With a strength that did not seem her own, Cecilia Rosa separated her weeping friend from the witch and then held up the red mantle as protection between them. Both quieted down, surprised to see the large, bloodred garment.
Cecilia Rosa promptly draped the Sverker mantle over Ulvhilde’s shoulders, as if it were an iron shield against Mother Rikissa’s evil.
“Now you must get hold of yourself, Rikissa!” she said, again displaying a force that she would not have believed she possessed. “She is your slave no longer, not your poor maiden Ulvhilde among the novices without silver or clan. Here stands Ulvhilde of Ulfshem, and you two, God be praised, shall never see each other again!”
In the sudden silence that descended upon both Ulvhilde and Mother Rikissa, Cecilia Rosa quickly pulled Ulvhilde out the door of Mother Rikissa’s rooms without even a word of farewell. They hurried the short distance down the arcade and right out through the big gate.
Panting as if they had run a race, they stopped outside beneath the stone image showing Adam and Eve as they were cast out of Paradise.
“I warned you over and over again, I told you how the serpent could turn herself into a lamb,” Cecilia Rosa said at last.
“I…felt…so…sorry for her!” Ulvhilde sobbed.
“Maybe you shouldfeel sorry for her, but it doesn’t diminish her evil. What did you tell her? You didn’t confess about…?” Cecilia Rosa asked cautiously, greatly concerned.
“She got me to cry over her misfortune, she got me to forgive her,” Ulvhilde whispered.
“And then you were supposed to confess!”
“Yes, then she wanted to hear my confession, but you appeared as if sent by Our Lady. Forgive me, my dearest, but I was very close to committing a great stupidity,” Ulvhilde said, shamefaced and with her eyes on the ground.
“I think you’re right; I think Our Lady, in her mercy, sent me at exactly the right moment. The mantle you now wear would have been ripped from you at once and you would have withered away inside Gudhem forever if you told her the truth about Sister Leonore. Let us pray and thank Our Lady!”
They both dropped to their knees outside the gate of the cloister Ulvhilde had now left for the very last time. Ulvhilde had to stop herself from asking any questions, for only now did she truly come to her senses and begin to understand what a treasure Cecilia Rosa had draped over her shoulders. They prayed for a long time, offering words of deep and sincere thanksgiving to the Virgin Mary for the forgiveness of their sins—the sins that had almost cast them both into perdition and might have pulled the queen down with them. For the rest of their lives they would be convinced that the Virgin Mary had sent a miraculous salvation at the last moment. The witch had truly cast a spell over Ulvhilde, who had come close to putting her head in the noose.
Then they stood up and embraced and kissed each other. Ulvhilde now had her wits about her and began caressing the soft red garment, wondering what it could mean.
Cecilia Rosa then explained that it was time for Ulvhilde to journey home. The mantle was a gift from either the jarl or the queen, but it certainly was not Ulvhilde’s only possession, for Ulfshem was now hers, free and clear.
As they walked in reverent silence the short distance to the hospitiumwhere their benefactors waited, Ulvhilde tried with all her might to understand what had just happened.
A moment ago she had not owned more than the clothes on her back, and strictly speaking not even those. The clothes she had once worn when she arrived at Gudhem were a child’s clothing, long since outgrown and by now discarded or sold. She had not needed to fetch a single possession before she walked out the gate of Gudhem.
It was impossible to comprehend this sudden leap to the precious red mantle and becoming the mistress of Ulfshem. She needed more time to ponder it.
Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde both looked pale but no more distressed than their benefactors might have expected when they both entered the banquet hall in the hospitium, where roast-turners and ale-fetchers had already begun their work. But the jarl, who had jumped up roguishly to receive the new mistress of Ulfshem with a deep, courtly bow, saw at once that something was amiss.
Hence the feast began strangely since Cecilia Rosa and Ulvhilde had to report about Mother Rikissa’s last enraged attempt to bring misfortune down on their heads. The jarl now heard for the first time the story of how the three conspirators had assisted the runaway monk and nun. At first he grew pensive because he understood quite well, without being very knowledgeable about the rules of the church, that in life the happiness and welfare of everyone hung by a fragile thread. However, it was his firm conviction that the danger was now past. He reminded them that there were only four people in the whole country who knew the truth about the runaways from the cloister. The queen and Cecilia Rosa would certainly guard the secret well. As would Ulvhilde, especially if she married into the Folkung clan—there the two Cecilias gave him a stern look—especially, he quickly altered his statement, because she would be concerned about the peace and happiness of her friends. And for his own part, he added with a broad grin, he had no intention of casting the country into ferment and war just for the sake of a runaway monk.
For that had been Rikissa’s intention, he explained, instantly turning more serious. For her it was about more than taking revenge on two maidens who displeased her. She was the one, after all, who had almost succeeded in having Arn Magnusson excommunicated. Her actions had caused much trouble for Knut Eriksson, who at that time was not yet acclaimed king by everyone. If Rikissa, as she now intended, had managed to get Queen Cecilia Blanca excommunicated for the escape from the cloister—since she had aided the crime by financing it—her sons could not inherit the crown, and then war would be inevitable. That was the way Rikissa thought. Had she succeeded she certainly would have dredged up good reasons to rejoice for the rest of her earthly life, and on her way to Hell, where her path would undoubtedly lead in the end.
But now there was even more reason to celebrate, he went on in a merrier mood. And he raised his tankard to all three of them in a very courtly manner.
Slowly but surely they all grew more lively as they ate and drank, joking about Cecilia Rosa’s and Ulvhilde’s usual meager fare, which had kept them young and fresh; the ample food of freedom and wealth probably had a worse effect on anyone who wanted to live a long time. They gorged on veal and lamb and even sampled some wine, but drank mostly ale, of which there was an inexhaustible supply.
As could be expected, the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde gave up long before Birger Brosa, who like many Folkungs was known for his hearty appetite. His grandfather had been Folke the Fat, after all, the mighty jarl.
In fact, Birger Brosa stopped eating his meat, his sweetened turnips, and beans earlier than he would have done in the company of men. Eventually he found it strange to continue eating while the other three looked at him with growing impatience. After all, it was over tankards of ale after the meal that they could usually talk most comfortably, at least until they were too drunk. And Birger Brosa had several matters he wanted to discuss.
When he noticed that the two Cecilias and Ulvhilde had begun using their silent language and giggling at him, he pushed away his plate. Then he filled his tankard, stuck his knife in his belt, and wiped his mouth. Pulling one leg up under him, he set his tankard on his knee as was his habit. He had more to tell that would probably be considered important, he declared solemnly, taking another large gulp as he waited for the silence he knew would ensue.