suspected mischief. Nobody knew better than he what a honeyed, sharp tongue his wife possessed. And nobody knew better than he that if this feast ended up being about who won when they crossed words in the air like sword blades, then Sigrid would conquer them all, except possibly Birger. And that must not happen; it would only end in misery.
For the time being he saved the situation by launching into a long and somewhat convoluted explanation of the importance of all the knowledge that the monks had brought with them to this country. Naturally it was hard for a guest to interrupt his host, but when Magnus began to repeat himself and for the third time mentioned the importance of silver coinage in trade, Erik Jedvardsson made a show of getting up to go outside and piss. Then Magnus fell silent and shot his brother Birger an uneasy glance. But Birger smiled as usual and didn’t look the slightest bit concerned as he leaned over toward Magnus and whispered that perhaps now he would go out and piss too, because soon it would be time for what the guest had come for.
Besides, a break would be good. Half the retainers followed the honoured guest’s example, and soon almost all the men were standing outside in a row, talking together happily as they relieved themselves into the fir branches spread outside. In the wintertime a courtyard would look unclean after a good feast unless they laid out fir branches, which the thralls had to hasten to replace at regular intervals.
When Erik Jedvardsson again took his place next to Magnus in the high seat and was served fresh ale, he held up his hand to signal that he wished to speak undisturbed. With a little smile Birger gave Magnus a look and nodded in affirmation.
‘Before all this fine hospitality goes too much to our heads and we start talking about what terrific fellows we are,’ he began, smiling and waiting for the polite laughter that came mostly from his own men, ‘it is now time to discuss a serious matter. King Sverker’s days are numbered. I would not be exaggerating too much to say that soon he will no longer be with us in this earthly life. Karl Sverkersson is sitting over in Linköping thinking that the king’s crown will fall into his lap. There are many of us in Western Götaland who refuse to accept such a misfortune, and I am one of them. With God’s help I shall therefore win the king’s crown. And now I ask you all, kinsmen and friends, do I have your support, or must I leave this beautiful house as your enemy?’
There was total silence in the hall. Even the three small boys next to Birger stared with big-eyed astonishment at Erik Jedvardsson, who had now declared that he wanted to be king. And at the same time threatened them with enmity.
Magnus gave Birger a desperate glance, but his brother merely smiled and nodded that he would take responsibility for the rest.
‘Sir Erik, you speak with such power and determination that I do not for a moment doubt that you could become king of us all,’ Birger began in a loud voice so that everyone would hear that it was he, the younger brother below the high seat and not Magnus who was speaking. Then he lowered his voice.
‘Allow me to answer you first. I speak for the entire Bjälbo lineage, since I have been entrusted to do so. My brother Magnus will have his say after me, but you must know that our two clans are connected by many blood ties and can hardly go against each other. No doubt you can sense the trust. We are not your enemies, but neither are we your friends in this particular matter at this particular time. If you wish to be king, you will have to start at a different end of the country from ours. You must get the Swedes to elect you as king at Mora Stones. If you succeed in this task, then half will already be won. However, if you try to become king in Western Götaland against the will of the Eastern Goths, you will only bring war down upon yourself, and no one knows who would emerge the victor from that calamity. The same will happen if you go the other way. So you must win over the Swedes first. And when you have done that, then you can undoubtedly count on our support. Tell me, brother Magnus, am I not right?’
Magnus realized that everyone was staring at him. The silence was much like the moment when the bow is drawn taut and the arrow will momentarily be loosed at its target. All he could manage was to nod slowly and pensively as if he were a wise old man. A murmur of discontent arose from Erik Jedvardsson’s men at the far end of the hall.
‘You, Birger, are nothing but a young rascal,’ Erik Jedvardsson yelled, red in the face. ‘I could slay you here and now for your impudent words. Who are you to teach a full-grown warrior his course of action?’
Erik Jedvardsson made a move toward the place where he thought his sword should be, as if he had forgotten that it was no longer the custom for men to attend a feast with their swords at their sides. All the weapons were in the stable out in the connecting building with the spit-turners.
Birger was not about to be cowed by the feigned move toward the empty scabbard, and his smile did not flinch even for an instant when he replied.
‘You may well think that I am a rascal, Erik Jedvardsson,’ he began calmly, but now in a somewhat louder voice so that no one in the hall could avoid hearing his words. ‘This does not please me, but it still has nothing to do with the larger matter, for if you draw your sword on me, at the same moment you will draw misfortune upon yourself no matter how things may turn out.’
‘You scamp, do you think for a moment that you could stand against me with a sword?’ shrieked Erik Jedvardsson, even more red in the face, turning so that everyone in the hall now feared the worst. A female thrall rushed up and carried off the three small boys sitting next to Birger.
Birger rose slowly, but his smile did not falter as he replied.
‘Now I really must beg you as our guest to stop and think, Erik Jedvardsson,’ he said. ‘If you and I were to exchange sword blows, it would go badly for you. If you die here and now, you will never be king. If you kill me, the rest of your life will be one long journey with the whole Bjälbo clan chasing you from one ting to the next, and if that does no good they will kill you in the end. Stop and think! You have a kingdom within an arm’s length, that I don’t doubt. Don’t squander it because you think that the spokesman for the Bjälbo clan is too young and too impudent! First win over the Swedes, then us. For the second time, this is my advice.’
Birger calmly sat down and reached for a fresh tankard of ale from one of the female thralls, who was scared out of her wits. Yet he behaved as if nothing special had happened.
Erik Jedvardsson sat glumly for a long time before he answered. He had realized that young Birger from Bjälbo had spoken rightly, with words clear as water. He now had to admit that he had been rebuked and flustered by a quick- witted youth. What everyone had heard could not be unsaid.
‘So be it,’ he said at last. ‘I had already thought of going to Mora Stones to win over the Swedes, so in that matter we seem to agree. But for these words of yours I will still have a goose to pluck with you when I return as your king.’
‘I don’t doubt that at all, my future lord and king,’ said Birger with a broad and almost exaggerated smile. He paused playfully before he went on. ‘But since you do seem to accept my advice, I would suggest that you make me your jarl rather than pluck me like a goose!’
His bold manner of saying this straight to Erik Jedvardsson’s angry face had a remarkable effect. At first Erik Jedvardsson stared at him with dark eyes, but Birger merely smiled back, until Erik Jedvardsson’s face suddenly broke into a broad grin. And then he began to laugh. The next moment his retainers started laughing, and then Magnus’s men laughed, then the women, and finally the thralls and the three small boys who were now allowed to return to their seats. By then the hall was booming with laughter and the storm had passed.
Erik Jedvardsson now knew that all further discussion about his path to the king’s crown had better wait until another time. He clapped his hands and called for the Norwegian bard
