The Road To Jerusalem (34 page)

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 Ka tarina’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 excellent meat. Besides, he quickly realized that it might seem quite providential to introduce Katarina to a son of Arnas in this Godgiven 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.

Then the roast meat and more ale in huge tankards were brought in and served to everyone. The meat proved to be a deer roasted on a spit and a young pig roasted the same way. As Arn expected, the venison tasted tough and dry and unspiced except for salt, which had been liberally applied. They had roasted an animal that had been alive that very morning, something that Brother Rugiero would have viewed as a sin almost as serious as blasphemy. Arn vowed not to betray his thoughts or complain about anything, so he praised the excellent meat, drank eagerly of his ale, and smacked his lips in contentment, because that was what people did. Yet he had a hard time finding anything to say, and Algot had to help him along by asking about the hunt. Any man given the chance to brag about his hunt would become as voluble as a bard, even if he was otherwise taciturn.

But Arn didn’t know what to do when offered an opportunity to boast, and he replied briefly, instead praising his thralls as skilled hunters. This was not received well by the host and hostess. So at the beginning of the feast the conversation dragged along reluctantly, like a forest slug on a dry path. At last Algot asked whether Arn himself had shot any of the animals, which was a wickedly bold question even though the guest could always exaggerate without anyone thinking ill of him. Arn replied in a low voice and looking down at the table that he had shot six of the deer and seven of the boars, but he was quick to add that his thralls had shot almost as many. Silence fell over the table, and Arn didn’t understand that no one believed him. They were all now thinking that he certainly was allowed to brag a little, but not so much that it was obvious he had told a bald-faced lie.

A young man whose kinship with Algot had not been made clear to Arn now asked with a sneer whether Arn may have missed a shot or two, or if he’d had such luck that he felled all the animals with the first shot. Arn, who didn’t see the trap in this question, replied honestly that he had killed all the animals with the first shot. But then the young man laughed derisively and asked to be allowed to raise his goblet in respect for such a great archer. Arn drank the toast in all seriousness, but his cheeks burned when he saw scorn and mockery in the other man’s eyes. He was well aware that he hadn’t answered the questions he was asked wisely. But he had merely spoken the truth; why would it have been wiser to tell a lie? That question bore thinking about, for just now he almost wished he had been able to tell some clever lie and evade the disdain and contempt he saw all around him.

Algot Palsson attempted to come to Arn’s rescue, hastening to change the subject, saying that he had heard about some new plants at the cloister, and he wondered whether Arn might describe them. But the young man who had mocked Arn didn’t want to let him wriggle off the hook, and with a knowing glance toward Katarina he loudly declared that it would be a shame if braggarts should win good women whom they didn’t deserve in their own right. He uttered other, similar surly remarks, which made Arn suspect that the hostile man was in love with Katarina, though that was absolutely none of Arn’s business.

Algot made a new attempt to steer the conversation toward the peaceful subject of the cloister and away from archery, which could only bring more dissension to the table. But Tord Geirsson, as the scornful young man was named, wanted to vanquish Arn and thus show Katarina how strong he was himself. Now he proposed that they fetch a bow so they might compete for a few shots, since the hall was quite long. Arn agreed to this at once, since he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Algot Palsson had taken in a breath and was about to avert the contest.

House thralls were sent immediately to fetch a bow and quiver, and a tied-up bale of hay was set up by the door at the other end of the hall, at a distance of twenty-five paces. Tord Geirsson took the bow and the arrows, proclaiming that this wasn’t a very difficult distance from which to shoot wild boar. Perhaps Herr Arn, who was so skillful, would show them first how it was done, and then Tord would take the second round.