on, just as the songs played on the stringed instruments became more yearning and sorrowful. No one started brawling, and no one vomited. She brooded a bit over these foreign ways, until she recalled that it was water they were drinking and not ale or wine. She dozed and dreamed more and more about this foreign world until Arn took her arm and whispered that it would be good manners for the two guests of honour to leave the banquet first instead of last.
He led her over to the door leading to the house lavatorium. There he took her hand, bowed, and said something in the foreign tongue that made all the men in the room stand up and bow deeply in reply.
The night air was cold and frosty, and it revived her at once, as if breaking a spell. She thought that this was going to be the first of the winter nights when Arn explained all the foreign customs to her.
When he blew some life into the fire and they crawled into their big bed, she fluffed up their pillows so that they could sit side by side and look into the flames. Then she asked him to begin his account; the first thing she wanted to know was how it was possible that they had come to welcome the worst enemies of Christendom as guests in a Christian home.
At first sounding a bit reluctant, he told her that these Muslims, as the followers of Muhammed were called, had worked for the Christians in the Holy Land. They would have been killed by their own kind if they hadn’t fled with him to the North. The same was true for the Wachtian brothers, who were Christians from the Holy Land. Their workshop and their trade had been on Al Hammediyah, which was the biggest business district in Damascus. So the question of who was a friend and who was an enemy in the Holy Land was not solely determined by a person’s faith.
Cecilia found this incomprehensible, even though she offered only cautious objections.
Then he began his story, which would continue for many winter nights.
In the Holy Land there were great men whose eminence far exceeded that of all others. Arn was thinking in particular about two of them; the first was a Christian named Raymond of Tripoli, and some night he would tell Cecilia about him. But it was more important to speak of the other, for he was a Muslim and his name was Yussuf Ibn Ayyub Salah ad-Din. For the sake of simplicity, the Christians called him simply Saladin.
When Arn said the name of the worst enemy of Christendom, Cecilia involuntarily gasped. She had heard thousands of oaths, reeking of brimstone, pronounced over that name by nuns and priests.
Yet Saladin was his friend, Arn went on, undaunted by her expression of alarm. And their friendship had followed such a course over the years that not even the greatest of skeptics would see anything but God’s hand behind it.
It all started when Arn unintentionally saved Saladin’s life; upon closer examination, that could not have happened without God’s hand. Because why else would a Templar knight, one of God’s most devoted warriors and defenders of His Tomb, be the one to save the man who in the end would crush the Christians to the ground?
After that they had met as foes on the battlefield, and Arn had triumphed. But a short time later, Arn’s life ended up in Saladin’s hands when the Muslim arrived with an invincible army at the fortress in Gaza where Arn was fortress master among the Templars. And Saladin had, in turn, saved Arn’s life.
Saladin had spared his life because of their friendship, and that was how he had become Saladin’s prisoner and negotiator.
That was during his last days in the Holy Land, when Jerusalem was already lost, as were most of the Christian cities. And Arn was Saladin’s prisoner but also occasionally his messenger and negotiator, as one of the worst villains that had ever set foot on the ground of the Holy Land arrived with an army to meet Saladin on the battlefield and recapture the Holy City of Jerusalem. This man, whose name was Richard Lionheart, a name that would live on in eternal infamy, had amused himself during the negotiations by beheading three thousand prisoners rather than accepting the last of the ransom that he had demanded for them, and rather than receiving back the True Cross for Christendom.
At that sorrowful moment Arn and Saladin had parted ways for all eternity, and Arn had received as a farewell gift fifty thousand besants in gold, which Richard had refused in favour of sating his thirst for blood.
And so it was that Arn could now afford to pay for the building going on at Arn?s as well as for the new church at Forsvik and everything else that was being constructed there.
And this was just a short version of the story, said Arn. Many winter nights would be required to give a fuller account. And it might take the rest of his life to understand the meaning behind everything that had happened.
There he stopped and got up to put more wood on the fire. It was then he discovered that Cecilia had fallen asleep.