Arn was doubly grateful that he was always allowed to come along. He had a chance to ride as fast as he liked on Khamsiin along the endless sandy beaches, preferably just above where the waves broke. There the sand was hard-packed and smooth so that Khamsiin had a good foothold and a clear view and could fly along in a straight line, giving Arn a chance to do what he loved best.

   During Arn's second year as a scout on the salvage trips, something unheard of happened. In the sparse pine forest about a mile from the sea the column from Vitae Schola was attacked on its way home by drunken robbers. They were probably no highwaymen, but frustrated wreck-plunderers who had been sitting in one of the nearby villages, drinking too much ale and working themselves up over the fact that fat monks were now stealing what rightfully belonged to the people who made their living from the sea. But they were armed with lances and swords, and one of them, riding a short and stout Nordic horse, made threatening swings with an old-fashioned battle-axe in his hands.

   The heavy oak wagons with steel-rimmed wheels stopped with a screech. The monks made no move to flee but lowered their heads in prayer. The man with the battle-axe clumsily maneuvered his horse toward Brother Guilbert, who was riding at the head of the column with Arn behind him and off to one side. Arn at once did as Brother Guilbert did, sweeping off the hood of his cloak and lowering his head in prayer, although he wasn't sure what he should pray for. But suddenly the man with the battle-axe yelled at Brother Guilbert for everyone to move away from the wagons, because here came those who rightfully owned the harvest of the sea. Brother Guilbert did not reply, since he was still praying. This made the man with the battle-axe both uncertain and angry, prompting him to say in very coarse language that no prayers were going to help here, because now the goods had to be unloaded from the wagons, and double-quick.

   Then Brother Guilbert replied calmly that naturally he was not praying for something as simple as salvaged goods. He was praying for the souls of these misguided men now that they were about to make themselves unhappy for the rest of their earthly days. At first the man with the battle-axe was surprised, but then he became even angrier, and he spurred his horse forward to aim a mighty blow at Brother Guilbert.

   Arn, who was sitting on Khamsiin only a few yards away, now knew instinctively what Brother Guilbert was going to do, and at least in the first moment Arn was right. The drunken wreckplunderer raised his battle-axe, gripping it with both hands and directing the blow at a downward angle, a blow that would have killed if it struck home. But Brother Guilbert made two almost imperceptible adjustments with his legs that made Nasir move quick as a snake, taking one step to the side and one step back. The man with the battle-axe struck into thin air and was dragged from his saddle by his own momentum, flipping a half turn in the air before he thumped to the ground on his back.

   If this had been an exercise session with Brother Guilbert and Arn had been crawling there on the ground, at the next instant he would have felt Brother Guilbert's foot land on his sword hand, his weapon would have been taken from him, and then he would have been roundly rebuked.

   But now Brother Guilbert sat with his hands clasped before him, holding Nasir's reins in a light grip between his little fingers.

   The humiliated robber crawled to his feet. Swearing, he grabbed his battle-axe again and now attacked on foot, which ended the same way. He ran at Brother Guilbert, aimed a mighty blow, and then found himself again striking at the air. He fell to the ground from his own weight. His fellow criminals couldn't help laughing, which made him even more furious.

   When he gripped his battle-axe a third time Brother Guilbert held up his palm to stop him and explained that no one would prevent the robbery if that was the only reason for the attack. But he wanted to warn the man one last time against repeating his attempts at assault.

   "You have a choice," he explained calmly. "All of you steal what you came here to steal. We neither can nor will stop you by force. But think on this, that then all of you will have sold your souls to the Devil and become criminals who can expect a severe punishment from the king. Or else you can repent and go home. Then we will forgive you and pray for you."

   But the man with the battle-axe didn't want to hear any such talk. Like a fool he repeated that the salvage goods since ancient times had belonged to the people on the coast. The men behind him shook their lances, pitchforks, and a few swords in agitation, and one of them suddenly threw a lance straight at Brother Guilbert.

   It was a heavy, slow lance with an old-fashioned broad-bladed point, so Arn had plenty of time to picture what would happen. Brother Guilbert leaned lightly to the side in his saddle, grabbed the lance in the air, and then pointed it at the mob, as if for a brief instant he considered attacking. Arn saw the robbers' eyes widen and gleam with fear. But then Brother Guilbert quickly turned the lance over his knee and broke it in two as if he were snapping a little twig. Contemptuously he flung the bits to the ground.

   "We are the Lord's servants, we cannot fight with you and you know it!" he shouted. "But if you absolutely want to make yourselves miserable for the rest of your wretched earthly lives, then steal what you want to steal. We can't stop you from such foolishness."

   The mob deliberated for a moment. The man with the battleaxe staggered back to his followers and a vehement argument ensued. Brother Guilbert gathered his brothers and Arn around himself and said that if it came to violence, each of them should save himself by running from this place. There was nothing else to do. Arn was sharply admonished to stay at a safe distance from all the robbers and, should things turn violent, ride home at once to tell everyone what had happened.

   The robbers' problem was that they thought they could certainly steal whatever they wanted from the heavy load. But they wouldn't be able to kill all the witnesses, as they before had killed all the unfortunate seamen who survived a shipwreck to wash ashore, thinking they were saved, only to discover at the last moment of their lives that they had been rescued by wreckplunderers. But here the robbers would never be able to kill the two monks on horseback. They decided to take what they wanted anyway in the hope that, since no one was killed, no royal revenge would befall them just because there was a little less weight in the fat monks' heavily loaded wagons.

   That's how the matter was settled. The robbers took what they could carry and anything that seemed valuable, while the monks stood back and prayed for their lost souls. When the robbers had finished plundering the wagons and, loudly bellowing, left the scene, the monks repacked their loads and continued home to Vitae Schola.

   When they arrived, Father Henri wrote a letter of complaint to King Valdemar, whose royal command had been flouted. Shortly thereafter soldiers were sent out to arrest the guilty parties, which proved a simple matter. Most of the goods that were stolen were returned to Vitae Schola with the soldiers. The robbers were all hanged.