Both archers were evenly matched, striking the black griffin head each time, until the ninth arrow. Then Magnus Mneskold's arrow landed outside, at the edge of the griffin, while the monk landed his arrow in the centre of the target. With the tenth arrow, Magnus once again struck the centre. Then it all came down to the monk's last arrow.

Brother Guilbert turned and said something to Arn Magnusson, who replied curtly, shaking his head, whereupon Brother Guilbert shot his arrow so that it struck the centre of the target. And with that, the single arrow from Brother Guilbert defeated the best archer in all of Eastern Gotaland.

With the archery contest, the situation was the reverse of the horseback race. It was a disadvantage to sit idle until the very end and an advantage to shoot against the lesser opponents before the decisive compet.i.tion. And Brother Guilbert needed only to cast a glance at the youths to know in some strange way who was strong and who was weak, so he was able to take them in the proper sequence.

'Now, my young apprentice, you won't be able to rely on the power of your lungs or the strength of your legs to defeat your teacher,' Brother Guilbert said, beaming and pulling the string of his bow taut several times as Arn stepped forward.

'No, that's true,' said Arn. 'I would much prefer that we conducted this contest just between the two of us if we truly wanted to know whether the teacher is still stronger than his apprentice. For which of us will now win?'

'Your son Magnus was very disappointed when he lost; I could see that, even though he chivalrously hid his feelings,' said Brother Guilbert. 'But what would be best? If he sees his father defeated by the same monk? Or if he sees his father become the victor, even though he has practiced his whole life to defeat you, or rather the shadow of you? He is truly very skilled.'

'Yes, I could see that,' said Arn reluctantly. 'Truly very skilled. Imagine what he could have become with you as his teacher. In the meantime, I can't say who ought to win, you or me, or which victor Magnus would find it most difficult to stomach.'

'Nor can I,' said Brother Guilbert. Then he crossed himself as a sign that he was leaving this difficult decision to higher powers.

Arn nodded in agreement, crossed himself as well, and nocked the first arrow to the string of his bow. It struck the lower part of the griffin's head, which wasn't so odd, since this was his first shot, and it would either strike high or low before he had tested his bow.

For this reason Brother Guilbert took the lead until the seventh arrow, since they both hit the center of the target each time, until it was bristling with arrows. Brother Guilbert shot the seventh arrow too high, but not as high as Arn's first arrow had been too low.

There was utter silence up on the walls, and the other competing youths had unconsciously moved closer and closer to get a better view. They now stood in a semicircle right behind the two archers.

With the eighth arrow, both struck the centre of the target. The ninth arrow, for each of them, again landed in the middle.

Arn shot his tenth arrow, which sliced off the fletchings of two other arrows, but still plunged into the centre. Now everything depended on Brother Guilbert's last arrow.

He spent a long time taking aim; the only sound at Arnas was the rush of wings from a flock of swifts flying past.

But then he changed his mind and lowered his bow, taking several deep breaths before he raised the bow once more and drew the string along his cheek. Again he spent a long time taking aim.

His arrow struck too high because he had taken too much time. And with that Arn was the victor of this youths' game that no one who was present would ever forget. Nor would it be forgotten by those who were not present, because they would hear so many accounts of it over the years that they came to believe they'd actually seen it with their own eyes.

Eskil immediately came over to the youths with the mistress of Arnas, Erika Joarsdotter, at his side. She carried two glittering crowns, one of gold and the other of silver. They stopped and all the youths lined up in front of the couple, very close to the moat so that the guests would be able to see and hear everything that was about to take place.

'This bachelors' evening has begun well,' said Eskil in a loud voice. 'You have brought great honour to my house, because such a game of youths as we have seen today has never occurred before and never shall again. The victor's crown is gold, for a finer victory than this could not be won. To be miserly is not one of my qualities, and yet I am careful with my money. I am pleased, of course, that my brother has won since any other outcome no doubt would have taken a toll on his honour and reputation. I am also pleased that the gold will remain in this house, after a fashion. Step forward, Sir Arn!'

Arn was reluctantly shoved forward by Magnus Mneskold and young Torgils. He bowed before Eskil, and Erika Joarsdotter placed the gold crown on his head. After that Arn didn't know what he was supposed to do, so Magnus leaned forward and tugged at his shift, which aroused great merriment among the spectators up on the wall.

Erika Joarsdotter now raised the silver crown toward Brother Guilbert, because they didn't have to count turnips to know who had finished in second place.

Brother Guilbert protested and refused to come forward, which at first seemed like the feigned modesty of a religious man, but then he explained that in accordance with his monk's vows, he was not allowed to own personal possessions. To give him silver would be the same as giving it to Varnhem cloister.

Eskil frowned, agreeing that it might be unnecessary to present a youth's prize to a cloister to which he had already given more than enough in donations. A moment of indecision followed as Erika lowered the silver crown and looked at Eskil, who shrugged his shoulders.

But it was Brother Guilbert who came up with an unexpected solution. Cautiously he took the silver crown from Erika's hands and went over to the baskets belonging to Erik jarl and Magnus Mneskold to count the turnips. He soon returned and went over to Magnus.

'You, Magnus, are the best archer that I've ever seen in this land, after your father, of course,' he said solemnly. 'After myself, and I don't count since divine rules prevent me from being considered, you were the best. All right, young man, bow your head!'

Blushing but at the same time looking proud, and with the encouragement of his friends, Magnus complied. And so it was that father and son went to the bachelors' ale celebration that evening wearing crowns of gold and silver.

The youths held their own feast. They were to celebrate the bachelors' evening on their own, at the leafy bower, as custom dictated. Eskil and Erika Joarsdotter walked back up to the castle and their waiting guests while the youths went off to the banquet hall under the open sky. Stable thralls led away their horses and house thralls hastened to bring them mantles and dry clothing, meat and ale.

When they were finally alone, all seven began talking at once, since there was much to try and understand. Most puzzling of all was the fact that an old monk had been able to beat young Nordic warriors at their own weapons games.

Arn explained that this was no ordinary monk. Brother Guilbert, like himself, had been a Templar knight, and it would have brought both of them much shame if two Templar knights could not have put the young Nordic roosters in their place.

There was much shouting and everyone was in the best of spirits even before they partook of the ale. They all had reason to be pleased.

Magnus Mneskold was satisfied, even though he had come to the games fully intending to win. But the only men who had defeated him were two of the Lord's Templar knights, and everyone had seen on this day with their own eyes that everything recounted about these holy warriors of G.o.d was true. But Magnus had defeated all of his friends.

Erik jarl was also pleased, since he knew that he would need a great deal of luck to be able to beat Magnus Mneskold. But at least none of his other friends had managed to defeat him.

Torgils was satisfied because as the youngest contestant he had still succeeded in avoiding the last position. And Sture Jonsson was pleased even though he had come in last overall since he was one of two, not including the Templar knights, who had won one of the games, the one with axes.

Arn was pleased that he had won, even though it felt almost shameful to admit this. But since he clearly was going to have to fight to win his son's respect, this was a good step along the way.

Brother Guilbert was perhaps the most satisfied of all, since he had shown that as an old man he could keep up with a fellow knight. He was also happy that G.o.d had determined the archery contest for the best so that he and Arn wouldn't have to argue about the outcome.

Because so many lively youths had come for the bachelors' evening, it would cost Eskil a lot of ale, and many of the young men would pay with an aching head the next day. The whole night was theirs.

Food and ale was as plentiful as Brother Guilbert and Arn had feared. But at Arn's command a small cask of Lebanese wine was also brought out. He had made the wine himself, and two gla.s.ses were found for the two men who preferred wine instead of the bridal ale from Lubeck.

During the first hour, before drunkenness began to settle over them, the men talked mostly of various events that had occurred during the games. Soon someone dared to jest about Templar knights who couldn't throw axes or spears.

Brother Guilbert explained with good humour that the business of casting away a spear was not a knight's foremost concern; in fact, it was the last thing he would do. And as for the axe, he'd be happy to carry an axe on horseback and confront any youth. But not for the purpose of throwing it. After that he gave everyone present a stern and ferocious look, making the young men involuntarily recoil until he suddenly burst out laughing.

But as for the quarter-staff on a plank, he went on, that was an excellent exercise. That was the basis for everything speed, agility, balance and the many resultant bruises were a reminder that defensive actions were just as important as knowing how to attack. Consequently, this was the first lesson he had taught Arn when he was a little boy.

Arn raised his wine gla.s.s and confirmed at once that he spoke the truth. That was how things had been when he had arrived at Varnhem at such a young age. And he'd received a thrashing from Brother Guilbert every day for twelve years, he added, sighing heavily and bowing his head, which prompted everyone to laugh.

After they'd drunk a considerable amount of ale, the young men kept jumping up to go off and p.i.s.s, while Arn and Brother Guilbert remained calmly in their seats. In this way a different young man would sit down next to the two older men as soon as a place was vacated. And for as long as the youths remained coherent, Arn and Brother Guilbert had the chance to converse with all of them.

By the time Magnus Mneskold came over to sit down next to Arn, the evening had progressed farther than Arn had expected. A shyness seemed to exist between the two of them, and a good deal of wine and ale was required to get past it.

Magnus began by apologizing for twice having misjudged his father, but he added that he had learned a great deal from these mistakes.

Arn pretended not to understand what he was referring to and asked for an explanation. Magnus spoke of his disappointment when he first saw his father, not as the knight of his dreams but as a thrall wielding a trowel, and how he should have known better as soon as they took to their horses and rode away from Forsvik. But he had been so foolish as to revive his disappointment when he saw Arn throw an axe without striking the target. And so the rebuke that he'd received was fully justified, and he'd never seen greater archers than the monk and his own father. So in that respect the sagas had spoken the truth.

Arn tried to dismiss the subject by jesting that he promised henceforth to practice strenuously at the art of throwing weapons. Yet such jesting did not suit Magnus Mneskold, who kept his solemn demeanour and only afterwards dared to ask about something that he said had been puzzling him.

'When we arrived at Forsvik on horseback,' he said, 'and we came around the corner of the house, where you, my father, stood up on the ridgepole holding a trowel...when you leaped down and looked at us...how could you recognize me as your son so quickly?'

Arn burst into uncontrollable laughter, even though he would have preferred to keep a straight face.

'Just look at this!' he exclaimed, ruffling his son's thick red hair. 'Who would have hair like your mother except you, my son! And besides, even if you'd been wearing a helmet, all I had to do was look at your shields. You were the only one who bore a half-moon painted next to our Folkung lion. And if none of that were sufficient, I would have looked into your eyes. You have your mother's beautiful brown eyes.'

'Tomorrow I will become your legitimate son,' said Magnus, suddenly sounding on the verge of tears.

'You have always been my legitimate son,' replied Arn. 'Your mother Cecilia and I may have committed a sin when we conceived you too early. It has taken a long time for us to be able to celebrate our wedding, because it was not as easy for my kinsman Knut to become king as he first thought, and he had promised to come to our wedding as king. The love between your mother and myself was great, our yearning just as great, and so we committed a sin, though we are not the only ones who have done so. But whether it was a great sin or not, we have both atoned for it with a harsh punishment, and we are now cleansed. And tomorrow we'll drink the bridal ale that was intended more than twenty years ago. But that's not when you will become my son, nor when I will be Cecilia's husband. I have always been hers, and you have always been my son, every single day in my prayers during a long war.'

Magnus sat and pondered in silence for a moment as if he were unsure in which direction he should steer the conversation. All of a sudden there were so many things crowding into his head.

'Do you think the king will come to the wedding, as he promised?' he then asked, as if thereby saving himself from more difficult topics for discussion.

'No, he won't,' said Arn. 'Birger Brosa will not attend, that much we know, and I don't think the king has any desire to offend his jarl. And as far as the promises of kings are concerned, I've learned that it makes a difference whether they're given before or after the crown is in place. Yet it was wisely arranged for Erik jarl to be present to honour us, representing both the Eriks and the king.'

'But Erik jarl is here because he's my friend,' Magnus Mneskold objected without thinking.

'I'm glad that he's here, and I'm glad that he's your friend,' said Arn. 'But above all else, he is a jarl of the realm and our future king. In this way my friend Knut has solved his predicament. He is here as he promised me. And he's also not here, as he no doubt promised Birger Brosa. That is how a wise friend acts if he is king.'

'Will there be war soon?' asked Magnus, as if on impulse or as if the ale and not his sense of chivalry were already guiding his speech.

'No,' said Arn. 'Not for a long time, but let's talk of that subject another time, when there's not so much ale-drinking going on.'

As if Arn's words about the ale had reminded Magnus of nature's call, he excused himself and on slightly unsteady legs went off into the dusk to relieve himself. House thralls brought in tarred torches and more roasts.

A short time later Brother Guilbert and Arn sat alone, each holding a wine gla.s.s, while songs and bellows surrounded them on all sides.

Arn teased Brother Guilbert about the last arrow he had shot, saying that if a man spends that much time thinking before shooting, it's almost always sure to go wrong. It means that he wants something too much. And if you want something too much, then you take too much, and this was something that Brother Guilbert surely should know better than anyone else.

Yes, you would think that would be true, admitted Brother Guilbert. But he had been shooting to win. Or at least to do his best so that no one would think he had simply handed the victory to Arn. Yet Higher Powers had steered his arrow.

'Deus vult!' said Arn in jest, raising his clenched fist in the greeting of the Templar knights.

Brother Guilbert immediately joined in and struck his fist against Arn's.

'Perhaps we can compete again, on horseback and with more difficult targets that are moving,' said Arn.

'Oh no!' replied Brother Guilbert crossly. 'You just want to put your old teacher in his place. I'd rather go another round with you using the quarter-staff!'

At that they had a good laugh, but none of the youths were paying much attention to them any more, perhaps because they couldn't understand the conversation. Brother Guilbert and Arn, as if from old habit, had switched to speaking Frankish.

'Tell me one thing, brother,' said Arn pensively. 'How many Templar knights would it take to conquer the two lands of the Goths and Svealand?'

'Three hundred,' replied Brother Guilbert after pausing to consider the question. 'Three hundred were enough to hold the Holy Land for a long time. This kingdom is bigger, but on the other hand there is no cavalry here. Three hundred knights and three strongholds and we could pacify the entire region. Aha! So that's what you're thinking! At this very moment I'm helping to build the first stronghold with our dear friends the Saracens. What a superb irony! And you're not afraid that our Saracen friends will cause problems? I mean, sooner or later these Nordic barbarians are going to figure out what sort of foreigners pray five times a day and in a less than discreet manner at that, if I'm going to speak of the matter with some delicacy.'

'That was a lot to bring up at once,' said Arn with a sigh. 'Yes, this is more or less what I've been thinking: that if I build a cavalry force using the same exercises that we use as Templar knights, then we will have peace. More strongholds than are necessary, that's true. And as for the Saracens, my plan is for them first to display their skills; afterwards people can choose between their demonstrated abilities and their own misconceptions about what Saracens are.'

'That last part might be a dangerous game,' mused Brother Guilbert. 'You and I know the truth about Saracens. There's an explanation for that. But won't any one of this land's ignorant and primitive bishops drop dead, choked by bacon, as soon as he realizes the truth about your fortress builders? And to create peace with overwhelming strength, as you are planning, is both right and wrong.'

'I know how it's right, but how is it wrong?' Arn asked sharply.

'It's wrong because the Nordic people don't understand the new cavalry force, how invincible it is. Once you have created such power, you will first have to demonstrate it before you can gain peace. That will mean war, in any case.'

'I have pondered this very matter for a long time,' Arn admitted. 'I have only one answer and that is to make it a gentle lesson. Do you remember the foremost of the golden rules of the Templar order?'

'When you draw your sword do not think about who you must kill. Think about who you should spare,' replied Brother Guilbert in Latin. replied Brother Guilbert in Latin.

'Precisely,' said Arn. 'Precisely. May it be G.o.d's will!'

SIX.

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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 Nacken 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 Pl, Algot, and Sture, who had arrived that morning from Arnas 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 Pl 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 Pl 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 this is the bride-fetcher we were kept waiting for, then everything is forgiven,' Pl Jonsson 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. is the bride-fetcher we were kept waiting for, then everything is forgiven,' Pl Jonsson 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 s.p.a.ce formed inside this circle came the king and queen, both wearing ermine and crowns. They reined in their horses ten paces from the waiting Pl 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 Pl 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 a.s.sist 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 Pl brothers. The royal retainers fell in on either side, and hors.e.m.e.n 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.