The Road To Jerusalem (16 page)

But this was something he had to keep to himself. If he said such a thing out loud he would be disdained, or regarded as crazy. Not even to Eskil could he admit these thoughts about a woman who was after all Eskil’s mother.

While the ice on the lakes still held, there now came a summons to another clan
ting
in Bjalbo. Magnus set off with a small retinue and Eskil. For the first time his son would be allowed to take part in the men’s council and therefore he admonished him not to interfere, drink too much, or say anything, but to listen and learn.

Birger Brosa received his brother and nephew with great warmth and from the start offered them more hospitality than other kinsmen. Magnus could not tell whether this had to do with brotherly love or with Birger Brosa’s plans concerning the matters they would soon be disputing. But he enjoyed being treated as a worthy man, even though the gathering now included several men who were great warriors with scars from many battles. In those days such things were valued much more highly than silver. The fattest bishop could own great quantities of silver, but that did not make him a great man.

The first days were devoted only to the pleasures of hospitality, and they all spoke freely about what there might be to discuss with regard to kinsmen who were unable to attend; for example, the Norwegian kinsmen, who at the moment were at war, as usual. In this way they could also wait for those who arrived somewhat later because a winter road was impassable or the ice too dark and unreliable. Hence no one would come too late for discussions that had already been decided while they were far away swearing and groaning, struggling with a broken or overturned sleigh.

But once they all had gathered, deliberations began in the largest hall in the tower. What was surprising to many, including Magnus and Eskil, was that they gathered for the council immediately after the midday prayers were held in the tower’s lower chapel, and this without eating. The roasts had just begun to be turned and would not be ready for many hours.

Birger Brosa, who had introduced this new arrangement, believed that their forefathers’ custom of eating, drinking, and holding council simultaneously undoubtedly had its merits. Ale loosened the bonds of the tongue and no one felt timid when discussing things that affected them all. But sometimes the ale could loosen the tongue so much that nothing sensible was decided, or no one remembered the next day what had been decided. And sometimes kinsmen parted on bad terms.

Instead this council began in a cold hall where they had to sit with their cloaks wrapped around them, with only a few braziers that had been brought in.

The big question was the clan’s allegiance to Karl Sverkersson. No one considered him a powerful king; no one thought that he could protect the kingdom if the Danes or plunderers from across the Eastern Sea fell upon the country—even less if the Norwegians came, but they were usually fully occupied killing one another. Yet was the time truly ripe for their own clan to enter the fray over the royal crowns?

Birger Brosa said that while he was convinced the time would come, it was not yet upon them. The clan stood stronger in Eastern Gotaland than in Western Gotaland, but Eastern Gotaland was also the country where King Karl stood strongest and had the most kinsmen, especially in Linkoping and the surrounding regions. In order to prevail, the Western Goths would need to turn out to a man to wage a battle over some king’s crown, though most of them cared not a whit about it. That would never happen.

So it was wisest to keep their own counsel for now, to support King Karl and let no one know that their support could cease like a bolt from the blue if the conditions proved right.

Instead they would patiently continue to reinforce the clan the way they had always done, through wise marriages. And an excellent opportunity now presented itself since Birger Brosa could no longer evade that obligation, no matter how pleasant it might be for him to live as a young lord without the responsibilities that God placed upon all men sooner or later.

Birger Brosa went on, and now everyone listened attentively with no bellowing, snoring, or loud shouts for ale to disturb their thoughts: Through his brother Magnus, the clan had a bond with the Norwegian king, Magnus Sigurdsen. However, King Magnus had been defeated by Harald Gille, and the king’s power would pass to Harald’s sons, as things now stood. This was the opinion of everyone who had any understanding of the Norsemen’s doings. Although when it came to the Norwegians, one could never be absolutely sure, since everything could change with a single blow of the sword, turning a kinsman of the king into a kinsman in exile.

Now, however, Birger Brosa volunteered to go on a courting expedition to Norway in order to become betrothed to one of Harald Gille’s daughters, either Solveig or Brigida, whichever would be deemed most suitable. That would strengthen the clan’s bond with Norway, no matter how long the Norsemen continued killing each other. Birger would then be married into Harald Gille’s clan, and his brother Magnus into Magnus Sigurdsen’s clan.

The men turned and twisted the problem in their minds for a while. Another possibility, of course, would be for Birger to marry into Karl Sverkersson’s clan. But that might prove foolhardy instead of a lucky stroke, because what use would it be to become a kinsman if one day the king’s crown was passed to Karl’s son, if he had one. No, reinforcing the bond with Norway would be a safer and with time probably a wiser move. The matter was thus concluded, and no more needed to be said about this marriage.

Then came the question of whom Magnus ought to court. His period of mourning for Sigrid had expired, and he was a good prospect, with plenty of land and great wealth, which always made things easier. But the question was who would be the wisest choice.

First Magnus had to tell them his own thoughts on the matter. Not entirely sure of his voice, or of how he should choose his words, he took the floor. If he married into the Pal clan in Husaby, another strong clan in Western Gotaland would be bound together with Bjalbo. Besides, it was advantageous that his own land and that of the Pal clan adjoined each other; a marriage would thus mean that a large portion of the shore of Lake Vanern would end up legally bound together. This meant that they would acquire a stronger grip over trade in all of Western Gotaland, since Lake Vanern for the greater part of the year was the most important link to Lodose, as well as to Denmark and Norway. There were two daughters at Husaby, and both were fair but rather young.

When Magnus sat down he could hear from the muttering and whispering of his kinsmen that they thought he had spoken well, but were not completely convinced. He surmised that someone might have other plans for him, and in that case it was not difficult to reckon who would wax eloquent.

Quite rightly Birger Brosa demanded the floor, first speaking in words of praise for his older brother, his profits and shrewdness in business, and his willingness to make a good marriage in order to strengthen the clan and please his kinsmen.

But soon his tone turned curt and harsh as he described how more audacious and more important bonds were needed for the sake of all their kinsmen. The clan of Erik had in no way given up its struggle for the crown, although they had made exacting inquiries. In Norway Erik Jedvardsson’s greedy widow was plotting revenge and raising her sons to be future contenders for the throne. The clan of Erik was strong south of Skara and also had offshoots in Svealand. It was a clan that they would be wise to count a friend rather than a foe.

Erik Jedvardsson’s brother Joar was the owner of one of the farms outside Eriksberg, and he had a daughter, his eldest and not very fair, but for whom he would no doubt gladly hold a betrothal ale even for a man less wealthy than Magnus.

Magnus sighed when he heard his younger brother present this proposal. He already knew how it would turn out. His own blood would be used to bind the clan to a future important enemy or a future important ally. About this matter he could say nothing but that it sounded wise. So be it.

Eskil, who was having a hard time seeing the logic in choosing kinsmen among those who killed instead of those who had the right sort of wealth, gave his father a distressed look. He knew how it would turn out. He would soon have a new stepmother, about whom he knew nothing except that she was evidently not very fair.

Never had Arn seen Brother Guilbert as happy as the day the new horses arrived. There was a stallion, two mares, and a colt, and they were led in at once to their own pasture so that they wouldn’t mix with the Nordic horses. They seemed to be in fine condition. Their journey had not been arduous in such a good season with plenty of grazing and water along the way. They had returned with Father Henri from one of his constant journeys to the general chapter in Citeaux. Since Father Henri and the brothers who accompanied him had traveled most of the way on foot, as usual, and since the two heavy wagons with traveling goods had been pulled by donkeys, the horses seemed to be thoroughly rested.

It was always a big event at the monastery when Father Henri returned from the general chapter. All the monks faithfully obeyed and for the most part honestly applied the rule of charity, but they were also eager for everything else he brought: the news, the letters, the new books, the knowledge of what was happening out in the secular world as well as in the ecclesiastical circles, as well as all the kernels, seeds, and cuttings that Brother Lucien cast himself upon with the enthusiasm of a child. Finally the monks were also eager to receive the cheeses and casks of wine that at least the Burgundian brothers had a hard time living without, just as the Provencal cooks had a hard time imagining cloister life without a new supply of certain herbs that Brother Lucien had not managed to grow in the harsh Danish climate.

Many of the brothers had difficulty observing the discipline and dignity that such a homecoming demanded, although they first had to celebrate mass to mark Father Henri’s return. And it was always longer than usual because the choir had learned some new songs, or old songs were presented in new voicings for this occasion, with prayers of thanksgiving for the father’s return. Arn, who still retained his lovely soprano voice, had a particularly difficult time at such masses.

But afterward the brothers would stream out of the church chattering happily like small boys in anticipation of the ceremonies, led by Father Henri, which would begin as they unpacked the heaps of baggage. Father Henri read through his list, checking off each item and distributing God’s gifts. Some brothers then went off whispering and giggling with glee with a longawaited volume in their hands, while others praised the Lord with more dignity. The same was true of those who received new items for the garden or the kitchen.

But this time Brother Guilbert slipped away with Arn, taking him by the arm to show him the finest gift of all, though none of the other monks had any understanding of such matters: the new horses.

When they reached the pasture Arn tried hard to understand what was making the otherwise restrained Brother Guilbert so visibly excited. To Arn’s eye these horses did indeed differ a great deal from ordinary horses. They were leaner and livelier, they moved all the time as if they were nervous at being cooped up, they ran back and forth with catlike soft movements with their tails held high. Their faces looked a little wider and more triangular than those of Nordic horses, and their eyes were very big and intelligent. Their color was different. One of the mares was reddish-brown like many other horses, but had a big gray spot down her left shoulder, while her half-grown foal was almost white with gray shading. The stallion and the other mare were dapple gray in color.

More than this Arn was unable to judge, even though he had worked a long time in the second most important of Brother Guilbert’s workshops, the horseshoe smithy. Arn could shoe a horse so that neither Brother Guilbert nor any of the lay brothers had to redo his work.

Brother Guilbert stood silently leaning over the fence of the enclosure with tears in his eyes as he looked at the horses, as if he were far away in his thoughts. Arn waited expectantly.

To the boy’s surprise, Brother Guilbert suddenly began talking to the stallion in a language Arn had never heard before; he didn’t understand a word of it. But the stallion seemed to pay attention at once. He stopped and pricked up his ears toward Brother Guilbert, and after a brief hesitation calmly approached him. Brother Guilbert then rubbed his face against the horse’s muzzle in an unbecoming way and again spoke the strange language.

“Come, my boy, we’re going to go riding, you and I. You can take the colt,” said Brother Guilbert, swinging in under the fence and pulling Arn with him.

“But the colt . . . that won’t work, will it? He isn’t broken yet, is he?” Arn objected with obvious hesitation in his voice.

“Come here and I’ll show you, it’s not necessary!” said Brother Guilbert, calling the little colt, who came trotting over.

What happened then seemed to Arn like a miracle. Brother Guilbert stroked the colt over his muzzle and cheeks and neck, again speaking the foreign language, which the horses seemed to understand better than French or Latin. After a moment he simply lifted Arn up with one arm like a mitten so that Arn ended up astride the horse. The boy automatically grabbed hold of the colt’s mane so he could hold on tight when the bucking started; he had helped break horses before, but never from the very first day.

The next moment Brother Guilbert swung himself up onto the stallion in one fluid movement; he seemed to fly up, and the stallion instantly set off on a wild gallop around the pasture. There sat Brother Guilbert bareback, holding lightly onto the stallion’s mane with one hand, leaning daringly into the sharpest curves, yelling one thing after another to the horse in that odd language.

Arn’s young colt was soon infected by the glee and began running around too, although at a jerky, more infantile gait. But soon the two of them were galloping faster and faster. In his delight Arn began mimicking Brother Guilbert’s foreign language, as if intoxicated by the speed and the wind.