by Jan Guillou
When Knut didn't seem willing to acquiesce in this matter, Arn pointed out that he had actually written the document as if Knut were already king, but with words that could have a double meaning, and then he read aloud the words, slowly and clearly:
through the power invested in us by Our Lord Jesus Christ, his Mother the Eternal Virgin Mary, and all the saints, we consign anyone who breaks this contract and agreement to outlawry . . .
Arn explained that if one read this "we" to mean Knut Eriksson alone, then Knut had his power from God and only a king could have such. Besides, only a king had the sole authority to condemn someone to outlawry. The intention was to suggest that Knut Eriksson was king by God's grace, yet without saying it directly.
Knut then agreed to this and gave Arn his seal with the three crowns, asking him to go to the writing chamber to affix the seal. Now only Emund's seal was lacking, but they all considered it a foregone conclusion that it would soon be attached next to the other seals, even though Emund himself had not the slightest knowledge of this impending business transaction.
The next day Eskil and Knut, all the Norwegian retainers, and half of those from Arnas were to ride to Forsvik on this errand. Arn wondered why they were so heavily armed for a peaceful mission carrying a load of silver, but Eskil explained that the best way to avoid a quarrel was to ensure that the man with whom one was about to conduct a tricky negotiation had as little desire to argue as possible. In that respect, Norwegian retainers would have a strongly cooling effect. When Emund affixed his seal to the document he needed to be in good health and of sound mind, otherwise everything would come to naught. Arn then thought that he understood and settled down.
Now Knut took Arn aside, saying that in this situation it would be best if Arn were not in the retinue, because his presence might adversely affect Emund's peace of mind. Arn easily and quickly agreed, so quickly in fact that it surprised Knut, who had been dreading this conversation. But Arn had other plans and other desires, and he mentioned somewhat cautiously that while his kinsmen were away on business near the shores of Lake Vattern, he would be taking care of some matters at Husaby. Knut understood at once what he was referring to, for Eskil had already told him about Cecilia and the difficulties that might arise for her and Arn.
It was just after St. Gertrude's Day, and spring was clearly felt in the air. The snow was easy enough to ride through but the ice was still hard, as the heavily laden and armed contingent rode out from Arnas. They had to carry everything on their backs or in saddlebags, because no wagons could make it through at this point in the spring. Emund and his men would not be expecting visitors at this time of year, which would make the negotiations easier.
They rode first to the north until they reached the River Tidan; the ice there was still exposed, making it easier to proceed all the way to the Askeberga ting site. There they camped overnight in the shelters. The next day they started off at dawn so as to reach Forsvik by evening, wanting to enter the courtyard before Emund's men discovered their approach.
In this they were successful. Emund and his men were taken by surprise and swiftly disarmed. His retainers and others who looked capable of fighting were locked into storehouses and smithies and guarded closely by grim Norsemen. Present in the longhouse were only Emund himself, his grown son Germund, his wife Ingeborg, and three small children, as well as the house thralls that were necessary, although the visitors saw to it that none of them carried any weapons.
It was a somber feast at which Eskil and Knut ate heartily, speaking in loud, carefree voices, while Emund and his family replied suspiciously, giving curt answers to everything that was said.
Eskil seemed in especially good humor, and from the start he explained that he had come on business, and that they would surely succeed in reaching an agreement. After he had feasted for a while he ordered a chest of silver to be brought in. It was placed on the table between him and Emund, who brightened up a bit. The silver on the table spoke of business and not of death. And yet the conversation was sluggish.
After they had been eating for a long time, Eskil proposed quite courteously that when they began to discuss the matter at hand, such discussions were best conducted among men, so Mistress Ingeborg and her children had the guests' permission to retire. The host family obeyed this command at once.
When Eskil and Knut were alone with Emund, Eskil spoke simply and clearly. He said that as far as the price was concerned it might seem a bit low, for it was clear that Forsvik was worth more than fifty marks in silver; anyone could see that. Here he broke off to open his silver chest and take out the bill of sale, which he read aloud in the vernacular, but without mentioning all the names in the letter and especially not Knut Eriksson's. With this Emund was even more convinced that this matter really did concern striking a bargain, although an unfavorable one for him.
Eskil then pointed out that the thirty marks in silver that Emund had received at Axevalla landsting, and now those words were mentioned for the first time, should be reckoned into the sale price. Those thirty marks had been intended as reconciliation, and Emund had not agreed to reconcile then, but he would be wise to do so now.
Emund nodded that he could understand that way of thinking and replied somewhat cautiously that eighty marks in silver was still a good sum, especially as it offered reconciliation into the bargain. Eskil said that he was glad it had been easy to understand each other so far.
But Emund was not ready to affix his seal and accept the silver until he had received certain assurances, for it did not seem safe and secure to do business with his own retainers taken prisoner by Norwegian berserkers of the most belligerent type. He could not understand why the man sitting at the table with them, the man called Knut, had anything to do with this matter, because he knew no Knut.
Eskil now replied that he could well understand Emund's ap
prehensions. But they could ease his concerns in a simple way: the next morning they would load the sleighs with Emund's family and those retainers who wanted to go along. After the sleighs had departed they would wait long enough for those who had left to reach safety before concluding the bargain. In this way Emund would not have to fear for the lives and safety of his family.
Emund concurred but added that his own life would not be worth much the moment he was left alone at Forsvik surrounded by men who were not his friends.
Eskil nodded thoughtfully at this and agreed that the same was true at the moment. But if Emund's kinsmen were allowed to leave alive with such a big head start that they could not be caught, then that would be much different from killing them all immediately, because an agreement was proving difficult to reach.
Emund then said that he would agree. But he had one last thing to suggest. The silver that would pay for the purchase should travel in the same sleighs with his family.
Eskil found that proposal unacceptable since it was not customary to pay for something one had not yet received. If Emund refused, all the silver would be lost and of no use. They agreed to meet each other halfway after wrangling for a while. Half the purchase price would leave with the morning's sleighs, and Emund would get the other half after he had confirmed the purchase with his own seal. There they left the matter, and they all retired for the night, though many at Forsvik had trouble sleeping.
When the morning came, half of the locked-up retainers were released so that they could have breakfast and prepare the sleighs that would be needed. Then Emund said goodbye to his wife Ingeborg and his children, who as agreed would carry half of the silver which Eskil brought out to the lead sleigh and placed next to Emund's wife. The sleighs then set off across the ice of Lake Vattern.
They waited without saying much in the longhouse until the sleighs' head start was so great that they could not be caught. Now it was time to conclude the bargain. Emund was melancholy and pale, and his left hand shook when with Eskil's help he burned his seal onto the bill of sale. The stump of his right arm, suppurating through his linen bandages, smel
led terrible.
When the bill of sale was in order, Eskil carefully rolled it up and stuffed it inside his shirt. He shoved the chest with the second half of the purchase price over toward Emund and said goodbye, explaining that for his part there was nothing more to do at Forsvik. Some of his men would stay and maintain the manor until spring, when replacements from Arnas would come to take over.
Then he went outside and gathered his waiting retainers from Arnas. He mounted his horse and rode off without haste.
But inside the longhouse no one gave any sign of allowing Emund to leave in his waiting sleigh. When such a long time passed that Eskil was no longer in sight and could no longer hear any noise from Forsvik, Elling the Strong and Egil Olafsen of Ulateig went out to the courtyard and immediately killed the retainers who were waiting for their lord and flung their bodies into the sleigh.
When that was done they came back into the longhouse and sat down without saying a word, since nothing needed to be said. Everyone inside had heard and understood.
Now Knut turned to Emund and spoke to him in a low voice but with cold hatred.
"You wondered, Emund One-Hand, who I was since you did not know any Knut. I will now tell you, because I'm not an ordinary Norseman. I am Knut Eriksson, Erik Jedvardsson's son, and although you have paid your debt to Eskil Magnusson, you also have a debt owing to me."
Emund understood which debt he was referring to and jumped up as if intending to flee, but was caught with happy shouts by the Norsemen. With much scorn they dragged him out to the courtyard kicking and flailing, and there they spread him out on the ground by pounding spikes into the ground frost and tying his arms and legs so that he lay on his back with a piece of wood as a pillow.
Geir Erlendsen thought that they should have bound him in the other direction so that Knut could witness the good Norwegian custom of carving the blood-eagle into wretches who deserved to die in torment. But it would be sufficient, after the king-killer's ribs were broken and folded out like wings on the ground, if Knut could then with his bare hands rip Emund's heart from his body.
But Knut Eriksson refused to hear of it, since he did not want to soil his hands with an outlaw's blood. Rather, as the Holy Scriptures prescribed, the king-murderer should die in the same manner as he had murdered, by decapitation from the front.
Emund Ulvbane behaved in a manly way and did not beg for his life. With a single blow Knut Eriksson severed his head from his body and had it raised on a lance in the middle of the courtyard to remind the thralls who were left that there was a new lord at Forsvik. Emund's body was flung into the sleigh among those of the retainers, and the sleigh was sent off to be burned out on the ice of the lake.
Knut Eriksson and most of his men stayed only another day at Forsvik to go through whatever might seem useful in the store-houses and lake houses. What they found was good, for in one of the lake houses there was enough sawn oak to build the ship they had planned. Eyvind Jonsson, Jon Mickelsen, and Egil Olafsen of Ulateig had to remain at Forsvik to finish building the ship before the ice on Lake Vattern thawed. It would be a mighty task that only Norwegian shipbuilders could manage.
With the rest of his Norwegian retainers and some of those from Arnas, Knut Eriksson headed back to Western Gotaland. He had taken his first long stride on the path that would lead him to the three royal crowns.
Listen, there is my friend! Yes, there he comes, bounding along on the hills. Like a gazelle is my friend or like a young stag.
See, now he stands there behind my wall, he looks in through the window, he peers through the grating. My friend begins to speak, he says to me:
Stand up, my beloved, you my beauty, and come outside.
For see, winter is gone, the rainy time is over and has gone its way.
Again and again Arn murmured the words of the Lord to express what filled him more than anything else. He was riding toward Husaby, making great clods of earth and frozen snow and ice spurt up around Shimal's hooves. The stallion was hot and sweaty, but Arn bore his own heat within and thought that the springtime wind of speed could cool him. He knew full well that this might not be the most suitable state of mind for appearing in the house of the Lord to sing the Lord's praises and His alone. And he was very sure that Father Henri would have had many stern views on the matter.
But he rode like a lunatic with the speed of a fool because he could do nothing else. So filled was he with Cecilia that all else had to stand aside except the Lord Himself. And it felt as though the Devil were tempting him with evil thoughts, asking if he had to choose between the Lord's love or Cecilia's, which would he choose? Evil thoughts seemed to force themselves on him no matter how much he tried to defend himself, as if the Devil had truly discovered a soul with a great weakness.
He had to stop, dismount from Shimal, and pray for forgiveness for the wicked thoughts that had seeped inside him. He prayed until he was freezing cold and then even more. After that he continued on at a more modest pace, for he had come so close to Husaby that people there would soon be able to see him.
He arrived at the church in good time and led Shimal to the priest's stable. He wiped the horse down, covering him with homespun so that he wouldn't cool off too fast after the sweaty ride. Shimal looked at him with his big, grateful eyes—as if the stallion had been wronged and had seen through him.
It was Annunciation Day, the time when the storks came to Western Gotaland and when the plow was to be put to work in the fields at Vitae Schola in Denmark. This mass was suited to Arn's voice just as well as the mass at Christmas. The Virgin Mary was the patroness of the monastery at Varnhem, and all singers who came from Varnhem thus knew every mass by heart that belonged to the Holy Virgin.
But during the singing in the church he still felt himself led astray into sin even though he sang with Cecilia as ecstatically as at Christmas. In lines of text when the words spoke of love for Our Lady he looked Cecilia in the eyes and meant every word for her, and in her voice when she replied he felt that she was singing in the same way and meant the same as he did.
Without realizing that he was thereby trampling on Algot Palsson's self-respect, he invited himself to stay a few days at the Husaby royal manor so that he and Cecilia could practice new songs before the next mass. Arn had sensed, without knowing the reason for it, that Algot Palsson was not a man to refuse any request that came from a son of Arnas. So little needed to be said about the matter, before everything was arranged as Arn had requested.
But after that a conflict broke out between the two young people on the one hand, and everyone who wanted to or was required to watch over them on the other. They tried to use all their cunning to find a chance to speak together in private. Algot and the older women in the house saw this and in turn used all their cunning to watch them at every moment. As long as they sat demurely in the hall with other people close by and sang the Lord's praises in one song more beautiful than the last, no one had any objections. Both Arn and Cecilia had a great tolerance for sitting together and singing, but it was no greater than other people's tenacity in watching them. And a careful vigil was kept that they did not sit too close. At supper the two young people sat in the high seat, but with Algot as a mighty breakwater between them, and they couldn't come near each other except when Cecilia politely poured more ale for Arn, which caused him some torment because he had vowed never again in his life to drink as much ale as he had at the first feast in Husaby.
Just before Annunciation Day, Priest Sune in Husaby had attended a collegium with Bishop Bengt in Skara. Despite the terrible condition of the roads at this time of year, many more clergymen from the diocese had gathered than expected, a sign of the great unrest that had spread on the winds of gossip in all of Western Gotaland after the landsting at Axevalla. Everyone knew that King Karl Sverkersson would not be content after having lost all power in Western Gotaland, just as everyone knew that Knut Eriksson was the foremost contender to oppose the king and take his crown from him. If the worst happened, Ki
ng Karl would come with an army to Western Gotaland, and it was not easy to say who would win that battle. The only certainty was that such a war would severely ravage the land.
The question that the collegium with Bishop Bengt had to resolve was whether the church should speak for one or the other in this struggle for earthly power. The clergymen were equally divided between those who supported King Karl, including the bishop himself, and those who preferred Knut Eriksson. But most thought that the only wise position for the church to take would be not to get involved in this struggle. For if the church interjected itself in such a game, much grief could come from it.
But there were also other matters to discuss when the clergymen of the diocese had gathered. The cathedral dean had recounted for those who wanted to listen, and also for those who no longer wished to hear, how he had been an eyewitness to a miracle when a little defenseless monk boy from Varnhem, with the help of the archangel Gabriel, smote two warriors to the ground.
Since Priest Sune now sat at the supper table in the Husaby royal manor and saw Arn seated there too, he was reminded of this story of the miracle and recounted the tale as he had heard it. Everyone listened with eager attention except Arn, who did not seem to like what he heard. The priest was then struck by a thought that Arn perhaps knew more about this event; he came from Varnhem, after all. Perhaps he even knew the monk boy involved. So the priest asked Arn if he was familiar with the story.
Everyone could see that Arn found the question awkward, but they could not understand why. It was hard to believe that Arn might feel envy toward one of the other monk boys.
Arn was slow to reply since he felt himself trapped, but unlike other people, he could not resort to lies. So he told the truth, pointing out that the cathedral dean's version of the story was all wrong. There was no question of a miracle, nor was the little monk boy defenseless, since Arn himself was the person in question. What happened was that drunken peasants had come running from a wedding ale and absurdly accused him of being a bride-robber, despite the fact that he had been outside the cloister walls for only a few hours. They had sought to kill him, but so that the killing would seem more honorable, they had given him a sword to defend himself.
