by Jan Guillou
In the first moments of the contest Sune felt himself turn cold and almost paralysed with fear. There was a mighty weight and strength in Herr Ebbe’s blows, and he attacked with hatred in his eyes as if they were enemies on a battlefield. And their swords were not for practice, but honed sharp. When he realized that it really was death he was facing, he cursed his own pride. For a good while he did not connect with a blow of his own, but had to concentrate on parrying and staying away from Herr Ebbe.
Everything that the guards had told him seemed to be true, for in quick succession he had twice seen his opponent strike at the left foot, and twice how Herr Ebbe seemed to wobble to the side only to spin around and in rage aim for Sune’s head.
The king and his guests did not like what they were seeing, for a feast day should not conclude with blood and death. But honour forbade even the king from interfering in a duel man to man once it had begun.
After the fight had gone on a while, Sune noticed that he was beginning to think more clearly because the attacks were coming more slowly. With his heart in his throat he had done everything he’d practiced since he was a boy without even thinking, merely counting one, two, three to himself and then moving just as he said three to watch the edge of the sword swish above his head or past his left foot. He grew more self-confident, knowing that he was a Forsviker and that what he could do at home in Forsvik he could also do here.
He stopped merely defending himself and went on the attack. Soon he was driving Herr Ebbe back and giving him no quarter to strike either at his foot or his head. Now Sune also had to start thinking about the end. How one could lose a duel of this type was not hard to imagine. But how to win? Should he, who had been entrusted to gather information and who had been warned by Sir Arn not to draw too much attention, actually kill the marshal of the kingdom?
The longer they went at it, the wearier Herr Ebbe grew and the more he gasped. The opportunity to inflict on him a serious wound became ever more frequent. Sune decided not to kill his opponent but to let the fight continue until the other man could fight no more, because it was evident that Herr Ebbe was twice as old and twice as tired.
Some of the Danish nobles had already approached the king and whispered that the fight against all custom had to be stopped before it came to a disastrous end. Ebbe would certainly not grow less exhausted by continuing, and the young Folkung could have killed him already if he had so wished.
But the king didn’t need to intervene. Suddenly Herr Ebbe held up his hand and went over to the king to say that he pardoned the young warrior. Because it would certainly be ill-advised, he said out of breath, if he were forced to kill such a hearty young man who should be serving his king rather than going to an early grave.
Without even the hint of a smile the king nodded pensively at these apparently noble and wise words and waved Sune over. He then asked him whether he could accept victory on these conditions. A bunch of foolish replies flew like swallows through Sune’s head, but he managed to bite his tongue and replied with a bow that it was a great honour to receive this mark of favour from the mightiest swordsman he had ever met or seen.
This was certainly the biggest lie that Sune had uttered since he arrived at Näs. But with only a sliver of wit remaining he tried to make up for his foolhardy behaviour.
And yet it may have been Sune’s foolishness that actually saved the future kingdom. For as events now unfolded one after the other, many lives were saved, although many more were wasted.
For two long evenings Sune was allowed to sit with his crown of victory next to Helena. That time was more than enough for the fire that had merely smoldered within them to flare up into a full blaze.
During these two evenings, when they sat together in full view of everyone and had to behave accordingly, they not only confessed their burning feelings for each other but also made more practical plans. They agreed to meet in private, or as close to private as they dared.
Helena was the daughter of a king, and it was still far from decided what the best marriage would be for her. King Sverker no doubt had his hopes that he could marry her off to the Danish king Valdemar the Victor. But there was not much hope of that, since such a mighty king would probably find a wife in the Frankish or German kingdoms. But as long as Valdemar the Victor remained unmarried, hope was not lost.
In the worst case Helena could marry in her own land for the sake of peace, to some Folkung or even an Erik. As long as no decision had been reached, she was allowed to remain unattended, becoming ever more beautiful. Actually King Sverker should have consigned her to one of his own clan’s cloisters, to Vreta or Gudhem, to better prepare her for the bridal ale with the man he eventually selected. But she was too dear to him. She reminded him of a time when he was happier than now in his position as king. Her mother Benedikta had been a lovely and fair woman, while his new queen Ingegerd was hard and coarse of mouth and as hungry for power as a man. As soon as she bore him a son she had played all sorts of tricks so that she no longer had to take him to her bed. And she constantly nagged him both about petty matters and about intrigues that were dangerous enough to cost them all their lives. Helena was like a beautiful memory and a constant reminder of happier times. That was why he didn’t want to send her to a convent.
But he would have done so in an instant if he knew who she was meeting at night. Now these rendezvous were certainly chaste, for Helena had sworn to God never to let any man enter her bedchamber at night. Her room had once served as the council chamber of the realm, but now it was much too small for the growing royal council. It was situated high up in the eastern tower at Näs, and a wild vine grew on the wall, enabling an eager young man to climb up to the window.
Helena lit two candles in her window as the signal. After his victory in the warrior games Sune had been given command of part of the guards. So it was no problem for him to visit the walls at night, as if he were going to check that all the guards were attending to their duties.
Many were their passionate meetings at her window; he may not have entered her bedchamber but he did enter her heart. He would stay until his arms grew numb from holding onto the wild vine, which took a long time because he was stronger than most and more eager than them all.
They refused to reconcile themselves to the fact that she was the daughter of a king, destined to be married to someone better than a guard. They found it utterly irrelevant that she was a Sverker and he a Folkung, and they promised each other eternal faithfulness after only two weeks when he ventured to lean forward and kiss her for the first time.
Because their love was as hopeless as it was great, Helena also told him things that would have been viewed as treason if anyone had heard. But she had only one person in whom to confide.
So one night in late summer Sune learned that the days of Erik jarl and his brothers were numbered. Queen Ingegerd had demanded their lives for the safety of her own son Johan and his legitimate inheritance of the crown of the realm. Often she had dripped her venom like the Serpent in the king’s ear, and she claimed to have discovered that the Eriks were merely waiting for the right moment to kill him. She was constantly seeing secret signs that a conspiracy was growing at Näs.
Finally King Sverker gave in. The Eriks would be drowned and delivered to Varnhem for burial, and there would be no mark on their bodies from either sword or dagger wounds. The story would be that they were out fishing for trout and that an unexpected autumn storm on Lake Vättern had blown up and taken their lives.
Sune was doubly filled with sorrow when he heard this news. The lives of the Erik royal brothers may not have been his greatest concern, but the information he had now received was such that he would have to return to Forsvik. That meant being separated from Helena. Otherwise he would have to find a way to warn the Eriks.
At evening meals he often sat right next to Erik jarl and his brothers, although they all refused to talk to him. They treated him as if he were invisible, as a traitor deserved. Loudly so that everyone could
hear, Erik jarl had complained more than once that Ebbe Sunesson hadn’t been able to lop off Sune’s head, but it might not be too late.
As if it were a special insult to have to sit near Sune, the Erik brothers took turns. One evening when it was Erik jarl sitting beside him, the moment came that Sune had been waiting for with growing trepidation. Now he could not falter; it had to happen now.
‘The king intends to drown you all and say that the storm took you while fishing. You don’t have much time to flee,’ he said in a low voice but with a smile as he handed a piece of meat to Erik jarl with a polite bow.
‘And why should I believe a traitor like you?’ Erik jarl snorted, but not loudly.
‘Because I am Sir Arn’s man and not the king’s, and because I would be a head shorter if anyone heard these words pass between us,’ replied Sune as he courteously poured the jarl more ale.
‘Where can we flee?’ whispered Erik jarl, suddenly tense and serious.
‘To Forsvik. There is shelter there and riders with Sir Arn,’ said Sune, raising his ale tankard. ‘But you must hurry, you don’t have many nights left.’
Erik jarl nodded gravely and to his brothers’ astonishment raised his ale tankard to Sune.
Two days later the commotion was great when it was discovered that Erik jarl and his brothers had escaped. Nobody knew where and nobody knew how, and it did no good to whip the guards who had been on duty that night.
The suspicious Queen Ingegerd cast long, suspicious looks at Sune. She thought she had seen Sune and Erik jarl having a brief, whispered conversation, contrary to their habits not so long ago. King Sverker thought it impossible that Sune, the brave and faithful warrior, could have warned the Erik brothers. For how could he have known what was going on in the minds of the king, the queen, or the marshal? Which of the three would have betrayed such a plan? Could Ebbe have confided in Sune, when his feelings about the guard were no secret after the ignominious defeat? If not, could he himself or the queen have done such a thing? No, the Eriks had been lucky and that was all. Besides, it was clear as water that they had not had occasion to thrive at Näs.
The king then did the only thing he could do. He promised two marks in pure gold to anyone who could bring him information about where the Eriks were hiding, because they certainly hadn’t been swallowed up by the earth.
It took a year before he learned that all four of them were hiding at an estate in the northern part of Western Götaland, a Folkung estate called Älgarås. Then he ordered Ebbe Sunesson to equip a hundred horsemen and bring the four back alive, although just their heads would suffice.
Sune found out that the Eriks had been discovered and were doomed to die. The same night that Sune heard this news, he was thrown into the tower dungeon by order of the queen, who had always suspected him. From the tower dungeons he heard the rattling of stirrups and weapons. It meant that the king’s hundred riders were preparing to leave at dawn, and he cursed himself. He had pursued this game too long, and he lamented the fact that love had brought him not only his own death, but that of the four royal sons. It had also led to despair, which was a great sin. He who despaired dug his own grave. He began to pray to Saint Örjan, the protector of knights and the noble-minded.
When the night was at its darkest there was a rattle of keys at his cell door, and two men in dark clothes came in and took him gently but silently up the stairs. Helena was waiting for him. They said a hurried and whispered farewell. She was now going to be sent to Vreta cloister, and she wanted him to swear to fetch her from there. He had at first trembled and hesitated at the thought of stealing a maiden from a convent, which was one of the lowest deeds a man could commit. But she assured him that, first, she would not take the vows; she was a king’s daughter and not intended to be a nun. And second, the day she saw blue mantles approaching Vreta she would run to meet them.
He then swore that he and his kinsmen, a squadron in number, in blue mantles and in the middle of the day so that they could be seen from far off, would rescue her from Vreta cloister.
They kissed, weeping, and then she tore herself away with a sigh and hurried off into the darkness.
Down below the castle a small boat awaited. The wind was from the south and should take him to Forsvik in one night.
At dawn Sune was dropped off outside Forsvik clad in tattered, filthy Sverker clothing. His two companions quickly left the harbour and set a course for the north. They would never again set foot at Näs, nor did they need to. Helena with her gold jewellery had paid them more than enough to live a good life elsewhere.
At that early hour there were few people about at Forsvik, but when one of the young nobles on his way out to the privy caught sight of Sune, he at once ran to ring the alarm. A few moments later Sune was surrounded by armed and angry young men cursing him as a traitor. Soon he was dragged, bound hand and foot, over to the big bell that was the gathering place in case of an alarm. There he was forced to his knees while everyone waited for Sir Arn, who came running over half-dressed in chain mail.
When Arn caught sight of Sune he stopped, smiled, and drew his dagger from his belt. There was complete silence as he went over to Sune and cut off the ropes binding his hands and feet. He embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks.
Almost all the young warriors had now gathered, with only a few more running up as they tried to get dressed. Their ire had dissolved and they looked at one another in wonder.
‘Think on the words of the Lord, all you Forsvikers!’ said Arn as he raised his right arm in a command for attention. ‘What you see is not always what you see, and don’t always judge someone by his clothes. This is your true brother Sune Folkesson, who in our service and at the risk of his life has been our informer with Sverker at Näs. It was Sune’s words that saved the life of Erik jarl and his brothers. That was why they came to us and escaped death at the hands of the deceitful king. Everyone who thought evil of Sune should first beg forgiveness from God and then from Sune himself!’
The first to come forward to embrace Sune were Bengt Elinsson and Sigfrid Erlingsson. Then all the others followed in turn.
Arn ordered the bathhouse to be heated up and for new Folkung clothing to be brought there. The red rags that Sune was wearing would be burned. Sune tried to object that he had urgent news and had no time for a bath, but Arn just shook his head with a smile and said that nothing was ever so urgent that a man should not stop to think before rushing off. He understood that it was no small matter that had convinced Sune to leave his service at Näs, since Sune had dared to remain in his perilous mission even after he had rescued Erik jarl and his brothers.
Sune hastened into the bathhouse and was still pulling on his Folkung clothes as he rattled off greetings to everyone on his way to Arn and Cecilia’s house. Inside awaited fresh Saracen morning bread and strong lamb soup. Sir Arn and Fru Cecilia embraced him with tears in their eyes and welcomed him home.
As they ate, Sune quickly told them all the most important news. King Sverker had finally found out that Erik jarl and his brothers were hiding at Älgarås, and he was sending a hundred fully armed men to kill them. If it was true that the Erik brothers were at Älgarås, there wasn’t much time.
Arn nodded grimly. It was true that on Bengt Elinsson’s advice they had moved the men to Älgarås because there were no Sverkers in the vicinity, and because the king would probably search toward Eriksberg in the south rather than in a Folkung village in the north. Erik jarl had also been wise enough when he arrived to tell Arn in private about the warning he had received from Sune. He hadn’t said a word to anyone else about it, but Arn had confirmed that it really was true that Sune had always been a Forsviker, although he dressed in the red mantle at Näs. Erik jarl had also recounted the strange way that Sune had behaved so as not to draw attention to himself. But that was a matter for another conversation, because now in truth they did not have much time.
Three fully armed squadrons, two of light cavalry and one of heavy armoured rid
ers, left Forsvik that morning. At the mustering before their departure, Arn had given a brief speech and said that this was no longer practice. What was now about to happen was what they had been training for. That was why all their practice swords had been exchanged for sharp ones, the arrows were not blunt, and the lances were not fitted with round points but with triple steel points.
Perhaps they would have been more successful if they had ridden from Forsvik with only light cavalry and not with a squadron of heavy armour that delayed the others. In hindsight they could have drawn that conclusion, but hindsight is always the wisest jarl of all fools.
What Sune had to tell about the Danish knights’ horses and weapons had convinced Arn that at least one heavy squadron was necessary, because they were meeting a force that was twice as large as their own.
Älgarås was ablaze when they arrived; they had seen the smoke and flames from far off. Yet Arn had sternly made them all follow his pace at a calm trot so as not to arrive exhausted to a confrontation with the Danes and Sverkers.
After a slow ride which tried all their patience, they finally came within striking distance, and they could see the redgarbed warriors on their way in through a big breach in the stockade wall of sharpened poles. Now there was no time to lose. Arn positioned the heavy cavalry foremost in order to attack with speed and power, ordering Bengt Elinsson to wait outside the walls with his squadron and clear the entire area of all the red troops.
King Sverker’s men were so excited about entering the stronghold that they discovered too late the noise of the blue-clad riders coming at them in formation with lances lowered. The Folkungs crushed all before them on their way into Älgarås.
In a corner of the estate a small group was crowded together with Erik jarl in front. The heavy riders who had led the break-in moved off to the side, and behind them the squadron led by Sigfrid Erlingsson attacked. Most of the fleeing Sverkers and Danes were caught outside the walls by Bengt Elinsson and his squadron of light cavalry. No prisoners were taken. A few of the enemy escaped, among them Ebbe Sunesson.