Jan Guillou - The Templar Knight

Fru Helena was not merely wealthy and of royal lineage. She had lived her life under five or six kings, three husbands, and many wars. What she didn’t know about a woman’s lot was not worth knowing.

Chiefly she impressed on them how important it was for women to learn to stick together to the very last. A woman who chose her adversaries and friends based on the shifting fortunes of men at war would end up alone in life with nothing but enemies. As delightful as it was to belong to the side that was victorious in war, it was equally miserable to be on the losing side. But if a woman lived long enough, as Fru Helena herself had done - and she hoped to God this would also be granted to the maidens now listening to her - then she would experience both sweet victory and the black feeling of defeat many times in her life.

And if women had only had the wit to stick together more steadfastly in this world, how many unnecessary wars could then have been prevented? And if women hated one another without having any sensible reasons for doing so, how much unnecessary death would that not promote?

‘For let us play freely with the idea that anything at all might happen, which is often the case,’ she said. ‘We shall imagine that you, Cecilia Blanca Ulvsdotter, will become King Knut’s queen. And we shall imagine that you, Helena Sverkersdotter, in the near future will drink the bridal ale with one of blessed King Sverker’s kinsmen in Denmark. So, which of you two now wants war? Which of you wants peace? What would it mean if you had hated each other ever since the brief years of your youth at Gudhem? What would it mean if instead you were friends ever since that time? I shall tell you: it means the difference between life and death for many of your kinsfolk, and it can mean the difference between war and peace.’

She paused, breathing heavily as she shifted position on her chair and fixed her little red eyes on her young listeners, who were sitting bolt upright, not showing any sign of comprehending. They neither agreed with nor opposed her words. Not even Cecilia Blanca revealed what she was thinking, even though she knew the least that Helena Sverkersdotter would suffer would be three times the number of blows with the scourge that she had dealt out.

‘You look like geese, all of you,’ Fru Helena went on after a moment. ‘You think that I’m only preaching the Gospel to you. One must act peaceably; anger and hatred are deadly sins. You must forgive your enemies, as they in turn must forgive you; you must turn the other cheek, and all the other admonitions we try to pound into your small, empty heads here at Gudhem. But it’s not that simple, my young friends and sisters. For you don’t believe that you have any power of your own - you think that all power resides in the hilt of a sword and the point of a lance, but in this you have made a fundamental mistake. That’s why you run across the courtyard like a flock of geese, first in one direction, then the other; first one maiden is your enemy, then someone else. No man in his right wits - and may the Virgin Mary hold her protective hand over you so that you all may wed such men - can refrain from listening to his wife, the mother of his children and the mistress of his home. Girls of your young age might simply believe that this applies only to trivial matters, but it is true in large matters as well as small. You must not go out into the world as silly little geese; you must go out in possession of your own free, strong will, precisely as the Scriptures prescribe, and do something good instead of something evil with that free will. Just as men do, you decide over life and death, peace and war, and it would be a great sin if you shirked that responsibility out there in life.’

Fru Helena signalled that she was tired, and because she looked very ill with her constantly running eyes, two sisters stepped forward to lead her back to her house outside the walls. But a flock of maidens with their thoughts aflame stayed behind, not saying a word and without looking at each other.

A mood of conciliation descended over Gudhem, not least thanks to Fru Helena’s many wise words to the young girls, and as the calm follows the abating storm, Mother Rikissa acted promptly and wisely.

Four maidens from Linköping had come to Gudhem, and only one of them had any previous experience of convent life. They were all mourning fallen kinsmen, and they were all terrified, crying themselves to sleep every night.

But one could make something good come from their pain, as one can make a virtue out of necessity, Mother Rikissa thought. And so she decided two things. First, that for an unspecified period the vow of silence at Gudhem would be lifted, since none of the new girls knew sign language. Second, since the sisters themselves had other more important things to do, Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa would be given special responsibility for the new girls. They would teach them to speak with signs, to obey the rules, to sing and to weave.

Cecilia Blanca and Cecilia Rosa were astonished when they were summoned to Mother Rikissa in the chapter hall and given these instructions. And they were filled with ambivalence. For one thing, it permitted them a freedom they could never have imagined inside Gudhem, to determine their own workday and also be able to talk freely without risk. And yet they would be forced to be together with four daughters of the Sverker clan. Cecilia Blanca wanted as little to do with such girls as possible; even though she suspected that her hatred had more to do with their fathers and mothers, it still didn’t feel right, she claimed. Cecilia Rosa begged her to consider how she would have felt if the battle on the field of blood outside Bjälbo had turned out differently. They had to obey; they had no choice.

All six were embarrassed when they met the first time out in the arcade after the midday rest. Singing would be the easiest, since they had no idea what to say, Cecilia Rosa thought. And because she knew exactly where they were in the continual progression through the Psalter, she knew which songs were coming up in three hours, when it was time for None , the mid-afternoon prayers. And so the lessons began, with Cecilia Rosa singing lead. They repeated each song so many times that their pupils seemed to have them memorized, at least temporarily. And when None was then to be sung inside the church, it was evident that the new girls really could join in with the singing.

When they came out to the arcade after the songs, the weather was blustery with the chill of autumn. Cecilia Blanca then went to the abbess’s residence, returning at once, clearly pleased, and told them that they’d been given permission to use the chapter hall.

They sat there for an hour or so, practicing the simplest signs in Gudhem’s silent language, and the inexperienced teachers soon noticed that this was an art that they had to teach in small portions, and that it was no use continuing for too long at a time. After half the work shift before Sext , the midday prayers, they went straight across the arcade to the weaving rooms, where surly lay-sisters reluctantly moved aside. There both Cecilias began chattering away as they explained about the weaving and began to giggle. Then they joked that they were both trying to talk at once so that all six of them for the first time had something to giggle about together.

It turned out that one of the new girls, the youngest and smallest, a maiden with coal-black hair named Ulvhilde Emundsdotter, was already very adept at the art of weaving. She had said nothing to anyone before, or perhaps no one had bothered to listen to her since she had arrived at Gudhem. Now she began with growing fervour to tell them that there was a way to blend linen and wool that would produce a cloth that was both warm and supple. This fabric was ideal for mantles for both men and women. And they all belonged to families in which there was great need of mantles for both religious and worldly occasions.