Birth of the Kingdom

by Jan Guillou

  Everything could now take place in the order that custom prescribed. On the church hill the bride dismounted from her horse with the help of her kinsmen. The retainers of the king, the Folkungs, and the archbishop all formed a circle of shields and swords around the open area in front of the church door where the archbishop stood, wearing his finest vestments with two black-clad chaplains at his side and the white pallium draped over his chest and back.

  The bride was led forward to bow her head briefly before the archbishop without touching him. Her three kinsmen dropped to one knee and kissed the bishop’s ring.

  From a distance Arn and his companions had been watching; now they too came forward to greet the archbishop. Arn also kissed the bishop’s ring.

  Then came the moment when Arn and Cecilia stood face to face in front of the archbishop, and Cecilia slowly removed her bridal veil to reveal her face. She had seen him through the cloth, but he had not seen her until now, as was the custom.

  Then the wedding gifts were exchanged. Erik jarl stepped over to Arn and with a deep bow, which was an unexpected gesture that prompted much whispering, he handed the groom a heavy and costly belt made from heavy gold links, each of which was set with a green stone. Arn fastened the belt around Cecilia, fumbling a bit, which aroused great merriment. Then Cecilia turned around with her arms outstretched so that everyone who stood near could see the glittering gold that now encircled her waist, with one end hanging down the front of her skirt.

  Pål Jönsson then brought Cecilia’s wedding gift; even folded as it was, everyone could see that it was a blue mantle. Eskil reacted quickly and removed the mantle his brother was wearing; he then unfastened from the cloth the heavy silver clasp that had held it closed under Arn’s chin. Cecilia slowly and solemnly unfolded her gift. Soon loud shouts of admiration and excitement issued from the crowds standing behind all the retainers as the people craned their necks to see. A more beautiful blue mantle had never been seen before, and the lion on the back gleamed as if made of gold, the three bars were as bright as silver, while the lion’s mouth shone bright red. Together Eskil and Cecilia placed the mantle over Arn’s shoulders.

  Then he did just as Cecilia had done, spinning once around with the mantle stretched out over his arms so that everyone could see, and many more admiring shouts were heard.

  The archbishop raised his staff, a bit galled that it wasn’t met with immediate silence, though this had less to do with any sort of godlessness and more to do with the fact that so many people were talking all at once and with enthusiasm about the costly wedding gifts.

  ‘In the name of God, the Son, and the Holy Virgin!’ intoned the archbishop, and finally everyone fell silent. ‘I now bless you, Arn Magnusson, and you, Cecilia Algotsdotter, as you enter into a marriage sanctified by God. May happiness, peace, and prosperity follow you until death do you part, and may this union, ordained by the Lord God, contribute to the peace and concord of our kingdom. Amen.’

  He then took some holy water from a silver bowl, which one of the chaplains handed to him, and touched first Cecilia’s forehead, shoulders, and heart; then he did the same with Arn.

  If the archbishop had had his way, Arn and Cecilia would have then embraced each other as a sign that they had now entered into marriage. Arn and Cecilia both understood the hidden meaning of this blessing, which was that they had now become husband and wife, but neither had any desire to participate in this churchly show. For their kinsmen and before the law, they would not become husband and wife until after being escorted to bed. And if they were now required to choose between the archbishop’s efforts to allow the church to rule, and the conviction of their kinsmen that old customs could not simply be dismissed, neither of them thought this was the proper moment to confront such a dilemma. It took only an exchange of glances for them to agree how they would act.

  Rather vexed that the couple hadn’t seemed to understand what he was so clearly indicating with his blessing, the archbishop abruptly turned and walked into the church to conduct the mass.

  The king and queen followed him, then Arn and Cecilia, their groomsmen, bridesmaids, and kinsmen, as many as would fit into the small church.

  The intention was to keep the mass brief, because the archbishop knew full well that everyone’s eagerness to start the wedding celebration was greater than their thirst to commune with their God. Yet he received unexpected assistance from the bridal couple when it was time to sing the hymns, as well as from the Cistercian who was part of Arn Magnusson’s retinue. When the final hymns began, those three simply took over. With increasing zeal, and finally with tears in the eyes of both the bride and groom, the three voices joined, with Cecilia’s soprano singing the lead, and the monk’s deep voice taking the third part.

  The archbishop looked out over the enraptured congregation, who seemed to have forgotten all their haste to leave God’s house and start in on the ale and entertainments. Then his glance fell upon Arn Magnusson. Unlike all the other men, he still wore his sword at his side. At first the archbishop was angry, as if this were a sign of ill intent. Yet he could see no trace of evil in this man’s eyes as he sang as well as the best of church singers and with sincere rapture. Then the archbishop quickly crossed himself, murmuring a prayer to ask forgiveness for his sinful thoughts and his foolishness as he remembered that the groom was in fact a Templar knight, no matter the blue of his mantle. And a Templar was a man of God, and the sword in that black leather scabbard with the cross of gold had been blessed by the Lord’s Mother; it was the only weapon that was allowed inside the church.

  The archbishop decided to stay on good terms with Arn Magnusson. A man of God would more easily understand what needed to be changed for the better in this realm where raw fellows like King Knut and Birger Brosa reigned. It would no doubt be wise to have Arn Magnusson on his side in the struggles ahead between the ecclesiastical and the temporal powers. Surely the Knights Templar must have greater insight into such matters than any of his power-hungry kinsmen.

  The thoughts that had begun for the archbishop as a mixture of malice and suspicion were now transformed into visions of a bright future as the three masterful singers voiced God’s Own hymns.

  Because the crowds of spectators had thinned out after the church blessing and the mass, the bridal procession now took only an hour to reach Arnäs. There was no longer as much need to fear for the bride’s safety, since the worst was now over and no one sensed any serious threat to her life. All the warriors had now shifted position and kept the short stretch of road to Arnäs in an iron grip.

  Leading the procession, after the horsemen carrying the banners of the king and the Folkungs, were Arn and Cecilia, riding side by side toward Arnäs. This was not actually the custom, but on this particular day there were many things that were not as usual. No one had ever heard of a king going to fetch the bride. Just as extraordinary was the fact that the bridal couple had sung the church hymns in such a way that outshone even the archbishop’s retinue. And certainly no guest should ride in front of the host, but if that guest happened to be the king, with the queen at his side? This wedding had in truth turned many things upside down.

  Inside the walls at Arnäs there were so many bright colours that the splendour seemed almost too much for the eye to take in. At the ale tents the blood-red mantles of Sverkers mixed with the blue of the Eriks and Folkungs. But there were also many foreign garments in all manner of colours, worn by guests who had donned their finest in order to show their superior status, as happens so often in the presence of a king. Some were also Frankish men that Arn Magnusson had brought home with him; they were apparently too highborn to drink ale, and the language they spoke was utterly incomprehensible. The pounding of drums and the sound of pipers could be heard from every direction; jugglers tossed burning torches high in the air, where they spun around and were then always safely caught. Singers accompanied by stringed instruments, stood upon elevated platforms and sang Frankish ballads. The archbishop was borne on
his chair into the castle courtyard, but every now and then he would stretch out his hand, good-naturedly delivering blessings right and left.

  Arn and Cecilia now had to part once again, since Cecilia was to ascend to a raised bridal seat that had been adorned with leafy boughs and positioned in the courtyard. Arn also had to take his place on a similar wooden structure along with his groomsmen. Eskil had decided on this arrangement so that everybody would be able to see the bride and groom, since later on only half the guests would be able to find seats in the great hall. For all those who had to partake of the feast outside in the courtyard, it would have been disappointing to be allocated such poor seats without even having seen the bride and groom. A similar raised platform had been constructed for the archbishop, the king, and the master of Arnäs.

  Brother Guilbert quickly and nimbly clambered up the wooden structure to sit down next to Arn. At the same time he called to the Frankish lute players and singers to step forward and repeat the song they had just finished. Encouraged to hear that there were some among the spectators who actually understood the words of their songs, they obeyed at once. Both Arn and Brother Guilbert nodded to each other as they listened to the first verses. It almost looked as if Brother Guilbert could have sung along, even though such songs were forbidden to him.

  The song was about Sir Roland, a knight who tried in vain before he died to break his sword Dyrendal so that it wouldn’t end up in enemy hands. Inside the hilt were holy relics, a tooth from Saint Peter, blood from Saint Basil, and a thread from the kirtle that the Mother of God had worn. But the sword refused to break, no matter how hard the dying Sir Roland tried. Then the angels of God took pity on the hero and lifted the sword up to heaven, and Roland could sink down in the shade of a pine tree with his oliphant battle-horn at his side. He turned his head toward the land of the unbelievers so that Charlemagne would not find his dead hero with his face turned away in cowardice. And he confessed his sins, lifting his right gauntlet up toward God. Then Saint Gabriel came down to receive it and guide Roland’s soul to heaven.

  Arn and Brother Guilbert were both very moved by this song, since they could easily imagine everything that the words described, almost as if they had actually been present. Many were the accounts they had both heard about Christian knights in the Holy Land breaking their swords in half and lying down to await death as they surrendered their souls to God.

  When the two Provençal lute players discovered that some of their listeners were actually moved by the words of the song, they moved as close to Brother Guilbert and Arn as they dared and sang verse after verse, as if they never wanted to stop. The song about Sir Roland was quite long.

  Not realizing that he should have offered a few silver coins in order to be quit of the singers, Arn finally grew tired of the endless singing and in Frankish called out his thanks, saying that now that would suffice. Disappointed, the singers fell silent and moved away to find a new audience.

  ‘I suppose you should have paid them something,’ Brother Guilbert explained.

  ‘No doubt you’re right,’ said Arn. ‘But I have no silver on me, nor do you, so I’ll have to put the matter aside until later. There is too much of the monk in me, and it’s not easy to rid myself of those ways.’

  ‘Then you’d better make haste, since the wedding night is fast approaching,’ jested Brother Guilbert. But he regretted his words when he saw how Arn blanched at this simple statement of fact.

  Finally the sound of a horn announced that the official festivities were to begin, and half of the guests headed toward the door of the great hall, while the other half remained in the courtyard without really knowing how to act so as not to seem offended that they hadn’t been included among the foremost hundred guests. Only the Sverkers openly displayed their discontent, assembling together so that they formed one large red bloodstain in the middle of the courtyard. Among those entering the great hall, there were few red mantles, and those there were belonged to women.

  The most beautiful of these red mantles was worn by Ulvhilde Emundsdotter, who had been the dearest friend of both Cecilias during those dark days at Gudhem cloister. The friendship of the three women was remarkably strong, even though there was spilled blood between them. Cecilia Rosa’s future husband, Arn, was the one who had chopped off the hand of Ulvhilde’s father, Emund. And Cecilia Blanca’s husband, Knut, was the one who had killed him after a treacherous transaction.

  The three women were the first to enter the great hall, staying close. Queen Blanca already knew where they were to sit during the banquet; all three would be seated together high up on the bridal dais with the six bridesmaids below.

  Even though it was a bright midsummer evening, fires blazed on all sides as the guests entered. Above the high seat in the middle of the long wall of the room hung a large blue tapestry with a faded Folkung lion from the time of their ancestors. On either side of the high seat, to show respect, the house thralls had hung the two shooting targets used for the archery game on the bachelors’ evening. Almost the first thing anyone noticed in the dancing shadows from the fires was the sight of two arrows embedded in the black Sverker griffins. Around the arrows in one of the targets hung a crown of gold, so that everyone could now see with their own eyes what the rumours had already reported. The bridegroom himself had shot ten arrows so close to each other that a crown could encircle them all, and he had done so from a distance of fifty paces.

  Ulvhilde made no attempt avoid the sight. On the contrary. When she took her seat next to her friends high up on the bridal dais, she giggled, saying that it was most fortunate she hadn’t been a guest on the previous day. She would have had to watch her back in order not to have arrows shot at her. For on the back of her red mantle, right in the middle, a black griffin head had been stitched with thousands of silk threads, the type of embroidery that the three friends had truly been the first in the realm to master during the time that they were confined to Gudhem under Mother Rikissa.

  Cecilia Blanca was of the opinion that an insult was no bigger than one allowed it to be, and at the next shooting banquet Ulvhilde ought to see to it that a lion was used for the archery target. Then those who had made this jest would be repaid in kind.

  The bridegroom’s dais was far away in the hall, on the other side of the first longtable, and in the middle of that table was the high seat. There Eskil and Erika Joarsdotter now took their places on either side of the archbishop. The king had decided to sit with the groom, just as the queen was seated with the bride. Such an honour had never been shown before to any bridal couple in the realm of the Eriks and Folkungs.

  But when all had taken their seats, Erika Joarsdotter, looking worried, got up and went over to stand at the door while whispers and murmurs spread through the hall. The guests understood that something was not as it should be. And so their joy was even greater a few minutes later when old Herr Magnus came into the hall, walking next to his wife Erika. Slowly but with great dignity he made his way between all the tables all the way over to the high seat where sat down next to the archbishop, with Erika on his other side. The house thralls brought the ancestral drinking horn with the silver fittings and handed it to Herr Magnus. He got up, standing steadily on both feet, and raised the horn. At once everyone fell silent with anticipation and amazement. They had all thought that Herr Magnus had been crippled for many years and was just awaiting the release of death.

  ‘Few men are granted the joy that has been given to me today!’ said Herr Magnus in a loud, clear voice. ‘I now drink with you my kinsmen and friends upon welcoming a son back from the Holy Land and upon gaining a daughter in my household, and because I have been granted the grace of renewed health and the joy of seeing kinsmen and friends join me in peace and concord. None of my ancestors have had any better reason to raise this horn!’

  Herr Magnus drained the ale without spilling a drop, although those sitting closest to him noticed that at the end he was shaking from exertion.

  There was a brie
f silence after Herr Magnus sat down and handed the ancestral drinking horn to his son Eskil. Then a great cheering began, swelling to a mighty roar as the hundred guests pounded their fists on the tables. The pipes and drums started playing at once, and the food was carried in by white-clad house thralls, preceded by minstrels who both played and frolicked merrily.

  ‘With meat, pipes, and ale we’ll manage to avoid a good deal of gawking, and that’s much to be desired,’ said Queen Blanca as she raised her wine glass to Cecilia and Ulvhilde. ‘That’s not to say that they don’t have much to stare at, presenting as we do quite a marvellous sight up here in our green, red, and blue!’

  They drank with abandon, and both Ulvhilde and Cecilia laughed heartily at their friend’s daring way of dismissing the embarrassment of being the centre of so much attention, which they had now endured for some time, amidst all the whispering and pointing.

  ‘Well, if they’re looking for red mantles in here, there aren’t many of us,’ said Ulvhilde, pretending to be offended as she set down her glass.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, dear friend,’ replied Queen Blanca. ‘It’s no small honour to be seated with the queen and the bride, and as luck would have it, you’re sitting on that black rooster.’

  ‘Just as you’re sitting on three crowns!’ giggled Ulvhilde, continuing the game.

  Next to Arn at the other end of the hall, in the place of honour on the groom’s dais, sat the king on one side, with Magnus Månesköld and Erik jarl on the other. This was at the king’s own request when he heard that Magnus had been the best in the warrior games, after the two Templar knights, who competed at an entirely different level, of course.