by Jan Guillou
“Have you also confessed to trying to kill Cecilia Blanca in the carcer during the hard winter months?” Cecilia Rosa continued implacably.
“You’re torturing me…show some mercy to me on my deathbed,” Mother Rikissa panted. But she spoke in such a way that Cecilia Rosa had the impression it was all a sham.
“Have you or have you not confessed that you tried to take my life and Cecilia Blanca’s by using the carcer?” Cecilia Rosa asked, because she had no intention of yielding. “Poor sinner that I am, I cannot forgive such sins if I don’t know that they have already been confessed. You understand that, don’t you, Mother?”
“Yes, I have confessed these grave sins to Bishop Örjan,” Mother Rikissa said then, but this time without panting or whispering. Instead some impatience could be heard in her voice.
“That is your dilemma, Mother Rikissa,” said Cecilia Rosa coldly. “Either you’re lying to me now when you say that you have confessed this to Bishop Örjan. And then of course I cannot forgive you. Or else you have actually confessed to these mortal sins, for it is a mortal sin to attempt to take a Christian’s life, even worse if you are in service to God’s Mother. If you have indeed confessed these mortal sins, then Bishop Örjan could not forgive you. And lastly, who am I, a poor sinful penitent under your whip for so many years, to forgive that which even the bishop and God Himself cannot forgive?!”
With these words Cecilia Rosa stood up abruptly as if she knew what was about to happen. Mother Rikissa twisted violently in the bed and once again reached out her hands for Cecilia Rosa as if trying to grab her around the neck. This caused the blanket to fall off her, and a revolting stench spread through the room.
“I damn you, Cecilia Rosa!” shrieked Mother Rikissa, displaying strength that seemed to come out of nowhere. Her red eyes were now wide open, and Cecilia Rosa thought she could clearly see the slitted pupils of the goat.
“I curse you and your indecent liar of a friend Cecilia Blanca. May you both burn in Hell, and may you suffer the punishment of war for your sins, and may your kinsmen die with you in the fire that shall now come!”
With these words Mother Rikissa fell back as though she had lost all strength. Her black hair, which had begun to turn gray, had slipped out from under her wimple. Out of the corner of her mouth ran a narrow stream of blood which looked completely black.
Bishop Örjan then cautiously put his arm around Cecilia Rosa’s shoulders and led her out, closing the door after her. Then he returned to the abbess as if he found it necessary to try to have a few more words with the dying woman before it was too late for her to repent, too late to confess.
Mother Rikissa died that night. The next day she was buried beneath the flagstones in the arcade, and her seal as abbess was broken in two and placed beside her. Cecilia Rosa attended the funeral, although reluctantly. But she didn’t think she had much choice. On the one hand she found it unreasonable to pray for someone so evil and stand there feigning grief with all the others. She could not imagine anything more meaningless than rattling off prayers for the inveterate sinner who had lied during confession on her own deathbed.
On the other hand there was a concern that had to do with the secular life. She had no idea who this Bishop Örjan from Växjö was; she had never even heard that there was a bishop in Växjö. But there had to be a reason why this unknown and insignificant bishop had been called to Mother Rikissa’s deathbed. First, he had to be of the Sverker clan, perhaps closely related to Mother Rikissa. Second, he now had knowledge of Mother Rikissa’s last wishes, and that was surely of some importance. With the last words she uttered in her life, as Cecilia Rosa had heard, Mother Rikissa had threatened to plunge them all into fire and war. What she meant by those words probably only Bishop Örjan knew. So it would undoubtedly be wise to stay close to this Örjan as long as possible, in order to discover if possible at least part of the secret he now held.
The other reason for staying for the funeral was more practical. Cecilia Rosa and her increasingly impatient companions had traveled far so that she could conduct business. It would be best to conclude these matters now and not have to travel back home in the spring.
Bishop Örjan was a tall, thin man with a neck like a crane and a bobbing Adam’s apple. He stammered a bit when he talked. Cecilia Rosa thought she could tell immediately that he was not very bright, although she reproached herself for such a hasty judgment, since a person’s appearance did not necessarily match his inner qualities.
But her preconceived opinion turned out to be correct, for when she innocently suggested that she and some of her companions along with the bishop and some of his companions should drink a grave ale together in the hospitium before they parted, he was quick to find this a very good suggestion.
As the only woman in the hospitium, she naturally led the bishop to the table, and of course he grew more talkative the more he drank. At first he complained that he, as a member of the Sverker clan, had been able to win only the new bishopric in Växjö. All the new promotions of importance in the church were now going to those who were either Folkungs or Eriks or related to them in some way.
With that Cecilia Rosa had learned her first important bit of information.
It wasn’t long before the bishop expressed concern as he enquired whether Cecilia Rosa—who, as far as he knew, had been close to Queen Cecilia Blanca during her time at Gudhem—knew exactly when Cecilia Blanca had taken her convent vows before Mother Rikissa.
With that Cecilia Rosa had acquired her second important piece of information, but now her blood turned to ice.
She tried not to let on, she tried to pour more ale down her throat and giggle a little when she replied, but then she told him the truth: that Cecilia Blanca had never taken any convent vows. On the contrary, the two of them had promised each other never to do so, and they had lived as close friends for many years at Gudhem.
Bishop Örjan then fell silent as he pondered this news for a moment. Then he said that naturally he couldn’t break the confidentiality of the confession, but he could say something about what Mother Rikissa had written in her last will, which he had promised before God to send to the Holy Father in Rome. In that document it said that Queen Cecilia Blanca had taken convent vows at Gudhem.
To hide the fear that now came over Cecilia Rosa, she served Bishop Örjan more ale to give herself time to think. He drank it down in one gulp.
She had now obtained her third important piece of information.
Shouldn’t such a testament be sent to the archbishop as quickly as possible? she then asked as innocently as she could.
No, it shouldn’t. For two reasons. First, the country’s other archbishop Jon had recently been murdered in Sigtuna when the wild folk from across the Eastern Sea had plundered the town, so at the moment there was no archbishop. And if Mother Rikissa’s testament was to go to Rome, then it would be an unnecessary detour for him to take it via Östra Aros. There he would have to wait for a new archbishop, who would surely also be a Folkung, Bishop Örjan muttered crossly. So he now thought he would honor his oath to the dying abbess Rikissa by traveling south and handing over the testament to his Danish kinsman, Bishop Absalon in Lund.
With that Cecilia Rosa had now acquired her fourth important piece of information. At once she poured more ale for the bishop and giggled happily when he put his hand on her thigh, although she was repulsed.
Cecilia Rosa now realized that she knew all she needed to know, because nothing else was of any importance. So she attempted to do what she had quickly realized was a hopeless endeavor: to talk sense into this fool of a bishop.
First she cautiously pointed out that she and Cecilia Blanca had spent more than six years together at Gudhem as the closest and dearest of friends. It was hard to imagine that one of them would have done something as momentous as to take vows without telling the other.
The bishop then made a concerted effort to act dignified and stern while he was drunk, replying that the vows a person
took before God, like everything that was said in confession, were to be forever kept secret from the rest of the world.
Cecilia Rosa feigned concern as she objected that the venerable bishop might not know how things were done in a convent. But it so happened that if anyone took the vows, she instantly became a novice. She then had to undergo a year of probation and was immediately separated from all novices and lay-sisters. If Cecilia Blanca truly had taken the vows, then wouldn’t it have been noticed, if only by those within the convent?
To this the bishop slurred some vague reply that much was seen by God alone and that only He could look into the souls of human beings.
Since Cecilia Rosa could make no objection to that observation, she at once changed tactics. She herself had understood through Mother Rikissa’s own words that the abbess had refrained from confessing her mortal sins before she departed this life. Surely a person who lied in such a situation could hardly be expected to tell the truth, especially when it concerned an outlandish assertion that the queen had taken the vows and then given birth to four children in sin. For wasn’t that what this was all about?
Yes, that was indeed what this was about, admitted Bishop Örjan in the middle of a yawn, but then he quickly changed his mind. No, it was all about the sin itself, he hastened to explain. The sin was at the heart of the matter. One couldn’t take into account the fact that the sin in this particular case had certain consequences for the throne of the realm. Then he asked whether Cecilia Rosa might want to accompany him to Denmark. Of course there was some talk that bishops would no longer be able to marry before God, but there were simple solutions for getting around that problem. And he had plenty of silver, the bishop bragged ignorantly, so why not?
By now Cecilia Rosa had all the information she needed, but she also felt sullied and besmirched, as if the bishop had thrown filth on her.
She therefore excused herself by saying that for female reasons that she could not mention she had to withdraw at once. When he then tried to fumble after her she quickly slipped away, since she was not nearly as drunk as he was.
When she at last emerged into the fresh air she vomited. And all night long she prayed, unable to sleep because she knew that her sins were many. Using deception she had seduced a bishop, she had even let him touch her sinfully, and all this she had done in order to fool him into saying what he didn’t want to say.
All this caused her shame. But she felt most ashamed that the touch of this scarcely honorable man had instantly ignited a longing that she had always tried to suppress. He had made her picture once again in her mind the last time Arn had come riding into the courtyard. It seemed an almost unforgivable sin that her pure love could have been inflamed by such an evil man.
The second matter that she had to take care of at Gudhem was much easier than the first. She bought all the plants and sewing materials she needed from a confused prioress who without Cecilia Rosa’s friendly advice would have been cheated badly in these deals. Gudhem was once again a house of the Virgin Mary, and for that reason it was owed the greatest reverence.
But Cecilia Rosa also thought that if she had remained at Gudhem she would be very careful about where she set her feet in the arcade. Mother Rikissa was not in Paradise, after all. Perhaps she was lying in her grave with her malicious red eyes gleaming beneath the flagstones in the arcade. She might be ready to spring up like a wolf and swallow any of those she hated, for hatred had been her strongest force in earthly life.
On her way home to Riseberga, Cecilia Rosa had to stop for a few days, as planned, with Cecilia Blanca at Näs. When she reached the king’s harbor on the shore of Lake Vättern, her impatient companions began muttering as they loaded all the strange items she had brought from Gudhem into the sinister-looking black longboat. The mere sight of the vessel made Cecilia Rosa turn pale. Out on Vättern the waves were high with whitecaps foaming at their tops. The first autumn storm was moving in.
She asked her way among rough sailors who seemed to be Norwegians until she stood before the one who appeared to be their leader. He greeted her courteously and said that his name was Styrbjørn Haraldsson, and that it would be a pleasure for him to sail a woman who was the friend of the queen out to Näs. Cecilia Rosa anxiously asked whether it was advisable to venture out on the water in a storm. He smiled in reply and shook his head, saying that such questions made him long for home, but that his loyalty to King Knut unfortunately prevented his return. Then without another word he took her by the hand and led her out onto the wharf, where his men were about to cast off. They put in place a wide plank for Cecilia Rosa to board the boat, tossed her purchases from Gudhem on deck, and stowed the cargo securely. Then they shoved off with the oars and hoisted the sail.
The wind at once took hold of the rectangular sail, filling it out completely with sudden force. In the next instant the vessel was slung forward so that Cecilia Rosa, who had not managed to sit down, was thrown back into the arms of Styrbjørn. He immediately pressed her down into her place by the tiller and wrapped her up in rough blankets and sheepskins so that only the tip of her nose stuck out.
The storm roared around them and the waves surged against the planking. The longship leaned so much that Cecilia Rosa saw only dark clouds on one side; on the other side she thought she could look straight down into the menacing black waters of the agitated lake. For a moment she felt paralyzed with fear.
None of these strange, burly men seemed the least bothered. They sat leaning against the side of the vessel that rose up toward the sky and seemed now and then to joke with each other as best they could in all the noise. They must know what they are doing, she reasoned desperately. When she glanced back at the man called Styrbjørn she saw that he was standing up with the wind tearing at his long hair, his legs wide apart in a confident stance and a happy grin spreading across his bearded face. He seemed to enjoy sailing.
She still couldn’t help yelling out two questions to him; she wanted to know whether it was dangerous to venture out in a storm, and whether they were sure that someone was holding a protective hand over them all. She had to repeat the questions twice, each time a little louder, although Styrbjørn had leaned down toward her to hear what she was asking.
When Styrbjørn finally grasped what she wanted to know, he first threw back his head and gave a hearty bellow so that the storm once again tore at his long hair and blew it into his face. Then he leaned down and yelled to her that things had been worse earlier in the day when they were rowing against the wind to reach the harbor. Now they were sailing with the wind, and it was like a dance; they would be there within half an hour, no more.
And so it was. Cecilia Rosa saw the castle of Näs approaching at a dizzying speed, and all at once all the Norsemen rose as one man and sat down at the oars while Styrbjørn took down the sail. The men on the left side put their oars in the water first and drew them backward, while the men on the other side dug in their heels and rowed forward. It was as though a giant hand had tossed the whole vessel up into the wind, and it took only ten strokes or so before they came into the lee and the bow of the ship glided up on shore.
Witnessing the men’s skill, as Cecilia Rosa did now, made her feel a bit ashamed of her worries at the start of the passage.
On the path up toward the castle, as Styrbjørn politely led her before the others, she begged him in somewhat veiled terms to forgive the fear she had expressed, because clearly there was no cause for alarm.
Styrbjørn merely gave her a friendly smile since he deemed her apology unnecessary, and he assured her that she was not the only woman from Western Götaland who had little understanding when it came to ships. Once, he told her, there was a young woman who actually asked if they might get lost on the way. At this he laughed boisterously, and Cecilia Rosa responded with a cautious smile, unsure what was so humorous about that woman’s concern.
Soon thereafter Cecilia Blanca welcomed her dearest friend, as she told anyone within earshot. The queen was so happy and exc
ited that her words tumbled out like the song of the lark in the springtime, impossible to stop. She summoned servants to stow away Cecilia Rosa’s leather sacks containing spiny plants and pelts and sewing implements. Then she took Cecilia Rosa by the arm and hurried her through several gloomy halls to a great fireplace where she offered her mulled wine. She thought that was the best remedy after such a cold crossing.
Cecilia Rosa basked in the warmth of her friend’s kindness and her eagerness to please, but she also fretted about the evil news that would soon have to be told. But it was not easy to broach the subject. The king and the jarl were up in Östra Aros to arrange for a new archbishop, since plunderers from across the Eastern Sea had killed the old one. Besides, the Estonians had burned down the whole town of Sigtuna, so the men had plenty to do, including new crusades and shipbuilding that needed to be done. The advantage, though, was that the two Cecilias now had Näs all to themselves, because when the king and jarl weren’t around, the queen was in charge. Here they could talk all night and drink plenty of mulled wine!
For a little while Cecilia Rosa let herself be carried away by her friend’s irresistible merriment and joy. It was true that they were now celebrating the hour when they could meet as free women at last; now all three of the friends from Gudhem were free.
At that point Cecilia Rosa thought of speaking about the topic that could not be ignored. But before she could say anything, Cecilia Blanca began recounting with shining eyes and little laughs how things had fared for little Ulvhilde—well, she wasn’t so little anymore, since she was expecting her first child.
Just as Cecilia Blanca had supposed, the eldest son at Ulfshem, Folke, was not to Ulvhilde’s taste at all, despite the fact that he was the one who at first had tried to court her. His aggressive manner had, as one might imagine, only destroyed his chances, but soon Ulvhilde had become more interested in the younger son, Jon. And since Jon could not impress Ulvhilde by waving about a sword and bow, he talked more about how a country must be built by laws, and other such things he had learned. He could also sing beautifully, and so it wasn’t difficult to imagine how things would go. Their bridal ale would take place soon, which was fortunate considering that she was already expecting their first child.