by Jan Guillou
As she expected, he stopped short to give her a searching glance, looking for the smile she always wore when she was teasing him in her own special way. But he soon realized that she was completely serious, and then anger overcame him with such force that he probably would have struck her for the first time if they hadn't been standing in the midst of kinsmen and enemies and all the common folk.
"Have you lost your wits, woman? If you hadn't inherited Varnhem you'd still be withering away in the convent. It was only because of Varnhem that we were married at all."
He managed to control himself and speak in a low voice, but with his teeth firmly clenched.
"Yes, all that is true, my dear husband," she replied with her eyes lowered chastely. "If I hadn't inherited Varnhem, your parents would have chosen another wife for you. I would have been a nun by now in that case. But Eskil and the new life I'm carrying under my heart would not have existed without Varnhem."
Magnus did not reply. Just then Sot approached them with Eskil, who ran to his mother at once and took her hand, chattering excitedly about everything he had seen inside the cathedral.
Magnus lifted his son in his arms and stroked his hair lovingly as he regarded his lawful wife with something other than affection. But then he put the boy down and barked at Sot to take Eskil with her to watch the players; they would join her again soon. Sot took the boy by the hand and led him off whin-ing and protesting.
"But as you also know, my dear husband," Sigrid resumed quickly, "I wanted Varnhem to be my bridal morning gift, and I had that gift deeded to me under seal, along with little more than the cloak on my back and some gold for my adornment."
"Yes, that is also true," replied Magnus sullenly. "But even so, Varnhem is one-third of our common property, a third that you have now taken from Eskil. What I can't understand is why you would do something like this, even though it is within your right."
"Let's stroll over toward the players and not stand here looking as if we might be quarreling with each other, and I'll explain everything." She offered him her arm.
Magnus looked around self-consciously, forced a smile, and took her by the arm.
"All right," she said hesitantly. "Let's begin with earthly matters, which seem to be filling your head the most right now. I will take all the livestock and thralls with me up to Arnas, of course. Varnhem does have better buildings, but Arnas is some-thing we can rebuild from the ground up, especially now that we'll have so many more hands to put to work. This way we'll have a better place to live, particularly in the wintertime. More livestock means more barrels of salted meat and more hides that we can send to Lodose by boat. You want so much to trade with Lodose, and we can easily do so from Arnas in both summer and winter, but it would be difficult from Varnhem."
Leaning forward, he walked silently by her side, but she could see that he had calmed down and was starting to listen with in-terest. She knew that they wouldn't have to argue now. She saw everything as clearly before her as if she had spent a long time planning it all out, although the whole idea was less than an hour old.
More leather hides and barrels of salted meat for Lodose meant more silver, and more silver meant they could buy more seed. More seed meant that more thralls could earn their freedom by breaking new ground, borrowing seed, and paying them back twofold in rye that could be sent to Lodose and exchanged for more silver. And then they could repair the fortifications that Magnus was always worrying about, since Arnas was difficult to defend, especially in the frost of winter. By gathering all their forces at Arnas instead of dividing their efforts between two places, they would soon grow richer and own even more land with all the newly broken ground. They would have a warmer, safer house, and leave a larger inheritance to Eskil than they could have otherwise.
When they had made their way to the front of the crowd, Magnus stood silent and pensive for a long time. Out of breath, Sot appeared with little Eskil in her arms; she held him up in front of her so that people could see from his clothing that she had the right to push through the crowd. Then the boy jumped down and stood in front of his mother, who gently laid her hands on his shoulders, stroked his cheek, and straightened his cap.
The players in front of them were busy building a high tower composed of nothing but people, with a little boy, perhaps only a couple of years older than Eskil, climbing alone to the very top. The people shouted in fear and amazement. Eskil pointed eagerly and said he wanted to be a performer too, which made his father break out in surprisingly hearty laughter. Sigrid glanced at him cautiously and thought that with that laughter the danger had passed.
He noticed her sneaking a glance at him and kept laughing as he bent forward and kissed her on the cheek.
"You are truly a remarkable woman, Sigrid," he whispered with no anger in his voice. "I've thought over what you said, and you're right about everything. If we gather all our forces at Arnas we will grow richer. How could any merchant have a better, more faithful wife than you?"
With downcast eyes she replied at once, softly, that no wife could ever have a kinder, more understanding husband than she did. But then she raised her glance, gazed at him gravely, and admitted that she'd had a vision in the church; all her ideas must have come from the Holy Spirit Himself, even the clever part that had to do with business.
Magnus looked a little cross, as if he didn't really believe her, almost as if she were making fun of the Holy Spirit. He was much more devout than she was, and they both knew it. Her years in the convent had not softened her in the least.
When the players finished their performance they went off to the ale tent to collect their free ale and the well-turned piece of roast they had earned. Magnus picked up his son and walked with Sigrid at his side, with Sotten respectful paces behind, and headed for the town gate; on the other side of the fence their wagons and retainers were waiting. On the way Sigrid told him about the vision that she'd had. She also offered her interpretation of the holy message.
It was well known that a difficult childbirth was often followed by another difficult one, and soon it would be time again. But by donating Varnhem she was ensured many prayers of inter-cession, and by men who were particularly knowledgeable about such prayers. She and the new child would be allowed to live.
More important, of course, was that their united lineages would now grow stronger as the power and wealth of the Arnas estate increased. The only thing she was unsure of was who the young man might be on the silver horse with the thick white mane, its long white tail raised boldly in the air. Probably not the Holy Bridegroom, at any rate. He wouldn't be likely to appear riding on a frisky stallion and carrying a shield on his arm.
Magnus was intrigued by the conundrum and pondered it a while; he began interrogating her about the size of the horses and the way they moved. Then he protested that such horses probably did not exist, and he wondered what she meant by saying that the shield had a cross of blood on it. In that case it would indeed be a red cross, but how could she know it was blood and not merely red paint?
She replied that she simply knew. The cross was red, and of blood. The shield was all white. She hadn't seen much of the young man's clothing because his shield concealed his breast, but he was wearing white garments. White, just like the Cistercians, but he was definitely no monk because he bore the shield of a warrior.
With interest Magnus asked about the shape and size of the shield, but when he found out it was heart-shaped and only big enough to protect the chest, he shook his head in disbelief and explained that he had never seen a shield like that. Shields were either big and round, like those once used when venturing out on Viking raids, or they were long and triangular so that warriors could move easily when gathered in a phalanx. A shield as small as the one she had seen in the vision would be more trouble than protection if anyone tried to use it in battle.
But no ordinary person could expect to understand every-thing in a revelation. And in the evening they would pray together, grateful that the Mother of God
had showed them her kindness and wisdom.
Sigrid sighed, feeling great relief and serenity. Now the worst was over, and all that was left was to cajole the old king so that he wouldn't pass off her gift as his own. Since the king had grown old, people had begun to worry about the number of daily prayers of intercession offered on his behalf; he had already founded two cloisters to ensure this would be done for him. Everyone knew about this, his friends as well as his enemies.
King Sverker had a ferocious hangover and was in a rage when Sigrid and Magnus entered the great hall of the royal palace. The king now had to settle a good day's worth of decisions about everything, from how the thieves caught at the market the day before were to be executed—whether they should just be hanged or tortured first—to questions regarding disputes about land and inheritance that could not be resolved at a regular ting, the assembly of noblemen.
What made him more cross than the hangover was the day's news about his next youngest son, the scoundrel, who had deceived him in a deplorable way. His son Johan had left on a plundering raid to the province of Halland in Denmark; that in itself was probably not so dangerous. Young men were liable to do such things if they wanted to gamble with their lives instead of just playing at dice. But Johan had lied about the two women he had abducted and brought home to thralldom, claiming they were foreign women he had kidnapped at random. But now a letter had arrived from the Danish king, unfortunately claiming something quite different, which no one doubted. The two women were the wife of the Danish king's jarl in Halland and her sister. It was an affront and an outrage, and anyone who was not the son of a king would have been executed at once for such a crime. The king had reprimanded him, of course. But it wasn't enough to send back the women as blithely as they had been stolen. It was going to cost a great deal of silver, no matter what; in the worst case they might have a war on their hands.
King Sverker and his closest advisers had become embroiled in such a quarrel that everyone in the hall was soon aware of the whole story. The only thing that was certain was that the women had to be returned. But agreement ended there. Some thought it would be a sign of weakness to make payments in silver; it might give the Danish king, Sven Grate, the incentive to invade, plunder, and seize land. Others thought that even a great deal of silver would be less costly than being invaded and plundered, no matter who the victor might be in such a war.
After a long, exhaustive argument the king suddenly gave a weary sigh and turned to Father Henri de Clairvaux, who sat waiting at the far end of the hall for the Luro case to be presented.
The priest's head was bowed as if in prayer, with his white cowl drawn over his face so no one could see whether he was praying or sleeping, although the latter was more likely. In any case, Father Henri hadn't been able to follow the heated discussion, and when he replied to the king's summons it sounded like Latin. As there was no other clergyman present, no one understood. The king looked angrily around the hall; red in the face, he roared, "Bring me some devil who can understand this snooty cleric language!"
Sigrid instantly saw her opportunity. She stood up and walked forward in the hall with her head bowed, curtseying deferentially first to King Sverker and then to Father Henri.
"My king, I am at your service," she said and stood waiting for his decision.
"If there is no man here who speaks that language, then so be it," the king sighed wearily again. "By the way, how is it that you speak it, Sigrid, my dear?" he added more kindly.
"I'm afraid I must admit that the only thing I really learned during my banishment to the cloister was Latin," replied Sigrid demurely. Magnus was the only man in the hall who noticed her mocking smile; she often spoke in this manner, saying one thing but meaning another.
The king promptly asked Sigrid to sit down next to Father Henri, explain the situation to him, and then ask for his view of the matter. She obeyed at once, and while she and Father Henri began a hushed conversation in the language which they alone understood among all the people in the hall, a mood of embarrassment began to spread. The men looked querulously at one another, some shrugged their shoulders, some demonstratively folded their hands and raised their eyes to heaven. A woman in the king's court among all these good men? But so be it. What was already done could not be undone.
After a while Sigrid stood up. To quiet the muttering in the hall, she explained in a loud voice that Father Henri had considered the matter and now believed that the wisest thing to do would be to force the blackguard to marry the sister of the jarl's wife. But the jarl's wife must be sent home with gifts and fine clothing, with banners and fanfare. King Sverker and his scoundrel son would thus have to refuse a dowry, so the question of silver was solved. No consideration could be given to what the knave himself thought; if he and the sister of the jarl's wife could be married, the blood bond would prevent a war. But the rascal would have to do something to pay for his roguish behavior. War would still be the most costly solution.
When Sigrid fell silent and sat down, it was quiet at first while those assembled considered the implications of the monk's proposal. But gradually a murmur of approval spread. Someone un-sheathed his sword and slammed the broadside hard on the heavy tabletop that ran along both sides of the hall. Others followed his example and soon the hall was booming with the clamor of weapons. And so the matter was decided for the time being.
King Sverker now decided to deal with the question of Varnhem at once. He waved over a scribe, who began to read aloud the document the king had ordered drawn up to confirm the matter before the law. According to the text, however, it sounded as if the gift came from the king alone.
Sigrid asked to see the document so that she could translate it for Father Henri, but she also suggested cautiously that perhaps Herr Magnus should take part in the ensuing discussion. "Certainly, certainly," said the king with a wave of dismissal, and he gestured to Magnus to step forward in the hall and take a seat next to his wife.
Sigrid quickly translated the document for Father Henri, who leaned his head back and tried to follow along in the text as Sigrid pointed. When she was ready she added hastily, so it looked as if she were still translating, that the gift was from her and not from the king, but that according to the law she needed the king's approval. Father Henri gave her a brief glance and a smile resembling her own, then nodded pensively.
" Well," said the king impatiently, as if he wanted to dispose of the matter quickly, "does the Reverend Father Henri have anything to say or suggest in this matter?"
Sigrid translated the question, looking the monk straight in the eye, and he had no trouble understanding her intentions.
"Hmm," he began cautiously, "it is a blessed deed to give to the most assiduous workers in His garden. But before God as before the law, a gift may be accepted only when one is quite certain who is the donor and who is the recipient. Is this His Majesty's own property which we will now so generously share?"
He waved his hand in a little circle as a sign to Sigrid to trans-late. She reeled off the translation in a monotone.
The king was clearly embarrassed and gave Father Henri a dark look, while Father Henri gazed at the king in a friendly manner, as if he assumed everything was in order. Sigrid said not a word, waiting.
"Yes, perhaps . . . perhaps," muttered the king self-consciously. "One might say that for the sake of the law the gift must come from the king, so that no one will be able to complain about the matter. But the gift also comes from Fru Sigrid who is here among us."
While the king hesitated, Sigrid translated what he had just said, in the same formal, monotonous voice as before. Father Henri's face brightened as if in friendly surprise when he now heard what he already knew. Then he shook his head slowly with a smile and explained, in quite simple words but with all the serpentine courtliness required when admonishing a king, that before God it would probably be more suitable to cleave to the whole truth even in formal documents. So if this letter were now drawn up again with the name of the actual
donor, and with His Majesty's approval and confirmation of the gift, then the matter would be settled and prayers of intercession could be duly vouchsafed to His Majesty as well as to the donor herself.
And so the matter was decided in just this way, precisely as Sigrid had wished. Nothing else was possible for King Sverker;
he quickly made the decision, adding that the letter should be drafted in both the vernacular and Latin; he would affix his seal to it that very day. And perhaps now they could cheer themselves up a bit by returning to the question of how and when the executions were to take place.
In Father Henri and Fru Sigrid, two souls had found each other. Or two human beings on earth with quite similar out-looks and intelligence.
The question of Varnhem was thus decided, at least for now.
Around the Feast of Filippus and Jakob, the day when the grass should be green and lush enough to let out the livestock to graze and when the fences had to be inspected, Sigrid was gripped by fright as if a cold hand had seized her heart. She felt that her time had come. But the pain vanished so quickly that it must have been her imagination.
She had been walking with little Eskil, holding his hand, head-ing down to the stream where the monks and their lay brothers were busy raising a huge mill wheel into position, using block and tackle and many draft animals.
Sigrid had spent a great deal of time at the building sites. Father Henri had patiently walked her through all of the plans. And she had taken two of her best thralls with her, Svarte, who was Sot's fecundator, and Gur, who had left his wife and brood up in Arnas. Sigrid carefully translated into their language what Father Henri had described.
Magnus had complained that she still didn't have any employment for the best thralls, at least not the male ones, down at Varnhem. They should have been busy on the construction work up at Arnas. But Sigrid had stood firm, explaining that there were many useful things to be learned from the Burgundian lay brothers and the English stonemasons Father Henri had engaged. As so often before, she had pushed her will through, although it was difficult to explain to a man from Western Gotaland that the foreigners were much better builders than local workers.