by Jan Guillou
The yearling that Arn had shot first lay dead where it was struck, and nothing else was to be expected, explained Svarte as he thoughtfully examined the kill. The arrow had gone through both of the deer's lungs and out the other side. That was why the yearling lay where it had been hit. It had felt no pain and so had not tried to run.
The doe wasn't lying where it should have been, but Svarte and Kol immediately found traces of blood. When they examined the blood they nodded to each other and then to Arn. Kol said that this doe had also been struck in the lungs and would be lying dead somewhere nearby; they would soon find it. He rammed an arrow into the ground where they found the blood,
and then he and his father bent forward and slowly surveyed the place where they all thought the third deer had been standing when Arn took his shot. They found blood on a blade of grass that they rubbed between their fingertips and then sniffed, and with that they seemed once again to know everything.
Svarte explained that this deer had been mortally wounded but not killed, and that it lay in fever two or three arrow-shots away. They could now bring the horses, for it was no use coming on her too soon. The doe must be allowed to die in peace.
When they returned with the horses it turned out that everything Svarte and Kol had said was true. The doe which Arn had shot with his last arrow also lay dead, although farther away. Svarte showed how Arn's arrow had struck a bit too far back, but when Arn apologized in shame, Svarte couldn't help smiling, even though he tried not to show it. He explained gravely that even if a deer was standing in precisely the right spot when the arrow was loosed, it might well take a small step forward as the arrow was on its way. That was what had happened.
Toward dusk they hunted deer again but without success. Svarte said that it was because the breeze had subsided and was unreliable, so the deer easily got wind of the humans no matter how they moved.
They were still in a very good mood when darkness fell, and the three deer they had taken hung in a row from a strong oak bough. They had indeed had good hunting that day.
By the campfire Svarte and Kol offered the deer's hearts to their gods, possibly believing that their master's son did not understand what they were doing when they turned their backs and muttered over the fire in their own language. When they were about to eat supper, however, Svarte and his son found themselves in a quandary. Kol had gone and fetched fresh hazel branches which he placed over the fire after it had died down, and on the osiers they skewered small pieces of liver and kidneys with some onion that Svarte took from one of his leather bags. To the amazement of the two thralls, Arn immediately showed himself willing to share their meal, although they all knew that such food was only for thralls. But Arn ate with the same appetite as the others, and even wanted another helping, pushing aside his salt pork. This served to bring all of them closer together and they felt less strained.
When they lay down, sated and full, by the fire and wrapped their cloaks tighter around them for the night, Svarte ventured to ask whether it was in the cloister of the White Christ that Arn had learned to shoot with bow and arrow in that way. Arn, who had by now realized that he had shot well, explained that it was not at all normal for monks to shoot with a bow and arrow, but that he had been especially fortunate to have a very skilled teacher. Svarte and Kol laughed loudly at this, and Kol said that they would very much like to meet this teacher. But when Arn replied in a jesting tone that such might indeed be arranged as long as Kol and Svarte agreed to be baptized, their faces clouded over and they stared silently into the fire.
As if to gloss over his offensive joke, Arn said that whatever they thought about the cloister of the White Christ, it was still a world where there were no thralls, a world where each man had the same value as every other man. But he received only silence in reply. Yet he didn't want to drop the subject, so he asked in words as clear and simple as he could muster why Svarte and Kol were still thralls as they had been ever since Arn was a little boy. Many others had been given their freedom, so why not Svarte and his family?
Svarte, who now had to reply no matter how unwilling he felt, reluctantly explained that whether a thrall could be set free or not depended on what each person had accomplished. The thralls who worked the land were more often set free than those who worked in masonry or as hunters. Those who tilled the earth
were put to work breaking new ground for Arnas and were given their freedom in lieu of a leasehold. But hunting for pelts in the winter and for meat in the autumn provided game directly to the households of Arnas. A thrall engaged in such activities could not become a free man, since he did not work for the main estate itself. And the same applied to all masonry work, and smithing too for that matter. Feeling that he may have gone too far and spoken too boldly, Svarte now added that he wasn't complaining; many of the carpenters were in the same situation.
Arn pondered a moment as the others waited quietly, and then he said that he found this system unfair since, if he understood it right, ermine and marten pelts brought in much silver, probably as much as barley, turnips, and wheat. Kol laughed almost scornfully at this, and when Arn asked him why, Kol said with mirth in his voice that it was probably hard to find a way to make thralldom fair. Svarte kicked him in the leg under the skin rug to make him shut his trap.
But Arn was not the least bit angry at Kol's boldness. On the contrary, he nodded to himself and then offered an apology for having such ill-conceived thoughts; Kol was absolutely right. But he himself would never, could never, own another man as a thrall.
Since Svarte and Kol had not a single word to say about this matter, their conversation died out. Arn said evening prayers for all of them, wrapped himself in his cloak and skins in a way that showed he had slept outside before, and lay down to sleep. He then pretended not to listen as the other two lay whispering to each other.
But Kol and Svarte had a hard time falling asleep. They lay close together for the sake of warmth as they were used to doing, but for a long time they wondered about this master's son and his peculiar gods.
*
They got up early because of the night frost, well before dawn, and made a breakfast of the soup that Kol had begun to prepare the previous evening. It had been sitting on the fire all night. Svarte and Kol had taken turns putting on more wood and adding water to the pot. Along with the soup made from onions and the yearling's flanks, they ate coarse brown bread, and soon the warmth returned to their bodies.
It was a beautiful morning, and when they rode with their heavy loads down the slopes of Kinnekulle through the sparse oak forest, all the lands of Arnas lay spread out at their feet. They rode into the rising sun that colored Lake Vanern first in silver and then in gold, and Arn took deep happy breaths of the bracing air. In the distance he saw a reflection from the steeple of Forshem church, and then he could search in the right direction for Arnas, though he couldn't see it yet.
The slopes of the mountain were mostly covered with dense oak forest and beech woods, but below the mountain great plowed fields spread out, now lying black and silvered with frost. Arn had never thought the world could be this beautiful; God must have created these particular oak slopes and fields in a very propitious moment. He began to sing with joy but saw out of the corner of his eye that his singing seemed to scare Svarte and Kol, so he soon stopped. He pondered whether to ask them what they didn't like about his song, whether it was the White Christ's magic that frightened them or something else. But he changed his mind because he decided that he had to proceed very slowly in his talk with these two who were so much thralls in their minds that freedom seemed to alarm them more than it tempted them.
During their journey the sun climbing in the sky soon melted the frost on the ground and took away the hard sound of the horses' iron shoes. The vast inland sea of Lake Vanern had
shifted to a blue color, but they had now come so far down the mountain that they soon would see no more of the sea until they reached home.
They arrived at Arnas around noo
n and were greeted with glad shouts that after such a brief hunting trip they could ride in with three deer. The house thralls were happy that Arn was the one who had shot the deer, and they raised their tools or whatever they had in hand and beat them together over their heads, emitting trilling sounds with their tongues. That was the sound the thralls made in welcome and jubilation. Arn couldn't help feeling some pride at this reception, but he instantly said a prayer to Saint Bernard to keep watch over him and warn him of the terrible sin of pride.
They flayed and carved up the deer and carried the skins to the tannery. But now they were no longer out on the hunt, where Arn was a novice. Just as Svarte and Kol could teach him about blood traces and crackling footsteps in the frost, he could teach them how meat should be smoked or hung, and so he now found it natural to make all the decisions.
Algot Palsson at Husaby owned many farms and woods, but in his own estimation only two treasures. They were his two daughters Katarina and Cecilia, who had now left their childhood behind and were blossoming like two delightful flowers. They were both the light of his eyes, he often said aloud. But since they also displayed clear signs of untamed mind and flirtatious behavior, especially Katarina, who was the older of the two, they were also his greatest worry. But he said nothing of this out loud.
When Katarina was twelve years old he had almost married her off to Magnus Folkesson at Arnas, and that would have been a great happiness, just as good as a royal marriage. Or even better than royalty, considering how his fields and farms were surrounded by property belonging to either the Folkung or the Erik clan. To be sure, he was King Karl Sverkersson's steward at Husaby itself, which was a royal farm. It was honorable to tend such a place, but being associated so closely with King Karl Sverkersson was not without risks in Western Gotaland, for as strong as the Sverker clan was in Eastern Gotaland, it was equally weak in Western Gotaland. On the day that King Karl was killed by one of the others, as kings usually ended their days, it would not be easy to be living at Husaby as his man.
Which is why the best arrangement would have been if Katarina became the mistress of Arnas. Then Algot would truly not have put all his eggs in one basket. No matter which clan won the contest for royal power, his clan would be properly allied, securing both their lives and their property.
But it had all come to naught because Magnus Folkesson in the end preferred to marry into the Erik clan instead. Algot could not blame Magnus for this wise move at the same time as he bemoaned his own misfortune. However, it was not too late to solidify a secure position, for Magnus did have a son who was the same age as Katarina and Cecilia, and Eskil would in time become the lord of Arnas. With a little good will such a betrothal might actually be viewed as a better solution, since otherwise Katarina would have been forced to marry a man in his best years when she was but a child herself.
Still, there was a problem with his daughters' unsuitable behavior. In their associations with young men neither of them displayed the modesty that a father might desire, and since this behavior harmed their reputation and in the worst case risked making it impossible to marry them off, Algot had decided to separate his daughters. When Katarina was home, Cecilia was a novice at the convent in Gudhem. Now it would soon be Katarina's turn to go to Gudhem, and she had not a good thing to say about the matter.
It cost a good deal of silver for the nuns to keep the daughters at Gudhem, and silver was the only payment they accepted. But it was worth it, according to Algot, for what he laid out for his daughters would come back sevenfold if they married well. And besides, it gave him a convenient reason to do business with Magnus Folkesson, who was thought to have a limitless amount of silver in his treasure chests. By selling oak forests to Arnas, Algot obtained the silver he needed, as well as many opportunities, after the business was concluded, to speak of his daughters' good manners, for which the money would be used. In this way he was often able to remind Magnus about the halfway-broken promise of marriage and about the fact that Katarina and Cecilia might still prove a good bargain for both men.
Algot Palsson had heard only vague rumors about Magnus Folkesson's second son, who was sent to the monastery at a very young age and had now returned to Arnas. What was said about the boy, however, was not intended to give him great honor, since he was deemed half a monk.
And Arn, as he was called, was obvious to everyone when he came riding in one cold and misty autumn evening two weeks before the big Western Gotaland ting at Axevalla. He had two thralls with him, and they were heavily loaded with deer and swine that they now wanted to offer as Husaby's share of their hunt. Magnus Folkesson and Algot had come to an agreement regarding hunting on Algot's land, which was sometimes a better hunting ground than the one down by Arnas, since the swine in particular made for the acorn woods in the autumn. A fourth of the catch was to be sent to Algot at Husaby as reimbursement.
Their hunt must have been very successful since everything they had with them was to be unloaded at Husaby. When that was done, their intent was to ride home at once, since the older thrall said he could find the way even in the dark.
But Algot objected. Allowing someone to ride off into the night would be ill mannered to those who came with such excel-lent meat. Besides, he quickly realized that it might seem quite providential to introduce Katarina to a son of Arnas in this God-given way, even though Arn was the poorer of the two. It might make her prefer the eldest son.
And so a little feast was now arranged at Husaby just before All Saints' Day, when winter was near. After the horses were unsaddled and settled in their stalls, the meat was taken off to be flayed and prepared by Husaby's spit-turners, and Arn's thrall companions sent off to the thrall house. Then Katarina came to her father and suggested with an innocent expression that they shouldn't let the guest sleep in the longhouse with all the others, for at Arnas they had more refined customs. Instead she would arrange it so that Arn had his own bed in one of the guesthouses which they were just about to close up for the winter. Algot merely grunted curt approval of this arrangement without either understanding or wanting to understand what sort of intentions Katarina might have.
Arn felt great embarrassment because he had never been anyone's guest before, and he wasn't sure how to act. He knew enough from Arnas that it was considered an insult if one ate and drank too little. So as he unsaddled and curried Shimal he decided with a deep sigh to try to eat and drink like a pig so that his father would not be ashamed of how he behaved away from Arnas. Fortunately, they'd had no food for many hours, so he had no lack of hunger, at least.
He went out to wash himself at the spring in the courtyard, where he saw that thralls had gathered. He realized as soon as he started washing that he was not behaving as a guest should. The thralls, startled and snickering, moved away as they pointed at him behind his back. But he wasn't about to give up this habit of washing, he thought. For even though he had to eat like a pig he didn't want to smell like one.
He lay down to rest for a while on the low wooden bed they had assigned to him and stared up at the ceiling, where he pictured clear images of deer and wild boar in the flickering of the candle flame. He was glad that he had accomplished something that his father was bound to appreciate more than his masonry work. With this consoling thought and with the wild animals before his eyes he fell asleep.
When a house thrall came and cautiously woke him it was pitch-dark; several hours must have passed since he went to sleep. In shock he jumped up at once, worried that it might seem as if he was declining his host's invitation, which would not likely be taken well. But the house thrall calmed him and said that the feast was just now starting, and all he had to do was come along. It had taken a good long time to roast the meat.
When Arn stepped into the dark hall at Husaby he felt himself transported back to ancient times. The long dark room was supported by two rows of carved pillars; Arn guessed that the roof was heavy with turf and earth and needed this support. Along the roof ridge were three smoke vents with lids
over them, but he still felt some scattered raindrops on his face as he walked past the long log fire placed in the middle of the hall. The square pillars were decorated on all sides up to the height of a man with red patterns of winding dragons and mythological beasts. Similar patterns were visible around the high seat and the sleeping places in the corners at the end of the hall. This seemed to Arn a heathen, dismal, and cold abode.
He discovered that Algot and his daughter Katarina had dressed in feast clothes, as had the four men sitting around the high seat who were strangers to him. This made him uneasy, since he was wearing hunting garb of rough wool and deerskin. But he wouldn't have been able to do much about that. And now they all looked at him as if they expected him to do something. He greeted them with God's peace and bowed to them all, first to the lord and his daughter Katarina. He saw that she smiled a bit scornfully at him and surmised that he probably should have done and said something more.
But Algot Palsson found no reason to plunge his important but awkward guest into more embarrassment. He stepped down from the high seat at once and took Arn by the arm to offer him the chair at his right hand, which was the place of honor. Then he called for the huge drinking horn, which according to tradition had been at Husaby since the time of Olof Skotkonung, the first Swedish king to be baptized, in 1008, in the spring at Husaby. Algot solemnly handed the horn to Arn and thereby the feast commenced.
Arn couldn't help studying the drinking horn for a moment before he raised it to his lips. At first he didn't think about how heavy it was, instead noticing all the heathen images that adorned it. The Christian cross seemed to have been added much later, as if to gloss over the sin. Realizing that he was no doubt expected to swill down the ale like an animal, he took a deep breath and then did his best to drink until he choked, with the others watching him intently. Panting, he set down the horn, but more than a third of the ale remained. Algot took the horn from him and quickly emptied it out onto the floor. Then he turned the horn upside down, and the others pounded on the table with their palms as a sign that the guest had honored their house by drinking it to the bottom. Arn already sensed that this supper was not something he would remember with pleasure.