The laws said that bride-robbers could be struck down if caught in the act. But not an innocent person, because that would be concomitant to murder.

   On the one hand, the law was such that if twelve men swore that Arn was innocent and that a miracle had occurred, then Arn would be acquitted at the ting, if the matter went that far. On the other hand, if the families of the dead man, or in the worst case the two dead men, wanted to bring a suit at the ting, then the question would arise as to whether Arn, as he clearly was named, had anyone who could serve as his oath-swearers and who were not foreigners. Did Arn have anyone who could be his oath-swearers, and did he possibly belong to any clan?

   "Yes," sighed Father Henri in relief. "The young man does belong to a clan. His name is Arn Magnusson of Arnäs, his father is Magnus Folkesson, and his uncle is Birger Brosa of Bjälbo. Eskil the judge is his kinsman, et cetera, et cetera. The boy thus belongs to the Folkung clan, although I am unsure whether he entirely understands what that means. Of course there would be no problem getting oath-swearers."

   "Well, is that so! Praise be to God!" exclaimed Dean Torkel. "I shall hurry to inform the kinsmen that they should not expect success at any ting. This is even better, now they won't have anything against testifying that the account of the miracle is true!"

   Despite the fact that the two men of God now seemed to have found a simple solution to a legal problem, they were of much different minds. The dean was so happy he seemed to be hovering a bit above the ground, for his account of the miracle, which he would speak of at great length in the cathedral, had now been saved and would also be recorded in calligraphy on parchment by those who did such things best.

   Father Henri, who knew that no miracle had taken place, was relieved that Arn would not be subjected to the harsh and blind justice of Western Götaland. But he grieved for Arn's sake, and he grieved for his own sin, for he now realized that he and Brother Guilbert must share the blame for what had happened.

   "Could I receive at once the writing help that this great and important matter deserves?" asked the dean, full of bright enthusiasm.

   "Yes, of course, brother," replied Father Henri in a surprisingly deliberate tone. "We shall see to it at once."

   Father Henri summoned one of the scribes and explained in French, which he was sure that the uneducated dean did not speak, that he should keep a straight face and keep writing and make no objections, no matter how demented the whole thing might sound.

   When the dean, with a youthful bounce to his step and praising the Lord vociferously, was led toward the scriptorium, Father Henri got up with a heavy heart to seek out the unhappy Arn. He knew quite well where he would find him.

Chapter 7

Dean Torkel was a practical man and scrupulous with money, especially his own. His tenant farmer Gunnar of Redeberga had now departed this life most inopportunely in the prime of his life, and without bringing any future farmers into the world. His wedding had also been interrupted in the most distressful way.

   After Dean Torkel had recovered from the wondrous aspect of this event—the fact that he had been granted the opportunity to witness a miracle of the Lord with his own eyes—he soon began to ponder the more earthly results of what had happened. He needed a new, industrious tenant farmer for Redeberga; that was the most pressing problem.

   Because he was the father confessor of Gunvor, the betrothed and very nearly married young bride, he hadn't been able to avoid forming certain basic notions from what he heard in her confession. She had most assuredly wished that life should leave both herself and her intended husband, for which he imposed only a week of mild penance. But she had also confessed that her sinful wishes were due to a strong liking for another young man whose name was also Gunnar.

   This Gunnar of Långavreten, as Dean Torkel soon discovered, was his father's third son. Normally he would not be allowed to marry at all, since that would mean dividing up the Långavreten estate into three plots, each of which would be too small to work profitably. But Gunnar was a healthy young man whose heart was set on working the land rather than moving away to become a retainer for some lord.

   Dean Torkel soon summoned the young Gunnar, heard his confession, and then quickly devised a way in which everything could be arranged. The young man was apparently pining for Gunvor as much as she was for him.

   It could all work out for the best if the young couple became Dean Torkel's new tenant farmers at Redeberga. Tyrgils of Torbjörntorp, Gunvor's father, may have envisioned a better match for his daughter than as the wife of a third son. But as the situation now stood, she wouldn't be easy to marry off, even as fair as she was, because the story of her terrible bridal ale had quickly traveled throughout Western Götaland. The dean himself had played a significant part in spreading the story, since he was eager to have his account of the miracle mentioned in many sermons. So for the freeholder Tyrgils the safest bet was to marry off his Gunvor as soon as the first opportunity arose.

   And for young Gunnar's father, Lars Kopper of Långavreten, it was not a bad idea at all to marry off his third son, and to someone the boy happened to prefer. Both fathers would benefit from the dowry and morning gift in that way. And besides, the young couple would probably not leave their fathers any peace when they realized the opportunity that had now come like manna from heaven.

   Dean Torkel had planted the first seed in a sincerely restorative conversation with Gunvor; then he had done the same with Gunnar; and after that it was simple to call in the two fathers, and the matter was soon settled. The betrothal ale could be arranged at once.

   At Michaelmas, when the harvest respite began and the fences around the fields no longer needed to be maintained, the betrothal ale was held at Redeberga with the dean himself attending to confirm the vows between Gunvor and Gunnar. He spoke to them at a moment in the festivities when the guests were still sober enough to listen to what a man of God might say, reminding them to honor the miracle of the Lord that had finally, against all earthly rhyme or reason, brought them together.

   For Gunvor this was the happiest day of her life. What did it matter that she would live her life in somewhat lesser circumstances than those she was born to? Here she sat in the wicker betrothal chair with her true Gunnar, whom she thought she had lost forever. From the depths of despair she had risen like a lark to heavenly bliss.

   After the betrothal ale had gone on for several hours they went out in the courtyard for a while to watch the sunset. They held hands, feeling both trepidation and happiness at the thought that they would now live together, to grow old and die on this farm. The somewhat difficult subject that Gunvor now wanted to discuss was met with no objections from her betrothed, and that eased her mind at once. For she was eternally grateful to the Holy Virgin for saving her from the jaws of misfortune at the last moment. Indeed, she would never forget to mention this in her prayers. So she wanted to give the two sorrel horses they had received as a betrothal gift to the cloister at Varnhem. They would make a journey there to convey their thanks to the young monk who had saved their happiness at the risk of his own life.