The Road to Jerusalem - Crusades Trilogy 01

by Jan Guillou

  But some things were impossible to avoid noticing. For new sorts of meat were put on the table, and Eskil found most delicious a smoked ham that was not hard and dry and salty like the winter rations. This ham was so deliciously juicy that his mouth watered just thinking about it. And the other thing that was impossible not to notice was how Mistress Erika had changed, how she began speaking loudly and without embarrassment despite her ugly voice, and how she laughed and giggled at the table when she answered questions about the new things she could now present for both dinner and supper.

  Eskil was a man in favor of changes, just as he came to understand that his mother Sigrid had been as well, more so than his father. Changes that were good created wealth; if they were not good, then a different change was made. That's how it was and would remain at Arnas; that's why their farm was better and bigger and richer than other people's farms where nothing was ever changed.

  For this reason Eskil could soon no longer tolerate remaining uninformed. He told Arn he would like to see what was happening, and Arn immediately expressed how pleased he was, almost elated, and he wanted to jump up in the middle of the meal to show everything to his older brother.

  What Eskil saw when they made their rounds caused him to change his fundamental opinion. Arn was in truth not slow at all; he knew exactly what he was doing. Eskil quickly admitted to himself that he had been unwise to judge him so hastily.

  When they went down to the thralls' quarters everything looked different because all the garbage had been mucked out, the way the cows' stalls were mucked out in the winter. They could walk around without worrying where they set their feet.

  At first Eskil said something in jest that he soon had cause to regret. He remarked that of course things looked better, but perhaps it wasn't much use letting thralls live more like real people.

  Then Arn explained quite seriously that the thralls were healthier now that all the uncleanliness was gone, that more of their children would survive, that healthy thralls were naturally much better than sick ones, just as living thralls were better than dead ones. He said that the contagion from sick thralls could also be spread to people, and thus cleanliness was of benefit to all. Then he explained his plans for the two waterways, how one would be kept clean, and how the latrine pits would replace using anywhere for a toilet, and how the shit could then be used as fertilizer and thereby do good instead of spreading disease.

  The seriousness with which Arn could speak of such base things as the thralls' shit made a twofold impression on Eskil. On one hand his words seemed funny as if they were a joke; on the other Arn seemed so boldly convincing that it made his head spin. Imagine that such simple measures, which even the thralls themselves could maintain, might really result in great improvements. Much would be gained with little work, and without the expenditure of a single silver mark.

  By the time Arn had finished leading him through the cook-houses and the new smokehouse, and explained the concept of the icehouse, Eskil was so taken by these inventions that he had tears in his eyes. For he no longer had any doubt. He was absolutely convinced that his brother, although not a man that dull retainers might respect, had brought a great and blessed knowledge with him from the cloister. And this knowledge would truly allow Arnas to take great new steps forward. For it was indisputable that everything had actually stood still for many years. Things at Arnas were better than at other farms, yet there had still been little progress.

  Eskil threw his arms around Arn, asking at once for forgiveness for failing to understand that his own brother really was his brother and his equal. Arn then had to console both Eskil and himself, because they showed great emotion. The house thralls who stood nearby stared at them in astonishment.

  When Eskil noticed this he straightened up and gave the house thralls a stern look; they immediately slunk off and then Eskil suggested that Arn accompany him to the accounting chamber in the tower and share a tankard or two of ale.

  Arn was about to say something about having too much work awaiting him, and that only at the end of the workday should a man enjoy the fruits of what he had accomplished by the sweat of his brow. But he quickly changed his mind when he realized that he shouldn't impose rules from his former life on the time he spent together with his own brother. After all, it was this very acknowledgment that he had been waiting for, including it in so many of his prayers. He had sensed the coolness and apprehension from both his father and his brother, and he had grieved over it. But he had also hoped that they would soon understand what he was doing, and that what he did was good. So it wouldn't be a sin to drink ale with his own brother, even if it was the middle of the afternoon.

  *

  Herr Magnus sought an excuse not to take Arn along when he had to travel north to negotiate an inheritance in the clan in Norway. Occasionally it could be difficult enough to take Eskil to visit the Norwegian kinfolk, since Norwegian feasts often devolved into all sorts of swordplay when their strong ale took effect. Anyone who was not quick or dexterous or old enough to say no to young men's games would risk coming to serious injury among the Norsemen.

  Despite this danger he wanted to have Eskil with him, because the business deals they had to do were difficult and unusual. Even after a great deal of ale Eskil was quite able to calculate in his head the value of all sorts of goods and say what it corresponded to in silver. The two of them had discussed the matter at length, deciding that it would be wisest to sell the Norwegian inheritance.

  While it was a man's honor to retain his inheritance and not let it pass to some other clan, the advantages of owning a farm next to the great fjord were small unless one intended to live there. If they sold the property they would acquire more silver, which could be spent on something better. As things now stood, since Arn had come home, they had to look toward the future when perhaps even he must have something to inherit. So it would be better to buy new property within a safe distance from Arnas or in a province neighboring to the Erik clan south of Skara. Or why not buy from the Pal clan near Husaby? Each of these possibilities would be safer, at least for Arn's sake, than sending him to the Norsemen who were so quick to the sword.

  In the meantime a simple solution had been found to the dilemma of how to tell Arn that he must cancel his journey to Norway without hurting his feelings. It was the time of autumn when Svarte and his thrall-son Kol went out to hunt deer and wild boars. They had already brought home a good amount of game. Arn and Erika had plenty to do in the new smokehouse, since Arn had said that he was sure the wild game would be better smoked than salted and dried. But just before the journey to Norway, and the difficult, imminent conversation between Magnus and Arn about how unwise it would be for an inexperienced son to visit the Norwegians, Arn himself made a request. He wanted to accompany Svarte and Kol on their hunting trips and learn something about hunting.

  Magnus was doubly glad at this request, for now he could avoid the whole embarrassing explanation about the Norwegian kinsmen and their swords and halberds after the ale. Besides, this was the first time that Arn had shown any interest in learning something that was part of the chivalrous life. A good hunter enjoyed great respect, even if he was a thrall.

  But Magnus had little hope that Arn, who for better or worse was still a half monk, would be able to learn anything about the challenging but manly art of the hunt.

  Svarte shared this view, but he was obliged to obey. When he heard that he would have to take along the other half-man of a son, he knew at once how things would go. Once, two years before, he had been forced to do the same with the lord's eldest son, Eskil, who at least had not yet grown as round as a cask of ale. Yet he was intolerable trouble, and because of him the hunt brought in almost nothing. It was not easy to take along the master's son, who had to decide about everything but understood nothing.

  But Svarte was less sure of this second son Arn than he was of Herr Eskil, who was at least very like his father. The other thralls had talked a lot about Arn, describing him in several
ways as a competent man who could do all the things that the rest of the master's family could not do, and he had a kind nature besides. He had never raised his hand to anyone, had never ordered anyone whipped, and had not even spoken in harsh words.

  Svarte sensed that this peculiarity had more to do with the odd religion of the master's family than with what the retainers and others gossiped about. For the family's belief in the gods was incomprehensible in many respects. Their gods were so numerous that no one could keep them straight, and they were always chastising people even when they hadn't done anything special; as though the punishments were mostly for what people thought. As if the gods could hear what a person was thinking!

  As far as this Arn was concerned, Svarte remembered quite well the day the boy went up in the high tower after a jackdaw and fell. The boy lost his breath for a while before he revived, but by then the master's family had prayed and pleaded to their gods and promised everything possible or impossible. The whole episode ended with their sending away the boy as punishment for themselves, or was it punishment for the boy? It was hard to know which it was, since one solution was just as difficult to understand as the other.

  But now the punishment was apparently over, and he had come home; although he was no longer like any of the others. Svarte, who was reckoned the best smith at Arnas, had watched Arn in the smithy and he reluctantly had to admit that there wasn't much he could teach the boy about hammer and anvil. If he were to be quite truthful, the opposite was more likely, which was embarrassing enough and not easy to swallow.

  When they were about to set off, several things happened that set Svarte to thinking. Since they had a master's son with them they were allowed to go to the tower chamber and select freely from the cache of weapons. When Svarte saw how Arn picked up the bows and tested drawing them, handling even the strongest of them with no visible sign of effort, he knew that this master's boy had surely held more than one bow. Arn also unerringly chose correctly from the arrows once he decided which bow he wanted to take with him. Svarte had very dubious notions about what white Christian people did in their cloisters. The fact that they obviously practiced archery did not jibe at all with the scornful jests that he and the other thralls made about the matter.

  After they had loaded their packhorses and brought out their mounts for saddling, Kol cautiously tried to tell Arn that as the son of Arnas he could take whatever horse he liked, and there were many better ones to choose from than that monk horse, which didn't look like much. Then Arn laughed, though not maliciously, and said that as soon as they had ridden a bit on the open field he would show them that this was no ordinary horse.

  Svarte was no more of a horseman than anyone else, nor was he any worse. He shoed all the horses at Arnas, nowadays with the new horseshoes that were indeed better than the ones they had used before. He rode like all the others who had anything to do with horses, free men or thralls, peasants or retainers. But he couldn't ride like Arn, he had to admit that at once. When they were some distance from Arnas, Arn did things that no other rider could do on horseback; Svarte and his son Kol agreed on that. The horse may not have looked like much when it was standing still, but when it ran so hard and so fast with Arn at the

  reins it was just as they had imagined Odin's steed would look.

  They didn't have an easy time making themselves understood and often had to ask questions that made them feel embarrassed, so little was said for the first few hours.

  As soon as they got up into the oak forests on Kinnekulle above Husaby, Arn showed himself to be just as wretched a hunter as his brother. But what clearly differentiated him from Herr Eskil was that he realized when he had made a mistake, apologized, and then asked many questions about the correct way to proceed.

  This happened when for the first time they got very close to some deer taking their rest in a clearing. There was a strong wind, so they approached from downwind. Since there had been little rain, the fall leaves rattled in the wind, disturbing the stags' hearing so that the men could probably get within range even though it was broad daylight. Svarte and Kol had seen the animals well before Arn suddenly noticed them, announcing eagerly that he saw several deer up ahead. Since the deer surely heard what Arn had to say as well as Svarte and Kol did, and immediately understood what was going on, they jumped up and bounded off.

  Around the campfire that evening Arn asked many childish questions, which Svarte and Kol answered patiently without revealing what they thought of such questions. Yes, he always had to approach from downwind, otherwise deer and boars, and all other animals for that matter, would know that he was coming. Yes, game could hear a person at a distance of an arrow-shot if it was quiet with little wind, otherwise from half an arrow-shot. No, he shouldn't shoot the ones with horns, they tasted the worst and especially this time of year when they'd just been in rut. Yes, rut was the time when the stags mounted the does and then the stags' meat smelled strongly of their piss. It was the same thing with boars; you shouldn't shoot the big ones but rather those of medium size. It would be good if he could shoot a sow with many small piglets following her, because when she lay down to die all the little ones would gather around her. And if he had luck and the gods' support he could shoot all the piglets one by one, and they tasted the best.

  As the thralls sat there by the campfire, politely answering the ignorant questions of their master's son, a loud bellow was heard from the oak forest nearby. Arn jumped up in terror and grabbed his bow and quiver. He peered quizzically at Svarte and Kol, who sat quite still by the fire, smiling. When Arn saw that the others were not afraid, he sat back down but looked quite bewildered.

  Svarte explained that uninformed people called that sound everything from the battle cry of the mountain king to the roar of the troll taking revenge on human beings. Such evils did exist, of course, but this was an old stag that still had some of his rut left in his body. The sound scared many people out of their wits because it was the loudest sound in the forest, but for hunters it was good to hear. It meant that in a few hours, when the first light of dawn appeared, they could hope to find all the does and yearlings that the old stags were after. If they followed the old stags in rut, tracking their roars in the dark, especially a bit earlier in the autumn, it was the surest method of finding does and yearlings to bring home to the spit-turners and cookhouses, for salting and drying.

  Early that morning, well before dawn, they ventured cautiously into the forest to listen for the old stag and his does. But it was difficult to walk quietly since the night had arrived with frost. The frozen oak leaves and beech leaves and acorns crunched and crackled with each step, even under the light tread of Svarte and Kol. When Arn walked it sounded to the others like a flock of retainers in full armor. When Svarte didn't dare go any closer they had reached a clearing in the oak forest next

  to a tarn. They had the light breeze in their faces, since Svarte never would have approached in any other way, nor would Kol. But the tarn lay straight ahead of them on the other side of the clearing, in the direction of the wind. From the tarn the mist rose so thick that they could hear the mighty roars of rut from the old stag quite close, but they couldn't see the does or yearlings except to glimpse them occasionally in the mist. After a while Arn asked, very quietly as he had now learned to do, why they didn't shoot. They whispered back that they were too far out of range; they couldn't hit a stag until they were at half that distance. Arn gave them a skeptical look and whispered back that he could shoot.

  Svarte wanted to shake his head at such nonsense but wisely thought that it would be better for Arn to learn from his own mistakes than from his thrall. Curtly he repeated something he had said by the campfire the night before. Aim far behind the shoulder, through the lungs. Then the stag would stand still if the shot was true. Because low behind the shoulder was the heart. And the stag would take off in fright and spread his fear to the others. If the stag was hit well in the lungs and stood still, he could try to shoot another one.

&
nbsp; Arn nocked an arrow onto his bowstring, held it fast with his left thumb, and crossed himself. Then they waited.

  After a wait that surely seemed much longer to Arn than to the thralls, three stags stood still, listening into the mist. But they were clearly visible. Arn touched Svarte lightly on the shoulder so he could ask with his eyes rather than say anything. Svarte whispered quietly in Arn's ear that they were in good position, but too far away. Arn nodded that he understood.

  But then he suddenly drew his bow all the way and seemed to take aim an arm's length above the yearling that was closest within range. He let the arrow fly without hesitating. They heard the arrow strike, but then saw the yearling stand still as if uncomprehending that it now harbored death within itself. Arn shot another arrow. And another in rapid succession. Now they could hear the stags running off.

  Arn wanted to run out into the mist to see what had happened, but Kol grabbed him by the arm and then grew frightened at what he had done. Yet Arn wasn't the least bit angry about being held back; he nodded that he'd understood. They had to wait until the sun had burned away the elf dance, which the thralls believed could bring nothing but trouble and misfortune.

  After they unpacked their cloaks bundled on their backs, Svarte and Kol wrapped themselves in them and lay down next to a log and fell asleep. Arn sat down but couldn't sleep. He had shot as well as he could and was sure that his first two shots had hit home, but he was uncertain about what had happened to the third shot, although he had a feeling that something was wrong. Maybe he had shot too quickly, maybe he had been too tense. His heart had pounded so loudly that he thought the deer might have heard it.

  When the sun later burned off the mist and they could see clearly, Svarte woke up and then roused his son. They went out into the meadow to see what they would find.