by Jan Guillou
Erik jarl was the only survivor among his brothers, and he was wounded in more than one place. Everywhere in the estate lay dead Folkungs, young and old alike. Even house thralls and livestock lay slaughtered.
Erik jarl showed his fortitude and honour in the hour of sorrow. He staggered with exhaustion and his face, hands, and one thigh were bleeding, but still gasping he had a brief whispered conversation with Arn. Then he wiped off his bloody sword, called over the three squadron leaders Sune, Sigfrid, and Bengt and their closest men – Sigurd, who was once called Sigge, Oddvar who was once called Orm, and Emund Jonsson, Ulvhilde’s son. He ordered them to kneel and in his capacity as the new king of the Swedes and Goths, he dubbed them knights.
They were the first to be knighted in the new kingdom that was now on its way.
TWELVE
It was a whole week before the riders who had left Forsvik returned. They had found much that needed cleaning up after the battle at Älgarås where more than ninety Danes and Sverkers were laid in a common grave, and all those from the estate who had been slain were taken to the church for a Christian burial.
Two Forsvikers had fallen in the conflict, while four were badly wounded, two of them so gravely that Arn didn’t dare take the responsibility of transporting them to Forsvik to tend to their wounds. Ibrahim and Yussuf were no longer at the estate, at a time when their skills were sorely needed. With a fervent appeal, and in his capacity as a Templar knight, Arn wrote a brief letter on the only piece of parchment that he could find at Älgarås to the brothers of the Order of St. John in Eskilstuna. He sent the two wounded men by cart to Örebro, and from there it was an easy journey across Lake Hjälmaren to the brothers’ hospital.
The bodies of two Forsvikers who had fallen were wrapped in Folkung mantles and sent to their kinsmen.
Since many Forsvikers left to accompany wounded and dead kinsmen, it looked as if the force had been cut in half when they returned to the estate. And the tidings were ominous, judging by the sombre expressions of both Erik jarl and Arn as they entered the courtyard ahead of the other Forsvikers. The alarm had already been sounded when the horsemen were spotted far in the distance. Erik jarl and Arn brought the saddest news of all to the dowager queen Cecilia Blanca, who was the first to step forward when everyone anxiously appeared to greet the returning men. Three of her sons had been killed, all on the same day. They were wrapped in their mantles on a cart at the back of the procession.
Cecilia Blanca turned pale as she sank to the ground and silently rocked back and forth, tearing her nails bloody scratching at the earth. Finally she uttered a scream that stabbed like knives into everyone’s heart. Erik jarl led her inside the church, where they both stayed for a long time.
Arn gave orders for the horses to be looked after, for the weapons to be put away, and for the three Erik sons to be taken to the cool room made of bricks that was used to store meat. It was not a dignified place for the fallen sons of a king, but the bodies had already begun to smell, and they needed to be buried soon.
He took his wife Cecilia to their own house and closed the door. Then he briefly and in Cecilia’s eyes rather cold-heartedly recounted what had happened. Three royal sons had been killed by Sverker’s people. The Forsvikers had slain almost all of the one hundred men sent out by Sverker; only a few had escaped. And so it was that war had come to the Göta lands, even though it would be a relatively long time before the real battles began. The important thing right now was to bury Erik jarl’s brothers. Arn suggested the church at Riseberga cloister, since it was the closest, and at the moment a journey to Varnhem would be dangerous as well as too long and hot for those who had already been dead a week.
Cecilia had a hard time replying to Arn’s question about Riseberga, since she felt confused by the fact that she didn’t really recognize him. His eyes had grown narrow and cold, and he spoke in a terse and harsh manner. After a while she realized that this was a different Arn than the one she knew; this was not her beloved and gentle husband or Alde’s father, this was the warrior from the Holy Land.
She saw the same change in Erik jarl when he appeared with his arm around his trembling mother, leaving her in Cecilia’s care as if she were a child. Then he took Arn aside at once to exchange only a few words about how and when they ought to ride to Riseberga.
That very day the funeral procession set off from Forsvik. Most of the young noblemen who had been part of the force that went to Älgarås now stayed behind at Forsvik. In Arn’s opinion, the talkativeness that had come over them after participating in and winning their first armed conflict would not be fitting at a funeral. Instead, three cavalry squadrons were formed and armed from those who had remained behind at Forsvik when their kinsmen rode off to Älgarås. But the six who had been knighted by Erik jarl had to come along, since honour demanded their presence.
At Riseberga cloister the three sons of the king were buried, and a large sum was donated for prayers of intercession on their behalf. Erik jarl borrowed the money from Arn and Cecilia Rosa. Cecilia Blanca, as the mother of the dead men, remained at the cloister when the funeral procession returned to Forsvik. Neither she nor anyone else knew how long she might stay there, whether for a short time or forever.
During that autumn and early winter, many Folkung and Erik riders headed off in all directions. Erik jarl went to Norway to attempt to win the support of warriors there. Eskil and his son Torgils, along with Arn and Magnus Månesköld, made a long journey through Svealand, where news of the ignominious murder of the three Erik sons aroused great anger. The Swedes seemed to consider the Erik clan as their royal clan. Relics from Erik jarl’s paternal grandfather, St. Erik, were carried around the fields in Uppland to bring a good harvest. At the judge’s ting at the Mora Stones outside Östra Aros, the Swedes voted unanimously to take up their swords at once. The Folkungs from the south managed to dissuade them, since a Svea army would undoubtedly need better footing than the autumn mire to do full justice to their bravery, as Arn cautiously presented the matter. What he had seen of the Svea warriors at the ting did not persuade him that they’d be able to accomplish much against the Danish cavalry. After a lengthy and loud discussion, they finally agreed that the Swedes should go in force to Östra Götaland to join the warriors at Bjälbo in the spring, between the feast of Saint Gertrude and Annunciation Day.
On their way home the Folkungs stopped at Eskilstuna, where Arn donned the attire of a Templar knight to visit the hospital of the Order of St. John. If he had hoped to find Hospitaller knights of the order in Eskilstuna, he was soon disappointed. The brothers there devoted themselves almost exclusively to caring for the sick, and he had to give up any idea of acquiring reinforcements from the best warriors in the world besides the Templars. But he was courteously received by the brothers, and they had done their job well, almost as if they had been Saracens, with regard to Arn’s two wounded young men. They would both be able to return to the saddle by spring.
After the New Year, a ting was called at Arnäs for the Folkung clan, and Erik jarl returned from his Norwegian travels in order to attend. It had been a disappointing journey because the Norwegians were once again at each other’s throats; they had their hands full with their own war. But Erik jarl brought greetings from Harald Øysteinsson, who had now become jarl of the Birchlegs in Nidaros and had been granted several large estates. Harald had promised that as soon as he was victorious in Norway, he and his kinsmen would come to the aid of the Folkungs and Eriks. That was a promise of questionable value.
Before the start of the ting of the Folkung clan, Erik jarl took a tour of the walls with Arn because he hadn’t been there in many years. He offered much praise for the mighty strength of this castle, but he also had to admit that it made him uneasy. When Arn asked him outright what he meant by this, Erik jarl said that no one could help seeing how Arnäs had grown. It was evident that the power of the Folkungs was much greater than that of anyone else. The horsemen that Arn had trained at Forsvik so that they
could easily defeat an enemy force of twice their numbers at Älgarås had merely reinforced their power. So who was he, Erik jarl, leader of the much weaker Erik clan, to think that he might set his father’s crown upon his own head?
Arn didn’t take this concern seriously but jested that if Erik found himself a good marshal he would have fewer worries. Erik jarl didn’t understand the jest but replied almost angrily that he thought Arn was his marshal.
‘Yes, such is the case,’ replied Arn with a laugh, placing his hand on Erik jarl’s powerful shoulder. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten what we swore to each other at your father’s deathbed. I am your marshal. For me, you are already king. Such was my oath.’
‘Why don’t you Folkungs seize power now that it’s within your reach?’ asked Erik jarl, not entirely reassured.
‘For two reasons,’ said Arn. ‘First, we have all sworn to fight for your crown, and the Folkungs do not take their oaths lightly. Second, you have the Swedes on your side, but we don’t. Your axes and few horsemen may not frighten many Danes, but I have no doubt of their bravery, and besides they are many in number.’
‘And if I didn’t have the Swedes on my side?’ said Erik jarl, throwing out his hands.
‘Then we would still stand by our word and you would become king. But who will succeed you is less certain; perhaps Birger Magnusson.’
‘Young Birger who is the son of your Magnus Månesköld?’
‘Yes, he is the most lively of the brothers at Ulvåsa, and he has a good head. But why should we be thinking of those days that will come long after we’re gone? The future is in God’s hands, and right now we have a war to win. That should be our first thought.’
‘And will we win this war?’
‘Yes, most certainly. With God’s help. The only question is what will happen afterwards. Sverker has no strong army supporting him; we’ll vanquish him by spring. Even the Swedes could accomplish that. If he falls in battle, it will be over. If he manages to flee to Denmark, we will have Valdemar the Victor upon us. And then we’ll have to pull back a bit.’
‘So it would be best if we kill Sverker in the spring?’
‘Yes, that’s my view. It’s the only sure way of preventing him from bringing in the Danes.’
Not much came of the first war against King Sverker. In the spring of 1206, a large and noisy horde of Swedes came south to Eastern Götaland, threatening to plunder Linköping if King Sverker refused to meet them on the battlefield. While they waited for his answer, they drank up all the ale but otherwise spared the town.
King Sverker, his most loyal supporters, and his retainers then fled from Näs and headed south to Denmark. The Swedes had to return home without delivering a single blow from their axes. He left behind his daughter Helena at Vreta cloister, where she was confined with the novices.
Erik jarl then moved with his mother and kinsmen to his childhood home at Näs and henceforth called himself King Erik, since both the Swedes and the Folkungs recognized him as such. Arn thought the king ought to have sought the protection of Arnäs instead, but he sent three squadrons of young Folkung riders to join the king’s retainers at Näs.
Now the question was not if the Danish army would come, but when. For now King Erik’s tenuous kingdom was secure, since during that year Valdemar the Victor was busy with a new crusade. He was plundering the Livonian islands of Dagö and Ösel, killing many heathens or those who were not sufficiently Christian, and taking much silver back to Denmark.
The workers in the weapons smithies at Forsvik were now toiling day and night; the fires were doused only on the day of rest devoted to God. That year young Birger Magnusson began training with the largest group of young Folkungs that had ever been taken on at Forsvik. New houses were also built, including a separate house for the six knights that King Erik had dubbed after the victory at Älgarås. And as a belated gift from the king, all six men had been given spurs of gold. In their hall hung both Sverker and Danish shields that they had seized in their first victory.
Not until late in the autumn of 1207, after the first snowfall, did word come that a large enemy force was on its way north from Skåne. King Valdemar the Victor was not leading the army himself, perhaps because he didn’t want to offend his tributary King Sverker. But he had sent all his best commanders, including Ebbe Sunesson and his brothers Lars, Jakob, and Peder. And with them were twelve thousand men; it was the mightiest army that had ever been seen in the North.
Arn sent out a call to the Folkungs and Eriks, telling them to gather at two strongholds, the one at Arnäs and the one at Bjälbo, which was more of a fortified estate than a fortress. After that he made ready to take four light squadrons from Forsvik and ride at once to meet the enemy.
Cecilia felt equal parts dread and admiration when she saw the zeal displayed by Arn. She couldn’t understand that there could be any joy in riding to face an impossibly superior enemy with only sixty-four young men. Arn then made time to speak with both her and Alde on the last evening before his departure. It was not his intention to engage in a real battle, he assured both of them. But for some inexplicable reason the Danes had chosen to come in the wintertime, and that made their heavy horses even slower. Danish riders would never be able to catch any Forsvikers; it would be a matter of flying past them at a safe distance. But it was necessary to obtain information about their intentions, their weapons, and their numbers.
What he told Cecilia and Alde was undoubtedly true, but it was far from the whole story.
Arn and his men got their first view of the enemy south of Skara. It was a few weeks before Christmas; the fields were snow-covered, but it was not yet really cold. The Forsvikers hadn’t needed to put on the bulky garb that they wore in the winter, with thick layers of felt over all the steel and iron. They rode annoyingly close to the Danish forces, moving in the opposite direction, at first partly to count the number of men, partly to see where they could do their enemy the most damage. Now and then the Danes sent a group of heavy riders with lances toward them, but they easily rode out of range. They saw that King Sverker and Archbishop Valerius were situated in the middle of the army, surrounded by a strong force carrying many banners. Arn decided that an attack on the king himself would not be worthwhile. Their own losses would be too great, and they couldn’t be certain of killing the king. In addition, most of Arn’s young men had never been in battle; they needed to experience a few victories in several lesser assaults before he could order them to put their lives at risk.
But an hour’s ride along the convoy he found easier targets. There most of the Danes’ provisions and fodder for the horses were being hauled on sluggish ox-carts through the mire created by all the riders up ahead. It would have been easy to ride up to the draft animals and kill enough of them, while also setting fire to the fodder, so that the enemy army would have been significantly delayed.
But there was no need to make haste with such action, and besides, now would be a good time to teach the young men more about war in general. Arn had no doubt that on the small scale, in terms of protecting their own lives and limbs, he could rely on the Forsvikers. Without releasing a single arrow or making any attempt to attack even if only to instil fear, Arn and his riders withdrew for the night to a village that was far enough away from the Danish army. They treated the villagers with consideration, taking only what they needed for an evening meal. Nor did they strike or harm anyone who complained.
Arn spent the evening and much of the night describing how they would destroy the Danes’ provisions. Yet there was not much point to such action now because the enemy convoy had the city of Skara ahead. If the army arrived there starving, angry, and without fodder for their horses it would not bode well for those who lived in Skara. But as things now stood, it was uncertain what Sverker and his Danes intended to do after Skara. Arn speculated that the reason they had arrived in the winter was that they planned to reach Lake Vättern when it was frozen over so as to reclaim for Sverker the royal castle of Näs. Tha
t would not be much of an achievement, but kings often had a tendency to think like children. If Sverker once more occupied Näs, he would again feel like the king. But how was he going to provide for such a large Danish army at Visingsö in the middle of the lake? And if it wasn’t possible to find supplies for them there, what was the next step?
Arn laughed and seemed in high spirits, and this wasn’t just because he wanted to infuse courage into his young and inexperienced warriors. He understood full well what it felt like for a small force of sixty-four men to ride past an army that was three hundred times as large. But on the following day they would gain more self-confidence.
After a long and good night’s sleep, since the days were short at this time of the year, Arn told his men that they would now be going into battle. Not against oxen and supply carts but against the best of the Danish horsemen, who were no doubt those riding in the lead. The reason for this was simple. They were going to teach the Danes that whoever pursued the faster enemy would not come back alive.
The first time they carried out this simple plan, everything went as expected.
Arn took only one squadron, riding towards the front of the enemy army where many banners could be seen and where there was a large contingent of heavy cavalry. At first the Danes couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw a mere sixteen men come riding at a slant towards their vanguard, getting closer and closer. Finally they were so near that the horsemen could shout jeers at each other. Then Arn pulled his bow from his back, calmly strung it, and placed his quiver at his side, as if he was planning to stay for a long time. Then he nocked an arrow and took aim at the foremost of the banner carriers, who raised his shield at once. Arn abruptly changed his aim and felled a man much farther back who was sitting there gaping in surprise rather than bothering to protect himself. Only then did all of the Danes raise their shields, and furious commands resounded over the entire advance group with fifty heavy riders gathered to stage a broad attack. Arn laughed loudly and told his sixteen men to nock their arrows.