Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (11 page)

‘That’s the agreement between Arn and myself,’ said Harald.

‘I see that you’ve got yourself a new surcoat,’ said Eskil.

‘Among your retainers at Arnäs there are several Norsemen, as you know. In your service they all wear blue and have little use for the clothes they were wearing when they arrived. I bought this Birchleg surcoat from one of them, and in it I feel more at home than in the colours I always wore in the Holy Land,’ Harald replied with some pride.

‘Two crossed arrows in gold on a red field,’ Eskil muttered pensively.

‘It suits me even better, since the bow is my best weapon, and these colours are my birthright,’ Harald assured him. ‘The bow and arrow was the Birchlegs’ primary weapon in their struggle. In Norway I had no equal with the bow, and I grew no worse in the Holy Land.’

‘That’s undoubtedly true,’ replied Eskil. ‘The Birchlegs relied heavily on the power of the bow, and that brought them their victory. You left for the Holy Land in their darkest hour. A year later, Sverre Munnsson came from the Faeroe Islands. Birger Brosa and King Knut backed him with weapons, men, and silver. Now you have won, and Sverre is king. But you know all this, don’t you?’

‘Yes, and that’s why I want to accompany your brother to Näs to thank King Knut and Jarl Birger, who supported us.’

‘No one shall take that right from you,’ muttered Eskil. ‘And you’re Øystein Møyla’s son, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s right. My father fell at the battle of Re, outside Tønsberg. I was there, a mere boy. I escaped the foes to the Holy Land, and now I shall return in our own colours.’

Eskil nodded and took another drink, pondering where to lead the conversation. The other two waited patiently.

‘If you are indeed Øystein Møyla’s son you can assert your right to the crown of Norway,’ Eskil said in his business voice. ‘You’re our friend, just as Sverre is, and that’s good.
But you have a choice. You can choose to support the rebels and become king or possibly die trying. Or you can sail north to King Sverre, taking a letter from King Knut and the jarl, and swear allegiance to him. That is your choice, and there is nothing in between.’

‘And if I then become your foe?’ Harald asked without pausing to consider what this new revelation might mean.

‘There’s no chance you would become our enemy,’ replied Eskil in the same clipped, businesslike tone. ‘Either you’ll die in the battle against King Sverre, in which case you wouldn’t be much of a foe to us. Or else you’ll win. In that case you would still be our friend.’

Harald stood up, holding his ale tankard in both hands, and drained it to the bottom. He slammed it to the table so that the charcoal dust outlining Eskil’s business realm sprayed in all directions. Then he gestured toward his head and staggered toward the door, sweeping his red mantle tighter around him. When he opened the door the bright summer night dazzled them all, and a nightingale could be heard singing.

‘What ideas have you sown in our friend Harald’s head now?’ Arn asked with a frown.

‘Only what I’ve learned from you in our brief time together, brother. It’s better to say what needs to be said now than wait till later. What do you think he should do?’

‘The wisest course for Harald would be to swear an oath of allegiance to King Sverre at once, on his first trip,’ said Arn. ‘A king would not treat badly the son of a fallen hero who served the same cause as he did. If Harald makes peace with Sverre it would be best for Norway, for Western Götaland, and for us Folkungs.’

‘I think so too,’ said Eskil. ‘But men who catch the scent of the king’s crown don’t always act with reason. What if Harald joins up with the rebels?’

‘Then Sverre will have a warrior opposing him who is stronger than any other in Norway,’ Arn said quietly. ‘But the same is true in the other case. If he joins up with Sverre, the king may then have so much power that the struggle for the crown will wane. I know Harald well after the many years of war he has spent at my side. It’s easy to understand that it would make a man’s head spin if he suddenly found out that he could be king. The same would have happened to you or me. But tomorrow, once he has thought it over, he’ll decide to be our first mate rather than chase after the Norwegian crown through fire and a rain of arrows.’

Arn got up, declining Eskil’s offer of more ale. He took a few sheepskins, bowed goodnight to his brother, and went out into the bright summer night. He heard the nightingale again, and the cold morning light shone in Eskil’s eyes before the door closed and he could reach for more ale.

Arn shut his eyes and took a deep breath as he stepped out into the summer night, the likes of which he remembered from his childhood. There was a strong aroma of alder and birch, and the fog hovered like dancing elves down there by the river. There was no one around.

He wrapped his unlined summer mantle around him, crossed the courtyard, and went into the cow pasture so he could be alone. Out there a black bull appeared out of the mist and began to paw with one front hoof and snort at him. Arn drew his sword and slowly continued across the pasture. Once across he sat down under a big willow tree whose lower branches drooped toward the river. Nightingales were singing all around him. They sounded different up here in the North, as if the cool, clear air gave them a better singing voice.

He prayed for the brother he had never known, Knut, who had died from youthful pride and the desire of a young
Danish lord to kill someone in order to feel like a real warrior. He prayed that God might forgive the Danish lord’s sins, just as they must be forgiven by the dead man’s brothers. And he prayed that he might be spared any feelings of revenge.

He prayed for his father’s health, for Eskil and Eskil’s daughters and his son Torgils, and for the sisters he didn’t know who were already married women.

He prayed for Cecilia’s treacherous sister Katarina, that she might come to terms with her sins during her time at Gudhem and seek forgiveness for them.

Finally, he prayed for a long time that the Mother of God would give him clarity in his words at the meeting to come, and that no misfortune would befall Cecilia or their son Magnus before they were all united with the blessing of the Church.

When his prayers were done the glow of the sun appeared above the mist. Then he meditated on the great mercy he had received, that his life had been spared despite the fact that his bones should have long since been bleached white under the merciless sun of the Holy Land.

God’s Mother had taken pity on him more often than he deserved. In return She had given him a mission, and he promised not to fail Her. With all his power he would work to fulfil Her will, which he had held close to his heart ever since the moment She had appeared to him in Forshem church.

He wrapped a sheepskin round him and lay down among the roots of the willow tree that enfolded him like an embrace. He had often slept this way out in the field after saying his prayers but with one ear open so as not to be surprised by the enemy.

By old habit he woke up abruptly without knowing why.
He drew his sword without a sound and stood up as he silently rubbed his hands and looked all around.

It was a wild boar sow with eight small striped piglets cautiously following her along the riverbank. Arn sat down silently and watched them, careful that the light wouldn’t glint off the blade of his sword.

The next morning they got a later start than they’d intended; Eskil’s contrary mood and somewhat red eyes had something to do with it. They rowed due south for a few hours, which was harder work for the oarsmen since the river was narrowing and the current increasing. But by midday when they reached the rapids of the River Tidan, where the boat had to be hauled by oxen and draymen to the lake of Braxenbolet, the worst of their toil was over. They had to wait a while because the draymen were hauling a boat from the other direction; both the men and the oxen needed to rest before stepping into harness again.

The party had encountered several small cargo boats on the journey, and there were two in front of them waiting their turn to be taken across the portage. There was some grumbling among the boatmen when their helmsman went ashore and began ordering the two waiting boats to yield their places. The harsh words quickly ebbed away when Eskil himself appeared. They were all his men, and he owned all the boats.

Eskil, Arn, and Harald led their horses ashore and then rode in the lead along the towpath beside the corduroy path for the boats. Arn asked whether Eskil had calculated the cost of digging a canal instead of keeping oxen and men for towing the boats. Eskil thought that it would cost the same, since this location wasn’t suitable and they would have to dig the canal further to the south across flatter land. A canal
south of there would also increase the travel time beyond what it took to tow the boats. During the winter when all vessels were towed on sleds, this portage was just as passable as the frozen river. Runners were fastened to the bottoms of the smaller boats so they could be towed like sleds the whole length of the river.

At the start of the short ride they met the draymen pulling a heavily laden boat; Eskil thought the cargo was iron from Nordanskog. They reined in their horses and made way for the oxen and ox-drivers, who came first. Several of the draymen let go of the towline with one hand to greet Herr Eskil and ask Our Lady to bless him.

‘They’re all freedmen,’ Eskil answered Arn’s questioning glance. ‘Some of them I bought and then released in exchange for their labour; others I pay to work. They all work hard, both with the towing and in the fields on their tenant farms. It’s a good business.’

‘For you or for them?’ Arn asked with some mockery in his tone.

‘For both,’ replied Eskil, ignoring his brother’s gibe. ‘The truth is that this enterprise brings me in a lot of silver. But the lives of these men and their progeny would be much worse without this work. Maybe you have to be born a thrall to understand the joy they take in this toil.’

‘Could be,’ said Arn. ‘Do you have other portages like this one?’

‘There’s another on the other side of Lake Vättern, past Lake Boren. But it’s not much when you consider that we sail or row the whole way from Lödöse to Linköping,’ said Eskil, clearly pleased at how well he’d arranged everything.

They were able to make up for the delay they’d had in the morning once they got out onto Lake Braxenbolet and headed north. The wind was from the southwest, so they could set the sail. The next river they followed downstream
to Lake Viken, which made the rowing easy. And out on Viken they sailed once again at a good speed.

They reached Forsvik in the early evening, having proceeded with good tailwinds.

Forsvik lay between Viken and Bottensjön, which was actually a part of Lake Vättern. On one side of Forsvik the rapids were powerful and broad, and on the other the outlet was narrower and deeper. There the currents turned two millwheels. The buildings were laid out in a large square and were mostly small and low, except for the longhouse which stood along the shore of Bottensjön. They were all built of greying timber, and the roofs were covered with sod and grass. A row of stables for the livestock stretched to the north along the shore.

They docked their riverboat at the wharves on the Viken side. A similar boat was already tied up there. It was being loaded by labourers with carts who came from the other direction.

Arn at once wanted to saddle his horse and ride out to take a look around, but Eskil didn’t think it was proper to show disregard for the farm’s hosts. They were Folkungs, after all. Arn agreed with this, and they led the horses into the courtyard and tied them to a rail by a watering trough. The visitors had already occasioned much commotion at the farm when it was discovered that these were no ordinary guests who had arrived.

The mistress stumbled with eagerness as she came running with the welcome chair. Eskil joked that he’d rather have the ale inside him than spilled over him. He and Harald at once downed a manly draft, while Arn as usual merely tasted the proffered ale.

The mistress stammered an apology, saying that the master was out on the lake tending to the trout nets, and since she had not expected company it would be a while before they would have supper ready for their guests.

Eskil grumbled a bit, but Arn quickly explained that this was even better, since all three of them would like to take a ride around the property at Forsvik. They would be back in a few hours.

The mistress curtseyed in relief, not noticing the displeasure in Eskil’s eyes. Reluctantly he went over to his horse and led it around the watering trough, where he could more easily mount by placing one foot on the trough before he heavily hoisted himself into the saddle.

Arn and Harald were ready to go. Without mounting, Arn slapped both of their horses so that they started off at a slow trot past Eskil. When Eskil, puzzled, looked up at the riderless horses, Arn and Harald came running fast from behind and then jumped, each landing with both hands on the hindquarters of his horse before pushing himself forward into the saddle and galloping off, the way all Templar knights did when there was an alarm.

Eskil didn’t seem the least amused by the performance.

At first they rode to the south. Outside the farm buildings was a garden where the bright green vines had already climbed up their poles to the height of a man. Then they headed down toward the rapids and bridge, where the blossoms from an apple orchard covered the ground like snow.

Across the bridge the fields of Forsvik stretched before them. The closest field lay fallow, and there they discovered to their surprise four youths practicing on horseback with wooden lances and shields. The boys were so engrossed in their game that they didn’t notice the three strangers ride up and stop at the edge of the field. The men watched the boys with amusement for a long while before they were discovered.

‘They’re of our clan, Folkungs all four,’ Eskil explained as he raised his hand and waved to the four young riders. The boys rode over to them at a gallop, then sprang from
their mounts. Holding on to the reins, they came over and knelt quickly before Eskil.