But for Gunnar of Redeberga what happened was like a bad dream. His friends started laughing at him, and no matter how he swung the sword at that cursed demon, because a demon he must be, the wretch was somewhere else. He did not flee, yet he was always somewhere else.

   Arn was circling calmly in the opposite direction with the sword in his left hand, since Brother Guilbert had always stressed that this would be the hardest for his opponent to defend against. He didn't need to parry much with his own sword; it was enough just to keep moving. He reckoned that the old man would soon tire and give up, and that no one would be hurt, since God had interceded to save them all.

   But humiliated and somewhat scared, Gunnar of Redeberga now asked the old warrior Joar to assist him in his lawful task. Joar was an experienced swordsman who had seen how the groom was fooled by simple tricks. So Joar now threw himself into the fight to make short work of the matter. The dean's desperate protests were of little avail.

   Arn, who suddenly found himself in danger, grew frightened and tossed the sword to his right hand, spinning around to defend himself with two quick moves, for the first time fighting in earnest.

   Gunnar of Redeberga at once fell to the ground with his throat slashed, and Joar sank down moaning after a lunge struck him in the middle of his soft belly.

   The men stood as if turned to stone. The wedding guests had all seen with their own eyes something that could not possibly have occurred, something that had to be a miracle.

   But Arn stood still in fright, because he realized full well, after taking part in so much fighting, that the man who first attacked him lay kicking out the last of his life's blood on the ground. And the other man, who knew how to wield a sword, was mortally wounded. Crushed by his evil deeds, Arn let his sword fall to the ground and bowed his head in prayer, ready in the next moment to suffer the beheading rightfully administered by any of the men present.

   But the dean reached his arms in the air toward the sky and began singing a hymn, which at least for the moment made any renewed attacks on Arn unsuitable. And then the dean, filled with the spirit, spoke sternly about the miracle they had just witnessed, how an obviously innocent person had, because of his innocence, received the highest protection. The dean himself had clearly seen the archangel Gabriel standing behind the small unprotected boy, guiding his arms in defense. Soon several of the men declared that they too had witnessed the same thing, in truth a miracle from God, how a defenseless young monk had been able to vanquish two grown warriors.

   Now they freed the bride from her bonds, and she too fell into prayer, thanking God for sending someone to rescue her at the last moment. They sang more hymns, but Arn was unable to take part in the singing.

   The cathedral dean then questioned Arn about where he came from and decided to escort the poor monk personally back to Varnhem. Gunnar of Redeberga would be carried home to be buried and the gravely wounded Joar would be carried on a litter to his home.

It was a very oddly matched pair that came riding up to Varnhem on that mild autumn morning when the rowan trees and oaks and beeches around the monastery had begun to turn yellow and red.

   Cathedral Dean Torkel was in a radiant mood, for God had granted him the opportunity to witness one of His miracles on earth. It was a signal honor.

   Arn, who had been fasting since his misdeed and refused to spend the night anywhere but in the cathedral in prayer, was ashen-gray in the face and weighted down by his grievous sin. He was well aware that the dean's confused talk of a miracle was untrue. God had shown him grace by giving him a sword, with which he could have defended himself without injuring anyone. But he had misused that grace and instead committed the worst of sins. He knew that now he was lost, and it amazed him that God had not smote him to the ground at once when he committed such an unforgivable deed.

   When they were let in the cloister gate beneath the two tall ash trees that were the only visible remains of what Arn's mother had once donated, Arn began praying at once for forgiveness. He slunk into the cloister church to pray for the strength to be able to do honest penance soon.

   Dean Torkel proudly asked for an audience with Father Henri, because he had such magnificent news to report.

   The conversation between the two men was very strange, and not only because they had a hard time understanding each other. Dean Torkel spoke Latin as poorly as Father Henri spoke Norse, and besides, Dean Torkel was so excited that he couldn't tell the story sensibly. Father Henri had to ask him to calm down, drink a glass of wine, and then begin at the beginning.

   And when it gradually dawned on Father Henri what a catastrophe had occurred, he was at a loss to understand the dean's giddy enthusiasm.

   It was obvious that Arn was no bride-robber. How he could even be accused of something like that was at first very difficult for his uneducated Nordic colleague to explain.

   When someone foolishly took it into his head to toss a sword to Arn, it was equally obvious that the result would be one dead and one dying man. But it was (blasphemous thought) as if God the Father were cruelly joking with the wedding guests in that case. Or, perhaps rather, He was punishing them for their ruthless thoughtlessness when a frightened woman ran off and they took the first man on the road to be a bride-robber. The latter displayed despicably barbaric behavior, especially as they then supposed they had the right to slay on the spot the man they had encountered. On the other hand, the laws were such in this part of the world that the poor misguided souls had to some measure acted in good faith.

   But the hardest thing to swallow was the dean's self-righteous notions that he had been granted the opportunity to witness a miracle with the archangel Gabriel standing behind Arn, helping him to wield each stroke of the sword.

   Father Henri muttered to himself that if the archangel Gabriel had really seen what was going on, he wouldn't have rushed to help Arn but instead come to the aid of the foolish drunkards. But he said none of this aloud.

   The imagined miracle became a more delicate matter in that Dean Torkel was now asking the cloister's help to have his account written down properly, while he still had the images clear in his mind and also remembered the names of all the witnesses.

   At first Father Henri gave an evasive reply to the request and asked instead to be informed of what the laws outside the walls said about lay brother Arn's behavior. For a long while Dean Torkel was distracted from his request for written assistance.