Arn had maintained a balance with everything that he'd learned, and there was nothing to worry about in that respect. As long as one didn't believe, like some of the more rigid brothers, that sword and lance had nothing to do with God's work on earth. But brothers who thought this way had not sufficiently studied the father of them all, Saint Bernard, who had been the leading creator of the Knights Templar, more than the Pope or any other man of the cloth.

   And yet. There was now a problem with the boy. Since the new horses had arrived he seemed to have gone a bit crazy. It seemed fair to say that he had acquired a vice or an urge, an interest that overshadowed all other interests. And the question then became, in a higher and strategic perspective, whether God truly wanted this or whether God wanted to see his chosen lad reprimanded. And in a more tactical perspective, how should a wise prior go about handling such a rebuke?

   Father Henri had summoned Brother Guilbert on more than one occasion in order to discuss the problem. But it seemed as though the good Guilbert wanted to defuse the matter with clichés such as "boys will be boys" and "what would you have done or thought at that age?" He also said they needed to understand the delight of novelty, and mentioned that it was all part of the general education he was giving Arn.

   Perhaps that was true. And yet the boy's infatuation was so strong that it obviously risked overshadowing, at least temporarily, even his interest in books. As Arn's confessor, Father Henri knew much more about this than Brother Guilbert. Arn was no more capable than anyone else of lying when he made confession to his prior.

   Arn saw the problem simply as a matter of confessing and admitting his sinful disposition and then doing penance. He had no idea that it was something that actually worried Father Henri; that would have made him feel both sad and ashamed. For now it led only to the minor punishments of extra prayers and maybe a few days on bread and water.

   When Khamsiin had grown so much that he was no longer a colt but a real horse, the love between Arn and the young stallion grew. One night when the summer was in full bloom, so that the nights were light and mild in Jutland, Arn got up after only a few hours of sleep following the midnight mass. He sneaked out to the stable, took down the saddle and bridle, and whispered some words into the darkness of night. Khamsiin came to him at once, bending his head down and accepting the boy's hot kisses and caresses on his soft muzzle.

   Then Arn mounted the horse, and cautiously they moved off toward the fence, which Khamsiin gently jumped over in almost feline silence. They walked slowly for a while, finally increasing speed so much that they must have been the fastest horse and rider ever to cross Danish soil. They stormed along like the horsemen of the apocalypse through the soft, rolling landscape and the sparse beech woods. Some nights they went all the way out to the sea, knowing that they risked having to keep up the same pace on the way back to be able to arrive in time for morning mass.

   Rumors soon spread in the region about a ghost rider, an omen, a bad sign, a spirit who rode as no mortal man could ride even in dreams, a dwarf with evil sharp teeth and a glittering sword of fire.

   The sword, however, was made of wood with an iron core inside for the sake of weight. But in his fantasies Arn rode with a sword that could well have been of fire. He swung it back and forth with his left hand, switched the sword and reins at full gallop and then brandished the weapon in his right hand. But the sword was not the most important thing. It was more as if he were placating his guilty conscience by doing a little work while he was out riding for pleasure instead of sleeping the sleep of the just, which was recommended by God.

   It was the speed that captivated him. As young as he was, Khamsiin had a power in his legs that no other horse Arn had ridden could ever match. Arn imagined that Khamsiin was being carried forward by a supernatural power, as if this speed was something that only God could have created, and as if on Khamsiin he was flying closer to God than at any other time.

   It was a sinful thought, of course. Arn knew that. He said the prayers and denied himself what he must to seek forgiveness.

   But what speed! he thought. Shamefully enough, even during his most remorseful prayers.

Chapter 5

On Christmas Day in the year of Grace 1144, the Christians in the Kingdom of Jerusalem suffered their greatest defeat since they conquered the Holy Land. In Christian Europe there were many people who realized that the fall of the city of Odessa was a catastrophe. But nobody could imagine that what had happened was the beginning of the end of the Christian occupation.

   At that time, a half century after the victory that had cost the Christians more than 100,000 lives, the Kingdom of Jerusalem consisted of a cohesive coastal region that stretched from Gaza in southern Palestine through Jerusalem and Haifa to the coast of Lebanon and up to Antioch. But north of Antioch, there was a large Christian enclave around the city of Odessa, which together with Antioch on the coast controlled all the roads between the Christian Eastern Roman Empire in Constantinople and the three cities of Baghdad, Jerusalem, and Damascus. Second only to Jerusalem itself, Odessa had been the Christians' most important fortress.

   But now the city had been conquered, plundered, and relegated to the oblivion of history by a commander whose name hardly anyone in Europe knew. He was called Unadeddin Zinki. The conquest ended in a bloodbath in which 5,000 Franks and 6,000 Armenians and other local Christians were massacred after the walls fell. In their stead Zinki let 300 Jews move into the city in an attempt to bring Odessa back to life. The Jews were much closer to the Muslims than to the Christians, since the Christians had the peculiar custom of murdering all the Jews they encountered.

   Zinki was a powerful, ambitious, and ruthless commander. He made no secret of the fact that he wanted to take Damascus, the next most important city after Jerusalem, and from there draw the noose tighter around the Christians.

   The Muslim inhabitants of Damascus, however, felt not the slightest enthusiasm at the thought of having this unpredictable and cruel ruler inside their high city walls. And when Zinki was on his way to Damascus, he was forced to stop and lay siege to the town of Baalbek. He grew angry that it was taking so long, so when Baalbek finally capitulated after the garrison had been given the usual assurances of safe conduct, he had all the defenders beheaded and the commander flayed alive.

   Perhaps he thought that such actions would strike terror into the inhabitants of Damascus and encourage them to offer less resistance. But the effect was the direct opposite. Damascus formed an alliance with the Christian king of Jerusalem, because both cities, regardless of religion, had just as much to fear from a conqueror such as Zinki.