Birth Of the Kingdom (2010) (26 page)

‘Precisely,’ said Arn. ‘Precisely. May it be God’s will!’

With thundering hooves the stout Nordic horses once again pounded the bridal path. Long lances glinted in the sunlight, and the clanging and ringing of weapons could be heard everywhere, as well as the harsh, heated words of warriors. A number of the horsemen bore the king’s emblem, but most of them were Folkungs who had been summoned from farms and hamlets far and wide. A thousand armed men were to protect the bride and her procession. So many warriors had not been seen since peace had come, and it was almost like old times when the king called for a campaign.

From villages as far away as the region of Skara, every single person had come out, and since early morning crowds had lined the entire road between Husaby and Forshem Church. Some sat down to rest with ale and pork, others conversed with neighbours they hadn’t seen in a long time, while the children leaped and played all around them. Everyone was there to see the bride riding to Forshem. But they’d seen bridal processions before, so this time most of them hoped to see something more. The portent had shown four suns, and many rumours circulated about evil machinations directed at the bride. Some had to do with perils
threatening the bride from dark forces; others foretold that she would be stolen by Näcken the water spirit or be turned to stone by the siren of the woods or be poisoned by the troll. Other rumours were less imaginative and had to do with war and misfortune descending over the land – and it made no difference whether the bride ended up alive under the featherbed on this night, or whether she was killed or spirited away. Among the older and wiser men there was gloomy talk of how this wedding had much to do with the struggle for power in the realm.

No matter what happened during this bridal procession, it would in any case be a drama worth waiting many hours to see. And wait they did, because those who were supposed to fetch the bride were late.

When the sun was at its zenith, Cecilia was led out into the courtyard by her three kinsmen Pål, Algot, and Sture, who had arrived that morning from Arnäs still feeling the effects of the ale. Yet they were in good humour and had much to tell about the youths’ games with the foremost archer in the land.

The three brothers were all clad in their most beautiful green mantles of the Pål clan, and yet their garb looked pale and simple in comparison with that worn by Cecilia. In the courtyard stood the bridal table and on top were five leather pouches of earth from the five farms along with a heavy chest; this was the dowry that those who came to fetch the bride would take with them. Also on the table was Cecilia’s gift for the bridegroom, the blue Folkung mantle carefully folded; she hadn’t yet shown it to anyone. The stable thralls held the reins of the groomed and festively adorned horses, and the six bridesmaids dressed in white held the long bridal veil in their hands. Cecilia would not be dressed in the veil until just before the men arrived to fetch her.

There they all now stood, but nothing happened.

‘Perhaps Herr Eskil drank too much of his own excellent ale,’ said young Sture shamelessly. Like the others, he took it for granted that Eskil Magnusson would be the one to fetch the bride, since old Herr Magnus was now crippled.

For an hour they stood in the noonday sun without budging, because that would spell bad luck. At first Cecilia feared that something bad had happened; then her concern was replaced by a cool anger that Eskil had let her stand here so long. She thought that even though Eskil might be shrewd in business affairs, he could indeed be irresponsible when it came to the well-being of others.

Yet she would soon see that none of this was Eskil’s fault.

From far off, at the bend in the road down by the stream and bridge, could be heard shouts from the waiting people. It was not the sound of surprise or alarm that they heard, but rather jubilation.

The tension grew among the three Pål brothers and Cecilia as they stood with their eyes fixed on the bend in the road where the one who had come to fetch the bride would appear.

The first thing they saw was a rider bearing the king’s banner. Then came a glittering retinue with countless lance tips flashing in the sunlight.

‘If
this
is the bride-fetcher we were kept waiting for, then everything is forgiven,’ Pål Jönsson gasped in surprise. He gestured for the bridesmaids to bring the white veil and drape it over Cecilia so that her hair and face and most of her body would be hidden.

Then she stood motionless and erect as the royal horsemen came thundering into the courtyard, taking up position in a wide circle with their swords drawn and their horses facing outward. Riding into the huge space formed inside this circle came the king and queen, both wearing ermine and crowns. They reined in their horses ten paces from the waiting Pål brothers and Cecilia.

Because Cecilia’s face was now hidden under the veil, no one could see her eyes. And so she was unable to meet the gaze of her dear friend the queen, but she gave a little nod in return when Cecilia Blanca smiled at her with an expression that showed she realized this was not what Cecilia Rosa had expected.

The king raised his hand for silence as he delivered his greeting.

‘Many years ago we, Knut Eriksson, king of the Swedes and Goths, promised that we would escort you, Cecilia, and our friend Arn Magnusson to the bridal ale. Promises should be kept, especially promises made by a king. We are here now and ask for forgiveness that it has taken so long to see this promise fulfilled!’

With these words, the king dismounted from his horse and stepped forward to greet the three Pål brothers, one after the other. They all returned his greeting by swiftly falling to one knee. A bride’s kinsmen rarely behaved in this manner upon handing over the bride. But it was even rarer to have the bride fetched by the king himself.

To Cecilia, King Knut merely gave a curt nod, and he did not touch her, for this would bring bad luck to both of them.

Men from the king’s retinue were summoned to load the dowry and the bride’s gift on a cart festooned with leafy boughs and drawn not by oxen but by two lively sorrel horses. The stable thralls then led forward the horses for the bridal party to mount. A stool was put in place to assist Cecilia. Since she would now be riding in her bridal attire and with the bridal veil, she could not avoid the women’s saddle, which she normally found so loathsome.

Then they rode off from the royal estate of Husaby with the king and queen in the lead, followed by the bride and then the three Pål brothers. The royal retainers fell in on either side, and horsemen galloped ahead to clear the road
of curious spectators who might be standing too near. Commands resounded through the air as the leaders of the retainers shouted back and forth. The Husaby thralls started in on the warbling, rolling song that was their way of sending along their best wishes.

A more magnificent bridal procession than the one now riding through the summer sunshine down the slopes from Husaby toward Forshem had not been seen in the realm since King Knut, many years ago, went to Gudhem cloister to fetch his bride. But that time not as many peasants had turned out to watch the festivities. And this time even many town-dwellers from Skara had come out. It was easy to recognize the town-dwellers, since they dressed like womenfolk, with feathers in their caps even though they were men, and they all talked through their nose.

As the procession approached Forshem, the riders slowed their pace, with the faster horsemen galloping on ahead, kicking up clouds of dust, in order to make inquiries and ensure that both processions would arrive at the church at the same time.

From a great distance Cecilia could see that the church hill was crowded with people, but that there were also red colours among the blue. The king and queen, who were riding in front of her, must have seen the Sverker colours too, and yet they didn’t seem the least bit alarmed. So Cecilia quickly crossed herself, thinking that she was wrong in assuming there was any danger.

As she got closer, she understood the reason for all the red colour. Waiting at the church door was the archbishop, and his retainers were almost all Sverker men.

The bridegroom’s procession was now seen approaching from Arnäs. In front was the eldest leader of the Folkung retainers, who had come all the way from Älgarås for the honour of riding in the forefront of the Folkungs. Behind
him rode Herr Eskil and Arn side by side, both in the garb of warriors, which seemed to suit Arn better than his elder brother. Arn had rowan boughs adorning both himself and his horse, since he had been greeted along his procession route by almost as many well-wishers as Cecilia had encountered. Behind Arn rode his groomsmen, which included a Cistercian monk dressed in white robes with the hood looking like a tall cornet on his head.

Everything could now take place in the order that custom prescribed. On the church hill the bride dismounted from her horse with the help of her kinsmen. The retainers of the king, the Folkungs, and the archbishop all formed a circle of shields and swords around the open area in front of the church door where the archbishop stood, wearing his finest vestments with two black-clad chaplains at his side and the white
pallium
draped over his chest and back.

The bride was led forward to bow her head briefly before the archbishop without touching him. Her three kinsmen dropped to one knee and kissed the bishop’s ring.

From a distance Arn and his companions had been watching; now they too came forward to greet the archbishop. Arn also kissed the bishop’s ring.

Then came the moment when Arn and Cecilia stood face to face in front of the archbishop, and Cecilia slowly removed her bridal veil to reveal her face. She had seen him through the cloth, but he had not seen her until now, as was the custom.

Then the wedding gifts were exchanged. Erik jarl stepped over to Arn and with a deep bow, which was an unexpected gesture that prompted much whispering, he handed the groom a heavy and costly belt made from heavy gold links, each of which was set with a green stone. Arn fastened the belt around Cecilia, fumbling a bit, which aroused great merriment. Then Cecilia turned around with her arms outstretched
so that everyone who stood near could see the glittering gold that now encircled her waist, with one end hanging down the front of her skirt.

Pål Jönsson then brought Cecilia’s wedding gift; even folded as it was, everyone could see that it was a blue mantle. Eskil reacted quickly and removed the mantle his brother was wearing; he then unfastened from the cloth the heavy silver clasp that had held it closed under Arn’s chin. Cecilia slowly and solemnly unfolded her gift. Soon loud shouts of admiration and excitement issued from the crowds standing behind all the retainers as the people craned their necks to see. A more beautiful blue mantle had never been seen before, and the lion on the back gleamed as if made of gold, the three bars were as bright as silver, while the lion’s mouth shone bright red. Together Eskil and Cecilia placed the mantle over Arn’s shoulders.

Then he did just as Cecilia had done, spinning once around with the mantle stretched out over his arms so that everyone could see, and many more admiring shouts were heard.

The archbishop raised his staff, a bit galled that it wasn’t met with immediate silence, though this had less to do with any sort of godlessness and more to do with the fact that so many people were talking all at once and with enthusiasm about the costly wedding gifts.

‘In the name of God, the Son, and the Holy Virgin!’ intoned the archbishop, and finally everyone fell silent. ‘I now bless you, Arn Magnusson, and you, Cecilia Algotsdotter, as you enter into a marriage sanctified by God. May happiness, peace, and prosperity follow you until death do you part, and may this union, ordained by the Lord God, contribute to the peace and concord of our kingdom. Amen.’

He then took some holy water from a silver bowl, which one of the chaplains handed to him, and touched first Cecilia’s forehead, shoulders, and heart; then he did the same with Arn.

If the archbishop had had his way, Arn and Cecilia would have then embraced each other as a sign that they had now entered into marriage. Arn and Cecilia both understood the hidden meaning of this blessing, which was that they had now become husband and wife, but neither had any desire to participate in this churchly show. For their kinsmen and before the law, they would not become husband and wife until after being escorted to bed. And if they were now required to choose between the archbishop’s efforts to allow the church to rule, and the conviction of their kinsmen that old customs could not simply be dismissed, neither of them thought this was the proper moment to confront such a dilemma. It took only an exchange of glances for them to agree how they would act.

Rather vexed that the couple hadn’t seemed to understand what he was so clearly indicating with his blessing, the archbishop abruptly turned and walked into the church to conduct the mass.

The king and queen followed him, then Arn and Cecilia, their groomsmen, bridesmaids, and kinsmen, as many as would fit into the small church.

The intention was to keep the mass brief, because the archbishop knew full well that everyone’s eagerness to start the wedding celebration was greater than their thirst to commune with their God. Yet he received unexpected assistance from the bridal couple when it was time to sing the hymns, as well as from the Cistercian who was part of Arn Magnusson’s retinue. When the final hymns began, those three simply took over. With increasing zeal, and finally with tears in the eyes of both the bride and groom, the three voices joined, with Cecilia’s soprano singing the lead, and the monk’s deep voice taking the third part.

The archbishop looked out over the enraptured congregation, who seemed to have forgotten all their haste to leave
God’s house and start in on the ale and entertainments. Then his glance fell upon Arn Magnusson. Unlike all the other men, he still wore his sword at his side. At first the archbishop was angry, as if this were a sign of ill intent. Yet he could see no trace of evil in this man’s eyes as he sang as well as the best of church singers and with sincere rapture. Then the archbishop quickly crossed himself, murmuring a prayer to ask forgiveness for his sinful thoughts and his foolishness as he remembered that the groom was in fact a Templar knight, no matter the blue of his mantle. And a Templar was a man of God, and the sword in that black leather scabbard with the cross of gold had been blessed by the Lord’s Mother; it was the only weapon that was allowed inside the church.