Birth of the Kingdom

by Jan Guillou

  Arn and Cecilia were expecting a rather gloomy evening like the previous one they had spent at Bjälbo. Yet as soon as they took their seats, both Birger Brosa and the bride’s father, Sune Sik, showed that it was their intention to make it a good evening among friends, even at the high seat. It was impossible to know what had made them change their behaviour so dramatically. Cecilia tried to find out from Valevaks, who was Sune Sik’s wife and the bride’s mother, but she learned very little, since the woman spoke more Polish than Norse.

  The bishop, who was seated far from Arn and Cecilia on the other side of Sune Sik, also seemed to want to show his goodwill and friendship. As soon as he had drunk a toast with Birger Brosa and Sune Sik, he turned to the groom’s parents. There was no wine at this banquet, and although Arn and Cecilia had determined to leave the ale placed in front of them untouched, they were soon shamed into drinking it because of the unexpected friendliness streaming toward them from all directions.

  Birger Brosa surprised Arn more than once by praising him as a close kinsman and friend to Sune Sik, and the jarl spoke so loudly that Arn couldn’t avoid hearing.

  Something had happened to change the game, but at the moment the only thing to do was to remain courteous and wait until the next day to find out what was going on.

  Escorting the couple to bed began earlier than anticipated, since there were so many guests in the hall who wanted to have this custom out of the way; then they could breathe more easily. When Sverkers and Folkungs became united in blood through Magnus Månesköld and Ingrid Ylva, the risk of fire, treachery, and murder would be over.

  The bridal chamber was in a separate house near the river Stångån, and it was guarded by as many retainers wearing blue mantles as wore red. The only difference was that those in blue were able to stand upright without difficulty because not a drop of ale had passed their lips.

  After the ring dance in the hall, the bride was escorted out by her kinsmen. Those who remained inside suddenly fell silent, as if listening for the clang of weapons and shrill screams. But everything seemed calm outside.

  Then it was time for the truly decisive moment when Magnus Månesköld and his Folkung kinsmen were to leave the hall.

  With his right hand Arn pulled Cecilia close to his side as he cautiously loosened his sword. Then they walked out between the rows of dazzling torches. They didn’t speak to each other, but both bowed their heads in prayer, asking for mercy.

  Yet nothing untoward happened. Soon they were standing next to the bridal bed on which Magnus and Ingrid Ylva lay in their white linen shifts, looking merry and holding hands. The bishop said a brief prayer over them, and Birger Brosa and Sune Sik pulled the bridal coverlet over the beautiful, dark-haired Ingrid Ylva and the vigorous, red-haired Magnus Månesköld.

  Everyone in the room secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and Sune Sik immediately went over to Arn and held out both hands, thanking God for this reconciliation that had now taken place and swearing that there was no longer any blood between them. For they were now both fathers-in-law to the other’s offspring, and blood united them instead of separating them.

  When the witnesses emerged from the bedchamber and stepped out into the courtyard, they were greeted with cheers of relief and joy, since this wedding had led to peace and reconciliation.

  Now it would be easier to liven up the mood inside the hall. And such was the case as soon as the guests in the high seat returned to their places. Arn recalled that only once before in his life had he been sick from too much ale, and that time he had promised himself never to repeat such foolishness. To his embarrassment, Birger Brosa and Sune Sik quickly drank him under the table, as if they had both joined in some malicious drinking pact against him.

  Cecilia displayed no pity for his miserable condition the next morning. On the contrary, she had a great deal to say about the recklessness of a swordsman who drank as much ale as some ordinary, rough retainer. Arn defended himself by saying that he’d felt such great relief the moment he saw the coverlet drawn over Magnus and Ingrid Ylva that the ale had more easily seeped in as his wits left him, because he no longer needed to think clearly.

  But over the two following feast days, Arn was very cautious about the amount of ale he drank, and Sune Sik had also procured wine for him and Cecilia; no one ever drank wine in such manly quantities as ale.

  Ingrid Ylva had received the Ulvåsa estate as a morning gift from the Folkungs, and after the three feast days in Linköping jarl Birger Brosa rode at the head of the bridal procession to Ulvåsa, located on a promontory on the shores of Lake Boren.

  Since Boren was connected to Lake Vättern, Arn and Cecilia would now be practically neighbours to Magnus and Ingrid Ylva. It was only a day’s journey by boat between the two estates in the summertime and an even shorter journey by sleigh in the winter. Cecilia and Ingrid Ylva had already found it easy to talk to each other since Ingrid Ylva had spent many years at Vreta cloister, and they quickly reached agreement about many things having to do with visiting each other and the important holidays. Their husbands had very little to say about these matters.

  The visit to Ulvåsa would be brief so that the young people, as soon as honour deemed it possible, would not have the burden of taking care of older kinsmen. After that the intention was for Arn and Cecilia to travel together with Eskil on one of his boats, first to Forsvik. From there Eskil would continue on to Arnäs.

  But as they prepared to depart from Ulvåsa on the second feast day, Birger Brosa came to Arn, hemming and hawing, to say that he would like Arn to accompany him back to Bjälbo so that the two of them might have a talk.

  If the jarl made a request, it could not be refused. Arn had no idea why Birger Brosa wanted to have this conversation, but he had no trouble explaining to Cecilia and Eskil that he would have to travel by a different route. They both assented without asking any questions. And Eskil chivalrously vowed that with his own life he would protect the life and safety of this Folkung woman. Arn laughed that this was so much easier to promise now that peace had been secured.

  When Birger Brosa and his retinue made ready to ride back to Bjälbo, Arn apologized and said that he would have to follow somewhat later, as he wanted to take advantage of the moment to speak privately with his son Magnus. Birger Brosa couldn’t very well object to this, but he frowned and muttered that it was a short journey to Bjälbo. He had no intention of waiting for his kinsman, since his time was precious. Arn promised not to keep his uncle waiting at Bjälbo; in fact, they would probably arrive at the same time.

  ‘Then you’ll certainly need a good horse!’ snorted Birger Brosa and set off at a slow gallop with his retainers lagging behind in surprise.

  ‘I’ll be all right with my horse, dear uncle,’ whispered Arn after the retreating jarl.

  It seemed most likely that Ingrid Ylva and Magnus thought they had spent enough time in the company of their kinsmen; they were already behaving with affection toward one another. Yet Magnus could not say no to his father’s request for a short ride and conversation, just the two of them.

  Ulvåsa stood in a beautiful location on the promontory, with water glittering all around and fertile fields tended by both the house thralls from the estate and people from the nearby village of Hamra, which now was also owned by Ingrid Ylva. The farm buildings were of the older type and would not be comfortable in the winter. Arn said nothing of this, although he was thinking that next spring he would send builders from Forsvik to repair the living quarters for both the house servants and thralls. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it; right now there were more important things to discuss.

  Without making any digressions to talk about the wedding or the youth competitions at Bjälbo, which Magnus found it pleasant to brag about, Arn began describing his plans for Arnäs. Every Folkung within three days’ journey was to go to Arnäs if misfortune were ever approaching, because there no enemy would be able to touch them.

  Magnus objected sullenly that in such case
one’s own estate would be left to fire and plundering, and Arn nodded grimly that this was true. But if the enemy was strong, it was more important to save one’s skin than a few timbered houses that could easily be built anew.

  Magnus didn’t seem to understand or show any interest in what his father wanted to tell him. There were no enemies for as far as the eye could see. Besides, now that peace between the Sverkers and Folkungs had been so strongly sealed, wasn’t that the reason that they were able to ride together here at Ulvåsa with Ingrid Ylva waiting back at the longhouse? Wasn’t the very idea behind this wedding to secure the peace? And hadn’t he, without grumbling, agreed to the clan’s demands, even though it was no hardship to go to the bridal bed with such a lovely, dark-haired woman as Ingrid Ylva?

  Arn realized too late that he had been tactless in his timing as he tried to make his own son see the threat to the realm and how they needed to defend themselves. He answered evasively that no danger would befall them during the next few years, and it was true that this wedding offered a strong message of peace. He was merely trying to see further into the future. At that, Magnus just shrugged his shoulders. Arn then asked him about the youth games at Bjälbo.

  With much greater enthusiasm Magnus seized upon this topic of conversation and described in detail everything that had taken place during each of the seven contests. In the end he had come out the victor, and Erik jarl was again defeated.

  More than an hour passed, and Arn began to have trouble hiding his impatience even though he had arrogantly promised Birger Brosa he would arrive at Bjälbo when the jarl did. Only with difficulty did he finally turn down Magnus’s suggestion that they have a tankard of ale before his departure. They said farewell out in the courtyard, and Arn set off for Bjälbo at once, at full gallop. Magnus watched his father ride away, thinking that no one could keep up that pace for long; no doubt his father merely wanted to show his strength as long as he was in sight, but he would have to slow down as soon as he was beyond the oak grove south of Ulvåsa.

  Birger Brosa and his retinue did not have to make another rest stop before they reached Bjälbo, and they could already see the church tower in the distance when Arn suddenly came racing up behind them, riding one of his foreign stallions at great speed. When Birger Brosa was told that a rider was approaching, he turned around in his saddle and saw the Folkung mantle. At first he thought that Arn had doubtless sneaked up behind them in order to ride the last stretch of the way at this unreasonable pace. But he soon had misgivings when he saw that Arn’s steed was lathered with sweat.

  Arn was relieved to find that the young horse he had chosen to ride to the wedding turned out to be good enough, even though it was slow compared to Abu Anaza. But Abu Anaza was black, and it would not have been suitable to ride such a horse to a wedding. An animal of that colour, according to what Cecilia had told him, was more appropriate for a funeral and would be considered bad luck at a wedding.

  Birger Brosa led the way and came to a halt as soon as they entered the confines of Bjälbo behind the stockade. He first wished to don simpler attire, then he had to go to his writing chamber where people were waiting with all sorts of missives. Only then would he meet with Arn, and their meeting would take place in the tower chamber of the church where the clan ting would be held in former times. A brazier and ale, cushions and sheepskins were to be taken up there at once; in an hour’s time no one but Arn was to be present. After issuing these brusque commands, Birger Brosa laboriously dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to a stable thrall without even glancing around. Then with determined strides he headed for the longhouse.

  Feeling rather offended, Arn himself saw to the care of his horse, which needed attention after such a hard ride. He paid no attention to the fact that his presence in the stable caused much confusion and surprise among the thralls. The health of his horse was more important. After drying the horse’s flanks and cleaning the hooves, Arn asked for several hides, which he slung over the back of the dapple-gray steed to make sure the animal wouldn’t cool down too fast. And he spoke in a foreign tongue, whispering as he caressed and seemed to console the horse. The stable thralls shook their heads and exchanged glances behind Arn’s back, keeping out of his way.

  After Arn left the horse, he went at once to brush himself off. Then at the appointed time he went to the old tower room and waited. There was a rank smell of mould and mortar. Birger Brosa arrived a bit late.

  ‘You are more trouble to me than any other kinsman, Arn Magnusson, and I will never make any sense of you!’ Birger Brosa said in greeting in a loud voice as he climbed the stairs. And without further ado he sank down onto the largest seat, exactly where Arn had thought he would choose to sit.

  ‘Then you must ask me questions, dear uncle, and with God’s help I will try to help you understand,’ replied Arn humbly. He had no desire to quarrel anew with the jarl.

  ‘It’s much worse than that!’ declared Birger Brosa. ‘And it will get even worse if I do understand, because then I will feel foolish that I hadn’t understood at once. And that would not please me. Nor do I have any particular wish to apologize, and I’ve already been humiliated by you once before. Now I am doing that again, for the second time. This has never happened, and as God is my witness, I shall never again, for a second time, be forced to ask some rogue for forgiveness!’

  ‘What is it that you wish me to forgive?’ asked Arn in surprise at this fiery drama his uncle was now presenting.

  ‘I’ve seen all the building that is going on at Arnäs,’ replied Birger Brosa in a different tone of voice, keeping his voice low. He threw out his arms in a gesture that almost looked like surrender. ‘I’ve seen what you’re building, and I’m not foolish. You’re building up the Folkung power to be greater than ever, you’re building so that we will be lords of this realm. My brother Magnus and your brother Eskil have also told me about what you’re doing at Forsvik. Need I say more?’

  ‘No, not if you wish me to forgive you, uncle,’ replied Arn cautiously.

  ‘Good! Will you have ale?’

  ‘I would prefer not to. During these past days I’ve had enough ale to last me till Christmas.’

  Birger Brosa gave him a scornful smile and stood up. He took two ale tankards over to the ale cask, filled them both, and placed one of them in front of Arn before he went back to his seat. He settled himself more comfortably among the sheepskins with one knee drawn up; there he balanced his tankard, as was his custom. He gazed at Arn in silence for a while, but his expression was friendly.

  ‘Tell me of the castle that you’re building,’ he said. ‘How does it look today, how will it look when Arnäs is finished, and how will it look after several years?’

  ‘It will take time to answer these questions,’ said Arn.

  ‘Nothing is more important for the jarl of the realm at this moment. We have plenty of time, and we are alone, with no one else within earshot,’ replied Birger Brosa. He grabbed his tankard and took several good swallows before he placed it back on his knee. Then he threw out his hands without causing the tankard even to wobble.

  ‘Today there is peace, and the union is between the Eriks and Folkungs,’ Arn began hesitantly. ‘The Sverkers are lying low, biding their time until King Knut is gone, and God willing, that will not happen for a long time yet. So I do not see a war taking place for many years.’

  ‘Then we think alike,’ said the jarl, nodding. ‘But what about after that? What will happen then?’

  ‘No one knows,’ said Arn. ‘But one thing I do know: at that time there will be a greater danger of war. That doesn’t mean that things will go badly for us. For if we now build fortresses that are sufficiently strong, during the peace that we now have, our strength may preserve the peace as well as a wise marriage does.’

  ‘True,’ said Birger Brosa with a nod. ‘But what is our weakness?’

  ‘We cannot engage a Danish army on the battlefield,’ Arn swiftly replied.

  ‘A Danish army? W
hy a Danish army?’ asked Birger Brosa, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘That is the only danger we face and hence the only problem worth fretting about,’ replied Arn. ‘Denmark is a great power, a power that resembles the Frankish kingdom more than us, and the Danes wage war in the same way that the Franks do. The Danes have laid waste to great sections of Saxony and won much territory, showing that they are able to defeat Saxon armies. When they’ve had enough of heading southward, or when they reach so far south that they can no longer keep their armies supplied, they may turn their attention to the north. And here we sit, a much easier quarry than Saxony. And in Roskilde sits Karl Sverkersson’s son, raised as a Dane, but still with an inherited right to our crown. He could become the Danes’ nominal king in our realm. That is how the situation looks if we try to imagine what might be the worst thing that might happen.’

  Birger Brosa nodded pensively, almost as if acknowledging to himself that these were his darkest thoughts and he would have preferred to ignore them. In silence he drank more ale, expecting Arn also to remain silent until he received another question.

  ‘When can we defeat the Danes?’ Birger Brosa asked abruptly, speaking in a loud voice.

  ‘In five or six years, but it will cost us dearly. In ten years it would be easier,’ replied Arn with such confidence that Birger Brosa, who had expected a more lengthy explanation, was caught off guard.

  ‘Give me a more detailed explanation,’ he said after another long pause.

  ‘In five years King Knut may die,’ said Arn, swiftly raising his hand to prevent any interruption. ‘We don’t know that, and it’s a wicked thing to think, but wicked ideas also have to be tested. Then the Danish army will come here with a more or less eager Sverker Karlsson following behind. We have a hundred horsemen. Not the kind of horsemen that can counter a great Frankish or Danish army, but a hundred horsemen that can make their passage through our land a great misery. They never engage us in battle nor do they catch up with us, but we take their supplies, we kill their draft animals, we kill or wound a dozen Danes each day. We do our best to entice them to pursue us to Arnäs. There they are crushed in their encampment. That’s what would happen in five years, and the price would be great devastation from Skara and all the way north.’