'I agree,' said Arn. 'I'll deal with that problem first thing tomorrow. What else have you discovered from your calculations?'

'That we have spent enough silver to equal almost the entire value of Forsvik without any income to balance our expenses. The gold alone that you advanced the stonecutter in Skara would have kept us alive and fat for several years.'

'You cannot count that gold in your sums!' said Arn vehemently, but regretted it at once and smiled to appease her and excuse his temper. 'I have enough gold to pay for everything having to do with the church in Forshem. It's in a coffer by itself; it has nothing to do with us. We can count that church as already paid for.'

'Well, that changes thing a great deal for the better, of course,' Cecilia admitted. 'You could have told me this earlier, then I wouldn't have wasted so much ink. Because it's also about time you told your wife how much we own, or rather how much you you own, since I own Forsvik, which increases in value with each drop of sweat you spill.' own, since I own Forsvik, which increases in value with each drop of sweat you spill.'

'I own approximately one thousand marks in gold,' Arn said in embarra.s.sment, looking down at the wooden floor. 'That does not include what it will cost to build Arnas into an impregnable fortress, which shall be a salvation for us all someday. Nor do I count what I have put aside to pay for the church in Forshem.'

He squirmed when he said this last and still looked away, as if he were well aware that he had said something that no one with wit and sense would believe.

'A thousand marks,' Cecilia whispered as if awestruck. 'A thousand marks in gold; that's more than everything owned by Riseberga, Varnhem, and Gudhem combined.'

'That may be true, my love,' replied Arn softly, but it seemed as if he were more ashamed of his great wealth than happy about it.

'Why didn't you tell me this sooner?' Cecilia asked.

'I've thought about telling you many times, but it never seemed to be the right moment. It's a long story that isn't easy to understand, about how this gold came to be mine in the Holy Land. Once I got started I would have to finish the tale, and there is so much that needs to be finished before winter. Gold isn't everything; gold won't protect us from the cold, especially my friends from the warm countries. I hadn't intended to keep this from you. I imagined a long, cold winter night with the north wind howling outside, with you and me lying in the glow of our hearth without the slightest draft reaching us underneath our featherbeds. That's when I would like to tell you the whole story.'

'If you wait until winter you will wait in vain,' said Cecilia with a little smile that lightened at once the gloom that had settled over them at this talk of riches.

'No, I look forward to the winter,' said Arn, also with a smile.

'That won't prevent gold from offering poor protection against cold and hunger. As you said, tomorrow you must start buying fodder over in Linkoping or wherever you can find it.'

'I promise. What else have you found in the merciless logic of your numbers?'

'I have found that you should buy or build your own boat to transport clay.'

'How so?' asked Arn, surprised for the first time in this conversation.

'For making bricks it takes so much fresh clay each time you fire them, that it isn't worth the effort to ship the clay here first instead of moving the work to Braxenbolet,' Cecilia went on. 'But with the clay for making pottery it's different. If you can get that sort of clay here, the potters can be kept busy all winter. It's merely a matter of keeping the clay damp, yet warm enough so it won't freeze.'

He looked at her with an astonished admiration that he couldn't conceal, and she smiled back as if in triumph.

'Don't work anymore today,' she said. 'Stay with me. Let's ride off together just for a while to enjoy the fruit of our labour. The evening is so mild.'

She went to change into her riding attire, but she frowned when she came out and saw him holding their woollen mantles over his arm as if to hide the long scabbard sticking out from under the cloth. But she didn't say a word.

They went first to the stable, which was empty this time of year, since all the horses were in the pasture. A long row of saddles with foreign signs above them hung on the wall, and Arn chose two. He handed her the mantles when he hoisted the saddles onto his shoulder and led her out to the horse pasture. The sun was low in the sky, but it was still as warm as a summer day, and the breeze was like a mild caress on their faces.

A black mare and her foal stood by themselves in a smaller pasture. They went there first, climbing in through the rails. Arn called the mare. She p.r.i.c.ked up her ears and came toward him at once, tossing her head. Her foal trotted after her. Cecilia marvelled at how affectionately her beloved and the mare greeted each other, how he rubbed his face against her muzzle, and how he stroked her glossy coat and spoke to her in a foreign language.

'Come!' he said, reaching out his hand to Cecilia. 'I want you to make friends with Umm Anaza, for she shall henceforth be your horse. Come and say h.e.l.lo.'

Cecilia went over and tried to do as Arn had done, rubbing her face against the mare, who at first seemed a bit shy. Then Arn talked to the mare in the foreign language, and she changed at once and yielded to Cecilia's touch.

'What language are you speaking?' she asked as she petted the mare and the little foal who timidly came forward.

'The language of horses,' said Arn with a secret smile, shaking his head happily. 'That was what Brother Guilbert told me once when I was a boy; back then I believed that there was a language that only horses understood. It's more correct to say that I'm speaking the language that these horses have heard from birth in Outremer. It's Saracen.'

'And I who can only speak my own language or Latin with her!' Cecilia laughed. 'At least I must know her name.'

'Her name is Umm Anaza, which means Mother Anaza, and the little one is called Ibn Anaza, although that's what I used to call his father. Now the stallion whom we shall meet is called Abu Anaza, and you can probably guess what Abu and Ibn mean, can't you?'

'Father and son Anaza,' Cecilia said. 'But what does Anaza mean?'

'That's just a name,' said Arn, swinging a saddle with a lambskin pad onto the mare. 'Horses named Anaza are the n.o.blest in all the Holy Land, and when the long winter nights come I will tell you the saga of Anaza.'

Arn saddled and bridled the mare with amazing speed, and the mare didn't object in the least, but seemed eager to go out.

Cecilia was allowed to lead Umm Anaza down to the big pasture where the stallions were kept. Arn hopped over the fence and whistled so that they all looked up from their grazing. The next moment they were all galloping toward Arn so that the ground shook. Cecilia was startled but realized she didn't have to worry when the horses came to a halt the instant that Arn raised his arm in command. Then they all walked in a circle and crowded around Arn, who seemed to have a name for each horse and offered each a few friendly words. Finally he turned his attention to a stallion who looked much like Cecilia's mare, with a black coat hide and silver mane. It wasn't hard to understand that this must be Abu.

Cecilia couldn't help being moved as she watched her husband treat these animals with such tenderness. They seemed to be much more than horses to him, almost like dear friends.

No man in the North treats his horses this way, she thought, but realized at once that there was no man in the North who could ride like Arn. That was a good thought, that loving care made better riders than arrogance and harshness.

She felt something of this love herself as they rode out from Forsvik a while later, heading north along the sh.o.r.e of Bottensjon. It was as though this mare enjoyed carrying her new owner, as if she spoke through her gentle movements which were not like those of other horses.

The sun had sunk below the treetops when they entered the endless conifer forest known as Tiveden. Arn led them up along a path and soon they were so high that they could see Bottensjon, and off in the distance Lake Vattern glinted in the last light of evening. The smells of horses blended enchantingly with the sweet decay of late summer inside the conifer forest.

Arn came alongside her and said that now he was too old to stand up on his horse's back; he intended to stay in the saddle. At first Cecilia didn't understand what he meant, but then she remembered the time up on Kinnekulle when they were riding together for the first time and he stood up on his horse at full gallop. But he had his eyes on her and not on the road when his horse rode under a mighty oak branch. Arn had been swept to the ground and lay there lifeless.

'That time you almost made my heart stop beating,' Cecilia whispered.

'That wasn't my intention,' said Arn. 'I wanted to win your heart, not stop it.'

'By showing me what a rider you were? By standing up on a galloping horse you thought you could win my heart?'

'Yes, I did. And by doing whatever it took. If it had helped to stand on my head, I would have done that too. But it worked, didn't it?'

As he jested about courting her he raised himself on his arms in the saddle, slowly bent his body forward with his legs out to the side and finally placed them together as he stood on his hands in the saddle. All the while his stallion calmly continued on as if used to all manner of foolishness from his master.

'You don't have to show off like that,' Cecilia giggled. 'If I a.s.sure you that you have my heart as surely as if it were in a golden box, will you then sit down and ride properly?'

'Yes, in that case,' said Arn, instantly spinning to sit in the saddle with both feet in the stirrups. 'I feel I may be getting a bit too old for such tricks, so it's a good thing we're already man and wife.'

'You must not belittle the goodness and divine will that have made us man and wife!' said Cecilia sternly, almost too sternly, she could hear. But she couldn't help thinking that such jesting went too far.

'I don't think that Our Lady will take it amiss that in our happiness we speak humorously about the time when our love first bloomed,' Arn replied cautiously.

Cecilia scolded herself for unnecessarily bringing the fear of G.o.d into their conversation, when for once it had turned so carefree and playful. As she feared they now rode in silence, and neither of them could find a way out of it.

They came to a clearing by a stream where the moss shone magically green, welcoming the last light of day shining between the trees. Next to a thick and half-rotted oak the moss formed a big, inviting bed scattered with tiny pink woodland flowers.

It was as though Umm Anaza let herself be guided by Cecilia's thoughts, as if the mare had understood everything flowing through Cecilia's memory when she saw this spot, for she veered off without a word from Cecilia. In silence Cecilia dismounted and spread out her mantle over the green moss.

Arn followed, dismounted, and swung the reins around the forelegs of their horses before he came over to her and spread out his mantle next to hers.

They didn't need to say a word; everything was so clear between them, written on their faces.

When they kissed it was without fear, as if the difficult time after the wedding night had never happened. And when they both discovered their joy that the fear was gone, desire came back to them with the same power as when they were seventeen.

EIGHT.

A woman of the Folkung clan had been lamentably killed by her own husband and master. This heinous act occurred late one afternoon, and that evening the murderer saw the sun go down for the first time after committing his evil deed.

The name of this wicked man was Svante Sniving of the Ymse clan, and the name of his Folkung wife whom he had killed was Elin Germundsdotter from algars. They had only one son, Bengt, who was thirteen years old.

After seeing his mother struck down by his father, young Bengt fled to the estate of his maternal grandfather, Germund Birgersson, at algars. That same night, a summons was sent out from there in all directions to the Folkung estates within a day's ride.

It was daylight when the riders, who were young kinsmen clad in worn blue mantles, reached Forsvik. The unexpected guests were first offered bread, salt, and ale by Cecilia. They quickly quenched their thirst before explaining their errand, saying that they were carrying a Folkung summons for Sir Arn.

Cecilia said that she would quickly go in search of her husband, and she invited her guests to partake of ham and more ale while she was gone. Her heart pounding with alarm, she dashed toward the riding field where she could hear galloping horses. And there she found Arn along with the boys Sune and Sigfrid and the two Saracen hors.e.m.e.n. She waved urgently to Arn, who noticed her presence at once; he broke away from the other riders and raced across the field like the wind. He was riding Abu Anaza.

From a distance he'd already seen her agitation. When he reined in his horse and came to a stop, he dismounted at once and was at her side in one swift motion.

'A summons has arrived from the Folkungs,' she replied to his wordless question.

'A summons from the Folkungs? What does that mean?' asked Arn, looking puzzled.

'Two young riders with solemn faces have arrived, saying only that they come bringing a summons,' she replied. 'I know no more than you do. Perhaps you should ask those boys over there.'

Since Arn had no better suggestion, he did as Cecilia said and called over all four riders by whistling and uttering two loud shouts. They came at once, at full gallop, reining in their horses a few paces away.

'A summons has come from the Folkungs. Can either of you tell me what that might mean?' he asked Sune and Sigfrid.

'It means that all of us Folkung men at Forsvik must drop whatever we're doing at once, arm ourselves well, and go with whoever has brought the message,' replied Sigfrid.

'No one in our clan can refuse a summons; that would mean eternal disgrace,' added Sune.

'But you're only boys, and taking up arms doesn't sound like something that should be required of you,' muttered Arn crossly.

'We are Folkungs all the same, young though we may be, and the only two of our clan that you have with you here at Forsvik, Sir Arn,' replied Sune jauntily.

Arn sighed and thought for a moment as he stared at the ground. Then he spoke, apparently delivering orders to the two Saracen hors.e.m.e.n, and pointed at the blue surcoats worn by the boys. The two warriors from the Holy Land immediately bowed their heads as a sign of obedience and galloped off toward the estate.

'Together let us seek out our kinsmen who have come with this message and find out what they want,' said Arn. He walked over to Cecilia, pulled her up to sit in the saddle in front of him, and abruptly took off at a thundering speed for the old longhouse. Cecilia alternated between shrieking and laughing during the short ride.

Inside the longhouse the two unknown kinsmen greeted Arn with a courteous bow as he came in. After a brief pause, one of them came over and fell to his knees; with arms outstretched, he held out the summons, which was in the form of a piece of wood with the Folkung lion burned into the surface.

'We hereby hand you, Sir Arn, your kinsmen's summons and ask you to follow us with all men that you are able to arm,' said the young man.

Arn accepted the summons but didn't know what he was expected to do next. At that moment Sune and Sigfrid arrived, bowed solemnly to the two messengers, and then looked at Arn.

'I have been away in the Holy Land for many years, and hence I have no idea what you two are requesting of me,' he said with some embarra.s.sment to the messengers. 'But if you tell me what this matter concerns, I will do what honour demands.'

'It has to do with Svante Sniving. He's a man known for acting all too quickly, especially after drinking a great deal of ale. He beats the thralls and house servants, and even his own son,' explained the other messenger, who thus far had not spoken.

'That does not speak well of Svante Sniving,' replied Arn hesitantly. 'But tell me what this matter has to do with me.'

'Yesterday he killed his wife, Elin Germundsdotter, who was of our clan, and he has already seen the sun set once,' explained the first messenger.

'A summons was sent out last night to all Folkungs who can reach Ymseborg before sundown tomorrow,' clarified the other young kinsman.

'I think I understand now,' said Arn, nodding. 'What sort of resistance can we expect from Svante?'

'That's hard to know. He has twelve retainers, but we should be fifty men or more by tomorrow. But we must ride no later than tonight; preferably at once,' replied the first man.

'We are only three Folkungs here at Forsvik, and two are mere boys. Can I take my retainers along with me?' asked Arn, and received eager nods in reply.

There was nothing more to ask or discuss. It took less than an hour to load up the pack horses and for Forsvik's five hors.e.m.e.n to dress for battle. The sun was still high in the sky when they rode off to the northwest.

It was shortly after the Feast of the Birth of the Virgin Mary, and the foliage in the woods gleamed red and gold. The nights had grown darker, which was good for the true believers, since their ninth month, the fasting month of Ramadan, had begun two days earlier. As they started off, Arn fretted about the exception to the Koran's laws, which stated that fasting need not apply during times of war. Yet this journey could hardly be considered war; as he understood it, they were merely headed to an execution.

He rode up alongside his Muslim companions and asked them candidly for their opinion. But they simply laughed, saying that there was nothing to worry about since it was the very beginning of the fasting month. Also, the weather was pleasantly cool and the sun had come to its senses so that it once again set in the evening. And besides, they were forced to ride at a reduced speed because their two guides were so slow. Arn smiled and nodded in reply, thinking then that it was fortunate the fasting month had not occurred around Midsummer during the past few years. It would have been difficult for the Prophet's people to refrain from water and food from sunrise to sundown.

They continued riding for a hour after the sun disappeared and darkness descended, finally forcing them to make camp for the night. Ali and Mansour, who now rode with blue shirts on top of their leather-clad steel chain mail, gave no sign that they would have preferred to stop for food and drink as soon as the sun had set.

The next day, when the sun was to go down for the third time since Svante Sniving's killing of a Folkung woman, five dozen riders had gathered outside Ymseborg. During the night the retainers up on the castle palisades had seen fires burning in all directions as a sign that escape was impossible. The estate's wooden gate was closed and up above perched four archers, anxiously gazing upon all the blue mantles that had gathered to confer less than a few arrow-shots away.

The leader of the Folkungs was Germund Birgersson, the father of the murdered Elin. At his side sat a grieving and bruised boy wearing a mantle that was half yellow and half black, which were the clan colours of Svante Sniving.

Arn had taken Ali and Mansour along for a short ride around the wooden fortress. They agreed that if required to take the castle, it could no doubt be easily accomplished with fire, but they wouldn't be able to simply ride through the wooden walls. And besides, Arn now realized that speed was essential, since everything had to be done by sundown.

When he returned to the group he went to talk to Germund Birgersson to find out more about what was planned. As far as he understood, the boy would inherit Ymseborg, so surely it would be unwise to burn it down.

Germund smiled grimly, saying that he didn't think it would be difficult to force open the gate. All he needed was for Arn, whose reputation had spread widely, also in this district, to help him persuade those who were standing guard. Arn replied that he had nothing against helping in any way he could.

'Good. You are a man of honour, and any other response would have greatly surprised me,' grunted Germund Birgersson with satisfaction. With an effort he got to his feet, straightening the mantle around his shoulders. 'Mount your horse and follow me; we'll soon take care of this minor hindrance!'

Somewhat puzzled, Arn went over to his horse, cinched the saddle tight, and rode up alongside Germund, who was now headed toward the gate of Ymseborg. None of the other Folkungs went with them.

They rode so close that they could easily have been struck by arrows, but no one chose to shoot at them.

The old Folkung chieftain cast a wily glance at Arn and rode even closer; Arn followed without hesitating, since hesitation is halfway to death.

'I am Germund Birgersson of the Folkung clan, and I come to Ymseborg for the sake of honour and not for war or plundering. I am mistress Elin's father, and I have come to demand my right, as have my kinsmen with me,' said Germund in a loud and clear voice, almost as if he were singing his message.