Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (40 page)

‘Then I think I understand,’ said Arn. ‘Without waging war, we give the crown to Sverker. But we don’t make such a gift without receiving something in return. He’ll have to swear that Erik jarl will become king after him. Am I right?’

‘More or less,’ said Birger Brosa with a nod.

‘Much could go wrong with such a cunning stratagem,’ brooded Arn. ‘Even if Sverker Karlsson produces no son, some new kinsman might appear from Denmark with claims on our crown, and then we’d be in the same situation.’

‘But by then we will have won time, and many years without war.’

‘Yes, and that would be to the benefit of the Folkungs,’ admitted Arn. ‘We would gain the time we need to secure a victorious power. But the Eriks at Näs won’t be pleased if you propose what you have now suggested to me.’

‘No, I don’t think they will,’ said Birger Brosa. ‘But the Eriks find themselves in a difficult position right now. After Erik jarl is done ranting and calling us things that he will later regret, he’ll discover that without the Folkungs no war will be waged for the sake of the king’s crown. Without us there is no power. No doubt his father Knut will have an easier time understanding this. Of course much depends on Knut over the next few years, but if things get worse, I will find the right occasion to describe what we must do to preserve the peace, and thereby save Erik’s head as well as his crown. Knut will yield if he is ravaged by disease and if the moment for such a conversation is chosen well.’

‘And after Erik jarl?’ asked Arn with a scornful smile. ‘Where have you thought the crown should be placed then?’

‘By then I will no longer be here on this earth,’ laughed Birger Brosa, raising his ale tankard and draining it to the bottom. ‘But if my view from heaven is nearly as good – and considering how many prayers of intercession I’ve paid for my soul at three cloisters, I should have quite a nice view – it would be my greatest pleasure to see the first Folkung king crowned!’

‘Then I suggest that you begin at once to marry off your kinsmen in Svealand rather than with Sverkers,’ said Arn, his face expressionless.

‘That’s precisely what I intend to do!’ exclaimed Birger Brosa. ‘And it has occurred to me that your brother Eskil, who is a very tempting marriage prospect, needs to find a new wife very soon!’

Arn sighed, smiled, and pretending resignation raised his ale tankard toward Birger Brosa. He had great admiration for his uncle’s ability to steer the struggle for power. Such men were rare, even in the Holy Land.

But he was also uneasy about the fact that no matter how many prayers of intercession had been purchased in three cloisters, even that might not be sufficient to procure a good vantage point in the next life, as Birger Brosa seemed so convinced that he had done. But Arn said not a word of what he was thinking.

The first snow came early and in great abundance that year. Among the foreigners at Forsvik, the snow and the increasing cold had a strange effect; some showed even greater diligence in their work, while others stayed indoors next to the hearth in the longhouse without doing any work at all. It wasn’t difficult to explain the difference, since those who were hardworking were those who toiled in the smithies and glassworks where the heat was always so great that everyone worked in long, thin tunics and thick-soled wooden clogs with a rough leather cover across the instep, no matter how cold it might be outdoors.

The thralls at Forsvik took care of the other winter work, such as using the sled to collect more wood or keeping the courtyard clear of snow or shovelling snow passages between the buildings. They were better on their feet when tending to such tasks.

Jacob Wachtian surprised Arn during the second week of snow by asking that the section of water conduit stretching across the field to the house of the foreign guests be covered over with snow. Arn admonished him a bit indulgently that this might not be the wisest thing to do, since it would be difficult if the water froze. But Jacob insisted that it was precisely that occurrence that he wanted to avoid, and he
claimed that snow was warmer than air, and that he’d heard this from kinsmen who lived high up in the Armenian mountains. Since Jacob refused to give up this idea, although he was insistent in a most chivalrous manner, Arn decided to try out his suggestion on one of the water lines. He allowed Jacob to choose which one it would be. Cloaking his words in many unnecessary courtesies, the Christian brother then explained that so many men lived in the longhouse, and since most of them had never even seen snow before, the damage would be all the greater if the water froze and they were all forced out into the winter night to relieve themselves; it would also be difficult to wash up in the mornings and evenings.

Arn then agreed to his request, although he didn’t believe that this experiment would end well. Great heaps of snow were piled on top of the section of the water line running above ground to the longhouse.

A short time later the water stopped running into his own house, but when Arn went to see the Saracens in their longhouse, he found the water running as briskly as it did in the summertime.

Muttering and grunting, he had taken Gure outside to help break open his own water conduit using iron spits and pickaxes, and forcing boiling water into several places. Finally they managed to dislodge the ice plug, which went rattling through the house, and soon the water was flowing again. Arn then had his own water line covered in the same manner as had been done at the foreigners’ house. After that everything was as it should be, even during the coldest time in midwinter.

Winter was a good time because the days weren’t filled with such hard work that no one had any strength left to think. On the contrary, in winter people had time to reflect on matters.

For this reason Arn instituted
majlis
every Thursday after
midday prayers in the Saracen longhouse. He also summoned the Christian foreigners to take part. At the first meeting he apologized for not establishing this excellent custom of having a council room and conversations much earlier. But as everyone no doubt realized, there was good reason to make haste with all the work that had to be done to shelter them from the winter. Yet now the cold had overtaken them, and what they hadn’t been able to finish would not get done until spring. So, what should they talk about?

At first no one spoke. It was as if these Saracens, no matter how accustomed most of them were to the idea of
majlis
, had forgotten much of what they had been used to since everything in the North was so unfamiliar. In the worst case, thought Arn, this had happened because they saw themselves as slaves, subject to the mercy or disfavour of their foreign master.

Arn translated what he had said to Frankish when he realized that the two Englishmen didn’t understand a word of Arabic; their Frankish wasn’t particularly good either.

‘Wages,’ said Athelsten Crossbow, who was the first to speak. ‘We work a year. Where is wages?’ he went on.

Arn immediately translated his question to Arabic and saw that more than one man in the hall suddenly showed interest.

Work clothes could be another topic for discussion, said one of the stonemasons. Old Ibrahim, who was the most respected of the faithful and the only one who was allowed to speak for the others, added that they ought to solve the matter of God’s day of rest, since there had been a good deal of confusion about this.

After a short time the reticence of the gathering had vanished; soon so many men were talking all at once that Ibrahim and Arn had to speak up to restore order.

The first decision had to do with wages. The general opinion was that it was better to receive wages after each
year served than to get five years worth of wages all at once just before they travelled back home. There were some objections, including the fact that it might be difficult to store the silver and gold, since they had no use for it while at Forsvik. Another person who was more ingratiating said that there should never be any reason to doubt the word of Al Ghouti, and everyone’s gold was doubtless better stored at Al Ghouti’s home at an-Nes.

Nevertheless, Arn decided that after his next visit to Arnäs, which would take place during the most important Christian celebration, he would bring the wages for every man in gold coins.

The matter of work clothes was easier to solve. Most of the men in the hall knew full well what working with masonry and forges and glass entailed. Arn assured them that this would be the saddle-makers’ most important task during the winter, since the masons in particular needed clothing that was reinforced with leather.

The question of a day of rest was more difficult to address; they had to discuss whether it should be Friday or Sunday. To slow the work in the smithies and at the glassworks would not be desirable. It was easiest to solve the problem with the smithies, since there were many Christians, especially if the thralls at Forsvik were considered Christian, who had no trouble working on Friday, just as the faithful could work on Sunday. It was not as simple at the glassworks, since all the skilled workers except for the Wachtian brothers were Muslim.

Then Arn asked Brother Guilbert how they had dealt with this matter when he was working with the stonemasons at Arnäs. Brother Guilbert muttered with great embarrassment that he had merely counted Sundays as Fridays, and no one had offered any protest. His words aroused much disapproval and many shocked glances among the builders who had
worked on the fortress. Evidently they had been misled as to which days were Fridays and which were Sundays.

Arn quickly cut short the dispute that seemed likely to grow too big even for a
majlis.
He said that during the winter and at Forsvik, Friday would be a day of rest for every Muslim, while Sunday would be the Christians’ day of rest, and so it would be. They would then think about what do at Arnäs when the masonry work resumed in the spring.

Not everyone who was present at this first
majlis
was satisfied with what had been discussed. But that was how it usually was and would continue to be.

Arn and Cecilia had more trouble in determining when they should free their thralls. For several evenings they sat with Brother Guilbert in his chamber so as to talk undisturbed about this matter, which they wished to keep secret until it could be realized. Just to be safe, they conducted the discussion in Latin.

Brother Guilbert had no reservations whatsoever about the idea of freeing the thralls; Arn expected no less of him. But the monk realized that such important news had to be delivered with care and wisdom. If they tried to imagine themselves as thralls, it was easy to understand how such news would be received. He was most concerned that the entrenched obedience of the thralls might lead to the opposite extreme. The poor, simple souls might lose their wits and fall upon each other with weapons in order to right old wrongs, in the belief that the person who was free was allowed to strike anyone at will. Or they might simply run off to the woods.

Cecilia remarked that in the middle of winter no one would run away from Forsvik to the woods. That was why the news should be delivered soon, during the coldest period.

Arn said gloomily that it would do little good to try and guess how a thrall thought, since it must be impossible to
have a sensible opinion on the matter if someone had lived his whole life as a free man. Shouldn’t they ask one of them?

Both Cecilia and Brother Guilbert objected at once, saying that if even the slightest hint of what they were planning got out, Forsvik would turn into a chicken coop of rumours and misconceptions before evensong. But Arn stubbornly insisted and asked them who they might suggest to ask for advice.

They both replied at once that they should ask Gure, Suom’s son.

For Gure, who had not had a free moment since the snow began falling, busy as he was with hearths and drafty doors, this sudden summons to the master’s house seemed an ill omen. He stopped his work at once and made his way from the thrall quarters to the courtyard, where he cut across the open space to Arn’s house. He thought nervously that perhaps he had devoted too much time to the thralls and too little time to the stables and shelter for the livestock; harsh words were probably awaiting him. He did not fear the whip, because it had never been used even once at Arnäs; he knew from talking to everyone that not a single thrall had been whipped at Forsvik since the new master and mistress had arrived.

Outside Arn’s house he paused in the snow for a moment, feeling at a loss. From inside he heard voices that sounded loud and ominous, as if Sir Arn and those he was talking to in a foreign tongue were not in agreement. What worried him most was not the fact that he was about to be rebuked, but that he didn’t know the reason. He stood outside so long that he started to freeze, but no one came out to get him. He could not enter of his own volition; no thrall was allowed inside the mistress’s chamber, and he could hear that she was inside. He stuffed his hands under his armpits and started stamping his feet in the snow to stop shivering from the cold.

He wondered to himself if this was his punishment, to
freeze for his sins. But if that was the case, shouldn’t he at least know why? What good was a punishment without knowing the reason behind it?

Brother Guilbert unexpectedly came to his aid; it might not have happened if he had remembered the
lavatorium
arrangement inside the master’s house. But since he lived in the old longhouse, he was used to going outside to relieve himself. As he stepped outside and raised his robes, he discovered he was just about to spray his water on Gure waiting nearby.

Brother Guilbert quickly went about his business and then put his arm around Gure’s shoulders and led him inside through the dark clothing chamber to the large room where the hearth kept it as warm as a bathhouse. The monk led him over to the great fireplace and pressed him down onto a stool a suitable distance away from the blaze while he said something to Arn in a foreign tongue.

Gure rubbed his hands to get warm as he kept his eyes on the floor, noticing how the master and mistress and the monk were all studying him, even though no one said a word. Suddenly Fru Cecilia stood up, took a tray with smoked ham on it from the bed, and carried it over to him with a knife.