Birth of the Kingdom. Jan Guillou

amount of the fresh ale.

      ‘That’s the agreement between Arn and myself,’ said Harald.

      ‘I see that you’ve got yourself a new surcoat,’ said Eskil.

      ‘Among your retainers at Arnäs there are several Norsemen, as you know. In your service they all wear blue and have little use for the clothes they were wearing when they arrived. I bought this Birchleg surcoat from one of them, and in it I feel more at home than in the colours I always wore in the Holy Land,’ Harald replied with some pride.

      ‘Two crossed arrows in gold on a red field,’ Eskil muttered pensively.

      ‘It suits me even better, since the bow is my best weapon, and these colours are my birthright,’ Harald assured him. ‘The bow and arrow was the Birchlegs’ primary weapon in their struggle. In Norway I had no equal with the bow, and I grew no worse in the Holy Land.’

      ‘That’s undoubtedly true,’ replied Eskil. ‘The Birchlegs relied heavily on the power of the bow, and that brought them their victory. You left for the Holy Land in their darkest hour. A year later, Sverre Munnsson came from the Faeroe Islands. Birger Brosa and King Knut backed him with weapons, men, and silver. Now you have won, and Sverre is king. But you know all this, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, and that’s why I want to accompany your brother to Näs to thank King Knut and Jarl Birger, who supported us.’

      ‘No one shall take that right from you,’ muttered Eskil. ‘And you’re Øystein Møyla’s son, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right. My father fell at the battle of Re, outside Tønsberg. I was there, a mere boy. I escaped the foes to the Holy Land, and now I shall return in our own colours.’

      Eskil nodded and took another drink, pondering where to lead the conversation. The other two waited patiently.

      ‘If you are indeed Øystein Møyla’s son you can assert your right to the crown of Norway,’ Eskil said in his business voice. ‘You’re our friend, just as Sverre is, and that’s good. But you have a choice. You can choose to support the rebels and become king or possibly die trying. Or you can sail north to King Sverre, taking a letter from King Knut and the jarl, and swear allegiance to him. That is your choice, and there is nothing in between.’

      ‘And if I then become your foe?’ Harald asked without pausing to consider what this new revelation might mean.

      ‘There’s no chance you would become our enemy,’ replied Eskil in the same clipped, businesslike tone. ‘Either you’ll die in the battle against King Sverre, in which case you wouldn’t be much of a foe to us. Or else you’ll win. In that case you would still be our friend.’

      Harald stood up, holding his ale tankard in both hands, and drained it to the bottom. He slammed it to the table so that the charcoal dust outlining Eskil’s business realm sprayed in all directions. Then he gestured toward his head and staggered toward the door, sweeping his red mantle tighter around him. When he opened the door the bright summer night dazzled them all, and a nightingale could be heard singing.

      ‘What ideas have you sown in our friend Harald’s head now?’ Arn asked with a frown.

      ‘Only what I’ve learned from you in our brief time together, brother. It’s better to say what needs to be said now than wait till later. What do you think he should do?’

      ‘The wisest course for Harald would be to swear an oath of allegiance to King Sverre at once, on his first trip,’ said Arn. ‘A king would not treat badly the son of a fallen hero who served the same cause as he did. If Harald makes peace with Sverre it would be best for Norway, for Western Götaland, and for us Folkungs.’

      ‘I think so too,’ said Eskil. ‘But men who catch the scent of the king’s crown don’t always act with reason. What if Harald joins up with the rebels?’

      ‘Then Sverre will have a warrior opposing him who is stronger than any other in Norway,’ Arn said quietly. ‘But the same is true in the other case. If he joins up with Sverre, the king may then have so much power that the struggle for the crown will wane. I know Harald well after the many years of war he has spent at my side. It’s easy to understand that it would make a man’s head spin if he suddenly found out that he could be king. The same would have happened to you or me. But tomorrow, once he has thought it over, he’ll decide to be our first mate rather than chase after the Norwegian crown through fire and a rain of arrows.’

      Arn got up, declining Eskil’s offer of more ale. He took a few sheepskins, bowed goodnight to his brother, and went out into the bright summer night. He heard the nightingale again, and the cold morning light shone in Eskil’s eyes before the door closed and he could reach for more ale.

      Arn shut his eyes and took a deep breath as he stepped out into the summer night, the likes of which he remembered from his childhood. There was a strong aroma of alder and birch, and the fog hovered like dancing elves down there by the river. There was no one around.

      He wrapped his unlined summer mantle around him, crossed the courtyard, and went into the cow pasture so he could be alone. Out there a black bull appeared out of the mist and began to paw with one front hoof and snort at him. Arn drew his sword and slowly continued across the pasture. Once across he sat down under a big willow tree whose lower branches drooped toward the river. Nightingales were singing all around him. They sounded different up here in the North, as if the cool, clear air gave them a better singing voice.

      He prayed for the brother he had never known, Knut, who had died from youthful pride and the desire of a young Danish lord to kill someone in order to feel like a real warrior. He prayed that God might forgive the Danish lord’s sins, just as they must be forgiven by the dead man’s brothers. And he prayed that he might be spared any feelings of revenge.

      He prayed for his father’s health, for Eskil and Eskil’s daughters and his son Torgils, and for the sisters he didn’t know who were already married women.

      He prayed for Cecilia’s treacherous sister Katarina, that she might come to terms with her sins during her time at Gudhem and seek forgiveness for them.

      Finally, he prayed for a long time that the Mother of God would give him clarity in his words at the meeting to come, and that no misfortune would befall Cecilia or their son Magnus before they were all united with the blessing of the Church.

      When his prayers were done the glow of the sun appeared above the mist. Then he meditated on the great mercy he had received, that his life had been spared despite the fact that his bones should have long since been bleached white under the merciless sun of the Holy Land.

      God’s Mother had taken pity on him more often than he deserved. In return She had given him a mission, and he promised not to fail Her. With all his power he would work to fulfil Her will, which he had held close to his heart ever since the moment She had appeared to him in Forshem church.

      He wrapped a sheepskin round him and lay down among the roots of the willow tree that enfolded him like an embrace. He had often slept this way out in the field after saying his prayers but with one ear open so as not to be surprised by the enemy.

      By old habit he woke up abruptly without knowing why. He drew his sword without a sound and stood up as he silently rubbed his hands and looked all around.

      It was a wild boar sow with eight small striped piglets cautiously following her along the riverbank. Arn sat down silently and watched them, careful that the light wouldn’t glint off the blade of his sword.

      

      The next morning they got a later start than they’d intended; Eskil’s contrary mood and somewhat red eyes had something to do with it. They rowed due south for a few hours, which was harder work for the oarsmen since the river was narrowing and the current increasing. But by midday when they reached the rapids of the River Tidan, where the boat had to be hauled by oxen and draymen to the lake of Braxenbolet, the worst of their toil was over. They had to wait a while because the draymen were hauling a boat from the other direction; both the men and the oxen needed to