"Hmm," said Father Henri, looking a little stern. "It probably hasn't escaped you that this part about paths here and there is one of the most common metaphors in the Holy Scriptures. If the Lord's ways are inscrutable, then we're not talking about any livestock paths, are we?"
"No, that's obvious, the paths of righteousness refer to things like the path away from sin, the path to salvation, and so on. Allegorical, that is."
"Good. Where were we? How does the next verse go? No, don't sing it, or the brothers in the garden will just idle about. Well?"
"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me,'" Arn rattled off. "The meaning must be general, I think. If I find myself in great difficulties, if I'm in the presence of death, such as climbing high up in the tower carrying mortar, for example, then I need fear nothing because God is with me. The phrase 'shadow of death' must be allegorical; death doesn't literally cast its shadow any where, and there is no special valley where I could walk beneath that shadow. And even if there were . . . purely theoretically, then it would not be the only place where I would feel solace. Not even in the darkest valley, that is, in dark moments, in sorrow or in danger, do I need to despair. Is that about right?"
On the day that Arn outgrew his old bow and arrow, that small pleasure came to an end for the time being. He had his practice area just outside the smithy and could run out now and then during the natural pauses in the work to shoot while the iron cooled down or new forges were fired up. But one day Brother Guilbert came out and saw how the boy, without hesitation but also without seeming especially interested in the task, shot twelve arrows in a row into the moving target, a wad of linen rags tied up with thongs and dangling back and forth on a thin rope.
It was time once again to start on something new. For even though Brother Guilbert thought it important that the instruments he put into Arn's hands be adapted to his size and strength, it was equally important that the boy always practice with full concentration. If it became too easy, the practice would be blunted and have a negative effect. Brother Guilbert found this difficult to explain, even to grown men. To Arn he did not explain much, nor was it necessary, since obedience was one of the most important rules at the monastery.
They found yew trees as material for the new bow and ash for the arrows. Because when the bow was changed, new arrows were also needed, since everything had to be in the right proportion to function together, just as the movement of the hand and the power of thought must be in balance.
It took a long time, from the cold springtime when only the snowdrops ventured forth until the early summer when the tulips stretched in long red rows along the arcades, to fabricate the new bow and its arrows. Arn had to be present to learn from every task, how the wood was supposed to dry in a dark and sufficiently cool place, how to cut laminates from various parts of the wood and polish them to an even shape, how to join them together with fish glue and lay them in a press, and then polish them anew. With the arrows it was simpler, of course. Arrow points belonged to the simple forging tasks that Arn could manage entirely on his own.
When it was finally time to begin testing the new working instruments, Brother Guilbert also changed the distance to the target from eighteen long paces to twenty-five. It was hard and strenuous to draw the new bow, and the effort affected the aim of the arrows so that sometimes Arn missed completely. When he then showed annoyance, Brother Guilbert was upon him at once, scolding him for indolence and insufficient confidence, the one sin as serious as the other. And Arn had to pray a number of Pater Nosters on his knees before the bow and arrows as punishment before he was called back to practice.
At such moments Brother Guilbert was tempted to explain to the boy how well he shot, without a doubt better than most of the adult, well-trained archers. But Arn had never been able to compare himself with anyone but Brother Guilbert himself. Brother Guilbert had always kept quiet about his earlier life and what it was that had made him renounce that life for constant penance at a Cistercian monastery. Father Henri had forbidden him from telling his story to Arn.
One day a group of soldiers on their way home from the Danish island of Fyn, all of them in good humor because some war was over and they would soon see their loved ones, stopped outside the cloister at the very place where Arn was practicing. At first they had found it comical to see a little lay brother with a shaved head, brown monk's cowl, and fluttering locks around his ears holding a bow and arrow in his hands. The image seemed entirely implausible. They uttered some coarse humor but then stopped to watch the little boy, expecting to fling about some more jokes. Brother Guilbert, who was standing next to Arn and instructing him, pretended not to understand the Nordic language or at least not to hear the remarks.
But the soldiers soon fell silent, because they could not believe their eyes. The little lay brother stood at eighteen paces and put one arrow after another into the target in the space of half a palm's breadth. When he missed by a thumb's breadth he seemed annoyed and apologized to his teacher, sharpening his concentration for the next shot. The soldiers moved off in silence. A short distance away they began arguing about something.
Brother Guilbert understood quite well the soldiers' embarrassment. None of them, any more than Brother Guilbert himself, had ever seen a boy with such talent. But neither then nor later did Arn comprehend this, because for him there were only two archers: himself and Brother Guilbert, and compared with the smith he was the worst archer in the world.
Father Henri had often shown himself unwilling to discuss the topic. He thought that Arn was diligent in reading and as intelligent as one could expect of a boy whose voice had not yet begun to break—woe the day that happened—but neither more nor less. Father Henri didn't consider himself to have been particularly bright as a child, yet he was reminded of himself when he looked at Arn. The most important thing was the zeal with which both he and now Arn studied. He also recalled with a smile how as a very young boy he had also discovered books that were not intended for small boys; he had been caught in the act, and was punished in much the same way he now punished Arn for the same thing. But most important was the inspiration to read, the diligence to learn, and perseverance. God gave everyone nearly equal intelligence, and it was the responsibility of each and every one to fill his mind with content, to make the most of one's talents.
To counter that logic, however, Brother Guilbert had a simple objection. Because in that case, God must have also given everyone the ability to handle a bow or a sword equally, yet some got markedly less from the instrument and others got much more. Little Arn had been given more of such gifts than any man, young or old, that Brother Guilbert had ever encountered in his life, he claimed.