The Templar Knight

by Jan Guillou

  Mother Rikissa slowly straightened up from her hunched position and nodded thoughtfully, as if she had found Cecilia Rosa’s words proper and worthy of consideration, even though she had not received the forgiveness she had sought. She wiped her eyes as if she had actually shed a few tears, and sighed deeply. Then she began to speak about all the trouble that had been caused by the two who had run off from Gudhem and Varnhem. Both she and the elderly Father Henri had been harshly taken to task by the archbishop for this grave sin, which it had been their responsibility to prevent.

  But Mother Rikissa had not had anything to say in her defense, since she had known nothing about what had gone on behind her back. Now, so long afterward, couldn’t dear Cecilia Rosa show some mercy and explain the truth of the matter? Cecilia Rosa turned to ice inside. She scrutinized Mother Rikissa and thought she could see the serpent eyes of the Devil, for the pupils in those red-rimmed eyes had turned to slits. They looked like the eyes of a snake or perhaps a goat, didn’t they?

  “No, Mother Rikissa,” she replied stonily. “About this matter I know no more than you. How would I, a sinful penitent, come to know anything about what a monk and a nun were planning?”

  She got up and left without saying anything more, and without first kissing Mother Rikissa’s hand. She kept her temper under control until she had closed the doors on her and come out into the lovely arcade. There the roses now twined their way up all the pillars as a constant greeting from Sister Leonore, of whom nothing had been heard, nor of Brother Lucien. And since nothing was heard about punishment and penance or excommunication, that was good news. By now they were probably both in southern France, happy with their child and without sin.

  Cecilia Rosa walked slowly past all the climbing roses in the arcade, smelling the red ones and caressing the odorless white ones. All the roses seemed to send greetings from Sister Leonore and the happy land of Occitania. Yet a cold shiver went through Cecilia Rosa although it was a warm summer night.

  She had been sitting in the presence of the Serpent herself. The serpent had spoken as sweetly as a lamb, and for a moment she had made Cecilia Rosa believe that the Serpent was indeed a lamb. What great misfortune and what a terrible punishment might have resulted if she had given in to that siren song.

  In every phase of life, it was important to try and think like a man of power, or at least like Cecilia Blanca.

  There was one thing that had happened in recent weeks that might offer an explanation for Mother Rikissa’s penitence, or rather her fruitless attempt to lure Cecilia Rosa into betraying herself as the worst sort of sinner against the peace of the cloister. A message had come from Queen Cecilia Blanca saying that she would not come alone to Gudhem on her next visit. She would bring the jarl Birger Brosa with her.

  This was fateful news. The jarl was not a man who would travel to the convent to waste his valuable time speaking with some poor penitent woman, even if he had shown Cecilia Rosa his support. If the jarl came, there was something important afoot.

  Cecilia Rosa also suspected this when she received the message. Nowadays Mother Rikissa could not keep such an imminent event to herself. The yconoma had to know well in advance what sort of hospitality was expected from Gudhem, so that she could send her men to purchase all the sorts of food that would normally not be eaten at Gudhem. The rules naturally forbade all men and women who had dedicated their lives to God from eating four-footed animals. But for jarls there were certainly no such rules. Nor did such rules apply in all cloisters. It was well known that the Burgundian monks at Varnhem, under Father Henri’s supervision with his clear consent, had created the best cuisine in the North. Birger Brosa could come to Varnhem unannounced and still dine better than at any of his own tables. But when it came to Gudhem, he was more prudent.

  Yet whatever Birger Brosa had on his mind, it was not something that Cecilia Rosa worried about beforehand. She had nothing special to hope for except that eventually her long penance would come to an end. Until that time, no king or jarl could do anything at all for her except try to keep Mother Rikissa, if not obedient to the nurture and admonition of the Lord, then at least within the discipline of the secular authorities. And unlike Mother Rikissa, Cecilia Rosa had nothing to fear from the jarl and the queen. For her it was only a matter of sweet anticipation as she waited for her dear friend Cecilia Blanca’s visit, which this time would be much different.

  The jarl arrived with a great retinue. He was already quite well-fed and content because for safety’s sake he had stayed up at Varnhem for a day and a night before he and the queen continued the short distance to Gudhem.

  Horses’ hooves clattered on the new cobblestones outside the walls, and men spoke in loud, rough voices. A great din arose from the tent posts, ropes and windlasses as the camp for the jarl’s men was raised; the tension inside Gudhem grew with each unfamiliar sound. But Cecilia Rosa, who could now go out to the hospitium without asking Mother Rikissa’s permission, sat inside with her books and her goose quill, finishing up all the bookkeeping occasioned by the state visit. It felt good not to rush off to see the queen, whose visit cheered her heart each year; instead she would first conclude her work, as a good toiler in God’s garden. She believed that enjoyment and rest were the rewards for good work. And that was a belief that she would take with her one day, to her life outside Gudhem. For now so much of her penance had been served that she could see the end of it, and she had cautiously begun to imagine what her life might be like in the future. But she couldn’t be very specific in her daydreaming, because one thing was not at all clear.

  It had been several years since any news had come from Varnhem and Father Henri about Arn Magnusson. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was not dead, for according to what Father Henri had told Cecilia Blanca, Arn had now risen to the high rank of a Templar knight. If he had fallen in the holy war, masses would have been read for his soul all over the Cistercian world. So she knew that he was among the living, but nothing more.

  However, tidings of Arn were the first thing Birger Brosa spoke of when she went out to the hospitium, embraced Cecilia Blanca, and then bowed her head to the jarl. She didn’t dare embrace him because her years in the cloister had begun to take a deep toll on her, although she was not aware of it.

  When they had said their greetings and the jarl had received his desired tankard of ale, he sat down comfortably at the table, pulling up one leg as was his wont. Then he gave Cecilia Blanca a sly look as she sat down and arranged her skirts.

  “So, my dear kinswoman Cecilia,” he said with a smile, stalling a bit to pique her curiosity even more. “The queen and I have a great deal to say to you. Some news is of great import and other news may be of lesser interest. But I think you would like to hear first the latest news about Arn Magnusson. He is now one of the great victors of the Knights Templar, and recently he won a huge battle at a place called Mont Grisar, at least that’s what I thought Father Henri said. It was no ordinary battle. Fifty thousand Saracens fell, and he himself led ten thousand knights, riding in the vanguard. May God preserve such a warrior so that we have him home soon. We Folkungs hope for this as much as you do, Cecilia!”

  Cecilia Rosa at once bowed her head in a prayer of thanksgiving and soon the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Birger Brosa and Cecilia Blanca let her weep but exchanged a meaningful glance.

  “Shall we switch to another topic that also warrants our attention?” asked the jarl after a while, again smiling broadly. Cecilia Rosa nodded and dried her tears. But she smiled at Cecilia Blanca as if neither words nor silent cloister signs were needed to explain the joy that the news from Varnhem had brought her.

  “Well, I thought I’d speak with you about Ulvhilde Emundsdotter, because that matter has not been easy to resolve,” the jarl went on when he thought Cecilia Rosa had collected herself sufficiently.

  Then he calmly explained, point by point and in good order, how various difficulties had arisen and what he had tried to do about them
.

  First and foremost he wanted to say that it was quite true that Ulvhilde had the law of Western Götaland on her side. About that, three lagmän were in agreement. Ulfshem had been Ulvhilde’s childhood home. As her mother and her brother had been killed, she was indeed the rightful heiress to Ulfshem.

  And yet the matter had not been quite so simple. For King Knut Eriksson had been no friend of her father, Emund One-Hand. On the contrary, when the issue of the inheritance had been brought up, the king had vehemently declared that if he could kill Emund again every single day, then he would be supremely happy to do so. Emund was a king-killer and worse because in an ignominious and cowardly fashion he had slain Saint Erik, King Knut’s father. And why, King Knut had then asked, should he feel the slightest mercy toward the evil Emund’s offspring?

  Because the law required it, Birger Brosa had then tried to explain. The law was above all other power; the law was the basis on which a country was built, and no king could object to that.

  But the difficulties were not limited to the king’s intractable stance. Ulfshem had been burned to the ground. Then it had been given to some Folkungs who had served well in the victory on the fields of blood. Now living at Ulfshem were Sigurd Folkesson and his two unmarried sons. Their mother had died in childbed, and for some reason Folkesson had never remarried.

  These Folkungs could claim that they had been given Ulfshem by royal bequest and that they had then built up everything from the ground.

  Here, to his considerable surprise, the jarl was interrupted by Cecilia Rosa who almost audaciously pointed out that the land was worth much more than any buildings.

  The jarl frowned at being corrected in this way, but since the only witness was the queen he chose to ignore the affront. Instead of being annoyed he praised Cecilia Rosa for her shrewd business sense.

  In any case, this matter had been gone over time and time again. There was more than one way to get out of this fox-burrow.

  One way was with silver. Another way was by marriage. For if Ulvhilde agreed to be betrothed to one of Sigurd’s sons, there would be no impediment to her assuming more than half ownership of Ulfshem. She had to have something as a dowry, after all.

  Here Cecilia Rosa looked as if she wanted to say something, but she refrained.

  The second possibility, the jarl went on as he held up his forefinger with a smile so as not to be interrupted again, was to buy out the Folkungs now living at Ulfshem.

  As Cecilia Rosa surely understood, he and Cecilia Blanca had not wanted to have this discussion in Ulvhilde’s presence; that was the only reason she had not yet been invited over to the hospitium.

  They wanted to know what Cecilia Rosa thought of this, and whether they could agree on a wise solution so they could then summon Ulvhilde. What was Cecilia Rosa’s opinion? She was the one who knew Ulvhilde best. Should they seek the expensive solution and buy out the Folkungs, or could they simply arrange for her to marry into the Folkung clan?

  Cecilia Rosa thought that this dilemma could be settled in the twinkling of an eye. In a better world in which Ulvhilde had not had all those nearest and dearest to her killed in a war, her father would have long ago made the best match he could for her. But as things now stood, Ulvhilde had no such constraints. Cecilia Rosa was sure that she would go along with whatever her two sole friends proposed for her, in consultation with the jarl. But rushing to force Ulvhilde into a bridal bed might just as well lead to her unhappiness as to her happiness.

  After thinking for a while, Cecilia Rosa suggested that it would be best if Ulvhilde were simply allowed to travel home to her family estate without any betrothal promises. While Birger Brosa arranged for new land for the Folkung Sigurd and his two sons, they could stay and help Ulvhilde settle in as mistress of the estate. For it was no easy matter to learn such responsibilities, since she had spent the greater part of her life in singing hymns, gardening, and doing needlework.

  After a brief pause he nodded his agreement and asked Cecilia Rosa to go to the cloister and fetch Ulvhilde.

  Before leaving she was reminded by Cecilia Blanca that this would be the last time Ulvhilde walked through the gate of Gudhem, for they would take her along on their journey north in a day or two. So, she added, if there was any suitable Sverker mantle, it would be best to bring it along at once. The jarl would surely have nothing against paying for such a gift. And if he made a fuss about this small expense, Cecilia Blanca would pay for it herself. She and Birger Brosa had a good laugh at that.

  Her cheeks red and her heart pounding, Cecilia Rosa hurried into the cloister and off to the vestiarium, where at this hour she expected to find Ulvhilde. But she wasn’t there. Cecilia Rosa quickly selected a very lovely bloodred Sverker mantle with gold and silk threads adorning the embroidered black griffin on the back. She folded it up under her arm, and hurried off to find Ulvhilde. She suddenly felt a great sense of unease.

  And as if guided by this foreboding she did not stop to look in places where she should have looked first, but went straight to Mother Rikissa’s own rooms. There she found them both on their knees and weeping. As if to console the young woman Mother Rikissa had placed her arm around Ulvhilde’s shoulders, which were shaking with sobs. What Cecilia Rosa had feared most was about to happen or in the worst case had already happened, despite all her warnings to Ulvhilde.

  “Don’t let yourself be led astray, Ulvhilde!” she shouted, running over to them and brusquely snatching Ulvhilde from Mother Rikissa’s clawlike grip. She embraced her and stroked her trembling back as she fumbled with the red mantle.

  Mother Rikissa then stood up, hissing with her red-rimmed eyes flashing. She began screaming wildly that no one had the right to interrupt confession. Then she tried to seize Ulvhilde’s arms to pull her away.

  With a strength that did not seem her own, Cecilia Rosa separated her weeping friend from the witch and then held up the red mantle as protection between them. Both quieted down, surprised to see the large, bloodred garment.

  Cecilia Rosa promptly draped the Sverker mantle over Ulvhilde’s shoulders, as if it were an iron shield against Mother Rikissa’s evil.

  “Now you must get hold of yourself, Rikissa!” she said, again displaying a force that she would not have believed she possessed. “She is your slave no longer, not your poor maiden Ulvhilde among the novices without silver or clan. Here stands Ulvhilde of Ulfshem, and you two, God be praised, shall never see each other again!”

  In the sudden silence that descended upon both Ulvhilde and Mother Rikissa, Cecilia Rosa quickly pulled Ulvhilde out the door of Mother Rikissa’s rooms without even a word of farewell. They hurried the short distance down the arcade and right out through the big gate.

  Panting as if they had run a race, they stopped outside beneath the stone image showing Adam and Eve as they were cast out of Paradise.

  “I warned you over and over again, I told you how the serpent could turn herself into a lamb,” Cecilia Rosa said at last.

  “I…felt…so…sorry for her!” Ulvhilde sobbed.

  “Maybe you should feel sorry for her, but it doesn’t diminish her evil. What did you tell her? You didn’t confess about…?” Cecilia Rosa asked cautiously, greatly concerned.

  “She got me to cry over her misfortune, she got me to forgive her,” Ulvhilde whispered.

  “And then you were supposed to confess!”

  “Yes, then she wanted to hear my confession, but you appeared as if sent by Our Lady. Forgive me, my dearest, but I was very close to committing a great stupidity,” Ulvhilde said, shamefaced and with her eyes on the ground.

  “I think you’re right; I think Our Lady, in her mercy, sent me at exactly the right moment. The mantle you now wear would have been ripped from you at once and you would have withered away inside Gudhem forever if you told her the truth about Sister Leonore. Let us pray and thank Our Lady!”

  They both dropped to their knees outside the gate of the cloister Ulvhilde had now left for the very last ti
me. Ulvhilde had to stop herself from asking any questions, for only now did she truly come to her senses and begin to understand what a treasure Cecilia Rosa had draped over her shoulders. They prayed for a long time, offering words of deep and sincere thanksgiving to the Virgin Mary for the forgiveness of their sins—the sins that had almost cast them both into perdition and might have pulled the queen down with them. For the rest of their lives they would be convinced that the Virgin Mary had sent a miraculous salvation at the last moment. The witch had truly cast a spell over Ulvhilde, who had come close to putting her head in the noose.

  Then they stood up and embraced and kissed each other. Ulvhilde now had her wits about her and began caressing the soft red garment, wondering what it could mean.

  Cecilia Rosa then explained that it was time for Ulvhilde to journey home. The mantle was a gift from either the jarl or the queen, but it certainly was not Ulvhilde’s only possession, for Ulfshem was now hers, free and clear.

  As they walked in reverent silence the short distance to the hospitium where their benefactors waited, Ulvhilde tried with all her might to understand what had just happened.

  A moment ago she had not owned more than the clothes on her back, and strictly speaking not even those. The clothes she had once worn when she arrived at Gudhem were a child’s clothing, long since outgrown and by now discarded or sold. She had not needed to fetch a single possession before she walked out the gate of Gudhem.

  It was impossible to comprehend this sudden leap to the precious red mantle and becoming the mistress of Ulfshem. She needed more time to ponder it.

  Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde both looked pale but no more distressed than their benefactors might have expected when they both entered the banquet hall in the hospitium, where roast-turners and ale-fetchers had already begun their work. But the jarl, who had jumped up roguishly to receive the new mistress of Ulfshem with a deep, courtly bow, saw at once that something was amiss.