Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (17 page)

Yet there was no denying the shrewdness of the two Cecilias. In less than a day they had fooled all the men: the king, the jarl, Eskil, and Arn himself.

But there was a more important matter that was bothering Eskil. He now had the responsibility of arranging the wedding at Arnäs, for there and nowhere else should it be held.

If he arranged this wedding he would make an enemy of Birger Brosa; if not, his own brother would become his foe. It was not a good choice.

When Eskil explained his concern, Arn said, ‘I understand your anguish, but you could never be my enemy no matter what you decide. Naturally the bridal procession would be long and perilous from Cecilia’s Husaby to Forsvik, instead of to Arnäs. But we could arrange it that way.’

‘No!’ said Eskil bluntly. ‘You shall never choose Ingrid Ylva instead of Cecilia as our uncle wished. Nothing shall
stop you and Cecilia Rosa. I no longer care why this is so, I just know it is. What must occur shall not take place in secret and shame. It shall take place at Arnäs with pipes and drums and wedding guests lined up three deep!’

When they got beyond this rough spot in the conversation, they soon began talking easily about what would be done in the immediate future. Harald had received a letter with both Birger Brosa’s and King Knut’s seals to take to King Sverre in Norway. The ship down south in Lödöse had to be outfitted and manned, for soon Harald must start his first journey to fetch dried fish, if he wanted to make two trips to Lofoten that summer before the autumn storms arrived with the north wind that made it difficult to sail so far north. But even two trips should produce a good profit, and Harald would not be left without a good share of it.

It was good that Harald needed a crew, said Arn. Because at Arnäs there were five Norwegian retainers who would certainly want to sail with Harald, especially since he was travelling with a royal letter of safe conduct. And here at Forsvik there were five retainers who had lost all desire to continue in Arn’s service. They could replace the five Norwegians at Arnäs as early as tomorrow.

Arn was also going to need some thralls skilled in construction from Arnäs, and he tried to remember the names of the two who had been among the best when he was a boy. Eskil thought hard and recalled that one of them was probably dead; the other, named Gur, was still alive but very old. Yet he still lived at Arnäs with full right to bed and board, even though he could no longer work. His son, named Gure, was just as skilled as his father had once been at masonry and wood construction. There were other thralls who were good builders, although Eskil couldn’t remember their names at the moment.

Half of the foreigners at Arnäs would be moving to Forsvik, Arn went on. Only half of them were good stonemasons, but the others had skills that would be more useful at Forsvik.

After they had disposed of these matters, Eskil had a more difficult question for Arn. It was about Eskil’s only son Torgils.

Naturally Eskil had wanted Torgils to turn out like himself, a man of trade and silver, wealth and cunning. He had pondered this matter long and hard, but he realized that he couldn’t change Torgils. By the age of seventeen the youth was already riding in the king’s retinue, and his reputation was more for his skill with the bow and sword than for any interest in trade, like his father. Instead Torgils was going to take after his uncle Arn. So it was, and nothing could be done about it.

‘And what is it you’d like to tell me about this matter?’ Arn asked.

‘My son Torgils does not yet know that you’ve come back to our realm. He knows all the ballads about you, and there are times when I think he loves the saga about you more than he loves his own father.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. But young men would rather dream about swords than about counting chambers, and we can’t take their dreams away from them. Nor should we, but rather turn their dreams to something good. Now to your question.’

‘Torgils is up at Bjälbo right now with the king’s eldest son Erik and your son Magnus,’ said Eskil. ‘They’re having a feast and competing in archery. That’s why none of them was at Näs—’

‘I already know that,’ Arn cut him off impatiently. ‘Cecilia told me about it. But now…your question?’

‘May Torgils be apprenticed to you?’ Eskil hastened to
ask. ‘My thought is that if he has to live by the sword, then he ought to have the best of teachers, and—’

‘Yes!’ Arn interrupted him. ‘You don’t seem to have noticed how close I was to asking you the same thing first, although I feared that such a question might displease you. Send Torgils to me and I’ll make him the warrior he probably could never become among the king’s retainers. Young Sigfrid Erlingsson and Sune Folkesson are already in my service!’

Eskil bowed his head in relief, gazing into his empty ale tankard. Suddenly an idea struck him.

‘You’re planning to build up a force of Folkung knights!’ he said, his face brightening.

‘Yes, that is precisely my idea,’ Arn admitted with a glance at Harald. ‘And now I must tell you something that no other ears may hear, except for Harald who is my closest friend. Here at Forsvik I shall build a cavalry that can stand against Franks or Saracens, if only I’m able to get the men while they’re still young enough to learn. But they may only be Folkungs, for the force I’m planning must not end up outside our clan. And with your son Torgils that’s especially important, since he will become the lord of Arnäs. It is he who one day shall stand on the walls and look down on the Sverker army. And by that time he will know everything that a victor must know. But only Folkungs, remember that, Eskil!’

‘But what about Eriks?’ Eskil wondered. ‘The Eriks are our brothers, aren’t they?’

‘At the moment they are, and I have personally sworn loyalty to King Knut,’ Arn said calmly. ‘But we know nothing about the future. Perhaps the Eriks and Sverkers will join forces against us some day, for reasons we can’t predict. But one thing is certain. If we build Arnäs to be a strong fortress, and God blesses our efforts to form a Folkung cavalry, no one will be able to defeat us. In this way we can avoid war,
or at least shorten it, and power will be ours. My friend Harald has now heard what we intended only for the ears of close kinsmen. But if you ask him, he’ll agree that I’m right.’

‘What Arn says is true,’ said Harald. ‘Arn is the one who taught me to be a warrior, though I may have been too old when I went into his service. Arn taught many squadrons to wage war both forward in attack and backward in retreat, just as he and other knights like him do. He taught archers, sappers, foot soldiers, and both light and heavy cavalry, as well as the master armourers and sword smiths. If any clan in the North is taught these secrets of the Knights Templar, be they Birchlegs or Folkungs, Eriks or Sverkers, then all power will reside with that clan. Believe me, Eskil, for I’ve seen all this with my own eyes. Everything I say is true. I’m the son of a Norwegian king and I stand by my word!’

Queen Cecilia Blanca did not give her husband the king a peaceful moment until she got her way. He sighed at the fact that the calm that usually settled over Näs after a three-day council meeting was scant this time. But no matter what objections he thought up, she had at least two counter-arguments for him. He found it much too great an honour for an unmarried woman such as Cecilia Rosa to ride with more than a dozen of the king’s retainers as protection. That was befitting a jarl, not an unmarried woman.

But the queen replied that nothing prevented her from sending her own retainers, for Cecilia Rosa was her dearest friend in life and everyone knew it. Who could be opposed to that?

King Knut insisted that it was excessive to send so many armed men with one woman. It would be a sign that they were expecting foul play.

The queen countered that no worse fate could befall
the kingdom right now than for something to happen to Cecilia Rosa on the perilous journey she was about to undertake. With a sigh the king said that Cecilia Rosa could probably do no more harm with her death than she was doing by going to the bridal bed instead of to Riseberga cloister.

Showing not the least wifely kindness, the queen told him what would happen to the kingdom if Cecilia Rosa were killed or wounded. It would divide the Folkungs at once, with Eskil and Arn Magnusson on one side, and Birger Brosa and his Bjälbo branch on the other. And where would Magnus Månesköld stand in the dispute? He was both Birger Brosa’s foster kinsman and Arn Magnusson’s son. And what if Folkung support for the crown began to waver? What would happen to the power in the kingdom then?

King Knut had to admit that the very thought of a schism among the Folkungs was a nightmare. It would throw him and his Erik clan into the midst of a conflict that could endanger his son Erik’s claim to the crown. Even worse, the crown might soon sit loosely on his own head. In this much he admitted she was right. But a split had already occurred, since Birger Brosa had set off for Bjälbo with many harsh words for both Arn and Eskil.

Queen Blanca thought that time would soon heal this rift. Once God’s will had made it clear that nothing could be changed, all the excitement would die down. But if anything happened to Cecilia Rosa before the bridal night, they would have a fearsome foe in Arn Magnusson.

King Knut had no problem with agreeing that things could not get any worse than that. In a world where so much was decided by the sword, it was crucial to have a man like Arn Magnusson on his side. So it was even worse that Birger Brosa in his unusual fit of wrath had sworn that he would rather resign the power of the jarl than welcome Arn into
the council as the new marshal. Any way they twisted and turned these questions, the pain remained like a rotting tooth.

As if nothing more need be said, the queen replied that the only sure cure for a toothache was to pull the bad tooth, and the sooner the better.

For Cecilia Rosa the following weeks passed as though they had taken from her both her freedom and her free will – as if she were floating with the current without being able to make the slightest decision for herself. She couldn’t even decide about something as simple as travelling between Näs and Riseberga cloister, as she had done so many times before.

Because she was accompanied by twelve retainers, the journey took two days longer. Normally she would have simply sailed north on Lake Vättern to Åmmeberg and continued from there in a smaller riverboat up to Åmmelangen and through the lakes to Östansjö. From there it would have been only a day’s ride to Riseberga.

But with twelve guards and their horses and all their gear, it was impossible to take the water route. They had to ride all the way from Åmmeberg.

She usually would have ridden with one or two men over whom she had authority. Now the guards from the king’s castle spoke of her like an item of cargo, although she was sitting on her horse right next to them. They called her ‘the wench,’ arguing about what was best for the wench’s safety and how best the wench could seek lodging for the night. The journey kept being delayed when the leader of the guards ordered men to ride ahead to scout a stretch of woods or check a ford before they rode over it. With all this extra trouble it took more than four days to reach Riseberga.

At first she had tried to close her ears and turn inward to her own dreams, sending prayers of thanksgiving to Our
Lady every hour. By the second day she could no longer stand being referred to and treated like a load of silver instead of a human being. She rode up alongside Adalvard, the leader of the expedition, a man from the Erik clan.

She told him that she had made this journey many times, and only once had encountered highwaymen. The highwaymen had let her pass undisturbed when she explained that she came from the cloister and that her cargo was merely manuscripts and church silver. The bandits, who were young and had few weapons, had not frightened her in the least. Then how was it that a royal guard riding with the sign of the three crowns in the lead, a sight which should have scared off most highwaymen, was making such a fuss and displaying such timidity at every bend in the road?

Looking surly, Adalvard replied that it was his job to judge what was safe or not safe on this route, according to his own experience and knowledge. Naturally a woman of the convent would know all sorts of things that he did not. But now they had to make it through the woods of Tiveden alive, and that was something he knew best how to accomplish.

Cecilia Rosa was not satisfied with this answer, but she let it drop when their retinue came upon a farm that seemed large enough to house a dozen guards, their horses, and a wench.

The next morning, when they had proceeded a short distance along the road, she rode up to Adalvard and complained that it was not flattering to be treated like a prisoner being led to the
ting
to be hanged. Those words made more of an impression on him than her queries about their safety. He excused himself by saying that they were all responsible for her with their own lives.

It was a while before she spoke with Adalvard again. She was on her way to her wedding with Arn because Our Lady had listened to their prayers and allowed Herself to be
persuaded. She had spared Arn for some other purpose besides the direct path to Paradise achieved through a martyr’s death. What sort of safety did Cecilia need on her simple journey to Riseberga, other than the gentle, protective hands of Our Lady?

Cecilia Rosa was well aware that such religious reasoning would hardly impress a man like Adalvard. He was acting under the king’s orders, and his first priority was man’s will, and then possibly God’s will. Or perhaps he considered it a man’s obligation to do his utmost and in that way fulfil God’s will.

But something wasn’t right. There must be some danger that she didn’t understand, while the men accompanying her feared for their lives because they were aware of the peril.

Once again she left her place in the column and rode up next to Adalvard.

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me, Adalvard; that you are all responsible for me with your lives,’ she began. ‘I certainly should have displayed less impatience and more gratitude. I hope you will forgive me.’