But soon his tone turned curt and harsh as he described how more audacious and more important bonds were needed for the sake of all their kinsmen. The clan of Erik had in no way given up its struggle for the crown, although they had made exacting inquiries. In Norway Erik Jedvardsson's greedy widow was plotting revenge and raising her sons to be future contenders for the throne. The clan of Erik was strong south of Skara and also had offshoots in Svealand. It was a clan that they would be wise to count a friend rather than a foe.

   Erik Jedvardsson's brother Joar was the owner of one of the farms outside Eriksberg, and he had a daughter, his eldest and not very fair, but for whom he would no doubt gladly hold a betrothal ale even for a man less wealthy than Magnus.

   Magnus sighed when he heard his younger brother present this proposal. He already knew how it would turn out. His own blood would be used to bind the clan to a future important enemy or a future important ally. About this matter he could say nothing but that it sounded wise. So be it.

   Eskil, who was having a hard time seeing the logic in choosing kinsmen among those who killed instead of those who had the right sort of wealth, gave his father a distressed look. He knew how it would turn out. He would soon have a new stepmother, about whom he knew nothing except that she was evidently not very fair.

Never had Arn seen Brother Guilbert as happy as the day the new horses arrived. There was a stallion, two mares, and a colt, and they were led in at once to their own pasture so that they wouldn't mix with the Nordic horses. They seemed to be in fine condition. Their journey had not been arduous in such a good season with plenty of grazing and water along the way. They had returned with Father Henri from one of his constant journeys to the general chapter in Cîteaux. Since Father Henri and the brothers who accompanied him had traveled most of the way on foot, as usual, and since the two heavy wagons with traveling goods had been pulled by donkeys, the horses seemed to be thoroughly rested.

   It was always a big event at the monastery when Father Henri returned from the general chapter. All the monks faithfully obeyed and for the most part honestly applied the rule of charity, but they were also eager for everything else he brought: the news, the letters, the new books, the knowledge of what was happening out in the secular world as well as in the ecclesiastical circles, as well as all the kernels, seeds, and cuttings that Brother Lucien cast himself upon with the enthusiasm of a child. Finally the monks were also eager to receive the cheeses and casks of wine that at least the Burgundian brothers had a hard time living without, just as the Provençal cooks had a hard time imagining cloister life without a new supply of certain herbs that Brother Lucien had not managed to grow in the harsh Danish climate.

   Many of the brothers had difficulty observing the discipline and dignity that such a homecoming demanded, although they first had to celebrate mass to mark Father Henri's return. And it was always longer than usual because the choir had learned some new songs, or old songs were presented in new voicings for this occasion, with prayers of thanksgiving for the father's return. Arn, who still retained his lovely soprano voice, had a particularly difficult time at such masses.

   But afterward the brothers would stream out of the church chattering happily like small boys in anticipation of the ceremonies, led by Father Henri, which would begin as they unpacked the heaps of baggage. Father Henri read through his list, checking off each item and distributing God's gifts. Some brothers then went off whispering and giggling with glee with a longawaited volume in their hands, while others praised the Lord with more dignity. The same was true of those who received new items for the garden or the kitchen.

   But this time Brother Guilbert slipped away with Arn, taking him by the arm to show him the finest gift of all, though none of the other monks had any understanding of such matters: the new horses.

   When they reached the pasture Arn tried hard to understand what was making the otherwise restrained Brother Guilbert so visibly excited. To Arn's eye these horses did indeed differ a great deal from ordinary horses. They were leaner and livelier, they moved all the time as if they were nervous at being cooped up, they ran back and forth with catlike soft movements with their tails held high. Their faces looked a little wider and more triangular than those of Nordic horses, and their eyes were very big and intelligent. Their color was different. One of the mares was reddish-brown like many other horses, but had a big gray spot down her left shoulder, while her half-grown foal was almost white with gray shading. The stallion and the other mare were dapple gray in color.

   More than this Arn was unable to judge, even though he had worked a long time in the second most important of Brother Guilbert's workshops, the horseshoe smithy. Arn could shoe a horse so that neither Brother Guilbert nor any of the lay brothers had to redo his work.

   Brother Guilbert stood silently leaning over the fence of the enclosure with tears in his eyes as he looked at the horses, as if he were far away in his thoughts. Arn waited expectantly.

   To the boy's surprise, Brother Guilbert suddenly began talking to the stallion in a language Arn had never heard before; he didn't understand a word of it. But the stallion seemed to pay attention at once. He stopped and pricked up his ears toward Brother Guilbert, and after a brief hesitation calmly approached him. Brother Guilbert then rubbed his face against the horse's muzzle in an unbecoming way and again spoke the strange language.

   "Come, my boy, we're going to go riding, you and I. You can take the colt," said Brother Guilbert, swinging in under the fence and pulling Arn with him.

   "But the colt . . . that won't work, will it? He isn't broken yet, is he?" Arn objected with obvious hesitation in his voice.

   "Come here and I'll show you, it's not necessary!" said Brother Guilbert, calling the little colt, who came trotting over.

   What happened then seemed to Arn like a miracle. Brother Guilbert stroked the colt over his muzzle and cheeks and neck, again speaking the foreign language, which the horses seemed to understand better than French or Latin. After a moment he simply lifted Arn up with one arm like a mitten so that Arn ended up astride the horse. The boy automatically grabbed hold of the colt's mane so he could hold on tight when the bucking started; he had helped break horses before, but never from the very first day.

   The next moment Brother Guilbert swung himself up onto the stallion in one fluid movement; he seemed to fly up, and the stallion instantly set off on a wild gallop around the pasture. There sat Brother Guilbert bareback, holding lightly onto the stallion's mane with one hand, leaning daringly into the sharpest curves, yelling one thing after another to the horse in that odd language.