Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (22 page)

So the two got a late start on the most important task, to weave Cecilia’s bridal mantle. When the bride was escorted along the road to the church for the blessing and on to the bridal ale, she was supposed to be clad in her own clan’s colours. Cecilia had such strong memories of the blue colour from her time in Gudhem convent. There she and Cecilia Blanca had been alone among all the Sverker daughters who wore red yarn around one arm as a sign of their common loyalty and hatred toward the two foes, Cecilia Rosa and Cecilia Blanca. She and her best friend had defied them by tying a small piece of blue yarn around their arms. And when the king and jarl came at last to take away Cecilia Blanca and make her queen, jarl Birger Brosa had done something that still warmed Cecilia’s memory.

She had been summoned to the hospitium and there the evil Mother Rikissa had torn off the scrap of blue yarn. Cecilia had been close to tears at this affront and her own feeling of powerlessness. Then the jarl had come over and hung his own Folkung mantle around her shoulders, which was a sign of protection that no one could mistake. Since that day she had always thought of herself as wearing blue and not green, which was the colour of the Pål clan.

With renewed vigour they went back to work on the bridal mantle. Suom wove in the sign of the Pål clan in the middle of the back, a black shield with a silver chevron, so that it was very prominent although it was not sewn on but a part of the weave. After many attempts Cecilia had developed a deep, shimmering green colour which pleased them both. At last the mantle was done.

When Suom took her leave to return to Arnäs, Cecilia stood up, sweeping the loveliest of green Pål mantles around her, and headed over to the longhouse, where her kinsmen were now gathered for the brief evening ale that would start off the maidens’ evening celebration. When she came in the faces of the three Pål brothers lit up with genuine joy when they saw the mantle she wore. They all admired it and wanted to feel the fabric, turning it this way and that in the light to see its shimmer. They also seemed relieved to have escaped the affront to the clan if she had decided to sew a blue mantle for herself for this grand wedding celebration.

Pål Jönsson himself handed her a small goblet of ale and was the first to drink with her. Afterwards she drank with his younger brother Algot. Sture, who was the youngest and still a bachelor, had ridden to Arnäs to take part in the bachelors’ evening as the only youth from the Pål clan. They all raised their tankards to the young Sture because, as Pål said, it would not be easy to spend the evening drinking with men who were all Folkungs and Eriks.

Then they began the arrangements for what was to take place during the maidens’ evening. Six young women from the Pål clan came into the hall, taking Cecilia’s hand and greeting her. She didn’t know any of them, since they were so young. The priest from Husaby Church blessed all seven of the maidens and then the house thralls brought each of them a white shift and a wreath made of lingonberry twigs.

Cecilia had only a vague idea of what a maidens’ evening was, and she had no idea how she was supposed to behave when these young women, whom she didn’t know, lined up holding the white shifts in their arms, with the lingonberry wreaths on top. She decided that the only thing she could do was to pretend that nothing was unfamiliar and just follow the others. They were now slowly leaving through the open doors, stepping into the summer night.

Outside stood a row of retainers. Every third man held a burning torch in his hand to keep the evil spirits or the unblessed away from the maidens as they appeared at this most dangerous of moments in terms of the powers of darkness.

Cecilia came last in the procession, which slowly headed toward the oak woods and the stream a short distance away. There the bathhouse could be glimpsed in the glow of torches.

As they left the courtyard and took their first steps into the oak forest, the other maidens began singing a song that Cecilia had never heard before, even though she’d undoubtedly heard thousands of songs. She didn’t grasp all the words, since many were old-fashioned, but she understood that it was a song to a female god from heathen times. Inside the forest menacing shadows reigned. But Cecilia didn’t believe in sirens of the woods or gnomes as much as she did in apprehensive armed retainers.

As custom demanded, the seven maidens arrived at the
washhouse at the darkest hour of the summer night. But since it was the week after Midsummer, it wasn’t very dark. Even so, they were dazzled by the burning torches that were posted around the entire washhouse. Outside stood two long benches, and there Cecilia’s escort, amid much giggling and laughter, placed their clothes so that one after the other they stood there naked. They also removed their headbands and then combed their fingers through their long tresses that fell over their shoulders and breasts.

Cecilia hesitated, blushing, although no one noticed in the dark. She had never stood naked before anyone, and at first she didn’t know how she was going to manage.

The other maidens teased her by hugging their arms to their chests and shivering, telling her to make haste so that they might quickly step inside where it was warm. Cecilia then realized that there was actually one person before whom she had been naked, although a very long time ago; only one, and that was Arn Magnusson. And if she could show herself naked to a man, never mind the one she loved, then it ought to be much easier to do so before women. That was how she persuaded herself as she diffidently fumbled with her clothes, taking them off and placing them on the wooden bench.

Now all of them lined up, crossed their hands over their breasts and walked seven times around the bathhouse, singing yet another heathen song that Cecilia had never heard. Neither the melody nor the words were familiar. After that the first maiden to approach the bathhouse opened the door, and then everyone ran inside, shrieking and giggling in the steam.

There were big wooden vessels filled with hot or cold water, as well as buckets for pouring the water. After the first cautious attempts with a bare foot, it turned out that they had to pour some of the cold water into the hot vessel, which was so huge that it could hold at least two butchered
oxen. Several of the maidens splashed cold water on some of the others, prompting more shrieks and laughter.

When one of them boldly stepped into the tub and hastily sat down, she gasped several times and then gestured to the others, who followed suit. Sitting in a circle, they grabbed each others’ hands and sang more pagan songs. Some of the words made Cecilia’s already flushed cheeks turn even redder. The songs were bawdy and dealt with things that were forbidden up until the wedding night but afterwards all actually encouraged, although many verses implied that it was the forbidden fruit that always tasted best.

Cecilia felt as if she had landed in a big tub of chicken soup, but there was in truth not much that she could do about it, nor could she get out of it by sulking. That was a consoling thought, and soon she began to feel strangely cheerful and then almost feverish, as if the sorcery of the songs had truly affected her.

They sat there until the water began to cool and the light of dawn glimmered outside as the torches gradually went out. Then they hurried to perform the last tasks before they were allowed to start drinking. They all rushed out to the stream and jumped in, screaming shrilly at the ice-cold water, then dashed back inside the bathhouse, which now seemed wonderfully warm. There they lit new torches and helped each other to wash all over, even the most unclean parts of their bodies.

Afterwards they quickly dried themselves with big pieces of linen and then went over to where they’d left their special clothing piled up. They put on the white shifts that they’d brought from the longhouse, pressed the wreaths down over their foreheads, and arranged their wet hair. A row of small ale tankards and a newly tapped cask were brought from the back of the bathhouse. They were soon drinking together like men, imitating the men as they walked around with their
legs astraddle, swaggering barefoot across the wooden floor. Cecilia wished that she’d been able to mimic her friend Cecilia Blanca, who could belch and fart like an old man.

They had to empty the ale cask before they were allowed to leave. Otherwise, as one of Cecilia’s young kinswomen named Ulrika explained, it would mean bad luck for the bride. But there was no cause for alarm on this occasion, since this was a night when the young maidens were allowed to drink as much as they liked.

The ale was warm and sweetened with honey, which better suited the women, and they soon began talking louder and louder as they drank almost like men.

And now the shyness that had existed between Cecilia and her young kinswomen disappeared. One of the maidens said that Cecilia shouldn’t think that any of them thought ill of her because she had reached such an old age before drinking the bridal ale. Another said that whoever waited for something good never waited too long.

Even though these words were no doubt meant to encourage Cecilia, they suddenly made her feel embarrassed again. All of these young maidens were so much lovelier than she was; their breasts were firm and their hips softly rounded. On this evening when Cecilia had touched her own body with less modesty than ever before, she realized that her breasts drooped and her body was gaunt and angular.

The others saw at once this hint of nervousness in Cecilia’s eyes, and before any of the others could speak, the maiden named Katarina said what she thought they were undoubtedly all thinking. For them this was a great day, for Cecilia had shown that a woman could decide much for herself. She was even able to defy her kinsmen and refuse to enter the cloister, despite the fact that a struggle for power was at stake. And she could go to the bridal bed with the one she loved instead of accepting someone chosen by her father.

Yet one of the maidens objected that it didn’t matter with whom a woman went to the bridal bed, as long as she honoured her clan. That started a heated quarrel that went on for a while, ending only when the maiden named Katarina and another named Brigida began splashing ale at each other. Finally Katarina picked up her tankard and dumped the whole thing over Brigida’s head.

That sparked new laughter and the quarrel was ended and everyone poured themselves more ale. Katarina suggested that they demand another whole cask before they went to the longhouse to attend the night ale.

But when the first cask was empty, they put on their mantles over the white shifts and gathered up their other clothing. Carrying their shoes in their hands, they walked back to the longhouse. By then it was bright daylight, and a chorus of birds was singing, with promises of a beautiful wedding day.

To Cecilia’s great amusement, the maidens now sang Kyrie Eleison; for the first time she could add her own voice to the song, sounding clearer and louder than all the others. These young maidens might well have breasts and hips more beautiful than the bride’s, but she could sing better than any of them.

Ten pounds of honey, 13 salted and 26 live pigs, 24 smoked wild boar hams and an equal number of shoulders, 10 salted and 24 live sheep, 16 live oxen and 4 salted, 14 casks of butter, 360 large cheeses and 210 small, 420 chickens, 180 geese, 4 pounds pepper and cumin, 5 pounds salt, 8 barrels of herring, 200 salmon and 150 dried Norwegian fish, as well as oats, wheat, rye, and flour, plus malt, bog-myrtle, and juniper berries in sufficient quantities.

Eskil was labouring to keep count of the provisions that came streaming into Arnäs, when Arn and his companions rode into the castle half a day earlier than planned. The next
day over two hundred guests would fill Arnäs, but for the bachelors’ evening more than a hundred were already expected, since there were many who were looking forward to the customary games, which this time promised to be particularly impressive. These were not just ordinary young men who were going to compete.

So far none of the guests had arrived, and Arnäs was deserted except for all the house thralls running back and forth as they tended to their tasks. The village of Arnäs had emptied out and every nook and cranny had been swept so as to provide lodging for guests who were too highborn to sleep in tents. Bowers of stock and rowan had been erected by the field on the other side of the moat below the western gate, and tables and benches had been hauled out there. Ale casks had been rolled across the castle courtyard, cartloads of birch and rowan branches had been brought in and unloaded to adorn the walls of the great hall. Tables were brought from near and far, while poles and canvas for tents set up and made taut.

Arn and his companions took no part in all this work, and after they handed their horses over to the stable thralls, Erik jarl decided that he needed to rest in order to gather strength for the evening’s strenuous trials. Folke Jonsson agreed. Besides, those who arrived first could claim the best sleeping areas.

Arn thought he could make better use of his time by not sleeping, but he didn’t say this out loud. Instead, he put his arms around the shoulders of his son Magnus and the young Torgils. Offering a few jests, but with great firmness, he led the two men toward the big tower. They both recoiled when he explained that they were now going to meet old Herr Magnus, because they had heard that the old man was no longer in his right mind.

Hence their great surprise when they climbed the tower
stairs with Arn and found Herr Magnus out on the battlement. He was walking back and forth, muttering but resolute, with only a rough stick to lean on for support. A foreigner was attentively walking at his side. When Herr Magnus noticed the three visitors, a broad smile immediately lit up his face. He threw out his arms, even the one holding the stick, and offered up loud and incomprehensible words praising God for the grace that had now been granted him.

Magnus Månesköld stepped forward at once, took the old man’s hand, and sank down with one knee touching the stone floor. Torgils then did the same, followed by Arn.

‘You’ve regained your strength much faster and better than I dared hope, Father,’ said Arn.