So everyone was pleased with the arrangement. Except for Gunvor, who wept bitterly for a whole week before she was forced to say yes to the dean and utter the vows that would soon be honored so that the marriage could be consummated. She had importuned her father Tyrgils to let her be quit of this abominable man and instead be allowed to marry a different Gunnar who was the third son at the neighboring farm of Långavreten. She and the youth had spoken of the matter, and both were in agreement that their betrothal should take place.

   But her father Tyrgils had flown into a rage and explained that he could ill afford such an arrangement. Långavreten was a farm as large as his own, and he would thus have to pay an exorbitant dowry if the neighbors were to unite their families in a wedding ale. Should he fail to provide a substantial dowry he would not appear to be a man of honor. There was no solution to this dilemma, and Gunvor's entreaties had not helped in the least. Her father had sought to console her only once, with assurances that the whims of young maidens were fleeting, and this one too would pass. As long as she got her first children to blow their noses, it would all be forgotten.

   Now she sat there in her bridal gown while the men sitting at the wedding tables got drunker and drunker. She felt as if she were being stabbed with needles every time she heard a joke or laughter about the wedding night, which all wanted to witness. When she saw her slobbering and drunken husband being slapped on the back by men making gestures that meant a cock as big as a horse's, her blood ran both hot and cold. She prayed to the Holy Virgin to call her home at once. She sought the grace to fall dead on the spot without having to commit the sin of suicide. It was the only way to save her from this dreadful fate. But in her heart she understood quite well that the Mother of God would never grant such a selfish request and that all hope was now gone. She would soon be irretrievably violated by that drooling old man and unable to do anything except obediently spread her legs the way the older women had taught her.

   But as the afternoon sun was setting outside, inexorably heading toward evening, she suddenly heard the voice of the Mother of God strong and clear inside her. With a wild shriek Gunvor threw herself on top of the table and with one long, nimble bound she was over it and on her way out the door. She lifted her skirts and ran off as fast as she could.

   Inside at the wedding ale it took a while before the drunken men realized what had happened; for various reasons most of them had not seen the bride run out. But then they collected themselves and on unsteady legs they initiated the chase for the runaway bride while someone—no one ever found out who it was—yelled, "Bride-robber, bride-robber, bride-robber!"

   The drunken men then staggered back to grab their swords and spears. They saddled their horses with fumbling fingers, while worried women peered after the fleeing bride, who was still in sight, running toward the road to Skara.

Arn came riding up in at a leisurely pace, his stomach churning. He was in no hurry because he knew that the night would be dark without stars or moon, and so he would have to seek a place to camp. He had no hope of reaching Arnäs before noon the next day.

   Suddenly a young woman came rushing toward him with her clothes in disarray, a wild look on her face, and her arms flailing about. He stopped his horse, dumbfounded, and stared at her, incapable of either understanding what she was saying or uttering a friendly greeting.

   "Save me, save me from the demons!" the woman cried, and abruptly fell exhausted to the ground before the hooves of his horse.

   Arn got down from his horse, puzzled and frightened. He could clearly see that his neighbor was in trouble, but how was he to go about helping her?

   He squatted down next to the small, gasping female body and cautiously reached out his hand to stroke her lovely brown hair, but he didn't dare. When she looked up at him, her face filled with happiness and she started talking in confusion about his kind eyes, about Our Lady who had sent an angel to save her, and other things that made him suspect she had lost her wits.

   This was how the drunken, raging wedding guests found the runaway bride and her abductor. The first men to dismount instantly grabbed hold of the bride, who began screaming in such a heartrending fashion that they tied her hands and feet and put a gag in her mouth. Two men seized hold of Arn by grabbing both his hands behind his back and forcing his head forward. He offered no resistance.

   At once the bridegroom himself, Gunnar of Redeberga, came riding up, and someone handed him a sword. According to the law he had the right to slay the bride-robber caught in the act. When Arn saw the sword being raised, he asked calmly to be allowed to say his prayers first, and the breathless mob considered this to be a Christian request that they could not honorably refuse.

   Arn felt no fear when he fell to his knees, only astonishment. Was it only for this that God had spared his life? To be beheaded by a drunken mob who clearly believed that he had intended to do the woman harm? It was too ridiculous to be true, so he prayed not for his own life but for reason to return to these unfortunate people who were about to commit a mortal sin out of sheer confusion.

   He must have looked pitiful as he knelt there praying. He was only half a man, with downy cheeks, dressed in a worn monk's cloak with obvious traces on his scalp of the monks' manner of shaving their tonsures. And then someone began to pray for Arn in the belief that he was helping the unfortunate in his prayers. Another said that it wasn't much of a manly deed to slay a defenseless young monk; at least they ought to give him a sword so he could defend himself and die like a man. Murmurs of agreement were heard, and suddenly Arn saw a short, ungainly Nordic sword drop down in front of him onto the grass.

   Then he thanked God at great length before he took up the sword; it was clear that he would be allowed to live.

   The cathedral dean, Torkel of Skara, had now come so close that he could see everything that was happening clearly, and what he saw, or thought he saw, would be very important.

   Because when Gunnar of Redeberga attacked with his sword held high to put a quick end to the wretch who had ruined his wedding feast, he found himself striking at thin air. He had no idea what had happened, even though he didn't consider himself especially drunk.

   He swung again without hitting Arn, and again and again.

   Arn saw that the man facing him was defenseless, and he guessed that it might have something to do with liquor. All the better, he thought, since then he wouldn't risk doing harm to his neighbor.