Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (20 page)

Arn had feared that it was too soon for his father to go outside, even though he had his son to support him. He had also feared that his father would find the construction unnecessary and forbid it, now that he had regained his reason.

But his concerns were groundless. When Herr Magnus saw how a perfectly smooth and high wall was being formed around the outer portions of the castle closest to Lake Vänern, and when he realized that these walls were intended to surround all of Arnäs, he was struck dumb with joy and pride. He himself had improved the fortifications considerably in his younger years, but he had often regretted that he hadn’t done better. Arn told him at length how everything would look when it was finished, and how no enemy could then threaten the Folkung clan. In all he recounted he received his father’s eager support.

The only matter that caused concern during Arn’s brief visit to Arnäs was Erika’s state of mind. Since he had heard about the death of his unknown little brother Knut, Erika’s son, he had spoken about this sorrow with her as he must. But she had made him angry by talking more about the revenge to which she had a right than about her grief. Even worse, she told him that she had offered thanks to Our Lady
because a warrior of God like Arn had returned so that the days of that wretch Ebbe Sunesson were now numbered. For the law was clear. If Arn demanded a duel for the sake of the clan’s honour, the villain could not say no. Erika grew so heated that she seemed both to cry and laugh at the same time when she described how Ebbe Sunesson would feel when he was forced to draw his sword against the older brother of the youth he’d slain and then watch his own death coming straight at him.

Arn hadn’t been able to allay Erika Joarsdotter’s desire for vengeance; he found that out as soon as he tried. Instead he prayed with her for the soul of his brother Knut. Even though she couldn’t refuse such a prayer, she seemed to long more for revenge than for the peace of Knut’s soul.

It was sad to find Erika filled with such a sinful obsession. During the long night by the river he prayed first of all for Erika’s recovery and the forgiveness of her sin.

It felt as though they were on their way to the heart of darkness. The farther the river journey took them, the more certain the Wachtian brothers felt that they were leaving the habitations of men behind them and approaching the inhuman and unnamable. The individual hovels they passed looked more and more shabby, and on the banks of the river the livestock and wild children romped about together so that it was hard to tell the animals from the people.

The inn where they were to spend the night was abominable and crowded with savage, filthy men who bellowed in their incomprehensible singing language and drank like beasts until they ended up in brawls or simply passed out. All the men from Outremer, Christians as well as Muslims, kept to themselves and made camp some distance away from the inn buildings rather than set foot inside. The food that the thralls brought them they had refused with disgust and
horror, and when darkness fell they all prayed, the Prophet’s people and the Christians separately, for forbearance.

In the morning it took an eternity to get going, since the sleeping oarsmen had to be rousted from the most unexpected places, wherever they happened to fall asleep. Red-eyed and grumpy, stinking of vomit and piss, these men had finally been herded together like beasts of burden to their oars. By then the sun was high, and it was said that Sir Arn and his band of riders had a lead of many hours.

Late that afternoon their boat glided up to the wharves at Forsvik. The unloading began at once, and Marcus and Jacob Wachtian were kept busy ensuring that nothing in their baggage was damaged by these ignorant and worthless souls.

Yet they agreed it could have been much worse, when Sir Arn called a meeting in the courtyard in the midst of the low grey wooden houses with the grass growing on the roofs. At least all the Nordic people around them were sober and relatively clean. At least they didn’t stink like the oarsmen.

‘In the name of God, most beneficent, ever-merciful, He Who is the God of us all even though we worship Him in different ways, I bid you welcome to my home,’ Sir Arn began as usual in Arabic. ‘This is the destination of our journey. Let us therefore, before we do or say anything else, offer prayers of thanksgiving that we have arrived safe and sound.’

Sir Arn then bowed his head in prayer, and all the men around him did the same. He waited until all had raised their heads when they finished their prayer.

‘What you see here at Forsvik will impress few of you, I know,’ Sir Arn went on. ‘But we have four years of work ahead of us until the time we have agreed on is over. None of us will recognize this place after those four years, you can
be assured of that. We shall not build a fortress, but a
caravanserai
, a place of trade. We shall not build walls here as we did at Arnäs, but smithies, furnaces for making brick and glass, and workshops for the manufacture of saddles and tack, felt, leather goods, and clothing. But we can’t do everything at once. Of primary importance are roofs over our heads and cleanliness, which will be the same here as in Outremer. Then we will put in order everything else in the sequence we find best. But roofs over our heads must be the first priority, for winters here in the North are of a quite different nature than anything you have ever experienced. When the first snow and cold arrives, I’m sure that none of you, even in silence, will curse me that in your first days you had to slave like simple builders, although your skills could be employed doing more difficult things than dragging lumber. The Prophet’s people, peace be upon him, will not see any unclean food before them. Now we have hard work to do, but we will also reap the reward for it, because within less than half a year the first snow will fall!’

Sir Arn repeated his words in Frankish, as usual, and then he went over to the two field masters, Aibar and Bulent, and took them along to a smaller building which lay right next to running water.

‘Some people are lucky enough to be spared the slaving on construction from the start,’ Jacob Wachtian muttered. ‘What skills do we have that will spare us?’

‘Surely one thing and another, don’t worry,’ said Marcus, unconcerned, taking his brother by the arm to study more closely the estate which would apparently be their workplace for several years to come.

They took a tour around Forsvik, and since they were both men who took great pleasure in learning new things about what could be built by the hands of men, they soon had much to discuss. They could see from the quantity of
new timber that was still being dragged in by ox-teams from the nearby woods that several new buildings were planned. But the piles of stones and barrels of chalk and sand made them realize that the new structures would be built differently from those that were already here. Apparently it was going to be like the big wooden longhouse at Arnäs, where one gable was entirely of stone and had a huge fireplace at the end. If they heated up that much stone with the fire, maybe they could fight off the terrible cold of winter, Marcus reasoned. Unlike in Outremer, at least here they had unlimited quantities of wood for fuel.

Sir Arn strode over to the brothers, put his arms around their shoulders, and told them that now they would soon have a chance to work on what they were best suited for. But first he had to show them his idea. He seemed happy and sure of his plan, as if this Godforsaken spot at the end of the world were already a large and flourishing
caravanserai.

First he took them down to the two waterfalls and described how they could get as much power from this water as they wished. He told them that water was much better than wind, because water flowed all the time.

At the smaller waterfall there were two mill-wheels. Arn took them inside the mill and showed them how the rotating power could be transmitted to the millstones.

‘But this is just the beginning,’ he said. ‘We can build ten wheels like this if we like, and we can build them much bigger. The power produced will be slower but much stronger, if we should want to grind limestone to lime for use in mortar. Or we could obtain weaker but much faster power with smaller wheels. I want you to put your minds to work on this!’

He led them out of the millhouse, still cheerful and enthusiastic, and showed them where he wanted to build food
storehouses out of brick, next to the larger waterfall so that he could run a cooling stream of water in along the floor and back out into the river.

Along the big rapids they would build a stone channel to harness all the power that would otherwise be wasted. That’s where the row of workshops would be located, since the water power could drive both the bellows and hammers. To avoid having to haul all the charcoal and fuel back and forth, he thought they might as well build the brothers’ workshops next to the smithies and glassworks. When Marcus muttered something about trying to think sharply about springs and gears, with all the pounding that would be going on next door, Sir Arn said with a laugh that he truly had not thought about that drawback. But in the wintertime it might be very beneficial to work right next to the smithies and glassworks for the sake of the warmth.

But first both of them, like Ibrahim the physician, had to start on a completely different project. During the fall with all the mud, and during the long winter, it would be hard to keep themselves and their dwellings clean if they didn’t soon begin making soap. Sir Arn apologized with a laugh when he saw the insulted looks on the faces of the two Armenian brothers. Naturally such work would seem to be something for less knowledgeable men, he admitted. But here in the North they would have to choose. Anyone who wanted to stay clean in the wintertime would have to start burning ashes and gathering bone grease to make his own soap. Oil could be boiled out of the Nordic pines the same way it was done from cedar and pines in Lebanon. Sir Arn had already had the bark slashed on many trees in the vicinity, which were bleeding pitch.

Seeing the brothers’ reluctant expressions, he assured them that he could set his own workers to the dirty task of collecting
tree resin, but once it was in the iron cauldron even Armenian gentlemen would have to help out and continue the necessary work.

They looked so dismayed that Arn launched into a long, apologetic explanation. He began with something as simple as felt. Aibar and Bulent, the two Turkish feltmakers, had already begun their work. Even though most of the felt would eventually be put to military use, the surplus would be welcome in the winter.

What they had to understand was that everything that was taken for granted in Outremer was not readily available here. The same was true of soap, esteemed by both the followers of the Prophet, peace be upon him, and the Christians from Outremer.

So there were many simple tasks that had to be done before they could start on the real work: constructing crossbows, making arrows for the longbows, forging swords and helmets, extruding iron wire, and firing clay and glass.

Otherwise, Arn added with a smile, anyone who couldn’t find work doing these small, simple tasks would have to assist with the construction and masonry work. This convinced the Wachtian brothers that they should begin working on making soap, as well as gathering the right sort of water plants for the ash that was needed for glassmaking.

But he asked them, whenever they had time, to think about the water power and what it might be used for.

This last was most encouraging to them. When Sir Arn left and hurried off to talk to other groups, the Wachtian brothers went back down to the water-wheels. Inside one of the millhouses they observed the turning stones and axles as they thought out loud to each other.

Saws
, they thought at once. Up here in the North they split timber and smoothed it as best they could with adzes. But what if they could saw it evenly right from the start?

There was more than enough power, just as Sir Arn had said. How could they transfer that power to saws?

It wouldn’t be easy to figure out, but this was the type of problem that put the two brothers in a better mood. They went to fetch ink and parchment at once. Both of them thought best when they could sketch their ideas.

Upon her homecoming to Husaby, Cecilia soon found that she was an unwelcome guest; if anyone had wished her banished to the cloister more than Birger Brosa, it was her relatives.

She had not relinquished her inheritance from her father Algot. At least half of the ten farms around Husaby were hers. And her kinsmen circled around the matter like a cat around hot porridge when it came to her sister Katarina’s inheritance. The question was whether Katarina had relinquished her birthright when she entered the cloister, and if so, whether the property would fall to the cloister, to Cecilia, or to her male kinsmen.

Husaby had been a royal estate ever since the days of Olof Skötkonung. But the Pål clan had been caretakers there for more than a century, so they reckoned Husaby as their own estate when it came to holding feasts for the clan, even though they always had to make sure that they had plenty of provisions in case the king himself came to visit. They also had to pay tax to the king.

Cecilia’s homecoming was such a disappointment to her uncle’s son Pål Jönsson and his two brothers Algot and Sture
that they could scarcely conceal their dismay. It wasn’t hard for Cecilia to understand the reason for their sullen expressions or why they spoke to her only when forced to, preferring instead to sit by themselves. They stopped talking as soon as she came near.

Cecilia’s wedding was going to cost them dearly, she was well aware of that. The law and custom were both simple and clear. The richer the bridegroom, the bigger the dowry. And a richer man than the son of Arnäs was difficult to find in Western Götaland. At least that was what Cecilia surmised, without having any idea how much Arn might inherit from his father Magnus.

Cecilia had good reason not to discuss the dowry with her hostile kinsmen. It would be better to save that argument for the dowry ale when Arn’s bridal representative, who would undoubtedly be Eskil, came to arrange everything that had to be finished and decided by the wedding day. Very few would dare butt heads with Eskil.

Eskil had already sent over the old thrall woman Suom from Arnäs, since she was the most skilled in the sewing arts and could make a bridal gown better than anyone. Cecilia instantly became friends with Suom. They found great pleasure in each other’s skill with needle and thread, distaff and loom.

Some of the things they could do in the convent Suom had never seen. But she knew other things that they didn’t know at the cloister, so the two got on well together. And in this way Cecilia was spared keeping company with the unfriendly Pål brothers.

Eskil arrived at the appointed time on the day as promised, bringing a dozen guards. He quickly drank his welcome ale and explained that he didn’t intend to stay overnight, so they had better take care of the business matters at once, without any more drinking.

The Pål brothers could offer no argument, but they blushed with humiliation that this Folkung did not even care to share their bread and meat.

Things did not improve when Eskil said that he would prefer to have Cecilia included in the conversation so that she could speak her piece. This diminished the role of Pål Jönsson, which could hardly have escaped Eskil’s notice.

In silence the three Pål brothers entered the feast hall of Husaby first and took their places together at the high seat. Eskil was careful to walk slowly, taking Cecilia’s arm and whispering that she must remain calm and not worry about any of the things that now might be said. He had no chance to explain further before they moved further into the dim hall, which was still decorated with ancient runes and images of gods that were not Christian.

In silence the Pål brothers sat down in the high seat with Cecilia near them and Eskil facing them across the longtable. New ale was brought in by house thralls who said not a word, seeming to sense that this was a meeting that their masters did not particularly desire.

‘Well, shall we set the date first?’ said Eskil, wiping the ale from his mouth, as if he weren’t talking about anything difficult or important.

‘It’s customary to decide on the date after everyone agrees on all the rest,’ Pål Jönsson muttered with annoyance. He was red in the face, and the veins bulged from his forehead as if he were as taut as a bowstring, anticipating what was to follow.

‘As you like. We can talk about the dowry first,’ said Eskil.

‘Half of the inheritance from my uncle Algot rightfully belongs to Cecilia. That’s what she can take with her into the estate,’ Pål Jönsson said.

‘Absolutely not!’ Eskil snapped back. ‘Cecilia’s sister Katarina was my wife, as you may recall, and she entered
Gudhem cloister while their father was still alive. It was autumn, and during the subsequent Christmas feast Algot drank until he suffered a stroke and died. We all know this sad story, may he rest in peace. So Cecilia’s inheritance is Algot’s entire estate, all ten farms. She will take those with her into the estate.’

‘Doesn’t Katarina’s inheritance fall to Gudhem cloister?’ said Pål, trying to be evasive.

‘No, because when she entered the cloister she had no inheritance, since Algot was still alive,’ Eskil replied implacably. ‘And as far as Gudhem is concerned, I have paid out of my own pocket more for Katarina’s admittance into the holy sisterhood than was ever required.’

‘So you’re demanding that I and all my brothers leave our farms and property?’ asked Pål Jönsson, wringing his hands. ‘That’s an unfair demand when at the same time you expect to keep us as your kinsmen. Remember that this is my decision to make, since I speak on Cecilia’s behalf regarding the dowry. And with conditions like those you have presented, I may decide to cancel the wedding altogether!’

Now it was finally said. It was evident when the three brothers took a deep breath that this was what they’d been planning for the past week.

Eskil’s expression didn’t change, but he waited an excruciatingly long time before he said anything. And then he spoke in a mild and friendly voice.

‘If you break the agreement, no matter that it’s an old one, you are the same as a bride-robber and will not live till sundown, my dear kinsman. That would not be a good start for this marriage. But I am not a disobliging man; I would like us to settle this for the best without bloodshed so that we can remain the friends that the union between my brother and Cecilia Algotsdotter demands. Let’s say that Cecilia’s
dowry will be just the five farms and bordering lands to the north and west toward Arnäs and Lake Vänern. Then you can keep the other five farms and stay on as the king’s hosts at Husaby. Would such a proposal suit you and your two brothers better?’

None of them could object to that, and all three nodded in silent consent.

‘In return for relinquishing five farms, I may have to demand a bit more gold, let’s say twelve marks in bullion in addition to the five farms,’ Eskil went on as if speaking of trifles, and giving more attention to the ale.

But this was no small matter he was proposing as compensation. Twelve marks in gold was a sum so large that not even all the farms of the Pål clan would have sufficed. And even if they had been a mightier clan, it wouldn’t have been possible to produce such a sum in pure gold. The three brothers stared incredulously at Eskil as if unsure whether he or they had lost their minds.

‘I need more ale,’ said Eskil with a friendly smile, holding up his empty tankard just as Pål Jönsson collected himself to speak, and his words did not look to be friendly.

But he had to wait until Eskil had his new tankard, and Cecilia thought that this delay may have saved Pål’s tongue from behaving as the bane of his head.

‘Well! Perhaps I should explain one more item before you say anything, kinsman,’ Eskil went on just as Pål opened his mouth. ‘You brothers would not be responsible for those twelve marks in gold; Cecilia will pay the sum out of her own pocket.’

Once again Pål Jönsson was curtailed just as he was about to speak. All the anger that could have made him raise his hand to Eskil or say things that just as surely would have meant his death, now changed to gaping astonishment.

‘If Cecilia, though I don’t know how, can pay such an
enormous amount as twelve marks in gold, I don’t understand this discussion at all,’ he said, straining to keep his words polite.

‘What is it you don’t understand, dear kinsman?’ asked Eskil, resting his tankard on his knee.

‘Compared with you Folkungs, we in the Pål clan are poor,’ said Pål Jönsson. ‘And if Cecilia can pay twelve marks in gold, which is the largest dowry any of us have ever heard of, I don’t see why you need to have five of our farms.’

‘It’s a good bargain for us, because we want to have the land along Lake Vänern as part of our property,’ Eskil replied calmly. ‘It’s a good bargain for you Pål brothers as well, if you think about it. You won’t be left without any benefits. After this wedding you can bear a sword wherever you want in Western Götaland, because as Cecilia’s representative you will become part of the Folkung clan by marriage. You can exchange your green mantle for our blue one. Anyone who harms you or your brothers will have harmed the Folkungs. Anyone who raises a sword against you will not live more than three sundowns thereafter. You will be united with us both in blood and in honour. Think on that!’

What Eskil said was true. But Pål and his brothers had been so stubbornly engaged in talking about their monetary losses, about five or ten farms in inheritance and how much better it would have been if Cecilia had gone into the cloister, that they hadn’t thought about the significance of coming under the Folkungs’ protection. Their lives would be changed completely after one wedding night.

A bit ashamed at their own simplicity, Pål and his two brothers now immediately submitted to all of Eskil’s desires.

Cecilia would be given Forsvik as the morning gift, as her own estate in perpetuity, to be inherited by her progeny.
At Forsvik she would also live with her Arn. As long as she saw fit to keep him there, Eskil added with a jocular glance at Cecilia, who looked surprised by these unnecessary additions concerning the legal right to all morning gifts.

It was decided to hold three days of celebration: the bachelors’ and maidens’ evening on the first Friday after Midsummer; the fetching of the bride and the traditional escorting to the bridal bed on the following Saturday; and the blessing of the bride at the mass on Sunday in Forshem Church.

Four young men rode to the bachelors’ evening. Even from far off everyone could see that these young men were not ordinary youths. Their horses were decked out for a feast in blue fabric, and three of the men wore surcoats with the Folkung lion over their chain mail, while the fourth bore the mark of the three crowns. It was a summer day in the midst of the hay harvest, so their mantles were rolled up behind their saddles. Otherwise it would have been obvious that the fourth among them, the sole Erik, had a mantle lined with ermine. And since it wasn’t the king himself, it had to be his son Erik jarl.

Their shields hanging on the left side of the saddle were all newly painted in shining blue and gold around the lion and crowns. Behind them followed four royal guards and some pack horses.

It was a beautiful sight with all the bright colours and the stout horses, but also a sight that would make every peasant in the lands of the Goths more than wary. If such a party happened to arrive toward evening and decided to spend the night, they would not leave much ale behind but a great void in the larder, for all power in the kingdom lay with the Eriks and Folkungs, and no one could refuse them anything.

The youngest of the four was Torgils, seventeen years old, the son of Eskil Magnusson of Arnäs. The eldest was Magnus Månesköld, who once had been reckoned Birger Brosa’s son, but was now considered his foster brother. He was actually the son of Arn Magnusson. The fourth, who rode beside Erik jarl, was Folke Jonsson, son of Jon the judge in Eastern Götaland.

The four were best friends and almost always rode together in the hunt and during weapons games. Before this wedding they had spent ten days together while their riding clothes were cleaned and mended and their shields painted anew at the king’s Näs. Each day they had practiced with their weapons for several hours, for it was not some ordinary test that awaited them.

For Magnus Månesköld it hadn’t been easy to stay away from Forsvik for so long. When Birger Brosa came to Bjälbo, in a rage after the latest council meeting, he mentioned as if in passing that Arn Magnusson had returned to the kingdom. The first thing Magnus wanted to do was jump into the saddle and ride off to see his father.

But he restrained himself when he realized that Arn Magnusson was probably not a man he should seek out before first outfitting himself well and polishing all his weapons until they gleamed. And he wanted to practice even more with the bow, for Magnus had lived his entire young life hearing the sagas about how his father Arn was the best archer of all.

To himself he quietly admitted that he was a bit apprehensive at approaching Forsvik for such an unusual task. He was to be one of the young men to escort his own father to the bachelor evening. His friends had made much mirth about this. It was not granted to many men to drink their father under the table at the bachelors’ celebration. He had not been amused by these jests and said so. Arn Magnusson of
Arnäs was not some ordinary bridegroom. And the bride was no little weepy and terrified goose, but his own mother, a woman beyond reproach who was shown respect by all. With this wedding, it was more a matter of restoring honour than arranging favourable family alliances, and it was nothing to jest about.

Erik jarl had argued that among one’s closest friends one could jest about anything and everyone. But he honoured Magnus’s wishes and avoided the topic. He himself was a jarl of the realm and thus highest in rank among the friends, but Magnus Månesköld was the eldest of the four, the best at weapons games, and often as wise as if he were truly Birger Brosa’s son.

As they approached Forsvik the tension grew as the meeting with Arn Magnusson approached. They all knew him by reputation but had never seen him in person.