Erik Jedvardsson returned home to Östra Aros, his mind alight with the glorious future he now felt would be his. For he had nothing to fear from any man in Svealand or Western Götaland or Eastern Götaland.

   Magnus Henriksen, however, was not a man born of woman in Svealand, Western Götaland, or Eastern Götaland. He was Danish.

   He was one of the many great men of Denmark that the winds of war had blown like chaff out across the world after Valdemar finally won the long Danish war of succession. Fleeing Denmark, Magnus sailed up the Eastern Sea, stopped for a time in Linköping, and had private discussions with King Karl Sverkersson. He then continued up the coast, into Lake Mälaren and up the Fyris River.

   He took King Erik Jedvardsson by surprise, and he was the one who personally chopped off the head that according to the witch in Finland would become the eternal symbol of the future kingdom.

   Magnus had himself proclaimed the new king, since he had killed the old one. In those days that was the most common way to become king in the North, and on his mother's side he was in a direct line of descent from King Inge the Old.

   Magnus Henriksen lived for a year. Erik Jedvardsson lived forever.

Reading is the basis of all knowledge. It was Father Henri's firm conviction that even men such as himself, whose main occupation was text, either writing or copying it, had to spend at least two hours a day reading, which was a means of cultivating the soul, a sort of permissible enjoyment.

   The rules for reading text at Vitskøl were therefore quite strict. The brothers who had the work of their hands as their primary duty, such as the cooks from Provence, the lay brothers who busied themselves with masonry work or stone polishing, Brother Guilbert and his smith apprentices, and Brother Lucien and his garden apprentices—they all had to learn something each day that was not related to their usual work.

   But this obligation took on a different aspect when it came to the little boy Arn. The first four or five years of his studies had not been designed for any practical purpose other than to hone his linguistic instrument. For the same reason he was always required to speak Latin with Father Henri, French with Brother Guilbert, and Norse with the Nordic lay brothers. The text he worked with in the first years had been mostly the psalms, since he had to learn them anyway. He had a very passable soprano voice, and when he sang the lead his voice lent extra beauty to the early morning and evening mass, in particular.

   It was now Arn's fifth year, and the cloister church in Vitskøl was finally ready. It would be consecrated by Archbishop Eskil, who was coming all the way from Lund. When the church was consecrated, the monastery would also be given its name; all Cistercian monasteries had their own name. For Vitskøl's part Father Henri had long ago decided that the name would be Vitae Schola, the School of Life.

   Arn certainly had something to do with that choice of name. Even though it was still impossible to say why God had placed this child with the Cistercian brothers, it was easy to see how the name Vitae Schola applied to Arn quite literally. Everything of any importance that he would learn in life would presumably be learned here.

   And now that the boy was beginning to master his linguistic instrument, Father Henri had released him into the great sea of literature. Arn had to work on his obligatory reading every day, just like everyone else.

   Father Henri was convinced that worldly literature was almost as important as theological literature to the formation of a young man's mind. But it required a certain attentiveness on Father Henri's part, since Arn at first darted in and out of the scriptorium at will, and sometimes discovered books that were unsuitable for boys.

   The purpose of reading Ovid, for example, was naturally to concentrate on the Metamorphoses, around two hundred tales about magical transformations, texts that taught their reader much about legends and cultures that had been part of the Roman empire. On the other hand, it was less fortunate when the boy grabbed Ars amatoria, The Art of Love. Father Henri had discovered Arn with that very book in a corner of the kitchen. Arn had also appeared to be unduly excited in a manner that human nature could not conceal.

   Naturally Father Henri had then administered suitable punishment, cold rubdowns and a certain number of prayers and the like, but he had not taken such a stern view of the matter as he outwardly professed. On the contrary, he had merrily related the whole incident to Brother Guilbert, who had a good laugh at the boy's naïve sin.

   The more unsuitable texts by Ovid, however, were taken away to Father Henri's own sleeping cell, and thereafter the choice of literature for Arn's elective reading was selected with more precision and caution.

   Reading was the basis of all knowledge and all pure and wise thoughts. Of course everyone would agree with that; it was obvious. But Father Henri may possibly have differed slightly from many of his colleagues in his belief that even little boys should be given these texts in time, before they became mired too much in theological scholarship. On the other hand, it was not possible to neglect Arn's theological training. At Vitae Schola there were only two copies of the guide to reading the Bible, Glossa Ordinaria, which all the brothers were constantly consulting. But Father Henri saw to it that Arn was given as much access to that text as possible.

   And in order to avoid new embarrassments such as the incident with the unsuitable text by Ovid, Arn was now required to fetch all his books directly from Father Henri's possession. In addition, at least one working hour each day was devoted to teaching the boy what was easy and what was hard to understand in the Holy Scriptures.

   Father Henri was secretly rather happy at the eagerness with which Arn came running to get his new reading instructions, or to be quizzed on the previous day's Bible text. The plan was for the boy to be trained half in physical labors and half in spiritual matters. Since God's intentions for him had not yet been revealed, this method could not be called faulty, at least.

   It was possible to imagine, and without thinking especially ill of him for that matter, that the time spent with Brother Guilbert was more pleasant than the time spent in the scriptorium; that his time with the lay brothers who were building the walls, where Arn was asked to carry mortar to places where it was difficult for a grown man to squeeze through, was more pleasant than the time he had to spend in the kitchen; that his time down at the harbor and out on the fjord with the fishermen was more pleasant than the time spent practicing a complicated vocal part for the next big mass.