The Templar Knight

by Jan Guillou

  Hence the feast began strangely since Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde had to report about Mother Rikissa’s last enraged attempt to bring misfortune down on their heads. The jarl now heard for the first time the story of how the three conspirators had assisted the runaway monk and nun. At first he grew pensive because he understood quite well, without being very knowledgeable about the rules of the church, that in life the happiness and welfare of everyone hung by a fragile thread. However, it was his firm conviction that the danger was now past. He reminded them that there were only four people in the whole country who knew the truth about the runaways from the cloister. The queen and Cecilia Rosa would certainly guard the secret well. As would Ulvhilde, especially if she married into the Folkung clan—there the two Cecilias gave him a stern look—especially, he quickly altered his statement, because she would be concerned about the peace and happiness of her friends. And for his own part, he added with a broad grin, he had no intention of casting the country into ferment and war just for the sake of a runaway monk.

  For that had been Rikissa’s intention, he explained, instantly turning more serious. For her it was about more than taking revenge on two maidens who displeased her. She was the one, after all, who had almost succeeded in having Arn Magnusson excommunicated. Her actions had caused much trouble for Knut Eriksson, who at that time was not yet acclaimed king by everyone. If Rikissa, as she now intended, had managed to get Queen Cecilia Blanca excommunicated for the escape from the cloister—since she had aided the crime by financing it—her sons could not inherit the crown, and then war would be inevitable. That was the way Rikissa thought. Had she succeeded she certainly would have dredged up good reasons to rejoice for the rest of her earthly life, and on her way to Hell, where her path would undoubtedly lead in the end.

  But now there was even more reason to celebrate, he went on in a merrier mood. And he raised his tankard to all three of them in a very courtly manner.

  Slowly but surely they all grew more lively as they ate and drank, joking about Cecilia Rosa’s and Ulvhilde’s usual meager fare, which had kept them young and fresh; the ample food of freedom and wealth probably had a worse effect on anyone who wanted to live a long time. They gorged on veal and lamb and even sampled some wine, but drank mostly ale, of which there was an inexhaustible supply.

  As could be expected, the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde gave up long before Birger Brosa, who like many Folkungs was known for his hearty appetite. His grandfather had been Folke the Fat, after all, the mighty jarl.

  In fact, Birger Brosa stopped eating his meat, his sweetened turnips, and beans earlier than he would have done in the company of men. Eventually he found it strange to continue eating while the other three looked at him with growing impatience. After all, it was over tankards of ale after the meal that they could usually talk most comfortably, at least until they were too drunk. And Birger Brosa had several matters he wanted to discuss.

  When he noticed that the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde had begun using their silent language and giggling at him, he pushed away his plate. Then he filled his tankard, stuck his knife in his belt, and wiped his mouth. Pulling one leg up under him, he set his tankard on his knee as was his habit. He had more to tell that would probably be considered important, he declared solemnly, taking another large gulp as he waited for the silence he knew would ensue.

  It had been a great nuisance that the Sverkers held most of the cloisters, and until now all the convents in the country, he began. Such an arrangement could not be allowed to stand; therefore he had endowed a new convent that would soon be consecrated. It was called Riseberga and was situated in the forest of Nordanskog northeast of Arnäs, in darkest Svealand. But they shouldn’t worry too much about that, he quickly added when he saw his listeners grimace at the word Svealand. Now they were on their way to becoming a unified kingdom under King Knut. The important thing for the clans was to act together, marry each other, and if necessary go into cloisters together rather than attempt to wage war with each other. The latter course had been tried since time immemorial without success.

  Riseberga convent would soon be open, but two things were still lacking. One was an abbess of either the Erik or Folkung clan, and at the moment they were searching through the nuns of the land high and low to find someone suitable. If that proved unsuccessful, they would have to take a novice, but it was preferable for the abbess to be a nun who had already taken her vows, someone who was well versed in everything that needed to be done in a convent.

  The second thing they needed was a good yconomus. Birger Brosa had heard from many quarters that Gudhem managed its business affairs better than all the convents in the land, and the one who took care of these affairs was not a man, however difficult that might be to believe.

  Here he was interrupted by the two Cecilias, both sounding resentful. One thought that she had informed her jarl of this long ago, and one thought that the yconomus they’d had previously at Gudhem may indeed have been a man but he was a fool.

  Feigning alarm, Birger Brosa retreated behind his ale tankard before explaining with charming merriment that he was well aware of the situation; he simply liked to jest. But back to serious matters, he wanted Cecilia Rosa to take on the position as yconomus at Riseberga cloister.

  Yconoma, Cecilia Rosa corrected him, pretending her feelings were hurt.

  The only problem, Birger Brosa went on, was that it would take time before he could get Cecilia Rosa out of Gudhem and arrange for her to be driven up to Riseberga. A letter had to be signed and sealed by the archbishop, and other details had to be arranged. Meanwhile Cecilia Rosa would be alone with Rikissa at Gudhem, without friends or witnesses, and that thought did not sit easy with them.

  Cecilia Rosa agreed with his assessment. If Mother Rikissa understood that she would soon be forced to take care of Gudhem’s affairs on her own, she might resort to any manner of conniving. There was no limit to that woman’s evil.

  But if the abbess didn’t know what was in the works, then her desire to keep the cloister’s affairs in order would probably be stronger than to try new tricks with the horsehair, confessions, and feigned weeping. Especially so soon after the failed attempt she had just made. Right now she was probably in bed, without the horsehair, to be sure, gnashing her teeth with hatred.

  Ulvhilde was convinced that Mother Rikissa actually used witchcraft, that she could rob a person of her will and make her confess to anything at all, as if it were God’s intention and not the Devil’s. Against such sorcery there was no protection; Ulvhilde had found that out herself when despite everything she had been close to yielding to Mother Rikissa’s evil persuasion.

  Cecilia Blanca interrupted her to say that this was something that could be easily resolved. What Cecilia Rosa should do was to wait a few days, then seek out Rikissa alone and pretend to forgive her. She should pray with the abbess a few times and thank God that He had forgiven His sinful Rikissa.

  Naturally that would be to lie and dissemble before God. But God must be wise enough to see the necessity of this sacrifice. Cecilia Rosa could later pray for grace once she was alone with God up in Riseberga.

  Furthermore, Cecilia Blanca went on, Birger Brosa must keep secret his plans for bringing an yconoma to Riseberga; even better, she should get someone else to spread false rumors about the matter. Anything at all was permissible in the fight with the Devil.

  The result of such carefully planned smoke screens would be that one day a convoy would come and fetch Cecilia Rosa with no advance notice whatsoever. Cecilia Rosa must then walk straight out through the gate, just as she herself and Ulvhilde had done, without even saying goodbye. And the witch would be left helpless to intervene.

  They all found Cecilia Blanca’s suggestions to be wise. And so it was decided. Surely that was also God’s will. For why should He want to punish Cecilia Rosa more, and why should He want to help Rikissa in her evil?

  It wasn’t God who helped Mother Rikissa, it was someone else, Cecilia Rosa said pensiv
ely. But she would pray to Our Lady for protection every night. Since Our Lady had protected both her and her beloved Arn for so many years, surely She would continue to do so now.

  When young Ulvhilde Emundsdotter rode out from Gudhem to her new life in freedom, it was just before Olsmas. That was the time between the old and the new harvests, so barns and storehouses were empty but hay-making was in full swing.

  She rode together with the queen, at the head of the procession and just behind the jarl and the riders who carried flags with the Folkung lion and the three crowns. Behind the queen and Ulvhilde followed a strong contingent of more than thirty men on horseback who mostly wore blue, even though Ulvhilde was not alone with her red mantle.

  Wherever the retinue passed on the road to Skara, all work stopped in the fields and men and women would come over to the side of the road, kneel down, and pray God to preserve the peace, the jarl, and Queen Cecilia Blanca.

  Ulvhilde had not been on a horse since she was a child. Even though it was said that riding was something that anyone could do, because it was God’s plan that the animals should serve humanity, she soon found that riding was not the most pleasant way to travel for the one who was in the saddle. The whole time she had to keep squirming to try and change position; the blood would stop flowing in her leg or her knee chafed against the saddle. As a child she had ridden in a normal saddle with one leg on each side of the horse, but now she and Cecilia Blanca rode as was proper for highborn women with both legs on the same side of the horse. It was both more difficult and more painful.

  And yet the nuisance of the saddle was a minor annoyance that was mostly blocked by all her other senses. The air was cool and delightful to breathe, and Ulvhilde kept filling her lungs and holding her breath, as if she didn’t want to exhale the sensation of freedom.

  They rode across fields and through oak forests, past many rivers and glittering streams, until they came up onto Billingen Mountain. There the forest grew denser and the ranks of soldiers were rearranged so that half of the men rode on ahead, in front of the jarl and the queen. There was nothing to worry about, Cecilia Blanca explained to Ulvhilde. There had been peace in the land for a long time, but men always liked to behave as though they were expecting to have to draw their swords.

  The forest did not look very threatening in Ulvhilde’s eyes; it was mostly tall oaks and beeches, and the light filtered down in shimmering colors through the high crowns of the trees. They saw some deer in the distance, moving cautiously away among the trees.

  Ulvhilde never could have imagined that the world outside would be so beautiful and inviting. She was twenty-two years old now, a woman in the prime of life who long ago should have had children—something that she had believed she would never have the chance to do, since she had viewed her life as staying in the convent until the end of the road.

  She had a feeling that the happiness she felt right now could not last, that freedom would have other aspects that would prove more difficult and challenging. But when she rode out on these first days with her back to Gudhem, knowing she would never have to return, she pushed aside everything but the joy she felt. It seemed almost too much for her heart; sometimes it even hurt when she took a deep breath. She felt intoxicated with freedom, and nothing else really mattered just now.

  They stopped for the night in Skara and slept in the royal castle. The jarl had something to take care of among the grim men who were waiting for him, and Queen Cecilia Blanca arranged for the women at the castle to bring new clothes to Ulvhilde. They bathed her, combed and brushed her hair, and dressed her in the softest green gown with a silver sash.

  Ending up on the floor of the chamber where they were busy with this task was a sad little heap of undyed and brown woolen clothes, the garments that Ulvhilde had worn for as long as she could remember. One of the castle women took the clothes away to be burned.

  Ulvhilde would always remember that moment when she saw her cloister clothes being carried out at arm’s length, shabby and reeking and intended for the fire, not even good enough to be sold or given to the poor. Only then did she understand that she was not living in a dream, that she really was the person she saw in the highly polished mirror that one of the castle women, giggling and laughing, held up to her while another woman draped the red mantle over her shoulders in a particularly artful way.

  The person she saw in the mirror had to be herself, since the mirror image did everything she did: raised an arm, straightened the silver clip in her hair, or fingered the soft mantle with the warm, bloodred color. And yet it was not herself, because like Cecilia Rosa she had been marked by the simplicity of cloister life. Ulvhilde could suddenly envision her friend back at Gudhem with the same clarity with which she could see herself in the mirror.

  Then a shadow fell across her great joy for the first time. It felt unfair to be happy about so much and to be so selfish when Cecilia Rosa had been left alone with the witch at Gudhem, and she still had long years ahead of her in that place.

  During the banquet that evening Ulvhilde was sometimes so happy that despite feeling out of place and shy she laughed loudly at the coarse jests of the minstrels and men of the retinue. Yet sometimes she was so sad at the thought of her dearest friend that the queen had to console her. The queen struck a deep chord with Ulvhilde when she said that the most difficult part of their journey was now at an end. Once they had been three young friends at Gudhem, and for a long time it seemed as if they had all been forsaken by everyone else. But they had stuck together, they had never betrayed their friendship, and they had endured.

  Now two of them were free, and they should be happy about that rather than grieving for the third friend. Cecilia Rosa would also be free one day; that time was no longer so far off. And the feeling of friendship that Ulvhilde and Cecilia Blanca had for Cecilia Rosa would never fade, would it? The three of them still had half of their lives to enjoy their liberty.

  Cecilia Blanca did not choose to mention Ulvhilde’s beauty in her words of consolation or joy. The queen wisely thought that at present such things were outside Ulvhilde’s realm of comprehension, given her cloister soul.

  In time Ulvhilde would finally begin to understand that she had been transformed as if overnight from a cloister maiden about whom no one cared in the least to one of the most desired maidens in the kingdom. She was beautiful and rich and a friend of the queen. Ulfshem was no paltry estate, and Ulvhilde would soon rule over it single-handedly, without a surly father or argumentative kinsmen trying to maneuver her into one bridal bed or another. Ulvhilde was a much freer woman than she could ever imagine.

  The next day they continued to the shore of Lake Vättern, where a small black boat that had been given the odd name of The Serpent awaited them. The boatswains were tall and blond, and from their language it was apparent that they were all Norwegians. They were among the king’s personal retainers because, as was well known, King Knut had mainly Norsemen guarding his life out in the castle at Näs. Some of these Norsemen were friends from the king’s long exile as a child; others had arrived in later years when the kinsmen of both the Folkungs and Eriks in Norway had found many reasons to flee their country. Norway had been severely ravaged by the war for the king’s crown, the same as had occurred in Western Götaland, Eastern Götaland, and Svealand for more than a hundred years.

  It was an unusually warm summer evening with no breeze at all when the entourage arrived at the royal boat harbor on Lake Vättern. There the jarl and the queen, along with Ulvhilde, separated from the mounted retinue that would return to Skara. They climbed down into the small black boat to be rowed across the still water all the way to the castle of Näs on the island of Visingsö. It was so far away that it could not even be seen in the distance.

  The jarl sat alone in the bow because he had some things to think about and said he wanted to be left in peace. The queen and Ulvhilde sat in the stern next to the helmsman, who seemed to be the chief of the Norsemen.

  Ulvhilde’s heart p
ounded as the boat set sail, and the huge Norsemen expertly propelled their oars through the placid water. She couldn’t remember ever being in a boat as a child, although it must have occurred. She sat spellbound, following the eddies of the oars in the dark water and breathing in the smell of tar, leather, and sweat. From the shore they were leaving behind came the song of a nightingale that could be heard far out over the water; oars and leather creaked, and ripples formed at the stern of the boat with each powerful stroke of the oars as the eight Norsemen rowed, making it seem effortless.

  Ulvhilde was a little scared and took Cecilia Blanca’s hand. When they were some distance out, which did not take long, she pictured herself riding in a tiny hazelnut shell over a vast black abyss.

  After a while she nervously asked Cecilia Blanca if there was any chance of getting lost on such a great body of water. Cecilia Blanca had no chance to reply before the helmsman behind them, who had heard her question, repeated it loudly to his eight oarsmen. They all laughed so heartily that two of them doubled over. It was a while before their merriment subsided.

  “We Norsemen have sailed on bigger seas than Lake Vättern,” an oarsman then explained to Ulvhilde. “And one thing I can promise you, we will not get lost on little Vättern, which is only a small lake. That would hardly be fitting for us Norsemen.”

  In the twilight when it began to grow cool, Cecilia Blanca and Ulvhilde wrapped their mantles tighter as they approached the castle that stood at the southern tip of Visingsö. Steep slopes extended straight up toward the castle’s two ominous towers and the high wall between them. On one of the towers was a large flag with gold on it, which Ulvhilde guessed must be the three crowns.

  She was frightened by the dark menace of the fortress but also by the thought that she would soon stand before her father’s killer, King Knut. She had not given that matter any thought until now, as if she wanted to cling as long as possible to what was good about her newfound freedom. She would gladly have refrained from meeting King Knut at all, but she realized that it was too late as the boat pushed up onto the shore with a mighty lurch and everyone prepared to climb out.