by Jan Guillou
Now it was time for spears. And Sture Jönsson would decide who he would battle first, and with that the real game would begin. Because now it was not just a matter of being able to wield a weapon well; the man who would win also had to be able to plan cleverly. With an aim towards winning, Sture should compete with the best men first, so that they would receive many turnips for being defeated first. If on the other hand he merely wanted to make it through with modest honour, he should start at the other end and challenge the monk or Arn Magnusson, since they had both proved to have little skill at throwing axes.
As if he truly saw himself as becoming the evening’s victor, Sture Jönsson arrogantly pointed his spear at Erik jarl.
He should not have done that. Because when they both cast their three spears at a bull’s-eye on a bale of hay, Erik jarl was the winner and Sture Jönsson the one who could expect to receive seven turnips in his basket.
Erik jarl was out to win; no one had any doubt of that. Therefore it was only right and proper for him to point his spear at Magnus Månesköld, who was surely his best competitor; it would be best for him to receive as many turnips as possible.
It turned into a fierce battle between the two, both of whom were very skilled at throwing spears. Time after time appreciative murmurs would pass through the crowd of spectators up on the wall. Both men threw all three of their spears with such precision and so close to the target that it was impossible to decide the winner. And so they agreed to try again.
The second time Erik jarl determined that Magnus Månesköld had won. Magnus then pointed his spear at the monk and defeated him as easily as everyone had expected. After than he boldly pointed at his own father.
Arn Magnusson was defeated too, just as easily as the monk. Magnus Månesköld soon won the game, and many of the spectators were already convinced that he was the one who would finally have the least number of turnips of all and thereby win a crown of gold.
The next game was quarter-staffs on a plank. The two combatants had to balance on a plank placed over the moat and try to knock the other off using a long quarter-staff with its ends wrapped in leather. Before starting this game, it was customary to remove most of their clothing, since by the time the contest ended, all but one would have taken a bath in the moat.
Magnus Månesköld didn’t even bother to take off his open white shift when he first pointed his quarter-staff at the monk, so confident was he of victory.
The monk couldn’t very well remove his white woollen habit, and that prompted spiteful merriment among the spectators when he went to get his staff and took a few powerful practice swings through the air. But some also noticed that Arn Magnusson, standing there among the youths, was looking especially amused. He pounded the monk on the back and uttered a few coarse remarks that seemed to have something to do with taking an involuntary bath.
It was now that the games were turned upside down and became as unforgettable as the spectators had been hoping.
With a smile and shaking his head, the monk went out onto the plank where Magnus Månesköld was waiting with his quarter-staff lowered, as if expecting no threat from an old monk who could handle neither a spear nor an axe.
So quickly that no one even saw what happened, Magnus Månesköld landed in the moat, still wearing all of his clothes. The monk must have struck a lucky blow; that was what most people thought.
Brother Guilbert set down his staff and hitched up his habit around his white legs. Then he pointed at Erik jarl, who took off his white shift and stepped forward, a bit more cautiously than his friend. That didn’t help him in the slightest. Almost with the same speed, he too landed in the moat. This time the people on the walls had paid more attention to what was happening. The monk had first directed a blow at Erik jarl’s head, but halfway there he had lowered the staff with one hand and knocked his opponent’s feet out from under him.
The monk just as easily dispatched the other three youths, each of whom took off more and more clothing, anticipating the bath awaiting them. Finally only Arn Magnusson remained.
Arn removed his woollen shift and the long blue tunic before approaching Brother Guilbert. They began a conversation that few of the spectators could understand, no matter how much they strained to hear, since it was conducted in Frankish.
‘It’s no wonder that you’ve grown a bit slow over the years, my dear old teacher,’ said Arn.
‘Just remember that you’ve never even come close to defeating me, you young stripling,’ laughed Brother Guilbert as he raised his quarter-staff menacingly, feinting a blow. Arn didn’t even flinch.
‘Your problem is doubtless that I’m no longer a stripling,’ said Arn, and in the next moment the battle began.
The two fought for a long time and with dizzying speed, aiming four, five, or six blows with each attack, each of which was equally quickly fended off by his opponent. From the very beginning it was clear that these two were the superior combatants when it came to quarter-staffs on a plank.
At last it looked as if fatigue overcame the monk first, and Arn then increased his speed until he finally struck the monk’s foot and won. At the same time, he stuck out his staff so that the monk, as he fell, could grab hold of it and swing his body over toward the edge of the moat where there was solid ground. In this way most of his woollen habit stayed dry.
From that point on, none of the youths would come even close to another victory, and this was already evident when the first game on horseback commenced.
The first contest involved riding toward each other holding a long leather sack filled with sand, attempting to knock the other man out of the saddle. Arn, who had won the quarter-staff on a plank game, and hence was to determine the sequence of this battle, dispatched all of the youths as easily as the monk had done with the staff. When only the monk remained, a protracted contest began with an exhibition of horsemanship conducted at dizzying speed and with skills that were almost impossible to comprehend. Arn won this time as well, and again it looked as if the monk had tired first, and that was the reason for his defeat.
The next game entailed galloping toward rows of turnips that had been impaled on posts, and slicing through the turnips with a sword. None of the youths was able to cleave even half of the turnips in their row before Arn was already done. He didn’t bother to chop at them; he merely rode past with his long, slender sword stretched out like a wing, and all the turnips split in half. The first turnip hadn’t even hit the ground before Arn had sliced off the next. The monk, who came last, tried to ride in the same manner, but his borrowed sword got stuck in the third turnip, and with that the game was over.
Whoever won the turnip-chopping would have an almost impossible time trying to win the next game, since it was a race on horseback. If he won the first, second, and third race, it would be difficult to urge his horse to top speed against the other, rested horses.
Apparently Arn Magnusson had thought about this. It looked as if he rode the first races by holding back, although he was always just slightly ahead of his competitor. Perhaps it would have been wiser to start with the monk, who was riding one of his own foreign steeds. Instead, Arn saved the monk for last.
Then both men rode at full gallop, as they had when they competed against each other in the games with the leather sacks and the turnip-chopping. But the rested mare easily defeated Arn Magnusson’s stallion.
After that only the noblest of the games remained: archery. And no one had ever heard of monks who could shoot arrows. Yet no one had ever imagined that monks could ride like this Cistercian, let alone handle the quarter-staff and sword as he had done.
Perhaps the monk and Arn had decided between them how they would finish the games, because now things got very exciting. As soon as the monk tested the string on the bow that his friend Arn handed to him, it was easy to see that this was not the first time he’d held such a weapon in his hands.
The archery contest proceeded with two archers alternating shooting arrows at bales of hay adorned
with the head of a griffin and set at a distance of fifty paces. When the targets were brought out, the spectators began snickering and murmuring at the audacity of choosing the coat of arms of the Sverkers as the target. It was not particularly honourable to jest in this way with the vanquished enemy.
Evidently without even exerting himself, the monk defeated first Sture Jönsson, then Torgils and Folke Jonsson. He had to make more of an effort to beat Erik jarl, and when it was Magnus Månesköld’s turn, it looked as if the monk had to do his utmost with every shot, since they both seemed almost equally skilled.
Both archers were evenly matched, striking the black griffin head each time, until the ninth arrow. Then Magnus Månesköld’s arrow landed outside, at the edge of the griffin, while the monk landed his arrow in the centre of the target. With the tenth arrow, Magnus once again struck the centre. Then it all came down to the monk’s last arrow.
Brother Guilbert turned and said something to Arn Magnusson, who replied curtly, shaking his head, whereupon Brother Guilbert shot his arrow so that it struck the centre of the target. And with that, the single arrow from Brother Guilbert defeated the best archer in all of Eastern Götaland.
With the archery contest, the situation was the reverse of the horseback race. It was a disadvantage to sit idle until the very end and an advantage to shoot against the lesser opponents before the decisive competition. And Brother Guilbert needed only to cast a glance at the youths to know in some strange way who was strong and who was weak, so he was able to take them in the proper sequence.
‘Now, my young apprentice, you won’t be able to rely on the power of your lungs or the strength of your legs to defeat your teacher,’ Brother Guilbert said, beaming and pulling the string of his bow taut several times as Arn stepped forward.
‘No, that’s true,’ said Arn. ‘I would much prefer that we conducted this contest just between the two of us if we truly wanted to know whether the teacher is still stronger than his apprentice. For which of us will now win?’
‘Your son Magnus was very disappointed when he lost; I could see that, even though he chivalrously hid his feelings,’ said Brother Guilbert. ‘But what would be best? If he sees his father defeated by the same monk? Or if he sees his father become the victor, even though he has practiced his whole life to defeat you, or rather the shadow of you? He is truly very skilled.’
‘Yes, I could see that,’ said Arn reluctantly. ‘Truly very skilled. Imagine what he could have become with you as his teacher. In the meantime, I can’t say who ought to win, you or me, or which victor Magnus would find it most difficult to stomach.’
‘Nor can I,’ said Brother Guilbert. Then he crossed himself as a sign that he was leaving this difficult decision to higher powers.
Arn nodded in agreement, crossed himself as well, and nocked the first arrow to the string of his bow. It struck the lower part of the griffin’s head, which wasn’t so odd, since this was his first shot, and it would either strike high or low before he had tested his bow.
For this reason Brother Guilbert took the lead until the seventh arrow, since they both hit the center of the target each time, until it was bristling with arrows. Brother Guilbert shot the seventh arrow too high, but not as high as Arn’s first arrow had been too low.
There was utter silence up on the walls, and the other competing youths had unconsciously moved closer and closer to get a better view. They now stood in a semicircle right behind the two archers.
With the eighth arrow, both struck the centre of the target. The ninth arrow, for each of them, again landed in the middle.
Arn shot his tenth arrow, which sliced off the fletchings of two other arrows, but still plunged into the centre. Now everything depended on Brother Guilbert’s last arrow.
He spent a long time taking aim; the only sound at Arnäs was the rush of wings from a flock of swifts flying past.
But then he changed his mind and lowered his bow, taking several deep breaths before he raised the bow once more and drew the string along his cheek. Again he spent a long time taking aim.
His arrow struck too high because he had taken too much time. And with that Arn was the victor of this youths’ game that no one who was present would ever forget. Nor would it be forgotten by those who were not present, because they would hear so many accounts of it over the years that they came to believe they’d actually seen it with their own eyes.
Eskil immediately came over to the youths with the mistress of Arnäs, Erika Joarsdotter, at his side. She carried two glittering crowns, one of gold and the other of silver. They stopped and all the youths lined up in front of the couple, very close to the moat so that the guests would be able to see and hear everything that was about to take place.
‘This bachelors’ evening has begun well,’ said Eskil in a loud voice. ‘You have brought great honour to my house, because such a game of youths as we have seen today has never occurred before and never shall again. The victor’s crown is gold, for a finer victory than this could not be won. To be miserly is not one of my qualities, and yet I am careful with my money. I am pleased, of course, that my brother has won since any other outcome no doubt would have taken a toll on his honour and reputation. I am also pleased that the gold will remain in this house, after a fashion. Step forward, Sir Arn!’
Arn was reluctantly shoved forward by Magnus Månesköld and young Torgils. He bowed before Eskil, and Erika Joarsdotter placed the gold crown on his head. After that Arn didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so Magnus leaned forward and tugged at his shift, which aroused great merriment among the spectators up on the wall.
Erika Joarsdotter now raised the silver crown toward Brother Guilbert, because they didn’t have to count turnips to know who had finished in second place.
Brother Guilbert protested and refused to come forward, which at first seemed like the feigned modesty of a religious man, but then he explained that in accordance with his monk’s vows, he was not allowed to own personal possessions. To give him silver would be the same as giving it to Varnhem cloister.
Eskil frowned, agreeing that it might be unnecessary to present a youth’s prize to a cloister to which he had already given more than enough in donations. A moment of indecision followed as Erika lowered the silver crown and looked at Eskil, who shrugged his shoulders.
But it was Brother Guilbert who came up with an unexpected solution. Cautiously he took the silver crown from Erika’s hands and went over to the baskets belonging to Erik jarl and Magnus Månesköld to count the turnips. He soon returned and went over to Magnus.
‘You, Magnus, are the best archer that I’ve ever seen in this land, after your father, of course,’ he said solemnly. ‘After myself, and I don’t count since divine rules prevent me from being considered, you were the best. All right, young man, bow your head!’
Blushing but at the same time looking proud, and with the encouragement of his friends, Magnus complied. And so it was that father and son went to the bachelors’ ale celebration that evening wearing crowns of gold and silver.
The youths held their own feast. They were to celebrate the bachelors’ evening on their own, at the leafy bower, as custom dictated. Eskil and Erika Joarsdotter walked back up to the castle and their waiting guests while the youths went off to the banquet hall under the open sky. Stable thralls led away their horses and house thralls hastened to bring them mantles and dry clothing, meat and ale.
When they were finally alone, all seven began talking at once, since there was much to try and understand. Most puzzling of all was the fact that an old monk had been able to beat young Nordic warriors at their own weapons games.
Arn explained that this was no ordinary monk. Brother Guilbert, like himself, had been a Templar knight, and it would have brought both of them much shame if two Templar knights could not have put the young Nordic roosters in their place.
There was much shouting and everyone was in the best of spirits even before they partook of the ale. They all had reason to be pleas
ed.
Magnus Månesköld was satisfied, even though he had come to the games fully intending to win. But the only men who had defeated him were two of the Lord’s Templar knights, and everyone had seen on this day with their own eyes that everything recounted about these holy warriors of God was true. But Magnus had defeated all of his friends.
Erik jarl was also pleased, since he knew that he would need a great deal of luck to be able to beat Magnus Månesköld. But at least none of his other friends had managed to defeat him.
Torgils was satisfied because as the youngest contestant he had still succeeded in avoiding the last position. And Sture Jönsson was pleased even though he had come in last overall since he was one of two, not including the Templar knights, who had won one of the games, the one with axes.
Arn was pleased that he had won, even though it felt almost shameful to admit this. But since he clearly was going to have to fight to win his son’s respect, this was a good step along the way.
Brother Guilbert was perhaps the most satisfied of all, since he had shown that as an old man he could keep up with a fellow knight. He was also happy that God had determined the archery contest for the best so that he and Arn wouldn’t have to argue about the outcome.
Because so many lively youths had come for the bachelors’ evening, it would cost Eskil a lot of ale, and many of the young men would pay with an aching head the next day. The whole night was theirs.
Food and ale was as plentiful as Brother Guilbert and Arn had feared. But at Arn’s command a small cask of Lebanese wine was also brought out. He had made the wine himself, and two glasses were found for the two men who preferred wine instead of the bridal ale from Lübeck.
During the first hour, before drunkenness began to settle over them, the men talked mostly of various events that had occurred during the games. Soon someone dared to jest about Templar knights who couldn’t throw axes or spears.
Brother Guilbert explained with good humour that the business of casting away a spear was not a knight’s foremost concern; in fact, it was the last thing he would do. And as for the axe, he’d be happy to carry an axe on horseback and confront any youth. But not for the purpose of throwing it. After that he gave everyone present a stern and ferocious look, making the young men involuntarily recoil until he suddenly burst out laughing.