After that they had met as foes on the battlefield, and Arn had triumphed. But a short time later, Arn's life ended up in Saladin's hands when the Muslim arrived with an invincible army at the fortress in Gaza where Arn was fortress master among the Templars. And Saladin had, in turn, saved Arn's life.

Saladin had spared his life because of their friendship, and that was how he had become Saladin's prisoner and negotiator.

That was during his last days in the Holy Land, when Jerusalem was already lost, as were most of the Christian cities. And Arn was Saladin's prisoner but also occasionally his messenger and negotiator, as one of the worst villains that had ever set foot on the ground of the Holy Land arrived with an army to meet Saladin on the battlefield and recapture the Holy City of Jerusalem. This man, whose name was Richard Lionheart, a name that would live on in eternal infamy, had amused himself during the negotiations by beheading three thousand prisoners rather than accepting the last of the ransom that he had demanded for them, and rather than receiving back the True Cross for Christendom.

At that sorrowful moment Arn and Saladin had parted ways for all eternity, and Arn had received as a farewell gift fifty thousand besants in gold, which Richard had refused in favour of sating his thirst for blood.

And so it was that Arn could now afford to pay for the building going on at Arnas as well as for the new church at Forsvik and everything else that was being constructed there.

And this was just a short version of the story, said Arn. Many winter nights would be required to give a fuller account. And it might take the rest of his life to understand the meaning behind everything that had happened.

There he stopped and got up to put more wood on the fire. It was then he discovered that Cecilia had fallen asleep.

NINE.

Filled with a sense of foreboding, Arn rode at the front of the groom's procession as it entered Linkoping. From the bishop's stronghold to the cathedral three red Sverker banners waved, as if taunting the guests. And among the spectators watching with hostility, only red mantles were visible; there was not a blue one in sight. And not a single rowan bough was tossed toward the bridegroom to wish him well.

It was like riding into an ambush. If Sune Sik and his kinsmen wanted to turn this wedding into a blood feud, they would be able to kill all the foremost Folkungs except for the aged Herr Magnus of Arnas, who had been forced to forgo this ride through the chill of autumn because of his health.

As they neared the cathedral they could hear the distant shouts greeting the bride's procession with much greater warmth. Birger Brosa was leading the way, as the one who had fetched the bride.

Even Erik jarl was riding in the groom's procession alongside his friend Magnus Mneskold, who had his mother Cecilia on the other side of him; his paternal uncle, councillor Eskil, rode behind him. All the powerful Folkungs and King Knut's eldest son as well were putting their lives at risk. If the Sverkers truly wanted to take back the crown by force, this was the time to do it.

But the Folkungs had not come to the enemy's city unprepared like lambs to the slaughter. From Bjalbo came a hundred retainers and kinsmen fully armed. They had drawn lots so that half of the men swore not to drink even one tankard of ale during the first day and night. Those who won the draw had sworn to remain sober on the second day and night. The Folkungs were not about to be slaughtered either by surprise or by fire.

Yet it was for Cecilia that Arn felt the greatest concern. He could easily ride through hordes of Nordic peasant soldiers or use his sword to slash his way through the ranks of retainers. But the question that he hardly dared even consider was whether his foremost duty was to stay by Cecilia's side or to save himself so that the Folkungs would not be robbed of all defenders and avengers when the subsequent war began.

When the first arrows were shot, it was Arn's duty to ride away to save himself. His loyalty to the Folkungs demanded this. There was no better man to lead their avenging army to victory, and he couldn't possibly deny this fact either to his own conscience or to anyone else.

Nevertheless he decided to break with the laws of honour if the worst should happen. He would not leave Linkoping alive without Cecilia. She was riding a good horse, and her new gown allowed her to sit astride the saddle with solid support in both stirrups. She was also an excellent horsewoman. At the sight of a single glinting weapon anywhere, he would immediately ride up alongside and clear the way for her.

These were his thoughts as they approached the cathedral where the bridal procession was coming from the other direction, and his expression was more harsh and sombre than would be expected of a bridegroom's father. People whispered and pointed at him, and he suspected that in their opinion, he was the one among the enemies wearing the blue mantles who ought to be felled first.

Outside the cathedral they dismounted. Stable thralls came running to hold the reins of their horses. Arn surveyed the area with suspicion, casting a glance up at the walls of the bishop's stronghold when he went to fetch Magnus, who was suffering terribly after the bachelors' evening at Bjalbo that had been almost as good as the one at Arnas. Even better, according to Magnus, since this time he didn't have to compete against old men and monks. Hence in the last games of his youth he had salvaged the victor's crown that had been denied him at Arnas.

The gift for the bride was a heavy necklace made of gold with red stones. Erik jarl brought it to Arn, who accepted it and then handed it to his son Magnus. With much fumbling the groom fastened the necklace around Ingrid Ylva's neck, over the red mantle that she wore.

Then Sune Sik himself brought forward the gift for the groom, a Frankish sword with a sheath adorned with gold and silver; the hilt was strewn with gemstones. A sword that was more suitable for a banquet than a battle, Arn thought to himself as Ingrid Ylva fastened the sword at Magnus's waist.

The bishop blessed the bridal couple, and both the bride and groom kissed his ring. After that everyone who could find room inside went into the cathedral for ma.s.s, which was kept brief since the wedding guests were thinking more of the feast than of heavenly joys. During the ma.s.s many men wearing red mantles cast angry glances at Arn because he kept his sword at his side even though everyone else had left their weapons outdoors.

There was no hint of danger or treachery on the road between the bishop's estate and the cathedral or onward across the bridge to the Stng royal estate where the wedding banquet was to be held.

The royal estate was old and drafty, but it was still the finest building in all of Linkoping. No doubt Sune Sik lived in far better quarters, but it was just as certain that he wanted to show that when he was the host, it was as the king's brother at a royal estate. Here in Linkoping all Sverkers regarded the royal estates as their private property.

Two rows of heavy wooden pillars supported the roof of the hall, and they had all been painted red, as if to conceal the unG.o.dly images, still faintly visible, that had been carved into the wood. Crosses and images of Christ hung like incantations between iron brackets that held tarred torches out from the walls.

Arn and Cecilia were expecting a rather gloomy evening like the previous one they had spent at Bjalbo. Yet as soon as they took their seats, both Birger Brosa and the bride's father, Sune Sik, showed that it was their intention to make it a good evening among friends, even at the high seat. It was impossible to know what had made them change their behaviour so dramatically. Cecilia tried to find out from Valevaks, who was Sune Sik's wife and the bride's mother, but she learned very little, since the woman spoke more Polish than Norse.

The bishop, who was seated far from Arn and Cecilia on the other side of Sune Sik, also seemed to want to show his goodwill and friendship. As soon as he had drunk a toast with Birger Brosa and Sune Sik, he turned to the groom's parents. There was no wine at this banquet, and although Arn and Cecilia had determined to leave the ale placed in front of them untouched, they were soon shamed into drinking it because of the unexpected friendliness streaming toward them from all directions.

Birger Brosa surprised Arn more than once by praising him as a close kinsman and friend to Sune Sik, and the jarl spoke so loudly that Arn couldn't avoid hearing.

Something had happened to change the game, but at the moment the only thing to do was to remain courteous and wait until the next day to find out what was going on.

Escorting the couple to bed began earlier than antic.i.p.ated, since there were so many guests in the hall who wanted to have this custom out of the way; then they could breathe more easily. When Sverkers and Folkungs became united in blood through Magnus Mneskold and Ingrid Ylva, the risk of fire, treachery, and murder would be over.

The bridal chamber was in a separate house near the river Stngn, and it was guarded by as many retainers wearing blue mantles as wore red. The only difference was that those in blue were able to stand upright without difficulty because not a drop of ale had pa.s.sed their lips.

After the ring dance in the hall, the bride was escorted out by her kinsmen. Those who remained inside suddenly fell silent, as if listening for the clang of weapons and shrill screams. But everything seemed calm outside.

Then it was time for the truly decisive moment when Magnus Mneskold and his Folkung kinsmen were to leave the hall.

With his right hand Arn pulled Cecilia close to his side as he cautiously loosened his sword. Then they walked out between the rows of dazzling torches. They didn't speak to each other, but both bowed their heads in prayer, asking for mercy.

Yet nothing untoward happened. Soon they were standing next to the bridal bed on which Magnus and Ingrid Ylva lay in their white linen shifts, looking merry and holding hands. The bishop said a brief prayer over them, and Birger Brosa and Sune Sik pulled the bridal coverlet over the beautiful, dark-haired Ingrid Ylva and the vigorous, red-haired Magnus Mneskold.

Everyone in the room secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and Sune Sik immediately went over to Arn and held out both hands, thanking G.o.d for this reconciliation that had now taken place and swearing that there was no longer any blood between them. For they were now both fathers-in-law to the other's offspring, and blood united them instead of separating them.

When the witnesses emerged from the bedchamber and stepped out into the courtyard, they were greeted with cheers of relief and joy, since this wedding had led to peace and reconciliation.

Now it would be easier to liven up the mood inside the hall. And such was the case as soon as the guests in the high seat returned to their places. Arn recalled that only once before in his life had he been sick from too much ale, and that time he had promised himself never to repeat such foolishness. To his embarra.s.sment, Birger Brosa and Sune Sik quickly drank him under the table, as if they had both joined in some malicious drinking pact against him.

Cecilia displayed no pity for his miserable condition the next morning. On the contrary, she had a great deal to say about the recklessness of a swordsman who drank as much ale as some ordinary, rough retainer. Arn defended himself by saying that he'd felt such great relief the moment he saw the coverlet drawn over Magnus and Ingrid Ylva that the ale had more easily seeped in as his wits left him, because he no longer needed to think clearly.

But over the two following feast days, Arn was very cautious about the amount of ale he drank, and Sune Sik had also procured wine for him and Cecilia; no one ever drank wine in such manly quant.i.ties as ale.

Ingrid Ylva had received the Ulvsa estate as a morning gift from the Folkungs, and after the three feast days in Linkoping jarl Birger Brosa rode at the head of the bridal procession to Ulvsa, located on a promontory on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Boren.

Since Boren was connected to Lake Vattern, Arn and Cecilia would now be practically neighbours to Magnus and Ingrid Ylva. It was only a day's journey by boat between the two estates in the summertime and an even shorter journey by sleigh in the winter. Cecilia and Ingrid Ylva had already found it easy to talk to each other since Ingrid Ylva had spent many years at Vreta cloister, and they quickly reached agreement about many things having to do with visiting each other and the important holidays. Their husbands had very little to say about these matters.

The visit to Ulvsa would be brief so that the young people, as soon as honour deemed it possible, would not have the burden of taking care of older kinsmen. After that the intention was for Arn and Cecilia to travel together with Eskil on one of his boats, first to Forsvik. From there Eskil would continue on to Arnas.

But as they prepared to depart from Ulvsa on the second feast day, Birger Brosa came to Arn, hemming and hawing, to say that he would like Arn to accompany him back to Bjalbo so that the two of them might have a talk.

If the jarl made a request, it could not be refused. Arn had no idea why Birger Brosa wanted to have this conversation, but he had no trouble explaining to Cecilia and Eskil that he would have to travel by a different route. They both a.s.sented without asking any questions. And Eskil chivalrously vowed that with his own life he would protect the life and safety of this Folkung woman. Arn laughed that this was so much easier to promise now that peace had been secured.

When Birger Brosa and his retinue made ready to ride back to Bjalbo, Arn apologized and said that he would have to follow somewhat later, as he wanted to take advantage of the moment to speak privately with his son Magnus. Birger Brosa couldn't very well object to this, but he frowned and muttered that it was a short journey to Bjalbo. He had no intention of waiting for his kinsman, since his time was precious. Arn promised not to keep his uncle waiting at Bjalbo; in fact, they would probably arrive at the same time.

'Then you'll certainly need a good horse!' snorted Birger Brosa and set off at a slow gallop with his retainers lagging behind in surprise.

'I'll be all right with my my horse, dear uncle,' whispered Arn after the retreating jarl. horse, dear uncle,' whispered Arn after the retreating jarl.

It seemed most likely that Ingrid Ylva and Magnus thought they had spent enough time in the company of their kinsmen; they were already behaving with affection toward one another. Yet Magnus could not say no to his father's request for a short ride and conversation, just the two of them.

Ulvsa stood in a beautiful location on the promontory, with water glittering all around and fertile fields tended by both the house thralls from the estate and people from the nearby village of Hamra, which now was also owned by Ingrid Ylva. The farm buildings were of the older type and would not be comfortable in the winter. Arn said nothing of this, although he was thinking that next spring he would send builders from Forsvik to repair the living quarters for both the house servants and thralls. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it; right now there were more important things to discuss.

Without making any digressions to talk about the wedding or the youth compet.i.tions at Bjalbo, which Magnus found it pleasant to brag about, Arn began describing his plans for Arnas. Every Folkung within three days' journey was to go to Arnas if misfortune were ever approaching, because there no enemy would be able to touch them.

Magnus objected sullenly that in such case one's own estate would be left to fire and plundering, and Arn nodded grimly that this was true. But if the enemy was strong, it was more important to save one's skin than a few timbered houses that could easily be built anew.

Magnus didn't seem to understand or show any interest in what his father wanted to tell him. There were no enemies for as far as the eye could see. Besides, now that peace between the Sverkers and Folkungs had been so strongly sealed, wasn't that the reason that they were able to ride together here at Ulvsa with Ingrid Ylva waiting back at the longhouse? Wasn't the very idea behind this wedding to secure the peace? And hadn't he, without grumbling, agreed to the clan's demands, even though it was no hardship to go to the bridal bed with such a lovely, dark-haired woman as Ingrid Ylva?

Arn realized too late that he had been tactless in his timing as he tried to make his own son see the threat to the realm and how they needed to defend themselves. He answered evasively that no danger would befall them during the next few years, and it was true that this wedding offered a strong message of peace. He was merely trying to see further into the future. At that, Magnus just shrugged his shoulders. Arn then asked him about the youth games at Bjalbo.

With much greater enthusiasm Magnus seized upon this topic of conversation and described in detail everything that had taken place during each of the seven contests. In the end he had come out the victor, and Erik jarl was again defeated.

More than an hour pa.s.sed, and Arn began to have trouble hiding his impatience even though he had arrogantly promised Birger Brosa he would arrive at Bjalbo when the jarl did. Only with difficulty did he finally turn down Magnus's suggestion that they have a tankard of ale before his departure. They said farewell out in the courtyard, and Arn set off for Bjalbo at once, at full gallop. Magnus watched his father ride away, thinking that no one could keep up that pace for long; no doubt his father merely wanted to show his strength as long as he was in sight, but he would have to slow down as soon as he was beyond the oak grove south of Ulvsa.

Birger Brosa and his retinue did not have to make another rest stop before they reached Bjalbo, and they could already see the church tower in the distance when Arn suddenly came racing up behind them, riding one of his foreign stallions at great speed. When Birger Brosa was told that a rider was approaching, he turned around in his saddle and saw the Folkung mantle. At first he thought that Arn had doubtless sneaked up behind them in order to ride the last stretch of the way at this unreasonable pace. But he soon had misgivings when he saw that Arn's steed was lathered with sweat.

Arn was relieved to find that the young horse he had chosen to ride to the wedding turned out to be good enough, even though it was slow compared to Abu Anaza. But Abu Anaza was black, and it would not have been suitable to ride such a horse to a wedding. An animal of that colour, according to what Cecilia had told him, was more appropriate for a funeral and would be considered bad luck at a wedding.

Birger Brosa led the way and came to a halt as soon as they entered the confines of Bjalbo behind the stockade. He first wished to don simpler attire, then he had to go to his writing chamber where people were waiting with all sorts of missives. Only then would he meet with Arn, and their meeting would take place in the tower chamber of the church where the clan ting ting would be held in former times. A brazier and ale, cushions and sheepskins were to be taken up there at once; in an hour's time no one but Arn was to be present. After issuing these brusque commands, Birger Brosa laboriously dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to a stable thrall without even glancing around. Then with determined strides he headed for the longhouse. would be held in former times. A brazier and ale, cushions and sheepskins were to be taken up there at once; in an hour's time no one but Arn was to be present. After issuing these brusque commands, Birger Brosa laboriously dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to a stable thrall without even glancing around. Then with determined strides he headed for the longhouse.

Feeling rather offended, Arn himself saw to the care of his horse, which needed attention after such a hard ride. He paid no attention to the fact that his presence in the stable caused much confusion and surprise among the thralls. The health of his horse was more important. After drying the horse's flanks and cleaning the hooves, Arn asked for several hides, which he slung over the back of the dapple-gray steed to make sure the animal wouldn't cool down too fast. And he spoke in a foreign tongue, whispering as he caressed and seemed to console the horse. The stable thralls shook their heads and exchanged glances behind Arn's back, keeping out of his way.

After Arn left the horse, he went at once to brush himself off. Then at the appointed time he went to the old tower room and waited. There was a rank smell of mould and mortar. Birger Brosa arrived a bit late.

'You are more trouble to me than any other kinsman, Arn Magnusson, and I will never make any sense of you!' Birger Brosa said in greeting in a loud voice as he climbed the stairs. And without further ado he sank down onto the largest seat, exactly where Arn had thought he would choose to sit.

'Then you must ask me questions, dear uncle, and with G.o.d's help I will try to help you understand,' replied Arn humbly. He had no desire to quarrel anew with the jarl.

'It's much worse than that!' declared Birger Brosa. 'And it will get even worse if I do understand, because then I will feel foolish that I hadn't understood at once. And that would not please me. Nor do I have any particular wish to apologize, and I've already been humiliated by you once before. Now I am doing that again, for the second time. This has never happened, and as G.o.d is my witness, I shall never again, for a second time, be forced to ask some rogue for forgiveness!'

'What is it that you wish me to forgive?' asked Arn in surprise at this fiery drama his uncle was now presenting.

'I've seen all the building that is going on at Arnas,' replied Birger Brosa in a different tone of voice, keeping his voice low. He threw out his arms in a gesture that almost looked like surrender. 'I've seen what you're building, and I'm not foolish. You're building up the Folkung power to be greater than ever, you're building so that we will be lords of this realm. My brother Magnus and your brother Eskil have also told me about what you're doing at Forsvik. Need I say more?'

'No, not if you wish me to forgive you, uncle,' replied Arn cautiously.

'Good! Will you have ale?'

'I would prefer not to. During these past days I've had enough ale to last me till Christmas.'

Birger Brosa gave him a scornful smile and stood up. He took two ale tankards over to the ale cask, filled them both, and placed one of them in front of Arn before he went back to his seat. He settled himself more comfortably among the sheepskins with one knee drawn up; there he balanced his tankard, as was his custom. He gazed at Arn in silence for a while, but his expression was friendly.

'Tell me of the castle that you're building,' he said. 'How does it look today, how will it look when Arnas is finished, and how will it look after several years?'

'It will take time to answer these questions,' said Arn.

'Nothing is more important for the jarl of the realm at this moment. We have plenty of time, and we are alone, with no one else within earshot,' replied Birger Brosa. He grabbed his tankard and took several good swallows before he placed it back on his knee. Then he threw out his hands without causing the tankard even to wobble.

'Today there is peace, and the union is between the Eriks and Folkungs,' Arn began hesitantly. 'The Sverkers are lying low, biding their time until King Knut is gone, and G.o.d willing, that will not happen for a long time yet. So I do not see a war taking place for many years.'

'Then we think alike,' said the jarl, nodding. 'But what about after that? What will happen then?'

'No one knows,' said Arn. 'But one thing I do know: at that time there will be a greater danger of war. That doesn't mean that things will go badly for us. For if we now build fortresses that are sufficiently strong, during the peace that we now have, our strength may preserve the peace as well as a wise marriage does.'

'True,' said Birger Brosa with a nod. 'But what is our weakness?'

'We cannot engage a Danish army on the battlefield,' Arn swiftly replied.

'A Danish army? Why a Danish army?' asked Birger Brosa, raising his eyebrows.

'That is the only danger we face and hence the only problem worth fretting about,' replied Arn. 'Denmark is a great power, a power that resembles the Frankish kingdom more than us, and the Danes wage war in the same way that the Franks do. The Danes have laid waste to great sections of Saxony and won much territory, showing that they are able to defeat Saxon armies. When they've had enough of heading southward, or when they reach so far south that they can no longer keep their armies supplied, they may turn their attention to the north. And here we sit, a much easier quarry than Saxony. And in Roskilde sits Karl Sverkersson's son, raised as a Dane, but still with an inherited right to our crown. He could become the Danes' nominal king in our realm. That is how the situation looks if we try to imagine what might be the worst thing that might happen.'

Birger Brosa nodded pensively, almost as if acknowledging to himself that these were his darkest thoughts and he would have preferred to ignore them. In silence he drank more ale, expecting Arn also to remain silent until he received another question.

'When can we defeat the Danes?' Birger Brosa asked abruptly, speaking in a loud voice.

'In five or six years, but it will cost us dearly. In ten years it would be easier,' replied Arn with such confidence that Birger Brosa, who had expected a more lengthy explanation, was caught off guard.

'Give me a more detailed explanation,' he said after another long pause.

'In five years King Knut may die,' said Arn, swiftly raising his hand to prevent any interruption. 'We don't know that, and it's a wicked thing to think, but wicked ideas also have to be tested. Then the Danish army will come here with a more or less eager Sverker Karlsson following behind. We have a hundred hors.e.m.e.n. Not the kind of hors.e.m.e.n that can counter a great Frankish or Danish army, but a hundred hors.e.m.e.n that can make their pa.s.sage through our land a great misery. They never engage us in battle nor do they catch up with us, but we take their supplies, we kill their draft animals, we kill or wound a dozen Danes each day. We do our best to entice them to pursue us to Arnas. There they are crushed in their encampment. That's what would happen in five years, and the price would be great devastation from Skara and all the way north.'

'And in ten years?' asked Birger Brosa.

'In ten years we defeat them on the battlefield after first plaguing them with our light cavalry for a month,' replied Arn. 'But to make this possible, you will also have to exert yourself and pay for a great many things that will make big holes in your silver coffers.'

'Why should I do this? Why not King Knut?' asked Birger Brosa, and for the first time clearly showed surprise during this harsh conversation.

'Because you are a Folkung,' replied Arn. 'The power that I am starting to build does not belong to the realm; it belongs to the Folkungs. It's true that I have sworn loyalty to Knut, and I will stand by my oath. Perhaps some day I will also swear loyalty to Erik jarl, but we don't know that. Today we're united with the Eriks. But tomorrow? Of that we know nothing. The only thing that's certain is that we Folkungs will stick together, and we're the only power that can hold the realm together.'

'I think you have understood this even better than you know,' said Birger Brosa. 'I must tell you something at once that is for your ears alone. But tell me first what you think I should do, as jarl or as a Folkung.'

'You must build a fortress on the western sh.o.r.e of Lake Vattern, perhaps at Lena where you already own a large estate. The Danes will come from Skne when they enter Western Gotaland. At Skara they can continue on a northerly route toward Arnas or take the unprotected road past Skovde and up to Lake Vattern and the king's Nas. They must be stopped at Lena, and I hope that you will take this upon yourself. Axevalla at Skara must also be fortified. We will have our warriors in three fortresses. And our hors.e.m.e.n can move back and forth between the three without allowing the enemy to attack us, preventing them from knowing where the next a.s.sault will occur. With three strong fortresses, one of which is impregnable, we will be secure.'

'But Axevalla is a royal castle,' objected Birger Brosa.

'All the better for the sake of your own expenses,' said Arn with a smile. 'If I build up Arnas and you do the same with Lena, you, in your position as jarl, shouldn't have a hard time convincing Knut that the king ought to add his straw to the stack and fortify his own castle of Axevalla. He would do it as much for his own sake as for ours.'

'I notice that you've begun to speak to me as if we were equals,' said Birger Brosa, and for the first time he gave Arn a broad smile, which had always been a distinctive characteristic of his, ever since his youth.

'Now it's my turn to ask forgiveness, my uncle. I got carried away,' replied Arn, bowing his head for a moment.

'I too got carried away,' replied Birger Brosa, still smiling. 'But from now on I wish that you and I continue to speak with each other in this informal manner, except possibly when we attend the king's council. But now to what I wanted to tell you of a great and difficult matter. Perhaps I would like to see Sverker Karlsson as our next king.'

Birger Brosa abruptly fell silent after speaking this treacherous thought. He may have been waiting for Arn to leap to his feet in anger, upsetting his ale and lashing out with words that were far from chivalrous, or at the very least gaping in surprise like a fish. But with equal parts disappointment and astonishment, he saw that Arn's expression did not change. He merely sat there, waiting for Birger Brosa to continue.

'I suppose you'd like to hear how I came to this conclusion?' he now said, sounding a bit cross and his smile fading.