Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (2 page)

But now Brother Guilbert could no longer hold back all the questions he had been wanting to ask since the first moment he saw this man, whom he believed to be a prodigal son standing in the receptorium, dripping with rain and muddy from his long journey. Arn began recounting his lengthy story.

The young, innocent Arn Magnusson, who once set out from Varnhem to serve in the Holy War until death or until twenty years had passed, which was usually the same thing, no longer existed. It was no untainted knight Perceval who had come back from the war.

Brother Guilbert understood this almost at once when the conversation with Father Guillaume commenced out in the cloister. It had turned into a radiantly beautiful morning with not a cloud in the sky and no wind, so Father Guillaume had taken his unusual guest and Brother Guilbert out to the conversation area by the stone benches in the cloister garden instead of summoning them to the parlatorium. There they now sat with their feet practically on top of Father Henri’s grave, because he and his broken seal had been laid to rest
right here, just as he had instructed on his deathbed. They had begun their meeting by praying for Father Henri’s eternal bliss.

Brother Guilbert watched carefully as Arn began presenting his business to Father Guillaume. The latter listened attentively and kindly, and as usual with a rather patronizing expression, as if in the presence of someone who knew less than he did. Father Guillaume was a talented theologian, that was indisputable, but he was not very good at seeing through a Templar knight, thought Brother Guilbert as he soon realized what Arn was getting at.

There were obvious indications on Arn’s face that he had not been one of those monks who served the Lord by copying manuscripts or keeping accounts. He must have spent the greater part of his time in the Holy Land in the saddle with sword and lance. Only now did Brother Guilbert notice the black border at the bottom of Arn’s mantle that showed he held the rank of a fortress master in the Knights Templar and thus was in command of both war and trade. Arn would probably be able to convince the younger and less experienced Father Guillaume to go along with whatever he wished, without the latter realizing what he was doing.

As his first response to the question of why he had returned to Varnhem, Arn had said that he had come to deliver a donation of no less than ten marks in gold. Varnhem, after all, had been the place where the brothers had raised him, with the help of God, and ten marks in gold was truly no small sum to express his gratitude. In addition, he wanted his future resting place to be next to his mother, inside the church under the centre aisle.

Confronted with such good and Christian proposals, young Father Guillaume became just as accommodating as Brother Guilbert imagined that Arn must have intended. Arn made an even better impression when he excused himself, went
over to the ox-carts in the courtyard, and returned with a heavy, clinking leather sack, which he handed to Father Guillaume with the utmost respect and a deep bow.

Father Guillaume clearly had a hard time resisting the temptation to open the leather purse and begin counting the gold.

Then Arn made his next move. He spoke for a moment about Varnhem’s beautiful horses, about what a shame it was that his kinsmen in this northern land did not understand the true value of these animals. He also mentioned the great and commendable work that his old friend Brother Guilbert had done without recompense to care for and improve the breeding of the horses for so many years. He added that many diligent workers in the vineyards of the Lord received their wages long after their work was done, while others who may have come late to the work received their wages more promptly. Father Guillaume solemnly pondered this familiar example of how the human view of justice so often seemed to deviate from God’s intention. Then Arn suggested that he buy all of Varnhem’s horses, and for a very good price. In this way, he was quick to add before Father Guillaume could recover from his astonishment, Varnhem would finally receive payment for its arduous labour. The cloister would also be quit of a business that produced no income up here in the North, all with a single decision.

Arn then fell silent and waited to continue until Father Guillaume had collected himself enough to utter words of gratitude.

There might be a small catch to such a large settlement, Arn was quick to add. Because for the care of the horses the buyer would need a skilled man; that person was here in Varnhem and was none other than Brother Guilbert. On the other hand, if Brother Guilbert’s most important work vanished with the horses…?

Father Guillaume then suggested that Brother Guilbert’s services be included in the purchase to assist the buyer, at least for a time…no, for as long as necessary. Arn nodded gratefully as if acknowledging a very wise decision. Brother Guilbert, who was now observing his face closely, could see not a single sign to reveal whether this had been Arn’s intention all along. He looked as though upon reflection he was agreeing with the wisdom of Father Guillaume’s proposal. Then he suggested that they see to having the donation documents drawn up, signed, and sealed that very day, since both parties happened to be present.

When Father Guillaume immediately agreed to this as well, Arn spread out his hands in a gesture of gratitude and relief. Then he asked both monks to share with him information of the type that only men of the cloth might know, about how things really stood in his homeland.

As he was swift to point out, down at the marketplace in Lödöse he had already learned who was king, jarl, and queen. He also knew that there had been peace in the country for a long time. But the answer to the question of whether this peace between the Goth lands and the Swedes to the north would last in years to come could only be learned from the men of the church, for only they were privy to the deeper truths.

Father Guillaume looked pleased at this thought, and he nodded in agreement and approval, but he still seemed unsure of what Arn wanted to know. Arn helped him out by asking a concise but very difficult question which he presented in a low voice with no change in expression.

‘Will there be war in our land again, and if so, why and when?’

The two monks frowned for a moment in contemplation. Brother Guilbert answered first, with Father Guillaume’s assent, by saying that as long as King Knut Eriksson and his
jarl Birger Brosa held power, there was no danger of war. The question was, what would happen after King Knut’s demise.

‘Then the risk of a new war would be great,’ sighed Father Guillaume.

He recounted how at the previous year’s church convocation in Linköping the new Archbishop Petrus had clearly demonstrated to the men of the church where he stood. He was a supporter of the Sverker dynasty, and he had received his pallium from the Danish Archbishop Absalon in Lund. This same Absalon had plotted against the Erik dynasty and wanted to restore the royal crown of the Goths and Swedes to the Sverkers. There was also a means for achieving that goal, though King Knut Eriksson undoubtedly knew as little about it as he knew that his new archbishop was a man of the Danes and Sverkers. Bishop Absalon in Lund possessed a letter from the blessed Abbess Rikissa which she had dictated on her deathbed. In this letter she recounted how King Knut’s queen Cecilia Blanca, during the time she had spent among the novices at Gudhem convent, had taken vows of chastity and pledged to remain forever a handmaiden of the Lord. Since King Knut later brought Cecilia Blanca from Gudhem and made her his queen, and she later bore him four sons and two daughters…

It could therefore be claimed that the king’s children were illegitimate and had no right to the crown, Arn quickly summed up. Had the Holy Father in Rome given his opinion on this matter?

No, since a new Pope had just been elected, taking the name Celestinus III, they still knew nothing about what opinion the Holy See might have regarding legitimate or illegitimate royal progeny in Götaland. Surely there were greater problems demanding the immediate attention of the one who had been elevated to the Holy See.

‘But if none of King Knut’s sons could succeed him,’ Arn said, and it sounded more like a statement than a question, ‘then might not Archbishop Petrus and possibly other bishops propose a Sverker kinsman as the new king? It would not be entirely unexpected.’

The two monks nodded in gloomy affirmation. Arn sat in thought for a moment before he stood up with an expression that showed he had already dismissed these minor concerns. He thanked the monks for the valuable information, and suggested that they proceed immediately to the scriptorium to weigh the gold accurately and to have the donation documents drawn up and stamped with the proper seal.

Father Guillaume, who for a moment had thought that the conversation had taken a quite base and uninteresting turn, accepted this suggestion at once.

The odd caravan of heavily laden ox-carts escorted by light and fast Saracen horses left Varnhem cloister the next morning on the way to Skara, the market town and bishop’s see in the middle of Western Götaland, eight miles due west of Varnhem. Brother Guilbert was part of all the newly purchased goods – that was his ironic view of the sudden change in his life. Arn had bought him as easily as he had bought his gravesite, the horses, and almost all the saddle tack and bridles that were made at Varnhem. Brother Guilbert could not have had it any other way even if he had protested, since Father Guillaume seemed dazzled by the payments in gold from Arn. Instead of quietly awaiting the end of his life in Varnhem, Brother Guilbert was now riding with strangers toward an unknown destination, and he found that to be an exceedingly good situation. He had no idea what sort of plans Arn might have, but he didn’t believe that all these horses had been bought merely to please the eye.

The Saracen knights who were in the lead – and it was
no secret to Brother Guilbert that they were Saracens – seemed childishly enchanted at being able to continue their long journey on horseback. This was easy to understand, especially since they were allowed to ride such magnificent steeds. It occurred to Brother Guilbert that now Saint Bernard in his Heaven must be teasing his monk who once had despaired that anyone would ever want to buy Varnhem’s horses, and in his powerlessness had shrieked that he would settle for Saracen buyers at the very least. Now these unexpected Saracens rode along, joking loudly and talking all around him. At the oxen-reins sat men who spoke other languages. Brother Guilbert had still not figured them out – who they were or where they had come from.

But there was one big problem. What Arn had done was a type of deception which the young and naïve Father Guillaume hadn’t had the wit to see through, blinded as he was by all that gold. Yet a Templar knight was allowed to own no more than a monk in Varnhem cloister. Any Templar knight who was discovered with a single gold coin would immediately have to relinquish his white mantle and leave the Templar order in disgrace.

Brother Guilbert decided that the unpleasant matter should be broached sooner rather than later, which was how every Templar knight had learned to think. He urged on his dapple grey, rode up alongside Arn at the head of the column, and asked him the question straight out.

But Arn did not seem to take offence at the troublesome query. He merely smiled and turned his exquisite stallion – which was from Outremer but of a type that Brother Guilbert did not know – and galloped back to one of the last carts in the column. He leaped onto it and began searching for something among the loaded goods.

He remounted his horse and was back at once with a water-tight leather roll which he handed without a word to
Brother Guilbert, who opened it with as much trepidation as curiosity.

It was a document in three languages, signed by the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Gérard de Ridefort. It said that Arn de Gothia, after twenty years of service as a provisional brother, had now left his position in the Order of the Knights Templar, released from his obligations by the Grand Master himself. But because of all the services he had rendered to the Order, whenever he desired and at his own discretion he had the right to wear the white mantle with the same status he’d enjoyed before he left the Order.

‘So you see, my dear Brother Guilbert,’ Arn said, taking the document, rolling it up and inserting it carefully back into the leather sheath, ‘I am a Templar knight and yet not. And to be honest, I can’t see there is any great harm done if someone who has so long served the crimson cross should occasionally seek protection behind it.’

At first it was not quite clear to Brother Guilbert what Arn meant by that. But after they had ridden for a while, Arn began to talk about his homeward journey, and then his words about taking protection behind the blood-red cross made more sense.

Arn had bought, taken captive, or employed in his service the men who now rode with him in the column on the roads all over Outremer, where everyone had become everyone else’s foe and where a Saracen who served the Christians was just as much at risk as a Christian who served the Saracens. But putting together a ship’s crew and a group of men who would be of good use when travelling the long way back to Western Götaland had not been the hard part.

Brother Guilbert studied his friend’s face now and then when he thought Arn wasn’t looking. He found nothing in Arn’s outward appearance that surprised him. Had someone asked him to guess how Arn might look if, against all logic,
he survived twenty years as a Templar knight in Outremer, Brother Guilbert would have guessed at something like this: A blond beard that had not yet begun to grey but had nevertheless lost its lustre. All Templar knights wore beards, of course. Short hair as well. White scars on his hands and all over his face, the marks of arrows and swords and perhaps an axe-blow over one eyebrow which made that eye seem a bit stiff. This was more or less the appearance that he would have guessed. The war in Outremer had been no banquet.

But there was an unease inside Arn that could not be as easily discerned with a mere glance. He had already admitted the day before that he considered his service in the Holy War to be finished, and his reasons were good. But now that Arn was riding the last day’s march toward home and with great wealth besides – which was truly an unusual way for a Templar knight to return – he should have felt happier, exhilarated and full of eager plans. Instead there was a great sense of unease about him, something resembling fear, if that word could be applied to a Templar knight. There was still much to understand and to question.