by Jan Guillou
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.
The first workers from Forsvik they met were the ones busy with the hay harvest, cutting grass and raising hayracks. They all stopped what they were doing when they saw the gleaming trappings of the approaching riders. Then they lined up to kneel in greeting until Erik jarl ordered them back to work.
In one of the fields lying fallow close to Forsvik itself, a more surprising sight greeted them. Two young boys were practicing on horseback with two older foreigners. All four were riding in close formation, and at a cry from one of the dark-skinned strangers all four turned like lightning to the left or right or stopped short, rearing and turning on the spot in the other direction. Then they sped up and suddenly cast themselves all together in a new direction. It was a peculiar sight, a style of riding that none of the four friends had ever seen. The horses also looked foreign, smaller than regular horses but much quicker in their movements.
Soon they were discovered by the four riders practicing. One of the foreigners then drew an unusually narrow sword and yelled some warning to the other. He too drew his sword, signalling to the two boys to ride back into the farmyard at once. Then followed a moment of confusion when it looked as though the foreigners were preparing to attack, while the two boys protested and scolded without really being able to make themselves understood.
Erik jarl and his friends sat still, like their retainers, with their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. It was an astonishing sight, if what they were seeing was correct, that two men were preparing to attack a group of eight.
Before they managed to decide how to behave at this unexpected welcome, one of the two boys in the field spurred his horse and rode toward them at such high speed that it was hard for them to believe their eyes. In a few seconds he was upon them. Then he stopped abruptly and bowed.
‘Forgive me, Erik jarl, that our foreign teachers took you for our foes,’ he gasped. ‘I am Sune Folkesson and am apprenticed here at Forsvik to Sir Arn, and that’s my brother over there, Sigfrid Erlingsson.’
‘I know who you are. I knew your father when I was your age,’ replied Erik jarl. ‘Since you are the one who came to meet us, you may now take us to your lord.’
Young Sune nodded eagerly. He wheeled his horse around with a single odd leap and rode ahead at a canter as he waved to Sigfrid and the two foreign teachers that there was no danger. The teachers bowed and turned their horses toward Forsvik.
The sound of hammers and axes thundered along with the ringing of metal from smithies as the four noble youths neared the bridge over the rapids with their retainers, the two boys, and the foreign riders behind them. They saw thralls and workers transporting timber although it was the middle of summer. Others were loading bricks and stones and carrying heavy yokes laden with masonry supplies in every direction. It seemed that no one had time to look up at the visitors.
They rode across the courtyard between the buildings, and nobody came to greet them; they continued out the other side where two new longhouses and two smaller buildings were being raised. Most of the residents of Forsvik who were not out at the hay harvest seemed to be there working together.
As the four visitors came around the gable of the new longhouse, they finally aroused the attention they had no doubt expected much earlier.
A man who was way up on the wall and dressed in dirty leather clothes swung down from the wooden scaffolding in two long, nimble leaps. Everyone made way for him as he wiped the sweat from his brow and flung away the trowel, looking gravely from one visitor to the next. When his gaze fell upon Magnus Månesköld he nodded as if in affirmation and went straight over to him and held out his hand. Everyone was quiet. Nobody moved.
Magnus’s head spun when he saw the warrior’s filthy hand covered with mortar extended toward him, and almost with horror his gaze sought out the man’s scarred face. His friends sat mute, just as amazed as he was.
‘If your father offers you his hand, I think you ought to take it,’ said Arn with a broad smile, wiping the sweat once more from his brow.
Magnus Månesköld immediately dismounted, took
his father’s hand, and quickly dropped one knee to the ground. Then he hesitated before he fell into his father’s embrace.
His friends instantly got off their horses and handed the reins to the servants, who now seemed wakened from their paralysis and hurried over from all directions. One by one the four youths politely greeted this Arn Magnusson who did not resemble any of the images they had envisioned and discussed with each other.
The guests’ horses were taken away. Ale and wine, bread and salt were brought out, and then Arn and his four guests entered the hall of the old longhouse and sat down for a meal.
‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,’ Arn explained, motioning to his dirty work clothes. ‘A message came from Näs that you are the four who shall escort me to my bachelor evening, and for that honour I thank you warmly.’
‘It’s an honour for us to do so,’ replied Erik jarl with a curt bow, but his expression did not match his words.
‘You have come to a building site that is hardly suited for guests,’ said Arn after a moment. He had no difficulty seeing through their embarrassed reticence. ‘So I suggest that we leave at once, stop to rest in Askeberga, and arrive at Arnäs early tomorrow morning.’ He was expecting their astonished expressions.
‘You probably shouldn’t leave right away, Father,’ said Magnus glumly. ‘Thrall clothing and mortar in your hair are not the proper attire for a bachelors’ evening.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Arn as if not noticing that he’d been reprimanded by his own son. ‘So perhaps you might enjoy the meager entertainments that Forsvik has to offer today, while I change my attire for a new fate!’
He got up, bowed to his guests, and left, aware of the silence that remained in his wake. Their unmistakable disappointment was written in stone on their faces.
Arn was in a hurry when he came out of the longhouse. He was sure that they should all saddle up and get away from Forsvik as soon as they could. He called together all the workers and told them what he expected to see finished by the time he and his bride returned in less than a week. Then he ordered Sune and Sigfrid to ready his horse Ibn Anaza, decking him out like the horses of the four guests. Sune objected that there was no such Folkung caparison at Forsvik, so Arn went into one of the new buildings and fetched a white cloth that he tossed to the boys. Then he commanded that the guests’ retainers be given ale, and he summoned the Saracen who was handiest with a razor and ordered hot water to be brought to the bathhouse.